by Jerry Brown
"Do you know what she intends to say?"
"No, she din' tell me nothin'. Jes' axed you to come, if you could."
Bowman did not reply at once, but went into the house and returned with his car keys.
"Might as well see if this thing will still crank. Want to go with me?"
"Naw, I'll be 'roun' here somewhere when you come back."
Bowman nodded in reply and walked to his light blue sedan, and was relieved when the engine started at once. He drove slowly to the front of a large two-story house set on a rise. The house was not nearly so ornate as the Clark house, but only because the entrance lacked the sweeping front porch and large pillars. What it lacked in ornamentation was made up for in condition and placement. The home could not be seen from the paved road. In fact, there was not even the customary archway of trees down the half mile gravel drive and there was no structure at the head of drive entrance to suggest it was anything more than a well maintained field road.
It was the privacy and sudden appearance of the house that Bowman found especially appealing. The natural setting of large old hardwoods, interspersed with fruit trees and ornamental shrubs, seemed to him to form a perfect balance.
He then walked around to the rear of the house and tapped lightly on the screen door. Looking through the screen, he could see Miz Emma scrambling energetically, returning pots and pans to their place. He then rapped lightly again.
"Lord, Mr. Bowman, you didn't have to come so quick! You wanna biscuit or somethin'?"
"No ma'am, I'm not hungry, but they sure look fine. I don't think I've seen biscuits that big and fine since I was a small child."
"Well, I ought to know how to fix 'em by now. Seems like I've made 'em everyday of my life."
"Well, they look delicious. Em said you had somethin' you wanted to talk to me about?"
She answered: "Wait a minute." Then she walked to the enter door and called, "Miz Sarah." She then turned back to Bowman. "Miz Fremont wanted to meet and talk wi' you."
Bowman smiled inwardly thinking he bet the last thing in this world this lady wanted was to talk to him. He could imagine the subtle pressures Emma had brought to bear to force the imposition on her.
An elderly woman entered the kitchen. She briefly studied Bowman. "Miz Fremont, have you met Mr. Bowman? He was Miz Clara's son-in-law. Miz Carolyn's husband."
Mrs. Fremont flicked a stare at Emma, then turned and smiled at Bowman, more with her eyes than with her mouth. Bowman recognized that the stare at Emma was admonishment for calling to her rather than coming to get her. The look to Bowman was a combination of greeting, apology and recognition that he knew the meaning of the expressions. In short, an acceptance of him on a near status level - more or less. Considering her perception of herself as a planter's widow and the lady of the house - probably not as a peer - but acceptance, nonetheless.
Mrs. Fremont, typical of her station, carried her age well. The faint shadings of red in her gray hair, the lines on her forehead and around her eyes and mouth bespoke her advanced age, but her eyes still emitted a sparkle. She handled herself with poise mastered at finishing schools long ago. She had probably never been beautiful, but that would have been no handicap to her.
Her clothing was an informal light cotton dress, not new but clean and recently pressed. Bowman reasoned that each item had been carefully selected for the effect she decided to convey. That knowledge caused her new yellow canvas slip-on shoes to stand out in his mind. They didn't so much clash as not match. He forced his attention from the shoes to Mrs. Fremont's eyes and met them with a smile. He knew that she would be judging his every action. He concluded that her clothing budget was sacrificed for more pressing needs. Under no circumstances did he wish to cause this lady concern. She had burdens enough.
"Mr. Bowman, why don't we make our way to the parlor where we can talk. Is it too early for you to take tea?"
"I just finished coffee before coming over, Mrs. Fremont, so please don't make any just for me; but if you're going to have some, I'll take a cup as well."
"Emma, would you put on some water?" Mrs. Fremont said softly.
The furnishings of the house were about as Bowman expected them to be - heirloom quality furniture, worn persian rugs and velvet drapes that had hung for a lifetime. The placement of the furniture would be as it had been for many years. The room was musty, suggesting that it was seldom used anymore. She studied his gaze and his eyes, but Bowman gave her nothing to catch but an accepting smile.
