The Duck Hunter

By Ed Beckley

In 1939, John Steinbeck began his research for his novel the Grapes of Wrath at a farm labor camp outside Gridley, California. Fast forward to 1952. A beautiful young girl from this camp is found brutally murdered in a canal near Gridley. She is the daughter of the Coffey family who work the crops during the harvest season. They are unable to afford a decent burial for their daughter.

The community shows little emotion or outrage over the death of Clara Coffey, except to place probable blame for her death on an African American man who had recently moved to the area with his family. Only a young Deputy Sheriff named Marlin Webster takes her murder seriously enough to pursue the few clues available as to her killer. Clara becomes almost an obsession with Webster that results in conflict with his love interest, Roxanne Travers, Sheriff Sam Cross and others who stand in his way to finding her murderer and bringing some dignity to her life.

The story focuses on Webster’s investigation and the people and events he encounters, but also on a people and community where long held beliefs and prejudices that come into conflict with changing times die hard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 28, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469702032

Book preview

Prologue

Spring, 1952 Butte County, California

A full moon, silhouetted against black sky and clustered diamonds, bathed the Sacramento Valley of Northern California in candescent light. Waters of a swiftly moving canal mirrored anything near its banks. A pickup truck stood out in sharp contrast to flat land and stretches of gleaming waters. Cottontails, tules, and water lilies rising high above the canal’s banks could not shade the pickup from the light.

Sounds of rushing water through spillways of a concrete dam, chirping crickets, the distant bark of a wild dog, and the call of an owl perched in a nearby tree could be heard above the stillness of the night.

Inside the pickup, muted voices and sounds of pleasure intermingled. Two bodies moved in unison atop the single front seat. Music from the radio filtered through open windows.

Suddenly, the fluid, planned, and deliberate movements of the participants became forceful, violent. Actions and reactions. Limbs striking out against the cramped interior of the truck. A voice, soft and low only a few moments earlier, became shrill and pained. The face of a young woman appeared behind the glass of the windshield. It was a pretty face with eyes trying to escape the confines of their sockets. Her mouth opened wide with red glossed lips stretched across pearl white teeth. Arms with clenched fists pummeled roof, dashboard, and windshield.

Directly behind the girl, another face distorted in anger, eyes filled with hate, glared straight ahead. Strong hands held a vice-like grip around a cord encircling the girl’s throat. With the last of her dissipating strength, the girl’s fingers tore into the flesh of her own neck to release the garret.

Within seconds it was over. All sound ceased except labored breathing from the person with the strong hands. The driver’s-side door opened, and the girl’s body was pulled across the seat where it fell lifeless to the ground. Puffs of dust rose around her body from the thick silt covering the roadway.

Strong hands dragged the girl’s nude body to the side of the canal and lowered it into the water. It took only seconds before it submerged.

The engine of the pickup came to life after several turns of the ignition. The air was foul with the smell of gasoline. The headlights caught a jackrabbit in their wash. The rabbit was stunned by the light and rested on its back legs. A flash of fire from a small bore rifle followed by a sharp explosion shattered the night air. The rabbit moved sideways and began kicking at the earth. His body jerked in spasms for several seconds and then lay motionless. The gears of the pickup took hold, and it moved backward along the dirt roadway leaving a path of misty silt in its wake. As the pickup came out of the roadway to a gravel road, the driver turned the steering wheel hard to the left and forced the gears into forward. Crossing a wooden bridge spanning the canal, the pickup headed east on Ferris Road.

Chapter 1

One Day Later

The wind came from the north. It was a strong wind and blew in gusts. Its journey had been long, beginning over the Bering Strait, rising and falling over the mountains of Alaska and Canada. It traveled over the Cascades, through the Willamette Valley of Oregon, above and around the Siskiyou Mountains of northern California, and into the vast Sacramento Valley below Mt. Shasta and Redding. Its tentacles lashed out against expansive stretches of open water providing cover and nourishment to seeds embedded in adobe clay.

A serpentine of earthen dikes rose above glistening ponds. Winds whipped water into a raging froth of whitecaps rushing over fresh earth. The water’s relentless force drove wedges into mounds of clay until large sections crumbled under their own weight.

