“None of this explains why you came to see me in disguise, spouting riddles.”
“When I said things are different now, that’s not totally true. Black people like me are still afraid of interacting with the police. I wanted to get your attention but not get involved.” She paused. “And I do realize how shallow and cowardly that sounds. I apologize.”
“What about the riddles, all that stuff about seven crows?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. My mother used to recite that nursery rhyme to me when I was a child. After Reggie went to prison, she would sit in her rocker, going back and forth, reciting it over and over. All I can remember is ‘seven for a secret, never to be told.’ When I asked her about it, all she said was beware of seven crows. You need to understand that when Reggie was convicted and went to prison, my mother was never the same.” Phyllis looked out the window and blinked her eyes several times. “She passed a couple years ago. I was thinking about her the day I came to see you, and I just said what popped into my head. I was nervous and didn’t know what else to say.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Your family has been through a lot.” Enid flipped through her notes. “Tell me about Reggie’s conviction—how he ended up in prison.”
“When I warned Reggie that he was a young black man dating a white woman who provided sexual favors to white policemen, he told me Angel was really a nice girl and just wanted a friend.”
“Your brother sounds like he was a sensitive, if not a sensible, young man.”
Phyllis smiled slightly. “He was a dreamer. Wrote poetry all the time.”
“Do you still have any of his work?”
Phyllis shrugged. “It’s probably around somewhere. I hadn’t given it much thought until now. Anyway, Reggie kept seeing Angel despite my warnings. And then one day he told me she had left town. Less than a month later, he was arrested for her murder.”
“If she just disappeared, why did the police assume she was murdered? Was there any evidence linking Reggie to a crime?”
Phyllis sighed. “I’m afraid so. They found her bloody underwear in his car, under the seat. But he swore to me it had to have been planted there.”
“I remember reading something about physical evidence linking him to the crime. Did they do a DNA analysis?”
“Yes, and it was Angel’s blood,” Phyllis said.
“If you don’t believe Reggie killed her, then who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know enough to name a specific person, but I know Reggie did not kill her. And I’m sure Sheriff Waters knew that.”
Enid put her pen down. “Why do you think the county sheriff’s department would deliberately frame Reggie?” Enid rubbed her temples again.
“Because they didn’t want the real killer identified.”
Enid pulled an article from her folder and pointed to the headline: “Bones Found at Glitter Lake Inn.”
Phyllis stared at the headline briefly before looking up to meet Enid’s gaze. “That’s why I contacted you. I think those are Angel’s bones.”
CHAPTER 15
Josh reared back in his desk chair at the police station. Twice he had put his hand on the phone to call his old police captain in New Mexico, who was now retired. And twice, he stopped short. He pushed back his chair and called out to Pete at the front desk. “I need to make a personal phone call. I’ll be out back if you need me.”
“No problem, Chief. Got you covered.”
Josh mused about why so many people responded to everything with “no problem.” What did that mean exactly and how did the phrase become so popular? He walked out the heavy steel door separating the small area that housed two cells, both empty now, from the outside. The door was always kept locked from the inside. “Bolt this door behind me. I’ll come back in the front.”
“No problem,” Pete called out.
Josh sat at the wooden picnic table behind the police station. When it was originally donated to the station by one of the Madden citizens, its purpose was to provide a place for the deputies to take a smoke break. Now that almost no one smoked, it was rarely used, other than for the occasional office picnic on pretty spring days. The wood was nearly bleached white by the harsh summer sun, and a fire ant colony had built a large mound right under it. Josh was careful not to get near it.
He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number and tapped it. Several rings later, a woman answered. “Hello.”
“This is Joshua Hart, police chief in Madden, South Carolina. I’m looking for Captain Walsh.”
“I remember you, Josh. I’m Mildred, his wife. Good to hear from you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Walsh. I hope you and the captain are doing well.”
“I’m sorry, Josh. I thought you knew. Cappie died about six months ago. Stomach cancer.”
“No, I didn’t know. I’m very sorry for your loss.” Josh felt like he had just stepped into a black abyss. It was like hearing his own father had died.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.” There was a brief silence before she continued. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, thanks. I just needed to run something past him. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, dear. I’m just fine. A bit lonely at times, that’s all. Good to talk to you. You take care.” She hung up.
Josh walked around to the front of the police station. When he went inside, Pete was staring at the computer screen, as usual. Josh relied more on instinct and experience than on technology, but it was no doubt that officers like Pete were the future of law enforcement.
“I’m going up to see Sheriff Waters. He may need some help on the bones case.”
“Okay, Chief. No problem.”
Josh smiled and shook his head. “Right. No problem.”
◆◆◆
Sheriff Bernard Waters was drinking coffee at his desk when Josh arrived. “I could smell that coffee from the parking lot. Whew!”
Boogie’s face lit up with a smile. “That’s why we don’t need no capital punishment here. We just pour ‘em a cup of coffee.” The two men embraced in a man hug.
“What brings you up here? Life too boring in Madden?”
