The Bone Puzzle

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  “You don’t understand. We didn’t know it was goin’ to turn out that way.”

  “How did you think it was going to turn out?”

  Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. He had no answer.

  “You’re not going to be able to distance yourself from this, son. Three innocent human beings were murdered in cold blood and dismembered. You killed your own brother. You shot a police officer. You tried to shoot another.”

  Jeremiah hung his head. Everything the detective said was true.

  “I take particular offense to that last one,” said Robert. Jeremiah showed no indication that he’d heard him. “At least you could look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.”

  Jeremiah looked up. “What do you want me to say? It’s all your fault I’m sittin’ here. If it weren’t for you, my brother would still be alive; Cooter and Charles Ray, too.”

  “Is that why you wanted me dead—for revenge?”

  “No,” said Jeremiah. “I mean, yes, but… I don’t know. She—”

  “She? Are you telling me it was Brandine’s idea?”

  “No, she had nothin’ to do with it,” Jeremiah insisted.

  “Sure she did,” said Robert. “She called and personally asked me to come out there. She set me up. And now, from what you’re telling me, it was all her idea in the first place.”

  “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth.”

  “We’ve already arrested her, Jeremiah. She’s ready to sing like a canary. Hell, she was one of the first to cave under pressure. Watts and I went out there when we were talking to you the first time. You remember; when I went out to get you something to eat. Instead, we took a drive out to your place and had a long chat with your wife. I’m sure she told you all about it.”

  Jeremiah was noticeably shaken. Brandine hadn’t gone into specifics about the conversation she’d had with the policemen. By the time Jeremiah had gotten home at that late hour, smelling like cheap perfume, thanks to the asshole detective, she’d given him hell. He’d tried to plead his case, but she’d looked at him in disbelief. She made him feel as if she’d never be able to trust him again. Now he finds out that she’d been keeping even bigger secrets from him. He was livid and more than a little scared. What the hell had she told the detective about him? What was she telling him now? What was she going to tell him in the future?

  “Your father was sitting right where you are sitting when I got the message that Brandine needed to see me. He had that smug look on his face. You know, the one that makes you want to punch him in the nose.”

  Jeremiah snorted despite himself. He knew that look all too well.

  “He must’ve known what the plan was, which makes it premeditated. You’ll find out soon enough the significance of that in the legal sense, but I digress. When I told him that I already suspected that it was a trap, and that if anyone was going to end up on the wrong side of a gun, it was going to be you, do you know what he did?”

  Jeremiah said nothing, but by his expression, Robert could see he was all ears.

  “Nothing, he did nothing. I told him that we already knew that whatever trouble you’d gotten yourself into was all his doing, and that it was fruitless to pile more misery onto the only son he had left. I told him that there was a very real chance that you’d be killed in the process. Then I asked, no, I pleaded with him to come clean, if for no other reason than to spare your life. He was unmoved. He sat there with his fancy lawyer, none the worse for wear and tear over your awful fate. Truth be told, he just doesn’t care about you. Brother Eustice only cares about Brother Eustice.”

  Jeremiah wasn’t surprised in the least. His father was a selfish prick and would remain so until the end.

  “Then there’s poor little Brandine,” Robert continued. “In all fairness, she had nothing to do with your foray into homicidal madness. I’m sure she would have disapproved, if you’d bothered to confide in her before you followed the mob to Memphis. But you didn’t. Initially, she’d offered up pertinent information about your whereabouts in an effort to save you. She wanted so much to believe in you. She wanted you around to help raise that child. She wanted a normal life with a good marriage to a good man. Unfortunately, she didn’t marry one. She married you.”

  Jeremiah remained silent. The words stung but were sadly accurate.

  “In a strange turn of events, it was the conversation with Brandine that told us we were on the right track and eventually led to this. Don’t be hard on her though, she was only trying to help. Of course, once she realized what you’d done, she wised up. Well, as wise as she’s capable of, anyway.”

