"I don't think they've found it yet."
I hadn't realized Ray had as much detail as he did. His not sharing what he knew reinforced his statement that his past was none of my business. I didn't agree and vowed anew to find out what he was hiding.
Ray continued his methodical search, spiraling in smaller semi-circles toward the bare spot at the edge of the clearing.
A rustling in the bushes attracted my attention. Several squirrels gathered their breakfast adjacent to a dense stand of undergrowth, actually a tangle of low shrubs interspersed with tangled vines. The sun breaking through the patchy canopy illuminated the ground cover.
Ray saw it first, a glint of metal. "There's something over there." He pointed in the direction I was walking. "Don't touch anything you find."
"Okay." I knew that. I'd been a police officer.
A single shell casing lay between the stems in a tiny patch of small yellow wild flowers. "Bingo. Ray, you'd better look at this."
He asked me to take a picture of the casing with the digital camera before bending close to the spent brass, moving it slightly with a twig to get a better look. "Thirty-eight. There's a second one." He pointed about two feet to the right.
"Standard service ammo."
"Among other things. I need to call the chief." He took his cell phone off his belt, looked at the small screen, and clipped it back. "Damned mountain. I have no service. Check yours." After I handed him my cell phone, he tapped in a number. "Ervin," he said after a few seconds, "better come up here and take a look."
It took Ray a couple of minutes of fast talking to explain how he happened to be at the precise place Elaine's body was found. He promised to wait until Chief Ervin arrived—as if we'd go anywhere with evidence lying on the ground at our feet. While he did his kowtowing, I stood on the far side of the brass casing staring into the trees beyond where Elaine had died.
Ray slipped in behind me and, with his hands on my hips, guided me to one side. "That's where it landed. This is about where the shooter stood." I looked over my shoulder, glimpsing Halsey's cabin through the trees.
"See that tree over there, the one with the branches sticking out about three feet above the ground." I pointed. "Looks like it was in the line of fire."
"I think you're right. Or, the bigger tree to the left"
"Or the space between," I said walking toward the trees. I stopped and grabbed a quick shot of the cabin. "We need to check that before Ervin gets here."
He found a slug imbedded in the bark of a white pine tree. It was about ear high on me, about the same height as the one entering Elaine's head behind her ear. The shooter had fired two shots, hitting his target with one of them. I took a quick photo, but we left the slug untouched.
Ray said, "I can't understand why the cops didn't find it." He surveyed the expanse of trees.
"They would have had to find the casing first."
We walked across the clearing and picked our way through the thicket to Halsey's cabin. The boarded-up rear of the cabin visible from the clearing was secure. The front looked recently violated. Splintered wood exposed fresh damage to the otherwise weathered cabin. Wooden shutters hung askew rather than sealed like in the rear. Faint tire tracks circled the dirt and gravel front yard.
Ray used his handkerchief to try the front door. It swung open revealing a single room, empty except for a made-up single bed in the corner and a card table with two chairs. A pale green woman's sweater lay on the floor under the foot of the bed.
"Wonder why they didn't find her sweater," Ray said as he stood in the middle of the room and stared at the bed.
"Maybe they saw the cabin was boarded and never looked any further."
"Doesn't make sense to me. Ervin knows better than that."
When Chief Ervin arrived, he was less than cordial. Based on his angry diatribe, he didn't like early morning calls pointing out the relative incompetence of his crime scene investigation. Or the fact Ray found evidence he missed. Or the Honda blocking the road. Or my snapping his picture while he collected the evidence. To Ervin's credit, he took the time to label the bag before dropping it into the pocket of his uniform shirt.
"I don't know that this has anything to do with the case," Ervin said. "It's been a few days. Besides," he patted his pocket, "this slug could have been here for a long time. Just coincidence."
Ray said, "It would be a helluva coincidence for a casing and a bullet to just happen to mark a direct path over the same spot where someone was murdered."
"Leave it to me now. Y'all stay out of it." Chief Ervin's voice was friendly, but his manner grew threatening as he stepped closer to Ray.