Josh sat in the chair in front of Boogie’s desk. “Yeah, but I kinda like boring. I wanted to talk to you about something, if you’ve got a minute.”
Boogie sat his coffee cup on the desk. “Of course. What’s on your mind? Want a soda or some water? That is, if you’re too much of a wuss to handle my coffee.”
Josh waved his hand. “I’m good.”
“Then let’s have it. Spill your guts.”
Josh hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say. The two were close, and Josh assumed it would be an easy conversation. But now, he wasn’t sure where to start. “Serena was a good woman.”
“So you’ve told me. Sorry I never got to meet her.”
“But we should never have married. I’ve spent many a sleepless night, tossing and turning, and thinking about her. We were opposites in almost every way, and I guess that’s why we were attracted to each other.”
Boogie chuckled. “I get that. Sometimes it works, but sometimes the differences become magnified over time and tug at the marriage.”
“I often ask if she were alive, would we still be married?” Josh clasped his hands and stared at his feet. “I think we would have. And that, oddly enough, makes it even harder for me to accept what happened.” Josh’s chest tightened to the point that he was having problems breathing.
“You said the husband of one of her clients shot her. Too bad I didn’t get a chance to confront that SOB.”
“Serena was infatuated with the reservation. Where others saw poverty and desperation, she saw history and beauty. Native American men who have never had a life off the rez often become alcoholics and have a misogynistic view of the world. They can’t find work and eventually get into trouble. Wives were often regarded as property, Serena didn’t understand tha
t by helping that man’s wife get away from him, she had, in essence, stolen from him. Mind you, I’m not saying I agree with that viewpoint, but I know it exists. And I also know she was trying to do what she thought was right.”
“You said the man was arrested and tried. Right?”
Josh nodded. “The tribal police arrested him on the reservation and held him a week before calling in the FBI, who had jurisdiction for murder on the reservation. The tribal police knew better but claimed it was just an oversight by an inexperienced tribal cop. The man’s attorney argued the detention was illegal and violated his civil rights. He got him off.”
Boogie shook his head. “That just don’t sound right. It’s a shame.”
“The feds committed to look into it further, but nothing came of it.”
“Where’s this guy now?”
“Six feet under. Got himself shot after he was released.”
Boogie laughed. “Well, now, that’s poetic justice if I ever heard it. Good for the bastard that took that scum off the street.”
Josh stared at his feet again, silent.
“Uh oh. I don’t care for that look. Perhaps the obvious question here is ‘Did you do it?’”
Josh waited briefly before responding. “I was responsible.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“For one thing, I should’ve stopped her from working on the reservation.”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” Boogie said.
“I’ll fill you in on the rest of it later. Right now, the less you know, the better off you’ll be until all of this is settled.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Several years back. Right before I came here.”
“So what’s going on now that brings all this to the surface?”
Josh filled Boogie in on Cade’s trip to Madden and his investigation into police vigilantism.
“Crap, man. That sounds like one of those Lifetime movies on TV. Police chief falls in love with local reporter, whose ex-husband comes to town to expose an old murder.” Boogie took a sip of the cold coffee on his desk and made a face. “Ugh. Just let me know the date and what channel this movie is on.”
“Sure thing.” Josh managed to smile wanly. “I’m thinking of going back to New Mexico to settle a few things. I guess I knew this day would come. I’ll probably be gone a month, at least. But if you need backup on this bones case, I’ll delay my trip.”
“Oh, hell no, son. You do whatever you need to do to put this thing behind you. I’ll keep an eye on Pete. Guess he’ll be running the show for you. Don’t you worry about anything here.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. While I’m here, can you fill me in on the bones investigation?”
“Not much to tell. The bones are at SLED, but they’re backlogged. So we’re just waiting.”
“Can’t imagine they’re too excited about old bones, what with all the new stuff coming in,” Josh said. “Any idea yet how old the bones are?”
Boogie threw up his hands. “Can’t tell anything until they do the analysis. Might be a few weeks or more before we get the results.”
“Do you have any theories of your own?”
“We’re still checking all the missing persons reports and with the nearby towns. Nothing has turned up yet.”
Josh stood up to leave. “Listen, don’t say anything about my going to New Mexico. I’ve got to talk to Pete, Enid, and few other folks, including the mayor.”
“Good luck with that. That new mayor, I hear she’s a pistol.”
“She’s alright. Just a bit impatient. Wants everything done yesterday.”
“I hear ‘ya. Keep me posted on the outcome of this trip. It’ll all work out. You got a good heart.”
CHAPTER 16
Enid assumed finding Reggie Long’s defense attorney, Alonso Keen, would be easy. And it was. The first thing that popped up on her search screen was his obituary. Apparently, Keen died a year earlier from sudden cardiac arrest. His wife, Ophelia Keen, lived in Columbia, and a quick online search revealed a phone number.
Enid called the number and a recording said the number was no longer in service. She looked at the time on her phone. She had time to get to Columbia before dark.
About forty-five minutes later, her phone navigation announced she had arrived at her destination. The house was in an older part of Columbia, not too far from uptown. The house was a two-story brick with ivy growing up the front of it. The yard was meticulously maintained, and a Range Rover was in the driveway.
