Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 26, No. 6, May 27, 1981

The Man Who Flim-Flammed Hiwassee County by William M. Stephens

We don’t get many professional swindlers in Balsam Gap, and it was just my luck to get involved with a real humdinger. Kent “Parrot” Barrone was a rogue and scoundrel of the first water. He not only conned the sheriff and the judge; he conned his own lawyer — who happened to be me.

It was in 1951, not long after I’d passed the bar and hung my shingle out, when Parrot Barrone came into my office above the drugstore. As far as I know, he picked me entirely by chance. It had nothing to do with my being female. In fact, I doubt if he knew. The sign on the outside of the building gave no hint. It just read: LEE MURPHY — ATTORNEY AT LAW — UPSTAIRS.

Parrot Barrone would attract attention anywhere in rural East Tennessee because of his slick look and high-heeled cowboy boots. In Nashville, of course, you’d take him for just another musician, but Balsam Gap is a far cry from Nashville. He was slender and catlike and wore tight pants and a fancy jacket. I’m not sure where he came from. He claimed to be a Texan, and he had a Latin air, but with his talent for dialects and mimicry he could have been from anywhere. My first impression of him was that he was as phony as a three-dollar bill.

That afternoon I was typing up a will. He came up the stairs so quietly I didn’t hear him coming and had no time to get into my lawyer’s chair before he came through the door. Consequently, we had to go through the routine of my explaining that I was not the secretary; I was the lawyer.

We went into my tiny private office. He said, “This is all very embarrassing, Miss Murphy — I don’t know where to begin.” He examined his long, delicate fingers. “We were just passing through — Kathy and I — and, due to an unfortunate chain of errors, Kathy was arrested on suspicion of passing bad checks.”

I nodded sagely. “How big were the checks, and who cashed them?”

“One was for seventy-five dollars and one was for fifty. We stopped last night at the Limestone Bluff Court. Kathy cashed a check at the gift shop, and another this morning at the office. After we left we had car trouble and had to get a wrecker to tow us to a garage. The sheriff arrested Kathy there and impounded our new Packard convertible.”

I made little sounds of sympathy. “You picked the wrong place to pass bad checks, Mr. Barrone. The Limestone Bluff is owned by Clem Ricketts, who happens to be the sheriff’s brother.”

“My God!”

“Did you gas up there too?”

He nodded. “A burly man with close-cropped hair filled the tank and checked the oil.”

“That was Clem. I imagine he pulled a distributor wire or something to put you out of commission while he had his brother check you out.”

He shook his head ruefully. “Welcome to Tennessee, huh? So that’s the way you treat tourists around here.”

“That’s the way some folks treat you when they think you’re trying to take them to the cleaners. These backwoods rubes are not as dumb as they look, Mr. Barrone.”

“My mistake.” He looked at me speculatively. “You’re not a native of this region, are you?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. I’m strictly a local yokel — born and raised in Happy Valley, ’way back in the sticks about ten miles from here.”

“But you went to Harvard Law School?” he said, glancing at the diploma on the wall.

I nodded. “I’m still a hick, though.” Pushing my chin forward, I went on, “Suppose you level with me, Mr. Barrone. How many worthless checks is the sheriff apt to come up with if he keeps your car in hock and your wife in jail for a few days while he investigates?”

“Oh, you misjudge me,” he said with a pained expression. “What do you take me for?”

I smiled. “You look like a client to me. But if you want me to represent you, I need to know all the facts.”

“Of course,” he said earnestly. “Let me explain how this preposterous situation came about.”

“That would be nice.”

“Kathy and I are on our honeymoon.”

“Congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

He looked at me quickly, then went on. “Before we were married, Kathy had her checking account at the Bank of Houston. But since I was a director of the Oilman’s National, she closed out her account. This week, however, due to the excitement of our honeymoon trip and the news that Kathy’s mother has been critically injured in an accident so that we had to change plans suddenly and head for the hospital she’s in Birmingham—” He paused to take a deep breath. “Kathy’s a very delicate girl. She tends to lose her equilibrium under strain. In her anxiety, she completely forgot she had closed out her checking account. So—” he shrugged “—in all innocence, she wrote those checks.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said charitably. “However, writing a check on a nonexistent account is a felony in this state.”

