Free Survivors Will Be Shot Again by Bill Crider Page A

degree in criminal justice, he pushed the commissioners to hire her. They’d complained about the salary and allowed her to work only part-time, but she’d been very good at the job. Rhodes was happy with the hire, and so was everybody else.
    â€œI’ll call her,” Hack said. “Anything else you want me to tell her?”
    â€œShe knows what to do,” Rhodes said. “When Ruth comes in, tell her to go back to Billy Bacon’s place and see if she can turn up any clues in the daylight.”
    â€œI bet she’ll keep me in the loop about it if she does,” Hack said.
    Rhodes decided to leave without getting into that argument again.
    *   *   *
    The Bacons lived in an old home built during Clearview’s boom days, a time when a seemingly endless supply of oil had been pumped up from beneath the ground and the town’s population had doubled and tripled and quadrupled within months. That had been almost a century ago, and the people back then had thought the oil would last forever. It hadn’t, of course, and in only a few years Clearview was a small town again. A few people had made a great deal of money, however, and several of them had built their homes on the edge of town along the same street. The homes had outlasted the oil.
    All the homes were large and showy, and most of them had been bought and sold several times over the years. One of them now belonged to Billy Bacon. It was just down the street from the home of Clearview’s mayor, Clifford Clement, and Rhodes hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with Clement in this investigation. The mayor had been mixed up in a couple of other recent problems, and he didn’t much care for Rhodes. Rhodes had to put up with him, however, since the city of Clearview contracted with the sheriff’s department for its police services.
    Rhodes parked in the driveway of Billy’s house behind Billy’s pickup. He got out of the Tahoe and admired the grass of the lawn, which was as green as the grass in a picture of Ireland, before he went to the door and rang the bell.
    Billy came to the door. Seeing Rhodes, he said, “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
    Rhodes thought it might already be too late. Billy would have had time to tell Nadine the situation and make sure she said what he wanted her to say.
    â€œBetter to get it over with,” Rhodes said.
    Billy stepped back from the door, holding it open. “Come on in, then. We’ll go in the den.”
    The den was down a hallway and through a door to the left. It was obviously Billy’s room. Pictures of him in his high school glory days hung on the wall, along with a framed jersey. A football covered with signatures sat on a little table. A couch and recliner were both covered with soft-looking brown leather, and the desk on one side of the room even had a leather top.
    â€œHave a seat,” Billy said. “I’ll go get Nadine. She’s in the kitchen. Don’t be too hard on her, okay? She’s not feeling well.”
    Billy left the room, but Rhodes didn’t sit. He walked over to the football and picked it up. He recognized a few of the signatures as belonging to Billy’s teammates from back in the times when Bacon was shakin’. Billy must miss those days when he was the best-known and best-loved person in Clearview.
    Rhodes set the ball back down as Nadine and Billy came into the room. Nadine no longer looked like the cheerleader Rhodes remembered. She was still short, still compact, but she looked old, much older than Billy, though her hair wasn’t thinning and graying like his. It was still blond and short, but Rhodes was sure the color wasn’t natural. She looked tired, and her gait was more of a shuffle than a walk.
    â€œHello, Sheriff,” she said. “Billy says you want to talk to me.”
    â€œJust a few questions if you don’t mind,” Rhodes said.
    â€œI don’t mind.