The Bone Puzzle

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  Lee did have a trick—two of them. He couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Neither could Vaughan.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINE

  Robert left town for the weekend. He hadn’t been home in ages, and he knew he’d get little rest with Reverend Beecher’s old fashioned fire and brimstone Christian revival going on in Carrollton. Although, after his testimony, he was seen as less of a pariah than he had been the previous day, Robert knew it would be short-lived. By the time Beecher spent the weekend sermonizing the apocalypse, on Monday morning the detective expected to be right back on top of the list of demonic influences that brought the most pious Brother Eustice to his wretched state of martyrdom.

  He drove straight to Birmingham that Friday evening, took a long hot shower, and fell asleep within seconds. It was well past ten a.m. when he woke to the sound of Mrs. Anderson’s polite knocking on his screen door. Robert begrudgingly rolled out of bed, slipped on his robe, and ran his fingers through his hair before answering the relentless tapping that had interrupted his well-deserved slumber.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Anderson. It’s always a pleasure to see you,” said Robert, flicking the small metal prong out of its eyehole and pushing open the screen door.

  “I saw your car in the driveway and came over to give you your mail,” the elderly woman said without a hint of geniality in her voice.

  Robert nodded and reached down with both hands to pick up the large, brown paper grocery bag at the woman’s feet. He took a step back and motioned for his neighbor to enter his small but well kept house.

  “You know, in my day, a woman wouldn’t dare be caught dead entering a man’s house unescorted, particularly when that man was a bachelor and dressed only in his skivvies. It’s not proper.”

  “I’m wearing a robe,” said Robert.

  “And a fine robe it is, I must say. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want any of the neighbors to see me and besmirch my reputation. My late husband, as you know, was an honorable man whose memory I shall never blemish, even by misunderstanding.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it,” said Robert in his best Southern drawl. “Please, allow me a moment to put on some proper attire, and I’ll gladly meet you on the front porch with a freshly brewed cup of coffee.”

  “And take off that wonderful robe? I’ll hear none of it. Besides, your coffee brewing skills are much to be desired. I’ll forgo my usual sense of decency and make us both a cup of suitable brew. If you’ll kindly lead me to the kitchen, sir, I’ll commence the arduous task at hand.”

  “But what will the neighbors say?” protested Robert. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of such scandalous gossip regarding your chastity, my fair maiden.”

  “I have given birth to six children. The horrid Japanese took the only good one of the bunch; the rest, nothing but a pack of ungrateful vagabonds and ne’er do wells. If you promise to check your carnal instincts, I’ll enter your humble abode.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll come in even quicker!”

  They laughed. Mrs. Anderson brushed past Robert and headed for the kitchen. Robert closed the door with his elbow and followed her, carrying the grocery bag filled to the top with letters and advertisements.

  Robert plopped the bag on the table and sat. He removed the mail from the bag one handful at a time and sorted through it, tossing the majority of the contents in the garbage can in the corner. More often than not, his shoddy marksmanship sent the errant correspondence to the floor, much to Mrs. Anderson’s disapproval.

  “It’s no wonder you’re still single,” she said, her back to him as she prepared the percolator. “Your aim is poor.”

  Robert laughed. The elderly widow had lived next door to him since he bought the house. Her husband had passed away not long after, and Robert did what he could to help look after her. Lord knows, her sons never bothered to. In truth, she did more for him than he ever did for her. Gathering his mail while he was away was the least of it.

  “It’s the sleeves on this robe,” complained Robert. “They impede my athletic prowess.”

  “Don’t you go blaming your fine apparel. If anything, it gives you an air of sophistication. Like Rhett Butler.”

  “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a—”

  “Mr. Stallworth!” Mrs. Anderson turned around and wagged her finger.

  They stared at each other in silence for a brief moment before starting to giggle.

  “Well, it is a rather nice robe,” agreed Robert.

  “Wherever did you get such an exceptional one?”

  “This rather attractive woman, who shall remain nameless, gave it to me a few years ago for Christmas. It is my most treasured possession.”

  The percolator whistled, and Mrs. Anderson poured two cups of the hot elixir. She handed one of the cups to Robert and sat down, holding the other cup carefully with both hands so as not to spill its steaming contents onto the tablecloth.

  “She must be an extraordinary woman, with such fine taste. You should marry her at once.”

  “It never leaves my thoughts, but alas, our age difference is too great.”

  “Why, I never!”

  “I meant that I’m much too old for her. I’m afraid I’d be unable keep up with the sprightly vamp.”

  “Of course, that’s what you meant.”

  They laughed again. All jokes aside, Robert did treasure the bathrobe his kindly neighbor had given him. It was high on a short list of his belongings that he’d grab on the way out of his house if it ever caught on fire, God forbid. Mrs. Anderson was like a mother to him. More, in fact, than his real mother ever had been. Robert was a son to her. Despite a slew of relatives on both sides, they were the only true family each had.

