Between the Lies Read online

  “You can shut up or talk either one, because it won’t matter. The judge is my kin, and unlike you, he knows how things are supposed to work. No, this will be a tidy little hearing. Thad will say he done it, the judge will send Thad away, and the case will be closed.” He snapped his fingers. “Hell, maybe Thad will learn a thing or two at that camp that will help him earn a living.”

  “Who are you protecting? Who really killed that vagrant, Brewster?” Hick asked.

  Brewster’s mouth gaped open and then snapped shut in an ugly frown. “That kind of talk will get you in a world of hurt. A world of hurt.” He leaned heavily into Hick, and put his gun beneath Hick’s chin, putting his face close enough that Hick could feel hot breath on his cheek. “I hear tell your wife’s having a baby,” he said with narrowed eyes. “This is how it’s gonna be, you wanna see that kid, you’ll walk with me real slow like to the car. You’ll keep your mouth shut, and do as you’re told. Got it?”

  Hick nodded and Brewster grabbed his arm and gave him a shove forward, grinding the pistol into Hick’s back. “Open the door and go on out to the car.” Turning to Carol, he said, “And you follow.”

  Hick turned the knob and light from the hot sun overhead stabbed his eyes as he stepped outside. Royal was nowhere to be seen and the motel parking lot was empty of people. Brewster pushed Hick to the car and then reached through the open window for a pair of handcuffs.

  He cuffed Hick’s hands together in front, opened the back door, and shoved him in. Carol quickly slid beside Hick.

  Brewster climbed into the front seat. Hick caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and Brewster said, “You play nice and once this is all cleaned up I’ll let you both just walk away. You can go on home to your wife and that little baby. Hell, you might decide you want to be just like me when you see how nice everything turns out.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Hick answered. He looked down at his bound hands. “So where to now?”

  19

  Tuesday, July 20, 1954

  “Son of a bitch,” Hick grumbled again, glaring at the cuffs. Brewster made a point of finding an extra pair of handcuffs when they arrived at the station and now Carol faced him, both of them handcuffed to a shelving unit in the small, claustrophic storage room. Hick reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out two cigarettes, lit them both, and handed one to Carol.

  A lone fly buzzed around the room, bouncing against the fluorescent light, trying to find a means of escape. Hick watched it and sympathized. He yanked his left hand again and grimaced as the cuffs dug into his wrist and the metal shelving unit rattled.

  From the front of the station came the muffled sounds of Earl Brewster slamming drawers and cursing. Hick leaned his head back and inhaled. Then he stopped and stood up straight. There on a shelf, within easy reach, was the evidence box he and Royal had gone through, the one containing the belongings of Claude Hayes, the hit and run victim. He closed his eyes and pictured the items inside one by one, then reached over, pulled the box to him, and threw off the lid. He shuffled through the items with his free hand and found the victim’s pocket knife. He held it up to Carol.

  “We might be able to pick the lock on these cuffs with this. But maybe we should wait till Brewster leaves.”

  She shook her head. She placed her cigarette on the floor, then reached up to her hair. “This will work better.” She showed Hick a bobby pin and then placed the bobby pin in her mouth and bit off the knobbed end.

  “Why do I feel like you’ve done this before?” Hick said with a hint of surprise.

  “Because when your favorite uncle works for the Justice Department, you pick up a lot of odd hobbies.”

  Hick watched as she carefully inserted the bobby pin into the lock on her cuff and began bending it. A phone rang in the front room and they both jumped at the sound.

  “Brewster,” they heard him say. “What? Where?” A pause. “I’m on it.”

  Footsteps approached the door and Carol quickly closed her hand over the bobby pin as Hick prayed Brewster wouldn’t notice the lidless evidence box. The door opened and Brewster poked his head in. He was wearing a wide smile.

  “Someone just phoned in a tip. Might have found my prisoner,” he gloated, then laughed. “By tomorrow night, this’ll be over.” He slowly looked between Hick and Carol, and a slow, sick smile played on his fleshy lips. “All of it will be over.” He closed the door and the sound of a key turning in the lock followed. They listened and heard Brewster stomp out of the station and slam the door.

  Carol took the bobby pin and again inserted the pin into the handcuff on her right hand and began to turn it when Hick said, “Wait. Start counter-clockwise. It’s double locked.”

  She looked up and nodded. Biting her lip, she maneuvered the bobby pin around. “I wonder who called in that tip.”

  “I don’t know,” Hick replied. “Enos probably hasn’t even made it to Cherokee Crossing.” His eyes moved past the top of Carol’s head and, again, spotted the fly, still banging against the fluorescent light. “I wonder if someone in Cherokee called …” he said, letting his voice trail away. He tried to tell himself that Adam had everything under control at home, but there was a nagging worry in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away.

  “Damn,” Carol said as the bobby pin slipped out of the lock. “I’m not left handed. This will take some doing.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “By the way, everything is okay,” Carol said, her brow knit in concentration, and not looking up from the lock.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That call I made.”

  “You mean the one where you told them you would be here all week insuring that no one will come looking until long after Thad’s case is heard?”

