you’re holding in your hand’s a gaff for a fighting cock.”
“Right. Except for that.”
Ballinger was looking down at the floor now. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
The floor was as white and clean as the rest of the room, but there was something reddish brown lying near Ballinger’s right foot.
“It must’ve come from Lige’s clothes,” Ballinger said. “Whatever it is.”
Rhodes bent down and started to pick it up. It drifted away from him and he had to reach again. That time he got it.
“It’s a feather,” he said, straightening up.
“What kind of feather?” Ballinger asked.
Rhodes couldn’t answer that, but he would have bet on one of two things: it came from either an emu or a fighting cock.
I t was about five o’clock when Rhodes arrived at the jail. There was still plenty of daylight left, and he would go back to Obert to talk to Nard King later. Right now, he wanted to talk to Lawton.
The jailer wasn’t in the office when Rhodes entered. Hack was there, however, and so was his friend, Mrs. McGee. In spite of the heat, she was, as usual, wearing a sweater and a knitted cap that was pulled down over her ears.
“How are you, Mrs. McGee?” Rhodes asked.
“I’m just fine, thank you, Sheriff,” she said.
She and Hack were watching a small television set that was sitting in the middle of Hack’s desk.
“What’s that?” Rhodes asked, indicating the set.
“Mega Watchman,” Hack said. “Miz McGee brought it over here so I could watch TV. Pretty good picture, don’t you think?”
The picture was so small that Rhodes could hardly see it from across the room. He walked over closer to the desk.
“‘Course we can’t get anything but the close-by stations,” Hack said. “None of that cable stuff. But that’s better than nothin’.”
While Hack hadn’t been wanting a television set for as long as he’d been wanting a computer, he’d said more than once that it would be nice to have one. The set was tuned in to a Texas Rangers game.
“The prisoners are going to complain more than ever now,” Rhodes said. There was no television in the cells.
“Too bad,” Hack said. He plainly didn’t care. He was just interested in watching the game.
Rhodes supposed there was nothing wrong with having a TV set in the office, as long as it didn’t interfere with the work. He didn’t watch much himself, unless there was an old movie on.
“Better take a break,” he told Hack. “I want you to put out an APB on Lige Ward’s pickup. I didn’t see it at his house. You can use that computer of yours to find out the make and model and license number.”
Hack liked nothing better than a chance to use the computer. “I’ve already checked the serial number of that pistol you tagged and bagged. It’s supposed to belong to some fella in Wichita Falls, but you can bet he sold it to somebody who sold it to somebody else who sold it to somebody else.”
“Give him a call anyway,” Rhodes said.
“Sure thing. But right now I got to look up that pickup truck.” Hack turned from the game and started tapping away.
“Where’s Lawton?” Rhodes asked before Hack got too involved.
Hack looked up from the monitor. “He’s up in the cellblock with those three fellas Ruth brought in. They’re gripin’ because it’s takin’ the bondsman too long to get here.”
“I’d better talk to them before he does,” Rhodes said. Lawton could wait, not that Rhodes expected to get much out of the three men.
And he didn’t. All three denied ownership of the pistol, and Rhodes was sure there wouldn’t be any help from the man in Wichita Falls. The pistol could easily have been bought at a flea market somewhere. Ferrin claimed that they had found it.
“What about the cartridges?” Rhodes asked him. “Did you find those, too?”
“Bought ’em at Wal-Mart,” Ferrin said.
It seemed easy enough for him to remember that, but the other two remembered it as well. It had been a
“Right. Except for that.”
Ballinger was looking down at the floor now. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
The floor was as white and clean as the rest of the room, but there was something reddish brown lying near Ballinger’s right foot.
“It must’ve come from Lige’s clothes,” Ballinger said. “Whatever it is.”
Rhodes bent down and started to pick it up. It drifted away from him and he had to reach again. That time he got it.
“It’s a feather,” he said, straightening up.
“What kind of feather?” Ballinger asked.
Rhodes couldn’t answer that, but he would have bet on one of two things: it came from either an emu or a fighting cock.
I t was about five o’clock when Rhodes arrived at the jail. There was still plenty of daylight left, and he would go back to Obert to talk to Nard King later. Right now, he wanted to talk to Lawton.
The jailer wasn’t in the office when Rhodes entered. Hack was there, however, and so was his friend, Mrs. McGee. In spite of the heat, she was, as usual, wearing a sweater and a knitted cap that was pulled down over her ears.
“How are you, Mrs. McGee?” Rhodes asked.
“I’m just fine, thank you, Sheriff,” she said.
She and Hack were watching a small television set that was sitting in the middle of Hack’s desk.
“What’s that?” Rhodes asked, indicating the set.
“Mega Watchman,” Hack said. “Miz McGee brought it over here so I could watch TV. Pretty good picture, don’t you think?”
The picture was so small that Rhodes could hardly see it from across the room. He walked over closer to the desk.
“‘Course we can’t get anything but the close-by stations,” Hack said. “None of that cable stuff. But that’s better than nothin’.”
While Hack hadn’t been wanting a television set for as long as he’d been wanting a computer, he’d said more than once that it would be nice to have one. The set was tuned in to a Texas Rangers game.
“The prisoners are going to complain more than ever now,” Rhodes said. There was no television in the cells.
“Too bad,” Hack said. He plainly didn’t care. He was just interested in watching the game.
Rhodes supposed there was nothing wrong with having a TV set in the office, as long as it didn’t interfere with the work. He didn’t watch much himself, unless there was an old movie on.
“Better take a break,” he told Hack. “I want you to put out an APB on Lige Ward’s pickup. I didn’t see it at his house. You can use that computer of yours to find out the make and model and license number.”
Hack liked nothing better than a chance to use the computer. “I’ve already checked the serial number of that pistol you tagged and bagged. It’s supposed to belong to some fella in Wichita Falls, but you can bet he sold it to somebody who sold it to somebody else who sold it to somebody else.”
“Give him a call anyway,” Rhodes said.
“Sure thing. But right now I got to look up that pickup truck.” Hack turned from the game and started tapping away.
“Where’s Lawton?” Rhodes asked before Hack got too involved.
Hack looked up from the monitor. “He’s up in the cellblock with those three fellas Ruth brought in. They’re gripin’ because it’s takin’ the bondsman too long to get here.”
“I’d better talk to them before he does,” Rhodes said. Lawton could wait, not that Rhodes expected to get much out of the three men.
And he didn’t. All three denied ownership of the pistol, and Rhodes was sure there wouldn’t be any help from the man in Wichita Falls. The pistol could easily have been bought at a flea market somewhere. Ferrin claimed that they had found it.
“What about the cartridges?” Rhodes asked him. “Did you find those, too?”
“Bought ’em at Wal-Mart,” Ferrin said.
It seemed easy enough for him to remember that, but the other two remembered it as well. It had been a
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