He slumped in his chair.

“This is more serious than I thought. I assumed we could simply make restitution.”

“Well, restitution would help,” I said. “If the checks were paid off, the attorney general might agree to reduce the charge to a misdemeanor. Your wife might get off with a fine.”

He bit his lip. “How much money are we talking about?”

“It’s hard to say. The fine could be hundreds of dollars. The checks come to a hundred and twenty-five. Getting her out on bond will be expensive too. How much is the bond?”

“They haven’t set one.”

I shook my head. “I figured as much — but we can force them to. Since you’re a transient, however, no bondsman in this county will touch you. You may have to post a cash bond.”

He sighed. “In addition to the towing charge on the car, a repair bill, and a hotel bill at the Daniel Boone, where I just checked in.”

“Also,” I said, “if you’ll forgive my mentioning it, your attorney’s fee.”

“Yes, of course.” He shrugged helplessly. “At the moment my fluid resources are severely limited.”

“What about this bank you’re director of? Can’t you get some help there?”

Frowning, he said. “Unfortunately, we had a shakeup at the bank. I resigned and withdrew my funds. Most of my assets are now in gold and oil stocks. It will take a day or two to come up with cash.”

“I’ll need a hundred dollars as a retainer,” I said. “Cash. If you want me to get a bond set and start negotiations with the attorney general—”

“My dear lady,” he said, “I will definitely pay your fee. My father is quite wealthy.”

“Would you like to telephone him and reverse the charges?”

“I’ve already tried. He’s off hunting tigers in Nepal. I have other possibilities, but it will take a little while.”

“Well, I’ve got to have a retainer, and I don’t take checks.” I was sick and tired of working for nothing and was damned if I’d let this smoothie talk me out of my fee.

He smiled. “I understand. How about a twenty-dollar gold piece? Hey, there’s one!” Opening his eyes wide and reaching out to a point near my left ear, he produced a gold coin out of the air. Or so it seemed.

“How did you do that?”

He took my hand and pressed the coin gently into the palm. His hands were remarkably soft. “I created it,” he said, “out of the rich energy lodes in your lovely aura.”

I examined the coin. “It looks real.”

“It is real. Whoops, there’s another one coming out of the other ear.” Reaching, he plucked another gold piece out of the air.

“Don’t stop now,” I said. “Between your magic fingers and my rich aura, we can make a fortune. First my fee; then the bad checks; then — Acapulco.”

He laughed. “I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, it takes a lot of energy to make gold. About two coins a day is my limit.” He took my hand and pressed the second coin into my palm. “Take my advice,” he said, “and keep these in a safe place — after the government takes the ceiling off gold prices they may be worth a hundred dollars each.”

“But it’s against the law to keep gold.”

“Technically.” He shrugged. “You’re the lawyer. Would you rather wait until I have currency?”

“No. I’ll hold onto these until you redeem them with long green.”

“Fine. But don’t leave them lying around. Put them in a safe place.”

I nodded and pulled out the bottom drawer in my desk. Placing the coins in my cash box, I wrote him a receipt while he watched with a funny kind of smile.

“Now,” he said, “what I want you to do first is get a writ of habeas corpus. Kathy is being held for investigation with no formal charges. Let’s force them either to release her or to set a reasonable bond.”

I looked at him in surprise. “That’s exactly what I planned to do. How do you know so much about habeas corpus?”

Waving a hand carelessly, he said, “I went to law school for a while, before Dad talked me into studying geology. He thought geology would be more valuable in our business. He heads Barrone Oil Wells, Limited.”

“Good for him. O.K., Mr. Barrone. I’ll draw up a petition this afternoon and see if the judge will schedule a hearing for tomorrow morning. Then we’ll find out what kind of case the prosecutor has.”

He nodded. “Time is of the essence.”

