Revenge

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Nary a notion,” she said.

  “You just invited him to come along because he is an excellent traveling companion?” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I don’t know about excellent travelin’ companion and all, but he drives and I don’t. I ask’d him to drive me over to Virginia. He’s been a friend for many a year.”

  “All very convenient,” I said with some disgust. “I still want those directions to Bart’s place.”

  “Well,” Bella said, “I can see yu’inses are disappointed and all. Especially you, Clancy Evans.”

  “Some. I like closure.”

  “I knew that. So, I ask’d Bart to leave behind sum things.”

  “Some things?” I said.

  Bella got up from the rocking chair and walked to the corner behind where she was sitting. There was a small hutch that contained a collection of Blue Willow china. The hutch was adjacent to the corner but was standing about a foot from it. This position allowed for something small to be placed on the far side of the hutch, but hidden from the rest of the room. Bella pointed to the corner, but from my place on the couch I could not see what she was pointing towards.

  I got up and walked towards her. In the corner was a rifle leaning against the two walls. I took out a handkerchief and picked it up by its long barrel. I headed back towards Rosey, Philmore and Sam.

  “He left this also,” she said as she opened a drawer in the small hutch, pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to me.

  I stood there holding the rifle barrel, allowing the stock to rest on my foot and examining the contents of the transparent bag. Inside were two things. There was an empty shell casing which appeared to be exactly like the one I had found on the grassy knoll. The other item was a cartridge that had not been fired. It appeared to match the empty shell casing.

  “I thought these items might interest ya, might even help ya.”

  “Could be, Bella, could be. And you asked him to leave these things behind, you say?”

  “Yes, I did. Before he left to go off, he told me that he had a rifle and some other things that might help you to solve your murder case.”

  “And you asked him to leave them for me, out of the goodness of your heart,” I said.

  “No, can’t say it wuz fur any count of goodness on my part. Naw, nuthin’ like that. It wuz ‘cause you like things ‘splained, I reckon. You are one of those folk who think there’s a reason fur ever’thing.”

  “And you don’t agree,” I said.

  “No, ma’am. Don’t agree with that. Sum things have no rhyme nor reason. Sum things make no sense a’tall.”

  “You think this is one of those things?”

  “Naw, I think this thing is what you and I wud call a tragedy. A real tragedy. And it wuz started long before Marilyn Saunders set foot on this earth,” Bella said.

  Chapter 47

  We were gathered around Philmore Gosnell’s desk in the Corbin Police Station in downtown Corbin, Kentucky on a cold December morning. Philmore had the rifle given to us by Bella laid out on his desk admiring it. I was sitting on the corner of the unoccupied desk near Philmore’s, Rosey was leaning over the rifle for his close-up exam, and Sam was trying to sleep on the floor under my dangling feet. It was a Tuesday and most of the officers were patrolling their sectors or indulging in some round, pure sugar enjoyment across the street at the diner with a hot cup of coffee. Great morning for black coffee and fresh doughnuts for my money.

  I was thinking about the coffee and the doughnuts while Philmore and Rosey were eyeing the rifle as if it were a Faberge Egg. I had no idea what Sam was contemplating.

  “I have never seen one of these in such pristine condition,” Philmore said with a tone of fascination.

  “The old man kept it in good working order. You lift his prints from it?” Rosey said.

  “The only prints we found were Bella’s and Clancy’s.”

  “I touched it with a handkerchief,” I reacted.

  “Only an index finger from your hand. It must’ve slid from the handkerchief to the rifle barrel unbeknownst to you.”

  “Unbeknownst,” I said.

  “Don’t get to use that word too often,” Philmore said.

  “No prints on the cartridges?” I offered to prove that I could contribute to their conversation as well as think of doughnuts and coffee.

  “Rifle was not loaded,” Philmore said.

  “So tell me what makes this rifle so special,” I said to the boys still ogling their treasure.

