“A veritable dearth of data.”
“You’ve worked some magic with a lot less.”
“You often abuse my skills.”
“Let me know what you find.”
As I stepped out of the Jeep to call Sam, a police car pulled into the roadside park and parked behind me. His lights were flashing. A tall, overweight lawman stepped out of his vehicle and approached me. He was wearing sunglasses and a smile, but no hat. He was trying hard not to be menacing.
“Afternoon,” he said as he quickly studied my Jeep. Sam approached me about this time.
“Sheriff,” I said as I noticed his name tag which indicated that he was Sheriff Roscoe Tanner.
“That your dog?”
“It is.”
“We have a leash law.”
“I thought I was outside the town limits.”
“Oh, you are, miss. You are. But we have a county leash law. Don’t like stray dogs roaming around and destroying people’s livestock and property throughout the whole area.”
“Don’t blame you. Sam doesn’t roam.”
“Well, Miss …,” he waited for me to fill in the blank.
I remained silent and let him flounder.
“That’s not the point, you see. You should’ve had him on a leash to make sure he didn’t wander off.”
“He seldom wanders.”
“You’re not disputing my observation, are you?”
“Only your interpretation of the law, Sheriff.
“You think I don’t know the law, missy?”
“I would hope so, Sheriff. And I bet you enforce it as you will.”
“That’s right, lady. And your dog is in violation of our county leash law. I’m gonna write you a citation so you’ll remember that we don’t just bluff with the law here in Waylon County.”
He took out his pad and searched for a pen in his multiple pockets. When he couldn’t find one, he walked back to his car.
“You put that dog inside your vehicle and stay right there until I am finished with you,” he said over his shoulder as he moved slowly away from me towards his vehicle.
Sam jumped into the Jeep without a word from me. He knew something was going on and it was not altogether pleasant. He growled under his breath and I shook my head at him.
Sheriff Tanner returned with a pen. He began writing the citation.
“You new around here?”
“Just visiting.”
“Family or friends?”
“Neither. I had business with Reverend Ainsley, the Baptist minister.”
“And what business would you have with him?”
“That would be personal, Sheriff.”
“Well, I have to check out strangers when they come around, you know. We have a quiet community here and I like to keep it that way. You plan on returning anytime soon?”
“That’s a real possibility, Sheriff.”
“Well,...by the way, what is your name?”
“Clancy Evans.”
“Let me have your license and registration.”
I retrieved both from the Jeep and handed them to Sheriff Tanner.
“What kind of business are you in, Clancy Evans?”
“Investigator.”
“Really. And what do you investigate?”
“Whatever I am hired to investigate.”
“Do you have a license to investigate?”
I handed him my license. I figured that it would be the next request from him so I retrieved it along with the other two items he had requested moments earlier.
“My, oh my, a real private detective. From Virginia even. Are you investigating anything in our little Waylon County, Miss Private Detective?”
“Not yet.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It’s early. Still fact finding. Haven’t found anything to investigate.”
“Well, let me give you some friendly advice,” he said as he handed back all three of my credentials. “I recommend that you stop bothering Mrs. Carpenter. I also recommend that you be really careful around that young minister, Josh Ainsley. He’s still new to the area and learning the ropes. He might steer you in a wrong direction. Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we? A body could get hurt going in the wrong direction.”
I assumed his question was rhetorical. I had a smart-ass answer, but I figured I was already on the cusp of trouble with the local law and I would be better off not to agitate Sheriff Roscoe Tanner.
He handed me the citation for the county leash law violation. I read it over. The fine was one hundred dollars. It seemed excessive to me. Whatever latent good will I might have had lurking on the good side of me was waning. I felt like an example for all future animal owners. After all, we were a band of miscreants always looking for counties to allow our pets to search out and destroy. Public enemies. The next step would be to have my photograph displayed on post office bulletin boards.
“Do I pay you now or return for a court date?”
“Oh, you don’t pay me. But neither do you have a court date. You just mail in that amount to the court house. The address is on the citation there. You have thirty days to mail in your money. You don’t need to return to our little county.”
He smiled at me and turned slowly back towards his car while still eyeing me over his shoulder.
“Have a good day, Clancy Evans. Drive carefully now. The roads can be hazardous.”
5
I wasn’t completely vested in Mrs. Carpenter’s imaginative vision of a murder. I had heard absolutely nothing firsthand from her lips, and the only story I knew was what Ainsley had shared with me from what he said he had heard from Mary Elizabeth earlier. Nothing like second-hand vintage to make a solid case. Until I had the misfortune of running into the High Sheriff and police, Mr. Roscoe Tanner himself, I was considering dropping the whole affair unless something of substance turned up or unless Mary Elizabeth recanted her recanting and decided she would talk with me. With Roscoe’s less-than-veiled threat toward me, I was now practically forced to check into this and proceed. To get me going, just tell me to stop doing what I haven’t started doing without providing a solid reason. Something was amuck. As my favorite fictional crime fighter would say, the game’s afoot. I had Roscoe to thank for that.
