Bill Crider - Too Late to Die

“We’ll walk over to the county car, now, Elmer,” Rhodes said. “You’ll be getting into the back seat.” He gestured with the pistol.

Elmer got shakily to his feet and preceded Rhodes to the Plymouth. Rhodes opened the back door and nudged Elmer with the pistol. Elmer got inside, and Rhodes slammed the door.

Going around to the driver’s side, Rhodes opened his own door and looked at Elmer through the wire that separated the seats. “You could save me a lot of time if you’d just tell me where that.30-.30 is,” Rhodes said.

“It’s in my bedroom closet,” Elmer said listlessly. “In the back, to the right.”

Rhodes shut the door and went into the house. In a few minutes he was back, carrying a rifle. He got in the car and took Elmer Clinton to the jail.

“Well, Sheriff,” Hack began after Elmer had been placed in a cell, “I guess that about wraps things up, except for that little suit against the county. I sure hate to think that Johnny would’ve done such a thing as to kill Jeanne Clinton. And look at all that’s come of it. It’s a real shame.”

Rhodes had to agree. “I think I’ll go on home now,” he said. “It’s been a rough day. Call me if you need me.” He left the jail and got in the car. It had been a rough day, all right, but it wasn’t over and he wasn’t going home. There was one other thing he had to do first. He started the car and drove away.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and long shadows crossed the road as Rhodes drove past the former dump site to Billy Joe Byron’s shack. Billy Joe’s yard was just as exotic by the light of the fading sun as it had been at night, and Rhodes was able to spot a few things he’d missed on his earlier visit, like a heap of old magazines that were gradually becoming fused together as the rain and sun worked on them and four or five checkerboards that seemed to be laid out in some sort of pattern near the headless horse.

Rhodes crossed the yard, ducked his head, and stepped up on the porch under the low-hanging roof. “You in there, Billy Joe?” he called.

There was no answer, but Rhodes could hear someone moving around inside. “Come on out,” he said. “I’ll sit on the porch and wait for you.”

Rhodes turned his back and stepped down into the yard. He sat on the porch and looked out over Billy Joe’s Sargasso Sea of junk. It wasn’t long before Billy Joe joined him. “You glad to be home, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked.

Billy Joe shook his head vigorously. He still didn’t want to talk, but it was obvious that he was happy to be at home, even though the stay in the jail had provided him with a bath and some fairly decent meals.

Rhodes didn’t blame him for keeping quiet. What had happened was enough to scare anyone, especially someone like Billy Joe. “I don’t mind that you ran from me the other day,” Rhodes said. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

Billy Joe nodded. “S-s-scared!” he said.

“You know you’d better stay away from other folks’ stores, don’t you, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked,” You could get in big trouble like that.”

Billy Joe nodded in agreement.

“And you’ve got to stay away from windows,” Rhodes said. “Dammit, that’s just not right. I guess Jeanne Clinton was nice to you, though, wasn’t she?”

“Talk to me, sometimes,” Billy Joe said hesitantly.

“Yeah, she was nice like that. She talked to a lot of people, and you see where it got her, don’t you?”

“She hurt. . bad?” Billy Joe asked, full of concern.

“Pretty bad,”‘ Rhodes told him. “You see what happened?”

Billy Joe looked agitated. “Yes. Saw,” he said.

“You saw somebody in a uniform like mine hit her?”

Billy Joe was getting excited. “‘Thought. . thought it maybe you! Thought. . you!”

“It wasn’t me,” Rhodes told him.

“Know. . wasn’t now. You treat me good. Let me keep. . smokes.”

“Did you try to help her?” Rhodes asked.

Billy Joe nodded, almost shyly this time. “She. . yelling. She hurt.”

“So you went in to help her. I guess she was pretty upset.”

“She. . yelling. Said. . words. Hit me!” Billy Joe’s hand went to his face in an automatic gesture. “Hit me! Fight me!”

“You were just trying to help,” Rhodes assured him.

“Yes,” Billy Joe said, very excited now. He bounced on the porch. “‘Try to help! Face all. . all. .”

“Bloody,” Rhodes said. “I expect her face was all bloody.”

“Yesyes,” Billy Joe said, making one word of it. “Blood! She. . yelling. Fighting! Hitting!”

“You still tried to help,” Rhodes said. “You held her?”

“Held her,” Billy Joe agreed. “She. . fighting.” He looked at Rhodes. “She be. . all right?”

Rhodes had been certain that Billy Joe did not know what had really happened. He had gone in to help the woman who had been friendly to him, and that was how the blood got on his shirt. She had been wild, maybe blinded by the blood from the beating Johnny had administered. It was possible that she thought Billy Joe was Johnny coming back. She had fought, and Billy Joe, trying to help and not knowing his strength, had struggled with her and probably caused her death.

Rhodes looked at Billy Joe. “No,” he said. “She won’t be all right.”

“I. . sorry,” Billy Joe said.

“Me too,” Rhodes told him.

They sat on the porch of the dilapidated shack and watched the sunset. Rhodes was a sheriff, not a judge or a juryman, and he wondered if he had any right to do what he knew he was going to do. Send Billy Joe to trial? Have him wind up in an institution? No. Who would profit from it? Jeanne was dead and so were the others. Johnny’s reputation would suffer, but he had beaten Jeanne and he might have done the same to others. Billy Joe never would, Rhodes was sure of that.

If Billy Joe were put in some institution, he would be fed and bathed, but what did that matter if he were taken from what he had, little as that was? He wouldn’t last long like that. He wouldn’t last a year.

A light breeze sprang up, and Rhodes could hear frogs croaking somewhere nearby. It was beginning to get dark. He had been wrong from the beginning, he thought. He had been nearly sure that the Terry Wayne business had been a setup, but it hadn’t. He’d been wrong about Johnny. He’d seen Elmer Clinton’s overwhelming grief and his sudden soberness after the first spasms had passed, but he hadn’t thought until too late that Elmer might have become unbalanced. And then he’d been certain that Johnny was the killer. That might have been the worst mistake of all, but it was too late now.

Too late for Jeanne, too late for Bill Tomkins, too late for Mrs. Barrett, too late for Elmer, too late for Johnny. But not too late for Billy Joe. Out of all of it, maybe one could be salvaged, though he’d never realize it.

So Rhodes would keep the secret. It might be wrong, but he thought it was right. He hoped it was right.

Rhodes slid off the porch and stood in front of Billy Joe. “I’ll see you later, Billy Joe,” he said. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

“I. . take care,” Billy Joe said.

Rhodes walked through the surreal yard to his car. He got in and drove away.

The next morning, Rhodes was sore. His ribs hurt as badly as they ever had, and he could hardly get out of bed. But he managed. He looked sadly at the latticework of tape wrapping his upper body. Somehow he managed to get dressed.

Kathy fixed him scrambled eggs for breakfast. She didn’t mention Johnny Sherman, and Rhodes was sure she never would. Johnny was a subject that would never come up between them again, and Rhodes had said all he, wanted to say about it. He ate his eggs without speaking.