The Bone Puzzle

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  By the time Robert made it back to the sheriff’s office, it was getting dark outside. He grabbed the bag with the daily lunch special and headed to the interrogation room.

  When he opened the door, he could see Jeremiah was angry. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

  Robert ignored his complaint and opened the bag, setting the container of cold meatloaf and soggy mashed potatoes in front of the young man as if it were the finest delicacy served to the King of Siam. Before Jeremiah knew what happened, he felt a cold wet mist hit him in the face.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked, wiping the sticky wetness from his cheek.

  “It’s called Lavender Blossom. I commented on how much I liked it to the waitress, and she sold me a bottle. It turns out, she has a side business hocking this crap. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was just being nice. It smells like something that would gag a maggot. Now I know why they call it toilet water.”

  “Why the hell did you spray it in my face?”

  Robert laughed. “Because you stink.” He sat down and fumbled with a few papers. JT glared at him for a moment before picking at the food in front of him.

  “It’s cold! I can’t eat this shit!”

  “Boy, you really are hard to please,” said Robert. “Still, it’s a might better than you’ll be getting at the state pen.”

  “Enough of that bull. I’m not goin’ to jail. You don’t scare me.”

  “You should be scared, but not of me. You have bigger problems on your hands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Junior,” said Robert. “You know how he gets.”

  “He’s my kin. I don’t need to worry about him none.”

  “That’s what Elijah Andrew thought.” In truth, Robert had no idea if the boy had been shot by accident or on purpose. Jeremiah had been left home that day, and the only ones present were the eldest two brothers and their father. The initial report was a bit sketchy, but it was later accepted that a misfire had occurred, which resulted in the death of the eldest Winchester boy. The middle boy took the blame, and no one pressed the matter. But people talk.

  “That was an accident,” Jeremiah protested.

  “So they say. Accidents happen all the time. Make sure you aren’t in one.”

  “You’re tryin’ to bluff me. I ain’t worried.”

  “Brandine is,” countered Robert. “She’s wringing her hands as we speak, wondering where you done run off to.”

  Jeremiah laughed.

  “Did I say something that amuses you?” Robert asked.

  “She knows I’m here talkin’ to you.”

  “That’s not what we told her.”

  “What? What did you tell her? When did you talk to her?”

  “We just had a long chat. She had some interesting things to say.”

  What the hell? That stupid girl! I told her to keep her mouth shut. “She don’t know nothin’. What could she tell you?”

  “Enough,” said Robert, “but I’ll let you two lovebirds sort it out after you tell her what else you’ve been up to, when you eventually go strolling through that door at an ungodly hour, smelling like a French whore.”

  “Why, you son-of-a-bitch!” Jeremiah cried. He paused and tried to force a smile before continuing, “She ain’t gonna question me no how. She knows me,” proclaimed Jeremiah, the timbre of his voice giving doubt to his resolve.

  “She thought she did, but that’s before our little chat. Now she’s not so sure.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Careful, JT. Don’t let your anger cloud your judgment. Don’t make hasty decisions or hold on to long-standing assumptions. Besides, you don’t want to burn your bridges with me, kid.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, before long, you’re going to realize that I’m the only friend you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  The sun was beginning to rise when Jeremiah finally exited the sheriff’s office. He was exhausted and just wanted to go home and lie down, but he knew Brandine was going to give him hell as soon as he walked in the door. That asshole detective really did a number on him. Stallworth had warned them that it wasn’t going to be a picnic. Truer words had never been spoken. Jeremiah didn’t want to think about what the others had been telling the pesky detective.

  He started up his truck and pulled out of the parking lot as Charles Ray was entering. Jeremiah waved to the man, but Charles Ray didn’t see him. It seemed odd to Jeremiah, and he paused at the stop sign to watch his friend enter the police station in a hurry. A car came up behind him and honked, so he drove off, but not before he saw his brother sitting across the street in a strange vehicle. Jeremiah fought the urge to turn around and find out what was going on. He was in enough trouble already.

