The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Thank you. You want I should call her?” she asked as she lifted her cell phone.

  “No. We want to surprise her,” I said.

  “Okay, but it’ll help to pinpoint her location,” she said.

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, when I’s pushes this button to call her, she has to push another button to answer. Somehow in all that button pushing, this machine has a built-in whatyamacallit that tells us right here,” she pointed and held up the phone for me to see, “exactly where a body is. Handy, huh?”

  “Handy.”

  “So, you want I should push it for you?”

  “No, thank you. But could I borrow it?”

  “I don’t know. I’s suppose to keep this with me all the time, or so the boss says.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “Misrez Guinn, she be the big boss. Joy is my little boss.”

  “Well, I don’t think your big boss would mind just this once.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “But you will bring that back right away?”

  “Consider it done.”

  She handed me the little black specialized cellphone and we headed off towards the West Wing of the Peace Haven Nursing and Care Facility.

  “What do you intend to do with that?” Rosey asked.

  “Decoy.”

  “Like ducks?”

  “I’ve never hunted ducks. I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

  “You use decoys. Painted, wooden ducks are floating along in the water. The hunters hide in the water and watch the ducks and wait for the real ones to come along.”

  “Sounds like a blast. You do this for recreation?”

  “Used to.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “Water got too cold. Reminded me of guerilla warfare in some bad spots around the globe. Ceased to be fun.”

  “I’d feel sorry for the ducks.”

  “Using decoys to trick them?”

  “No. Having someone hide in the bulrushes always trying to shoot them.”

  “It’s a hunter’s thing,” Rosey said.

  “Truly.”

  It took us about four minutes to get to the West Wing of the building. We could easily see the entire length of the hallway. There was no cleaning cart parked anywhere along the corridor.

  “We’ll have to check each room,” he said. “This could take some time.”

  “Not so fast, Mr. S.E.A.L. I have this modern device for hunting ducks.”

  Rosey rolled his eyes at me. “You couldn’t catch a duck with that.”

  “But maybe a human,” I said.

  Rosey moved along the left side of the hallway about fifty feet from where I was standing. It was impossible for us to cover ever spot along the entire hallway, but at least we were positioned in a more or less central location and ready to run in either direction. Joy was an older woman, so I figured we could take her in a long sprint.

  I pushed the button the cleaning lady had shown me and spoke into the phone, “Joy.”

  We waited and I kept my eyes on the small window at the top which would provide me with a location when Joy answered.

  “Yes?” an undistinguishable voice came back to me and the tiny screen displayed Room 336.

  I looked for the room number closest to me. I was standing just outside of Room 315. Joy would be up ahead of us. I pointed in that direction and told him the room number. Rosey moved quickly along the corridor and then stopped outside Room 336 and waited for me to catch up. He had his gun drawn.

  “Joy, this is Clancy Evans. We need to speak with you.”

  Joy emerged from Room 336 and first saw Rosey standing by the door. I was walking towards her.

  “You figured it all out?” she said.

  “Most of it,” I said.

  I thought she might run.

  “I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Money and the threats.”

  “Threats?”

  “My baby girl worked for the man. He threatened to fire her and ruin her life if I didn’t do this. He called it leverage.”

  “But he did pay you each time, correct?”

  “Yes, he paid me. I spent it on stuff for the grandkids. I never spent a dime on me.”

  “Why didn’t you just have Marie quit?”

  “You didn’t know the power of the man. He had key people everywhere around here under his influence. They all thought he hung the moon. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there was nowhere to turn. It was like I had to do it to protect my family.”

  “Yes, I know about Henry.”

  “He did that on his on. He’d been doin’ odd jobs for the preacher for years. Henry got Marie her job. It was his fault that Marie got tied up with that man. I blame him for a whole lot of this.”

  “Is that really fair to Henry?” I asked.

  “Don’t know nothing about fair. He didn’t need to get my baby all messed up in this. He’s responsible.”

  I wanted to defend Henry, but I knew that I might as well talk to the wall beside me as to convince Joy. Henry was her scapegoat.

  We stood there for a minute or so in an awkward silence. Rosey touched my shoulder as if to remind me it was time to go.

  “We need to go, Joy,” I said finally.

  “What led you to me?”

  “The syringe that your daughter used to kill Robert Lee Rowland.”

  “He’s dead?” there was obvious surprise conveyed by her tone and expression. “The preacher is dead? Hallelujah! This is a good day, Clancy Evans. No matter what, this is a good day. But what syringe you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  “I believe that Marie accidentally killed Robert Lee Rowland when she borrowed what she thought was a syringe filled with B-12 from your supply. It wasn’t B-12 at all, but for the moment I’m not sure what it was. I suspect morphine.”

  “But I don’t take B-12,” she said.

  64

  “She lied to me,” I said to Rosey after we had deposited Joy Jones with Sheriff Robertson and had given him the information I had gathered from her. I also had Rogers fax him a copy of the lab report on the morphine trace found on the broken syringe needle.

