Survivors Will Be Shot Again by Bill Crider Page B

Neither Todd nor Noah was big enough to have been the person on the video. It could have been one of their friends, however, either Bryan Stout or Nic Chambers.
    â€œWhat’s your father’s name, Todd?” Rhodes asked.
    Todd was sunk back in the rear seat, his voice so weak that Rhodes could barely hear him.
    â€œRoss,” Todd said. “Ross Rankin.”
    Rhodes knew who Ross was. He had an air-conditioning business that was quite successful. It was hard not to make money with an air-conditioning business in Texas.
    â€œWhat about Noah’s father?” Rhodes asked.
    â€œHe’s just Mr. Newsome. I don’t know his name. He’s a bookkeeper or something like that at the hospital. Are you going to call my parents?”
    â€œHave to,” Rhodes said. “It’s the law.”
    â€œDamn,” Todd said.
    â€œNo bad language,” Rhodes told him.
    Todd didn’t respond.
    â€œWhat about your friends? Bryan and Nic.”
    â€œThey’re not my friends. They’re Noah’s friends. I barely know them.” Todd paused. “It was all their idea. Noah and I just went along with them. It’s not fair that they got away.”
    Rhodes figured this was just a bit of passing the blame, which was only to be expected. Everybody did it.
    â€œThey got away from you,” Todd said. “It’s not fair.”
    Rhodes didn’t feel like getting into a discussion about the fairness of life. He was more interested in transportation.
    â€œDid they have a car?” he asked.
    â€œYeah. We parked it around the curve past the Lansens’ house. We came in through the woods.”
    So they’d gotten back to the car. They’d be home by now, hoping that Todd and Noah wouldn’t give them away but knowing better.
    â€œThey didn’t get away,” Rhodes said. “We’ll round them up. Are they older than you?”
    â€œYeah. They’re both sixteen.”
    More juveniles. Rhodes didn’t think any of them would have been capable of stealing a welding rig, much less disposing of it.
    â€œWhat else have they talked you into?” he asked.
    â€œNothing,” Todd said.
    Rhodes didn’t believe him. “Seems like you’re familiar with drugs.”
    â€œThat was Noah who sniffed the ashes, not me. I don’t know anything about drugs.”
    â€œRight. And you’re not a thief, either.”
    â€œI’m not. I never did anything like this before, and neither did Noah. We should never have listened to Bryan. He’s really the one who got us into it. He said it would be easy and we could get some money.”
    â€œTo buy drugs with?”
    Todd didn’t say anything for a while, so Rhodes just waited.
    â€œMarijuana’s not a drug,” Todd said after a while. “It’s like a medicine.”
    â€œYour state legislature wouldn’t agree.”
    â€œThey’re old. They don’t know anything.”
    Todd and Noah hadn’t had any drugs on them, so Rhodes didn’t think they were too experienced with marijuana. They certainly weren’t experienced with meth or cocaine. Or ashes.
    At the jail Rhodes took Todd and Noah to the room that served as the juvenile processing center, which was just like the other two interview rooms. It held an old wooden table that had a scarred top and a couple of folding chairs. The walls were painted a bilious green and had gray and brown stains of undetermined origin on them. It wasn’t a pleasant place, but then it wasn’t supposed to be.
    Rhodes got the name of the parents of Bryan and Nic, and Andy stayed with the boys while Rhodes called the parents of all four of them and told the parents of Nic and Bryan to bring in their sons.
    It took more than an hour to get everything sorted out. The parents were unhappy; the boys were even more unhappy. Rhodes wasn’t exactly Mr. Jolly himself. The parents raised their voices, made