by Jerry Brown
At first he'd hang close to the flock as they scratched across the pasture. Then he would mount a hen by surprise. The red rooster would just run him off then mount the hen himself. But he made a big time mistake when he popped one of the black rooster's hens. He kept after that banty until he caught up with him. I thought he was gonna peck that banty to death and he probably would have if his hens hadn't been so far from his protection. Anyway, from that time on, if the banty even got close to the black rooster's flock, he'd go after him and give him a hard peck on the top of his head.”
The driver now had Bowman's full attention. “ So, he kept his distance and contented himself with popping hens that strayed from the flock. When that happened, everything in earshot knew about it. He'd flap his wings and make the biggest racket you ever heard. Then he'd strut around the outer limits of the pasture, clucking like he was laughing at the other roosters.”
He flicked his eyes back to the mirror and caught Bowman's eyes. “Is the cockiness and noisiness what reminds you of the preacher?” Bowman asked.
“That and the fact that he always did the same thing and you knew what to expect. Reverend Righteous is pretty much the same way. That's what did in the banty. He was strutting and cackling down his usual route --- he snapped his fingers --- just that fast a red fox jumped out and grabbed him by the neck and took off with him. That was the last I ever saw of that banty. I speck that's whats gonna happen to this guy one day. He's cocky and entertaining, but he's just too predictable.”
Bowman smiled and nodded, then turned his attention to the side window until the taxi arrived at the airport.
His flight arrived in New Orleans as scheduled. He called Arceneaux before picking up his luggage and they agreed to meet for coffee later in the afternoon. He found his car and drove straight to his motel, leaving him time to check into his room and freshened up.
He arrived at Cafe du Monde early and took a seat near the sidewalk abutting the covered open-air coffee shop.
He looked around at the other customers, but saw no one he knew. An Asian woman came to take his order. She spoke so little English that he was unable make her understand he was waiting for another party. Another waitress approached him and agreed to explain to the initial waitress what he tried to say to her. He turned to watch the passers-by and spotted Arceneaux walking up. He stood and waved his hand above his head. She returned his wave and rushed over to him, smiling. He remained standing until she reached him and he placed his arm around her shoulders in a friendly embrace. Taking their seats, she began speaking rapidly, rushing into a recitation of her discoveries about the history of the man who had by now been dubbed "Big Ugly" by the homicide detectives.
Bowman held up his palm to her and said, "Yvonne, I want to hear everything you've learned about 'Big Ugly', but let's wait until I can absorb it. For now, please concentrate on telling me all you know about Flint.”
"There is really not a lot to tell that I haven't already told you," Arceneaux answered. "We know that he put on camouflage clothing and wading boots, and that he left home about four o'clock Saturday morning. His wife knew where he was going, but not why. She was used to him working at all hours. Apparently, he often lost track of time when he was in the woods, so she didn't think too much about it until he hadn't come home by ten o'clock Saturday night.
At midnight she called Captain Aubrian. He tried to mollify her and promised to contact Sheriff Tolliver to put together a search party the next morning, if she hadn't called him before then to tell him Flint was home. Nevertheless, realizing all the implications, he called Sheriff Tolliver immediately. Early Sunday morning the deputies were about to leave for the swamp when a call came in from a fisherman who had spotted a body, in plain view, on a sandbar. They pretty much knew it was Flint from the description the fisherman gave, so Tolliver called Aubrian and agreed to allow a forensics team from the NOPD to take control of the scene."
"When the team arrived they could find no sign of a struggle where the body was found, but there was no doubt that it had been done by 'Big Ugly'."
"Aw shit!" Bowman reacted angrily. He moved forward in his chair. "Was he mutilated?"
"Yes."
"Any body carvings?"
"No."
"Extremities amputated?"
"Only the genitals."
He looked down at his hands and spoke so softly his voice cracked. "Was there anything other than the mutilation to point to our man?"
Arceneaux clasped his hands on top of the table. "Are you sure you want to hear all this now?'
