Where Southern Cross the Dog (33 page)

“If you can't tell, then get the damn body back here so we can figure out if it's Higson or not. If he's already dead, we can save ourselves a lot of trouble.” Thompson turned the radio off abruptly.

“Hello, sir,” Travis said. “Are you gentlemen with the FBI?”

“Yeah, that's us,” Thompson said, tossing his cigarette on the ground.

“I'm Travis Montgomery. My dad's Bill Montgomery, the county coroner.” They looked blankly at him. If they remembered him, it didn't show.

“Yes, we know him.”

“I've heard a few rumors today. What's going on?”

“Shouldn't you be asking your father that?”

Travis paid no attention to the comment. “I'm sure I'll hear all about it at suppertime, but I'm really curious about what happened to Higson's house. My mother just received a call from someone, and I'm checking on it for her.”

“See that faint trickle of black smoke over there on the horizon?” Thompson turned to look back southeast. Travis's eyes followed.

“Yes, sir.”

“That's it. His house.”

“Was Higson in it?”

“Good question. They found a body, but we won't know anything about the identity until your father conducts the autopsy. The body was pretty well charred. It could take a couple of days. In the meantime, we're gonna call every sheriff's department within a hundred miles and ask them to be on the lookout for Higson. We've got a good description, and he shouldn't be hard to find with that British accent of his.”

“Did you see—”

“That's enough questions, son.” Thompson ended the conversation. “You need to run along; we've got work to do.”

Thompson and Mulevsky left Travis in the parking lot, staring at the wisp of smoke in the distance. He knew as much as anyone about what was going on. Why wouldn't the sheriff want his help? This wasn't some two-bit thief stealing chickens, after all; this was a man who was wanted by the FBI. A man who was Clarksdale's version of John Dillinger.

Travis looked toward the parking lot. His dad's car was gone. Without hesitation, he turned and started walking south, slowly at first but picking up his pace to a jog. His breathing quickened and beads of sweat started to form on his brow. He turned up a street in the Brickyard, ran up the steps to a familiar house, and knocked on the door.

Hannah answered. “Hi, Travis.”

“Have you heard the news?” Travis asked, still breathing heavy.

She looked inquisitive.

“Higson's house burned down last night.” Travis leaned forward intently. “They have a body.”

“Is it him?” She stepped out onto the porch.

“They haven't identified it yet, but I'd like to go out and take a look.”

“To the house? What for?”

“See if it's him, or if we can help.”

“Help do what?”

“Find him. Look for clues. I don't know, something. We'll figure it out on the way.”

“Travis, why don't you let the police handle it?”

“I will, I just want to take a quick look.” He was getting impatient. “We need to borrow your dad's car.”

“What!” Her eyes narrowed as she came to a realization. “Now I know why you want me to go.”

“That's not the only reason. We've got to get out there fast, and I don't know where my dad's car is. Plus, I need you.”

“My dad will never let us have the car.”

“Come on, get the keys. The house will be rebuilt by the time we get there.”

“Travis, I—”

“Please.”

Hannah studied him closely for a moment, and he knew she understood. Reluctantly, she went back inside.

Travis started pacing back and forth in front of the door. He could hear her speaking with her parents, but the sounds were muffled. There were no raised voices, which was a good sign. Finally, the door cracked open and she emerged.

“Yes, ma'am,” she said, speaking through the opening in the door. “Before dinner, I'm sure. If not, I'll let you know.” She shut the door behind her.

“What'd they say?” They stepped off the porch and headed for the street.

“That I could go. My mother would have come to the door, but she was shucking peas for dinner.”

“No, about the car?”

“I didn't ask them.”

“We need the car. You need to go back—”

She lifted her hand, and a set of keys dangled from her index finger.

Travis stared at them. “We're just going to take it?”

“You were the one who wanted the car. How bad do you want it?”

Travis stood silently, being thoughtful for a moment. “Won't you get in trouble without asking?”

“Travis, he would never have let us take it. And don't worry; we are
definitely
going to get in trouble. We probably won't be seeing each other for a while, and I'm sure my dad will talk to your dad.”

Travis looked at the car parked in front of the house. Then he looked back at Hannah's front door. Is it worth it? All this trouble for something we shouldn't even be involved with in the first place. He thought of several other people who might have access to a car, but there wasn't enough time.

The door opened, startling both of them.

“If you'll be late, don't forget to call,” her mother called out.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Where are my keys?” Mr. Morgan said from inside the house, his voice booming.

Her mother looked back inside but left the door open.

Hannah looked at Travis. “What's it going to be, boy?”

Travis smiled and quickly opened the passenger's side door for her. She jumped in, reached over, and pushed the driver's door open slightly.

“Hannah, why are you getting into your father's car?” Mrs. Morgan shouted from the porch.

“We'll be back shortly,” Travis said. “We just need to borrow Mr. Morgan's car for a little while.” Travis jumped in and shoved the key in the ignition; the motor rumbled to life.

“Hannah!” Mr. Morgan yelled from the porch, now standing next to his wife.

She waved mightily and smiled back at her parents as if she and Travis were headed off on a lovely outing. She turned toward Travis. “We're in so much trouble.”

Mr. Morgan was quickly moving down the steps and was much more nimble than Travis expected. He shifted into gear and pushed the pedal down hard. They could still hear Mr. Morgan yelling halfway down the block.

A line of cars had already formed along the highway by the turnoff to Higson's house. Travis steered onto the shoulder and pulled up behind the last one and shut the engine off. A good number of bystanders were huddled together to one side. Others had remained in their cars, hanging out their windows trying to catch a glimpse of something gruesome. It wasn't quite chaos, but it was Clarksdale's equivalent.

