big production for them to decide which one was sober enough to go into the store and make the purchase.
“Where did you find the pistol?” Rhodes asked.
Ferrin couldn’t remember, nor could the other two, or so they said. Rhodes thought that they might even be telling the truth, since they hadn’t had any time together to get their stories straight, unless they’d managed to do it in the back of the car when Ruth was bringing them in. Rhodes didn’t think that was the case.
There was one thing that Kyle Foster and Mike Galloway agreed on however, and that was who found the pistol. Both of them were sure it was Ferrin.
“I know because he was the one doin’ most of the shootin’,” Foster said. “If I’d’ve found it, I’d be the one who got to shoot it.”
Rhodes questioned each of the three men separately in different cells, and the story that he pieced together was that they’d started drinking on Saturday night at the Palm Club and had continued on well into Sunday morning. They’d gone to Ferrin’s house after the Palm Club closed down.
Ferrin left the other two there and went out to buy beer. He’d come back with a lot of it, a case or two or three, and they drank some more. Then they slept for a couple of hours. When they woke up, they started drinking again.
After a while, they decided that it was a pretty day and that they should get out and enjoy the sunshine. They’d driven around in Ferrin’s pickup, still drinking, for an unspecified length of time—none of them could remember how long—before they ran across the portable toilet and decided to have some fun with it. Somewhere in there, Ferrin, or someone, had found the pistol, but everyone was vague about that part.
Now that the three of them hadn’t had a drink for a good while, none of them was feeling so well. Their complexions were grayish green, and their eyes were red. Rhodes could tell that they would’ve liked to go somewhere nicer than a jail cell and lie down for a long time.
But he kept after them, questioning them about the portable toilet and the pistol. “Did you find them together or in different places?” he asked Ferrin.
Ferrin’s hat was on the iron cot in the cell, and he put his hands up to the sides of his head. “I can’t remember. I told you ten times I couldn’t remember. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because there was a dead man in that toilet, and you were shooting at it. Maybe you even killed him. That’s why.”
“I didn’t kill anybody!” Ferrin said. “We just found the damn pistol and we thought it’d be fun to shoot at somethin’. That’s all there was to it.”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. “But maybe not. I’ll be talking to you again.”
Ferrin didn’t say anything; he just sat with his head between his hands as if trying to hold it together.
“If I were you, I’d try to remember where I found that pistol,” Rhodes said before he left the cell.
Ferrin just grunted. Rhodes couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.
All three of them probably knew that Rhodes didn’t really have anything on them other than a few misdemeanor charges: public intoxication, creating a disturbance, and unlawful possession of a firearm. The last one was a Class A, but it still wasn’t a felony. He’d keep hammering at them anyway.
L awton was waiting in the office when Rhodes came back down. He was over by Hack’s desk watching the Ranger game.
“Cockfighting,” Rhodes said.
Lawton’s head jerked up. “That’s it! That’s what I heard about Lige Ward. How’d you know, Sheriff?”
Rhodes resisted the urge to say that a little bird had told him. He reached into his pocket and brought out the gaff.
“Ever see one of these before?”
Miz McGee and Hack looked too. Miz McGee didn’t appear to know what it was, but Hack did. So did Lawton.
“It’s a gaff like they use on fightin’ cocks,” Lawton said. “But it don’t look quite right, someway.”
“What
“Where did you find the pistol?” Rhodes asked.
Ferrin couldn’t remember, nor could the other two, or so they said. Rhodes thought that they might even be telling the truth, since they hadn’t had any time together to get their stories straight, unless they’d managed to do it in the back of the car when Ruth was bringing them in. Rhodes didn’t think that was the case.
There was one thing that Kyle Foster and Mike Galloway agreed on however, and that was who found the pistol. Both of them were sure it was Ferrin.
“I know because he was the one doin’ most of the shootin’,” Foster said. “If I’d’ve found it, I’d be the one who got to shoot it.”
Rhodes questioned each of the three men separately in different cells, and the story that he pieced together was that they’d started drinking on Saturday night at the Palm Club and had continued on well into Sunday morning. They’d gone to Ferrin’s house after the Palm Club closed down.
Ferrin left the other two there and went out to buy beer. He’d come back with a lot of it, a case or two or three, and they drank some more. Then they slept for a couple of hours. When they woke up, they started drinking again.
After a while, they decided that it was a pretty day and that they should get out and enjoy the sunshine. They’d driven around in Ferrin’s pickup, still drinking, for an unspecified length of time—none of them could remember how long—before they ran across the portable toilet and decided to have some fun with it. Somewhere in there, Ferrin, or someone, had found the pistol, but everyone was vague about that part.
Now that the three of them hadn’t had a drink for a good while, none of them was feeling so well. Their complexions were grayish green, and their eyes were red. Rhodes could tell that they would’ve liked to go somewhere nicer than a jail cell and lie down for a long time.
But he kept after them, questioning them about the portable toilet and the pistol. “Did you find them together or in different places?” he asked Ferrin.
Ferrin’s hat was on the iron cot in the cell, and he put his hands up to the sides of his head. “I can’t remember. I told you ten times I couldn’t remember. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because there was a dead man in that toilet, and you were shooting at it. Maybe you even killed him. That’s why.”
“I didn’t kill anybody!” Ferrin said. “We just found the damn pistol and we thought it’d be fun to shoot at somethin’. That’s all there was to it.”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. “But maybe not. I’ll be talking to you again.”
Ferrin didn’t say anything; he just sat with his head between his hands as if trying to hold it together.
“If I were you, I’d try to remember where I found that pistol,” Rhodes said before he left the cell.
Ferrin just grunted. Rhodes couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.
All three of them probably knew that Rhodes didn’t really have anything on them other than a few misdemeanor charges: public intoxication, creating a disturbance, and unlawful possession of a firearm. The last one was a Class A, but it still wasn’t a felony. He’d keep hammering at them anyway.
L awton was waiting in the office when Rhodes came back down. He was over by Hack’s desk watching the Ranger game.
“Cockfighting,” Rhodes said.
Lawton’s head jerked up. “That’s it! That’s what I heard about Lige Ward. How’d you know, Sheriff?”
Rhodes resisted the urge to say that a little bird had told him. He reached into his pocket and brought out the gaff.
“Ever see one of these before?”
Miz McGee and Hack looked too. Miz McGee didn’t appear to know what it was, but Hack did. So did Lawton.
“It’s a gaff like they use on fightin’ cocks,” Lawton said. “But it don’t look quite right, someway.”
“What
Similar Books
