TWO
Trooper Sam Neely had two complaints duly signed and sworn, but he didn’t know how to investigate them. His instructors at the state police academy had emphasized that when he had questions about an investigation, he should go to the prosecuting attorney for a legal opinion. Since one of the complaints was about that prosecuting attorney, that course of action didn’t strike him as a good idea.
He got out his notes from his criminal investigation classes at the academy and went over them. Nope, nothing in there about how to investigate the prosecuting attorney. For bigamy.
But wait—those ladies had said that Ed Harris, the banker, had fired shots at his naked wife, Anne, in the yard of their home, attempting to murder her. They wanted to sign a complaint to that effect and Neely managed to dissuade them. They reluctantly agreed to sign an allegation of felony menacing instead, which was an allegation that someone was threatened with a firearm.
Neely had explained to the ladies that a complaint was merely a license to investigate. Any charges ultimately filed with the court would have to be based on evidence that established probable cause.
Felony menacing! There was a crime a fellow could sink his teeth into. Frivolous or not, the complaint had to be investigated. The obvious place to start, it seemed to Neely, was an interview with the alleged victim, Anne Harris.
He found her, of course, at the prosecuting attorney’s house on the Eden road.
After he knocked on the door, he removed his service hat. Mrs. Elkins opened the door.
“Mrs. Elkins, I’m Trooper Neely, and I would like to interview Anne Harris. I understand she is here?”
Matilda Elkins glanced skyward and said, “Oh, merciful God, why did you do this to me?” Then she addressed the policeman. “Please come in. I’ll tell her you are here.”
In minutes Anne Harris was sitting in the living room across from Neely. She demurely adjusted her skirt down over her knees and smoothed her hair back from her eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Neely?” Although they hadn’t been introduced, the letters on his name tag were unmistakable.
Trooper Neely was at a loss about where to start. “I’m here in an official capacity, Mrs. Harris.”
“I didn’t think you made social calls in uniform, Trooper Neely.”
“No, ma’am.” Well, he was making a fool of himself again, but there was nothing for it but to keep going. He cleared his throat and surreptitiously examined the victim. She looked mighty healthy, with no visible wounds.
“I find your scrutiny uncomfortable, Mr. Neely,” Mrs. Harris said.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I assume you aren’t wounded?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt you in any way?”
“Who hurt me?”
“Why, your husband!”
“I’m quite unhurt.”
“All the shots missed?”
“What shots?” Anne Harris started to ask, but then she remembered the shotgun blast that Ed had aimed off to one side, up into the air. And the spent shell had ended up at Hayden’s feet. So melodramatic! Only Ed Harris could have pulled off a moment like that.
“There was only one shot,” she said now, “which didn’t hurt anyone.”
Trooper Neely was visibly disappointed. He made a note, a large “I” with a circle around it, in his notebook. “So he missed?”
“He didn’t aim at anyone.”
“Not even the prosecuting attorney?”
“Oh, no. Ed just fired up into the air for effect.”
“What effect?”
“He had just told Hayden to take good care of me.”
“I see.”
“I’m glad that you do.”
Trooper Neely blushed. “I’m sorry that I have to ask this,” he said, “but was this shot fired before or after your husband caught you and the prosecutor in bed together?”
It was Anne Harris’ turn to blush. “After,” she admitted.
“And you are now living as the second Mrs. Elkins?”
Fury swept over Anne like a wave. She almost came out of her chair after the twit. “Really, I don’t see what gives you the right to ask these questions, sir.”
Correctly realizing that he wasn’t handling this very well, and at a loss as to how to do it better, Sam Neely retreated to the shield of duty. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Trying to determine if a crime has been committed. There was a complaint.”
“By whom?”
Trooper Neely consulted his notes. “A Mrs. Eufala Davis and a Mrs. Twila Wilfred.”
“Gossips. Two old biddy gossips with no firsthand information.”
“Be that as it may, you see that I must do my duty, which is to investigate. It is not as if I have a choice in this matter.”
