by Jason Deas
“No, no,” Ned replied, as he shot Benny a grin and nodded to Red. “I quit fishing in our lake after I personally ran some tests on the water. This is my seed box now. I brought you guys some tomatoes,” Ned said as he set the bag and tackle box on the porch and shook Benny’s hand.
“Now Ned,” Benny began, knowing he would be speaking to unheeding ears. “The Army Corps of Engineers reported last year that our water was in satisfactory condition.”
“I’m guessing this is the lad you were telling me about, Benny?” Ned said, turning to Red who was still standing with the tools. Ned fulfilled Benny’s prediction by completely ignoring what he had just said.
“Yes sir,” Benny stated as he took a few steps, putting him within contact of the two. “This is Red Jasper.” To Red, he followed with, “Red, this is my friend Ned. I think he may have brought you some seeds for your garden.”
Ned and Red shook hands and Red told him, “Dirt not too bad. Before sun high up, Red stir dirt to try and make happy.”
Ned shot a look at Benny. Benny informed Ned during his initial call inquiring about seeds of Red’s strange speech. Ned turned around so Red could not see his lips and said, “Red, can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Red answered.
“I thought the same thing at first,” Benny said in a sidebar to Ned. Red didn’t hear the comment as he was still looking off in the distance behind Ned, wondering why he had turned around to ask him a question. Red thought Ned might have seen something and his attention wandered with his eyes.
“Red, I have one more box of seeds in the car,” Ned said. “Would you mind getting that for me?”
As Red hustled off to the car, excited about the additional seeds and out of earshot, Ned agreed with Benny that Red spoke like a deaf person. “Does he know sign language?” Ned asked.
“I haven’t thought to ask,” Benny replied. “Sometimes it’s hard enough just calling him on the phone to check up and ask how he’s doing. He told me he didn’t have a ‘talk machine’ back home. First time it rang I think he soiled his shorts,” Benny joked. “He won’t watch the television or use the washing machine; I came by one day and he was washing some clothes out back with the hose, a bucket, and a bar of soap. I think it would be a safe bet to say he can’t read either. I would love to know his story.”
“What does he do all day?” Ned asked.
“He works outside in the yard and listens to his library of tapes,” Benny said.
“What do you mean by library?” Ned asked.
“He must have over a hundred audio cassettes he brought with him. The same day I found him washing his clothes in a bucket, he was listening to a book on tape about being a winner in the stock market. It was an odd scene to say the least.”
When Red came back with the seeds Ned asked, “Red, do you sign?”
“Mama said it bad to listen to stars. Just Jesus.”
“No, no,” laughed Ned as Benny gave him an, I told you so look. “Do you know sign language?” Ned said as he asked Red what his name was in sign language. Red signed back. Ned gave Benny a proud glance as Benny’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Ask him how he knows sign language.”
Ned did just that and Red answered. “He says that both of his parents were deaf and they couldn’t talk. It seems his signing vocabulary is pretty limited, but he is making more sense than he does with the spoken word.”
Ned and Red carried on a conversation for five or so minutes without Ned translating for Benny. Benny was content to watch in amazement as Red’s face phased through a bevy of expressions. Ned’s face did the same as he heard the condensed version of Red’s life story. Not knowing he was kidnapped, he of course was not able to tell that chapter of his life. Switching gears, the two turned their attention to the seeds and Benny slipped back inside after asking Ned to come in and have a quick chat before leaving.
Ned stayed with Red for nearly an hour, showing him the variety of seeds and giving freely any Red wanted. Red named the vegetables many of the seeds would eventually produce by sight, impressing Ned with his apparent fluency with gardening. Ned, being a scientist by nature, stayed longer than intended to study Red’s behavior. Imbedded in a passing thought was a question that asked, is Red Tilley’s killer? As he and Red discussed the different varieties of squash, he concluded no one could possibly conjure up an acting job equal to Red’s behavior. Once inside, Ned shared the remorse he felt in questioning Red’s character with Benny.