"I'm sorry," he said and paused before forcing himself to look up. "I need to get focused.”
"The answer is yes, there was an abundance of oversized foot prints on the sandbar, all the same person. They knew at once that the body had been carried there. They backtracked the foot prints. In that marshy terrain, with the added weight of Flint's body, the tracks were fairly easy to follow. It was a long trail. He carried Flint's body over three miles."
Bowman thought aloud: "This guy must be tremendously strong. Flint was a big guy and to carry that much weight over soft ground for that distance was no small feat."
"More than that, they couldn't find any evidence that he ever stopped to rest. They're speculating that he wanted the body to be found. That sandbar is on one of the main waterways for fisherman."
"If that's true," Bowman conjectured, "it tells us a lot more about him. He's scouted the area and knows his territory now. Also, he's tryin' to be deceptive, but is not too swift at it. The first thing that comes to my mind is that he didn't want search parties nosin' around where the attack occurred. Can you pinpoint on your daddy's charts where it happened?"
"Not precisely, but you know the general area. It was in that high ground to the north of Manny's Lagoon." She cocked her head and her eyes brightened. "You know I'm just eating up your being dependent on me for information, don't you? It gives me an open door to the way your mind works - darting here, darting there, but always homing in. A plan is developing in your mind, isn't it?"
"If it is I don't know what it is yet. But I don't plan to leave right away, if that's what you mean. Do you think I might borrow your cabin for a few days?"
"Sure." she smiled. "When do you want to go out there?"
"Tomorrow, right after the funeral, I think. Can you make plans for me to follow you out there? I want you to go over the charts with me again and tell me all this background history you've come up with on, what's his name, Big Ugly. Also, there may be some police property I'll need you to borrow for me, if I can get the Mayor's authorization."
She answered: "Sure." Her eyes narrowed. "You're not planning on being a hero, are you?"
He shook his head. "No, it's against my religion. I'm a devout coward. I'm much more effective from a distance." He paused to study her reaction. Seeing none, he continued, "You're not obligated to do anythin'. We'll talk about it tomorrow when I know more of what I'm goin' to do. If your concerns are about my safety, Yvonne, you can forget that. I'm neither brave, nor foolhardy. Okay?"
"Okay," Arceanux responded. Her eyes quizzed his. He ignored the look.
Chapter 42
A large group of mourners stirred throughout the room containing the closed casket where Flint's wake was held. Bowman never knew Flint's wife and had no idea what she looked like. He didn't know why, but he imagined her to be a short, feisty brunette with high cheek bones. The woman who appeared to be the principal object of attention was of medium height, and only slightly overweight. She had medium brown hair, beginning to gray at the temples. And cheek bones that were sculptured and pronounced.
While waiting for the crowd around her to thin, Bowman walked around and studied paintings abundantly displayed on the walls. Almost all were pastoral scenes of the English countryside and most featured water.
He was surprised to see none of the faces of the detectives he'd met. He moved to a group of three older women who had taken seats away from the crowd. Suspecting
that the one in the middle might be Flint's mother, he went over and introduced himself. He was correct. The other two ladies had accompanied her from Woodville. He looked over to the woman he believed to be Flint's wife. She broke away and came to join them.
"Mother, is this by any chance Mr. Bowman?" Addressing her words to her mother-in-law, but her attention to him.
"Yes ma'am, I am John Bowman."
"I'm Eunice Flint, I wonder if you might walk with me down the hall to the coffee room."
"Of course."
Passing from the crowded room, she spoke haltingly as if carefully choosing her words. "Bill Ed didn't talk about his work. It would have been easier for both of us if he had. But, he talked a lot about you, Mr. Bowman. It wasn't like him. Were the two of you very much alike?" she said looking intently into his eyes. Bowman's hands were laced at his waist.
"Alike in some ways, but very different in others. Eunice, I can tell that somethin' about me troubles you. Why don't you come right out with it. I don't want to add to your burden."