“Ask your questions.”
“Are you now living as the second Mrs. Elkins?”
“Yes.” She said it with simple dignity. If they wanted something to gossip about, she was perfectly capable of giving it to them. Trooper Neely opened his mouth, but she signified that she had more to say. “Matilda and I will of course share the housework and shopping.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She will do the yardwork. I was never much good with plants. Except petunias. I’ve always had good luck with petunias.” She managed to look pleased with herself.
Feeling that he must do something, Trooper Sam Neely, frustrated warrior for justice, made a note about petunias.
“But I will do the windows,” Anne continued bravely. “Matilda has always loathed doing windows.”
“I see.” Neely bent to the task of making another note.
Anne didn’t pause. “We will share the kitchen duties. We each have a few specialty dishes that we are quite proud of. For example, I do a terrific fried eggplant—it just melts in your mouth. The secret is the spices in the breading. Hayden loves it.”
“Un-huh.”
“However, we are still discussing the conjugal arrangements.”
“Con-jew—?”
“Yes. Matilda wants me to use the guest bedroom and Hayden can just visit each of us every other night, but I think we should all share the master bedroom. The bed is quite large.”
She leaned forward, which gave the young trooper an excellent view of her cleavage, and explained earnestly, “It’s an antique four-poster with a feather mattress. Quite comfortable for three. So snuggly.” She wiggled her shoulders, which made the front of her blouse move in a very interesting way.
Sam Neely tore his gaze from Mrs. Harris’ jiggling blouse and wrote furiously on his notepad. When he finished and looked up, Anne gave him an angelic smile.
“Uh, uh, have any of you…has anyone…involved, so to speak…been to see about a divorce?”
“Really, Mr. Neely! I certainly couldn’t comment upon that! Divorce is a civil matter—I thought you were investigating criminal conduct.”
“Oh, yes. Yes. I am trying to. Still, perhaps it might have some bearing…”
“I can’t see how.”
“Umm.”
“I think the three of us will be quite happy here.”
“I…I hope so.” Trooper Neely instantly regretted that remark, but those were the first words that came to mind, and they popped out before he had time to stop them.
“Thank you.” Anne floated from her chair and came across the room, where she seized him lightly but insistently by the elbow. She steered him toward the door. “I’ll relay your good wishes to Matilda and Hayden. Please come back when we have the open house.”
“Open house?”
“We’ll send you an invitation.” She eased the front door shut in his face.
Ed Harris sat behind his big desk in his big corner office on the second floor of the bank staring at nothing at all. He felt like hell. After he awoke this morning he had showered, shaved and dressed, as usual, then wandered through the house touching this and that, listening for sounds that weren’t there. The place was like a tomb.
Damn Anne! They had been so happy here. Then she ruined everything.
Were they happy?
Here in the office he worried that question yet again. Well, he had been happy. He had the bank and his friends, golf occasionally, fishing in the spring and summer, bird hunting in the fall, and of course he had Anne. Beautiful, vivacious, witty Anne, Anne with her gorgeous smile and droll observations, Anne who made every day an adventure.
And she had bedded his best friend, Hayden Elkins, and on that day—of all days—he had gotten a stomachache and gone home.
Hayden had insisted that incident was the first time. Ed Harris had been looking at his wife when Hayden said it, and he believed the man.
It seemed like something from a nightmare. Your whole life comes crashing down around your ears. Just shatters like old crystal into a million sharp little pieces. And you continue to shower, shave, and soldier on, smiling bravely at the world…
It doesn’t matter. No, really, I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and die quietly. I won’t make a fuss. There’ll be no unsightly mess. Trust me. Go on about your business, please.
He always despised people like that. So instinctively he had done just the opposite—made a huge mess. Sent Anne home with Hayden.
The only bright spot was the fix dear ol’ Hayden was in. That jerk!
Maybe, Ed mused, he should have shot Hayden. A spray of birdshot right in the crotch. Put a dozen of those little BBs in that pecker that he was so proud of. Sitting here now, Ed Harris wished he had done just that.