“Absolutely.” Giving him a sideways glance I said, “Just in case there might be some other checks floating around, we’d better get Kathy out on bond before the attorney general’s office is deluged by bad paper.”

“My sentiments exactly, ma’am.” He smiled. “You’re very perceptive, Miss Murphy. I knew in a flash today that you should be our lawyer. I have certain psychic abilities, as you may have suspected.”

“Do you really?” I said innocently. “How did you happen to come to me? I’m curious.”

“Elementary, my dear. I simply looked in the yellow pages under Attorneys, then closed my eyes and moved my hand slowly across the page. A special vibration told me you were the one.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”

He held up his right hand. “God’s truth. Already my intuition has been confirmed. I can tell from your deep blue eyes that you are intelligent, warm, and compassionate.” He placed the tips of his fingers lightly on my arm and stared intently at me. “I can sense,” he said slowly, his voice vibrant, “that you have great empathy for people. You will help me... you want to help me... and you will be richly rewarded for doing so.”

His eyes were hypnotic and his voice made me feel strange. With an effort I turned my head away.

“Perhaps you’ll have dinner with me tonight,” he said softly.

I was tempted — he had a certain charm, even if he was a crook and a bounder. I don’t meet many interesting men in Balsam Gap. But there was something in his eyes that disturbed me. Besides, he was a paying client — and a married man.

“No,” I said. “I have to start earning my fee and get your wife out of jail. But since you don’t have transportation, I’ll give you a ride to the Daniel Boone. Telephone me in a few hours and I’ll tell you when the hearing is scheduled.”

We went down the steps and through the alley to the back of the building where I parked my 1941 Studebaker. “Since you’re accustomed to touring in a Packard convertible,” I said, “I hope you won’t mind slumming for a few blocks.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Actually, this is quite nice.”

“I use it only for driving back and forth to court,” I said facetiously, glancing at the courthouse directly across the street from my office.

But Parrot Barrone was absorbed in his thoughts and failed to catch my little joke.

The writ of habeas corpus, Blackstone said, is the greatest protection the common man has under the common law. In America today, just as in England five hundred years ago, it safeguards the individual against flagrant abuse of police power. And also, of course, it sometimes allows a scoundrel to beat the system.

Habeas corpus gives a confined person an absolute right to have a judicial inquiry into the legality of his imprisonment. This means that no one can be held under an “open” charge or “for investigation.” Not for long, anyway, if he can get word to a lawyer or even smuggle a note to a judge, who has a sworn duty to honor the application and order a prompt hearing.

Besides these advantages, the writ is the criminal lawyer’s best friend. At a habeas corpus hearing, the accused has everything to gain and nothing to lose. He can find out everything about the prosecutor’s case without tipping his own hand.

The hearing was held in Judge Lively’s courtroom. Sheriff Rex Ricketts brought Kathy Barrone over from the jail and she took a seat beside her husband and me. The sheriff and the attorney general sat at the other counsel table. Kathy had long black hair and flashing eyes. She didn’t look delicate or frail to me. In fact, I’d bet she could pin Parrot two falls out of three. I didn’t sense as much affection between them as I’d expect to find between honeymooners who had been forced to spend the night in separate beds. But maybe they had other things on their minds.

Judge Lively rapped his gavel. “All right, let’s get started. This is a hearing in the matter of Kent Barrone and wife Kathy Fernandez Barrone versus Rex Ricketts, sheriff of Hiwassee County. Let’s hear from the petitioners.” He nodded to me.

“If the court please,” I said, “I represent the petitioners. Your honor, these young people, while passing through Hiwassee County, were seized and deprived of their liberty and their property without due process of law. Mrs. Barrone has been locked up without a charge being filed and without being taken before a magistrate. This is an outrage, your honor, inflicted on two citizens who have a compelling need to be on their way.”

The judge nodded, then looked at Rufus Haggle. “All right, Mr. Attorney General.”

