by Jerry Brown
By mid-afternoon, two television newscast crews were parking in the research facility lot. Since no other evidence had been uncovered, Flint called off the search. He met the television crews midway to the research facility, and threw up his hands to show he would not make any comment.
Returning to the station, he stopped by
Aubrian's office to report the negative results. Aubrian sat back in his chair and brushed at his slacks. "I know you were thorough but, damn, I wish you could've turned up something else. A murdered child is horrible enough. The mutilation makes it outrageous and, with the problem of uncertain identification, we could have a real situation on our hands. You didn't find any clothing or anything?"
Flint straightened his back and maintained eye contact. "Cap'n, we were damn lucky to find the hand. That's all marshy undergrowth out there. It was spotted by the game warden on the other side of the canal from the body. With the heavy rains and run-off out there the last two days, it's a miracle that we found it at all."
"You say it looked like it was thrown, how do you know it wasn't carried there when the water receded into Lake Pontchartrain?"
"I don't know. It's just my guess that the perps were trying to hide the parts to make identification difficult. It doesn't take too much imagination to realize that with a delay of another night, we could have found nothing at all."
After rubbing his eyes, Aubrian rose to his feet and sat on the outer edge of his desk. "Was the body just floating?"
"No sir. It was tied to different tree roots by what appeared to be a length of clothes line, across the chest and under the arms. It looks like it was tied below the water line, and when the rain stopped and the water level dropped, it was exposed."
"Well, the perps were either in a mighty big hurry or were mighty stupid, or both."
"I don't know Cap'n, that's an awful isolated area. What's the chances anyone would happen by and, if they did, that they would spot anything? Really, it's pretty much a miracle that we even know about it."
"Yeah, I see what you mean." He paused and rubbed his neck as he stared at the ceiling. "I haven't heard anything yet from juvenile or forensics. They should be calling anytime. Hang around, I want you to be on the line with me when they call. Then you can leave for the day. I can appreciate you wanting to get out of those wet clothes."
"Sure, Boss. I'll be down at the break room using my body odor to drive everyone else back to work."
Aubrian smiled and touched his hands together. "That's the first positive thing I've heard all day. Hell, go on home. I'll take the call and fill you in first thing in the morning."
Flint stood and stretched his back with his fist on his kidneys. "Cap'n, would you mind calling me at home if anything comes from your call. I mean, you think you've seen it all and you're beyond being affected, then something like this comes up. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep anyway. Who knows, maybe in my pondering, I'll come up with some answers."
Flint walked from the room then turned in mid-stride and stood in the doorway.“Cap'n, I've been thinking. Do you remember John Bowman, the guy who came in doing some private work a few years back and when he left we dubbed him The Magician?” Aubrian rolled his eyes and frowned. “Sure, what about him?”
“Would you object if I call him from home tonight. Just lay out what I found to see if he might come up with some ingenious approach.”Aubrian regarded his hands.“ Bill Ed, you don't have enough to go on yet. Give him a chance. Wait until we have something.”Flint's face sagged.
Aubrian made an exasperated wave. “Hell, go ahead. What do we have to lose.” John Bowman pushed back his baseball cap and shook his head, admiring the results of his handiwork. Before him stood a once glorious, but now decaying and dilapidated two-story antebellum home which tilted precariously to the left. The four cypress pillars supporting the porch roof were surprisingly intact. Between the two center pillars a four by twelve foot balcony opened to a large shuttered door on the second floor.
Bowman smiled at the contrast of the shining, and freshly painted balcony with the rest of the structure, recalling the days spent scraping and sanding the detailed filigree. He decided that although it was a useless gesture, it was, nevertheless, worth it.
He approached the house, observing the balcony from below before climbing the ladder he left resting on the side of the balcony farthest from the direction the house leaned. Once on the perch, and seated in a worn and tattered recliner, he rested his ankles on the balustrade and did what he had been doing for four days since making his last brush stroke and putting away his tools. He simply sat there. As usual, his attention was first drawn to what were once two mammoth oaks with wide, sweeping limbs. What remained was the stump of one and the decaying trunk of the other.
