Rhodes didn’t feel like the time was right for a speech on the dangers of citizens taking the law into their own hands. “Yes, it was,” he said. Buddy was at the car, radioing Hack.
“That woman has caused me grief,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “It’s the dope that’s ruinin’ the nation. People like her have got to be stopped.”
Mrs. Ramsey sat stolidly in one of the wooden chairs where Rhodes and Buddy had been tied. Rhodes sat in the other, his head drooping down on his chest. He was almost too tired to answer. “You’re right,” he said.
Wyneva, Nellie, and Rapper, tied hand and foot, were propped against the wall of the room. Mrs. Ramsey’s rifle was safely out of their reach, and safely out of Mrs. Ramsey’s reach for that matter. Rapper was in even worse shape than Rhodes, barely conscious. Nellie and Wyneva sat quietly, seemingly with little to say.
Mrs. Ramsey was the only one who felt like talking. “She took Bert, and she turned him,” she said, looking malevolently at Wyneva. “He was a fine man, until she turned him. She’s to blame.”
“That’s not so,” Wyneva said. Rhodes looked up. “Bert and me got along,” Wyneva said. “I really liked Bert. More than anybody, ever.”
“Humph,” Mrs. Ramsey said.
It was very late when Rhodes got home, but he remembered to feed the dog, who was waiting patiently in the back yard. He also refilled the water dish. Then he went inside.
The late movie was The Magnificent Seven. Rhodes tried to stay awake for his favorite line, when Horst Buckholtz tells Yul Brynner that the men of the Mexican village have hidden their women for fear that Brynner and his gunslingers might rape them. “Well,” says Brynner, “we might.”
He didn’t make it, though. He went to sleep while Brynner and Steve McQueen were still driving the hearse to Boot Hill.
Rhodes was at the jail early the next morning. Rapper, Nellie, and Wyneva had been booked in the previous night. Malvin and Cox were due to arrive at nine-thirty for their chance at questioning them, and Rhodes, who had been simply too tired the night before, wanted to get a few minutes with them first.
Before he could get to them, however, he had to get through Hack. “Mornin’, Sheriff,” Hack said.
Rhodes waited. He knew something more was coming. It usually did.
“You feelin’ better today?” Hack was being solicitous, something he liked to practice on occasion, to put off telling what was really on his mind.
“I’m fine, Hack,” Rhodes said.”I guess we made things a little hectic in here last night. I was pretty tired after it was all over. How about yourself?”
It was the opening Hack had been waiting for. “I was pretty tired, too,” he said. “But I didn’t get to go right to sleep like some people. I tried to sack out on my cot, but you might know there’d be trouble.”
Now he was getting to the heart of the matter. “What kind of trouble?” Rhodes asked.
“Damned rabbit hunter,” Hack said.
“Rabbit hunter?” Rhodes asked. “It must have been two o’clock in the morning.”
“ ‘Bout that,” Hack said. “That was the trouble.”
Hack stopped. Rhodes knew that Hack wanted him to say something to urge him on, but Rhodes couldn’t think of anything. So he just sat and waited.
“Well,” Hack said finally, “there was this fella who waved Ruth Grady down. Wanted to buy a permit to shoot rabbits at night, he said. Said he used to do that all the time up in Arkansas when he was a boy and wanted to give it a try here. Spotlight ‘em, he said. Like deer.”
“That’s illegal,” Rhodes said. “Deer and rabbits both. Maybe they don’t know that in Arkansas.”
“They don’t know diddly in Arkansas, if you ask me,” Hack said. “Anyway, Ruth told him about it bein’ illegal. Then he wanted to know if she was a real deputy sheriff. Them people in Arkansas got a hell of a nerve. She could tell he was about three sheets to the wind, so she brought him in. He’s still sleepin’ it off upstairs.”
Rhodes had to restrain his laughter. Hack’s indignation was comical enough on its own, but based on Hack’s past feelings about Ruth Grady it was downright hilarious. Rhodes kept a straight face with difficulty. “I hope the judge sets a high bail,” he said.
“Damn right,” Hack said. “Damn Arkansas.”
Rhodes went back to the cell area. The cells were old and uncomfortable. The mattresses were thin, the pipes were rusty. Blacklin County needed a new jail, and before too long they would have to build one. Or else some judge would order them to do it. So far no prisoners had complained, but that was probably because Lawton took such good care of things. Everything was old, but everything was clean. Lawton was mopping the hall when Rhodes stopped in front of Rapper’s cell.
“Did you give them a good breakfast today?” Hack asked.
“The best,” Lawton said. “Miz Stutts outdid herself.”
Mrs. Stutts cooked for the jail. It was sort of a hobby for her, and she did it mostly as a favor to the county, which paid for the groceries and a little for her time. Mrs. Stutts’s meals were another reason that no one had ever complained very strongly about the jail. Most prisoners would readily admit that they ate better there than anywhere else. Some got themselves arrested regularly around Thanksgiving, just for her dressing.
Rapper didn’t look especially thrilled with what he had eaten, but his plate was clean. He sat on his cot, looking like a pudgy man with a problem, his oiled hair in disarray. He was leaning forward, with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hanging down. The left hand was tied with a white bandage that was already beginning to look a bit dirty. He looked up as Rhodes stopped outside his cell.
The disappointing thing to Rhodes was that Rapper looked better than Rhodes did. Rhodes was sore in places that he didn’t know could even get sore, but Rapper looked basically unscratched except for a few streaks of red on his face where the ground had scraped it. And, of course, his hand. Rhodes knew that under the bandage three of the fingers were shorter than they had been the night before.
Rapper looked up at Rhodes with bored eyes.
“I think we can tie you in to the Cullens murder as an accessory,” Rhodes said by way of opening the conversation.
Rapper almost laughed. “If that’s what you booked me for, I’ll be out of here before you can read me my rights. I’ve already called my lawyer.”
“There are a few other things,” Rhodes said. “Like assault on a police officer, possession of a deadly weapon, conspiracy, intent to commit murder. .”
Rapper stood up and walked over to the bars. “Don’t try to shit me,” he said. “I doubt any of that will stand up. Most of it’s your word against mine. Yours and your deputy’s maybe. Nothing solid. Nothing.”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. “Maybe not. Then there’s the dope. Lots of solid evidence there.”
“Growing on Bert Ramsey’s land,” Rapper said, gripping the bars and smiling. “Prove I ever had a connection with Ramsey. What Wyneva said last night? Forget it. She’ll never say it again.”
“Let’s say we just forget it,” Rhodes said. “Fine by me. Then we have you, Nellie, Jayse, all standing around in the room with a dead body and Jayse holding the murder weapon. You got a pretty good lawyer?”
“The best,” Rapper said, the grin still in place. “Good enough to get Wyneva to admit the murder again if I want her to.”
Rhodes hated Rapper for being able to stand up so easily. If Rhodes had been able to sit on a soft cot, he would have done so. He had to stand. He wished he’d been able to hurt Rapper more. Then he was sorry he’d wished it.
“All right,” Rhodes said, “but there’s still Bert Ramsey. We’ll get you on that one. All I have to do is find the gun. And when I tell Wyneva that you killed Bert, she’ll tell us everything she knows. The only riding you’ll be doing then is in the prison rodeo down in Huntsville. No more motorcycles for you.”