That Night at the Palace (27 page)

Jefferson chuckled and then got serious. “Did the prints show anything?”

“Before I get to that, what was the name of the woman who supposedly ran off with the carnival?

“Mrs. Stoker. Sarah Stoker.”

“What was her maiden name?”

Jefferson leaned back in his chair in thought. “I wish I could remember, Corporal. She married Irwin not long after she moved into town. I’m sure it’s on record over at the courthouse. She had a little store. The files are in the back. I’m sure her name’s on something back there.”

“Was it a produce store?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it. She sold stuff the farmers brought in.”

“Her name’s Sarah Burney.”

Jefferson nodded. “Yeah! That’s right.”

“You grew up around here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, right here in Elza.”

“Do you remember a cathouse over south of Maydelle?”

“’Delilah’s Tomato Farm.’ Every teenage boy I grew up with wanted to get in that place. Me and a few buddies even drove over there once, but we chickened out before goin’ in.”

“Deliliah’s real name was Juanita Carrillo Burney. “

Jefferson’s eyes widened as McKinney continued. “Her father was a rich banker in San Antonio. Their family dated back to way before the Republic. Well, Juanita took up with a soldier. Apparently her old man didn’t like him and ran her off. The soldier got himself killed, and she was left with a baby named Sarah.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jefferson uttered in astonishment, partly because of the story itself but partly because McKinney was able to find out all of this information. “Do you think that Sarah was one of her girls?”

“No, just the opposite in fact. I think Juanita tried to keep her shielded from it. That’s probably why she was running a store way over here.”

Brewster paused and took a long sip of coffee. “I was in on the raid that closed down that house. The Rangers normally don’t go after places like that, but there was a crooked lumberyard owner who was caught up in bootlegging, prostitution, and tax evasion. We got him in the sweep. He ended up hanging himself. Juanita got ten years, which was way too much, but the bust got a lot of press, and it had to do with bootlegging and tax evasion so the judge took it out on her. She ended up hanging herself in the Goree Unit. We knew about the daughter and her produce store, but it was a legal business, and their taxes were paid, so we left them alone.”

“There used to be a lot of stories about Sarah, even before she left. I remember hearing rumors that she was a floozy and such. I never believed any of those because she was as sweet and innocent a gal as you’d ever meet. So what’s Sarah’s connection to the Tomato Farm got to do with this?”

“When we raided the farm, one of the customers jumped on my back, and his brother bashed me in the head with a chair. When it was all said and done, the two brothers got themselves a few broken bones and five years in Eastham. Well, when I was researching Juanita, something about those two boys rang a bell, so I went through my old records. Their names were Richard and Peterson Crawford.”

Jefferson stared at the Corporal and finally said, “That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

“There’s more,” McKinney, continued. “The prints. Everything on the car belonged to the two boys except for a couple - one on the steering wheel, and one on the gearshift. I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t looked up those two brothers’ names. I crosschecked the prints from the car with the two we pulled when I arrested the Crawfords at the Tomato Farm. Sure enough, the prints belong Richard Crawford.”

Jefferson showed excitement. “He’s our guy.”

“Not so fast,” Brewster answered. “Two prints won’t get a conviction, and it’s sure not going to change the mind of that C.A. But we can definitely question him. His last known address is up in Jacksonville. I talked to the police chief over there. They know all about him. He’s been in their jail a half-dozen times for things like drunkenness and fighting, all minor stuff. He’s never had a real job. He hangs out at the pool halls. They say he’s a runner for a bookie over in Tyler. We’ve got a Ranger up there lookin’ into the operation.”

McKinney pulled a mugshot from his briefcase and handed it to Jefferson.

The chief studied the photograph with obvious recognition. “I’ve seen this guy. He was at the funeral.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “That old Indian.”

Jefferson paused as he tried to recall.

“Indian?” McKinney asked.

“Cherokee-One-Leg. He lives over in Pleasant Grove, a little black community across the tracks. He’s half black and half Cherokee, or at least that’s what folks say. The story is that he was a Buffalo Soldier, but I’ve heard all sorts of stuff about him. I doubt any of it’s true, but some say that he was with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders.”