  “Detective,” the deputy announced. Robert was sitting in the interrogation room reading through his notes. “Mr. Charles Ray Wilson is here to see you.”

  Robert nodded, and Charles Ray hesitantly entered the room. Robert let him stand by awkwardly for a moment without acknowledging his presence.

  “Should I sit or—?" Charles Ray asked.

  “What?” Robert said without looking up.

  “Should I sit down, or should I—?"

  “No,” Robert said and continued to read. He flipped through a few more pages and waited. Charles Ray balanced on one leg then another, not sure what he was supposed to do. Eventually, he cleared his throat to get the detective’s attention. Robert responded by closing the file and jogging it neatly together before placing it to his left. He exhaled, picked up another folder, and flipped it open.

  “Did you want to—?” Charles Ray asked again.

  “What?” Robert’s head popped up. He looked the man over, then went back to his previous activities.

  “Did you want me—?”

  “Did I want you to what, Mr. Wilson?” Robert asked.

  “I thought you wanted to ask—?”

  “You thought?” Robert laughed and shook his head. “Right, that’s what you did.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why are you here?” Robert looked up again, this time his intense stare burned into Charles Ray’s eyes.

  “You said you wanted to—”

  “Ask you bullshit questions so you can feed me bullshit answers?” Robert finished for him. “Really, what’s the point? I already know what went down over at Cooter Yates’s place back in April.”

  “I, uh, I mean, you—”

  “How articulate,” Robert observed. “You’re not the first one from the Antioch church who I’ve talked to. Deputy Barber spent most of his time assuring me that he wasn’t with you guys when you murdered and dismembered the girls.”

  “That’s a damn lie!” Charles Ray protested.

  “Which part—the murdering or the dismembering?”

  “No, I mean, that’s not what I was—”

  “Or that he was only there for one and not the other?” Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Robert. He tucked that tidbit of information away and continued, “I know what you mean, Mr. Wilson. Joe Bob clarified it already. I will say, he was a bit reluctant to do so. Give him a little credit, an ex-Marine is hard to crack. He did his best, but the truth eventually comes out. Jeremiah Winchester couldn’t stop spilling the beans. It was all we could do to tell him to shut up. He’s going to be great on the witness stand. He even had us run over and talk to his wife. He’s a little worried about his brother and his father, and I can’t say as I blame him. Still, we eventually had to get him out of here. He begged us to stay, but he dug his own hole. Who’d a thought he’d be the smart one of the bunch?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

  “Who asked you? You can get on now. You have nothing to offer me that I don’t already know. There’ll be no deals with you.” Robert went back to his forms, but the other man remained standing. Robert looked up. “Go on, I said. Git!”

 
“But—”

  “Deputy!” shouted Robert. Seconds later, the door opened, and Deputy Halpin poked his head in. “Ricky, get this piece of shit out of my sight.”

  Charles Ray didn’t know what to do, but he had no choice. The deputy grabbed his upper arm and escorted him to the front door without so much as a word. Charles Ray hesitated in the foyer, but Ricky motioned for him to leave, like he was an unwelcome stray animal.

  Charles Ray felt humiliated. He wanted to run back in and give the detective a piece of his mind, but then what? What could he do? He’d sworn to the others that he’d keep his mouth shut. What were they telling the cops? It was all so confusing. He exited the building and slinked over to his car, his eyes scanning the horizon. Charles Ray fired up the engine of his sedan and sped out of the parking lot in a hurry, almost slamming into oncoming traffic.

  “How’d it go?” asked Robert, walking up behind Ricky and Dale, who were watching Charles Ray’s hasty exit through the blinds of the front window.

  “Like he was fleeing the scene of the crime,” said the sheriff.

  “He is,” said Robert. “And Junior Prophet?”

  “He’s still watching from Jack Drury’s Buick,” Ricky answered.

