The Bass Wore Scales (27 page)

“
I think he’s foxed us again,” I said. “See this? He’s not moving. He went underneath our boat and wrapped the line around a stump or something.”

“
Can’t you just pull him up?” asked Moosey, disappointment evident in every word.

“
Nope,” I answered. “See? Look here. I’m pulling on the line as as hard as I can. The end of the pole is almost in the water. He’s caught the line on something, and he’s just waiting for me to cut it.”

“
What if you don’t cut it?” Moosey asked.

“
We can’t stay out here forever,” I said. “And anyway, we’ll get another chance at him. I’m going to think of a plan to catch that smart old fish. You’d better cut him loose for now.”

“
Won’t that line get caught on a tree or something while he’s swimming around?”

“
It might, but I don’t think so. And there’s a good chance he’ll work that hook out eventually. Cut it down as low as you can reach.”

Moosey reached over the side with a pair of snips and, with an audible sigh, cut the line.

“
Dadburn fish!” he said.

* * *

“
Junior got the pole position at Darlington,” Billy said with a grin. “He’s driving like a maniac!”

“
Is that good?” asked Elaine.

“
Heck, yeah!” exclaimed Billy. “That means he’s got the fastest car out there right now. By the way, I found four more ushers for this morning.”

“
Great,” I said. There was still an hour until the service started, and I told the choir that we’d have to practice beforehand. These big crowds were beginning to wear on all of us. “If this keeps up, I’m going to want a pay raise.”

“
Fine,” said Billy. “We’ll double your money. No, we’ll triple it.”

“
You understand that even though I give my salary back, my check goes into the music fund, right?”

“
Really? Okay then, never mind.”

* * *

The church was filling up, even as we rehearsed. We went over the service music, the Psalm and the hymns, but the anthem was falling flat. Being a highly-trained professional, I immediately hit on the problem.

“
Where are all the stupid tenors?” I asked.

“
Hey!” said Marjorie. “I’m not
that
stupid.”

“
I mean the ones that aren’t here.”

Marjorie shook her head in despair. “I don’t know. This is like Easter every Sunday. Or Christmas Eve. I’m not sure I can take the pressure to perform.”

“
I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” said Meg. “But you’ll have to sing a solo this morning. You look like the only tenor.”

“
This is what I’m talking about!” wailed Marjorie. “The stress is too much!”

“
Don’t panic,” I said. “Everyone look in the back of your folders and pull out Emergency Anthem number one.
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.
It’s two part and you all know it.”

“
But it’s not what’s listed in the bulletin,” said Fred.

“
Let’s just see how many people notice,” I said with a smile.

“
I need a drink,” said Marjorie, reaching for her flask.

“
Where’s our latest installment of
The Bass Wore Scales
?” asked Martha.

“
It’s on the back of the Psalm,” said Meg, answering Martha’s query. “I begged him not to do it.”

“
Did you give Gaylen one?” asked Rebecca.

“
I put one in her prayer book,” said Bev. “I just hope it doesn’t get mixed in with her sermon.”

* * *

After church, at Meg’s behest, a group of us headed over to her house to watch the race. Ruby had fixed lunch for us as well as an abundance of snacks. I wasn’t really a race fan, but I really liked snacks and, as they say, when you have a dog in the hunt, it makes it a lot more interesting. We were crowded into Meg’s living room—Billy and Elaine, Pete, Georgia, Noylene and Wormy, Molly and Nancy. Meg didn’t have a big screen TV, but we all managed to find a seat with a view.

We weren’t in our seats two hours later, though, when Junior Jameson won his second race in a row. It was a close and exciting race. On the last lap, Junior just managed to edge out the second place car after he’d nudged the leader into the wall. The announcers were getting ready to replay the unfortunate bump, all the while debating whether the officials would let the victory stand, when Junior Jameson decided to show off with a double-donut at the end of his victory lap. He spun around the first time with a squeal of tires, smoke billowing from the rear of his car. He should have stopped there and headed into Victory Lane, but Junior was riding high on adrenaline and Holy Water. We watched in horror as the second donut took him into the wall in front of the grandstand. As a wreck, it didn’t look that bad. But it was.

And now Junior Jameson was dead.

* * *

When I arrived at the office on Monday, Nancy was waiting for me with a cup of coffee in both hands.

“
Here’s your coffee, Chief. We’ve got to go to Boone and see Kent Murphee.”

“
What’s up?”

“
He says he wants us in the coroner’s office ASAP. Something about the Kilroy killing.”

“
You want me to drive?” I asked.

“
Unless you want to ride on the back of the motorcycle.”

“
I’ll drive. I’ll play some Medieval music for you on the way. I’ve got a new recording of a bladder-pipe ensemble.”

“
Oh goody.”