Ray touched my arm. "Let's get goin'," he said, motioning with his head in the direction of the path. To Ervin, he said, "Jake, you'd better check out Halsey's cabin while you're here. Looks like Elaine's missin' sweater may be on the floor under the bed."
35
When young people die violently, we've come to accept large crowds of strangers mourning—perhaps the loss of safety, or maybe the loss of our combined innocence. Elaine's funeral was no exception. Close friends and family gathered in the front of the large Baptist church. More distant friends and acquaintances, classmates of the two children, barbershop buddies of Ray's father, and Martha's colleagues from her active teaching days crowded into the following pews. Then came the strangers, solemn and proper, but dry-eyed and craning for a glimpse of the family in the front pew. I sat alone in the last row.
Since Ray and I weren't married, I didn't think it was appropriate for me to be in the front of the sanctuary with Ray and his children. Over his objections, I insisted on sitting toward the rear. Parkview is a conservative southern town, at least by outside appearances, and I didn't want to create fodder for the gossip mill. Ray's kids had enough innuendo and rumor to deal with.
Unlike some of the ethnic funerals I've attended over the years—Italian, Irish, Haitian— the family and close relatives cried silently, their grief a private matter. I watched, dry-eyed for the most part. Then I noticed Chief Ervin slip into the pew across the aisle from me. I expected him to scan the crowd, continue the murder investigation, but he sat with his head bowed, the program open on his lap.
The minister talked and prayed, and we followed along. After singing Rock of Ages and I Come to the Garden Alone, we adjourned to the church basement where the women presented a modest lunch of small sandwiches, cold salads, and white cake. Ray and I sat with Kerri and Branden while Martha and John accomplished the required conversation.
Ray and his kids maintained constant body contact, interspersing their handholding and hugging with whispered words of conversation. It occurred to me Ray needed to be alone with his kids, and everyone was ignoring Elaine's elder sister, Suzanne. Since most people didn't know her, they seemed to disenfranchise her need to grieve. I excused myself and went to speak with her.
She smiled when I approached and introduced myself. She said, "I've wanted to meet you. Martha told me you and Raymond had gotten back together. She's fond of you."
"Martha is a gracious lady. She'd be fond of anyone her son chose."
"Perhaps you're right." Suzanne paused, then motioned to the chair next to her. "Sit with me awhile. Please."
I sat beside the petite woman. Taking a moment to gather myself, I noted her buttoned lace collar and boxy silk suit. "I'm sorry about your loss and about the loss everyone feels. I didn't know Elaine well, but we'd arrived at a peaceful truce. We became better acquainted the last week."
"Elaine told me about your visit," Suzanne said. She wasn't looking at me, watching the milling crowd instead. "She mentioned you left suddenly. She thought you may have been hurt when you saw her sitting with Ray on the backyard swing."
"She was right. It was a bad day, and I overreacted."
"Not to worry. No one will hold it against you." She motioned toward the door. "I need a cigarette. Let's go for a walk."
"Works for me." I walked towards the exit with Suzann
e following as close behind as a freshman nursing student on her first hospital day.
At the top of the stairs, she stepped in front of me and led the way down a short hall and out a side door to a shaded picnic area and large open playground. I followed her along an overgrown sidewalk that edged the playground and connected to the street behind the church.
Suzanne touched my arm. "How are you and Raymond doing with all this? It has to have caused some turmoil in your relationship."
"It's rocky."
"Oh," she said, exhaling the word. "Raymond has always been a difficult man to live with."
I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Don't get me wrong, but I've known him for a long time. I always thought he was opinionated, forceful, and damned obstinate." She stopped and faced me.
I laughed. "And that's on his mild days."
"He and Elaine never saw life through the same lens. She manipulated him into marrying her. Then, she had an affair with Buddy Lee."
"That's what Ray implied the one time he spoke about their relationship."
"Did he tell you Elaine was with Buddy Lee the evening of the murder?" She took a long drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke off to the side where the wind carried it away.
"Her murder?" I asked.