Haggle stood up and arched his back to look down his long nose at Parrot and Kathy. “Yes, they do have compelling reasons to get out of this county as quickly as possible.” With a dry chuckle, he turned back to the bench. “Your honor, we’ve had a plague of bad checks these past few months. All up and down the John Sevier Highway, people in big touring cars have been stopping at roadside stands and tourist courts to pass bum checks. It’s getting so the local folks are losing their faith in the Golden Rule. They help the tourists out and get slapped in the face for their trouble.”

“If the court please, your honor,” I interrupted, “we’re not here for a morality lecture. My clients have been deprived of—”

“You made your little speech and I’m making mine,” snapped Rufus Haggle.

“All right, all right,” said the judge, “but get on with it. What kind of charges are you making against these petitioners?”

With a brief smile, the attorney general opened his file and withdrew two oblong slips of paper. “Here are two checks, your honor, dated November seventeenth, written on the Bank of Houston, in Texas, in the amounts of seventy-five and fifty dollars. They are signed by K. Fernandez, which we understand is an alias of Kathy Barrone.”

“We object, your honor. It’s not an alias. It’s her maiden name.”

The judge nodded. “She did write these checks, then? You admit that?”

“With all due respect, your honor,” I said, “it’s not incumbent on Mrs. Barrone to admit or deny anything at this point. No legal charge has been made. No prima facie case has been established. If the attorney general intends to use those checks as evidence of some kind of wrongdoing, he must first establish that a crime has been committed, and secondly that there is reason to believe Mrs. Barrone is the person who committed it.”

“What about that, Mr. Attorney General?” the judge said. “Let’s hear your proof.”

Haggle hesitated, then nodded brusquely. “Take the stand, Sheriff.”

After being sworn, Sheriff Ricketts testified he had received a call from his brother at the Limestone Bluff Court. “He said a couple of suspicious characters had passed some—”

“We object,” I said. “Hearsay.”

“Sustained.”

“Let me ask you this, Sheriff,” said Haggle. “Please state whether or not you acted upon information received from your brother, and subsequently apprehended these suspects?”

“Yes, I did. It seems they had a slight problem in the distributor of their Packard—” he hid a grin behind his hand “—and they got towed in. I found them at Watkins’ garage and showed them the checks. The lady admitted—”

“Objection! Also hearsay,” I said.

“Overruled. An admission against interest is an exception to the hearsay rule, as you well know, counselor.” Turning to the sheriff, he asked, “Did she admit she’d signed and passed the checks?”

“She sure did, Judge.”

Judge Lively compressed his lips. “Anything else from this witness, General?”

Rufus Haggle, glancing through his file, looked up. “I think that’s all, your honor.”

“Cross-examine,” said the judge.

“Sheriff,” I said, walking toward the witness stand, “let me see those checks.” He handed them over and I examined them, front and back. “What’s wrong with them, Sheriff? Why do you call them bad checks?” He darted a glance at the attorney general, then said, “They’re no good. They’re not worth the paper they’re written on. That’s what’s wrong with them.”

“How can you tell?” I asked innocently. “They look perfectly good to me.” With a perplexed expression, I handed them to the judge, who frowned as he turned them over in his hands.

“They’ve never even been presented for payment,” he said. “How can you make an arrest for passing worthless checks when the checks haven’t yet been refused by the bank?”

The sheriff glanced again at Haggle. “Well, I telephoned Houston, Judge, and they told me at the bank that—”

“I object!” I said. “You can’t tell what they told you, Sheriff. That’s clearly hearsay, your honor.”

“I’m well aware of that, counselor.” Turning to the witness, the judge said, “You can’t relate the telephone conversation.”

Glaring at me, the sheriff said, “But that’s how I know the checks are bad.”

“You don’t know they’re bad,” I said. “That’s your problem. You don’t know, of your own knowledge, anything about Kathy Barrone’s dealings with the Bank of Houston, do you?”

“No, but—”

“That’s all. Step down,” I said.

“Any other witnesses for the respondent?”

Rufus Haggle stood. “Not at this time, your honor.”

The judge rubbed his chin and frowned. Beckoning with both hands, he said, “Approach the bench, General. You too, counselor.”

We went up to the bench and the judge said, in a low voice, “Rufus, is that all you’ve got to hold the lady on?”