The telephone rang. And rang and rang. He didn’t even glance at it.
It had stopped ringing when his secretary opened the door without knocking and stuck her head in. “Your daughter is calling, Mr. Harris.”
He waited until the secretary had closed the door, then picked up the telephone.
“Hello.”
“Dad.”
“Hi, kid.” Ruth was a sophomore at State College this year. This was the first time she had called since he and Anne delivered her to the dorm the week prior to Labor Day.
“My telephone has been ringing off the hook, Dad. And I just got off the phone with Mom.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can’t leave you two alone for a minute.”
“What’s on your mind, Ruth?”
“Guess.”
“I sent you money last week.”
“Dad!”
“You’re not coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“How could you, Dad? How on earth could you send Mom over to the Elkinses’ at the point of a gun?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You two have really stepped in the poop this time. I know it was a hell of a shock, finding Mom in bed with that puffed-up ass you call a friend, but still…Are you trying to kill Mrs. Elkins?”
“I don’t give a hoot in hell about Matilda Elkins. She’s Hayden’s problem. He should have thought of her before he—”
“Oh, my God!” his daughter moaned. “At my tender age, before I even get a chance to have a life of my own, I have to cope with two senile parents who can still fuck.”
“Life’s unfair,” her father told her. “Everyone has their cross to bear.”
“So are you going to divorce her?”
“Haven’t thought about it.”
“You new moderns! Why didn’t you think about that before you marched her off with a gun in her back?”
“It never occurred to me.”
“Mom says the state police are investigating. With your luck you’ll wind up in jail.”
He made a noise.
“Well, have you given any thought to why Mom was in bed with Hayden?”
“She never liked to do it standing up.”
“Dad! I’m serious.”
“Do you think she’s started through menopause?”
“For Christ’s sake! I’m trying to have a serious conversation and you give me this crap!”
“Listen, Ruth. If I knew what goes through your mother’s head we would not have lasted this long. And I’m not going to sit here scratching my navel meditating about why it’s my fault your mother went to bed with Hayden Elkins.”
“You’re innocent as a newborn lamb,” Ruth said, her voice dripping with disgust.
“Kid, I’m going to give you some good advice. Better drop psychology—you’re going to fail the course.”
Ruth hung up on him.
Now there was a knock on the door. The secretary opened it and stuck her head in again. “You have a visitor, Mr. Harris.”
“I told you I didn’t want to see anybody, and by God I meant it.”
“Yessir. But this is a state policeman. Apparently about your domestic crisis.”
He gave her an evil look. She didn’t turn a hair. “Tell him to get a warrant.”
“Mr. Harris! Really!”
“Okay, God damn it, send him in.”
Trooper Sam Neely was very professional. He had been like a fish out of water questioning Mrs. Harris, but this was Man to Man. He told Ed that he was investigating a felony menacing complaint.
“At this point, sir, you are not a suspect, but you may become one during the course of this conversation. You don’t have to talk to me and you don’t have to answer any questions.”
Ed Harris brushed that away as if he were shooing a fly. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened at your house yesterday afternoon. Everything you can recall.”
So Ed went through it. The stomachache, the bedroom scene, the shotgun, forcing them to pack Anne’s stuff, the shot fired at the trees, his comment to Hayden about taking care of Anne.
“Or the shotgun would ‘go off’?”
“That’s what I said, as near as I can recall.”
“And the gun was loaded when you pointed it at Mr. Elkins and Mrs. Harris?”
“Of course it was loaded. It would be silly to point an empty gun at someone.”
“You understand, I’m just clarifying.”
“Clarify away.”
“Would you have shot Mr. Elkins or Mrs. Harris if they didn’t do as you instructed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you intend to shoot Mr. Elkins in the future if he doesn’t do right by Mrs. Harris?”
“I have no intentions just now.”
“But you might shoot him?”
“You are asking me to speculate. My answer is that I have no intentions at all at the present time.”