  The sarcastic insult didn’t set well with Jeremiah, but he kept his mouth shut. I told that dumb bitch to keep her mouth shut!

  “A woman will usually do whatever she feels is in her best interest to do. And a mother will almost always do whatever she can to protect her child. In a last ditch effort to hold it together, she did what she could for you. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I’m still breathing, and now she’s in as much trouble as you are. There’s only one card left for her to play. Do you want to guess what that is?”

  “She wouldn’t turn on me,” Jeremiah said.

  “No?”

  “She loves me.”

  “No doubt. Nevertheless—”

  Tears welled up in Jeremiah’s eyes. His sins were coming down on both of them. What had he done?

  “The sad thing is that, despite what she thinks, there’s little she can offer us. We have no reason to offer her a deal. On the other hand, I have every reason to prosecute her to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “Don’t. I’m beggin’ you.”

  “The two of you tried to murder me, son.”

  “Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’ll confess. Whatever you want me to say, I’ll say it.”

  “That’s not going to be good enough.”

  Jeremiah knew what the detective wanted. “I’ll testify in court.”

  Robert nodded. He pulled out the photograph one more time and held it up for Jeremiah’s inspection. Jeremiah clamped his eyelids shut.

  “Open your eyes, boy. I insist.”

  Jeremiah looked at the collection of bones on the tarp. The grotesque image made his stomach retch.

  “I’m going to need something more than a full confession and your testimony in court if you want me to drop the charges on Brandine,” Robert said as Jeremiah stared at the grisly photo. “Actually, I’m going to need two things.”

  PART SIX:

  REDEMPTION

  Bad men are full of repentance.

  Aristotle

  CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

  The selection of the jury drew the expected complications. Vaughan would have preferred a secular panel of jurists. Lee wanted only the most stringent of the faithful. Lee did his best to weed out members of secret societies of racial purity; Vaughan brushed past any indication such things existed. As it turned out, in Pickens County, Alabama, a non-religious jury of non-racists was wishful thinking. Vaughan agreed with Robert’s summarization. Klan members and cult members were as close to a jury of peers Winchester could ask for.

  Soon after the jury was selected, the court was adjourned for the Christmas holidays. The fireworks on New Year’s Eve would pale by comparison to a very different kind of pyrotechnics slated to begin on January third.

  The courthouse was packed on the first day of the trial. From his vantage point in the third row behind the prosecution, the detective could see that the majority of the people were there to support the accused. Robert was disgusted by the display. The good Christian folks of Pickens County had already decided that the preacher was innocent. He was being persecuted for his godly beliefs by agitators from Birmingham.

  Robert ignored the ugly stares from the gallery. They didn’t matter. He only hoped that the madness didn’t spread to the jury.

  At the request of the district attorney,
Dr. Hall wasn’t present. He’d be summoned at a later date to testify, and it was Vaughan’s opinion that his reputation would be sullied by sitting next to the detective. Robert understood. He was a pariah and proud of it.

  “Take off your hat!” the bailiff said in an unnecessarily rude voice to one of the yokels who made his way to the back row. The man shot the bailiff a dirty look, but did as he was told.

  “That was harsh,” Watts noted.

  “Contempt of court,” said Robert.

  Watts chuckled. The heavy handed way the court officials treated the good citizens of the county explained a lot about the animosity the locals had toward everything government. The insular world in which the courthouse thrived ensured that this fact was lost on those within.

  “Tuck in your shirt!” the bailiff shouted at another man who had entered the room. Once again, his outburst was returned with an icy glare.

  “I’d hate to see what he does when someone mixes stripes with solids,” said Robert.

  Watts bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

  The members of the gallery were plainly insulted by the lack of respect the bailiff showed them. Grumblings arose. The bailiff used the opportunity to display his dominance by addressing the room as a whole. “Men need to tuck in their shirts and remove their hats. Women need to keep their chattering down. I will forcibly remove anyone who fails to comply.”

