by Jerry Brown
The phone rang, Bowman answered, "Hi Em." "Man, you spooky, how'd ya know it was me?" "That one was easy, Em. No one else knows I'm here except Flint and I just got off the phone with him. What are you doin?" "I'm sittin' here playin' my harp for Earline." "At her house?" "Un huh." "What does she think of your playin'?" "Oh, she right proud. She' gonna take me roun' to a place tonight where they's a band playin'. She thinks they might let me"...'What'cha call dat?' -- speaking aside, Yeah, jam some wid' em." "How about that. I wish I could see you perform. Maybe later on. Did you talk with Earline about the money?"
"Yeah, she took it. Bought some groceries like wha' you said. "Did you get mad at her?" "Naw, jes' tole her wha' you tole me." "That's good. She sounds like a sweet woman."
"She' fine."
"Em, tomorrow I want you to spend as much time as you can in the park. Go over in that corner where the body was found, but this time I want you to hang close to that open area where they're playin' golf. I don't want you walkin' around in the woods. I think it may be just too dangerous. Why don't you just find you a tree to climb and practice your mouth organ. All I want you to do is look for anybody who acts unusual. Don't get too friendly with anybody out there. Especially with anyone who wants to get friendly with you. Just try to remember everything you can about them and get to a phone and call me. If they try to come up the tree after you, go down the other side and run to the golfers. They won't come after you in a crowd. Now this could get dangerous. Be careful!"
"No problem, Boss."
"Okay if you see anything, call me at once. If you don't see anything call me about the same time tomorrow night. If I'm not here, keep callin' until you get me."
"Gotcha, Boss."
Chapter 20
Flint was gruff as an old bear. It was one of those days when everything worked against him. He wasn't an introspective person. Saw no reason to be. When everything is black and white and you never cross the line, there's no reason to be, or so he thought. It didn't occur to him that he was angry and disappointed with himself. It was just a cruddy day that would pass.
Bowman had found something in an interview a detective, Piggy Bertel, had done with the assistant principal at the elementary school Laurell Porter had attended. Just because Bertel had described the guy as "wound up too tight", he got stuck with running down the detective and getting his impressions. Flint didn't like Piggy. He was slovenly and so was his work. Then there was the Captain. He should have run all this by him first, but Aubrian was too busy to even talk with him. That gave him a pass. He found Piggy in the break room eating a marshmallow filled cake. Crumbs and filling clung to the sides of his mouth.
Piggy had been assigned to interview authorities at the school to get a feel for the kind of student the boy had been, any kind of problems he may have caused and to get a list of the boy's closest associates. All the reports on Laurell were glowing. He was an excellent student and presented no behavioral problems. He didn't align himself with any troublesome faction. His primary playmate was Tim Burton.
While waiting to interview P. T. Womack, Bertel was left to cool his heels in the teacher's lounge. The principal walked through the lounge. She was a gruff, heavy and thick-set woman. Her eyes told him to keep his distance. The remainder of the staff who traipsed through the lounge were either clones of their boss or just the opposite -- attractive females of varying ages. Apparently Womack was the only male on the staff and he seemed to carry more than his share of emotional problems. Those were not Bertel's words. Piggy tended to be somewhat indelicate in expressing his judgments.
"This clown was very guarded. I tried to get him to loosen up by asking him: 'You must feel a little out of place being the only male here, and what unusual females they are.' He didn't bat an eye, but he wouldn't look at me. He snapped back an answer, “The principal does all the hiring, if you don't fit the mold you're not selected. I was transferred in and she hasn't figured out a way to get rid of me.”
"That's about as close to loose as he got." Piggy wiped his mouth with one long swipe of his napkin, folded it and then wiped his forehead with it before throwing the crumpled paper towards the trashcan. Flint walked over, picked it up the and deposited it in the receptacle. Bertel, who was eyeing the vending machine from his chair, ignored Flint's look of disgust.
Flint returned to his seat across the table from the man, but Bertel's attention was now diverted. "That's about all I can tell you. I kept tryin' to get some rapport, but he wouldn't have none a that. Just short evasive answers or he'd answer my questions with questions of his own. I was glad to get that over with. Spooky guy, spooky place."
