The Bone Puzzle

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  “I’m not completely convinced” said Vaughan. “We have to be prepared for everything.”

  “You can’t be prepared for everything. I guess that’s something they don’t teach you at Yale. Germany taught me otherwise.”

  “It always comes to that, doesn’t it?”

  “Not really,” said Robert. “Look, you don’t have to have this conversation with me. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you did or didn’t do in the war. I only want the Antioch members to pay for what they’ve done. If you’ll make that happen, then you’re my new best friend. If you want to know what kind of dirt they’re going to present in court about my time in the service, I can assure you, there will be none. Not that there’s no dirt, mind you. War is a dirty business.”

  “And why are you so sure they’re not going to suggest some improprieties? I’m not saying they’ll have something concrete to present. Of course, they won’t do that. All they need is something they can allude to in front of the jury. It won’t matter if it’s stricken from the record. What’ll matter is that the jury thinks you’re tainted in some way. All that top secret crap will only make you look shadier.”

  “They’re not going to even bring it up,” Robert said.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because there’s a line that even Douglas Lee won’t cross.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He’s going to do anything he can to save his client. Winchester is looking at the death penalty.”

  Robert laughed. “He’s not going to bring it up. If he does, Winchester will be looking for a new lawyer.”

  Robert winked. Vaughan swallowed hard at the implication.

  “Just what did you get yourself involved in over there?”

  “Our concerns are in Alabama,” said Robert. “Oh, and lest we forget, Tennessee.”

  “Our ace in the hole.”

  The men raised their glasses in a toast.

  “The Amazing and Magnificent Villanova,” said Robert. “The poor bastard.”

  “Yeah,” Vaughan agreed. “I’ve been in touch with the Memphis DA. Gibson has already been released. In the meantime, we’re keeping a separate file on the Antioch boys in regards to that crime. We’ll push for extradition if all else fails.”

  “If we don’t hang him here, he’s likely to walk there,” said Robert.

  “We don’t really have shit. Any chance we’ll find those skulls?”

  “It’s not going to help us much now. I suspect that was Junior’s doing, and they’ll pass along any blame they can his way. He’s not alive to defend himself,” said Robert, “but I haven’t given up yet. I’ve had other things to attend to lately, not to mention, I can’t let on that we’re still looking for them. We’ve already found them, remember?”

  They laughed.

  “Where do you come up with this crap?” asked Vaughan.

  “It’s a gift,” Robert said. “Has Lee brought up the excavation behind the sheriff’s office yet?”

  “Nope,” said Vaughan with a smile.

  “The arraignment or the trial?” asked Robert.

  “The trial, I’m sure. He knows Winchester isn’t going to get off at the arraignment. He’s just going to use that to see what we have.”

  “Then why not bring up the skulls?”

  “Because Douglas Lee wants an audience he can wow with the big reveal.”

  “Sucker,” said Robert.

  “Esquire,” corrected Vaughan.

  They laughed.

  “What concerns me is all that phony Klan crap you pulled during the investigation,” said Vaughan. “It’s going to cause a lot of reasonable doubt they can use.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Again with the certainty,” Vaughan said. “Why do you say that?”

  “Take a look around you,” Robert waved toward the people in the crowded bar room.

  “Yeah? So?”

  “Who do you think is wearing those robes? Unless we get an all black jury, I’m sure at least half of them will be absolutely certain that the Klan had nothing to do with the crimes in question.”

  “That’s pretty harsh,” said Vaughan.

  “I calls it like I sees it,” said Robert. “The boys at the Antioch church were the only ones who would fall for that because none of them were involved in the Klan. It’s the one good thing I can say about them. Of course, that didn’t prevent them from doing what they did.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Vaughan took a sip of his beer and voiced his concern. “We don’t have the strongest of cases. All we have is circumstantial evidence and their confessions.”

  “Which they’ll retract once we get going,” said Robert.

  “Right.”

  “Yet the jury will hear it, whether they’re told to disregard it or not,” said Robert. “And we’ll have Lee’s stumbling and bumbling when he takes our bait. That’s not going to help his client.”

  “Yes, but he’ll recover,” said Vaughan. “Don’t underestimate him. He may not be a Yale man, but he knows what he’s doing. What’s more, he knows his county. I’ll be standing there in my Italian suits, and you’ll be there, the most unpopular guy in the state. Lee and Winchester will be the locals. Lee will play it like it’s the Civil War all over again, and we’re the Yankee carpetbaggers come to burn Richmond to the ground.”

  “You forgot the Lord,” said Robert. “Winchester will have them convinced we were sent by the Devil.”

  “He’ll never take the stand,” said Vaughan. “Lee won’t let him.”

  “Oh, he’ll take the stand alright,” argued Robert. “He’ll insist. Brother Stupid won’t be able to resist the lure of a captive audience.”

  “Then we’ll have him.” Getting a chance to cross examine a nut like Winchester is a prosecutor’s dream, thought Vaughan.

