by Joel B Reed
“It’s tempting,” I said after a long silence. “Can you live with that?”
“I don’t know,” Dee replied, grinning. “I could give it a damned good try.” He looked at me. “You realize that you and I are about the only ones who really give a shit. Kruger may, but he’s not his own man.”
Kruger came back to the table just then and sat down. “You’re right about that,” he told us. He had overheard Dee’s last remark. “Lonnie is pulling me off the case. As far as he is concerned, Posey is our shooter, and since he’s dead, no further investigation is necessary. I have to be in Little Rock the first thing tomorrow morning to make my final report.”
“How does he explain the shot that hit Redbone?” I asked.
Kruger chose his words carefully. “Lonnie is taking the position that they’re two unrelated incidents. That’s the official view now.”
“Two unrelated incidents? Where the bullets match?” I asked. “Weaver’s initial examination says they do.”
Kruger looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he told us. “My guess it that it would take more than that to justify further Bureau involvement. There’ll be a press release later today.”
Dee laughed and made a pumping motion with his right arm. “Kerfloosh!” he said. “There it goes. Right down the Bureau-kratik tubes.” He grinned. “We like you, Kruger, but it’ll be a relief to get the Bureau out of our hair.”
I thought about that. With Posey dead, Dill would probably be headed back to Washington, too. James Mason would go back to being a deputy sheriff while keeping tabs on the Klan, and I would be pretty much on my own. Maybe it was time for me to write up my report and turn in my bill. I said as much to Dee, and he nodded, flagging the waitress for the check.
The drive back to Nashville that night was very quiet. None of us felt good about the way this case was ending, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. It sometimes turns out that way, and a cop needs to move on to other things. Those who don’t go crazy.
Since Dee needed to get back to Little Rock anyway, Kruger offered to give him a ride there that night. We said our goodbyes, and I took a shower then fell into bed and slept soundly for several hours. When I awoke, it was out of a dead sleep, and I was aware something had come together in my mind. Yet, I couldn’t remember what it was or even if it had anything to do with the case.
Nor did a long morning walk help me remember, and I finally set it aside. I tried to call Willie Dill, but he wasn’t in his room. Nor had he left word where to reach him. So I had a cup of coffee and a light breakfast by myself and took off for Oak Grove.
Albert Jones was sad to hear the news about Edward Posey. He offered to claim the body and take care of funeral expenses, and I gave him the number he needed to call. Then we talked a while about other things, and Emma insisted I stay for lunch. It was a wonderful visit, and I wished Nellie was there to share it. I thought she and Emma would find a lot in common.
When I knocked at Percy and Beulah Adams’ door, I heard someone get up and move around, but it took a minute for them to get to the door. It was Percy—Edward Posey’s honorary uncle—and he didn’t look pleased to see me. I told him I only needed a few minutes, and he reluctantly let me in. He led me into the kitchen where Beulah was sitting at the table. Percy pointed to a chair opposite his own and asked me if I would like some coffee.
I declined, then told them about the accident. I told them we were pretty certain it was Edward who was killed, but we would know for sure very quickly. I avoided getting into details, mostly to spare their feelings.
When I was done, the old people sat quietly for a while. Then Beulah took a deep breath and sighed. “Well,” she said quietly, almost as if to herself, “they both be with the Lord now.”
Percy shot his wife a warning look, but it was too late. Beulah looked at me with wide eyes, as if I had pried a deep secret out of her while she wasn’t looking. Yet, I couldn’t let it go. “Both?” I asked Beulah. “Who else besides Edward?”
“She talking about the boy and his mother,” Percy said, trying to gloss it over, but Beulah shook her head.
“Edward and Daniel,” she told me, ignoring her husband.
“Daniel Posey?” I asked and she nodded.
“No need bringing him up, woman,” Percy said, trying to cut in, but we both ignored him.
“Who was Daniel?” I prodded gently.
“Daniel be he brother,” Beulah said. “He born the same time.”
Gradually, the story came out of Beulah. Edward’s mother had not given birth to one child, but two. They were twin boys—identical twins—and one of them had been sent to be raised by relatives near Magnolia. The family was just too poor to raise them both, and one child born out of wedlock was shame enough. Nor had the grandfather allowed the boys to meet one another again. Daniel was given the surname of the family who raised him and was never told that he had a twin brother. Nor was he told that the woman who raised him was not his birth mother.
Edward was never told about his brother, either. No one in the family ever spoke of Daniel, and it was only by accident that Edward overheard his mother arguing with his grandmother one day while he was in his teens. When Edward asked them what that was about, he was told he misunderstood what they said. Yet, he knew, and several months before Smiley’s death, he had come to Percy and Beulah insisting they tell him everything they knew.
“He was at the funeral,” Beulah told me. “Him and Edward both. I seen them talking by the door.”
I sat there for a moment, thinking. “Why did you say they were both with the Lord, Beulah?” I asked.
The old woman was very confused. “What you mean? They both be dead. They be killed in that wreck.”