Eighty miles south of Redding near the town of Richvale, a centerpiece for a vast landscape called the Rice Bowl, a man people called the duck hunter stood knee deep in swirling waters. His cotton work shirt was tied around his waist, and his upper body was deeply tanned. Muscles in his back and shoulders were taut and pronounced against tight skin. Urgency reflected in his movements as with large clasped hands he drove a shovel’s worn blade deep into black clay. Wet earth was brought to the surface and packed on top of dissolving soil below.

It was a repetitive, ritualistic motion. A contest of strength and will power among man, wind, and water. His facial features were set in a look of defiance and determination. Lips stretched across even white teeth. Clear blue eyes partially closed to escape the harsh glare of sunlight ricocheting off reflective whitecaps. A film of moisture covered his skin giving the appearance of softness to its leather texture.

Rivulets of water gathered on his forehead and cheeks, flowed along etched lines, and came together in a mat of dark brown hair covering his chest. His Levis were old and faded blue, but the water gave them new life, turning them gleaming turquoise.

Abruptly, the rhythmic motion of his labor stopped. Rising to his full height, he brought the handle of the shovel over his head and with the full force of his body drove the blade deep into a large clump of clay. His hands brushed the liquid from his face as he surveyed the expanse of water and drenched earth around him. There was a look of contempt in his eyes. He moved in slow, labored steps toward a section of dike where a canteen covered with moistened burlap lay half buried in the mud. He removed the silver cap from the canteen and raised the canister to his lips. Water flowed from the vessel in short bursts. After drinking several mouthfuls, he replaced the cap. Placing the canteen back in place, he looked along the dike into the glare of the water and sun. A jackrabbit stood atop a clump of moist earth over forty yards away. The Duck Hunter watched the rabbit for several seconds. The rabbit rested on its haunches, its head turning in different directions surveying the water and the length of dike.

The Duck Hunter’s right arm moved slowly downward, his hand grasped the stock of a rifle, and he placed the rifle butt against his shoulder. He took a steady aim, bringing the body of the rabbit in line with the sight on the rifle barrel. A measured squeeze of the trigger and an explosion from the rifle left the rabbit on its back, legs kicking in the air until it lay motionless on its side. A smile creased the lips of the Duck Hunter. He placed the rifle back on the dike, and again grasping the handle of the shovel, he drove it forcefully into the mud and water. The short respite seemed to give him new energy as he increased the frequency of his strokes. The rivulets of water on his body were now breaking their banks and falling in droplets into the swirling froth below.

Chapter 2

The boys stood mesmerized. Their stares so intense that anyone watching would have thought they had never seen a woman before. They were no more than fourteen or fifteen, and except for a couple of inches in height and a shade difference in hair color, they could have passed for twins.

The woman attracting their attention wore a dress made of soft material. It was cut low in front and revealed ample breasts. Below her knees, the dress flared and whipped around her legs from the force of the wind. Her arms and hands in constant motion tried to keep the dress from rising above her knees as she loaded the brown paper bags of groceries into the trunk of a jade-colored Chrysler convertible. The sides of the car were covered with bamboo wood, polished to a high gloss. Chrome strips ran along each side, and hubcaps were shiny round disks surrounded by a wide stripe of white rubber. Rear tires were covered with a half canopy of green metal. The interior was wrapped in light brown leather. The dashboard was a mixture of chrome, glass, and walnut veneer. A white cloth top was neatly folded back of the rear seat. Small, round silver buttons kept it taut and firmly in place.

With grocery bags securely in place, she lowered the trunk lid and moved around to open the driver’s-side door. Her thick auburn hair swirled around her face and over her shoulders. Though her glances had been downward during loading of the groceries, she now met the stares of the boys standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, with their backs to the wall of a hardware store.

She addressed the boys with a warm smile revealing highly glossed lips and white teeth.

Don’t you boys know it is impolite to stare. You could have at least offered to help me load those heavy grocery bags.

The taller of the two boys spoke. We didn’t mean to stare, Mrs. Davis. We really like your car.

I could tell by your stares, you were real interested in the car. The mirth of her comment was reflected in her eyes.

Stepping forward a couple of feet, the shorter boy spoke, Why didn’t Patty come to school? Is she sick?

She said she woke up with a sore throat, but I think she just wanted to play hookey. What do you think?

The boys seemed to be stunned by the question and looked nervously back and forth at each other.

Tell me about your dad, boys. What’s the Duck Hunter doing these days?

Smiles crossed the boys’ faces. It was usual for people to address their father by the name Duck Hunter. They couldn’t remember a time when people didn’t.