  “Will we?” Robert knew better.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  Robert laughed, almost spewing out his beer. The others looked at him and waited.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Dr. Hall.

  “A lawyer, a doctor, and two detectives walk into a bar…” Robert joked.

  They’d agreed to meet up at Samson’s Bar and Grill as soon as the arraignment was over. None of them expected to be drinking at such an early hour.

  The arraignment was over in less than a thirty minutes. An initial request to dismiss all charges by the defense was quickly rejected, followed by a plea of not guilty and a request for a speedy trial.

  “I didn’t see that coming,” said Watts, speaking about the events at the courthouse.

  “Short and sweet, eh Billy?” Robert winked.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Watts.

  “They’re putting the bum’s rush on us,” Vaughan replied. “It’s a sound strategy.”

  “No change of venue?” asked Dr. Hall.

  “Why would they do that? The county is full of bumpkins who think Winchester is a prophet, with the rest being kinfolk. We’re the bad guys in their eyes,” said Robert.

  “Well, you are anyway.” Vaughan laughed.

  “So sayeth the Yale man,” replied Robert.

  “Will we be ready?” asked Watts.

  “It’s doubtful we’re going to find any more evidence to go along with our big pile of non-existent evidence we already have, so I’d have to say yes,” Vaughan said. “We’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

  “Then let’s get this show on the road,” said Robert, raising his glass.

  The others met his mug with theirs, and the men took a swig in unison.

  “When are the other arraignments?” asked Dr. Hall.

  “Tomorrow,” said Vaughan. “None of them have any money, and subsequently, no representation. They won’t enter a plea; they’ll ask for a public defender, and then a preliminary hearing will be scheduled. Nobody is in any hurry. Winchester’s trial will set the tone, which can be good or bad. Once we get them on the stand, one or more will likely recant, throwing a monkey wrench into ou
r plans. If Winchester walks, they’ll likely walk with him, confessions or no confessions.”

  “There’s always Tennessee,” said Watts.

  The men nodded unenthusiastically. They recognized that whatever transpired at Winchester’s impending trial was likely to carry over for the lot of them in Memphis. There would only be justice for the murder of the magician if justice was found for his daughters.

  “What should I do with your modern art masterpiece on the tarp in my office?” asked Dr. Hall.

  “We should photograph, tag, and bag them until the trials are over,” said Vaughan. “Then we’ll give them a proper burial.”

  “Why wait?” asked Hall. “They’re creepy as hell. And that’s coming from a forensic pathologist.”

  “I’m not done with them yet,” said Robert.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but if you find the skulls now, it would only complicate things,” said Vaughan. “From what Duncan and McEwen said, it was likely Junior’s doing. We’ll already be wrestling with his ghost, if it comes to that. It might be better to let that go.”

  Billy laughed. “You don’t know Robert,” he said. “If there’s a body part to be found, he’s a bloodhound on the hunt.”

  Robert took a swig of beer, but kept quiet.

  “Are you hearing me, Detective?” Vaughan asked.

  Robert heard him, but paid the man no heed. He didn’t work for the district attorney. In the end, he was going to do what was right, no matter the cost. He’d compromised in the past and had lived to regret it. Recognizing it was the only reason he was still living didn’t ease the guilt. He wasn’t going to do that again.

  Robert set his empty mug on the table and stood up to leave. Before he turned to go, he made a single promise that no one dared to question.

  “When the time comes, Lacey and Laura Henderson will be buried whole.”

  CHAPTER NINETY

  Jeremiah Thomas sat in the interrogation room, waiting for Detective Stallworth to arrive. Initially, he’d had a mind to request an attorney, but he didn’t know any. He had little in the way of funds, so he’d need a public defender, although he had no idea how to ask for one. His father had hired the best defense attorney in the state. But then again, his father had more money than anyone suspected. He’d been raiding the collection plate for years. It was the Lord’s will.

  The door opened and, much to Jeremiah’s relief, the fat detective with the long, white beard entered instead of Stallworth.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester,” Turner said as he sat down. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long. I got tied up with a lot of nonsense on the way over here.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere,” Jeremiah replied, motioning to the shackles that kept him in place.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about those, too. Are they too tight? Do they need to be loosened a bit?”

  “No. They’re okay, I s’pose, but thanks anyway,” said Jeremiah.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m John Turner.” The detective reached over and shook Jeremiah’s hand. “You can call me John if you like. Should I call you Mr. Winchester or Jeremiah?”

  “JT”

  “Then JT it is. Those are my initials as well.” Turner smiled.

  Jeremiah liked the man. The way he looked at him with kind, but sad eyes; the way he talked in his soft, southern drawl. He was everything Stallworth wasn’t.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, JT. You’re in a lot of trouble,” said Turner as he opened a manila folder and shifted through a few forms. “I wish it weren’t so. I heard that your wife is expecting. Ah, what a joy a child can bring to a young couple. Is this your first?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “It’s scary. Being responsible for the welfare of such a fragile thing, but it makes you a man. Everyone pats you on the back and gives you a cigar, but nothing compares to seeing your wife holding your baby for the first time. You’ll be filled with pride and love. You’ll swear that you’ll do everything you can to protect them both, come hell or high water. Of course, some take that oath more serious than others.”