"No, the night Buddy Lee was supposed to have been killing Seth Bullock."
"You mean Ray helped convict Buddy Lee of a crime he didn't commit, and Elaine could have prevented it. Please tell me Ray didn't knowingly do that."
"I don't think he knew. Elaine didn't tell Raymond anything. She let it happen. She had promised Raymond she was finished with Buddy Lee and thought coming forward would finish off her marriage. The problem was it came out in the trial anyway, but still she didn't do anything to save Buddy Lee. She wouldn't corroborate his story." She pulled at her Salem. "Big Al, that's Buddy Lee's father, swore Buddy Lee wasn't involved, claimed he had done the killing himself. But Seth Bullock's brother, Harold, swore there was another man there and that the man was Buddy Lee."
"How did Ray come to be involved in Buddy Lee getting out of jail?"
"Elaine told me what she'd done. After Elaine and Raymond divorced, and he moved out of town, mostly in disgrace and looking cuckolded, I called and told him the truth. By that time, Buddy Lee had served about four years. Raymond flew to Parkview, confronted Elaine, and went to see the judge and Jake Ervin. Strings were pulled, and Buddy Lee was released."
"Wow. I wonder why Ray won't tell me the story himself."
"You'll have to ask him."
We continued walking in silence until we were halfway around the block and in front of the church. She'd raised several questions in my mind, not the least of which was whether Ray had instigated this conversation. I thought it was time I found some of the answers myself.
36
When the funeral ended, Ray wanted to go back to his parents' house with his children. I told him to ride along with his folks, and Suzanne and I would come along in the Honda later. I feigned a headache and said I needed a break from the intensity and wanted to take a short, relaxing ride in the country. He had a teenager hanging on each arm and was in no position to argue. He handed over the keys.
Suzanne and I watched as the Stones pulled out of the church parking lot. Then she asked what was going on.
I jiggled the keys in my hand. "If I'm going to have any hope of a future with that man, I have to know the truth. Then I have to know he knows I know . . . you get the drift of it."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Suzanne smiled, exposing a mouth full of clear braces I hadn't noticed before. "And, you want me to help you?"
"Something like that." I smiled, trying to look sincere and in need of assistance at the same time. "Will you help?"
"What do you have in mind?"
I pressed the lock release on the remote control twice, heard the muffled snaps as the locks disengaged, and motioned for her to climb into the car. "I want to visit the judge and see what he remembers about the trial and Buddy Lee's release."
"I already told you."
I glanced in Suzanne's direction as I depressed the start button. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, however, trust but verify is my motto."
"I understand." She touched the canvas roof. "Can you put the top down?"
After we were on the main drag headed west, I asked her if she knew the judge's name. She didn't, but she knew the way to the Morgan County Courthouse. Thinking that was a reasonable place to start, I followed her directions.
We were lucky. It was mid-afternoon on a Friday, and the courthouse was open for business and staffed with helpful employees. The clerk in the walnut-paneled records room was eager to help. After Suzanne and I related what we knew about names and dates, the elder gentleman—the desk plaque read Mr. Mallory Jones—remembered the case.
"We don't have many murders in these parts." Mr. Jones drew out each word, making it obvious he had lived and worked for many years in Parkview. "In fact," he continued, "I remember filing that case myself. Just y'all wait a minute now. I'll go fetch it."
Mr. Jones brought the huge file around the counter and laid it out on a library-style table in the reception area of the room. He asked, "You ladies sisters of that nice Mrs. Stone? Poor dear lady."
He looked surprised when he learned Suzanne was a sister and I wasn't. We thanked him for his help and sat to inspect the file.
"Check out the name," I whispered, pointing. "Judge Stringham Ulysses Porter. I've heard Ray talk about him. Called him Judge String'em Up. He didn't literally hang people, of course. Folks knew him for being tough on offenders. I wonder if he's still around."
"We can ask Jonesie," Suzanne whispered, flipping through the file. "Look, here's a memorandum opinion by Judge Porter. Maybe it will summarize the case."