“Don’t feel bad about that Ned,” Benny assured. “The first night I left him here, I was settling in on the boat and the same thought crossed my mind.”
“I guess it’s just a coincidence he showed up in Tilley right about the time the first murder happened.”
“I guess you saw, after you were with him even for that short time, that he has an innocence and charm that couldn’t possibly be faked.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Ned smiled. After a pause, Ned asked, “What did you want to see me about?”
“I’m trying to find Red’s parents,” Benny answered.
“He told me they were dead,” Ned replied confused.
“They may or may not be. I’ll give you more details later but what do you know about paternity tests?”
“All you would need is a buccal swab from Red in which you basically take something like a q-tip provided by the lab and rub it inside his mouth against his cheek and send it off to a lab. If they have the same from the father or the mother they would be able to conclude with 99.9 to 100 percent accuracy whether Red is their offspring.”
“Sounds easy,” Benny responded, not telling Ned that he had done exactly what was described.
The envelope with the swab should have already reached its destination, he calculated.
Chapter 46
Peter arrived at the lab one minute before four. The manager was standing at the front counter, waiting with an envelope in his hand. Peter walked directly to the counter and there was a silent exchange accompanied with stoic nods. With the envelope screaming to be opened, Peter knew he couldn’t wait to get back to the office or home and pulled his car into a deserted parking lot. He threw the car in park before the wheels came to a complete stop. The vehicle lurched forward and snapped back, bouncing and rocking as he unbuckled like a gunslinger drawing his weapon to fire.
With the car still and his body free of the seatbelt, he held the envelope in his hand for an instant, taking a pensive breath. He then dug his index finger into the corner, finding an entrance. He haphazardly ran his finger the length of the envelope, tearing a ragged opening revealing the document. He cautiously removed the tri-folded paper and held it to his chest as he removed the creases with a few quick sweeps of his nervous hands.
Holding the papers against the steering wheel, he reached into his jacket pocket and supplemented his eyesight with reading glasses. All he wanted was a simple answer but what he found was a sea of words. His adrenaline and excitement led his eyes in laps around the paper, comprehending little of the scientific jargon until he finally found what he was looking for. It was a match.
Peter went numb. He felt as if his head was filling up with hot water and his hands, just the opposite, were cold and steely. He reread the lines dictating the verdict again hoping the words would magically rearrange to tell a different tale. A vision of Robert “Bobby” Baker laughed in his mind, sending evil reverberations through his frozen limbs.
Putting the car in drive, he drove in a crawl towards the direction of Bobby’s office, unwillingly and dazed like a sailor steering a ship towards a siren song. Peter parked his car in the deck attached to Bobby’s high-rise building and as he exited, he could not remember commandeering the vehicle across town. The flickering fluorescent lights that illuminated the deck pulsed as he walked in robot fashion to the elevator. His distaste for Bobby grew with each forced step, as he knew the information delivered would be misused for political gains and not a joyful reunion.
; Entering Bobby’s office, he made an effort to show no emotion with all of the neutrality he could muster. His ghostlike expression and the pale tone of his skin gave away his news.
“Is it him?” Bobby asked standing up behind his desk and rubbing his hands together. “It is, isn’t it?” Peter nodded affirmatively. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy Mary the Mother of God,” he said running in place and flinging his arms in the air as if he had just won something grand. “What did the lab say?”
“It’s one hundred percent boss,” Peter chimed with bogus delight.
Bobby repeated exactly the string of obscenities he had previously uttered. As he blasphemed the holy virgin, he once again did the forty-yard dash without moving a step. “Do you know what this means?” he asked without expecting or wanting an answer. “Do you know what this means?” Bobby repeated like a motivational speaker ranting to an impassioned crowd. “We won. We won. Cancel the primary. Cancel the election. The ballots are in. We won.”
“Boss?” Peter asked sheepishly and waited. Against his better judgment he suggested, “Don’t you think we should find out what kind of person this is before we go any further?”