  The good sheriff was not happy that I had withheld evidence from him. However, I did dissuade his anger a little by reminding him that at the time that J.R. Blair died, Robby did not believe we had any case that proved murder at Peace Haven. We left him mumbling to himself about the number of people likely killed in this whole affair. He was not happy.

  “People lie,” Rosey said.

  “But she seemed so sure of what she was saying, and I believed her.”

  “Okay. She’s a good liar and you’re gullible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, she duped you. It’s not like it’s the first time in your life. Are you thinking that Marie is not quite so innocent now?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Something is not quite right here yet.”

  “Joy confessed to the murders at Peace Haven.”

  “True. She was acting on orders from Reverend Rowland. But somebody killed the preacher. Somebody wanted him out of the way.”

  “I can think of lots of folks who wanted him gone. Right now the only viable suspect is Marie. You think someone is trying to frame her?” Rosey asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. What if they only used her to do the dastardly deed?”

  “Dastardly deed?”

  “Poetic question.”

  “Like Edgar Allen,” he said.

  “Poisoning, whatever the type, is usually personal. Women generally like to use poison because traditionally women are not quite as violent as men.”

  “You wearing the Freudian hat now?”

  “Evans school of thought,” I said.

  “Should have known. I don’t think your thesis will hold water at the present time. You have Marilyn Saunders who would kill with any means. You have that female assassin lurkin
g about wanting to do us in. And you have Joy working at the behest of Rowland and Saunders.”

  “But Joy chose poison as her weapon,” I argued.

  “Contextual method,” Rosey said. “Poison is easier to use in certain situations, like a nursing home. Not as messy as bullets and knives.”

  “But it is personal.”

  “Well, the problem with that is Joy Jones didn’t have anything personal to do with the ones she killed, except clean their rooms. The only patient she knew was Sarah. Maybe the Reverend himself chose the idea of using poison. His murderous rampage was personal.”

  “True,” I said. “But whoever wanted him dead was also involved with him somehow.”

  “Nothing French here?”

  “No. Just intimate knowledge or acquaintance. Knew him, worked with him, had dealings with him. Someone was angry with him and wanted him dead.”

  “Could be Saunders. Could be Joy. Marie is the first choice at present.”

  “A place to start,” I said.

  We pulled into the back of my mother’s house and parked. Rosey went inside and I remained in the yard. I leaned against the Jag and called Rogers.

  “What’s happening?”

  “You know that line about things getting curious-er and curious-er? Well, that’s what’s happening here.”

  “I believe the correct phrasing should be more curious and more curious,” she corrected me.

  “Joy Jones was the one who killed the patients at Peace Haven. Henry Smith tried to kill Sarah, and my mother, but failed. Mother got the drop on him. And, of all things, someone killed Robert Lee Rowland, the famous iconic preacher of Pitt County for the last fifty years.”

  “Do tell,” Rogers said.

  “I do.”

  “So what do you need now?”

  “Research on Marie Jones, the youngest daughter of Joy Jones.”

  “Suspect?”

  “Yes, but … yeah, she has to be the primary suspect at this point. I have nothing else. She lied to me about where she got the syringe. I think that the preacher was poisoned.”

  “Let me get this straight. She used poison to kill the man and yet you have some doubts about her being a suspect?”

  “She said she was giving him his B-12 shot for the day.”

  “Oh. She’s a nurse?”

  “In training, she says. She’s going to school, taking classes. But she’s also the maid at Rowland’s mansion.”

  “Sounds like a place for me to start,” Rogers said.

  “The mansion?”

  “No, the classes she says she is taking. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

  “There has to be a tie-in somewhere, something we’re missing.”

  “This is the hard part of detecting, Clancy Evans. We seem to always be one step behind somebody.”

  “Thanks for the insight and the encouragement. Always good to talk with you.”

  “Same here.”

  She hung up on me. I think she thought she was paying me a compliment. It didn’t feel complimentary. In point of fact, it stung as the truth often does. And she completely missed my sarcasm.

  Rosey rejoined me at the car. We both leaned against it.

  “Where to now, fearless leader?”

  “Same as always, follow the clues.”

  “Marie.”

  I nodded without saying anything. I was reconstructing all that I knew hoping to find the missing puzzle piece. Nothing happened.

  “You know this violates my ethics,” Rosey said.

  “What?”

  “Leaning against my car. I should be chastising you. Instead, I’m leaning with you.”

  “I’m doing something terribly wrong here?”

  “I never allow anyone to lean against my car.”

  “Except me.”

  “Except you.”

  “And you’re joining me in this ethical violation.”

  “You’re a bad influence, Clancy Evans. Must be your red hair.”

  65

  After supper I called the Sheriff’s Office to see if Marie Jones was still being held as a material witness or something more. Ben Pickeral answered the phone.