She seated herself on the sofa and gestured for him to take a chair. "It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Bowman. Of course I'd heard that you were here. I should have dropped by to welcome you and make your acquaintance, but I'm afraid I don't get out and about too much any more. There's enough to be done here to keep one occupied full time."
"It certainly shows, Mrs. Fremont. You're doing an excellent job of maintaining the place. It is simply perfect and the grounds are so balanced. I don't mean to gush, but seeing what has happened to the Clark's house makes me aware of how much effort is required."
"Yes, my greatest fear is what will happen here after I am gone," she said turning her eyes surveying the room. After a pause, her eyes returned to his. "Do you plan to take up residence at the Clark home, Mr. Bowman?"
"No ma'am. In fact, the family does not even know I'm here. If they do, no one has said anything. I came up here with the intention of painting and making minor repairs, but I'm afraid that the time for that has passed. I have no claim on the house and never intended to make any. It was just something I felt that I should do. I'll be leaving soon."
"I commend your good intentions and I hate to hear that you will be leaving so soon. The condition of the house grieves me more than you can know, but that's what happens when families can't pull together. Unfortunately, it's not all that rare."
She paused as if she were in a quandary as to how to proceed.
"Please feel free to ask me anything you like, Mrs. Fremont. You won't offend me. In fact, if you'll share your concerns I'll volunteer any information you may need."
"Thank you, you are very perceptive. I'm afraid it's becoming evident that I'm not spending enough time in society. This should not be difficult for me, but I find it is somehow. Not to waste your time, I'm sure you're aware of Emma's overprotection of Baby. Perhaps overprotection is an understatement, for he is certainly not prepared to fend for himself should something happen to Emma. It's a subject that I've tried to broach with her over the years, but she is clearly not interested in discussing it with me. Now, she has asked me to involve myself once she feels she has a crisis."
"A crisis, Mrs. Fremont?" Bowman asked innocently.
"It seems that a cousin with an extremely unsavory reputation is coming to town next week to visit his mother. This cousin has proven to be very influential over Baby in the past. Emma is concerned that she'll lose control over her son. Baby has mentioned to her that you'll be doing some work briefly in New Orleans and would be agreeable to taking him with you. She's asked me what I thought and I told her I could make no judgment. Frankly, it all seems very unusual to me." She adjusted her chair and looked away.
"I certainly agree with you, Mrs. Fremont. Knowing Emrick and his mother, it would have to be. To begin with let me allay one fear. I'm not gay."
Her eyebrows arched. "Sir?"
"I'm not a homosexual. I realize that this is not a subject that normally comes up in polite conversation," he said in her response to her obvious embarrassment. "But it's something I felt that I should reassure you about under the circumstances. I've enjoyed Emrick's company in the weeks I've been here. He's been my principle social contact. He trusts me. I mean him no harm. Mrs. Fremont, I was a federal agent for many years and enjoyed some success at it. Occasionally, local police will call on me in times of crisis. Sometimes my efforts are helpful, sometimes not. There's such a crisis in New Orleans right now. I hadn't planned to accept the assignment because I really didn't see that I could be o
f assistance any way other than allowing them to use my name. Emrick has never spent time anywhere other than here. He has these fascinations built up in his mind around his father and his cousin, and the lifestyle in metropolitan areas. Should something happen to his mother, I suspect he would either move in with some local woman or dash off to the big city. It doesn't take much imagination to realize that neither would work out very satisfactorily.
I don't suggest that anything I would be able to do at this late juncture is going to make much difference, but at least he will have had some experience away from this area and his mother's tight control. If I accept this two-week appointment in New Orleans, I will do so only if they agree to provide Emrick with a hotel room and subsistence as my assistant."
"Assistant? Mr. Bowman that is ludicrous. The man is like a child." Mrs. Fremont snorted - turning her head down and peering over the tops of her eyes.