  Complaints could be heard rumbling throughout the audience. The bailiff took exception to the outburst. “I said shut up!”

  “What an asshole,” Robert said, in no way attempting to whisper.

  Watts laughed.

  “Who said that?” The bailiff was livid. He stuck out his chest, flexed his muscles, and pushed through the bar that separated the public from the trial participants. With a menacing gait, he walked to where Robert and Billy were sitting.

  Robert met his glare with amusement. The smirk on his face only added to the bailiff’s bad disposition. It was all Watts could do not to lose it. He knew Robert kept a poker face better than most. The smirk was planted there on purpose.

  “I said no disruptions! You and your friend will have to leave,” the bailiff insisted.

  Robert ignored the man. The bailiff reached for his baton. As if on cue, the two detectives moved their suit jackets to the side in unison, revealing the badges attached to their belts. The bailiff froze, his baton half way out of its sheath.

  “Y’all are supposed to be on the other side of the bar, in the place designated for law enforcement,” the bailiff said.

  Robert noted a subtle cracking in the man’s voice. His day was getting better already.

  The two detectives let their jackets fall back into place and remained where they were, daring the bailiff to pursue the matter. Giggles erupted from a few rows behind them, which put the bailiff back on track, chastising those who he could intimidate.

  “Shut up or I’ll clear the courtroom!”

  The room fell silent, and the bailiff strutted to the front, pretending that the detectives hadn’t made a fool of him.

  “You know he could’ve made us leave,” Watts whispered.

  “Until he went for his nightstick,” said Robert.

  “What was he going to do with that?” Watts chuckled. “Beat us senseless?”

  “I’d of shot him right between the eyes,” joked Robert.

  “All rise!” the bailiff commanded as a gray haired wiry man with black robes entered. Everyone stood. “Oye! Oye! Oye! The Circuit Court of Pickens County, Alabama, is now in session, the Honorable Judge Samuel Foley presiding!”

  The judge took his seat on the bench and casually tapped his gavel, obviously bored by the over-the-top performance of the bailiff.

  “Thank you, Porter. How are the wife and kids?”

  “Good, Your Honor,” the bailiff replied, noticeably proud by the personal attention paid upon him and his family by the esteemed judge. “My oldest will be going into the Navy soon. I tried to talk him into joining the Marines, but you know how kids are.”

  “They never listen.” Judge Foley laughed. “Semper fi!”

  The district attorney stole a glance at Robert and winked. It had taken no small amount of finagling by Vaughan to assure Foley was assigned to the case. It would pay off when Joe Bob Duncan took the stand.

  “Helen,” Foley addressed the court reporter, “I trust you had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”

  “Why yes, Your Honor,” she replied. “I went to my sister’s. She’s been a might under the weather lately. It’s the arthritis again.”

  The judge shook his head with concern before continuing, “District Attorney Vaughan, Mr. Lee, are we ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Vaughan replied.

  “We most certainly are, Your Honor,” Douglas Lee responded with a flair, leaning extra hard on his Southern drawl. Robert fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was bad enough the ham was wearing a seersucker suit with a red bow tie. The detective was sure, if he’d had suspenders on, he would’ve hooked both thumbs under them and arched his back, in a piss poor parody of a W.C. Fields backwoods hick politician.

  “Bailiff, please commence,” said Foley.

  “As bailiff of the Circuit Court of Pickens County, I, Porter Tyndale, present the case before us today: the state versus Eustice Elijah Winchester, for the charges of trespassing on state property in the commission of a felony, grand theft auto, carnal knowledge of a juvenile, obstruction of justice, transportation of a juvenile across state lines with carnal intent, kidnapping, conspiracy to commit murder, forcible rape of a juvenile, mutilation of the corpse of Lacey Henderson, mutilation of the corpse of Laura Henderson, capital murder of Lacey Henderson, and capital murder of Laura Henderson.”