“I know who he is. I took Jesse to his house a couple of weeks ago. I checked up on him, too. He served with the Tenth Cavalry. They were Buffalo Soldiers. They started out in New Mexico but later fought alongside the Rough Riders. He was highly decorated - three Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars. There’s a note that he was put up for a Medal of Honor but didn’t get it because he was half Indian. He had a son who was an officer in the Great War but got killed. His son got a bunch of medals too, but not nearly as many as his old man. What’s he got to do with this Crawford?”

“Cherokee was in the parking lot after Cliff’s funeral. I saw him and went over to thank him for lookin’ after Jesse. He never even looked at me. He was fixed on Jewel Stoker’s boyfriend. He said that was our killer. I didn’t think much of it. The old goat is eighty or ninety years old. But by God, I’m pretty sure this is the guy.”

“He’s the Stoker girl’s boyfriend?”

“She was hugging ‘im and left with ‘im.” Jefferson paused in thought. “You know what? He was in town that night. The night Sarah ran off. Peterson was at the carnival with the whole family. I remember thinking that it was the first time I’d seen him with his wife and the girls. He had his brother with him. He introduced me. Some people don’t like talking to a man with a badge. You know what I mean. Peterson Crawford was that way. I remember thinking that his brother was just like him.”

The two men sat silently holding their coffee, looking at one another. Finally, Jefferson broke the silence. “Those two killed Sarah.”

“We don’t have a body. We don’t have a motive. But it sure looks that way.”

“We need to get Jewel away from him.”

“I agree. But why is this guy back? This ain’t the movies. Murderers don’t return to the scene of the crime. They usually try to get as far away as possible. And why would he want to kill Cliff Tidwell? And who murdered Peterson?”

“You don’t think the boys killed ‘im?”

Brewster sat down his coffee and stood. “Where can we find this girl?”

“She works at a Chevy dealership in Jacksonville. I suspect she’d be there this time of day.”

#

LONGHORN CHEVROLET

JACKSONVILLE, TEXAS

1:30 p.m., December 3, 1941

Jefferson pulled the Ford prowler to a stop in front of the dealership. The two men had barely gotten out of the car before a chubby salesman in a double-breasted, pinstriped suit met them.

“Welcome to Longhorn Chevrolet,” he began with a broad smile. “I hope the two of you are here to buy another prowler.”

Jefferson glanced at McKinney, who had a normal, emotionless expression and was clearly not interested in an exchange with a car salesman.

“We’re here to see an employee.”

“I hope there’s no trouble,” the salesman said with a concerned look on his face.

“Her name’s Jewel Stoker. Would you mind taking us to her?” Jefferson asked.

“Oh, her.” The man said with disgust. “She’s not here.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“I don’t know. She’s not been in for a couple of days. The boss says that if she doesn’t come in or call soon she’s not goin’ to have a job to come back to.”

“Who’s her boss?”

“The owner. She’s his secretary.”

A car pulled up to the front of the dealership, and the salesman began to step back from the two officers who clearly weren’t interested in buying anything.

McKinney took the mugshot out of his coat pocket and handed it to the chief.

“Have you seen this man?” Jefferson asked, showing the picture to the salesman.

The man kept looking at the man and woman who stepped out of the car.

“Look, I need to take care of these people.”

“Please, can you tell me if he’s been in here?”

He glanced at the couple who walked into the dealership and then impatiently looked at the picture.

“Yeah, he comes in here a lot. He takes her out to lunch two or three times a week.”

The man was getting more impatient with the two officers.

“Would you mind takin’ us to this boss of yours? We’d like to speak to him.” Jefferson asked.

“Look, she’s not here,” the man began somewhat condescendingly. “The boss isn’t going to want to be bothered about some floozy blonde who doesn’t come in to work. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some customers.”

McKinney looked at the chief, who started to speak but paused. Then the Ranger stepped directly in front of the much shorter but heavier man and opened his sports coat revealing his Ranger badge and the Colt automatic handgun.

McKinney looked around to be sure that he couldn’t be heard and then said in a soft but even tone, “I’m Corporal Brewster McKinney of the Texas Rangers. This is a murder investigation. Now, you can either take us to your boss, or you can call him from jail to post bond after I arrest you for interfering with my investigation. It’s up to you.”