“There was only one man killed in the accident,” I told her. “We thought it was Edward, but it might have been Daniel.”
“Well, praise the Lord!” she declared. “That child still alive!”
I talked with them a while longer, but there was nothing more they could tell me. So I took off for Nashville, hoping to find Dill and let Dee know what was going on. When I got to a phone and asked for Dee at the office, it was Weaver who came on the line. “Hello, Jazz. Dee asked me to take it if you called in. He had to go to the hospital.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “He was all right last night.”
“His wife was in a bad car accident last night,” Weaver told me. “She’s all right now, except for some bruised ribs. She got broadsided by a drunk driver.”
I filled Weaver in on what I learned in Oak Grove. I asked him to check the state birth records for a week either side of March 15, 1948, for black males and to get the report to me right away. I told him I was looking for a first or middle of Daniel, but didn’t know the last name. Percy and Beulah Adams had refused to tell me. “Pay particular attention to any children born at home and registered a couple of years later. The grandfather’s name is Posey, but someone else may have registered them.”
“Yes, sir!” Weaver laughed. “It’s just like old times.”
I tried to apologize, but Weaver laughed it off. “Hey, we miss you around here, fella. Not just us old timers, either.”
“Tell the crew I miss them, too,” I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I asked for the name of the hospital and room number.
“By the way, I have a hit on the DNA for you.”
“That was quick. You just got it yesterday. Were you up all night?”
“No,” Weaver laughed. “I left it for the night shift,” he reminded me. The DNA from the spit-wad you picked up was a good match for the outhouse blood and what we got from the can. It’s the same guy.”
“Now it looks like it’s one of two guys,” I said. “Can you imagine what even a half-assed defense lawyer could do with that?”
“I don’t suppose we could hang them both,” Weaver said. “With the hands burned off the guy in the truck, it could be either Posey or his brother.”
He was rig
ht. Fingerprints are different even for identical twins, but DNA is identical. “So how do we identify Daniel, if that’s who it is?” I asked. “Dental records?
“Yeah, it’ll definitely be low technology,” Weaver agreed. “Maybe we’ll find tatoos or significant scars or even a birth mark.” He laughed again. “I just had a terrible thought. What if they were triplets, like those guys in that old movie? You know, the one with the voodoo killers. How would you ever figure out who was who without finger prints?”
“If it’s triplets, I’m moving to Mexico,” I laughed. “How about the prints from that lottery ticket I sent with Dee? Did you get anything on those?”
“I knew there was something else,” Weaver told me. “The second set on the ticket he gave me was identical to the unknown set on the first ticket.”
“So Slide and the clerk were telling the truth,” I said.
“Unless they were in cahoots,” Weaver answered.
“There is that,” I said. Then two thoughts hit me. “Damn! What if they were? What if the clerk was Slide’s accomplice? Maybe he’s the one who took a shot at Robert yesterday.”
“How would he tie in?” Weaver asked.
“I don’t know,” I told him. “Forget it. It was just a wild hare. I’m grasping for straws.”
“At least you’ve got hair,” Weaver quipped. “I could use a few wild ones—or any other kind, for that matter.” I could imagine him running a hand over his bald head.
“All right, here’s another thought. What if Edward took Daniel’s place? What if he arranged the accident intending to leave this world as Edward and begin a new life as Daniel?”
“He wouldn’t have taken the shot at Redbone then,” Weaver said. “That messed up his timing.”
“Yes, but he didn’t know it would. The only reason that truck was found when it was is because the Highway Patrol spotted skid marks so quickly. It was bad luck, pure and simple.”
“So he took the shot and ditched the gun on his way by,” Weaver said. “It could work.”
“It damned near did work. Posey couldn’t know that Crime Scene would be called in, and certainly not so quickly. The whole thing could have been written up as a truck wreck. The trooper only called us because Dee put out an alert.”
“Makes you wonder who’s in charge of the luck division, doesn’t it? All right. Say you’re right. What now?”
“We check out Daniel without tipping Edward to what we’re doing?” I said. “I need to talk to Dee to set that up.”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line. “What is it, Ben?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be talking out of school,” Weaver replied. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else but you, but you’re still Dee’s best friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes, as far as I know. I’m your friend, too, Ben.”
“Well, between us friends, Dee hasn’t been himself for the last year or so. I don’t think he’s drinking, but it’s like the fire went out inside him.”
“It’s called burn-out,” I answered. “That’s why I quit, Ben. I used to love the job, but I was having to drive myself to do it.”
Weaver sighed. “I remember, but you quit before anyone much noticed. I don’t think there’s anyone who hasn’t noticed with Dee.”
“How has he been the last couple of days?” I asked.
Weaver thought for a moment. “He’s been almost like his old self, now I think about it,” he replied. “Even with the accident. He’s...focused. Now he’s set to retire, he’s doing fine.”
“Keep that in mind when your time comes,” I told him. “Dee is the one who told me how I was getting.”
“Dear God!” Weaver murmured. “None of us had the balls to tell him! We did him a great disservice.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” I laughed. “Dee might have regretted it afterward, but he might have killed the messenger.”