"I'm aware of that Mrs. Fremont. As I said, I don't expect to be very successful. Emrick would be expected to do nothing more than operate in a very small geographic area and try to develop information for me. I will be working and making an effort, but I would be available to him around the clock, if he needs me, but I can't babysit him. He would have to agree to follow my instructions. There are some very real dangers and, yes, he could get hurt. Emma would have to understand that. Frankly, I hope she doesn't take me up on my offer."
"I understand your position, Mr. Bowman. I'll explain it to her so that she can understand. I can 't predict what her reaction will be, but I know she's very fearful that Baby will run off to Las Vegas with his cousin. Unfortunately for you, I'm afraid your offer is the lesser of evils. I realize in talking with you about it, this is probably a terrible idea. At any rate I'll stand by my offer, if that is what she wants. But she must understand that I can't hold myself responsible for him."
Chapter 15
Bowman had not been long returned from his meeting with Mrs. Fremont when Emrick appeared outside the kitchen door. Learning that no decision had been made and that Bowman had talked with Miz Sarah rather than his mother, his eyes became steely and his lower lip protruded. This amused Bowman who filed away the thought that Em could be the soul of patience waiting for the game to begin but, once the door was opened, impulse was the master. He considered the incongruity disappointing, but not surprising.
"What did you have to talk with her for?" Em pouted as he blurted out the question.
"Because that is what your mother wanted. It wasn't my idea and it certainly wasn't Miz Fremont's! You'll probably get what you want, but you'll just have to wait until your mother's thought it all out, that's all."
Cocking his head to the side while staring through the screen door, Emrick asked, "How did Miz Sarah act?"
Bowman realized what his friend was asking, but sidestepped the question. "I thought she was a very glorious lady. But mostly I just felt sorry for her."
"How could you feel sorry for some rich woman owns a house like dat?"
"She was probably wealthy for much of her life, but I very much doubt that she's wealthy now. As for that house, it controls her life a lot more than she owns it." The point was very much lost on Emrick.
"Listen, if we're going to have an extended conversation, why don't you come inside?" "I ain't coming in dat house. Damn thangs gone fall in." Bowman walked outside to join him. "Em, I don't know what your mother is goin' to say, but it won't much matter if you can't convince that policeman you ought to come with me. He's goin' to be around here after a while and I need you to be here when he comes.”
He nodded his head and headed toward the front of the house. Bowman followed him up the ladder and to their accustomed seats. He smiled as he watched Emrick talk with animation. His excitement was such that he had hardly stopped for breath telling one tale after another about people living in the area, not once mentioning the upcoming trip.
He could not see the car approach the rear of the house, but he heard it moving up the drive and signaled to Emrick. They made their way to the ground by the time Flint shut off the engine.
Bowman quickly instructed Emrick, "This is important. Whether you like this guy or not doesn't matter, but his idea about you does. You must put on your best smile for him. Okay?"
"Sure, no problem."
As Flint exited his car, Bowman and Emrick proceeded alongside the vehicle to greet him.
"Detective Flint, this is Emrick T. Powell with one M and a K. Em, this is Bill Ed Flint with the New Orleans police department."
Emrick flashed a conspiratorial grin at Bowman and a smile to Flint. Speaking with uncharacteristic obsequiousness ,he said, "How do you do, Suh?"
"Fine, nice to meet you. Do you live around here?" Flint said stiffly.
"Yassuh, yassuh, I live 'roun' de curve from the sto'. Bowman and I spends time together mos' afternoons."
Bowman's mouth was agape, but it went unnoticed. Flint was obviously appraising Emrick. He eased slightly and responded, "Well, I'm envious. You know, I grew up around here and fished and hunted all up and down the river all the time I was growin' up."
"Sho'nuff?"
"It's a fact. You do much hunting and fishing, Emrick?" Flint asked.
"Nah, I really never did get into dat, but I spends lots a time in the woods and along the river, sos I knows it pretty good."
Flint moved closer maintaining eye contact. "Tell me, does Mr. Petrie still live over near Fort Adams?"