  Robert mindlessly shuffled through his mail as they drank their coffee. When he saw the nondescript letter with the odd lettering and no return address, he stopped. Robert held the envelope in his hands without opening it.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

  “No, not really,” said Robert.

  “What’s that one?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Robert answered and ripped open the top. He retrieved the letter, unfolded it, and gently placed it on the table.

  “My goodness!” Mrs. Anderson exclaimed. “Is that blood?”

  “More likely red paint,” said Robert. “Blood doesn’t work as well as you think it does when you’re trying to use it like ink.”

  “And you know this how?”

  Robert looked up.

  “Oh, right,” said the elderly woman. “What a nice job you have, Robert.”

  “Why, thank you, Coralee.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Nothing,” he joked. “You have to read it.”

  “Wise guy.”

  They chuckled again.

  “Some nonsensical Bible verses telling me I’m going to burn in hell. I guess it’s supposed to scare me.”

  “Does it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I doubt it. You’re already going to hell, heathen.”

  Robert’s head popped up, a look of shock on his face.

  “That’s what my pastor has been telling us all week,” she said.

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh yes, and much more. He said you’re the Devil for persecuting that poor preacher over in Pickens County.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. But I found a new church.”

  “Why, Mrs. Anderson, you’ve been going to that church for over forty years.”

  “Forty years too long.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Robert was stunned. He knew word was sure to get around about the Winchester trial. But he hadn’t considered that the madness insisting that Brother Eustice was a prophet and that he, Robert Stallworth, was, in fact, the bad guy had spread as far as Birmingham. It was a bad omen.

  �
�You don’t have to say anything. I’ve heard rumors about what happened over there. I don’t ask you about your work, and I’m not about to start now. But I know you. If you’re convinced he’s the one that did those terrible things, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Why, thank you. That means a lot.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, either.” Coralee Anderson reached across the table and took one of Robert’s hands in hers. “I know you’re getting threats, and there’s mobs of people who say the worst about you, but never forget, for every one of them, there are many more like me. I think about those poor girls and pray for their souls every night. Believe me, a lot of us do. We’re counting on you, Robert. You may not see us, but we’re in your corner, cheering for you all the way. There’s only one thing we ask for in return.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Send that bastard to hell.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN

  When Robert received the phone call on Sunday, he was furious. Not only had Joe Bob recanted on the stand, Vaughan now informed the detective that Buck had secured himself legal counsel. Under the advice of his lawyer, he filed a complaint with the Justice Department, claiming that his prior testimony was illegally acquired under duress and was, therefore, inadmissible in court.

  According to District Attorney Vaughan, rumors had it that Douglas Lee persuaded a colleague to take on Buck’s case pro bono. Additional rumors had it that a similar arrangement would be forthcoming within days regarding Deputy Barber. Jeremiah Thomas Winchester was the last of the dominos left to fall, and, if not for Stallworth’s foresight in having JT moved, he’d undoubtedly already be compromised.

  On Sunday afternoon, Robert headed over to Fairview on his way back to Carrollton. He hoped that between Brandine’s visit the previous day and John Turner’s constant intervention, Jeremiah would be ready to go the following morning. Stallworth pulled into the parking lot of Sheriff Clanton’s office and headed inside. He reached into his pocket on the way in to assure himself that the photograph of Alabama’s two thousand volt means of execution was ready, and he made his way to the holding cells in the back.

  “Robert,” Turner greeted him by the first gate that gave access to the prisoners. “I didn’t expect you so early.”

  “Hey, John. Things have turned south on us. The rest of the deacons are lawyering up.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Some smooth talker came around here yesterday, nosing around.”

  “Damn!”

  “Don’t worry. He’s probably wandering around Talladega looking for our boy.”

  “Thank God!”

  “The only way JT sees a lawyer is if he asks for one. So far, he’s not mentioned it. I doubt he’s going to.”

  “I wish I could be as certain as you,” said Robert. “So is he primed and ready to see me?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t think you should.”

  Robert didn’t like the sound of that. Without Jeremiah, all they had was county officials and circumstantial evidence. His testimony was vital to their success.

  “I don’t think I heard you right,” said Robert. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Look, I know this is going to be hard to understand, but there’s something more at stake here; something bigger than Eustice’s conviction.”

  Robert couldn’t believe what his friend was saying. “What could be bigger than that?”

  “Redemption,” said Turner.

  Stallworth said nothing. Turner waved his friend into a small office in the corner and closed the door. The men each took a seat at a small metal table. Robert waited.

  “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve spent a lot of time with the boy,” Turner said. “At heart, he’s not really a bad kid. Just a little confused.”

  “A little?”

  “Well, maybe more than just a little. What do you expect? With a father like Eustice and a brother like Junior—”

  “Who he murdered.”

  “Who he had to murder,” continued Turner. “He got into something he couldn’t get out of.”

  “He’s not going to get out of it—ever.”

  “So be it. He knows that. He’s not asking to be excused. He’s not expecting to be set free.”