  “It’s a genuine M1D, has a single-ring Springfield mount and I am betting it has been re-chambered to accept the revised NATO cartridge we spoke of earlier. It’s a Garand in mint condition. If this is Bart’s weapon, he kept it exactly like he had received it.”

  “You think that this was the rifle issued to Sgt. Bartholomew Poindexter sometime during the Korean War?” I asked.

  “It makes sense,” Rosey said. “He was a sniper, and a good one. They wanted to field test the weapon and the ammo, so they probably chose a few of their best shooters to try these new and improved weapons. It allowed the snipers to shoot their targets at longer distances.”

  “How did he walk off with it when he was discharged?” I said.

  “Can’t answer that one,” Philmore said. “But I can tell you that many men during the war developed a strong attachment to their weapons.”

  “I can understand that,” I said as I felt the pressure of my S&W .357 holstered in the small of my back.

  “No doubt he was a good sniper from all reports we have, which means that he likely had a bent towards subterfuge. He probably figured out a way to break down the rifle and smuggle it out in his knapsack or duffle bag.”

  “Cunning,” I said. “Plus they likely did not check his knapsack for a rifle and cartridges.”

  “This man managed to stay alive during the entire war as well as take out a number of the enemy. You learn survival skills doing that, some are adaptable to civilian life,” Philmore said.

  “Shooting people and eluding capture,” I said.

  “Among them,” Philmore said.

  “We have anything else on Bart?” I asked.

  “We’re getting a search warrant for his place and hoping to find something there.”

  “Anything to tie him directly to any of your murders or to Saunders’ demise?” I said.

  “Other than the fact we believe he did it?”

  “Yeah, other than that.”

  “No. The search warrant might help,” Philmore said.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Rosey added.

  “You have our numbers. Call us if you find something pertinent,” I said as I jumped down from the desk.

  Sam, Rosey and I headed towards the exit of the station.

  “You mean when we find something, right?” Philmore called after us.

  “I guess I mean that,” I said, turning to face Philmore. “Why don’t you call me no matter what you find? Thanks for your help on this, Phil.”

  “Philmore,” he said after me as we left.

  It was good to be heading back to Virginia even if we didn’t have all the answers we wanted. I at least had the satisfaction of believing that we had solved the killing of Saunders even if we had no person on hand to arrest and take to trial. That likely would never matter anyway. Bart was gone and would only surface if he wanted to. I doubted that the Corbin police force would devote too many man-hours searching for him. They could spend some time talking further with Bella Cantrella Cantrell, but there was no way they would crack that lady into confessing anything, if, in fact, she had anything to do with the murder of Saunders, my suspicions notwithstanding. Cunning old bird she was.

  We decided to stop in Clancyville and check on the ladies. An hour out from May’s place, Philmore called me.

  “Got the warrant and found a few boxes of Army issue cartridges, the 7.62x51mm NATO rounds, unopened. Amazing that Bart walked off with that much stuff when the war ended. These cartr
idges match the shell casing I had. I have no doubt that this rifle and that ammunition was used to kill the last five men here in Kentucky. I’d bet money on the fact that this rifle killed those others, too.”

  “You going after Bart?” I said.

  “For a while. You two can come back and help me. Maybe the three of us could track him.”

  “You mean the four of us.”

  “Oh, the dog. Yeah. He’d probably be good with the tracking.”

  “You think.”

  “Oh, by the way. We found an interesting photograph of a young Bartholomew Poindexter in his Army uniform. On the back of it was written, Seoul, Korea, 1953.”

  “Interesting?”

  “Yeah,” Philmore said. “In it he is holding two rifles, one in each hand, crossed in front of his body.”

  “Two rifles. Menacing appearance, huh?” I said.

  “No, on the contrary, he is smiling. You know, one of those devious smiles you see now and again.”

  “You mean like Rosey’s,” I said.

  Rosey raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Yeah, something like that,” Philmore said.