Rogers reported to me upon my return to Norfolk that she had found nothing so far on her search for a child named Colby who might have died in the 1930’s. She did discover that the then local newspaper, The Riley Corners Clarion, had not been preserved on microfilm so there was no way to utilize that angle in tracking down a possible obituary. Nevertheless, Rogers was continuing her vigilance in pursuing all possible ideas towards the illusive clue. The assumption one has to work upon is that something happened; therefore, a clue exists out there. It was the work of desperation at times. My computer Rogers was a master at this.
Two days after my return to Norfolk, the good Rector Sara Hightower came by my apartment. No doubt fed by her curiosity over the storyline, ostensibly she came seeking information about Reverend Josh.
“Is he okay with all this?” Sara asked.
“I think as well as anybody would be.”
“You think he is stable?”
“He’s a preacher.”
“Is that an answer?”
“I suspect he is as stable as one could be and still be a preacher.”
“Are you thumping ministers in general?”
“Only the ones I do not know personally and have no desire to know personally.”
“Could you substantiate his problem with this parishioner?”
“Well, he does have a problem with Mrs. Carpenter; however, the immediate problem with her is not so much the story he told you as the fact that the lady is acting peculiarly. From his view, he says that she has told him some of what she remembers, but then she recants and says that nothing happened. When I visited her with Josh, she apologized for dragging me into the situation. She told me that there was nothing to it. It was all a
big mistake.”
“What do you think?”
“I think the lady has issues.”
“Can you verify anything she claims happened?”
“Not yet. I’m still searching.”
“So, you are not quitting.”
“I was until I ran into the Sheriff of Waylon County and he threatened me.”
“Told you to back off Mrs. Carpenter?”
“Not in so many words, but the gist of it was that I should be careful believing anything that Josh Ainsley might tell me, and I should leave Mary Elizabeth Carpenter alone.”
“Most people would walk away.”
“I’m not most people.”
“You respond well to threats?”
“Let’s just say that I respond to threats. It makes me think something is there even when I can’t find it. So now I’ll keep digging.”
“Thanks.”
“Not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me. He fined my dog a hundred dollars for running loose at a roadside park.”
“Sounds excessive. Is your dog able to pay?”
“I’m his banker. But I’ll get my money back from the good sheriff.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“Prove that he is complicit in this murky affair.”
“You actually believe that?”
“I’ll work that angle until other direction proves more fertile.”
“Remind me never to cross you.”
“I don’t take to threats too kindly. And, I am tenacious when seeking answers.”
“I’ll file that. Let me know if I can help you with Josh.”
“You’ll be the first one I call.”
Everyone should have a friend like Sara. It did make me wonder what qualities Josh had that would elicit such dedication to help him from one who had only known him a short while. The only thing I knew for sure was that Sara Hightower had a good heart, and, for the moment, it was directed towards Preacher Ainsley.
“I found something,” Rogers said nearly a week after I had returned from Riley Corners. I had just finished a five mile jog. Norfolk was still enjoying magnificent spring weather.
“Okay.”
“Since the Riley Corners Clarion failed to keep records in the 1930’s, I decided to check the obituaries in a large town or city close by. Bingo, I found an obit in the Raleigh newspaper, The News and Observer. In the April 26, 1933 edition it said ‘the precious baby Colby Seth Johnson, son of Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Carmichael Johnson, of Riley Corners, North Carolina, passed to his eternal home on the evening of April 24th. Young Colby Seth Johnson had been a delightful child to all who knew him and he would be severely missed by the grieving family. He passed gently of unknown causes to the sadness of the family. He will be forever remembered by his loving parents, Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Carmichael Johnson, his precious little sister, Mary Elizabeth Johnson, the loving paternal grandparents, Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Bellamy Johnson, maternal grandmother, Mrs. Walker Edmond Tanner, and a vast array of still grieving uncles, aunts, and cousins.’ The gist of the remaining informing from the obituary without the flowery language was that the funeral was scheduled for Saturday, April 29th at 2:00 p.m. in the Riley Corners Baptist Church with interment to follow immediately after the service in the Riley Corners Burial Park. The family received visitors beginning April 26th until April 28th in the home. Interesting, huh?”
“By George, I think you found something.”
“You doubted ?”
“Only wondered. I was leaning towards the idea that Mrs. Carpenter had dreamed the whole thing.”
“Now we know she didn’t. Something happened.”
“Her version is still suspect. I need to hear her tell the tale.”
“Sounds like a case of necessary suppression.”
“You mean finding a way to cope with the death of her little brother?”
“Exactly. She could have seen something horrible, and she immediately buried it in order to cope, or survive.”
“Sounds plausible. Did you find any related news article on little Colby’s death?”
“Not yet.”
“What was the date the obituary appeared in the newspaper?”
“April 26th.”
“Check the papers for the two previous days.”
“Already checking. I’ll get back to you in a moment.”
