The Crossing (6 page)

“Busy – bullshit!
 
You and I both know better.
 
I’m going to find Judge Graves tomorrow, and if I can’t find him, I’m headed to Trenton to find another judge.
 
Jack doesn’t want Henry moved and Judge Graves can prevent that.
 
If he won’t listen, I’ll find someone who will.”

“I know, and I don’t intend to move him unless the DA orders me too.
 
I haven’t heard from him yet, but I expect that I will.” Leroy sounded frustrated.

“Leroy, you have any idea why Jack is concerned?
 
I mean, one jail is as good as another is and I assume this is a city matter.
 
So, what difference could it make?”

“Jack didn’t share that with me,” Leroy sighed. “But I expect it has something to do with the statements made by Officer Menard.
 
You know, he is Raymond’s officer, who said he had seen Henry in the area where the body was found.”

“Officer Menard?
 
Do I know him?” I asked.

“Carl Menard, you should know him.
 
He’s a young guy, ‘thirtyish’, but has been around awhile.
 
He was on the force before Raymond Griggs replaced Dick Valentine and has a good service record, as far as I know.” Leroy was being cautious with his words.

“What are you not telling me?
 
You’re leaving something out.
 
I know you, remember?”

“Carson, I’m not leaving anything out.
 
He’s just…well; he’s just like a lot of other folks in this town.
 
He’s a little prejudiced – intolerant might be a better word.”

“And?” Leroy was still leaving something out.

“And, I’ve heard Raymond mention that Officer Menard has arrested more than one colored man who came in with some bumps and bruises that weren’t necessary.
 
However, he’s a good cop, so don’t get any ideas.
 
Okay?” Leroy said frankly.

“Okay, but how did Jack get wind of this?
 
I mean unless you told him, or Henry told him, he’s not talked to anybody else.”

“It wasn’t me and I don’t know what Henry and Jack talked about.
 
But, Henry didn’t say anything to me about Officer Menard and I haven’t talked to Officer Menard.
 
So, I guess you’ll need to ask Henry.”

“Alright, has anything new developed that I need to know before talking with Henry?” I asked getting up to leave.

“Nope,” Leroy said as he tossed me his jail keys. “Leave these with Scotty when you are finished and watch out for that murdered girl’s husband, Sonny Blurton.
 
He’s sure to be around somewhere tomorrow and he’s a real hothead, just be aware.”

“Thanks for the warning, and how do you plan on dealing with protesters, if they show up?”

“I don’t plan on dealing with them at all,” Leroy said frankly. “Unless they get out of order or show up wearing white hoods, I plan on leaving them alone!”

Leroy walked out of his office – he looked tired.

I walked up the stairs to the jail area and found all the doors open but one.
 
Inside the locked cell sat my friend Robert Henry Walker, Jr.
 
I had not seen Henry in a while, but to me he looked the same as he did when we played Cowboys and Indians in his front yard many years ago.
 
Henry had grown taller and was much stockier than I remembered; evidently, work and life had agreed with him, because Henry was a handsome strong man.
 
 
It was difficult seeing him behind those jail bars.

I opened the cell door and we spent the next 10 minutes catching up with each other.
 
His mother had died when we were both still young, and his father had eventually remarried and continued to raise their large family.
 
Robert Henry Walker, Sr. had died last year after fighting cancer for several years.
 
Henry’s siblings had all married and moved away from Humboldt, with the exception of his older brother, Yarnell, and his younger sister, Colleen.
 
Colleen still lived in the family home where she had cared for their father until his death.
 
Henry and Yarnell were not married and shared a house on 5
th
street in the Crossing area.
 
They also both worked for Humboldt Canning – the Red Heart Dog Food plant.
 
However, up until a few months ago, Yarnell had been working at Alton Box.
 
Henry had used his influence and managed to get Yarnell a better job at Humboldt Canning and, according to Henry, things had been normal – until Tuesday.

Leroy had personally come to Humboldt Canning to arrest Henry.
 
As disruptive as those things can be, Leroy did managed to keep things to a minimum.
 
Even Yarnell wasn’t aware of Henry’s arrest until the end of the shift.
 
Henry had protested to Leroy, and then later to Jack – he said he knew absolutely nothing about Tammy Blurton and certainly had nothing to do with her death.

“Henry,” I looked him directly in the eyes. “Where did she get your shirt?”

He stared at me for several moments before speaking. “How do they know it was my shirt?
 
I’m not the only person named Henry who has blue denim work shirts!”

“Well, Henry, the biggest clue was your name and phone number in the pocket!”

Henry got a funny look on his face and then said, “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!
 
And if you lie to me, I can’t help you.
 
You’ve got to be straight with me and I’ll be straight with you.
 
Okay?”

“I don’t know how she got the shirt,” Henry responded.

“Alright, I’ll accept that for now.
 
Anything else you want to tell me?” I asked.

“Yes there is.
 
Carson, I can’t pay you, but I didn’t know who else to call.
 