  “Sheriff Robertson decided not to hold her here.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Maybe ten minutes, probably less.”

  “Do you know where she was going?”

  “I heard them talking and she wanted to go back to the Rowland’s house, but the Sheriff told her she couldn’t do that, it being a crime scene and all.”

  “Good call, Ben. So where did she go?”

  “I reckon the Sheriff convinced her to let him take her home.”

  “What about Saunders?”

  “The Sheriff locked her up. He’s holding her for twenty-four hours while we do some background checks.”

  “Why didn’t he hold Marie Jones?”

  “His call on that, Miss Evans. I reckon he trusts her and all. They’ve known each other a long time.”

  “Really? How long, Ben?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been several years, ever since I came to work as a deputy here. That’s at least five years now, maybe six.”

  “Friends?”

  “Miss Evans, I don’t want to be talkin’ out of school about my boss and all. I think you should ask him those kinds of questions.”

  I thought it was an innocent enough question to ask. Evidently I had hit upon something about which Ben wasn’t too eager to provide details.

  Rosey and I put Sam in the car and headed off to have a chat with Marie Jones. While en route, Rogers called to give me some news from her digging.

  “Found something interesting on Marie Jones,” she began.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Seems she took out a loan for her college courses in nursing.”

  “That’s normal.”

  “True. But she had to have someone co-sign the loan papers with her in order to get the loan.”

  “Okay. Most children use their parents to do that.”

  “Correct,” Rogers said. “Marie Jones used someone else.”

  “Preacher Rowland?”

  “No. Sheriff Robby Robertson.”

  I hung up and said, “Wow.”

  “Wow?” Rosey said.

  “Yeah. A clue.”

  “We’re getting lots of those of late. This be a good one?”

  “Might be. Sure makes our investigation interesting, I must say.”

  “Well, you gonna tell me about the wow?”

  I told him what Rogers had found. He was silent for a minute or so while he digested the information.

  “So what’s your take on this tidbit?”

  “Why would a redneck sheriff help a poor black girl in a small, Southern town?”

  “He felt sorry for her?”

  “How would he even know enough about her to feel sorry for her?”

  “You said a small, Southern town, didn’t you? Everybody knows everything about everybody.”

  “Maybe, but I suspect that they travel in different circles.”

  “Well,” Rosey said, “she is attractive.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means the good old boy sheriff might be crossing cultural lines and seeing her on the sly.”

  “Seeing her? You mean dating?” I said.

  “At least.”

  “Are we talking about the same guy we grew up with?”

  “He was a few years ahead of us in school.”

  “But we still knew of him. And dating a black girl was not something he aspired to do.”

  “I don’t recall him dating anybody back then.”

  “Wasn’t a lady’s man, that’s for sure. He’s never been married that I know of. We’ve been away from Clancyville for several years, so it is possible some things have happened we don’t know about.”

  “Call your mother and see if she knows anything.”

  Rosey pulled the Jag over and parked in front of Queen’
s Court, the housing project where most of the town’s poorer black population could afford to live. Joy and Marie’s house was just a couple of blocks up the road from us. We decided to confer with my mother before proceeding.

  I talked with Mother for a few minutes. She answered most of my questions. Sarah had some information as well. I related what I learned to Rosey. Sam was asleep in the back seat and paid no attention to any of what we were sharing.

  “We were correct in our assessment. We did learn that Robby almost got married about seven years ago, but the woman changed her mind at the last minute and called off the wedding.”

  “They give a reason?”

  “No.”

  “They say who?”

  “Yeah, it was Jessica Thompson’s granddaughter, Sally Mae Franklin.”

  “She still live around here?”

  “Don’t know, but it’s worth checking into,” I said.

  “Jessica would know,” Rosey said and smiled.

  We drove past Joy Jones’ house but the Sheriff’s car wasn’t there. We turned around a mile or so past the house and then came back and parked close enough to watch the house without being too conspicuous. Jaguar, African-American male, red headed white female, large dog sleeping in the backseat – naw, nothing too conspicuous about that.

  After an hour or so of nothing happening except Sam yawning and repositioning on his back seat bed, we left and returned to Mother’s house.

  “I’ll call Jessica,” I said.

  “Brave person that you are.”

  “Well, along with everything else, she is a wealth of information.”

  “And this is her little granddaughter. I suppose she knows a lot.”

  “Since it is her precious little granddaughter, Jessica may be reticent to talk about what happened,” Rosey suggested.

  “Don’t know I ever heard anyone use the words reticent and talk in the same sentence with Jessica as the subject.”

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “Better yet,” Rachel interrupted our conversation, “I would recommend that you drive over to Mulberry Avenue and visit with Jessica instead of phoning. Some things are better asked and answered face to face rather than over the telephone.”

  It made sense so I headed out the door. I turned to see if Rosey was following.

  “You going?” I asked.