A Darkened Mind

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A Darkened Mind Page 14

by Jerry Brown


  "Tonight?"

  "Oh no, that won't be necessary. Sometime late tomorrow morning would be soon enough."

  "You will have it," the mayor promised. "But I wonder why you would no longer find it diverting."

  "Oh, I don't intend to watch it myself. I have other plans for the tape."

  Robert raised his eyebrows, waiting for Bowman to continue. He didn't take the bait. Landry poured himself another drink, after which he held up his glass and raised his eyes asking if anyone else wanted one. Both Bowman and Robert declined with a nod.

  "Mr. Bowman," Landry said while walking back to his chair. "I'm curious. Are you suggesting that we rein in the officers investigations until we get legal opinions?"

  Bowman smiled internally , the bastard had taken the bait! "No sir, I'm not suggesting that at all. I get the impression that both you gentlemen have legal experience. You certainly have a better idea of what you can get away with than I do. It would be a shame for your officers to miss out on these opportunities. The intelligence they gather could conceivably solve this case and, if not this one, perhaps future ones. And I can't help but think that when the press begins to bring on the pressure again, what an excellent diversion it would be if reporters attention could be drawn to the existence of practicing occultism within the community, but I wouldn't have the foggiest notion on how to manage that."

  Robert assumed a grin of almost Emrick Powell proportions. He answered, "Well, I do, Mr. Bowman. I know just the men to handle it. If I read what you're saying correctly, and I'm confident I do, I'm very appreciative of your suggestions and impressed by your counsel."

  "Mr. Mayor, I've been out of contact for several weeks and haven't had an opportunity to follow this case, though I have read a synopsis of police reports. It's my understanding that the boy's father is antagonistic. I've been toying with the idea of contacting him. Perhaps he might provide some insight or I might be able to sense some new avenue of approach from information he might share with me."

  "Sorry, Mr. Bowman, that won't be possible. You see, I was able to assist Mrs. Porter in arranging inpatient care for her husband. He's making progress, but I can't imagine your being allowed to talk with him. Even if the physicians would approve it, I doubt that Mr. Porter would cooperate with a white investigator."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, for his sake as well as my own."

  "I'm in close contact with his wife through my aunt and my mother who have taken on Mrs. Porter as a project. Should I receive any indication of marked improvement, I'll see what I can do to arrange an interview for you, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope. Is there anything else I might help you with?"

  "It's really too early to know. As you can see I'm actually just beginning to research the possibilities."

  Robert reached into the breast pocket of his suit for a card, wrote two sets of numbers on the back and handed it to Bowman. "The top number is my private listing at my office and the second it my unlisted home phone number. If you need me, please feel free to call."

  "I'm very grateful, Mr. Mayor. It's inconceivable to me that I'll have any reason to contact you directly, but I certainly appreciate the gesture. I assure you I'll safeguard the numbers and use them only if absolutely necessary."

  Landry's face was flushed. He looked as if he was going to explode. "I'm curious, John." Landry interjected as he poured his third drink. "What makes you think you're smarter than all the rest of the detectives in the department?"

  It was obviously a barbed comment to put Bowman on the defensive, but he couldn't conceive why. "You misunderstand, Mr. Landry, I didn't apply for the job. Obviously, someone on your staff holds me in high regard. I'm merely offering my services, temporarily, in the hope that I might help in some way."

  A flash of surprise and anger enveloped Robert's face as he quickly rose to his feet. He looked at his watch. "I didn't realize how late it's gotten to be. This is really an intrusion. I hope you'll continue to be satisfied with the facilities, Mr. Bowman."

  "I'm delighted, Mr. Mayor, once again, I hope that you'll thank your secretary for me. I realize that my request made matters more difficult for her."

  "I certainly will. Perhaps you can find the time to drop by my office and thank her personally. I'll be delighted to see you again and I know you'll find it worthwhile. You see, Joni is as attractive as she is efficient."

  Before Bowman could respond, Landry interrupted with an attempt at humor. "He might find her more of a diversion than that meeting tonight."