Enid got a business card from her tote and walked to the front door. When no one answered the doorbell, she knocked on the door. No one appeared to be at home, so Enid pulled out a pen to write a note on her card. The oak door opened, a heavy chain allowing only a small crack, and a woman peered out. “Who are you and what do you want?” the woman asked.
“I’m Enid Blackwell, a reporter for the Tri-County Gazette.” She offered her card through the door opening. “I’m trying to locate Ophelia Keen, the widow of Alonso Keen.”
The woman studied the card and then looked up at Enid. “Why are you looking for her?”
“I’m doing some research on a case Attorney Keen handled, and I was wondering if Mrs. Keen might be able to help me. He represented a young African-American man accused of killing his girlfriend in Bowman County. It was an unusual case, because the victim’s body was never found.”
The door shut, and Enid heard the chain guard sliding. The door opened. “I’m Ophelia. You’re welcome to come in if you’d like.” Enid followed her to a formal living room that looked like a spread in Southern Living.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Keen.”
“Please, call me Ophelia. And thank you. My late husband and I spent a lifetime making this house our home. Now that he’s gone, it’s just a house again.” She sighed. “Please have a seat.” She motioned to a sofa upholstered in a gold damask material. “And then tell me how you think I might help you.”
After Enid settled on the sofa, Ophelia sat across from her in a large French-style chair, similar to one Enid had admired in a store once, although it was too formal for her needs. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She paused. “Do you recall the case?”
“I do. In fact, I was my husband’s law office manager during the time he represented that young man.”
“His name was Reggie Long,” Enid said.
Ophelia nodded. “Yes, I remember him. A nice young man. My husband tried to persuade Reggie to hire a white attorney, but his family insisted on hiring Alonso.” Ophelia looked down and shook her head from side to side. “That was a sad, sad situation.”
“I am aware of attorney-client privilege, but I thought since both Reggie and your husband are dead you might feel free to talk to me.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize Reggie died. When? How?”
“He died of pneumonia while in prison. What I need to know is if there’s anything about the trial that your husband mentioned, or that you might have observed, that would make you doubt the trial or verdict was fair.”
Ophelia clasped her hands. “First, I want to know why you’re writing about this trial, and then I’ll decide if I need to help you. If you’re about to do something that would cast doubt on Alonso’s good name, then I will decline.”
“Fair enough.” Enid then told Ophelia about the bones being discovered at the inn and Phyllis’ claim that the bones were Angelina Peterson’s.
When Enid finished talking, Ophelia took a deep breath, so deep her shoulders rose nearly to her ears. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. May I offer you something?”
“No, I’m fine thanks.”
Ophelia left the room momentarily and returned with a cut crystal whiskey glass in her hand. “Before Alonso died, I never touched this stuff. And I still don’t drink often. But sometimes, I’m hit with memories that are just too heavy to handle.” She laughed. “I realize how pathetic that s
ounds.” She sipped from the glass and set it on the table. “Reggie’s case was troubling to Alonso . . . for many reasons. Mind you, he didn’t tell me everything about his cases, but I knew this one was keeping him up at nights.”
“What was so disturbing about Reggie’s case?”
“I think what bothered him the most was that Reggie was so sincere and credible. Alonso wasn’t gullible, and he knew he had to keep an open mind about Reggie.” She paused. “But Alonso believed him.”
“Other than his gut feelings about Reggie, what made Mr. Keen uneasy about the case?” Enid asked.
Ophelia took a sip of whiskey. “All the witnesses against Reggie were somehow connected or related. He told me at one time that the case felt like a conspiracy between the sheriff’s department and the victim’s family, especially her brother. But, of course, Alonso had no proof.”
Enid scribbled notes on her pad. “Did Mr. Keen ever mention Sheriff Waters specifically in relation to this case?”
Ophelia shook her head slowly from side to side. “That was what hurt Alonso the most. He had always said that Sheriff Waters was not a perfect man, but at least he was an honest one.”
“Are you saying Sheriff Waters wasn’t honest about this case?”
Ophelia took another sip. “I don’t know. All I know is that Alonso went to him about the evidence found in Reggie’s car.”
“You mean the bloody underwear?” Enid asked.
Ophelia nodded. “He was convinced Reggie was telling the truth, and anyone could have put it there.”
“How’s that?”
“Reggie drove a Jeep Wrangler, you know, one of those with the soft top. All you had to do was unzip the window to get in.”
“What did Sheriff Waters say when Mr. Keen confronted him?”
“The sheriff was sure his men would never do such a thing.”
“Did Mr. Keen believe him?”
Ophelia smoothed the creases in her black silk slacks. “I don’t want to speak for Alonso.” Ophelia stood. “I don’t mean to be rude, Ms. Blackwell, but there’s nothing else I can tell you. I’m sorry for the tragedy of Reggie’s life, but what’s done is done. My husband did all he could to help Reggie and filed an appeal, but it was denied. Life isn’t always fair.”
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