Claws For Concern

“Now that this new information has come to light,” I said, “will you reopen the case?”

“I’d like to,” Johnson said. “First I have to find the money to pay for the investigation. I can’t just reassign people to this when I’ve already got men working overtime as it is to cover all the shifts.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” I said.

Johnson sounded bitter when he replied, “The almighty budget runs things these days. I’m the one who gets the blame when we run over, and I’m not looking to lose this job in the next election.”

“So for now, what’s the plan?” Jack asked. “It doesn’t sound like you’re going to reopen the case.”

“I can’t right now,” Johnson said, “much as I’d like to. If I’m going to ask for the money to run an investigation, I have to have more to go on.”

“What if we keep digging and find more?” Jack asked.

Johnson shrugged. “Then I reckon if you found something big enough, I could get the money.”

“So you’re okay with us continuing?” I asked.

“As long as you don’t break any laws,” Johnson said. “I can’t stop you from talking to people. Now, if they call me and complain about harassment, that’s another story.”

Jack looked at me, and I nodded. He turned back to face Johnson. “Then I think Charlie and I are going to keep talking to people. But first, the autopsy reports?”

“Normally something like that would be in the files in storage,” Johnson said, staring at the wall past us. “But sometimes I keep copies of things right on top of my desk.” His gaze drifted to a metal tray on one corner of his desk and then back to the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to step out for a minute.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said.

The moment Johnson cleared the door, Jack was on his feet, examining the contents of the metal tray. He soon extracted a file and shoved it partially down the back of his pants. His jacket would keep anyone from seeing it.

I was amused, both by Jack’s quick action and by the sheriff’s method of sharing information with us. We got what we wanted, and in the long run he might get what he wanted, a conviction in a cold case.

By the time the sheriff walked back into the room, Jack was in his chair, relaxed and leaning back, his left leg crossed over his right. Johnson didn’t give any indication that he suspected one of us had removed the file. He never glanced at the metal tray.

When he was seated again, he said, “Well, gentlemen, I think I’ve told you everything I can. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“I can’t think of anything else right now,” Jack said. “Charlie?”

I shook my head. “Same here.”

“Guess we’ll be going,” Jack said. “Thanks for your time, Elmer Lee.”

I echoed Jack’s words, and then we walked out of the office. Diesel preceded us. He sniffed as he walked and his head went side to side as he checked out interesting sights and smells. We got several startled looks, and a couple of deputies grinned when they saw me with a large cat on a leash. We didn’t stop to talk to anyone and proceeded out to the car.

“Where to next?” I asked once we were settled in. Jack stuffed the autopsy folder under the seat.

“Depends on how hungry you are,” Jack said. “We could have lunch now, and then head out to talk to one of the Barbers’ neighbors. I thought Mitzi Gillon would be a good person to talk to. I taught her grandson last year.”

“Let’s eat first,” I said. “Diesel is probably ready for some water, and I noticed a small section of grass by the diner where I can let him do his business if he needs to. I suppose we can eat in the office?”

“Probably so,” Jack said. “Let’s go back to the diner. Do you know how to get there from here?”

“I’m pretty sure I remember,” I said. “Tell me if I make a wrong turn, though.”

My memory and sense of direction didn’t fail me, however. We soon arrived at the diner. This time I parked in front, and I took Diesel around the side to see if he needed to do anything. Jack entered through the front to let his wife know we were back.

By the time Diesel finished sniffing and selecting a place to urinate, Jack stood at the open side door waiting for us.

“Good news,” he said. “Melvin’s going to let us eat in the back dining room. They’re not too busy at the moment, so we can sit in there, shut off from the front. Nobody will know there’s a cat back there with us.”

“Sounds good,” I said. We followed Jack to the back dining room, where I found a bottle of water and a large bowl. I filled the bowl for Diesel, and he lapped thirstily at the water.

Served by Wanda Nell, Jack and I dined on a variety of vegetables, cornbread, and fried chicken, all excellent. Diesel had a few bites of my chicken and was happy.

Thirty minutes after we arrived at the diner, we headed out for the Gillon farm. Jack directed me, and the drive took about twenty minutes. As he’d mentioned earlier, once we left the highway, we drove along paved country roads that curved frequently. It would be difficult to drive fast here without having an accident at some point.