  Chapter 48

  We stayed with Aunt May and Mother for a couple of days enjoying some needed rest. My brother Scott and Uncle Walters had already left and returned to their respective businesses.

  The day we had decided to return to Norfolk I was sipping on a cup of early morning coffee. I was the only one awake as far as I knew. Sam was breathing heavy on May’s sofa. It was the time of the day when one could reflect and not worry so much about being interrupted with talk. The caffeine was beginning to remove some of the cobwebs, and I was thinking about Marilyn Saunders and her difficult life.

  My cell phone vibrated. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was Ohio. Nice to know specific and oftentimes unimportant facts. Sometimes those unimportant facts help a super sleuth solve a puzzle.

  “This Clancy Evans?” a male voice said.

  “Speaking.”

  “This here is Bart Poindexter. You remember me?”

  “You’re sort of hard to forget, Bart.”

  “I suppose. I figur’d you’d recognize my name if nothing else.”

  “That and your calling card.”

  “I don’t got no callin’ card, Miss Evans.”

  “The shell casing you left at my Aunt May’s.”

  “Oh, that. Damn thing ejected and went flying after the first shot and I never cud find it. Where’d it land?”

  “In a small shrub.”

  “You must have good eyes.”

  “I’m diligently determined.”

  “Like a German Schnauzer, I’d say. Don’t got no quit.”

  “Yeah, something like that. What do you have on your mind, Bart? You want to give yourself up?” I said.

  “Naw. That’s not goin’ to happen, Miss Evans.”

  “I know that you are somewhere in Ohio. I could call the Ohio state patrol and have them on the lookout.”

  “How’d you know … oh, the phone, I reckon. You know all the area codes?”

  “Many.”

  “That’s some good information to carry ‘round with you,” Bart said in a pleasant, complimentary tone.

  “Comes in handy.”

  “This is just a stopover. No intentions of remaining here too long. Just waiting for the coppers to settle down so I can return to the mountains and hide out for a few years.”

  “Sounds like you have some experience in hiding out.”

  “A little. If I don’t want to be found, they won’t find me. No brag, just fact.”

  “I imagine that to be true, Bart. So why are you calling me?”

  “To tell you up front that I killed Saunders because Bella asked me to, but you have no evidence to pin it on her. I know’d that, so I wanted you to know since you were so diligent and all. Seems like the least I could do since you weren’t ever gonna catch me.”

  “You could make a mistake, you know.”

  “Could, but it ain’t likely. Once I get back to Kentucky, you won’t hear of me for a long, long time. Maybe never again. I’m getting’ on up there, you know.”

  “Still a deadly shot, too.”

  “And I have my mountain legs. Agile, you might say.”

  “Why’d you leave your rifle behind? Don’t figure on using it anymore?”

  “Evidence to help you. Besides, that one is a collector’s dream. Vintage 1950. It was a prototype and since I was the best marksman in my company, my commanding officer let me try it out. I used it for several weeks and my kill quotient was astounding. The CO just told me to hold on to it and that he would handle the paperwork. I took that to mean forever, so I kept it.”

  “You know that the Corbin police have it and are likely to keep it locked up.”

  “Well, things locked up by the Corbin Police Department some time have a way of disappearing. At least that’s what I heard. Don’t forget that Bella is still around, and she’s got some rather strange gifts. Lady can almost work magic at times.”

  “Well, Bart, thanks for the evidence. It did help, but I knew it was you after I had done my homework and connected the dots. Found quite a portfolio about you.”

  “Just words on a page, Miss Evans. But you’re a good detective. Jest thought I’d let ya know that you were right. Maybe help you sleep better come nightfall.”

  “If you come to Norfolk, look me up.”

  “Don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon. Safer in Kentucky. Good talkin’ with you, but …oh, I did have one question. Somethin’ I couldn’t figure out. I saw another sniper out there, near your relative’s place. He was a good thousand meters away from me, but as far as I could tell, he was a she, and she had a bead on me. You know how snipers can have a feel about things, sort of a sixth sense, if you please. Anyhow, she had a bead on me, I know fer sure, but she didn’t take the shot. What was that about?”