She walked ahead to the coffee room. He followed. Without asking, she prepared two cups of coffee, one with sugar, one without. She held the one with sugar and handed the other to him. He tasted it and reached over the table to add a spoonful of sugar.
"Bowman, I know what Bill Ed's reaction would be if your roles were reversed. Between the two of us, I don't approve of what he did. It's one of the few times in our life together that I thought he let me down." She sipped her coffee and studied him.
"I'm not here for vengeance, Eunice." He took a step away from her. "Tonight and tomorrow, I'm here out of respect for Flint and to try to deal with some of my own feelin's. If I can help you or your family in any way, I'll be pleased to do so. After that, I'll hang around for a few days to see if I can help in bringin' the problem to an end. I owe that to Flint. I owe it to a lot of people and, hopefully to a lesser extent, myself. If I see I can't help, then I'll leave. I have no plans to either murder or arrest the man. Revenge is not in my heart. Does that relieve your concern?"
She looked down at her coffee and then returned his gaze. "Your words are too carefully chosen. I'm not sure what they mean. But I may appear ungrateful to you for your friendship and your loyalty to my husband. I don't mean that either."
He brought his hand to her shoulder, and said, "Eunice, perhaps what you mean is that Flint's death was a terrible loss and you consider it to be a waste. You don't want that to be compounded by further needless sacrifice."
She nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Bowman, that's exactly what I meant."
"Well, I agree with you completely." He looked toward the ceiling and sighed. "You can be assured that sacrifice is the last thing on my mind. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, just take care of yourself. Bill Ed wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to you. I don't either," her eyes now filled with tears.
Bowman closed his eyes and nodded in reply. It had been a very difficult day, emotionally.
The funeral the next morning was solemn and long, a combination of both Catholic and police rites ceremony. All those he missed seeing the previous evening were present in full dress uniform. Eunice and Flint's mother were surrounded by friends when the services closed. Bowman walked over to Robert Kingwood and offered his hand.
"I never dreamed I'd see you again so soon, Bowman, but who could have predicted this. What are you doing now?"
"To tell you the truth, Robert, I'm jus' before gettin' myself involved again. I'm concerned that folks are goin' to go in after this guy and drive him deeper into the swamp. I'm goin' to see if I can't trick him into acceptin' somethin' with a hidden homin' device, so I can monitor his whereabouts."
"Do you have sophisticated equipment like that?" the mayor asked, taking on a surprised look.
Bowman smiled. "No, I was hopin' you'd loan it to me. I'm here with no equipment whatsoever. I thought I'd make a stab at this before I head home. Can't think of much else I have to offer." He lowered his head.
Robert beckoned to Captain Aubrian and another uniformed man standing next to him. The two men came over.
"Bowman, this is my new acting Police Superintendent Brian Stokely. You know Captain Aubrian, I believe."
Bowman nodded and shook the hands of each man in turn.
Robert turned to Bowman. "Give me a chance to discuss this with Stokely. I don't know what equipment we have or what the legal implications of loaning it would be. Let me get back in touch with you in the morning. Where will you be?"
Bowman willed away an excited smile. "I'm goin' to be at a cabin near the swamp that Yvonne Arceneaux's parents left to her. She's stayin' with relatives in town until this guy is captured, and she agreed to allow me to use it for a few days." He shifted his feet. "Tell you what, I'm goin' to follow her out there this afternoon. I'll tell her all I need. If everythin' works out, she can deliver it to me." He studied the mayor's eyes and knew it was a done deal. "Thank you, Robert."
"I'll do what I can, Bowman."
Bowman smiled as he nodded and turned to look for Eunice and her mother-in-law to console them. Both women were being driven away in a limousine. Eunice Flint returned his wave.
Yvonne had arrived late and viewed the ceremony from the fringes. She wore a tailored black suit and matching necklace and earrings. The patent leather stiletto heels she wore clashed. She walked over to him, crossing the thick grass with difficulty, to point out to him the location of her car. "When the traffic thins out," he said, "I'll drive over behind you and follow you to the cabin." She nodded her head and walked away.