“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.
“I mean…” Peter stumbled with a rare lack of confidence. “What if this kid is a criminal or drug addict or gay porn star?” He felt like an idiot for adding his last example, but it was something that popped in his mind and somehow found its way out of his mouth.
Bobby laughed at the gay porn star reference. The wisdom in Peter’s suggestion dimmed his mood with questions. He sat down and motioned for Peter to take a seat. “He’s a Baker!” Bobby stated modestly. Peter cringed. “I’m sure he’s an intelligent young man,” Bobby piped. “Our family tree is bursting with talent and brains and beauty.” Bobby held clinched fists in front of him like a scrappy boxer. Peter thought he might throw up.
“OK,” Bobby said descending into unpleasant thoughts. “OK, OK.” Peter watched the mental tailspin before him and waited for an SOS. He smiled to himself for the first time in hours, as he knew Bobby’s stress equated to big bucks for his wallet.
“All right, Peter,” he said moving his hands as if he were calling a traveling violation in basketball. “Find him,” Bobby demanded. “Find out everything you can about him. I want pictures, video, you name it and I want it on this kid. If he doesn’t pan out we trash those papers and send Benny James a letter saying it wasn’t a match.”
Bobby, as Peter expected, magically produced a large amount of cash from his desk that Peter was beginning to think of as an ATM machine. Peter slithered out of the room fingering the cash in his pocket.
Chapter 47
Rachael needed a nap. As she entered the parking lot of the Lakeside Motor Inn she saw the owner, Carlton Davis, picking up trash and cigarette butts that were sprinkled around the asphalt. A majority of the trucks and vans belonging to the other media crews were gone for the day and she wondered if Carlton had noticed she had not slept in her room the past two nights. She stopped by for clothes and a shower the day before but she had not seen him.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Martin,” he said, as he studied a receipt he picked up from the pavement.
“Hi, Mr. Davis,” Rachael said, thinking hopefully he must not be in the mood to talk since he did not look away from the receipt.
“Don’t break his heart,” Carlton said still avoiding eye contact as he bent over to pick up a lipstick encrusted cigarette butt.
“What!” Rachael yipped.
Carlton raised his head slowly, with a twinkle in his eye. “We can’t have that boy moping around town for months after you leave here to work on another story.” He said this exempt of any harsh tones or judgments.
Comforted by Carlton’s tenor, Rachael said, “What makes you think I’ll break his heart?” She arched her hip and smirked, “Maybe it’s gonna be the other way around.” Her Mississippi drawl had reappeared with her spunk.
“Oh no,” Carlton wisely stated. “This is a fishing town and a man knows a catch when he has one on the line.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rachael said, lowering her hip.
“Good,” Carlton nodded. “That is the way it was meant. Now Ms. Martin, go take yourself a nap. You got a big show tonight. I’m sure you need to recharge with the results from the forensics coming back and being released to the media this morning.”
“Thanks Mr. Davis.” Rachael paused trying to decide if she should ask the question that popped into her head. “Does everybody in town know about Benny and me?”
“Ms. Martin,” Carlton smiled, “if we had one of those gossipy type papers here in Tilley, it would be front page news. Even though I thought I had it pretty well figured out this morning, Donny’s brother told me when he delivered the morning paper. He doesn’t usually stop so I knew it must have been some pretty exciting news.”
“Great!”
Carlton continued picking up the remaining cigarette butts off the ground as Rachael belly flopped onto the bed, falling soundly asleep with her clothes and shoes on.
Chapter 48
Benny and Rachael chatted with her producer and cameraman as they waited for the nine o’clock hour to arrive. During Benny’s career, he made guest appearances on numerous television shows and participated in countless interviews. He was not nervous in the least plus he and Rachael discussed earlier the talking points the two thought imperative. Benny wanted the public to be assured, especially the residents of Tilley, he was certain a suspect would soon be apprehended. He was calm with the confidence that no one could live under his nose and hide with the clues he had found. Forensics came back with morsels. He had a bag of intimations.