“Is this where you met Higson?” Hannah asked.

“Right around back. Let's see if we can get a closer look.” He got out of the car. “C'mon.” He tapped the hood.

Hannah followed Travis toward the deputies guarding the drive. They were only a couple years older than Travis, and he knew both of them, but not by name. He tried to walk past them.

“You can't go any farther,” one of them said, leaning against a squad car. “Sheriff's orders.”

Travis was ready. He removed an envelope from his pocket and held it up. Only he knew it contained a blank piece of paper. “Yes, but I was instructed by the sheriff and my father, the coroner, to deliver this letter immediately to—” He scanned the scene for a familiar face. “— Mr. Birdsong. He's right there.” Travis pointed toward a man standing on the corner of the property. “We won't get in anyone's way.”

“Sheriff Collins didn't say anything to us about you or the letter. Maybe you could wait until Mr. Birdsong is done.”

“Let me call in and check with the sheriff,” the other deputy said, climbing into the squad car to use the radio.

“We don't have time for this. I was here the other day, and all I need to do is give this letter to him. He's right there. Let's go.” Travis beckoned to Hannah. He walked past the deputies toward the house.

Hannah followed quickly, eyes on Travis.

“Let me talk to the sheriff first,” the deputy called after them. Travis kept walking.

When Hannah walked past the deputy standing next to the car, he grabbed her arm. “You're not going anywhere.”

Travis turned around quickly. “Let her go.”

The deputy didn't move; the other one was already talking on the radio.

Travis took one step forward. “Now.”

“Our orders were that no one goes in.”

“I told you I was asked to deliver this letter.”

“Well, what's she doing?” The deputy tugged on Hannah's arm.

“She's with me. That's all you need to know.”

The deputy let go of Hannah. She rubbed the spot on her arm where he had gripped her while she and Travis proceeded down the dirt road.

“Let's hurry, I don't know how much time we have,” Travis said, glancing over his shoulder at the deputies.

They walked quickly, eyes darting around the property

“What am I supposed to be doing?” Hannah asked.

“Helping me.”

“What about the body? Doesn't it make sense to find out whether it's Higson first before we start digging around? I can't believe you talked me into coming here.”

They eyed the smoldering timbers, circling around to the back of the house where Travis had met the professor. They both noticed the sheets covering something near the back door.

“You look around,” Travis said. “I'm going to check with Birdsong about the body.”

Travis returned to Hannah's side a few minutes later.

“Well?”

“It's not Higson.”

“How could that be?”

“Mr. Birdsong said my dad didn't want to confirm it until after he conducted the autopsy, but the body they found was missing most of its teeth. Higson had all of his. And he said the corpse was shorter than the professor appeared to be. He wants to be a hundred percent sure before he releases the information, but he's almost positive.”

Travis looked up; the deputies were approaching. “Here they come.”

“I just talked to the sheriff's office,” the one who had been on the radio said. “He said no unauthorized personnel are allowed near the house. No one. And your
daddy
wants you back at the courthouse.” The deputy smirked.

Travis and Hannah started to walk back to the car, followed closely by both deputies, when Travis noticed an old trash pile that workers were using for the few remains from the house. “I need to throw this away,” he said veering off quickly, holding up the letter he was supposed to have delivered to Birdsong.

“Hey, I told you to get back to your car.”

Travis ignored him and walked over and tossed the envelope onto the heap. Bottles, rags, a wire spool, and an assortment of burned building materials made up most of the items. Then someone tossed a board on the pile, knocking over an old wooden chair with only three legs. Something caught Travis's eye. A newspaper, completely intact, lay near the back edge of the pile. The chair had been covering it.

“Let's go,” the deputy said, moving closer to Travis. “You're coming now.” He reached out to grab Travis.

Hannah screamed loudly. Everyone who had been working around the house stopped what he was doing and turned toward her. Suddenly, it was quiet. The deputies froze.

Travis used the opportunity to bend over the pile and pick up the folded newspaper. It was dated two days ago and had been opened to a page with travel information. Something was circled. He tucked it under his arm.

“What's going on over there?” one of the investigators said from across the yard.

“Nothing, sir,” one of the deputies said. “We're escorting these people to their car.”

The four of them walked back to the car in silence. One of the deputies gave Travis a sour look. “You make sure to bring
your daddy
when you come back, you hear me, boy?”

Travis started the car, turned around in the middle of the road, and headed back to town.

A quarter mile down the road, Travis said, “What's circled? In the paper.”

Hannah picked up the paper that Travis had lain on the seat between them. “It's a schedule.”

“What kind of schedule?” Travis tried to read and keep the car on the road at the same time.

“
River Belle
's.”

“The riverboat out of Helena? We need to make a call.”

“Not from my house.”

“No, mine either.”

Early's Diner on the south side of Clarksdale was mostly vacant, but its dinner crowd would start arriving shortly. Travis pulled into a parking space behind the restaurant.

Hannah waited in the car while Travis went in the back door to use the phone. “It'll just take a minute to check whether the schedule in the paper is right,” he assured her.

“Hello, sir,” Travis said when a man answered the number Travis had secured from the paper. “Is
River Belle
running today?”

Travis listened while the man on the other end of the line spoke. “About half past four?” He looked at his watch. It was 4:10. “You don't think I'll make it, but maybe I could, if the boat doesn't leave on time? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Travis hung up the phone and hurried back out to the car.

“They said if the
River Belle
's late departing, we just might just catch her.”

“I don't think we should be doing this, but if I don't go, you may do something really stupid.”

“That's the spirit.” He backed away from the restaurant and accelerated toward Helena. On the outskirts of town, he looked at the speedometer. The needle wouldn't go any higher.