“That’s all I’ve got at this moment, Judge, but in a day or two we’ll have more. They fit the description of a couple who’ve passed beaucoup checks in Boone and Watauga Counties. Also, the woman is believed to have bilked a bank in Kingsport of five hundred dollars.”

“She passed a bad check at a bank?”

“A male confederate made a phone call impersonating the president of the bank. It fooled the cashier and he gave her the money. They’re real flim-flam artists, Judge. That’s why we’re trying to tie them up while we get all our ducks in a row.”

“Well,” I said, “while you’re getting your ducks in a row, General, you’re violating the constitutional rights of my clients. Your honor, you heard the so-called evidence against these people. The State’s case is a travesty. They’ve got absolutely nothing on Mr. and Mrs. Barrone. They have already had their honeymoon interrupted by this farce, and they need to get to Birmingham to see Mrs. Barrone’s mother, who is critically ill.”

“Well, she is entitled to bond,” said the judge. “Rufus, have you personally contacted that bank in Houston to see if they’re holding a bale of bad checks written by these two?”

“No, I haven’t, your honor. As you know, that information wouldn’t be admissible unless we got a bank official up here and—”

“Who’s talking about admissibility? Damn it, Rufus, at least we’d know. Right now we don’t know pea turkey, and I’m gonna have to release that woman unless you make a charge. You got to fish or cut bait, buddy.”

“All right.” Haggle spoke through tight lips. “We’ll charge her on two counts of passing worthless checks and see what else crops up. Two thousand dollars bond.”

“One thousand,” I said. “Those two checks only come to a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

The judge nodded. “I think a thousand is enough. Can they make it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Possibly. Also, I want their car released.”

The attorney general shook his head. “Judge, we think that car is stolen. There are papers in the glove compartment in the name of one William D. Walker. We think—”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “Did you have a search warrant when you went rummaging through the car?”

He glared at me without answering.

“Damn it,” I said, “you know you needed a warrant to search that car. Anything you found will be inadmissible.”

“What the hell’s the difference?” he said. “As soon as we get the F.B.I. report, we’ll have plenty of corroborating evidence.” Flushing angrily, he said, “I’m not going to release that car, Judge. Not unless you order me to.”

The judge nodded. “You’ve got till noon tomorrow to make a case on the car. Otherwise, you’ll have to release it.”

Haggle smiled. “That’s fine. By tomorrow a federal lien is liable to be slapped on that car for a charge of transporting a stolen automobile across a state line.”

“If the car is stolen,” I said.

So that was the way the judge left it, and I was satisfied with the outcome. The sheriff took Kathy back to jail and Parrot Barrone walked back to my office with me. He was jubilant and had a strange, wild look in his eyes.

“I can get a thousand dollars easy,” he said, “by telephoning my dad’s office. Also—” he raised his eyebrows “—I’ll get an extra hundred for you, for doing such a great job.”

“That would be nice,” I said.

“If you’ll let me use the telephone in your office, I’ll make a collect call and get the money wired to me right away.”

“Be my guest,” I said, ushering him into the office. Then, while he closed the door and made his call, I caught up on my filing.

He came out with a grin a yard wide. “Success!” he said. “They’re sending enough to cover everything. I’ll pick up the money at Western Union late this afternoon.”

“Wonderful!”

“As soon as it arrives I’ll settle up with you and post Kathy’s bond. Then perhaps you’ll join us for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

He gave my hand a warm squeeze and said, “See you later, Lee. Will you be here in the office all afternoon?”

“Till five, at least,” I said. “Call me when you know something.”

“Of course.” He winked. “Adios, señorita.”

I worked all afternoon, typing up a couple of title abstracts, pausing occasionally to gloat over the way the hearing had gone. I was delighted to have earned a nice fee on a walk-in case. If I could get one like it every week or so, I’d soon be in clover.

Thinking back over it, I decided my initial impression of Parrot had been harsh and judgmental. Maybe he was a crook, but he operated with verve and charm. And quite possibly he wasn’t a crook. Who was I to say? In any event, he was entitled to legal counsel. I was a lawyer, not a moralist.