  “What’s he asking for?”

  “To be forgiven,” said Turner.

  “That’s not up to me.”

  “Maybe not for the girls, or Villanova, or even Junior, or Barber. But he wants your forgiveness for what he’s done to you, and what he tried to do.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He told me.”

  Robert shook his head. “John, you’ve been around long enough to know—”

  “True repentance, when I see it. I know there’s a lot at stake here. I know how naïve I’m sounding, but you have to trust me.”

  “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

  “I know that, but I’m telling you. I’ll put my reputation on the line if I have to.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing. What’s more, you’re putting mine. The man pointed a gun at me with his finger on the trigger.”

  “And I stopped him.”

  “Yes, you did,” said Robert. He paused and let out a sigh. “I never thanked you for that, by the way.”

  “You didn’t have to. You did the same for me once. Do you think I’ve ever forgotten that?”

  “John, I can understand your feelings on this, I really can. Do you think I’ve never had a time when I didn’t stop seeing the criminal I was sending to the gallows as a criminal and more as a man? Do you think I’ve never questioned my resolve, or questioned the morality of putting a man to death, or had a moment of regret about my part in it? I’m not made of stone.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m begging you.”

  “He’s a killer.”

  “He never said he wasn’t. That’s why I’m going to bat for him here. He’s not denying a damn thing. He’s ready to go out there and put his deepest, darkest sins on display for the world to see. He’s ready to stand up and take responsibility for his actions. No, actually, he’s begging to. If you go in there playing the bad cop—”

  “What? I’ll make him shit his pants? Good.”

  “No, not good.”

  “Fuck him. He should be scared. He should be scared of me,” said Robert.

  “He is. Believe me, he is. He’s terrified of you.”

  “More than his father?”

  “More than his father,” said Turner.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He’s going to go on that stand tomorrow and spill his guts. Unlike everybody else involved in these unspeakable crimes, Jeremiah isn’t going to minimize a thing he did, or tried to do. He’s also not going to try to save the others. He’s going to do what he knows in his heart needs to be done, and he’s not going to expect less of anyone else. Quite the opposite. It’s the actions of the others, trying to run from the truth, that exposed the hypocrisy of his own. He’s done with that.”

  “I’ll make damn sure he is.”

  “No. He needs to do this by himself, without your manipulation.”

  “Why? As long as he does it, I’m satisfied,” said Robert.

  “If he does it because he’s scared, he’s not confessing his sins with a pure heart. He needs to do it when he doesn’t have to. It’s important.”

  “To who?”

  “To him. To me. The fate of his soul is on the line.”

  “And if he chickens out? If he changes his mind, then what? The lot of them will walk.”

  “Memphis still has a crack at them for Villanova. The Feds have a shot at them for kidnapping. They’ll get theirs, sooner or later.”

  “I prefer sooner. For this. I made a promise.”

  “To who? Yourself?”

  “To Lacey and Laura. They’re laying on a tarp in my office. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent with them? Just the three of us? Alone? You know I respect you, Joh
n. You know I’ll do anything for you, but you can’t ask me to do this. The girls need me.”

  “They’re already dead, Robert.”

  “So is Jeremiah. He just doesn’t know it yet. You’d better get used to it.”

  “I know. He knows. That’s why it’s so important. We’ve prayed together. I tell you, I know his heart.”

  “No man can know what’s in another’s heart. You’ve prayed with him? That’s what got him in this mess in the first place.”

  “And it’s what’s going to get him out.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Give him a chance. No one else ever has.”

  Robert sat in silence. Turner sighed. He did his best, but he understood where Stallworth was coming from. He’d seen too much to ever have that level of faith in another human being, much less a confessed killer like Jeremiah Winchester. Robert had already gone above and beyond, allowing the boy’s wife to walk without charges. That gesture alone surprised him, but John knew that it was part of one of the detective’s manipulative schemes.

  John had known Robert for years. He owed the man his life. He watched as Stallworth rose through the ranks of the state police, stopping at nothing to get justice for the victims of some of the worst crimes one could imagine. He’d heard the rumors about what had gone on overseas during the war. Stallworth was famous for his nose, his ability to find hidden dead things. He was famous for his interrogations. John respected those talents in a fellow lawman, more than most. It was the other things Stallworth was famous for that left him unsettled. All those schemes. Turner was convinced that, if Robert Stallworth wasn’t a detective, he’d be the most dangerous criminal a cop could ever run across.

  Robert stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out an envelope. He put it unopened on the desk and turned to leave.

  “Thank you, Robert. I owe you one.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Then Jeremiah owes you one.”

  “He knows what he needs to do.”

  Turner escorted Robert to the iron gated door that separated the prisoners from the rest of the world. He unlocked the door, opened it, and re-locked it once the detective went through. As Robert turned to go, he called out, just loud enough for his friend to hear, “No matter what happens tomorrow, tell Jeremiah I forgive him.”