Dead South (Mattie O'Malley FBI agent)

by Daniel Adams

  “What good’s a fish that old?” Paxton asked. “It’ll be tough and taste like mud. What you want to catch is five pounders. They got firm flesh and don’t taste like mud.”

  “You could cut some big steaks off a 150 pounder, but I think Paxton’s right, they wouldn’t be no good.”

  “How’s your garden this year, Jubal?” Grace asked.

  “Not worth a green shit,” he exclaimed. “My tamaters all died in June.”

  “That’s a tough break. You know why?”

  “Grasshoppers ate ‘em.”

  “Would you like to see mine?”

  “Sure, Grace, unless you’re just tryin’ to brag.”

  “Naaa, you’ve won first place at the county fair a couple of times, I can’t even get in the competition.”

  Grace and Jubal got up and walked into the darkness.

  “You’re a lucky man to have a good wife like Grace,” Hannah commented.

  “Yeah, she’s a hard worker, that’s for sure,” Paxton replied.

  “She gets along with Jubal so well,” Hannah added. “She ain’t like that first bitch you married. Glad we don’t ever hear from her.”

  “Sometimes I wonder where she is,” Paxton said softly.

  It was a lie because Paxton knew exactly where she was. She was buried fifty feet north of the house and 100 feet south of the barn. He knew two other things. He had gotten tired of her mouthing off to him and he had shot her with the same pistol he had shot the puppy.

  Several hours later, Jubal’s car parked in front of the General Store, which was across the street from the town square. Hannah was nodding off in the passenger seat. When the car stopped, she sat up.

  “We home?”

  “Nope. George said he’d leave my new fishing pole in back so I’d have it tonight. I’ll be back in just a minute.

  The whole down town area was completely deserted. Jubal’s was the only car in sight. He walked quietly around the side of the building.

  Back in the car, Hannah went back to sleep.

  Mattie stayed in shape by running a couple of miles each morning no matter where she was. Even when she was on special assignment out of state she still ran every day. She had tried biking but it didn’t give her the same burn that running did. Plus, when she went on special assignment, there was no way to take her bike. No, running was her passion.

  The next morning after Paxton and Jubal’s get together at Paxton’s place found Mattie on a deserted country road east of town. Since leaving her hotel, she had seen no cars or people.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mattie was aware that all of the men were watching her to see how she would take it. If she threw up or ran outside, they would brand her as a stupid woman not worthy of her badge. She had to think of something—and quick to rattle their cages. It came to her.

  “Anybody got a smoke?” she asked.

  A deputy handed her his lit cigarette. With feigned indifference, she stepped back to the machine and put the cigarette in Paxton’s mouth. When she looked around at their faces, she knew she had scored big. Although he tried to hide it, even the Sheriff was shocked. She had desecrated the dead.

  “Last cigarette, right?” she asked.

  The men exchanged covert glances.

  “It’s what he would have wanted,” she continued.

  They didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. It gave her a chance to look over the deputies who were the worst pack of mongrels she had ever seen. The one who had given her the cigarette was Frank Upton. Although permanently crossed eyes could be handsome on a man, she found his gaze somewhat disconcerting because her eyes didn’t quite know where to focus on his eyes. She found herself avoiding his eyes just so she didn’t start to laugh. She guessed he was around forty although it was hard to tell because of his eyes. He was taller than her, weighed at least 250 pounds and wasn’t a bad looking man although it didn’t appear he had exercised a day in his life. She had been around big people before but the people she had been around were athletes who were big by choice not their inability to push away from the dinner table. With his dark, slicked-back hair and big face, he reminded her a bit of a very large Elvis Presley except of course for the crossed eyes.

  “How’d you know he smoked,” Deputy Frank asked her.

  “Saw his yellow fingernails,” she replied.

  “He never did turn down a free smoke,” Deputy Dave chimed in. Deputy Dave Yorrick was a skinny runt of a man with big hands and big feet at the ends of stick-like arms and legs. He should have gone into comedy, she thought, because his appearance made you laugh. He looked like a stick figure come to life. The only thing on him that was normal-sized was his head. Stuck on the stick figure, it looked gigantic. When he moved, it looked like he had gone several feet before his uniform took up the slack and caught up with him. She guessed him to be around five feet eight inches tall. What she couldn’t guess was his weight. She weighed one hundred and twenty five pounds and he weighed a lot less than her. Maybe ninety pounds but she couldn’t be sure.

  “He was always bummin’ cigarettes,” Deputy Clyde Asher spoke up. “I quit bringing cigarettes to the bar cause he smoked more of ‘em than I did. He’d give me hell if I switched brands, too.”

  “He liked the ladies, too. You gonna crawl in there with him for one last humpy-humpy?” the Sheriff growled.

  “Not my type,” she said, “Too short.”

  They all laughed, even the Sheriff. Morbid humor was something all cops knew.

  “Was it an accident?” she asked. She took the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it under her foot. No point in pushing the point.

  “Don’t know. Waitin’ for the coroner. Maybe you can wave your magic wand and tell us,” the Sheriff intoned.

  “From what I hear, the only one wavin’ a magic wand around here is one of your deputies,” she deadpanned.