  “That’s some stake out,” said the sheriff. “Maybe we should send over some coffee and donuts.”

  They laughed.

  “I gotta say, Stallworth,” the sheriff mused, “you are one devious son-of-a-bitch. First, the cheap perfume, and now this. You keep Junior here all night and dismiss Wilson within minutes. The fake Klan rally, the pretty lady, the macabre bone display over at the medical examiner’s. Them boys from the Antioch Pentecostal Church don’t know which end is up.”

  “They don’t need to know,” said Robert, “yet.”

  Ricky smiled and winked at the sheriff. He’d tried to tell Dale how smart Stallworth was, but sometimes you have to see to believe.

  “When do you think they’ll figure out you’re just messing with their heads?” asked the sheriff.

  “When the iron barred doors slam behind them.”

  Junior watched the comings and goings at the sheriff’s office. Something didn’t add up. There was little doubt that the detective had questioned Earl, being that he was a deputy. Junior also knew that Joe bob had spent two hours in the hot seat. Then, his imbecile brother ended up spending the entire night. The detective left with another cop and returned hours later. And still, JT had remained. Junior knew he must’ve told them something. He’d had to. Now, Charles Ray runs in and out like he was hiding from the Devil himself.

  Eustice Winchester, Jr. smelled a rat.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  “Is this here a starin’ contest, or ain’t you got nothin’ to say?” Buck wasn’t in the mood to play games. If the detective thought he’d be easy to push around, he had another thing coming.

  “I’m just trying to figure you out, Mr. McEwen,” said Robert.

  “There ain’t nothin’ to figure out.”

  “Maybe from where you’re sitting there isn’t, but from over here, there is. We’ve been talking about you a great deal around here. I’d say y’all, but I mean you in particular, being you’re a pervert and all.”

  “I ain’t no pervert. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Buck protested. He knew this was going to come up eventually. It always did.

  “You like diddling little kids. That makes you a pervert, pervert.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Besides, that was a long time ago, and I ain’t like that no more.”

  “Once a pervert, always a pervert. Pervert,” Robert needled the big man.

  “I put that behind me, and I ain’t like that no more. I’ve been saved.”

  “Saved? Is that what the great prophet of Alabama told you? Man, he really played you for a fool.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Buck insisted.

  “Finally, something we agree on. You’re right, I wouldn’t understand, but then, I’m not the pervert. You are.”

  “I ain’t no pervert. I’ve been saved. I told you that.”

  “Yeah, right. You’ve been saved from the fiery pit by none other than Brother Eustice Winchester, a pervert as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Buck. You know what I mean. Damn, it ain’t exactly a secret he married his first wife when she was fifteen. It was a shotgun wedding at that.”

  “She was young, but so was he. So what?”

  “He was twenty seven, Buck.”

  Buck attempted to reply, but the words were trapped in his throat. Why that no good bastard! All this time, him tellin’ me I was a pervert, and him doin’ the same thing!

  “It’s common knowledge he knew her, as it were, in the biblical sense for a spell before the nuptials. Made her about twelve or thirteen, I’d say. What’s the word for that?” Robert shuffled through some forms on the desk as if he were looking it up in Webster’s New Unabridged Dictionary. “I believe it’s ‘pervert.’”

  “What’s this got to do with me?” Buck asked. He was sick of this shit. No matter what he did, or how many years had passed, no one ever let him forget the sins of the past. That damn Winchester preyed on his weakness, and now, here he was, back in police custody having to listen to this.

  “Did he share?” asked Robert and watched Buck cringe. “Now don’t act all surprised at the question. There were two under-aged girls and two known pedophiles out there. It stands to reason,” Robert explained. “But I can see that, maybe not. Did he let you watch? Is that it?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

  “Of course, you don’t. No, I’m guessing you wouldn’t piss without permission from Brother Charlatan. I bet you kept guard so that the others wouldn’t intervene.”