  “Yeah, that one. Except I didn’t call my office.”

  Hick cocked his head. “Oh?”

  “I called Fred. My brother.”

  “But you told him nothing.”

  “I told him plenty,” she said with a knowing smile. “Growing up, my brother and I made up adventures, invented trouble. Always came to each other’s rescue and helped each other escape the bad guys.” She shrugged. “We made up a code. If we call each other and use our full names, that means something’s wrong. I told you that before I left New York, I told him about this case. He knows where I am. And now he knows I’m in trouble. I mentioned the colored boy and the election. I’m sure he’ll call my uncle and Uncle Arthur will send help.”

  A smile spread across Hick’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Nice work, Miss Quinn.”

  “Carol,” she said. “Please call me Carol.” A click sounded from the handcuffs and she raised her eyes and smiled.

  “Now turn it clockwise,” Hick instructed.

  She nodded and went back to work. “Tell me, what was the fat bastard talking about back at the motel?” She looked up at him, her light eyes holding his. Sweat beaded beneath his hairline and he raised his sleeve and mopped his brow. “What did he mean when he said you don’t know how the game is played?”

  “I guess growing up, I always thought the law did the right thing. Since I became sheriff I’ve learned that the law has good folks and bad folks, just the same as every other job. And Brewster, well, he’s definitely one of the bad ones.”

  “He sure as hell doesn’t like you. Why? Is it because, you don’t back him up? You don’t condone corruption?”

  “Maybe.”

  She stopped working and regarded him a moment. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, Hillbilly. When I first saw you I expected you to be the same as all the other cops I’ve known. I get the job is tough, but so many of them look at anyone other than law enforcement as the enemy. There’s nothing wrong with getting at the truth, but they don’t like to be questioned. Sometimes they seem to think they’re … I don’t know, infallible maybe?”

  Hick laughed. “Yeah. Well I don’t think I’m infallible, that’s for damn sure.”
r />   A second click sounded and Hick said, “Don’t move.” He moved beside her and reached down, sliding his fingers down her wrist and lifting the metal strand of the cuff. He maneuvered it open and she slipped the handcuff off and shook her free right hand.

  “Now let’s get you out of here,” she said standing in front of him and inserting the bobby pin into the lock on his handcuff. He tried to avert his eyes because she was so close he felt uncomfortable. He could smell the faint scent of jasmine, could see the muscles in her jaw and neck tighten as she concentrated. Her fingertips on his skin tingled and he forced his glance back to the fluorescent light and to the fly, now trapped and dying.

  “So why a cop?” she asked, drawing back his attention. “What made you want to be sheriff?”

  “Why a lawyer?”

  She laughed and maneuvered the bobby pin in the lock. She glanced around the room and said, “Well, as you can see, it’s quite glamorous.” She thought a moment and then added, “No, I won’t be flippant. It was my Uncle Arthur’s doing.” The first lock on Hick’s handcuff clicked and she began turning the bobby pin clockwise. “Uncle Arthur came back to New York after the war to live with us. He had changed.”

  “War has a way of doing that to a man,” Hick said, training his eyes on the string pull that hung down from the light.

  “Well, it changed him. He was already an attorney when he left. He left for the war ready to put all the ‘bad guys’ in jail and came back from it more eager to keep the good ones out.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was stationed at an internment camp in California. He watched those people lose everything without recourse. He figured someone needed to look out for the downtrodden. He went from prosecutor to Civil Rights activist. I admired him.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be just like him.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I worked hard, got into law school, passed the bar, and figured out that my lack of a male member would prevent me from ever really being anything other than clerk and coffee brewer.” She glanced up at him. “Well, what about you? Were you that kid who always played cops and robbers?”

  “No, I never wanted to be a cop. There are plenty of days I still don’t want to be one.”

  “Then why are you?”

  The second lock clicked and Hick quickly took his free hand and opened the handcuff and rubbed his wrist.

  She remained close, peering into his face. “Well?”

  Hick stepped back and lit another cigarette from the tip of the one he’d just finished. He offered Carol the pack, but she shook her head and remained standing before him with a questioning glance. He sighed. “It just kind of happened.”

  Carol frowned. “So, what did you want to be?”

  “I guess I always figured I’d be a teacher, like my dad. But my grades kept me out of college and then the war …”

  “You were in the war?”

  Hick dropped the first cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. “Yeah, I was in the war.”

  “So when you got home, you didn’t want to teach anymore?”

  Hick moved to the doorway, suddenly uncomfortable with all the questions. “When I got home, I realized I had nothing to teach.” He put his hand on the doorframe and looked it over, then steadied himself and said, “It won’t be easy to get out of here.”

  She crossed the room toward him. “He’s not really going to let us go when this is all over with, is he?”

  Hick stopped inspecting the door frame and closed his eyes. He saw Maggie’s face and the faces of his sons. He sighed. “No. He’s just trying to figure out a way he can get rid of us without anyone knowing about it. We can’t count on him for any favors.”

  Carol shook her head slowly. “There are only so many planes flying into Memphis. Help won’t be able to get here for hours.” Realization crept into her eyes. “They won’t reach us in time.”