Emrick shuffled his feet, but met Flint's gaze. "No, Mr. Petrie passed two or three years ago, Miz Petrie's still dere dough, and dey boy stay 'bout four or five miles up de road."
Em smiled broadly and Bowman could feel that the magic was working.
Flint crossed his arms and nodded his head. "I'm gonna go by there after I leave here. Those folks sure were good to me while I was growin' up. When I would come out of the woods late, they'd let me use the phone to call my mama to let her know that I was all right. They were always so nice, it was hard to get away. Listen, I'm glad to get that information." Having said that Flint turned his attention to Bowman. Emrick took the cue and looked over to his friend.
"You goin' over to the river, Em?" Bowman asked.
"Yeah, I thought I would."
"Well, stop back by on your way home, okay?"
"A'wright, I'll see ya'll later."
Bowman wasted no time in telling Flint that he had read the material and had no flashes of insight to share with him. He said his instincts on reading the material continued to be that it was probably a group thing, and the only factor to suggest that it wasn't was the fact nothing had leaked out.
"Of course, you really can't draw too many conclusions from a synopsis." He paused and rubbed the sides of his lips' you up on this, but not the way you have it drawn out. If you can get the higher ups to agree to my conditions, I'm leanin' toward comin'. There's not enough to go on with what you now have to even hope that I can play a part in any solution. I'll just review your intelligence files on pedophiles and a more generic group of certifiable crazies; however, I might find something there to help in some other case. That might be interestin' and it's not like I have anything else pressin'."
"All right, what are your conditions?"
"One, no group meetings. You or whoever my contact is to be can use my name and speak in my behalf, but I'm not goin' to waste my time in bull sessions or dog and pony shows. Two, I won't come for any rental fee. It'll be under my usual arrangement or not at all. A free room, one hundred and twenty five dollars per diem and, if I solve the case to the satisfaction of Captain Aubrian, I'm paid a fifteen thousand dollar fee.
Specifically, I'll take no part in preparing the case for prosecution. If the captain is satisfied that I've identified the perp, or perps in this case, the money is due and payable. Regardless of whatever else I may turn up, if it has nothin' to do with the solution of the Porter case, I'm owed nothin' but per diem. Three, I won't personally involve myself in interviewin' suspects or takin' part in any a
rrest so that I can avoid wastin' my time havin' to testify, should things go that far." Bowman lowered his eyes and took a breath, then stared hard into the eyes of his friend. "Four, I need to be billeted within walkin' distance of the area where young Porter lived and was apparently killed."
"Now, that's a new one, Bowman. Why is that?" Flint asked and added: "I don't even know, offhand, of any hotel or motel around there."
"It doesn't have to be plush, just clean and bug free. It's where the most active street talk will be and it's a relatively safe residential area. I need to be nearby because Powell there is going to be on foot and I need access to him."
"What do you mean Powell is going to be there?" Flint asked incredulously. "What can he do?"
Bowman looked at him sternly and said: "Now you saw him. Have you ever met anyone as open and friendly in your life. He never met a stranger. He can get immediate acceptance in the community so I can learn things you folks can't hope to know about. Black people speak freely with one another, more freely than whites, but not to whites and not even to black policeman. Besides it's only goin' to cost the city my one hundred and twenty five dollars a day for expenses, which I'll share with Powell, and a room for him. For that you get to use my name, which is the department's principle interest anyway. The room is goin' to be donated and you know it. Anyway, those are my conditions." Flint looked at his friend in disbelief. Bowman continued quickly. "And, oh, wait a minute! Those expenses must be paid in cash each week in advance. I won't have time to go to a bank and I'll need to advance money to Powell. And, whoever my contact with the department is goin' to be must check in with me about ten o'clock in the mornin' and two in the afternoon and five in the evenin' every day. I must have a telephone number where I can reach them at night. If they are goin' to be away at night, I need to know how to reach them or I'll need an alternate contact. You know I work oddball hours and occasionally need to ask questions or make a request or recommend some change of direction."
Flint shrugged and shook his head. "Is that it?"