  Robert was fishing, but he detected a nibble and ran with it. “That’s it, isn’t it? No one there was a pervert like you, and they wouldn’t stand for the old geezer pawing and defiling a little girl like that. But you would, because that’s the kind of guy you are, Buck. A pervert.”

  Buck shook his head in denial. His reddening face told Robert he was spot on, so he continued, using the word ‘pervert’ at every opportunity.

  “Yeah, that’s it. You kept guard, probably getting all hot and bothered while you listened in. Did you sneak a peek?”

  Buck clenched his jaw but said nothing.

  “You did! A peeping Tom! I bet you tossed one off right there, pervert. You’re getting aroused right now thinking about it. Aren’t you, pervert?”

  “Fuck you! I ain’t like that!”

  “Of course not, pervert. You’re saved, pervert. Isn’t that right, pervert? Thanks to Brother Eustice Pervert Winchester. He saved you so you could help him out. I bet you didn’t know why, but you do now. Eustice used you because he knows you’re just like him—a pervert. He used you to do his dirty work because he knew you would. Because you’re a pervert, pervert.”

  “Stop saying that! I’m not no pervert!”

  “No? What would you call it?”

  “I don’t know, but I ain’t a pervert. You weren’t there. I tried to—”

  “Tried to what?”

  Buck stopped. The tricky fucker almost had him.

  “I want a lawyer.”

  Robert figured as much. It was right on schedule. He only wondered what had taken the guy so long.

  “And you shall have one, Mr. McEwen,” said Robert. “Should I get you a phone book, or do you have one you keep on retainer, just in case?”

  “Public defender.”

  “But you’re not under arrest. You are free to go at any time.”

  “But, but, I thought—”

  “No, you didn’t think, Buck. I bet you’re thinking now. You’d better see about that lawyer, and I’d go for better than a public defender. This isn’t going to be your first time. Repeat offenders of your variety go away for a long, long time. I’d shop around for the best. You’re going to need it.”

  Buck
got up to go, but before he made it to the door, Robert asked him, “Did you ever wonder how I fingered you for this, Buck? Let me give you a hint. The good prophet sent me your way. He informed me all about your indiscretions. He set you up, Mr. McEwen. You’re what we call a patsy. A patsy and a pervert. That’s a hell of a spot you put yourself in. Tell me one thing, though.” Robert paused. Buck waited, so Robert finished, “How hard was it to cut all the way through a grown man with a hand saw?”

  Buck’s knees buckled and his face went pale. For a moment, Robert thought the man was going to pass out, but he steadied himself and left without another word.

  Bingo!

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  “My God, Bob,” said Billy, “what the hell?”

  “How did you know it was them?” asked the sheriff.

  Billy, Dale, and Ricky had been watching from behind the one-way mirror. They were amazed at how the detective had masterfully handled the interrogations, and they used the brief interlude before the next suspect to pepper him with questions and praise.

  “I didn’t,” said Robert, “and still don’t, but it’s not looking good for the flock.”

  “What do you mean, you still don’t?” asked the sheriff. “But you said—”

  “I’ve said a lot of things, Exalted Cyclops.”

  Sheriff Fuller and Deputy Halpin cringed. Billy tried not to smile.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked the sheriff, obviously offended.

  “You know what it means,” said Robert. “I only zeroed in on them because they were nosing around, and it didn’t fit. The more pressure I apply, the deeper it gets. I still don’t have any concrete evidence, and I may never have any. Sure, this looks promising from inside these walls, but their trials won’t be conducted here, and this whole house of cards will come crumbling down. Don’t forget, had I put the same pressure on your little social group, I’d likely have gotten the same results. How do you think that would turn out in court?”

  Dale and Ricky wanted to protest, but they knew better.

  “You’d all be skipping justice as you always do, the judge being the actual Cyclops. What are you, anyway—a Terror? Or maybe a Kleagle, or some other equally disgusting or stupid thing?”