1969
At beer time the Dog-Gone served up better gossip than the diner. The sheriff and Joe stepped inside the elongated, jam-
packed beer hall and up to the bar, made from a single longleaf pine, which extended down the left side of the room, seemingly out of sight into the dim. Locals—all men, since women weren’t allowed—bunched up to the bar or sat at scattered tables. The two barkeeps roasted hot dogs; fried shrimp, oysters, and hush puppies; stirred grits; poured beers and bourbon. The only light emitted from various flashing beer signs, giving off an amber glow, like campfires licking whiskered faces. The clonks and clinks of billiard balls sounded from the back quarter.
Ed and Joe eased into a midbar cluster of fishermen, and as soon as they ordered Millers and fried oysters, the questions began: Anything new? How come there’s no fingerprints; that part true? Ya guys thoughta ol’ man Hanson? He’s crazy as a loon, be just like sump’m he’d do, climb the tower, push off whoever comes along. This ’un got ya bumfuzzled, ain’t it?
Joe facing one way, Ed the other, they rode the buzz.
Answering, listening, nodding. Then through the hubbub, the sheriff’s ear caught the corner of an even voice, a balanced tone, and turned to face Hal Miller, shrimper crew for Tim O’Neal.
“Can I talk with ya a minute, Sheriff? Alone?”
Ed backed away from the bar. “Sure can, Hal, come with me.” He led him to a small table next to the wall, and they sat. “Need a refill on that beer?”
“No, fine fer now. Thank ya, though.”
“Something on your mind, Hal?”
“Yeah, sure is. Gotta git her out, too. Been drivin’ me a bit ditty.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Oh man.” Hal shook his head. “I don’t know. May be nothing, either that, or I shoulda told ya sooner. I been haunted by what I seen.”
“Just tell me, Hal. Together, we’ll sort out if it’s important or not.”
“Well, it’s about the Chase Andrews thing. It was the very night he died, well, I was crewing for Tim, and we were comin’ into the bay late, way past midnight, and me and Allen Hunt seen that woman, the one people call the Marsh Girl, motoring just outta the bay.”
“Is that so? How long after midnight?”
“Must’a been ’bout one forty-five in the mornin’.” “Where was she motoring?”
“Well, that’s the thing, Sheriff. She was headed right toward the fire tower. If she stayed her course, she woulda landed at that little bay out from the tower.”
Ed breathed out. “Yeah, Hal. That’s important info. Very important. Can you be sure it was her?”
“Well, Allen and I talked about it at the time and were pretty sure it was her. I mean, we both thought the same thing.
Wondered what the hell she was doin’ out that late, cruisin’ along with no lights on. Lucky we seen her, might’ve run her over. Then we just forgot about it. It was only later I put two and two together and realized it was the same night Chase died at the tower. Well, then I reckoned I better speak up.”
“Did anybody else on the boat see her?”
“Well, I don’t know ’bout that. Others were about, fer sure, we were headin’ in. All hands up. But I never talked to the others ’bout it. Ya know, just no reason to at the time. And haven’t asked ’em since.”
“I understand. Hal, you did the right thing to tell me. It’s your duty to speak up like this. Don’t worry about anything. All you can do is tell me what you saw. I’ll ask you and Allen in to make a statement. Can I buy you that beer now?”
“No, I think I’ll just go on home. G’night.”
“Good night. Thanks again.” As soon as Hal stood, Ed waved for Joe, who had been glancing over every few seconds to read the sheriff’s face. They gave Hal a minute to clear the room with goodbyes, then stepped onto the street.
Ed told Joe what Hal had witnessed.
“Man,” Joe said, “that just about does it. Don’t you think?”
“I think the judge may issue a warrant on this. Not sure, and I’d like to be sure before I ask. With a warrant we can search her place for any trace of red fibers that match those found on Chase’s clothes. We gotta find out her story for that night.”