He listened for sounds of commercial boat traffic on the Mississippi, less than a mile away. Although he heard nothing, the moisture-filled breeze gave evidence of the river's close proximity. Nor could he smell the river from where he sat due to the contest of odors from the musty old house competing with the curing paint on the balcony.
He would look for wildlife or watch the erratic movements of a carpenter bee as it buzzed haphazardly from one perfectly bored circle to another in the fascia board, pausing at each hole, occasionally peeping inside, and then rejecting it, continuing its puzzling venture. But above all, Bowman listened to the sound and groans of the old house, ready to jump from the balcony should it begin to collapse. On this particular afternoon, the glare of the descending sun was particularly bothersome to him. Placing his glass on the balcony floor, and stretching to adjust the cap bill to shade his eyes, he nearly overturned the recliner. His quick adjustment caused the recliner to right itself with a loud crack. His heart stopped momentarily as he waited for unwelcomed movement or sounds. Hearing nothing alarming, he rose from his chair, grabbed the cap, and was pulling it over his forehead while returning to his reclining position when he heard, "Hey up dere!"
John Bowman dropped his size twelve sneakers carefully from the balustrade, leaned forward in the recliner, and looked over at a young, cinnamon-skinned man. The man sported a blue cotton baseball cap with an unfashionable small crown. It was tipped slightly to the left, blue cut off cotton shorts, high white socks, ankle-high black and white tennis shoes, and a face so filled with a grin that a responsive smile was automatic. The whites of his eyes and the brightness of his teeth dominated his face.
Bowman, who was normally quite reserved with strangers, took to him at once. "Well, hello, come on up and sit with me a spell," he yelled down.
"I ain't gettin' up on dat rickety thang, whole house liable to fall down any minute."
"Heck, if it does, we'll just jump off the front, it ain't that high."
"All de same, I'll jus' stay down heah."
"Well, wait a minute, I'll come down." Bowman descended the ladder and walked up to the man while offering his hand. "Hello, I'm John Bowman, who are you?"
"I'm Emrick T. Powell."
"Since I've seen you walkin' toward the river several afternoons, I assume you live around here."
"Yeah, me and my mama live in a little gray sidin' house 'roun 'de curve from de sto'. You buy dis house?"
"No, it belonged to my wife's family. I was goin' to try to fix it up a little, but I'm afraid it's too far gone to mess with."
"You Miz Carolyn's husband?"
"I was, but she's dead now,"
"I knew dat. My mama use ta keep house for Mr. Sam and Miz Clara long time ago, and I use ta see Miz Carolyn back den, but she wanted to hug on me alla time and I wadn't into all dat den."
"I'm amazed that you can remember her, she hasn't been around here for a long time."
"Oh, I'm older'n you think I is, I'm thirty-five."
"Well, you sure don't look it. I would've taken you for much younger."
"Mama say, black don't crack!"
"It certainly hasn't with you. What do you do every afternoon when I see you go by?"
"Oh, I jes' walk by de lake and see if I can talk folks outta some fish. You know dey ketches some and don' wanna clean 'em. I take 'em home to Mama. If nothin else is happ'nin', I jes' go up by the river and do what you doin'." With this, Powell opened his face with his signature grin, an all eyes smile filled with perfect large, white teeth. A natural, yet magnetic movement, at which Bowman could never fail to reflect with a broad smile of his own.
"I've got some lemonade inside and some nuts, you want some?", asked Bowman.
"Yeah, but not if I gots to go in de house. I tell you dat thang's gonna fall right down on yo' head sometime."
"I'm not stayin' in the main part of the house. I'm just kinda campin' in that kitchen area that was added on. It seems to be in fairly good shape. I'll just bring the pitcher out then."
While filling a glass with ice from the kitchen, he mused over the dissimilarities in the man and his personality. Emrick was obviously an adult, but he did not appear to be his stated age. He seemed bright enough, but his innocent trust and responses were those of a child. As he filled their glasses with lemonade, Bowman walked out to his new friend and asked: "Fish much yourself?"