  “Cecil ain’t with the Department no more. I fired him for that. Why are you here, anyway, this ain’t no federal case?”

  “How do you know, Sheriff? Paxton shot Noonan so maybe this is part of that.”

  “Looks to me like he was shovelin’ loose hay into the baler to make sure it was fixed and fell in hisself,” Deputy Clyde Asher guessed. He was the hairiest man she had ever met, she thought. The hair on his arms was so thick it looked like fur and tufts of thicker, longer hair peeked out at her from the open neck of his uniform shirt. She had seen less hair on dogs. She wondered why he didn’t invest in a set of clippers so at least the hair would be presentable but then she remembered where she was. No doubt about it. He fit in with the rest of the pack. She guessed him to be around six feet tall and one hundred and seventy pounds, with just sort of an average body shape. He was the handsomest man she had seen in Kingswood even with the excess body hair.

  “Bravo for you, Sheriff, for firin’ Cecil. May I assume that wasn’t his only boo-boo?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “He got fired for wienie waggin’ Old Lady Crenshaw,” Deputy Clyde smirked. “At the library. She came along lookin’ on the shelf for a book and found a dick instead. Cecil was on the other side with his pants downs—his uniform pants at that.”

  Clyde and the other deputies snickered at the remembrance.

  “Shut up, Clyde,” Sheriff Wilks snapped. “This is a local matter, Agent O’Malley. Ain’t no connection between this and Noonan. It’s our jurisdiction. If you want to watch, fine, but we’re runnin’ the show.”

  “For now but if it turns out to be ours, I want it treated like a crime scene not a Penny Arcade. You can start by keeping everyone out until the Coroner gets here. If he was murdered, you will need to collect evidence.”

  Hon, if he was murdered, we don’t need no evidence to know who did it,” Sheriff Wilks said.

  “You aren’t going to gather any evidence?”

  “I didn’t say that. We’re just gonna wait to hear from the Coroner.”

  “That’s too late. When they walk around, your men ma
y be destroying evidence.”

  Mattie didn’t want to stay but now it was a matter of pride. She damn sure wasn’t going to just give in and walk away. The Sheriff knew how to push her buttons, which made her even more determined to stay.

  “I got a camera out in the car. Cecil’s the only one who ever used it.”

  “No thanks,” Deputy. “I have everything in my car.”

  “Agent O’Malley, I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”

  “Fine. You wanna risk compromising a murder case, that's your problem. But I don't. I'm going to do a crime scene investigation,” she said.

  She didn’t really want to do a complete crime scene evaluation but she didn’t have a choice. After lugging the big crime scene suitcase from the car, she put on some hospital shoe covers, rubber gloves and a hair bonnet. With all four men watching her, she photographed the area around the baler, took close-ups of Paxton and anything else she saw that looked like evidence. Not one of them offered to help. Next, she dusted the baler, its controls, all of its metal parts and the surrounding area for prints. Needless to say, she found hundreds of them. She would have to lift each one, which meant hours of bending over and kneeling in awkward positions.

  It didn’t take the four lawmen long to get tired of watching her. After about ten minutes they went outside and talked next to the Sheriff’s car. She was glad they were gone. She didn’t need for ignorant slobs, watching her with critical eyes. With a flashlight from the evidence suitcase, she went across the floor inch by inch, her eyes looking for anything out of the ordinary. She found some footprints in a patch of fine dirt but too indistinct to do anything with. She looked at the baler from stem to stern and found spots of blood on many surfaces. Using cotton swabs, she took samples of each one, separating each swab into its own capped test tube. After that, she used pieces of heavy scotch tape to lift each print she had found.

  She was so engrossed in her work, she didn’t hear the Sheriff and deputies come back into the barn. The first she knew of their presence was a chortle from Deputy Dave when she had to tiptoe through some grease to get to a little blood.

  “Havin’ fun?” Sheriff Wilks asked.

  “What’s taking the Coroner so long?” she asked.

  “Got a floater up at Jake’s slough. Been in the water so long, the gators got most of it.”

  “Why aren’t you up there spreading cheer?”

  “Cause it’s in Bend County.”

  Deputy Dave looked out the door.

  “Shit, Sheriff, it’s Jubal.”

  “Let’s go. I don’t want him to see this.”

  Outside, Sheriff Wilks and the deputies intercepted Jubal and Beau who were headed for the barn.

  “Hold up, Jubal,” Sheriff Wilks ordered.

  Mattie eased out of the barn where she could watch what happened.

  “Where’s Paxton?” Jubal yelled. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “Calm down, Jubal” Sheriff Wilks said. “We got to talk.”

  Deep down, Jubal knew. He lunged toward the barn but the three deputies grabbed him.”

  “Paxton!” he bellowed. “Paxton!”

  It was all the deputies could do to hold him.

  “Let go of me, you assholes!” he cursed.

  He struggled harder, actually dragging the three deputies almost to the barn door.

  Sheriff Wilks stepped in front of him.

  “He’s dead, Jubal. Stone cold dead. Ain’t nothin’ anyone can do for him. You got to calm down or I’m gonna have to cold-cock you.”