He’s working in the rice by Richvale, the taller boy said.

Must be the Adams brothers’ ranch. They planted a little late this spring. I bet he is really fighting those broken levies. The wind is blowing like crazy out there, Mrs. Davis said.

He was real tired when he came home last night, the taller boy said.

I always get you boys mixed up. I know your names but forget which name goes with who.

I am Eddie, and he is Jimmy, the shorter boy said.

Well, Eddie and Jimmy, it’s been nice talking with you, but I better get these groceries home and unpacked. Don’t like leaving Patty alone too long, especially when she isn’t feeling well. She winked at the boys with the remark.

Tell Patty we said ‘hi,’ said Eddie.

I’ll do that, boys. Tell your mother and father I said ‘hello’. She slipped effortlessly behind the wheel and placed a key attached to a large silver ring into the ignition switch. The engine came to life immediately, and a stream of blue smoke rose from the rear of the car and dissipated into the air.

With a wave of her right hand, hair blowing in uncontrolled swirls, Maureen Davis drove down the main street of Biggs heading west. Crossing over railroad tracks, she made a right turn onto a street leading out of town. A sign indicated Richvale ten miles ahead. Jimmy and Eddie watched until the Chrysler fell from view.

Chapter 3

Continuing through town, Jimmy and Eddie stopped to inspect cracks in the broken sidewalk and look for shiny stones which stood out against a backdrop of worn asphalt covering the main street out of town. Each day during the school year they walked this street and stretch of road running between the towns of Biggs and Gridley. Only on days when the cold was too great and rains too severe did their mother or father bring them to town. Mostly they ran the two and a half mile distance. It served them well. Their bodies were lean and hard and their lungs strong. They were the best runners on their high school track team at distances of 440 and 880 yards.

Black birds huddled side by side along the power lines beside the highway. As they alternated between walking and running, Jimmy and Eddie would reach down, barely breaking stride, and retrieve small pebbles, throwing them toward the overhead wires. The birds would rise in unison from the wires and disburse in different directions. The birds would return to the wires a distance ahead or well behind the boys. Though the birds were many and flew in clusters, their wings moved with stealth. Pebble upon pebble would fly their direction, but miss its mark.

Eddie and Jimmy threw stones with all the accuracy they possessed. Their intent was never to hit the birds. It was a ritualistic act to break the boredom of a long journey home.

Suddenly, the boys broke into a run. Legs moved out in full stride. Arms pumped forward well ahead of their bodies. They continued to run until their breathing became labored and their legs grew heavy. The road was narrow. A faded white line divided it. On one side of the road was an irrigation ditch filled to the top with water. Spillways were built into the side of the ditch to drain off water used to flood fields beyond.

Two miles from Biggs an unpaved road covered with gravel branched off the asphalt highway at a right angle to the west. It contained pot holes and was shouldered on both sides by a drainage ditch. Eddie and Jimmy turned onto the road, kicking up gravel as they quickened their pace.

In the distance, a cloud of dust hovered above the surface of the road and moved toward Jimmy and Eddie. A few seconds passed before an outline of a pickup truck could be seen. The pickup was moving at a high rate of speed for the gravel surface. Small pebbles spewed from beneath the wheels. Wind moved the dust to the sides of the road where it settled over the waters of rice fields.

Eddie and Jimmy saw the approaching vehicle and separated, one going to each side of the road. They continued to run. The pickup was dark green, its chrome grill covered with dust and mud. In it was a man. His head could be seen through the windshield. One hand clasped the steering wheel while his left arm rested on the window frame of the door. On the passenger side, a large German Shepherd dog hung almost halfway out the window. His large paws rested against the side of the cab.

The pickup came to a stop as it reached the boys. The Shepherd barked several times until the driver reached over and slapped the dog’s backside. He was a man of middle years with a face deeply tanned and heavily lined from a life spent in the sun. He wore a brimmed straw hat and dark-rimmed glasses. The sleeves of his blue cotton work shirt were pulled up near his elbows. He spoke to Jimmy who stood next to the driver’s-side window.

Are you boys just getting home from school?

Yes, Mr. Hoag, Jimmy replied.

I bet your dad is having a hell of a time with those levies breaking. The wind is as strong as I’ve seen it in some time. We lost several dikes. I’m exhausted. Been in water and mud all day. You boys look like you’re half worn out from all the running.