"Piggy, you mind if I follow up on this. Maybe take another shot with the guy?"
"Hell no, but you're just wastin' your time. He won't tell you nothin'."
Flint walked to his office and called in the information to Bowman. That brought on new assignments. Bowman suggested that he ask around for someone who might have contacts with the Superintendent of Education, to get a copy of Womack's employment file on the q.t. When Bowman asked him to accompany him to the man's residence for an appointed interview as soon as possible, that was the final straw. "I thought you refused to get personally involved in the investigation."
"I didn't intend to, but you're so sour, I think it's time we lighten things up and have a little fun."
Flint removed the phone from his ear and stared at it. He shook his head before returning it to his ear. In the end he agreed to drop by the school to meet Womack and set up the interview, explaining that one of the consultants hoped the administrator might be of some help to him. Bowman hadn't explained himself. Flint wasn't in a mood to ask.
Chapter 21
Things were moving now. Bowman had dumped as much on Flint as he dared. Emrick had his instructions. Yvonne would be busy with her assignment. No sense going through that file again now. He couldn't call Annie, she would be gone to class, or whatever they called it. Bowman decided to bathe and get some breakfast. "Maybe I just might check on Emrick and make sure he's safe," he said to the mirror after brushing his teeth.
Walking from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a wet towel around his waist and another over his shoulders, he heard a persistent knocking on the door. He yelled, "Comin'," and walked to open the door wondering who in the world it could be.
Yvonne displayed no reaction to his lack of attire. "I'm sorry I'm so late. There was a wreck on the interstate, and the traffic was backed up for miles."
"Late? I didn't expect you for the rest of the week," he responded, half startled to see her, half annoyed she was back so soon.
"I was enjoying myself and got into what I was doing, so I just stayed with it until I finished," she said walking through the door and surveying the room.
"You look like you didn't get much sleep last night."
"Thanks a lot," she said without emotion.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."
"No, I'm sorry. I know you didn't. I guess I'm just more tired than I thought."
Her eyes were puffy and red. Her clothes were very similar to those she had worn when he first met her. Her hair remained in a ponytail, but it was much tighter. She wore a necklace and a bracelet and, while she was still not fully made up, she was at least wearing lipstick which, though pastel, brightened her looks.
"Listen, I'll read this while I'm getting dressed. There are soft drinks in the fridge. Emrick's room hasn't been touched since we got here. I think he's made better arrangements. If you need to freshen up, feel free to use his room." Bowman went to his bedroom and dressed quickly in khakis and a polo shirt and sat on the side of his bed to skim the report. He had no way of knowing how complete it was, but it was certainly informative. He quickly concluded Arceneaux was bright and also had good writing skills.
He took the report to discuss it with her, but she was not in the sitting room. After waiting several minutes, he tapped on the door to Emrick's quarters. Yvonne called out to invite him to come in. He cra
cked the door and saw that she was lying in Emrick's bed on her back with her arm over her eyes.
"You want to run down the street and have some breakfast?"
"No, I'm more tired than I realized. I think I will just stay here and take a nap until you get back."
"Okay, no problem. Make yourself comfortable. I'll just take my time."
Bowman was now glad to be alone. Walking out the front of the building with the warmth reflecting off the sidewalk, he decided to wander different streets and become acclimated while allowing his thoughts to run free.
He went to a neighborhood cafe bearing a hanging sign that read Papa Joe's. He stepped inside and looked around. Decidedly small, but clean, no buffet, he noticed with relief. Two other customers shared a table, carrying on a lively conversation with the waitress as she washed dishes. She looked up at Bowman and her eyes brightened.
"Sit wherever you like," she called over as she picked up a menu and walked over to him.
"Too late for breakfast?" he asked not bothering to refer to the menu.
"All day, every day," she said. She was middle age, but her voice was sassy and so was her walk.
He looked toward the kitchen and saw a thin white man wearing a white apron and traditional disposable paper cap. He shifted his eyes back to the waitress and said, "I'll bet you even have real grits ,the non-instant kind."
"She nodded toward the cook. "Papa Joe'd never allow anything but the real thing in his kitchen."