“Could he have taken your remarks as a threat?”
“I don’t know how he took anything. Ask him.”
“Or your conduct? Do you think he perceived your pointing the shotgun as a threat?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“Mr. Harris, do you think a reasonable man would have felt threatened by your conduct?”
“What I think is my business and none of yours, Trooper. Now, I have better things to do than sit here listening to you argue the case to the jury. Scoot. Scram. Don’t come back unless you have a warrant.”
Trooper Neely left with dignity.
In the reception area the secretary gave him a huge smile. Neely decided not to return it. She might end up as a witness, or even a victim. This Harris fellow might be one of those ding-dongs who goes off his nut and runs berserk.
Well, he had the statements of two of the three people involved, so he might as well get the third one. Hayden Elkins. The county prosecutor. Being county prosecutor was only a part-time job, so Elkins had an extensive private practice. He maintained his own office in a fairly new building just across from the courthouse.
Elkins’ secretary smiled at Neely and asked him to take a seat. He cooled his heels for fifteen minutes until an old man came walking slowly from the prosecutor’s private office. The secretary told Neely he could go in now.
Neely went along the hall and entered the inner sanctum.
“Good morning, sir.”
Indeed, it was still morning, only 11:45. The prosecutor looked as if he hadn’t slept. His hair was rumpled, his clothes messy, and his beard blue on his pasty white face.
He grunted at Neely.
“Sir, I’ve come to interview you about a felony menacing complaint.”
“Me?”
“Yessir. I understand that you and Mrs. Anne Harris—”
“What? Who made this complaint?”
“Uh…” Neely consulted his notes again. “Mrs. Eufala Davis and Mrs. Twila Wilfred.”
“Those two crones? You listened to poisonous gossip from two half-wit busybodies who have absolutely no personal knowledge of a damned thing?”
“But—”
“Then you come bustling in here to question me about something that is none of your business? You get out of this office! Git! Scram! Out, you stupid, silly nincompoop!”
“Sir, there’s a question of bigamy. Mrs. Harris says she is your second wife—”
Hayden Elkins looked as if he were going to have apoplexy. At a loss for words, he sat frozen, pointing at the door.
“I take it, sir, that this means that you decline to be interviewed?”
Recovering his voice, Hayden snarled, “God, you’re quick. That’s exactly what I mean. Out! Now!”
At a loss for what to do next, Trooper Sam Neely went to see the circuit judge. Investigating the prosecutor inevitably meant that certain irregularities were going to be necessary. It seemed to Neely that although he had the prosecutor’s word that no crime had been committed, perhaps a less biased opinion would be in order.
The fog was thick for Neely. There might be a menacing charge lurking somewhere amid all that shotgun pointing, and bigamy did seem to be the word to describe Hayden Elkins’ marital arrangements. A little legal light would help immensely. And if a crime had been committed, it would be nice to know precisely what it might be.
He toyed with the idea of visiting the sheriff. Naw. His sergeant hadn’t had much good to say about Sheriff Arleigh Tate, and there was, of course, the usual professional rivalry between the state police and the county sheriff’s department. If the prosecutor needed to be bit where it hurt, the state police should do the biting.
As he walked the wide, dark, quiet corridors of the courthouse, he tried to put his interview with the prosecutor behind him. He was still smarting from the verbal hiding Hayden had given him.
There was something soothing about the interior of the courthouse, which seemed an oasis of calm amid the human storms that raged outside. Here problems could be dealt with, disputes settled. Here, in this fine old cut-stone building that had been built to endure as the generations came and went. Neely’s footsteps echoed on the polished oak floors. He found the judge’s chambers, squared his shoulders in front of the door, then opened it and went in.
Judge Lester Storm was in his midsixties, with white hair and a booming, gruff voice. Rumor had it that he was an irascible curmudgeon. Since this would be the first time Sam Neely had visited him professionally, the newly minted state trooper was understandably nervous.
The outer office was empty. Neely crossed to the open door to the judge’s office and saw the great man at his desk. He rapped on the sill.