  An audible buzz echoed through the room as the charges were read one by one. It lent weight to the seriousness of the crimes and diminished some of the resolve the gallery had in regard to the holiness of Brother Winchester. Bailiff Tyndale let the sound fade away without admonishing the crowd. Robert thought the bailiff was as shocked as the rest of the assembly when he realized what the trial was about.

  “Will the accused please stand,” the judge announced. It was not a question.

  Brother Winchester and Douglas Lee stood, their body language equal parts humility and indignation.

  “How do you plead?”

  “I stand before you an innocent man, Your Honor,” Brother Eustice declared. “I am but a most humble servant of our most Holy Lord.”

  “Amen!” the crowd shouted.

  “Order! Order in the court!” Judge Foley said, incensed over the inappropriate outburst. “Bailiff, I order you to remove anyone who further disrupts these proceedings!”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Bailiff Tyndale said with more than a hint of sadistic glee at the prospect of pushing his weight around.

  “Mr. Lee, please counsel your client to only answer the questions asked of him. A simple plea of not guilty is all that is required. We’ll not have any more proselytizing. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Douglas Lee replied, “and we offer our apologies to the court. My client is unfamiliar with the law. I’m afraid he’s more comfortable in the house of the Lord than in a courthouse. I do believe this is the first time he’s ever set foot in one.”

  “Your Honor, please,” Vaughan interrupted. “Do I need to object before we’ve even begun?”

  “Your complaint is duly noted, Mr. Vaughan. I’m not going to warn you again, Mr. Lee. You are dangerously close to a contempt of court charge.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Lee replied. “My humble apologies.”

  “Is there any reason we can’t proceed?” Judge Foley asked.

  “No, Your Honor,” said Vaughan.

  “May I approach the bench?” asked Lee.

  “Here we go,” whispered Watts.

  The prosecutor and the defense attorney stood before the judge’s bench and a spirited whispered discussion went on
for several minutes. Judge Foley waved the pair off and sat back, shaking his head.

  “I’ll ask again, is there any valid reason we can’t proceed?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Vaughan answered once again.

  “No,” Lee said, his pregnant pause drawing a look of disapproval from the robed man on the bench. The attorney pretended he hadn’t noticed before eventually adding, “Your Honor.”

  “Is Lee trying to piss off the judge?” Watts whispered.

  “Mistrial, maybe,” Robert said and shrugged. He was unconcerned about Lee’s theatrics. Once the gruesome facts of the crime were presented, the petty shenanigans of the lawyer would soon be forgotten. As talented as Lee was in causing distractions, there was nothing in the world that could compete with the photographs that Dr. Hall would introduce into evidence. They’d be passed, one by one, to the jury. Every member was going to get an eyeful. There would be no unseeing what Brother Eustice and his merry band of killers had done.

  CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

  District Attorney Garland Vaughan kept his opening remarks brief. He wanted what little evidence he had to have the greatest impact when presented. The majority of his case was circumstantial and hearsay. It was imperative that he make the most of what he had, so he gave his usual civic duty speech to the members of the jury. He thanked the jurors for their sacrifice, while reinforcing the need for them to see that justice prevailed.

  When it came time for the lawyer for the defense to make his opening statement, the courthouse got a full measure of the considerable theatrics of Douglas Lee, Esquire. He pranced around the room; at times, barely speaking above a whisper, at other times, shouting to the rafters. He flailed his arms wildly when speaking of the horrible deeds of the dubious detective in persecuting a man of God. He folded his hands in prayer when softly describing how the humble preacher withstood those unfounded attacks on him and his flock.

  Weeping could be heard from the gallery when Lee talked about the death of Junior Winchester, inferring that he’d been cut down in the prime of his life by the detective himself. Robert noted that more than one member of the jury had wiped tears away during the absurd accusation.