We learned there was testimony by the victim's brother, Harold Bullock, convincing the jury of the guilt of both Alfred Leon Pyle, Sr.—Big Al—and his son Alfred Leon Pyle, Jr.—Buddy Lee. Bullock testified he and his brother, Seth, drove onto Pyle's property with the intent of reclaiming a one hundred dollar advance Seth believed Big Al Pyle hadn't earned. While Harold watched, Seth entered the house, heated words were exchanged, then Big Al followed Seth out of the house. A thickly built, tall man with a shadow of beard appeared with a growling, snapping pit bull straining at his tether. Harold testified the man was Buddy Lee Pyle. The man walked to where Big Al stood with the gun and handed the leash to Big Al, accepting the rifle in return. The second man disappeared behind the kennels. Less than a minute later, Harold heard a shot and saw his brother drop to the ground—dead. The document mentioned Buddy Lee's claim of innocence and noted police did not substantiate his whereabouts at the time of the incident.
"You know my new motto," I said as I dug into the actual record.
I found two points of interest in the testimony. While under oath, Elaine denied being with Buddy Lee on the night of the murder, but he swore he was with her. Pyle's public defender dropped the issue. The other interesting point was Harold Bullock admitted being angry with Big Al for sitting on his glasses. "Not only did he shoot my brother," Harold said, "but he kept the hundred dollars my brother paid him, he wrecked the truck, and he cost me near two hundred dollars for new specs."
I pointed the statement out to Suzanne. "Now, tell me," I said, "how'd he identify Buddy Lee Pyle from a distance if he had glasses so thick they cost two hundred dollars?"
"Designer frames?"
"Nah."
Suzanne scanned the next few pages of transcript. "No one followed up on his vision."
"I wonder if we can find the judge." I said lugging the document to Mr. Jones.
37
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the tidy, graveled parking lot in front of the group home where Judge Porter lived. Mr. Jones told us the Judge suffered a stroke a few years earlier and owing to his lack of kin, now resided in the home.
We climbed the wheelchair ramp leading to the front do
or. A black cat with white markings jumped into the front window when I tapped on the doorjamb. Suzanne and I waited for someone to come to the door while the cat kept us under careful surveillance. The cat scampered away when a heavyset, middle-aged woman appeared.
"We'd like to see Judge Porter," I said in response to her greeting.
"Sure thing." She turned into the large, airy day room. "Judge String'em Up, these young women are here to see you."
The room bustled with the residents' activity. Two gents played gin at a small table in the corner, several ladies watched a soap on a big-screen television, a young woman chatted with a couple in another corner, and a hot checkers match entertained a small audience in the center of the room.
Incredulous, I asked, "He likes that name?"
"It's how he introduces himself." She opened the door and ushered us into a small side room. "Have a seat. The judge will join you here."
Judge String'em Up shuffled in with a smile on his face and an ornately carved but unlit meerschaum pipe clasped between his teeth. As we waited, he parked his wheeled-walker and lowered himself into a straight-backed captain's chair. "Now, young ladies," he said in a robust voice, "what can I do for you?"
I told him why we were visiting and what we had learned about the case. "I'd like to know why the matter of an alibi for Buddy Lee was dropped when it was his word against Elaine Stone's. Perhaps more importantly, why was the matter of Harold Bullock's glasses overlooked?"
The judge looked at me, shook his head as if deciding what to do, and chomped on the stem of his pipe causing it to bob. "It was like this. Elaine Stone was the wife of one of our police officers. Of course, we wanted to believe her. But it was a jury decision, and the jury believed Mrs. Stone's version and not the story offered by the accused. Now, that's unfortunate because, as you know, she later changed her story to agree with Buddy Lee Pyle. Of course, Pyle had already served some years.
"Had Ray Stone not insisted the wrong be corrected, Pyle would have completed his full term. As it was, Pyle was lucky to get out when he did. Chief Ervin was never much interested in lettin' him out of jail. I don't think the Chief believed Pyle was innocent. But the prosecutor and I were convinced, and we were able to secure Pyle's release."
Imperfect Daddy Page 14