The Bone Puzzle: The Saga Begins

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  “Barroooo!” the canine’s howl unexpectedly made the group jump.

  “What the hell, Jarvis?” Earl shouted. “You scared the hell out of us!”

  Jarvis paid them no mind. His attention was drawn to the dog pulling ferociously against the leash in his hands.

  “We already looked there!” Junior shouted. “You’re wastin’ your time.”

  “Yeah, get that mutt out of here ‘fore he cuts loose and we have to shoot him,” said Buck, cradling his shotgun.

  “You ain’t touchin’ my dog,” Jarvis said with a coldness in his voice that left no room for argument. “Mojo, what you got there?”

  “We told you we looked there,” Earl insisted.

  “Well, you ain’t looked hard enough, Deputy,” replied Jarvis. “Mojo smells somethin’ under that bush.”

  “It’s probably a rabbit or some dead coon, you dumbass redneck!” shouted Cooter.

  The men pushed as close to the barking dog as they dared. Before long, the cousins came up with the rest of the hounds in tow. Five dogs yelped and howled as they fought against their leashes, each desperately trying to get at the unseen object hidden in the muck. Brother Eustice and his followers tried to protest further, but the ruckus made their attempts futile. Buck thought about accidentally firing his weapon at one of the dogs to distract any further investigation, but the sheriff and three deputies had arrived at the scene.

  “What you got there?” asked Sheriff Fuller.

  “Mojo got somethin’ under that bush,” Jarvis replied.

  The sheriff nodded, and one of the deputies from Tuscaloosa County approached the site as Jarvis and his cousins pulled the dogs away. The officer bent over and poked and prodded through the mud, eventually retrieving a small piece of tarp. He opened the tarp and pulled away quickly, trying not to throw up. The smell hit the others, and they, in turn, did their best to retain the contents of their stomachs.

  “What is it?” asked the sheriff, coming closer, a rag held over his nose and mouth.

  “A foot,” answered the deputy.

  “I guess we found the other one then,” noted the sheriff.

  “I don’t think so, Sheriff,” said the deputy.

  “Why not?”

  “Remind me, what was the other foot we found?”

  “It was a child’s foot, most likely a girl’s.”

  “So is this one. But I meant, what foot was it, the left or right?”

  The sheriff, temporarily thrown off by the confusing question, looked at the man and answered, “The right one, I think.”

  “The right one, you think?”

  “The right one,” replied the sheriff with more confidence.

  “Holy shit!” the deputy spat and looked at the sheriff in dismay.

  “What?” asked Sheriff Fuller.

  “So is this one.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Take a seat, Robert,” said the captain, pointing to the empty chair on the other side of his neatly organized desk. “I think I’ve found just the assignment for you.”

  Detective Stallworth nodded and sat down. He glanced at Captain Warner and Lieutenant Reid, but their expressions didn’t betray their feelings. Robert had only recently been promoted, and he knew that he’d be given an impossible case to investigate as his initiation into his new position. It was standard operating procedure at the state police. His superiors and peers wanted to know what he was made of. Robert had no intention of disappointing them.

  “A dismembered body part was found in the swamp over in Pickens County,” said Warner. “Actually, two parts have been discovered so far. Obviously, there are more. The local authorities have bumbled around clueless for two weeks since the discovery without anything to show for their efforts, despite having employed local volunteers and officers from neighboring counties in the search. With your reputation—”

  Robert nodded. His talent for finding hidden dead things had followed him into the force from his previous stint of duty in Army Intelligence. His duties during the war had been highly classified and remained so, yet enough information had leaked out to the top brass of the Alabama State Police. Together with his father’s reputable career and ultimate demise in the ranks, Robert was sure it helped him climb the ladder into his fledgling position as homicide detective.

  “You were personally recommended to us by one of the deputies at the scene,” said the lieutenant.

  “Is that so?” Robert had met countless members of law enforcement throughout the state, but he couldn’t recollect knowing anyone working in Pickens County.

  “Deputy Brian Gibbs,” said the captain.

  “Gibbs? The only Gibbs I know works in Tuscaloosa.”

  “He was one of the ones helping in the search,” said Warner. “According to him, unofficially of course, it’s a real cluster-fuck over there. His exact words were, ‘They ain’t going to find shit with those bumpkins leading the investigation’. We agree. What’s more surprising is that he mentioned that there was, quote, ‘a guy I knew in the war that could smell a rotting corpse under ten feet of concrete’, unquote. That would be you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Robert said. He preferred not to think about the things he had witnessed in his previous occupation. They had haunted his dreams ever since. “With all due respect, it isn’t that unusual to find an occasional body dumped into a swamp. I’ll be more than happy to investigate, but what I find curious is that two of you called me in here and spoon fed me this with such fanfare. There has to be more to it. Spill it.”

  Lieutenant Reid glanced at Warner. The captain’s eyebrow rose slightly, and Robert saw the subtle smile that formed at the corners of his mouth.