I called Josh’s cell phone. No answer. I called the office phone at the church. Maxine Shelton answered with great zeal.
“Riley Corners Baptist Church, this is Maxine Shelton, Office Administrator, how may I assist you?”
“Maxine, this is Clancy Evans. Met you last week.”
“I remember. You’re the detective from Virginia.”
“Bingo. I need to speak with Josh.”
“Reverend Ainsley is counseling someone at the moment. May I take a message?”
“Tell Josh I’m coming to Riley Corners tomorrow and should arrive around lunch time. I’ll meet him at noon at Maybelline’s.”
“I’ll certainly give him the message. May I give him your phone number?”
“He has it already. Tell him to call if he can’t meet me for lunch.”
“I’ll do that. Have a blessed day.”
I took that as Maxine’s version of a good day. All good thoughts are welcome in my business.
I was enjoying a cup of hot coffee when Rogers blurted out her latest find.
“Byline, Riley Corners, North Carolina, article dated April 25th, which was a Monday, reads as follows: ‘Colby Seth Johnson, 13 month old son of Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Johnson, was found dead in his crib by Rosemary Jenkins, long time nanny of the Johnson family. Shortly after 7:00 p.m. the nanny checked on the infant Colby who was still napping. Mrs. Jenkins reported that the child simply stopped breathing. The family physician, Dr. Robert B. Cranebottom, of Riley Corners, was called by the family. He pronounced the child dead at 8:30 p.m. that same day. He reported that the child died of unknown causes. The local authorities are still investigating the circumstances of young Colby’s death. Arrangements will be announced.’”
“It’s worth a look-see. Print that out for me, please.”
“Should I call Roscoe and tell him you are coming?”
“I have a feeling Sheriff Tanner already knows.”
6
It took no great sleuthing to figure that Maxine Shelton was probably the source that Sheriff Tanner was utilizing to know about my previous visit to Riley Corners. I had no proof. The only other likely source outside of Josh Ainsley was Mary Elizabeth. In lieu of the leak, I decided to arrive in town prior to my noon announcement to Maxine. Since the local sheriff had my Jeep already tagged and was ready to pounce on me as soon as I jaywalked, I rented a small Toyota and cruised into Riley Corners around ten o’clock the next morning.
I found a corner booth in the back of Maybelline’s and decided to sit and watch the world go by. Maybelline also served breakfast, of sorts, so I ordered a couple of cinnamon rolls, orange juice and black coffee. Good prelude-appetizer to lunch.
Maybelline’s cinnamon rolls were so-far-beyond good that I halfway considered ordering two more before my better judgment kicked in and I managed to restrain myself. By the way, it is possible to lust after food. I was finishing my third cup of coffee when Mary Elizabeth Carpenter strolled into the sandwich shop and came back to my corner.
“May I sit down?”
“Of course,” I said and gestured toward the bench opposite me.
“How did you know I was here?”
“It’s a small town. Hard to hide.”
She sat down and removed her raincoat. It wasn’t raining outside. On the contrary, the weather in Riley Corners was as beautiful and lovely as the weather I was enjoying back in Norfolk. If anything, it was warmer here. She folded the raincoat neatly into a kind of square and placed it on the bench beside her.
Maybelline wandered over to our booth.
“What can I get for you, Mrs. Carpenter, the usual?”
>
“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”
“You okay for the moment?” Maybelline said to me.
“I’m good.”
She left us.
“Come here often?” I said.
“Best food in town.”
“How did you really know that I was in town again?”
“Sheriff Tanner called me. He warned me about seeing you.”
“Warned you?”
“Told me it was not in my best interest to pursue your help.”
“What’s Tanner got to do with it?”
“He’s family.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, we’re first cousins, once removed, or something like that. We’ve been close for most of our lives. He’s a lot younger, as you have already guessed, but, well, kin is kin.”
“Yeah. Hard to run and hide.”
“He sort of looks after me since Billy Bob died.”
“That would be your late husband?”
She nodded. “He died back in the early nineties. Lung cancer. He smoked a lot.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. Did you mean the smoking or his death? I’m still getting used to the way you talk.”
“Neither one is good, right?”
“I tried to get him to stop, but it was impossible. He worked on the railroad for most of his working life. Habits are hard to break once developed.”
“You wanna talk about your memories?”
Maybelline brought Mary two pieces of toast cut diagonally thus making, in fact, four pieces. They were accompanied by a couple of rectangles of strawberry jelly in plastic containers. I watched Mary methodically open the containers, spread the jelly and then take a bite. She also had coffee with some extra little creamers. I watched her add sugar and then four little creamers to the liquid before she stirred. Black coffee consumers like me wonder why people concoct such a mixture as I was watching Mary blend. It was a crime.
She wiped her mouth with her napkin and then stared at me for a few moments.
“Yes, I do want to talk about some of my memories. Can I trust you?”
“To do what?”
“To hear the story and help me figure out what was going on? And without judging me?”
Mercy Killing Page 3