  Bowman winked his left eye and pointed his index finger at Landry's chest in mock camaraderie. Robert reacted with a knowing smile, but Landry seemed too amused by his own comment to notice.

  Chapter 17

  Bowman woke with a start. Confused initially, he didn't realize where he was, but as he took in his surroundings, he realized he had fallen asleep on the couch. The tightness in his neck gave evidence he hadn't been in a comfortable position. The taste in his mouth suggested that he had been snoring and breathing through his mouth. He rose and stretched, rubbing his eyes while crossing to Emrick's room. He was not there and the still made bed indicated he hadn't been. Dear God, he thought. What have I done? He grabbed for his billfold, frantically searching for Flint's home phone number. Finding it, he reached for the phone then paused to check his watch. Knowing Flint he'll probably leave for work at least a quarter hour early. He decided to wait fifteen minutes before calling. Suddenly, he heard a key being inserted in the lock. Emrick stood in the doorway. Safe and sound. A grin stretched across his face. "Hey Boss," he said. "Em, I've been worried sick about you. I just knew somebody had eaten you last night." He wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. "Eaten me? Boss, you strange." "What's this Boss business." "I workin' for you, ain't I?" "Yes." "Then you Boss." "Okay, I can handle that, but where have you been?" "Boss, I ran up on prolly de mos' beautimous woman evah lived." "You've been with her all this time?" "Naw, not at first. I wuz jes' mixin' roun' like you tole me. You know, speakin' to folks. Not really askin' nuthin'. Jes' gettin' folks used to me like you said. I wuz fixin' to head back dis way when she come prissin' down de street. I mean she cover some sidewalk when she move. She look over at me and she smiles. I smiles back and she walk up to me. She ask me what my name is. I tell her Emrick T. Powell. She say her name's Earline Sims.

  We walkin' down the street. She talkin', I'm walkin'. Firs' thang I know we turn one corner 'n den another an' we come to where she stay. I go in wid her an' she still talkin'. Firs' thang I know she quit talkin'. Nex' thang I woke up an' she bes gone." Bowman frowned. "Em, do you think she drugged you?" "Yeah Boss. She drug me 'roun' quite a spell. Din' thank she'd evah wear down, but she did." Emrick gave Bowman a very self satisfied look. Bowman moved his head from side to side, then smiled in relief. "Okay, you took me down the rosy path. You don't have to gloat. You really should've called me though, at least." "You right. I should've. Thangs wuz jes movin' so good. I dint wanna take no chances. I will from now on." "Does she have a phone?" "Don' know. Didn't ring while I wuz dere." "Have you had breakfast yet?" "Tha's sumpin' else I gotta talk about." "I wen' in a sto' to get me a piece of cake dis mornin'. I reach fo' my money an' it bes gone." "You mean you spent all that fifty dollars in one night?" "Boss, I din' spen' nar'rin dat money. I had it when we wuz walkin' to where she stay, cause I had my hand on dat pocket de whole time we wuz walkin'. It must'a jes' fell on de flo' when thangs got movin'." "Em, it didn't fall on the floor. She took it when she left this mornin'." Emrick's eyes widened and an angry look came over his face. "You sayin' de bitch stole my money?" "No I didn't say she stole it. I said she took it. This isn't the country. People don't think the same way down here." "Wha' you sayin' is de bitch stole my money." Bowman placed his hand on Emrick's shoulder and stared into his eyes. "No, I didn't say that at all. She gave you a place to stay last night. She has to pay the rent. She probably went out to buy some groceries and is goin' to come back and fix you somethin to eat. All that stuff costs money. She
probably thought you'd want her to spend it that way." Em turned and stomped toward the door. "Where are you goin' now?" "Goin' to get my money." "Em, forget the damn money. I'll give you some more. When you see her again, just ask her calmly if she took it. If she says she did, tell her that's fine, but just ask you next time." He reached in his pocket and peeled a bill from his money clip. "Here's twenty more dollars. Does she live very far away?" "No, she don' live too far." Walking over to the coffee table, Bowman grabbed some supplies. "Take this pen and note pad over there and write down her address for me. If she's there, go in and talk to her. Be nice to her. If she has a phone, call me here." He wrote down the number on the pad. "If she's not there or doesn't have a phone, then run back over here with the address. I want Flint to check her out for us. See what we're dealing with. I don't know when he might call or come by, so hurry on back." "Okay." Bowman walked downstairs and to the end of the block with Emrick. He watched the direction Emrick was walking then returned to the apartment. He removed his now moist blue cotton shirt and used it to wipe his armpits before letting himself fall back on the couch, resting his feet on the coffee table. Emrick was gone no more than twenty minutes before returning with the address. "She wad'n dere," he said. "You want some breakfast?" "Naw. I ate me a raisin cake on de way back over heah. Wha' you wan' me to do today?" "Do you remember the place the boy was killed? Do you think you can find your way there?" "Sho'." "I want you to walk all back in there just to get used to it. But if you see anybody else back there, I want you to avoid them. While you're in there, I don't want you talkin' to anybody. Just keep your eyes open and come back and tell what you saw. I don't expect you'll see anything. If you don't find anything unusual, you don't have to hurry back here. Just hang around the street meetin' people some more. But listen, don't be out late again without callin' and lettin' me know." He returned his hand to Emrick's shoulder and stared into his eyes again. "Do we have an understandin' now? You can do whatever you want to do, but call me. I don't want anything bad happenin' to you." Emrick shuffled his feet and looked down. "I'll call." "Good enough."