We’re getting in shape for the Valley League track meet. We want to set records in the 880 and 440, Jimmy said.

I ran the 880 when I was in school. The son-of-a-bitch damned near killed me. Never won it. Twice around the track, isn’t it? Hoag asked, never waiting for a reply. Biggs had this guy who ran the 880. A tall lanky Swede. Ran barefooted. I think he came from Sweden as a kid. Look at those trophies from the early thirties; you will see his name on a couple of them. I believe his name was Jan Reisburg. His old man worked for the railroad. Mean as hell. A couple of drifters were in Biggs and they was givin’ Jan a hard time about his accent. I guess they didn’t like foreigners. Jan goes home and tells his old man about the incident, and that old Swede goes right to the Rooster Club where the men were drinking and calls them outside. He worked those two guys over real good. They left town that night and never did come back. Hoag smiled broadly at the recollection.

Eddie had been petting the German Shepherd, but moved around to the driver’s side. Are you going to be planting more rice or putting on fertilizer, Mr. Hoag? Could we flag or help load the plane, he asked.

Hoag smiled at the request. Rice sowing is finished. Going to be putting on fertilizer in the next week or two. I use the Indian to do the flying. He hires his own people to flag and load the plane. Hoag leaned out the window and spit a dark stream of tobacco juice to the side of the road.

Both boys appeared nervous upon hearing Hoag’s response. They dug the toes of their tennis shoes into the gravel surface, making circles, horizontal and vertical lines.

You boys afraid of John Whiteside? Hell, he’s harmless. When he ain’t drinking, he can be a real nice guy. Know a lot of people afraid of John, but I’ve known him for years and never had no trouble from him. The man is the best damn pilot I’ve had work my fields. Man will fly in bad weather and gets down low enough to get good coverage. Some of those pilots fly so high over the field, half the fertilizer and seed is lost. Don’t worry about the Indian. Could tell you stories about John for the next two hours, but I have to get to Gridley before the hardware store closes at five.

We’ll have our dad talk to Mr. Whiteside about working on his planes, Jimmy said.

That’s a good idea. Have the Duck Hunter talk to John. They always seem to get along. Never heard of any problems between them, Hoag said. He reached for the gear shift of the idling pickup. A grinding noise could be heard coming from the gearbox as he positioned the shift into first gear. The pickup lurched forward spitting gravel from the rear tires. Hoag gave a wave of his hand, and the vehicle picked up speed leaving a trail of dust in its wake. The boys stood motionless until the pickup was no longer visible in front of a shield of silt.

Jimmy and Eddie continued to walk and run until they reached a wooden bridge spanning the road. It was an old bridge with boards worn to a shine with use. Several supports were cracked and splintered from steel tracks of farm equipment. There were no railings on the sides of the bridge.

Unlike the small irrigation ditches shouldering the roadways, this canal was wide, deep, and swift. Water came within a foot of the bottom of the bridge. Pylons were covered with vegetation. Long slender weeds and thick clusters of filament could be seen making their way to the surface.

The boys stood for several minutes on the bridge, throwing rocks into the swift current and watching small pieces of wood disappear beneath one side of the bridge only to reappear on the other side.

A dirt path with a thick silt cap traversed one side of the canal. It was a well-worn path which left the imprint of anyone and anything making contact with it. Tire treads and footprints littered its width and length.

Jimmy and Eddie started down the path, kicking up puffs of dust as they walked. They traveled less than twenty-five yards when a concrete dam spanning the width of the canal came into view. The dam was three feet thick and spillways ran its length. Steel pipes stood at each end with wheels attached. Heavy chains were secured to the wheels with large padlocks reducing movement to only a couple of inches in either direction.

At the edge of the dam, both boys looked down into the rushing waters churning beneath them. Force of current produced large whitecaps and froth. Large sections of earth were cut away, leaving deep, swirling pools of clear liquid.

Both boys saw her within seconds. Her movements were in slow motion: graceful, mesmerizing, long blond hair flowing, cascading over and around a cherub face. Eyes. open and motionless, blue sapphires devoid of life. Skin, white and luminous against the hues of the water. Limbs turning with the current as if moving to an accompaniment of music. Minnows darted back and forth as if caught in the glare. Green filaments caressed her body as it rose and fell with the current.