  Turner set down the papers and folded his hands, placing them over the file on the table. He frowned and looked at the man across from him.

  “You were once a baby, and your daddy swore that same oath. He counted his blessings and promised to raise you right, promised he’d be there for you when times got tough. Times are tough, JT, and right now, your paw is throwing you to the wolves.”

  “He wouldn’t—” A lump trapped the words in Jeremiah’s throat.

  “He already did, son.”

  Jeremiah held back the tears that welled up in his eyes. He remained silent, not only because he didn’t want to start crying in front of the policeman, but because he didn’t know what to say.

  “What is also happening right now is that Detective Stallworth is talking to Brandine. He’s telling her that you are in here throwing her to the wolves.”

  “That lyin’ son-of-a-bitch! I would never—”

  “But you are. Imagine how scared she is, expecting her first child and all. Her husband soon to be executed as a child killer. Her family name and reputation in shambles, and to top it off, she’s likely to go down as an accessory. Ten years, maybe? I don’t know, but long enough to predict what’ll happen to your child. Foster homes can be so cruel, especially when the sins of the parents follow the child around. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be for the best. Maybe a decent family will adopt the poor thing.”

  Turner looked at the pages in front of him. From what Jeremiah could see, they were some kind of official documents with an unrecognizable State Seal embossed along the top.

  “Did you know the girls you raped and murdered were adopted?” asked Turner, motioning to the birth certificates on the table. “From that orphanage in Tennessee that was all in the news a couple of years ago. You know, the one where they were stealing kids from their parents and selling them on the black market. I hear none of them were ever returned.”

  Turner shook his head. “It must be a hard burden to bear, losing a child like that and knowing they’re out there somewhere. Not knowing if they are hurting, if they need you, and not being able to do anything about it. Never knowing what happened to them.” He looked up at Jeremiah. “I guess you’ll learn about that soon enough. Brandine, too.”

  “She ain’t done nothin’!” Jeremiah pleaded, no longer able to keep the tears from running down his face.

  “I’m so sorry, JT. I truly am.” Turner sighed.

  “Mr. Turner, you can’t let this happen to her. She ain’t done nothin’. I swear!”

  “Call me John.”

  “John, please! Don’t let them do this!”

  “It’s not up to me. It’s up to you.”

  “Me? What can I do? I’m in here, chained to this table.”

  “You can start by telling me the truth. All of it. You can tell it to the jury at your father’s trial.”

  “I can’t do that. He’s my daddy.”

  “And he’s done so much for you.”

  “You don’t understand!” Jeremiah cried. “He’s not like other men. He’s a prophet from God.”

  “Is he? Did God tell him to saw that magician in half?”

  “The Lord hates those who practice the Dark Arts. We was only doin’ what he commanded. Besides, it was Buck who did that.”

  “Did you help to hold him down?”

  “No, me and Junior took the girl to the truck.”

  “Did you rape her?”

  Jeremiah sat upright as if Turner had slapped him across the face.

  “I ain’t no pervert. I didn’t touch her. We was savin’ her from the Devil’s grasp.”

  “Is that why you took her? To save her? Is that what you tell yourself?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Your father raped her. Did the Lord command that as well?”

  “It wasn’t rape. She was to be his bride!”
<
br />   “She was twelve, maybe thirteen.”

  “She was older than that,” Jeremiah proclaimed, even though he knew the policeman was probably right.

  “You keep saying she. There were two of them.”

  “She came back after we—”

  “Chopped her into little bits.”

  Jeremiah closed his eyes and shook his head. He wanted it all to go away. His chin fell down on his chest, and he wept. Moments passed without a word being spoken until his sobbing faded.

  The quiet of the room was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Jeremiah looked up to see his nemesis standing before him.

  “He’s ready,” said Turner, standing and motioning towards the now empty chair he’d been sitting in.

  “Ready for what?” asked Jeremiah.

  “For me,” said Robert, taking the seat across from him.

  Turner smiled and started to leave.

  “But I thought you—” said Jeremiah, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “Thought I was what?” asked Turner. “On your side?” Turner shook his head in disgust. “Robert, show him.”

  Jeremiah looked at Stallworth. Robert pulled out a photograph from under the birth certificates in the file on the desk and presented it to the distraught man.

  “I call it The Bone Puzzle.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  Jeremiah averted his gaze. He didn’t want to look at the photograph.

  “What’s the matter?” Robert asked. “Not your cup of tea? Everyone’s a critic.”

  “You’re one sick bastard,” said Jeremiah.

  “Hey, I just put it together. Y’all did the work. What was that like, cutting up a beautiful little girl? You must’ve enjoyed it. You did it twice.”

  “She came back. I don’t know how, but she did. It was the Devil’s work.”

  “It sure was. Tell me, how did Pops talk y’all into it? It was a tad extreme.”