“There is that,” Weaver replied. “What are you going to do now?”
I thought about it a moment. “I think I may head down toward Magnolia and check the county records there. I may nose around a bit in Texarkana first. I need to check out that convenience store clerk.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Weaver replied. “Who’s going to back you up?”
I thought about that for a moment. “I’ll work with Dill if he is still around. I think Tanner might let me have Mason for a bit longer, too.”
“All right, then,” Weaver said. “Just don’t try to go in alone. This guy is pretty nasty.”
“And I’m not as young as I once was?” I asked. There was silence from the other end. “You’re right, Ben. I’ll get some help.”
“I believe it was my former boss who told me that was a cardinal rule for any investigation,” he answered dryly. “I think his exact words were that a cop who goes in alone has a fool for a partner. I’ll get on those birth records STAT.”
When I hung up, I tried to get in touch with Dill again, but the desk clerk at the motel told me he had checked out. “He did leave you a message,” she said, handing me a sealed envelope. When I opened it, there was a brief note telling me he had to leave to meet another commitment and asking me to call his central office if I needed to get in touch with him. He added that he hoped to meet again when we had more time to swap yarns. The note was signed with a scrawl I had a hard time deciphering except for the initials.
I had better luck with James Mason. Sheriff Tanner agreed to let him stay on as my partner for a few more days, but I could tell he was reluctant. I knew he wanted the case closed, and I couldn’t blame him. When I told him what I thought about Edward Posey killing Daniel and switching identities, he was a bit skeptical. “Let’s see what turn up,” he said. “You take James Mason next three days. After that, you on your own. I can’t spare him. This case done took too much time. Damn vandals raising hell all over and folk getting hot about it.”
I thanked John Tanner and gave Mason a call. He was due to go on shift at three that afternoon, but agreed to come in right away when I outlined what I had in mind. I asked him to wear a sport coat and tie since we were going out of the county, and I asked him to pack an overnight bag. Civil servants tend to be more helpful when investigators dress the part, and we needed every advantage we could get. All we had to work with was a first name, a photo of Edward Posey, and only a general idea of where to look.
When we got to Magnolia, the first thing we did was to let the local police know we were around. The chief wasn’t someone I knew, but my name was familiar to him, and he was very cooperative. He posted a five by seven print of Posey’s picture on the duty board and passed a copy around to officers on shift. No one recognized the picture, but one of the officers thought it looked familiar. She was not sure just when she had seen the fellow, but it had been some time before. She took one of my cards and promised to call right away if she happened to remember.
Our visit to the sheriff’s office was less productive. I knew the sheriff from a long time back, and it was not a pleasant memory. We had been called in to investigate the way his department handled prisoners when I was new to the CID, and the man was dirty. We could never find any proof of wrongdoing, and no one dared testify. The man had been in office thirty years or more and knew where all the bodies were buried. He ran his county like a feudal fief and even the district judge was afraid of him.
“Never saw the man,” the sheriff said, tossing the photo of Posey back at us without even looking at it. “Of course, so many of them is so interbred I cain’t tell them apart, anway. He ain’t one of ours.”
“How can you know if you don’t even look?” James Mason asked in a quiet, deadly voice. The sheriff didn’t even glance in his direction.
“It wouldn’t hurt for us to talk to some of your officers,” I replied. “One of them might have seen him passing through.”
“Particularly since he was traveling with a white woman,” James Mason added innocently. A deep flush blossomed at the she
riff’s neck and spread to his face but he refused to rise to the bait.
“I’ll ask them myself,” the sheriff said. From his tone, I knew I better not hold my breath until it happened. “I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I told him. “I appreciate it. Just so you’re aware of it, we’ll be asking around, too.”
The man didn’t respond, even with a nod. He looked down at his desk and started going through a stack of mail, not even looking up when Mason and I left the office. “I’m sorry about that,” Mason apologized when we got down the hall. “I hope I didn’t make things worse.”
“I thought it was just fine,” I told him. “The asshole never acknowledged you at all, even when I introduced you.”
“I bet he wears a sheet,” Mason replied. “I’ll find out.”
“Be careful in his county,” I warned him. “He’s pretty much king here.”
“We’ll see about that,” James Mason said, and I was glad I wasn’t in the sheriff’s shoes. He grinned. “I suspect the IRS just might audit his accounts. I bet the bastard has a trove buried in some bank.” He grinned. “And while he’s distracted with that...” He left the thought hanging.
“I hope I don’t ever seriously piss you off,” I told him.
The next two days were nothing but frustration. Word had gone out from the sheriff’s department and people would barely talk to us. Most of them just shook their heads and turned away, but one man was honest enough to tell us the truth. “I don’t want no trouble with old Earl,” he said, clearly frightened. “I got to live around here. I’d like to help you, but I don’t know nothing.”
Then our luck changed on the morning of the third day. We were back in Magnolia checking in at the police department when one of the custodians came up to us and asked, “You the gentlemens looking for Dan Tatum?” he asked.