Chapter 4

Maureen Davis moved along the black asphalt highway west of Biggs at considerable speed. Her thick long hair blew uncontrollably around her head. She used her right hand with long slender fingers capped with freshly painted nails to push away the strands of hair that blew across her deep-set green eyes. Though the day was clear and the sun’s rays warm, the air chilled her body.

She approached a rail crossing and looked both directions. The crossing provided no warning signals of approaching trains except the usual white crosses. Several people had lost their lives at the crossing over the years, the latest being a truck driver carrying sixty head of cattle. The driver hit the side of a freight train at full throttle. Her husband helped put each mangled and tormented animal out of its misery with a single bullet to the head.

Crossing a long span of bridge, Maureen made a sharp turn north. The wheels of the Chrysler squealed as the rubber dug into the pavement. She continued on the road for another mile, then suddenly reduced her speed. A dirt road forked off to the west, and Maureen turned the Chrysler into the road. The car rose and fell in violent jerks as tires hit deep pockets of recessed earth. On both sides of the road were vast expanses of water. Earthen levies rose above the waterline in long lazy eights. Churning waters tore into the them bringing down complete sections of earth.

Maureen stopped the car and brought out a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. She surveyed the expanse of water and brought the binoculars to her eyes. She made only a couple of adjustments to the lenses. The magnification was strong, and the subject of her gaze was in full view. With her free hand, she reached across the seat. She removed a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes from her purse. She withdrew a cigarette from the pack by thumping it against the steering wheel. Returning the pack to her purse, she removed a large silver lighter. Holding the lighter in her palm, she brought the cigarette up to the steering column and twirled it between her fingers and thumb while striking both ends against the top of the steering column. Placing the cigarette between her lips, she lit it with a tall flame from the lighter. Taking a deep drag, she let the smoke flow from her lips and curl back through her nostrils. She took another drag from the cigarette. Removing it from her lips, she let it drop to the ground beside the car and disappear into the soft silt. She continued to focus through the binoculars a few moments longer, and she smiled.

Though the car was a mile away, the Duck Hunter recognized it and its driver. He stopped his labor and stared into the distance. His eyes were narrow slits as they adjusted to glare from water and sun. He withdrew a blue handkerchief from his back pocket using it to wipe water from his brow, cheeks, and throat. His thick dark hair matted his forehead, and he ran his fingers through it until the long strands were back over his head.

How Maureen Davis could watch him from a distance and not know he saw her amused him. His vision was legend in the county.

He could spot a duck in early dawn or dusk while other hunters stared into vacant sky. Only John Whiteside was his equal. On many occasions he saw the green Chrysler and the driver’s mane of dark hair while binoculars were focused on him. He never mentioned these trespasses to Maureen. If she believed it her secret, he would do nothing to disturb it.

Chapter 5

"Jesus, it’s a dead girl!" Eddie said. His body trembled as he spoke. The words spilled from his lips. Jimmy said nothing for several seconds as his eyes didn’t leave the scene below in the clear, moving water.

We better get home and call the sheriff, Eddie said.

She must be dead, but she looks like she is alive. Her eyes and mouth are open. Do you think she drowned skinny dipping? Jimmy’s question went unanswered.

Let’s go, Jimmy. I don’t want to look at her anymore, Eddie said.

Both boys began running. Clearing the dirt path, they headed west down the gravel road at full stride. They stopped for short periods to catch their breath. They could see the two-story house of faded red stucco and white wood trim. It sat back from the road one hundred yards. A long wooden porch with pillars on both ends covered the front. The roof was made of red tile. A one-car garage stood to the rear with a door that parted in the middle and opened to both sides. To the west of the house stood a gray wooden barn with a tin roof. Two cows with heavy, veined udders and a white horse with black spots and a swayed back grazed in a fenced area around the barn. Chickens in a rainbow of colors, accompanied by a white rooster, scratched the ground for food along a narrow roadway that ran between the barn and the house. The roadway ended in front of another single-story, white framed house on a raised foundation.

A large section of earth had been cultivated to the east of the white house. Long rows of corn, tomatoes, yellow squash, and watermelons covered its surface. Next to the garage, four steel posts were planted several feet apart with wires stretched between them. Under garments, shirts, Levis, towels, and bed sheets hung from the wires.

Their bodies weary, breathing labored from the long run, Jimmy and Eddie entered the driveway leading to the house. Though several yards away, they began to holler, Mother…Mother…Mother. The words came so rapidly from each boy, they melted into one voice.