“Come in, Neely,” the judge called, loud enough to wake the dead. The jurist laid down his newspaper and gestured at one of the chairs. “How are you this fine day?”
“Okay, Your Honor,” Neely replied as he dropped into the indicated chair.
Neely heard someone behind him and half turned. It was a woman, the judge’s secretary. She also doubled as the court reporter. Her name was Audrey Something.
“Judge, you have a twelve o’clock hearing scheduled. Elijah Murphy.”
Lester Storm glanced at his watch. “Lucky you’re here, Neely. Have to do Murphy just now. Why don’t you pop over to the county hotel and get him. Bring him over here. This won’t take long—we’ll tend to your business afterwards.”
“Yes, sir.” Neely went.
Elijah Murphy was in the big cell on the second floor of the jail. He was a dirty, bedraggled specimen with only half his hair and teeth. He held out grimy wrists for the cuffs and came right along.
Murphy’s hands were slightly palsied, and he concentrated fiercely on putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t until Murphy was seated in front of the judge’s desk and Neely got a look at him in good light that the state policeman realized the man had the DTs.
“How is everything over at the jail?” Judge Storm asked the prisoner.
“Dry, judge. Bone dry.”
Lester Storm chuckled. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and extracted a water glass, which he passed to Murphy. Then he removed a bottle from the same drawer and poured Murphy several fingers. Jack Daniel’s.
“Here’s looking at you,” Murphy muttered, and tossed off the whiskey as if it were water. He set the empty glass back on the desk, shivered once, sighed, then sat waiting.
The judge had the file in front of him. He opened and perused it. “You are charged with indecent exposure. Aggravated. The aggravated part is why they sent it to me instead of the justice of the peace. Theoretically upon conviction I could give you a year in the can—the squire can only give out six months max.”
Murphy just nodded. He glanced at Neely as if seeing him for the first time, then let his gaze linger lovingly on Audrey the stenographer, who was taking shorthand on a legal pad.
Neely was appalled. This wasn’t like any trial he had ever heard discussed at the state police academy. He cleared his throat explosively and the judge looked at him over his glasses.
“Your Honor, is this Murphy’s trial?”
“Yep. This is it,” he was informed.
“Uh, what about lawyers? A defense lawyer, a prosecutor?”
“Murphy here doesn’t want a lawyer. Never has in the past. Or do you?” The judge addressed this last query to the defendant.
“Nope. Can’t afford no lawyer. Don’t want a free one neither.”
“But what about the prosecutor?” Trooper Neely objected. Really, this little in camera disposition was extremely irregular.
“Hayden? Why should the county pay to have him over here for this?” the judge asked. “My God, the taxpayers don’t want their money squandered on misdemeanors and such. Now, if Murphy here thinks he didn’t get a fair shake, he can always get a free lawyer who will appeal his case to the trolls on the Supreme Court in Capitol City. Isn’t that right, Murphy?”
“That’s right,” Elijah Murphy acknowledged.
Neely wasn’t convinced. “What about witnesses? Swearing to tell the truth and all that?”
The judge just grunted. He held up a sheet of paper and fluttered it. “Trooper Tutwiler did the investigation. Here’s his report. As for telling the truth, Murphy will do that, won’t you, Murphy?”
“Yessir. You bet.”
Lester Storm cast a cold eye on Neely, which stoppered him, then glanced again at the police report. “Murphy, it says here that you exposed yourself to the widow Wilfred.”
Wilfred? Wasn’t that the woman who came to see Neely this morning? Iron-gray hair, glasses, a little plump—not a bad-looking lady.
“She was looking at me through field glasses, Judge,” Murphy explained. “Sitting up in her house looking at me through the window when I come outside on my porch. Been doing that on and off for months. A man can only take so much. So that morning when I went outside and seen her spying again, I just dropped my pants and showed her what I had.”
“And?”
“Waved it at her a little.”
“Says here you did more than wave it.” The judge fluttered the paper again.