  “Two body parts have been found,” said Captain Warner, “both of them feet. From what we’ve learned from forensics, they were both deposited in the area no more than four or five months ago and no less than two. They weren’t found near each other. The first was retrieved on a fishing line approximately half a mile from where the other was found by bloodhounds—by the aforementioned Gibbs. Both appear to be that of a girl. Based upon the type and size of the shoes, most likely pre-adolescent. So far, no one has been able to ascertain who the victims are.”

  “Victims?” asked Stallworth.

  “Both were right feet,” said Reid.

  “So, you see why we’re sending you,” said Warner. “The local sheriff, one Dale Fuller, is not equipped, or manned, to handle this investigation. That is clear.”

  “Has he sought our help?” questioned Robert.

  “Do they ever?” Reid replied.

  Robert knew the locals would never admit that they were in over their heads. They would resent his being sent there and would react accordingly, making his life miserable and hamstringing the investigation as much as possible. Once again, Robert understood that was standard operating procedure.

  “Where in Pickens County?” he asked.

  “Dead River Swamp,” said the Captain.

  “That sounds about right.” Robert shrugged and stood up.

  “This is the first big case you’re investigating on your own, Detective,” said the captain. “Don’t come back empty handed.”

  “I’ll find something. But don’t say later that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Warn us?” asked Reid.

  Robert put a hand over his mouth and suppressed a belch. “I haven’t even stepped foot in Pickens County yet, and my stomach is already churning. I’m going to find something, alright. My hunch is that it’s going to be one of those things we’re going to try to forget later.”

  “Careful down there, Robert,” said Warner. “We’ve heard rumors about Fuller and his men and their nocturnal activities.”

  He nodded. The captain’s warning was unnecessary. It was Alabama, after all. He hadn’t been afraid of the SS or the Red Army, and he wasn’t afraid of the Klan. It was going to take a lot more than a few slack-jawed yokels wearing dirty laundry to intimidate him.

  Robe
rt left Warner’s office and headed out the door. After a quick stop at the house to pick up a few supplies, he was going to head over to the location and start cracking skulls. He wasn’t going to Pickens County to make friends. He didn’t give a damn whose toes he stepped on. Sheriff Fuller and his men were going to hate him. He was going to make sure of it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “It’s a real mess they got going on down there,” said Deputy Gibbs.

  Robert had stopped by the police station in Tuscaloosa to go over a few details before heading into the lion’s den over in Pickens County. Although he hadn’t seen his old army buddy in awhile, he knew the man was a straight shooter and wouldn’t hold any punches in his assessment of the matter.

  “I wouldn’t be going otherwise,” said Robert.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I hope you’re not mad at me for dropping your name. It kind of just slipped out. I had no idea that you’d get the short straw on this one.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was recently promoted, and they’ve been waiting to throw me to the wolves on one of these disasters. They want to see if I can handle it. Little do they know, I’ve seen worse.”

  “That we have.” The deputy cleared his throat and paused, doing his best to push unpleasant memories away. “Do you ever think about what we saw over there?”

  “I try not to,” said Robert.

  “So do I.”

  Robert detected a hitch in his friend’s voice and quickly changed the subject. “I understand you were the one who found the second appendage.”

  “The dogs found it. I’m just the one who dug it up.”

  “Who else was there?” asked Robert, pulling out a small pad to take notes.

  “Everyone. Well, most of us. The Pickens County Sheriff and a few of his boys were there, along with me and a couple of deputies from the assorted regional counties who were sent over to help out. Some skinny redneck and his cousins were tending to the bloodhounds, and there was a group of local volunteers as well. A secure crime scene it was not—not that it mattered. It’s a swamp. From what I hear, the feet had been there awhile. I doubt there’s much evidence left at this point as to who put them there.”

  “I’m going to need names.”

  “It’s all in my report. I’ll fish you out a copy before you leave. Don’t worry, it’s detailed, unlike the ones you’ll get from anyone else around here,” said Gibbs, shaking his head.

  “Good,” said Robert. “Tell me, what were the reactions?”

  “Nausea and disgust, as you’d expect. What did you think they’d be?”

  Robert ignored the question and continued, “Tell me about the volunteers. Did they get there before or after the rest of y’all?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. One of them was a cop.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, they were part of some church group that one of the deputies belonged to. He gathered them up at the request of Sheriff Fuller, if I remember correctly. They looked as sick as the rest of us when I fished the bones out of the muck.”

  “A church group?” asked Robert. “How do you know that?”

  “The leader of the group offered up a prayer to start the search. ‘Seek and ye shall find’ and all that. You know the drill.”

  “It seems like an odd group to involve in the search for dismembered body parts.”

  “I never thought about it that way,” conceded Gibbs. “But I guess beggars can’t be choosers. It’s hot and humid out there. Not exactly the kind of place you’d want to be if you could avoid it.”

  “Yet there they were.”

  “There they were. I think one or more of them might’ve lived nearby, and they knew the area. They seemed to know where they were going.”

  Robert nodded but said nothing for a moment. He flipped the page on his pad and continued after a brief pause. “Tell me about the dogs.”