This trip to the cabin passed more quickly than before as he followed closely behind her car darting and weaving through the sparse traffic.
Parking his car at the front of the cabin, he grabbed a gym bag from the seat and stood beside the car waiting for Arceneaux to come around the house.
They immediately walked inside the cabin without comment. He abandoned his manners and took a seat on the couch, leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair on either side of his head.
Arceneaux saw the gesture and offered: "Would you like to rest awhile before we talk, Bowman?"
"No, but would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to make a pot of coffee, while you're telling me what you learned about the perp?"
While the coffee was brewing, Arceneaux took a seat across from him. He opened his eyes, smiled and said: "Okay, I'm ready now. Tell me all you've learned."
"I've come up with a lot of background history on the guy, but a lot of it is rumor, opinions or ideas of foster parents who knew "Big Ugly" better than anyone else.”
"Who?"
"Big Ugly. I'm sorry, that's what the guys in the squad room tagged him with. Anyway, getting back to the foster parents. Those who had met his mother were fairly unanimous in describing her as having severe emotional problems herself, and none would place much credence in anything she would have to say. I've looked high and low for her, but I haven't been able to locate her. My biggest problem has been that the agencies are very quick to hide behind confidentiality concerns.
If I could find the mother and get her to sign release authorizations, it would help. I get the feeling that most of the agencies' alleged confidentiality concerns are self-protective - concealing their failures and inactions - mostly hiding behind the regulations in this instance.”
He caught himself and resisted the impulse to rest his feet on magazines strewn over the coffee table.
"Anyway, I know it's sketchy, but this is what I've come up with so far."
He moved his elbows to his knees. "Just lay it out for me Yvonne, I know some of the problems you've run into. Treat it like a picture puzzle and keep an open mind."
"Well, you do the same. Big Ugly's real name is William Eugene Shaw. He's much younger than I thought he would be. He was born twenty four years ago in East Texas, out of wedlock to Mavis Shaw when she was sixteen. She was, herself, an only child. During most of Eugene's early childho
od he lived in the rural home of his maternal grandparents, with his mother returning for irregular periods between assignations.”
Bowman feigned a frown. "A very judgmental choice of words, Arceneaux."
"Do you want to hear this, or do you wanna find fault?"
"Okay, just tryin' for a little levity." He moved back in his chair. She moved forward in hers.
"The grandfather was a very stiff, distant and judgmental person who ruled the household with unquestioned authority. Though he attended no church, he read his bible daily and usually carried it when he mixed in public. He considered himself to be a very religious person. Even an inferred questioning of his statements or actions would be defended with biblical quotes, but his interpretations were said to be very self-serving. He apparently didn't drink himself - at least I found no one who suggested he had a drinking problem. He didn't seem to need to get drunk to be mean. Don't look at me that way, Bowman, I know I'm being judgmental."
"He obviously felt no religious conflict about manufacturing illicit whiskey as a principle means of personal income, and no, I don't know what scripture he quoted to justify his actions."
Bowman did not say a word, but merely held the palms of his hands toward her and smiled.
"Let me finish with the grandfather now," Yvonne said, chuckling at her own defensiveness. "The early stuff on the grandparents is the best I have because I found out where they lived and was able to talk with gossipy neighbors. Of course, you won't be surprised to learn that it was widely speculated in the community that the grandfather was the natural father of Eugene. After a lifetime of beatings and stern control, the grandmother performed her household chores with an absence of emotion - doing what was required of her generally and following specific orders from her husband, without question or reaction."
Bowman nodded.
"No one knew of any instance of abuse or cruelty toward Eugene from either of his grandparents. It was more an absence of feeling or demonstrated affection. He was there, they fed and clothed him, otherwise, nothing else. No demands, no discipline, no expectations. I've come to think of Eugene as the cross they bore.