Sharyn McCrumb - The Ballad of Frankie Silver

“I always heard it Silvers .” Mrs. Honeycutt’s face had taken on a sullen expression, and no doubt she was regretting her impulse to do good deeds for invalids.

“That can be checked fairly easily,” said Spencer, unwilling to quibble about minor points. “Let’s go back to the story of the murder itself. Did Frankie Silver leave a written confession?”

“Not that I ever heard of. The books don’t mention one.”

“I’d be astonished to hear that she could write,” muttered Dr. Banner. “Consider the time and place.”

Spencer nodded. “I was just wondering how we knew the circumstances of Charlie’s death so exactly. Where he was lying when the attack came. How many times she attempted to kill him. Especially his last words. God bless the child. It sounds like something out of a play.”

Alton Banner chuckled. “ Porgy and Bess, to be exact.”

Mrs. Honeycutt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the way I heard the story, Sheriff.”

“Speaking of songs, ma’am,” the doctor continued. “I noticed you quoted from another one in your recounting of the story. You said, ‘He was her man, and he was doing her wrong,’ which is from ‘Frankie and Johnny.’ ”

“Oh, yes. That’s where that old song came from. It was inspired by this murder case.”

Spencer shot a quick glance at Alton Banner. Later, his look said. “This is extremely helpful,” he said to Mrs. Honeycutt. “Now, tell me, was the murder weapon ever found?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Then how do they know it was thrown in the river?” Spencer consulted his notes. “You said, maybe the father -who was not definitely there- threw it into the river on his way home. Witnesses?”

“No. It’s what people said.” She glanced at her watch and then at Martha.

“Okay,” said Spencer. “Then she was arrested…”

“I really have to be going,” said Mrs. Honeycutt with a plaster smile. “Good luck with your research, Sheriff.”

Martha stood up, too, gave him a look, and said, “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

Spencer saw the visitors to the door with fulsome thanks and offers of coffee, but his peace overtures were coldly received. When he saw the taillights on Martha’s car disappear around the curve of the driveway, he sank back on the couch with a weary sigh.

“I don’t blame you,” said Alton Banner. “That much pleasant hypocrisy would wear out even a well man.”

“No, it was kind of her to come and tell me the story,” said Spencer. “I really did appreciate it. She probably told it just the way she heard it. It wasn’t her fault that-that-”

“It was piffle.”

“I think so. Most of it.”

The doctor squinted at him. “What do you want to know about this for, anyhow? Long time ago, not your jurisdiction. You writing a book?”

“No. I’m not planning to. I guess it’s just something to keep my mind occupied while I’m home.” Spencer tried to make his interest seem desultory. “It’s an old story, and I always wondered about it. Heard it from Nelse Miller.”

“I hope he had more sense than to tell you that this story inspired the song ‘Frankie and Johnny.’ ”

“He didn’t say that. No.”

“You don’t believe it, either, do you?”

Spencer shook his head. “Stranger things have happened, I guess, but it doesn’t seem likely. ‘Frankie and Johnny’ is an urban song. The woman goes to a bar, finds out that her lover is unfaithful to her, and kills him with a pistol, which she fires through the door of an apartment or a hotel room. Except for the name ‘Frankie,’ I see no similarities between the two incidents.”

“It’s like confusing Barbara Bush with Barbara Mandrell,” Banner grunted. “A mere coincidence of names. I hear nothing of our mountains in either the tune or the story of ‘Frankie and Johnny.’ ”

“No. I wonder if there is a song about Frankie Silver.”

“Bound to be, if anybody remembers it. So, tell me, as a lawman, how do you see the rest of it?” The doctor smiled. “In your professional opinion?”

“I don’t have enough information yet. Just offhand, though, I’d say that all that business about her sneaking up on him three times and backing away again is the embellishment of a storyteller.”

Alton Banner hummed a snatch of an old tune. “Three times he kissed her lily-white hands… three times he kissed her cheek.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Spencer. “It sounds like a ballad-in-the-making. And I don’t think her father was there, either.”

“Why not?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Just a hunch-and a lot of experience with rural justice. If there was a man around, they sure as hell would have put him on trial for the crime. Charging a little eighteen-year-old girl with an ax murder had to be a last resort for the sheriff of Burke County.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, son,” said the old doctor. “I’ll check back on you toward the end of the week. See how you and Frankie are getting along.”

The sheriff smiled. “You do that. One more thing, though. Can I drive yet?”

“To Nashville in six weeks? You still thinking about that?”

“No. I meant around the county here-soon.”

Alton Banner shook his head. “Ask me next time.”

In the sheriff’s office Jeff McCullough, editor of the county’s weekly newspaper, the Hamelin Record, sat in the straight chair beside Joe LeDonne’s desk, scanning the prepared statement that he had been given.

“So I can use everything in here without compromising the investigation?”

“Of course,” said the deputy. “We don’t have the forensic evidence back from the lab anyhow. I hope we have an arrest by then.”

“You were the investigating officer?”

“I took the call when the bodies were found. Martha came out shortly thereafter to help with the crime scene.”

McCullough tilted his glasses to the end of his nose and looked again at the press release. “It’s eerie, isn’t it?” he said. “I just finished doing a story about Fate Harkryder’s upcoming execution, so I had to go back and read the old stories on the Trail Murders. I could just about run them again for this new case with no rewrite.”

“There are some similarities,” LeDonne conceded.

“Well, we know it isn’t Fate Harkryder this time,” said McCullough. “Do you have any suspects?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

Jeff McCullough smiled. “You wouldn’t speak of it, anyhow, would you? But that’s okay. I don’t want to hinder the investigation. I think my angle for this week is the irony of these murders happening so close to Fate Harkryder’s execution date, and bearing such a resemblance to his own crime. What does the sheriff think about it?”

“He’s still recovering from his wounds. He’s not part of this investigation.”

“But I just read those old Harkryder articles. Spencer Arrowood was the arresting officer in that case. What does he think about this one?”

“We haven’t told him about this one. He’s still weak from surgery, and he’s not up to any more strain right now. Martha thinks he’s better off not being told.”

“So I can’t interview him about the new case, and whether he thinks they’re related?”

“No. He knows nothing about it. Martha and I will keep you posted on what’s happening in this case. And the old one is closed-or it will be in a few weeks, when Fate Harkryder goes to the chair.”

Jeff McCullough frowned. “When is the sheriff due back on the job?”

“Couple of weeks. We’ll have an arrest by then.”

Fate Harkryder was thirty-seven years old and looked fifty. His hair was shot with iron gray. A lifetime of smoking and hard times had etched deep creases between his nose and chin, and had stitched a chain of fine lines around the hollows of his eyes. He had not run to fat, though, as so many of the prisoners did, partly because Harkryder men were built short and wiry, and partly because Fate Harkryder stopped eating when he felt his body thicken. Fat was weakness, and in prison it did not do to give the appearance of weakness. Fate Harkryder liked to be left alone. He was soft-spoken and courteous to those he encountered, but people who mistook his remoteness for weakness did so only once. He had learned long ago that if you are polite and distant, people will leave you alone. He could fight if he had to, but he avoided it if he could do so without backing down. Shouting and striking people is a form of intimacy, and for that reason alone Fate Harkryder avoided confrontations.