  Turning to her, Hick saw she was pale but composed. There was no point in pretending so he told her, “If we’re not out of this room pretty soon we’re gonna have a problem.”

  20

  Tuesday, July 20, 1954

  Hick tossed the crumpled cigarette pack to the floor and rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Damn,” he muttered after fiddling with the lock, the door knob, and the hinges. “There’s got to be a way,” he said, more to himself than to Carol.

  She stood across the room, leaning against the wall, and watched him. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Close to 12:30.”

  “I wonder what time he’ll be back.”

  “It all depends on how far away the caller was when they saw Enos. He couldn’t already be back in Broken Creek. He hadn’t been gone long enough when the call came in.”

  He turned back to the door and examined the hinges.

  “Are you scared?” Carol asked.

  Hick stopped and looked at her. He couldn’t tell if she was frightened. She seemed calm in spite of the circumstances. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “And I’m getting home to my family come hell or high water.”

  He turned back to the door and reached toward it when it jerked open. The sudden motion caused Hick to jump back and Carol gasp. Royal stood in the doorway, his face flushed and excited. “You two gotta get, now!”

  “Royal, we can’t just walk out an unlocked door. Brewster will know you—”

  “No!” Royal interrupted, urgency in his voice. “Brewster stopped at the drug store to get a Coke on his way out of town. I was in the back and he never saw me, but I heard him talking to some men. Said you was both outsiders stirring up the pot and that it was past time you were taught a lesson. Made sure they knew he was going to fetch Thad and wasn’t gonna hurry home. He told them you was lock in here and that he wasn’t planning on being back until after dark.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Hick muttered shaking his head. “You really think they’ll do anything?”

  Royal rubbed the back of his neck. “I think they might. Most of the folks here in town are good people, but the ones he was talking to are pretty bad.”

  “How bad?” Hick asked.

  “Well, one of them was my second cousin, Hoyt Smith. He’s been in trouble with the law before.” Royal hesitated. “I think he’s been in trouble in Cherokee Crossing if I’m not mistaken.”

  Hick’s face darkened. “I’m well acquainted with Hoyt.”

  “What do you think they would do?” Carol asked.

  ““After all the shootin’ and burnin’ last night,” Royal said, “I don’t know what to think. But Brewster gave them boys a green light to cause trouble, and nothing good can come from that. I got you both into this mess, and I’m getting’ you out.”

  Carol stepped toward the door. “Where do we go?”

  “You need to get back to Cherokee Crossing.”

  “No,” Hick said. “There’s help coming and they’ll be looking for us here at the motel in Broken Creek. They’re already on their way so it’s too late to leave. We can’t go. Not yet.” He thought for a minute. “Can you get us to the motel or the Catholic Church without anyone seeing?”

  Royal shook his head. “If they figure out you’re gone, those will be the first places they’d think of.”

  “Any ideas, then?” Hick asked.

  Royal thought for a moment and then nodded. “We need to bust this place up to make it look like you got out on your own. And then, someone owes me a favor and it’ll be the last place Uncle Brewster’d think to look.”

  White lace curtains fluttered in the breeze and a large grandfather clock chimed the half hour as Hick and Carol followed Royal into the manicured entry way of the large white house. Patsy, the young girl from the juke joint, wrung her hands.

  “Why do I have to get involved, Royal?” Patsy followed him as he barged inside without hesitation.

  He stopped and looked down at her. “Because you owe me, and I don’t know where else to take ’em. I know your daddy and mama went to see your grandma in M
armaduke. This is a matter of life and death. These people need your help.”

  She regarded Hick and Carol a moment. “Everyone was talking about these two in school. They say a lawyer from up north is messing things up and interfering with the sheriff. Aren’t they the ones causing all the trouble?”

  Royal’s face grew red. “You want to know who’s causing all the trouble? People like my Uncle Earl.”

  “Your Uncle Earl?” Patsy repeated, her brows drawn together in confusion. “But he’s our sheriff.”

  “That don’t mean he abides by the law any more than the next man,” Royal said. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Patsy. “Hell, even a preacher will lie if the truth gets too much to handle.”

  Patsy’s eyes grew wide. “What are you saying? Are you talking about my daddy?”

  “I seen him, Patsy. I seen him yesterday at the station with Uncle Earl. They sat there, all those preachers, and right in the middle of ’em sat your daddy, listening to Uncle Earl saying he was gonna re-arrest Thad, and not a one of ’em stood up and said it was wrong. And they all know he’s innocent. They’re plotting about something. They’re up to no good.”

  Patsy crossed her arms and hugged them to her chest. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe. I can’t mistrust what I seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears.”

  “But why would they do that to a little boy?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Hick spoke up. “They’re protecting someone. It could be anyone.” He paused and asked Royal, “Those men in the room … besides all being preachers was there anything they had in common? Are they related to Brewster?”

  “No.”

  “So why would they go along with Brewster’s plan? What would they gain from locking Thad up? It makes no sense,” Carol said.

  Royal shook his head. “I can’t figure it out. It was just about every preacher in town … except for that Catholic fella and a few others.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything else?” Hick asked.