A screened porch door to the front of the house opened and a woman appeared. She was short in stature. Thick black hair was cut close around her head. Her nose was too large for the oval face. Pale eyes were protected by thick, dark lashes and wide, closely-spaced eyebrows. A wide mouth with thick lips stretched across white teeth. Her figure filled the long cotton dress she wore with sleeves just above the elbows. Standing motionless with hands clasped in front, she watched the boys run the final few yards.

Are you boys hungry or happy to see me? the woman said with a smile.

Jimmy spoke first. His words were labored. Christ, Mom, we found a girl in the canal.

Marian Tibbet was more concerned with the language from her son than the revelation. You don’t need to use the Lord’s name in vain. Hoped I taught you better by now.

She’s in the canal. She’s naked. You can see her boobs and everything, Eddie said. The words exploded from him.

Marian reached out and grasped Eddie’s shoulder and shook him. You watch your mouth, youngman. You aren’t too big for me to wash it out with soap. She paused to let her words sink in.

Jimmy reached for his mother’s arm and clasped it with the fingers of his right hand. Mom, listen. We found a girl in the canal. She is dead. You need to call the sheriff. We can show you where we found her. She is under water, but she looks alive. Her eyes are open. She is moving around in the water like she is trying to come up for air.

The magnitude of Jimmy’s remarks were just registering with Marian. She stood silent for several seconds before responding. Lord, what is the world coming to? Come in the house. I’ll call the sheriff.

Chapter 6

The Gold Pan Cafe was known to the citizens of Oroville as a greasy spoon. The fare was heavy Thick steaks and chops, mashed potatoes and gravy. The hamburgers were considered the best in the county. Black coffee was the beverage of choice with most who ate there. The restaurant was open at 6 a.m. for breakfast and closed when the owner, a big Greek with a thick moustache and bad temper, told the last patrons to finish their meals or coffee. This usually occurred around 10 p.m.

For the past five years, the Gold Pan served as a second home to Lieutenant Marlin Webster of the Butte County Sheriff ’s Department. If not in his two-room apartment one block away or the sheriff’s station house three blocks away, you could usually find Marlin in a corner booth near the front door. He chose the booth not from habit, but because it was assigned to a waitress named Roxanne Travers. Also, he liked seeing anyone who entered the cafe.

A year earlier, Marlin sat in the same booth when two escaped convicts entered the restaurant with shotguns. Patrons there at the time still told the story of the convicts turning to face the eight-inch barreled Smith & Wesson held in Marlin’s tight hand, while he sipped a full mug of coffee with his left, not spilling a drop. It was vintage Marlin Webster. It was also one of the few times Marlin was out of uniform.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and coffee between, Marlin Webster and the Gold Pan were inseparable. Conversations with locals, and especially the waitress Roxanne, were the only weekday diversions in Marlin’s life outside of his duties in the sheriff ’s department.

It was late afternoon and Marlin had just finished a piece of apple pie while drinking hot coffee and discussing politics with a local merchant. He frequently turned his gaze toward Roxanne who stood behind the counter filling salt and pepper shakers. The door to the cafe opened and a large man in uniform entered and moved quickly to Marlin’s table. The man’s breathing was labored, and his fat broad face was flushed and covered in sweat. Water had broken through on several areas of his shirt. His holstered revolver at his rear was almost out of sight. He spoke between deep breaths.

Marlin, I think we have a homicide. Got a call from Marian Tibbet back of Biggs on the Hawkins ranch. Said her boys found a dead girl in the canal off Ferris Road.

Have a seat, Tom. It sounds like you are about ready to explode, Marlin said. The merchant moved across the Naugahyde seat cover and Tom seated himself in front of Marlin.

Marlin pushed the empty pie plate backwards, removed a pack of Camels from his shirt pocket and lit one. He took a deep drag and blew a stream of smoke in the air.

So you think we have a murder because the Tibbet boys found the body of a girl in a canal. Some people might call that a rush to judgement, Tom.

Why would they find her in a canal? Tom asked.

Marlin studied Tom’s face. For several seconds he just stared at Tom. Well, it might be possible that she drowned. That has been known to happen in this county. I could quote you some statistics on drowning.

The red in Tom’s face became darker. Mrs Tibbet said the girl had no clothes on.

Marlin took another deep drag from the Camel and exhaled hard. "People do go skinny dipping, Tom. Some of them