  Chapter 18

  Finding himself unable to concentrate, Bowman walked to the window and raised the blinds. A slight breeze rustled the tree leaves. He cranked open a window to take in the sounds and smells of the city, but the outside heat engulfed him. He quickly cranked the window shut and lowered the blinds. A heavy knock on the door startled him -- he walked over quickly and opened it to find a young woman standing beside Flint. She appeared to be in her low thirties. She had a clear olive complexion, and he thought she would probably be very attractive if not for her nondescript glasses and apparent lack of make-up. Her clothing was an inexpensive, blousy, two piece, print cotton dress, hemmed at mid-calf. She wore shopworn black flats. Her raven black hair was pulled back in a loosely constructed pony tail. Because of her clothing, he could tell little about her figure, which was just as well under the circumstances. This could be easier than I feared, he thought. Thanks for the warning, Flint.

  "Yvonne Arceneaux, John Bowman. Bowman, Ms. Arceneaux," Flint said in his throaty voice with his face void of expression. Bowman smiled and nodded. The woman returned a brief non-committal smile. The two men began their conversation quickly. Bowman asked Flint to check out Earline Sims. Flint handed a videotape cartridge to his friend and left immediately. The room took on an uneasy silence. The woman stood still then began to speak in an apologetic tone: "Mr. Bowman." Bowman smiled and held up his hand to interrupt her. "Let's get one thing straight from the beginning. I'm not mister to anyone, except to children and people I don't know. I'm either John or Bowman, take your pick." She shuffled her feet, slanted her head and asked, "Which do you prefer?" "Makes no difference to me." "Well, what do most folks call you?" she asked with a touch of exasperation. "Probably Asshole, but not to my face," he answered. "But Bowman might be much better." She finally displayed a full smile. "And what should I call you? Yvonne or Ms. Arceneaux?" he asked. "Yvonne, please. I'm Ms. Arceneuxed to death at the station." "Well they're both beautiful names. Yvonne, I'm tickled to death you're here. You can be of immense help to me, if you care to be." "Of course, I care to be, but I don't have the slightest idea what to do or why I was assigned to you. I don't even know what to look for." Her exasperated look returned. He rolled back on his heels and folded his arms. "I'll bet Flint has been telling you about my peculiarities," Bowman chuckled. "Yes," she answered hesitantly. He nodded. "I'm glad he did. Maybe that will help you to be patient. The case file research is something I must do myself, but there's other research you can do that would free up a lot of time for me." Yvonne's face brightened. "So long as I know exactly what you want me to do, I think you'll find me to be a hard and willing worker." "Good enough. I'd like for you to take this video. Do you have a player at your home or office?" She nodded that she did. "This is a recording of the panel's presentation last night. I want you to condense the information to a total of about ten to fifteen pages. I'm in no hurry for it. In fact, I don't even want to see it until I've finished poring over these files." Boman said with a sweep of his hands. "My mind is so simple I can't clutter it with more than one thing at a time. Where will you work, at home or at the office?" She stared at him a moment before answering. "Does it matter?" she asked, the caution returning to her voice. "Not one whit," he answered. "Wherever you're most comfortable. I only asked because I'll need a phone number in case I need to get in touch or someone calls looking for you." "It's long distance. I live on the other side of Slidell in the middle of a swamp." "Gosh, that's a heck of a drive to work everyday." It is, but it's a cabin my parents left me. I just can't afford an apartment in town until I pay off my school loans." He nodded and scratched his forehead. "I understand. No problem. Just leave me a number. I won't call unless I have to and I won't give the number to anyone else. I'll just tell 'em you're on assignment and I'll call you with their name and number. Agreed?" "Sounds okay to me." When the door closed behind her, Bowman mentally patted himself on the back. Bowman, you're a genius. That should buy you the rest of the week.

