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Authors: JIMMIE RUTH EVANS
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the papers from the library, there were some gaps in what they had.” Ernie held up her file folder again. “And, sure enough, I remembered correctly. The issues you just looked at were missing, along with a few others here and there over the years.”
“So where did these come from then?” Jack asked.
“From the father of one of the Historical Society members,” Ernie said with a brief smile. “A real pack rat. He had every issue of the paper going back to when it was founded, in 1903.”
“Thank the Lord someone had kept them,” Wanda Nell said.
“Exactly. The fact that those issues”—Ernie pointed toward the stack of newspapers on the desk in front of Jack—“were missing from the library’s set makes it pretty obvious someone really wanted to try to erase as many traces of the murder as possible.”
“Thanks to an elderly pack rat, they didn’t quite succeed,” Jack said.
Ernie smiled. “Even pack rats have their uses.” She waved a hand around. “Otherwise this house would hold a lot less local history than it does.”
Wanda Nell grinned. “Then the next time I clean out my house, I’ll know where to send the stuff I want to get rid of.”
“You never know what we might want,” Ernie said. “Now, what was the name of the young man the Sheriff’s Department was questioning? I still can’t quite dredge it up.”
Jack glanced down at the issue of the newspaper with the information. “Roscoe Lee Bates, age nineteen.” He looked up again. “Did you know him? You said something about a suspect disappearing.”
Ernie leaned back in her chair. “Roscoe Lee Bates. So that’s who it was.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember his name. Yes, I knew him. At least briefly, I should say. He was in one of my classes at the high school for about three months, and then he dropped out of school.”
“When was that?” Wanda Nell asked. “Was it when the murder happened?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I think it was probably the year before that. The boy was average, but he never applied himself all that much. He could have graduated if he’d put a little effort into it, but he just gave up partway through his senior year.”
“Can you think of any reason the police might consider him a suspect?” Jack asked. “I mean, was he known to be a troublemaker, or anything?”
“Not really. Now that we’re talking about him, I’m remembering more and more. No, he was basically a good boy, just lazy. He also had difficulty making good decisions, so he occasionally got in trouble—nothing really serious, though.” She cocked her head to one side and stared into space. “He was a very handsome boy, and so he always had plenty of girls buzzing around him even though he was pretty quiet most of the time. He certainly liked girls, so I can easily imagine his chatting up a stranger in town, especially if she was pretty.”
“There must have been some kind of connection, then, between him and the dead girl,” Wanda Nell said. “You don’t think the Sheriff’s Department would have picked somebody at random, do you?”
“I’d sure hate to think they’d stoop that low,” Ernie said. “But if somebody in town with a lot of money and influence was willing to pay, the sheriff at that time might have been bought off.”
“Who was the sheriff back then?” Wanda Nell asked. “I was only about ten or eleven, and I sure don’t remember.”
Ernie’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I hate to say it, but he was a distant cousin of mine. Claude Carpenter. He had the morals of an alley cat, and was as venal as they come. It was a shameful day for this county when he was elected sheriff, let me tell you.”
“Was he in office very long?” Jack asked.
“A couple of terms,” Ernie replied. “Then he had a heart attack and died, just when he was about to run for a third time.”
“So we can’t question him,” Jack said, sighing.
“No, but one of his
“So where did these come from then?” Jack asked.
“From the father of one of the Historical Society members,” Ernie said with a brief smile. “A real pack rat. He had every issue of the paper going back to when it was founded, in 1903.”
“Thank the Lord someone had kept them,” Wanda Nell said.
“Exactly. The fact that those issues”—Ernie pointed toward the stack of newspapers on the desk in front of Jack—“were missing from the library’s set makes it pretty obvious someone really wanted to try to erase as many traces of the murder as possible.”
“Thanks to an elderly pack rat, they didn’t quite succeed,” Jack said.
Ernie smiled. “Even pack rats have their uses.” She waved a hand around. “Otherwise this house would hold a lot less local history than it does.”
Wanda Nell grinned. “Then the next time I clean out my house, I’ll know where to send the stuff I want to get rid of.”
“You never know what we might want,” Ernie said. “Now, what was the name of the young man the Sheriff’s Department was questioning? I still can’t quite dredge it up.”
Jack glanced down at the issue of the newspaper with the information. “Roscoe Lee Bates, age nineteen.” He looked up again. “Did you know him? You said something about a suspect disappearing.”
Ernie leaned back in her chair. “Roscoe Lee Bates. So that’s who it was.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember his name. Yes, I knew him. At least briefly, I should say. He was in one of my classes at the high school for about three months, and then he dropped out of school.”
“When was that?” Wanda Nell asked. “Was it when the murder happened?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I think it was probably the year before that. The boy was average, but he never applied himself all that much. He could have graduated if he’d put a little effort into it, but he just gave up partway through his senior year.”
“Can you think of any reason the police might consider him a suspect?” Jack asked. “I mean, was he known to be a troublemaker, or anything?”
“Not really. Now that we’re talking about him, I’m remembering more and more. No, he was basically a good boy, just lazy. He also had difficulty making good decisions, so he occasionally got in trouble—nothing really serious, though.” She cocked her head to one side and stared into space. “He was a very handsome boy, and so he always had plenty of girls buzzing around him even though he was pretty quiet most of the time. He certainly liked girls, so I can easily imagine his chatting up a stranger in town, especially if she was pretty.”
“There must have been some kind of connection, then, between him and the dead girl,” Wanda Nell said. “You don’t think the Sheriff’s Department would have picked somebody at random, do you?”
“I’d sure hate to think they’d stoop that low,” Ernie said. “But if somebody in town with a lot of money and influence was willing to pay, the sheriff at that time might have been bought off.”
“Who was the sheriff back then?” Wanda Nell asked. “I was only about ten or eleven, and I sure don’t remember.”
Ernie’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I hate to say it, but he was a distant cousin of mine. Claude Carpenter. He had the morals of an alley cat, and was as venal as they come. It was a shameful day for this county when he was elected sheriff, let me tell you.”
“Was he in office very long?” Jack asked.
“A couple of terms,” Ernie replied. “Then he had a heart attack and died, just when he was about to run for a third time.”
“So we can’t question him,” Jack said, sighing.
“No, but one of his
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