"Mama and I sometimes fish on buckets when de bream are beddin', an I put out limb lines from time to time when I get de notion, but I don' go out in no boat. Dat's how dey catches mos' de fish."
"You don't swim?", Bowman asked.
"Nawsuh, and I wouldn't go out in no boat if'n I did. It might turn over and hit me in the haid, den where'd I be? Naw, I'll jes' stay on de land," Emrick said, still smiling brightly.
"What kind of work do you do?".
Emrick visibly tensed and answered: "Dere ain't no work goin' on 'roun' heah. Few jobs de' is go to folks who had 'em fo' years. Wouldn't do 'at work no how. Mama don' wan' me be no field hand."
"Well what kind of work have you done? Maybe I could help you find somethin'."
"Me an' Mama's fine. She works for Miz Fremont and we gits along awright."
"Well what do you do with yourself all day, when you're not over at the river, I mean?" Bowman asked, now aware of his own extended smile. His own reaction continued to amuse him.
"Oh, I courts de girls," he said with a broad grin and regarded his feet as he shuffled them.
"Oh, you have a girlfriend then?"
"Not right now. I jes' about worked through all 'em. I'm de kinda fella don' like to stay 'roun' too long. Either I gits tired of 'em or Mama comes along and gits mad at 'em. After you been back a couple a times, it jes' don' pay to try no mo. I'm kinda in a dry spell, but I'm sparkin' on a new un. She'll come through in awhile." Emrick did not have his chest out and his thumb in his arm pits, but his highly reflective facial expression made such gestures unnecessary.
"What about you, you jes' sit up dere all day?"
"That's about all I've done the last few days, tryin' to decide what I'm goin' to do next. I guess in a few days I'll go back to the Coast or down to New Orleans and spend a little time. I haven't made up my mind," Bowman said.
"New Awlins, now dats a place I'd like to go down to. Mama's been dere once, said it was jes' too many folks but I'd sure like to see it."
"You wouldn't want to go down there right now. I was readin' in the paper about a young kid who was killed and cut up down there. The whole city is in an uproar. Have you heard about that?" "Miz Fremont tole my mama an' she tole me." "You ever been to a large city?"
"Naw, I ain' never been out'ta Wilkinson County and don' even go to Woodville much, thought 'bout it, dough. Aunt Ida say my daddy up in Detroit, thought 'bout goin' up to meet 'im but I wud'n know 'im, if I wuz to walk up on 'im. Looks like I'm gonna have to leave here if'n I ever gonna fin' some work to do."
"So long as it's not a field hand, right? What kind of work are you interested in?"
"I don't know, jes' whatever dey is."
"Do you have any people who live anywhere else?"
"Nobody I knows, jes' my mama, my daddy, Aunt Ida Taylor, my daddy's sister, but she live' here. Oh yeah, she got a boy, Ben, who lives in dat gamblin' place ---."
"Las Vegas?"
"Yeah, but Mama wud'n let me go dere wid 'im. Even Aunt Ida say Ben's sorry and no count, and she his mama. Well, Mr. Bowman, suh, I better be gettin' on down the road. It was nice talkin' to ya."
"The name's John and drop the sir shit. Hell, you're almost as old as I am," Bowman said, his smile spreading to a grin.
"Sheeit, I ain't dat old!" Emrick said, his face filled with teeth.
"Well, you come by any time you want. I enjoy the company."
Emrick turned and waved as he sauntered away toward the river, heels first and then pumping on the balls of his feet. Bowman returned to his perch and chuckled as he recalled the remarks and actions of his new acquaintance, while waiting for the serenade to begin. Each afternoon, about an hour before dusk, someone very accomplished at playing a blues harmonica would fill the air with a sometimes haunting, but often peppy, series of melodies. Bowman could not recognize most of the songs but those he could recall were from the late forties and early fifties. He reasoned that the musician must be an elderly man.