* * *

We wandered into Kent’s office about a half an hour later, and he was sitting at his desk reading a
Playboy
magazine from the 1970s.

“
Reading the articles?” Nancy asked as we both sat down in the armchairs opposite his desk.

“
As a matter of fact, yes. Did you know, for instance, that there have only been two instances ever reported of gorillas in the wild using tools? That is, an object to help perform a specific task?”

“
I didn’t know that,” I said. “Is that in the
Playboy
article?”

“
Nah,” said Kent, putting the magazine down on his desk. “I was just looking at Miss November. I dated her in graduate school, you know.” He lovingly patted the top of the magazine. “I talked with Penelope. She said that Kokomo uses tools all the time, but he’s picked it up from watching and living with people. He can use a nutcracker, for instance, and will, on occasion, eat with a fork.”

“
That’s very interesting,” said Nancy, stifling a yawn. “Is that why we’re here?”

“
Yep. I finished the autopsy. I had a devil of a time convincing Mrs. Kilroy to let me do it. Since the death was listed as an accident of sorts, she had the last word on whether the autopsy should be performed.”

“
And you talked her into it?” I said.

“
Nah. I lied. I told her that in all cases of animal homicide in North Carolina, an autopsy was required.”

“
And she agreed?”

“
I just pushed the paper across the desk, and she signed off. That was last Friday.”

“
You could be fired, you know,” said Nancy.

“
Doesn’t matter,” said Kent, with a smile. “I’m crazy, and everyone knows it. Anyway, I doubt I’ll be fired.” He handed Nancy and me each a copy of his report.

“
There wasn’t any DNA evidence. He’d been floating in the water too long, and it was full of chlorine. I’m guessing that Kilroy threw a tablet in when he filled it.” Kent picked up his own copy. “Of course, he had a broken neck—that was obvious. And it seems,” he continued, “the blow to Jimmy Kilroy’s head was substantial. It caused a four-inch gash that bled profusely. The blow was also responsible for an acute subdural hematoma—that is, a blood collection below the inner layer of the dura but external to the brain itself and the arachnoid membrane.”

“
Arachnoid membrane?” said Nancy. “I’ve got spiders in my brain?”

“
Most definitely,” I said. “They crawl out your ears sometimes.”

“
Same root word,” said Kent. “The membrane’s like a spider-web forming the middle of the three coverings of the brain and the spinal cord. Anyway, the indentation on Kilroy’s skull was caused by a cylindrical iron object. Like an old pipe, for instance. I found traces of rust deep inside the wound. I would never have seen them without the autopsy—there was too much blood. Also, when I x-rayed the skull, I could see the indentation of the pipe. Again, not apparent to the naked eye. So I would say the weapon was an iron pipe, two-inches in diameter.”

“
Kokomo hit him with a pipe?” asked Nancy.

“
Could be,” said Kent. “But here’s the thing. If Kokomo got mad and hit him with a pipe, Kilroy would have been unconscious. I can’t see him breaking Kilroy’s neck just for spite. And, if he broke his neck first, then why come back and whack him with a pipe? Now, I know this is a gorilla, and I have no idea what his thought process might be, but it just doesn’t make sense.”

“
Hmm,” said Nancy.

“
I don’t think Kokomo did it,” said Kent. “I can’t prove it, of course, and I’ll admit I’m biased since I really like Penelope, but it just doesn’t add up. Oh, I think the gorilla tore the office up, that’s for sure. There aren’t many people capable of throwing a grand piano across a room. But his tantrum, if we can call it that, may have been a reaction to the killing. I just don’t know.”

“
Here’s another question,” I added. “If, as we surmised, Kokomo was in the pool with Kilroy to be baptized, why would he be holding a pipe?”

“
Did you find one at the scene?” asked Kent.

“
No,” admitted Nancy. “But the place looked like a tornado hit it. And we didn’t know what we were looking for.”

“
Have they cleaned everything up?” asked Kent.

“
Yeah,” I said. “But it’s all sitting in a dumpster around the back of the church. I don’t think the disposal company has picked it up yet.”

“
You’d better get back to work then,” said Kent with a grin. He picked up his
Playboy
. “Here’s the other thing. You’ve got a witness. A talking gorilla.”

* * *

Nancy was silent on the drive back to St. Germaine, a sure sign that she was thinking—or maybe just enjoying the bladder-pipe music. We arrived at the New Fellowship Baptist church just in time to see a flat-bed truck with “New River Dumpster Service” written on the side pull into the parking lot. I walked up to the driver, showed him my badge, told him he wouldn’t need to pick this dumpster up for a few days, and asked if he could bring us another one the same size.

“
That one’s twenty feet long, and it’s just a little more than half-f. What’re you gonna do with another one?” he asked.