"Great, I'd like two eggs over medium, grits, and coffee. No meat."
She picked up the menu and left, returning almost at once with his coffee. It was hot and laced with chicory. He sipped the coffee while rereading Yvonne's report. He spotted the waitress returning with his food and placed the report on the far edge of the table.
He returned his attention to the report as he ate, pausing occasionally to close his eyes as the grits melted in his mouth. Good ole timey grits. After spoiling himself with a second cup of the strong coffee, he was full and really didn't want a long walk in the late morning sunshine, but neither did he want to return to the apartment just then. He decided to look for Emrick in the park. However, he was either not there or was so well hidden that Bowman couldn't find him.
When he returned to the apartment, Yvonne was waiting for him in the sitting room. She had applied fresh lipstick and even smiled when he entered.
"I'm surprised you're up. I figured you'd sleep for hours."
"No, I'm refreshed. Your friend was here, picked up his clothes, and left. I'm afraid I surprised him," she added.
"There was no problem, was there?"
"Oh no, he just didn't have much to say to me."
Bowman paused, reflecting on what that may mean, and decided to drop the subject. "I'm very impressed with your report. It's obvious that you put a lot of effort in it. I'm just sorry you rushed yourself so much. This is what I want you to do. When you find yourself near Captain Aubrian's office -- have you met him?"
"Yes."
"In fact, go out of your way to do this. Carry this report to him and tell him I suggested he make a copy for each of his detectives as a sort of reminder to them of all that was said at the meeting. I want you to write your name and title on the top right hand corner of the front page."
"I'll be happy to, after I run it by my supervisor. No sense risking stepping on toes."
"No, that won't do. I want you to get total credit for this. I'm your supervisor on this assignment and I work for Aubrian. If you're concerned about it, I'll have Flint handle it, but I'd rather you do it because I won't see him until tonight. Also, I want to establish the practice of your submittin' material directly to field operations units while I'm here to run interference for you. If you have any problems, lay it off on me and explain that you were following my express instructions."
Yvonne paused, looking at him questioningly and said, "I have an idea that I should be very grateful to you for what you are doing."
"I'm interferin' is what I'm doin'. It's my perception that you are less than satisfied with your job because you don't know what your role is, and no one else does either."
"That's the understatement of the year," she said with exasperation.
"Well, dear heart, that's exactly what we're doin'. We're creatin' a very meaningful role that will make use of your talents and we're also establishing lines of communication. If I can't crack the case, maybe I can be of help in this way. Also, I have some very selfish motives. I figure the happier you are with your work, the more help you'll be to me, if we stumble into the solution."
"Mr. Bowman, surely you don't think this report is going to do that!"
"I thought we had a deal. Call me Bowman or John -- nothin' else. As for this report, this is only the first. Are you ready for your third assignment?
"Third? What was my second?"
"Delivering, by hand, this report to Captain Aubrian and telling him of my recommendation."
"Oh, okay." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye.
"The next assignment is to get a copy of the artist's rendition of the carving on the victim's back. Have you seen that?"
"No, and I'm not sure I want to."
"It's not bad. Here's my copy. Study it. I'd give you this one, but I may need it tonight. You can pick up your own copy from Aubrian. What I want you to do is go to the library and research anything and everything you can find on the swastika. For example, I know the Nazis didn't invent it and I recall Hitler got it from American Indian symbols. I need to know if it shows up in occult liturgy, especially Satanism. Don't try to go too deep. You could spend months on this. We don't have months. Try encyclopedias first. I don't want exhaustive information. I do want a short informative presentation that the detective's will read. That part is for you and them. If, in the process you find anything --- anything at all, and I don't care how much a stretch it is --- that might shed some light on these carvings, I want you to drop everything and call me. Are we clear?"
"Yes." She picked up her purse and headed for the door.
"You have my number. Call me around lunch time each day and give me a progress report."
She stood stiffly, feet parted and hands on hips, but face relaxed. "John Bowman, you're slick, but I'm nobody's fool either. I appreciate what you're doing, but I'll stop by here every morning on the way to the library and every afternoon on the way home. Two can play your game, kind sir."