About five-thirty, I decided to lock up. Parrot still hadn’t called, so I assumed it had taken longer than he’d anticipated for the people at the other end to get the cash together. The money would surely arrive by morning.

I opened my purse to get my keys. They weren’t there. I stood there, puzzled. I’d had the keys when we got back from court. I’d unlocked the outer door and then dropped the keys into my purse, which had been on my desk all afternoon.

A chill went through my heart. Parrot! He’d been in my office with the door closed. Quickly I yanked the bottom drawer open and looked in the cash box. Empty. Cleaned out. The two gold pieces were gone, plus forty dollars and some change. Another twelve dollars had been taken from my purse.

Furious with myself for being so trusting, I ran down the steps and around the building. My car was gone. In a black, seething rage, I stalked into Sheriff Rex Ricketts’ office next door.

Rex was reading the Balsam Gap Bugle, his feet propped on the desk. He glanced up at me, then put his feet down. “What in the world is wrong, Lee?” he said with concern.

“That carpetbagging reprobate!” I sputtered. “That depraved scalawag! That oily-tongued hustler! Rex, I want to swear out a warrant against Parrot Barrone.”

“Parrot Barrone?” he said, astonished. “But he’s your client.”

“Was my client. That no-account swindler took my car and all the cash I had. I want him, Rex—” I pounded the desk “—I want him!” Then came a sudden thought. “And you’d better make sure his wife is still in her cell. I wouldn’t put anything past those two flim-flammers.”

The sheriff had a funny look on his face. “Why, she’s been gone since noon, Lee. Didn’t you know?”

“Are you serious? Since noon? How in the—? You mean Parrot posted bond?”

“Why, no. The judge said he didn’t need to. After the hearing this morning — right after I brought Kathy back to the jail — Judge Lively called me on the telephone and said he’d reconsidered. Said he’d decided to release Kathy on her own recognizance.”

“Her own recognizance?” Bewildered, I shook my head. That didn’t sound like Judge Lively. He’d have told me first, wouldn’t he? Then I thought about the phone call Parrot had made from my private office and I felt the blood drain from my face. “Oh, my God,” I said, sitting down. “Rex, what time did the judge call you?”

“Lemme check the log. Here it is. Eleven-forty-two, only a few minutes after we got back from the courthouse. Right after I hung up from talking with the judge, Parrot Barrone walked in and said the judge had sent him over to get Kathy. So I signed her out, naturally.”

“Naturally,” I said in a tiny voice. “We’ve been had, Rex. You and the judge and me and everybody.” I released my breath in a long, hoarse sigh. “We’d better get the judge on the phone.”

Sitting down to dial, I closed my eyes for a long moment and wondered why I hadn’t gone into teaching like my mother wanted me to.

Well, Parrot had indeed conned us all. He’d imitated the judge’s voice so well that the sheriff had been completely fooled. Later, after rehashing the whole mess, I concluded that Parrot had planned from the beginning to spring Kathy with a phone call, but he needed an opportunity to listen to Judge Lively’s voice. That was why he wanted the hearing. He was a master of voice mimicry. And he’d had to work fast, before the sheriff got an F.B.I. report on him. If he couldn’t get the Packard out of hock, he’d take my car, which I’d very conveniently pointed out to him. The Packard wasn’t his anyway, we learned. He was wanted in California, Arizona, and Nevada for larceny, embezzlement, bank fraud, larceny by trick, impersonating a bank officer, forgery, and even practicing medicine without a license. As far as the record showed he’d never been to Texas.

The Boone County police found my Studebaker, none the worse for wear, at the Booneville Airport. Parrot and Kathy had caught a plane for Charlotte, and there the trail turned cold.

The next day I received a postcard from Charlotte.

“Dear Miss Murphy, Thanks for letting me borrow your car, and for all your help. We really are grateful, and I’ll pay your fee in full the next time I strike oil. Kathy sends her best. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Love, Parrot.”

Strange as it seems, he did eventually pay my fee, and in a totally unexpected way. But that’s another story.