  Chapter 19

  Bowman had endured a roller coaster afternoon. Concentrating on the files came easy. The subjects were just so extreme. While most of the information fit his preconceived notions, the material was nevertheless disturbing. It didn't surprise him that most of the subjects detailed in the files were reared in other places and gravitated to New Orleans as adults. He reasoned that the "Big Easy" reputation and the anonymity of a large city were strong attractions. What perplexed and frustrated him was that every one of these people was clearly capable of extreme antisocial acts. Many had a history of hospitalization for their emotional problems and were released on unsupervised medication. Others had been jailed multiple times on a wide variety of charges. Every last one of them should have been confined for the protection of themselves and society. He thought each was a ticking bomb awaiting the stimulus to explode. Bowman was getting nowhere and he knew it. At dusk, he stacked his papers and left the apartment on foot. He walked down the boulevard to the sidewalk cafe, thinking that he might spot Emrick. It crossed his mind that Flint had not checked in that afternoon. Perhaps the presence of his new aide had made him a temporary pariah. No, he's probably just excited about all the new intelligence he's developing on the fringe crazies. He selected a table providing the clearest view of passersby and ordered a ham po-boy and iced tea. Leisurely eating his meal, he studied the people as they ambled by and mused at how happy they seemed to be and how overfed they were. When the ice in his tea melted, he wiped his mouth and hands on a paper napkin, stood, dropped cash beside the plate and walked to the curb.

  Emrick was nowhere to be seen. He slowly made his way back to the apartment and went directly to Em's room. He was not there and the bed covers had not been disturbed. He returned to the couch and, reluctantly, brought his eyes to the cardboard boxes. He sighed and selected one labeled "Laurell Porter". He picked it up, carrying it to the couch, and sorted the pa
pers in three piles. The coroners report and the fingerprint analysis made up one pile, interview reports compiled the second, and everything else went in the third. By ten o'clock Bowman was riding a high as he reached for the phone and searched his billfold for Flint's home phone number. Flint picked it up on the second ring.“Hey, it's Bowman. Sorry to call you at home this late." "Naw, no problem. I was just thinkin' about you. I should have come by this afternoon with the information I got on Powell's friend. No excuse I just got sidetracked." His voice sounded raspy and tired. "It'll keep, but I do wish you'd drop by tomorrow mornin'. I think I may have come up with somethin' and I want to get your reaction."