  “A contingency plan, Bart. You never go in battle without an alternative plan in case the operational plan does not work out.”

  “I know’d that, but what I mean is, why didn’t she shoot me?”

  “She wasn’t paid to shoot you.”

  “Oh, my. A professional, huh? Well, send her my regards and tell her that she’s pretty good to get the drop on old Bart.”

  “If I speak with her, I will pass along your compliments. And Bart, let me say this … I wish you hadn’t killed Saunders. I wanted her to go to jail. She murdered lots of folks.”

  “Yeah, she was a bad one. Maybe even evil, like Bella says. Only woman I ever killed, that I know of. Like I told you, I did it for Bella. She’s been sort of special for a long time. I owe her a lot. Sort of a debt to pay. You know how that is.”

  “I understand. Don’t forget to keep looking over your shoulder. I may yet find you.”

  “Ah, come on Miss Evans. You have no real interest in me. You’re a private investigator and not really all that concerned about an old man hiding out in the mountains.”

  The line went dead. Bart Poindexter was gone. He was right. I had no intention of going after him. My life was complicated enough without adding a search for a sniper in a terrain I knew little about. And he was not without protection. I could tell by the way he talked fondly of the collector’s dream. Bart was not the kind of man one would enjoy playing poker against. He would be the type of player to turn over an ace in the hole on more than once occasion.

  Chapter 49

  Rosey, Sam, and I had a quiet trip back to Norfolk. We stopped off in Dan River to let Detective Hudgins know what the Corbin police had found and what we knew or believed or thought. I didn’t bother to tell him about my phone conversation with Bartholomew Poindexter.

  While Rosey drove us straight towards home and Sam slept soundly in the backseat, I called Wineski to tell him about the developments. I did tell him about Bart’s phone call, but I didn’t tell him everything we talked about. Just the basics.

  “Tell me something, Clan
cy,” Wineski said, pausing long enough for me to know that he was pondering something significant. “How many assassins were around your Aunt May’s place the day Saunders was shot?”

  “That’s an odd question,” I said, trying to sound as if the idea was novel to me.

  “Intuition is an interesting thing for a cop to have, you know. Most do not have it. Some of us have too much of it. You have it,” he said.

  “It kicks in sometimes.”

  “Did you feel it that day?”

  “Trying to substantiate your own powers?”

  “Curious, that’s all. I watched you carefully during that crisis. You were more angry than surprised that Saunders was killed, it seemed to me. But I could be mistaken. Intuition doesn’t always work, does it?”

  “Some times it does fail us, or refuses to kick in.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t want Saunders to die like that. I was wanting justice.”

  “Too much revenge in the world, Clancy. It’s the primal sin.”

  “Theologian now?”

  “Naw, just a cop with a piece of a brain who tries to use it occasionally.”

  Darkness was about to overtake us as we arrived in a cold, rainy Norfolk. The wet streets reflected the bright lights at consistent intervals. All in all, the lights helped travelers as they entered the city. Still, despite the street lights, there was too much darkness around to suit me.

  Rosey stayed a few days before he had to head back and work on some contracts he had promised weeks ago. I asked him about some of his work, but he was his usual cryptic, evasive, and uninformative self. It was something I had to learn to accept. I did like the idea that he would drop his work and take time to save my skin if need me. I also liked the fact that I was able to save his this time around. At least that’s the way I interpreted what happened with Marilyn Saunders. I could be wrong.

  Sam seemed happy enough to be home, although his deportment rarely changes unless he is protecting me from harm. I updated Rogers with all the pertinent facts we had gleaned as well as my insightful phone call from Bart. One of the beneficial mechanics that my uncle had built into her was the ability to store conversational information on her mammoth hard drive automatically. That is to say, she consumed everything anyone ever said within earshot. Lots of storage.