Two minutes later the three men were standing in front of the desk of Lazarus Devereaux, owner and general manager of Longhorn Chevrolet. Devereaux had his face buried in a pile of papers and hadn’t yet looked up or shown any sign of noticing their presence.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Devereaux,” the salesman said with a shudder in his voice, “but these two police officers would like a moment.”

Devereaux raised his head. He was a large, overweight man who also wore a double-breasted, pinstriped suit, which McKinney took to be the official uniform of the automobile business. On his desk was a pile of paperwork. To the right was an oversized ashtray with a dozen burned out cigars and an enormous pile of ash. The office was on the second floor with windows behind the desk facing out to the street. The walls to the right and left were covered with hunting trophies, mostly deer, but there were a few elk, and in the corner was a coyote stuffed in a pose as if it were about to attack.

Jefferson couldn’t help but smile at the thought that this guy considered a coyote a trophy. Hunker and Toad had killed a hundred coyotes over the years but considered getting only a coyote a wasted day. Of course, that wouldn’t keep them from eating one.

“Well, what do you want?” Devereaux asked with pointed impatience.

Jefferson and Brewster glanced at one another and finally, Jefferson spoke. “When was the last time Jewel Stoker came in to work?”

The man was clearly annoyed. “I don’t know. You’re here to bother me about some blonde-headed secretary? She’s not here. She wasn’t here yesterday either. Now go leave me alone. Because of her, I’ve got a pile of work to do.”

Jefferson glanced at McKinney, who stepped in front of the little salesman, who then took the opportunity to slip out the door. McKinney then reached into his jacket and took the Colt out of the holster and set it on the man’s desk. Devereaux froze as he looked at the gun laying pointed at him.

“Mr. Devereaux, I’m Corporal Brewster McKinney of the Texas Rangers. We’re conducting a murder investigation, and we think Miss Stoker may be in danger. Now, you’re interfering with our investigation, so you can help us, or I can drag you down to jail where you can sit a day or so for obstruction. It makes no difference to me, but I suspect that making the headlines on an obstruction of justice charge would be bad for business.”

Devereaux looked up from the gun on his desk.

McKinney glanced over at the chief.

“When was the last time Jewel was here, Mr. Devereaux?” Jefferson asked.

“The last time I saw her was Friday. She went to that big trial in Rusk. I haven’t seen her since.”

The chief looked at McKinney.

“Chief, go call one of your deputies and have him go out to her house,” McKinney said in a calm and even tone. “If she’s not there, have him ask the neighbors if any of them have seen her.”

Jefferson rushed to the outer office and picked up the phone.

“That wasn’t too difficult, now was it, Mr. Devereaux?”

Devereaux shook his head.

“Has anyone called Miss Stoker to check on her?”

“Check on her? I don’t have time to waste calling every dame that decides to skip work. I’m runnin’ a business here. Ditzy broads like her come and go all the time. They never stay long. Soon as they meet some guy they’re out of here. If I had my people callin’ every skirt that took off without callin’ in I wouldn’t get any cars sold.””

“Are you telling me that you didn’t even bother to find out why she’s not been in?””

The man’s brow ruffled. “She’s a secretary. I only hired her ‘cause she’s good lookin’.”

“So she doesn’t show up for four days and you’re not even courious?

“Why should I have my people waste time on that broad?” Devereaux belligerently demanded. “What am I supposed to do, send someone out lookin’ for some dame just because she ain’t come in for a couple of days? She’s probably holed up somewhere with that fellow she’s been runin’ around with. I got a dealership to run. I have to move these cars. I don’t have time to waste chasin’ down some gal ‘cause she decides to quit without tellin’ anyone.”

Jefferson walked in. “Shorty’s on his way over there.”

McKinney calmly reached down and picked up the Colt and put it back in his shoulder holster. “Mr. Devereaux, I’ve dealt with every disgusting kind of low-life vermin there is on this planet, but I can say with absolute certainty that you are the most repulsive human being I’ve encountered in all my years in law enforcement. I suggest that when we walk out that door you get on your knees and start to pray because if there’s so much as a single hair missin’ from that girl’s head, I’m gonna come back here, put a bullet in your head, and then I’m gonna stuff your fat gut and stand you up next to that damn coyote.”