  "You want me to come by now?" "Hell no, it's nothin' that can't wait until mornin'." "Well, it might wait, I can't. You better lay it on me now. I won't sleep a wink if you don't." "Okay, I've been goin' back and forth on the Porter file. Have you been through all of it?" "No less than a thousand times." Flint answered. "What I need you to do is to forget about the carvings on the child's back and the swastikas for a minute. You've got to blank all that out." "Okay, but I'm not sure I want to hear where this is goin'," Flint said with a groan. "Just be patient. First, the coroner's report indicated that the boy died from a fractured neck and was likely dead before he was mutilated." "Correct." "The report states that he died in the late afternoon." "Right." "Now you scoured the park and found absolutely no evidence of fires or trampled grass or anything else that would suggest a ritual had been performed in the park. I assume the search was very thorough." "Extremely. We were grabbing at any straw then. The ground was so saturated, it would have turned to mush with any kind of heavy foot traffic." "We have to assume then that if there was a ritual, it had to take place somewhere else... Okay, we know when the boy left home. Also, we know he said he was goin' to the park. Now, we don't know that he arrived there or what he did when he got there, but we know the body was found there." "Okay." "If the boy was snatched and taken from the park, why bring the body back there? It's no news to you that New Orleans is surrounded by marshy areas where no one would ever find a corpse that is hacked up and distributed. Why bring the body back there?" "I'm with you up to this point, but nobody has suggested he ever left the park." Flint growled. "Be patient with me now. Nobody said it but I took that mental step without realizing it. Now just hang with me a little longer. If you're goin' to perform a ritual and a human sacrifice is required, wouldn't a live body be stronger medicine than a dead one? Don't they use live chickens and goats? Wouldn't you expect that a ritual would be conducted late at night? Certainly, after dark. Why was this kid killed in the afternoon?" "Maybe he was trying to escape, they hit him to subdue him and it killed him," Flint suggested. "Okay, that's a possibility," Bowman conceded. "I guess they could have made do with the body parts, but why not the heart? Why all the carvin'? It's obvious from all the figures there was no haste. Why throw away the hand? The more I weigh all the factors, the less inclined I am to think this was a ritual murder. Let me suggest another scenario entirely. It wasn't an occult group at all, but one or two individuals. Now, don't react, just stay with me. You're a deer hunter, right?" "You know I am," Flint answered with doubt creeping into his voice. "What's the first thing you do when you bag a buck?" Bowman asked. "Bleed 'im and gut 'im." "And neither one of these were done to the child?" "Bowman, you're givin' me a headache where is all this goin' and what in the hell does this case have to do with a damn deer hunt?" "I apologize Bill Ed, I should have waited until I had you face to face before I started with all this. But when you go to gut the deer, the first two incisions are deep cuts to the aitchbone to isolate the bowels and secure them so the meat won't be polluted when you gut him. Isn't that exactly what happened to the boy?" "Pretty much, but he wasn't gutted, Bowman." Flint answered, his voice rising. "That's exactly my point, Bill Ed. Why else would someone remove the colon?." "To remove evidence of a sexual act and the presence of semen. And the hands, head and feet were removed to make identifying the body difficult. Damn you, Bowman. You've done it again. What about the artwork on the back?" Bowman sighed in relief that Bill Ed was able to accept his reasoning. "I don't have a clue. Who could know. All I know is that it certainly threw me off the track." "Looks like I botched this investigation from the start." Flint said. Bowman could hear the depression in his voice. "That's nonsense, Bill Ed. You got the information piecemeal. I got it as a package and was able to analyze it from a distance. Think it over tonight and we'll start fresh in the mornin'. If you can, come by here first thing. I've found one other item that may represent something, maybe not, but it'll be a startin' point at least. Oh, before you go, what did you find out about Em's new friend," Bowman asked. "Nothin' much. She's known on the street as 'Big Bertha'. I don't know why. She's not that heavy. I guess it's because most of her weight is from the waist down. She's attractive in the face. She has two misdemeanor convictions for shoplifting and we brought her in a while back when she cut up her boyfriend. That one was dropped. She'll probably be okay if Powell doesn't try to slap her around." Bowman laughed out loud and said, "I can't imagine that." "Has he come up with anything at all?" Flint asked. "No, but he's out there every day makin' an effort. He's been in the park this afternoon and may've been tryin' to call while we were talkin'. It's about time for him to check in. Maybe he can get some information from 'Big Bertha'. Sounds like she ought to be pretty well known in the neighborhood. Listen, get your rest. I'll see you in the mornin'. This is where the fun starts." "Uh huh," Flint said without enthusiasm.

 

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