The on-air dialogue began with a succinct discussion revealing Benny’s resume. Rachael didn’t have to act impressed as she realized again Benny’s accomplishments. The conversation transitioned into talk about the decision the Chief had made earlier in the day.
“So,” Rachael said, slowly gathering her thoughts. “Chief Neighbors has given the department ten days to bring the fugitive to justice before he turns the case over to the FBI.”
“That is correct.” Benny held up his hand softly and pointed his finger in the air. “I don’t expect it to take ten days, but that is the time frame we have been given.”
“Mr. James,” Rachael said, tossing her head back. “That’s an extremely confident statement don’t you think?”
“Yes ma’am, it is,” Benny winked and gave a smile that exposed a glimpse of his personality.
Rachael cackled internally to hear Benny call her ma’am on national television. “Do you think a statement like that might possibly give the public and especially the residents of Tilley false hope?”
“No. I’m hoping it does just the opposite; that it gives them genuine hope. If the residents of Tilley will allow their lives to be inconvenienced for another week, give or take a few days, staying ultra aware of their surroundings and being vigilant, we will get this town back to normal.”
“Now, Mr. James,” Rachael intensified her gaze. “I don’t mean to doubt your proclamation that you will solve this within ten days. You do have an extraordinary record of solving perplexing cases. And I would like to let the viewers know we did speak earlier. You disclosed to me what information the crime lab came back with. What did they find?”
“They came back with nothing,” Benny stated.
“Let me get this right,” Rachael said pausing, playing it up for the cameras. “The crime lab states they obtained no leads from the evidence.”
“Correct.”
“Mr. James,” Rachael said, still playing. “How do you solve a crime with no evidence?”
“I never said we didn’t have any evidence,” Benny said wryly. “I guess I did not make myself clear. We did not find any scientific evidence. Big deal. So, we have no help from science. We have plenty of other evidence.”
“What kind?” Rachael asked, her play ended.
&nb
sp; “Psychological evidence, messages…”
Rachael cut in, “I don’t recall hearing about any messages.”
“He didn’t write them with letters, he didn’t speak them with words, he communicates like an artist. Visual images, hints and traces of what he did and what paths he took to create the staged crime scenes. Basically, what he left for us to find. He raises questions and dares us to unravel his secrets.”
“So,” Rachael said slowly. “You have some of that?” She could not believe the phrase that she had just spoken.
“We have plenty and it’s beginning to gel.”
“Good luck, Mr. James.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Chapter 49
R.C.’s last task before confronting Miles and exacting his long-awaited revenge was a daytrip to Pascagoula, Mississippi. It was three hundred and sixty-four miles one way. He figured he could make it round trip in twelve to fourteen hours, depending on the amount of time it took him to find the grave, once in town.
Pascagoula, Mississippi was once a sleepy fishing village. That was before World War II. The war brought the shipbuilding industry to town and cranes now delineated the water’s edge as they rose and hovered like giant robotic monsters above the passing shrimp boats. R.C. passed several refineries and fish rendering plants. The smells further stimulated his memories of the short span of his life that was planted along the Gulf before being rudely and unjustly uprooted.
Upon arriving and stopping to ask for directions twice, he found the cemetery. R.C. smelled like the highway, with a splash of truck stop. The flowers in the graveyard didn’t seem to mind. Myra Robinson’s resting body didn’t mind, either. After such a long haul on the motorcycle, he was worthy of membership in the Iron Butt club. The numbness that the hum and vibration of the engine provided momentarily covered his aching. He could still hear the motorcycle’s drone as he neared the site where she was buried. The aging headstone had a barely legible quote at the bottom. This was R.C.’s first visit to the site so he was not familiar with its message. Whisked away and pronounced immediately guilty, he did not even know who was responsible for her burial. After reading the quote, he knew. It read, “Birdsongs.”