“Well,” Murphy admitted with a glance at Audrey Something, “I did stroke it a few times to make her mad.”
“You accomplished that feat. She called the state police.”
“Yeah, and Tutwiler asked a lot of questions, then took me off to jail. Been over there a week. And a very dry week it’s been, too.”
“By any chance are you interested in the widow Wilfred?” the judge asked softly as he arranged the papers in the file.
Murphy was taken aback. “You mean…? Why, no! Of course not.”
“She interested in you?”
“Not that I ever noticed. Always spying to see what I’m up to, complaining to everyone about the junk around my shack, shouting at me to sober up and take a bath…why, if she’s got romantic notions, I never heard tell of making ’em known thataway.”
“You never know about women,” Judge Lester Storm told the defendant. “Maybe you ought to try to be nice to her and see what happens.”
Murphy sat silently contemplating the possibility that the widow Wilfred might have something on her mind besides making his life miserable. Neely could tell from his expression how unlikely Murphy thought that was.
Remembering Mrs. Wilfred and staring at Murphy, as unprepossessing a human specimen as he had yet had the misfortune to look upon, Neely concluded that the judge had a screw loose somewhere.
“Well, you’ve been in jail a week,” Lester Storm said with a sigh. “Give you credit for time served. They’ll let you out Saturday morning to make room for the Saturday night party crowd. Until then you can keep eating county food and using county toilet paper and sleeping in a county bed. Don’t think you’re doing right by your fellow taxpayers, Murphy. Honest, I don’t.”
Elijah Murphy bowed his head contritely.
“Nobody gives a hoot what you do up at your shack, except maybe the widow Wilfred—and I think you ought to explore that a little—but when you’re down here at the county hotel living the high life, that’s something else.”
“I’m sorry, Judge.”
“Neely will take you back to jail. Remember your fellow citizens the next time you get a wild hair.”
“Yessir.”
The judge nodded at Trooper Neely as Murphy rose from his chair. The prisoner led the way out, with the policeman following.
When Neely returned to the judge’s chambers, Audrey Something was still there, seated in the chair that Murphy had vacated.
“What can I do for you today, Neely?” the judge asked as he adjusted his fanny in his padded swivel chair.
“Sir, I’ve got a highly irregular situation and I need some guidance on what I ought to do next. I tried to interview the prosecutor, but he declined to help me.”
The judge sat up straight. “Hayden Elkins? He refused to talk to the state police?”
“Yes, sir. This matter involves him.”
Lester Storm snorted. “Let’s hear it.”
“We received a complaint that he’s living with two women.”
“Two?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Elkins and one Anne Harris. I understand she’s the banker’s wife. Apparently Mr. Harris caught the prosecutor and Mrs. Harris in bed together yesterday afternoon and waved a shotgun around and fired a shot and told Elkins that he could just take Mrs. Harris home and treat her like a second wife. She’s at the Elkins house, worrying about the conjugal arrangements…”
He got no further because the judge was laughing. He wasn’t just laughing, he was roaring, a hearty belly laugh that made his face redder and redder. Finally he choked. Gasping for air, his face beet red, he jerked open the bottom desk drawer and got out a glass, into which he splashed some whiskey. This he tossed off neat.
When he got himself more or less under control, Lester Storm laughed some more. He looked at Audrey, who was blushing deeply and smiling, then went off into another laughing fit.
Trooper Neely lowered himself into a chair and made himself comfortable while the judge hooted and chuckled and giggled.
Finally the jurist said, “Okay, tell me all of it.”
Trooper Neely complied. He used his notes. He told about Ed Harris’ stomachache, the bedroom, the shotgun, and the threat.
The judge laughed so hard he almost fell out of the chair.
“Damn, Neely,” he gasped, “you’re gonna kill me. Is this true or did you just make it up?”
“I wouldn’t make up something like this, sir,” Sam Neely said primly.
“Hayden and Anne Harris! Second wife!” Lester Storm howled, then leaned back in his chair and laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.