  “The dogs? They were dogs.”

  “How many were there?”

  “How many? Hell if I know. Is that really important? I might’ve left that out of my report.”

  They laughed.

  “I suppose not,” said Robert.

  “It’s funny you said that, though,” continued the deputy. “The owner of the dogs was having a spat with the church group. Some big guy was threatening to shoot one of the dogs when we showed up. I think the barking was getting to him.” Gibbs laughed.

  Again, Robert said nothing, but he jotted a few lines in his pad before flipping it shut. He tucked it into his pocket, grabbed his hat, and started to leave before turning around to ask one more question. “Off the record, what do you think I’m going to find?”

  “Nothing good.”

  Robert nodded. “I’m going to need that report before I leave.”

  “I’ll have Sarah fetch it for you. I have to say, it’s good to see you again, Robert. It’s been a long time. I get notices occasionally about reunions with the old gang, but I must confess, I just can’t seem to motivate myself to go. I hope none of the boys think I’m being unsociable.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Robert. He received the same invitations from time to time and threw them in the trash on sight. He’d put that part of his life behind him, or at least he’d tried to. It had proven much more difficult than he’d imagined it would be. The last thing he wanted was reminders.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. There’s not many of us left anyway. The ones who are still around probably feel the same as we do. What would we talk about? It’s all classified. You know as well as I do that nobody is ever going to release those files. No one wants to read about those things. No one wants to see those pictures. The whole lot was likely destroyed years ago, seeing as what’s in them.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Gibbs. “I mean, I’d feel much better if I knew for sure.”

  “We aren’t ever going to know that. It’s how they keep us in line. Heads would roll if anyone ever…” Robert stopped himself from finishing the sentence. The past was the past and he wanted it to stay that way. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. If anyone up top thought it would come out, the likes of you and I would end up like those body parts. Every day is a blessing. Just remember that.”

  A middle aged woman with graying hair and thick framed glasses handed Robert a folder, and the deputy escorted him out of the station.

  “Good luck with your search,” Gibbs offered as they shook hands.

  “Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

  “Don’t go too hard on ‘em. They’re ignorant as fuck, but most of them are good people.”

  “Would I do that?” asked Robert.

  They laughed.

  “Watch your back. They ain’t going to like you poking around over there.”

  “I’m not there to bust up any stills or Klan rallies. If they aren’t involved in what I’m investigating, they have nothing to worry about.”

  “And if they are?”

  “They’ll be more files to burn.”

  The deputy shuddered. That’s what he was worried about.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Robert reversed course and headed back to his office in Birmingham with Gibbs’s file in his briefcase. It would be too late to start the search that day, and he didn’t want to swoop in on the local authorities until he was properly prepared.

  Back in his office, he opened the file and made notes. Once he’d read through the report a dozen times, he formulated a plan. The first order of business was to assemble a team. Since he was a fledgling detective and had no subordinates in an official capacity to assist him, he had to improvise. Robert made a list of what positions he needed filled, and he started making calls.

  The first position was forensics. Robert had a gut feeling that the investigation was going to be a difficult one, but it also offered an opportunity for someone looking for a challenge. The leading state coroner was Dr. Russell Barrett, but he was pushing seventy, and Robert knew from experience that
the man looked for quick solutions so that he could spend as much time out of the office as possible. What professional curiosity the man had once possessed had long since been replaced with laziness and the longing to retire. He wouldn’t do, so Robert found the next name in the directory and smiled. Dr. Jack Hall. Perfect!

  Robert had once had the pleasure of working with Dr. Hall in the investigation of a particularly grisly case of lynching. The body had been found hanging from an oak tree, still smoldering from the torches that had burned it beyond recognition. No one wanted to touch the case, or the repulsive corpse. No one, that is, except Dr. Hall. The man had proven to be resourceful, and Robert had taken notice. He knew that once prodded with the possibilities, the good doctor would be chomping at the bit to be involved in his current investigation. Robert only had to sell it properly.

  The detective sat back and pondered. He needed to come up with a catchy name, something worthy of a Sherlock Holmes novel. The location of the body parts suggested the first option for a working title: The Dead River Mystery. Robert laughed at the choice. It sounded more like the Hardy Boys than Sherlock Holmes, but he was at a loss for a better idea, so he put the task on the back burner for the time being.

  Robert knew that he’d need someone to look for similar crimes throughout the region and inform him of any possible connections or leads. He’d be too busy digging up body parts and dealing with the locals to dedicate any reasonable effort to the thankless, but vital, task. He had only one person in mind—Billy Watts.

  Billy had been his father’s old partner and had retired a decorated hero from the department. By the time he’d left, he’d cemented his reputation as a homicide detective of the highest order. Watts maintained endless contacts in the department as well as throughout the region, which gave him almost unlimited access to information. His decades of experience had taught him how to sort through mountains of random data and hone in on what might be valuable. Robert was sure Billy would be an enthusiastic and effective collaborator, as long as Robert presented the challenge appropriately.