Climbing to his perch the following afternoon, he thought about his new friend, wishing he'd met him earlier, since he realized that his visit to this "other world" would soon be coming to an end. Not only was his tribute completed, but he had thought through necessary personal decisions as well. Thoughts heretofore blocked from his conscious consideration now dominated his senses. When he closed his eyes, he could now visualize Annie so clearly. With no effort and only little imagination, he could hear her voice, as he replayed conversations in his mind. If he concentrated, he could smell her scent, see the special blue of her eyes, and feel the fineness of her hair, which was blonde with streaks of grey. Both Annie and his deceased wife, Carolyn, were physically attractive and socially polished, but there any similarities ended. The relationship with Carolyn had been cordial, cooperative, and proper. With Annie, he had come to know passion.
While he enjoyed Annie immensely, only recently was he able to consider long term commitment. He had come to know it was Annie who actually read the signs and acted to arrange a period of separation. He reasoned that was why she accepted the offer of an advanced nurse training course in Baltimore, lasting six weeks. He satisfied himself that just as he was involved in gestures, so probably was her proffered time apart. He now suspected that if he failed to maintain regular contact or she felt the relationship slipping, he knew she would drop the course and head south in a heartbeat. In their daily telephone conversations she disclosed that until she met him, she had given up hope that she would ever find anyone like him. Now that their relationship had developed, surely there was nothing more important to her than protecting it and that she would not allow him to drift too far or for too long.
As was his fashion, Bowman was oblivious of his surroundings, once he focused in on some train of thought. He did not hear the slight scraping of the ladder on the railing or the ascending footsteps. He was startled when he heard, "Hey!" "Ya gots any more a dat lemonade?" He carefully looked over to see Emrick's full set of teeth.
"Well, hi Emrick. I see you're gettin' brave. Crawl over and have a seat and sit a spell. I'll go make us some in a minute. I'm tickled to see you. I've just about run out of great thoughts to think about."
Taking a seat in a ladder back chair, Emrick looked warily over his right shoulder at the house and sat on the outer edge of his chair, holding his hand atop the balustrade. In contrast, Bowman sloutched deeply into a recliner. He watched the man's actions from the corner of his eye and forced himself not to smile.
"I tole my mama 'bout talkin' wid you de other day and she axed me so many questions, my head got tired cause I din't know what to tell her."
"Well, what kind of things did she want to know?"
"Ya know, what ya doin' here? I knew dat one but dats about all I could tell her. She axed what kinda work you do, an' stuff like 'at."
"Well, I us
ed to be a federal agent, but I retired from that a while back."
"Ya mean like a spy?"
"No, nothin' like that. I was in law enforcement, but I don't do that any more. I got to where I didn't enjoy it that much any more, too many things were changing, so after Carolyn died, I just gave it up."
"Who keeps you up?"
"Well, I had a little money saved up. I sold our house, and that gave me some more. The government still sends me a little money every month for retirement, and I do some consultin' work from time to time, not much, just every once in awhile."
"What dat is?"
"What, consultin' work?"
"Yeah."
"Well, when some organization - uh, when some police department or some insurance agency is havin' a problem they can't solve, they sometimes ask me to come in and help them with it. If it looks interestin', I take a look at the problem and try to help them out. In turn, they pay me. Listen, with all this talkin', I'm gettin’ dry. Let me go down and make us some lemonade, I'll be right back."
"I ain't stayin' up here wid'out you," Emrick said with alarm as he stood up on the balcony and held his hands against the balustrade, reaching over Bowman for the ladder. Bowman went inside to prepare the refreshments and Emrick remained outside, seating himself in the shade of a large, oak tree. He placed his elbows on his knee, watching as the leaves began to dance in reaction to a freshening breeze.
Bowman paused inside the screen door and surveyed the area to locate the whereabouts of his friend. He shook his head in reaction to the thought of how overprotected Emrick must have been to be so alive and yet so fearful of so many things.
As Bowman approached with the drinks, he handed Emrick one and flopped down beside him, while asking the question: "Emrick do you know who the person is who plays the harmonica over by the river every afternoon? I sure would like to meet him and tell him how good I think he is."