And I can’t pay that lawyer, Jack Logan, either.”

“Don’t worry about it.
 
I’m helping you because of our friendship and Jack is helping you because of my friendship with him.
 
This isn’t about money, so just forget that.
 
Okay?” I did not want Henry worrying about money.
 
He had enough to worry about already.

“Okay, but I’ll find someway to repay you, repay you both,” Henry said as he leaned back in his bunk.

“What can you tell me about Officer Carl Menard?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Officer Carl Menard, the Humboldt Policeman who reported that he saw you in the area where the body was found.”

“I can tell you he is a liar; I can tell you that.
 
I’ve been in that poolroom and drugstore hundreds of times, and I don’t know what is unusual about that!
 
Just because he saw me there and they found a dead girl out back doesn’t make me a murderer!” Henry snapped.

“No, but when you put it with everything else it doesn’t help,” I added.

“Well, he is still a liar,” Henry nodded.

“What did you tell Jack Logan about Officer Menard?” I asked frankly.

“The same thing I told you, he is a liar.
 
He also likes to beat up on us colored folks; I don’t think that is any secret!”

“Okay, Henry.
 
We’ll talk about him later.” I wasn’t ready to pursue the Carl Menard conversation now.
 
I would do that when I had more information.

We talked for a few more minutes and I briefed him on both Jack Logan’s and my plans.
 
I also promised to talk with him as soon as I had something to tell him, and he should have Leroy or one of the deputies call me if he needed to talk.
 
Henry was hiding something and I knew it would eventually come out.
 
I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

I left his cell unlocked and tossed the keys to Scotty as I headed out the door.
 
Henry wasn’t going anywhere, I was sure of that.

I left the sheriff’s office and headed for my
‘home away from home’
– Chiefs.
 
It was already dark when I pulled the Ford into Chiefs’ parking lot.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Humboldt

T
he evening crowd had already started to gather and, as usual, Chiefs was crowded, and I had difficulty finding the Ford a good spot to rest.
 
An endless line of cars circled the building - occasionally stopping for curb service, but mostly just participating in the nightly ritual, which would continue until the wee hours of the morning.

Chiefs is a popular local hangout located on North 22
nd.
Avenue in Humboldt.
 
 
It is owned and operated by a couple of close friends, Ronnie and Nickie Woodson.
 
Given the opportunity, you would find it an unusual and terrific place to stay and visit. They offer an indoor restaurant and bar, outside curb service and small cottage rooms for traveling guests.
 
You can’t miss it – it’s located right under the big neon Indian Chief sign!

Nickie and her husband Ronnie have owned and operated Chiefs for as long as I could remember.
 
He runs the kitchen and does most of the cooking.
 
Nickie handles everything else – including cottage rentals, the books, the inventory and keeping Ronnie in line.
 
Ronnie has a ‘wandering eye’, and probably other ‘wandering’ parts, which does keep Nickie busy.
 
However, along with a couple of waitresses and Nickie’s supervision, everything always seems to go like clockwork.
 
She also manages the carhops who serve outside patrons.

Carhops are a different breed – they are either good or just plain terrible.
 
Tommy is my favorite, and he has been with Nickie and Ronnie since the beginning.
 
I guess you would call him the ‘team leader’ carhop.
 
Whatever you need – and I mean ‘whatever you need’; Tommy Trubush is your man.
 
Everybody knows there is a lot of underage drinking, but Tommy keeps it straight and never lets it get out of hand.
 
I have many times seen him put tough guys on the ground, and when he asked someone to leave – they left.
 
He runs the outside show – no question about it.

The bar and restaurant weren’t crowded, and I grabbed a stool at the end of the bar.
 
I looked around at all the customers and sensed something was different tonight.
 
The jukebox was playing and they were talking and drinking, but there just seemed to be something different in the atmosphere.
 
An odd calm, that wasn’t really a calm at all.
 
It was like a very loud SILENCE - an uneasiness that was difficult to define.

Nickie appeared from somewhere and quickly took the barstool next to mine.

“Hey beautiful,” I said to Nickie. “You got a room for a weary traveler?”

“Actually, no!
 
But I knew you were coming and I saved your usual, Cabin 4.”

“You knew I was coming?
 
Is this something you learn from owning a bar?
 
You can predict when people are going to show up and need a room?”
 
This was odd.

“Well,” Nickie laughed. “ Yes and yes!
 
But in your case, Leroy has been calling here all afternoon for you, so I made a wild guess!
 
See, I was right.”

Before I could respond, Florence walked up from behind the bar.
 
As usual, she wore her dishwater blonde hair sitting squarely on top of her head, forming a shape that resembled a fresh baked loaf of bread.
 
She had a pencil sticking through that bun and another behind BOTH ears, plus a mouth full of gum that was getting a real workout.
 
The light pink waitress dress had fake handkerchiefs on the upper left shoulder and sported a nametag that read ‘FLO’.