Free The Prettiest Girl I Ever Killed by Charles Runyon Page B

earth tremble as Bobby thumped onto the ground. He lay gray-faced, trying to get his breath. He sounded like a truck trying to start on a cold morning.
    Curt backed away as Bobby rose. “The Japanese call it The Gentle Way, Bobby. Judo. The harder you come the harder you land.”
    Bobby charged with a roar of rage. This time I heard the air whoosh out of his lungs when he landed. Twin streams of dark blood trickled from his nostrils. As he got to his knees, I saw that the sharp gravel had ripped his shirt. Dark patches showed where the blood had begun to soak through. Bobby stood up and shook his head like an angry bull. Blood smeared his face on either side of his nose, giving him a garish crimson moustache. He took a step toward his gun, but the sheriff snatched it up.
    “That’s enough!
Bobby, get the hell back to the car.”
    Bobby stumbled off, wiping his nose on his sleeve. The sheriff drew the gun from its holster. “Curt, I’m gonna have to arrest you.”
    Curt seemed relaxed, his voice mildly curious. “What’s the charge, Sheriff?”
    “Disturbing the peace.”
    “Whose peace? Look around. I’m on my own property.”
    “You assaulted an officer of the law.”
    “Hell! He assaulted me.”
    “I doubt the judge will take your word against mine and Bobby’s.” He jerked his head down the hill. “Better get moving.”
    Curt didn’t turn his head. “Velda,” he said in a conversational tone.
    I drew a deep breath and stepped out onto the porch.
    The sheriff was taken by surprise, and in that instant I saw … more than I wanted. I saw the eyes of a man who’d killed more than once, and I saw the same look his victims must have seen. A glazed, animal violence. Something inside me shriveled up and went into hiding.
    “Your husband know you’re here, Velda?”
    “No … but I suppose he will.”
    His face turned cunning. “Not from me, Velda. I know better than to tell a man what his wife does behind his back.” He peered at me as though he’d never seen me before. “I thought your sis was a black sheep, the way she rubbed up against trouble. Now I’m thinking maybe it runs in the family.”
    He slid Bobby’s gun back into the holster and looked at Curt. “I arrested you a minute ago. Now I’m releasing you for lack of evidence. You’re free to leave the county any time.”
    “I’ll go when I’m ready.”
    For a moment the sheriff’s face held a look of sincere regret. “Yeah, I figured that. You want to be pushed.”
    I watched the sheriff walk down the hill and drive off. I felt weak and sick at my stomach. I must have staggered because I felt Curt’s arm slide around me. I wanted to lean, and lean hard, but I pulled away. “I’ve got to go.”
    We walked around the house to the car, and I said: “You deliberately provoked that fight, Curt. They could have come bearing roses, and you’d still have fought. Why? Just tell me why?”
    “I had to see them with the wraps off. I wanted to read them in a hurry.”
    “Did you?”
    He nodded. “Bobby’s matured some. Twelve years ago he’d have charged me a lot quicker. But still a boob. He’s like a dog the sheriff keeps on a leash, valuable because the honky-tonk cowboys are scared of him. The sheriff is smart, but he’s been in office too long. He’s trapped in details and can’t see the forest for the trees. Honest enough—that is, if you offered him a bribe he’d gun-whip you half to death. On the other hand, if he got the word from a respected citizen—just a calm and thoughtful discussion of a particular case—it could turn him off a suspect without leaving him aware that he’d been influenced.” He opened the car door for me. “They’re typical rural cops, a little on the rough side, a little gun-happy. They’re helping the killer, but they don’t know it.”
    I slid behind the wheel. “Otherwise they’d have killed you the first chance you gave them. Did you think of that?”
    He gave me a half smile. “Yes. I