When his mirth subsided this time, the judge asked, “Where did you get that information about conjugal arrangements?”
“Uh, I went out to Elkins’ house and talked to Anne Harris.”
“No!”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“She said…?”
Neely consulted his notes. The judge howled over the featherbed crack and became incoherent when he heard the open-house remark. “By God,” he exclaimed finally, “that is a woman! I wish to hell I were ten years younger—I’d go after her my own self.”
After Lester let it percolate awhile, he asked Neely, “How’d you get into this, anyway?”
“I was investigating a complaint. Mrs. Wilfred and Mrs. Davis came into my office this morning and swore out a complaint against the prosecutor. They alleged bigamy. They also swore out a complaint against Ed Harris, alleging that he menaced his wife and Hayden Elkins with a shotgun. They wanted to file a complaint against Harris for attempted murder, but they alleged nothing to support that charge. These does seem, however, to have been a little criminal shotgun pointing going on at the Harris household yesterday afternoon.”
“Neely, why didn’t you throw those two women out of your office?”
“Davis and Wilfred? Why would I do that?”
“For heaven’s sake, son! Those two women are in every other week swearing out complaints against somebody.” Lester shook his head and chuckled. “But I am not going to say anything more about Harris and Elkins. Those two unhappy fornicators may wind up in front of me for something or other, like a divorce. Go see Arleigh Tate. He can tell you what you have there.”
Trooper Neely rose and thanked the judge for his time.
“No. Thank you,” Lester Storm wheezed. “My wife is trying to get me to retire. If I’d been sitting in Florida listening to old farts tell me about their diseases, I’d have missed this. They’re going to have to carry me out of this office in a box.”
He waved his hand, shooing Neely out.
Audrey dived out the door behind Neely. She made sure the door to the corridor was firmly closed and closed the door to the judge’s office—Lester was still in there chuckling and snorting—and picked up the telephone. Her sister would love to hear about this! The banker, the banker’s wife, the county prosecutor…Golly!
Sheriff Arleigh Tate was a short, fat man who chewed green horse-dick cigars. As he listened to Neely’s tale, he giggled. Occasionally he removed what was left of his cigar from his mouth and spit into a brass spittoon beside his desk, but mainly he just giggled, which made his belly quiver. He reminded Neely a little of Santa Claus.
When Neely ran dry, Tate said, “Son, that there’s one hell of a tale. Better told than when my wife related it to me an hour ago. That bit about con-jew-gal arrangements is a very nice touch. Fried eggplant, huh?”
“Yes, sir. She said the secret is the spices in the breading.”
Tate giggled and spit some more. He rolled the tobacco mess around in his mouth as he eyed Neely with interest. “Why’d you question those people?”
“I told you. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Wilfred—”
“They were just gossiping. If us cops investigate every piece of gossip that comes our way, we’ll be busier than flies at a Labor Day picnic.”
“Bigamy? Is there a bigamy charge against Elkins?”
“Bigamy requires two simultaneous marriages. You’ve got to marry the second wife before you get legally rid of the first one. Has Hayden taken Anne Harris to the altar?”
“Uh, there’s no evidence of that. He’s just living with her as his second wife.”
“We’ll have to use a couple of the larger counties as jails if we arrest everybody in this state who is living with a woman without the benefit of holy matrimony,” Arleigh Tate declared. “Fortunately that still ain’t a crime as of this morning.”
“Felony menacing?”
“Waving a gun around ain’t legal if—and this is a big if—if someone felt menaced. Who felt menaced?”
“Well, no one would admit it.”
“Even if they did and we were fools enough to take this to court, no jury would convict Ed Harris of anything. He didn’t shoot anybody, and he’s got half the county laughing at the man who screwed his wife. Now that’s pretty damned good, I’d say.”
“I suppose,” Trooper Neely said sadly, ruffling through the pages of his notebook.
“Don’t feel bad, son,” Sheriff Tate said. “Was this your first case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be enough to keep you busy. The folks hereabouts don’t lead quiet lives.”