  “Dead!” “Oh, my poor boy.”

  Jubal sagged onto the deputies, his bulk dragging them down. They let him gently to the ground. Tears rolled down his face.

  “What am I gonna tell Hannah?” he blubbered.

  It was hard to watch. Mattie had seen pain and sorrow before but Jubal was her worst case.

  Sobbing, Jubal pounded on the dirt, his face a mess of tears and dirt.

  “Why, Sheriff? Why?” he wailed. “He was too young to die.”

  “Maybe you should go inside,” Jubal. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  “No! No! No!” he roared.

  He struggled to stand up, the deputies clinging to him like ticks.

  Sheriff Wilks drew his pistol, turned it around, and raised it over Jubal’s head.

  “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack,” Sheriff Wilks explained, “And that ain’t gonna happen on my watch. Either calm down or I’m gonna do it.”

  Jubal saw the pistol and knew Sheriff Wilks would indeed knock him out with it. He slid to the ground.

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like he fell in the baler,” Sheriff Wilks responded.

  “God, No!” he sobbed.

  “You got to pull yourself together, Jubal, your family needs you. You ain’t no good to them all weak and whining. You got to be a man,” the Sheriff advised.

  “Tell me it ain’t so. Tell me this is just a bad dream. Tell me he ain’t dead.”

  “Wish I could, but it’s him,” the Sheriff continued.

  “I went fishin’ ‘stead of helpin’ him,” Jubal wailed. “I ain’t no good. What kind of father don’t help his son?”

  “Take him inside.”

  The deputies struggled mightily to get Jubal to his feet. With Beau following like a lost dog, they took Jubal to the house.

  Mattie moved over beside the Sheriff.

  “He’s gonna be back,” she said.

  “I know it, but it gives us time to finish up.”

  A long black station wagon with CORONER in large white letters stopped next to the patrol cars. After a few seconds, a White, tall, stork-like man wearing a black jumpsuit exited the car. His name was Andrew Fields. He walked over to the Sheriff.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

  “Paxton’s in the baler—dead,” Sheriff Wilks explained. “How’d the floater turn out?”

  “Got it in a couple of bags in back. Gonna be a tough one to identify less’n we find the gator with the head in it so I can match the dental records. Big gators up on the slough. Saw one went sixteen feet easy. Almost swallow a man whole. Take off a head quick as that.” He snapped his fingers. “Saw a man up by Merryville cut in half by a gator. Got a picture in the car. This one was in the water so long even the blue gills was havin’ a feast.”

  “Remind me not to eat any fish from the slough,” Sheriff Wilks snickered.

  “Don’t eat at Phil’s cause he gets all his fish from up there.”

  “Don’t eat there anyway cause he catches carp and tells customers its bass. Been thinkin’ ‘bout havin’ a little talk with him. Give him a new atty’tude.”

  “Don’t break his fingers cause that’s where I eat,” Andrew cautioned.

  Side by side, Andrew and the Sheriff went into the barn with Mattie trailing along like an ugly sister.

  They went to the baler where Andrew squatted down on his haunches so he could look into Paxton’s face. After that, he spent several minutes looking at him from all around the baler.

  “Who’s she?” he asked after nearly walking into Mattie.

  “FBI.”

  “Ain’t that sumpthin’” Andrew observed without really looking at her.

  “She’s investigatin’ the Noonan shooting cause it was on the Air Force Base property,” Sheriff Wilks told him.

  “Heard Noonan took three in the guts. Real surprised I didn’t get him.”

  “He’s tough,” Sheriff Wilks said. “His old man had his leg bit off by a gator and it didn’t slow him down none at all.”

  Andrew squatted next to the baler again.

  “First one I ever seen in a baler,” he said. “Seen ‘em under tractors, under trucks, lot under cars but never one in a baler. Jubal know?”

  “He’s inside. Took it real hard.”

  The three deputies returned. They all nodded to Andrew who nodded back.

  “I’d get a picture but my camera’s out of fi
lm,” Andrew complained.

  “I took a lot of pictures. I’ll give you one if you want,” Mattie said.

  “Ain’t that sumphin’? Andrew said.

  Mattie blushed but luckily it couldn’t be seen under her dark skin. She wanted to whack him on the side of her head with her blackjack but thought better of it.

  “We waited to take him out till you got here,” Sheriff Wilks mentioned.

  “You done the right thing. Anybody know how he got in here?”

  “Ain’t no witnesses,” Sheriff Wilks replied.

  Andrew poked the body with an electronic thermometer. It read 78 Degrees. Paxton had been dead quite a while.

  “Ok, let’s get him out of there,” Andrew ordered.

  It was no easy task. Even with Sheriff Wilks and the three deputies helping, it took them ten minutes to extract the body from the machine. In the baler, the true extent of the damage to the body had been hidden but once the bale was out, they could see every gruesome detail. First of all, the baler had crushed the whole body, along with a lot of hay, into a hay bale. Paxton’s body made up about a third of what was normally a one hundred and thirty pound bale, which meant there was a lot more of Paxton’s remains under the baler that they couldn’t see. Secondly, three very strong plastic straps held the bale tightly together. They would have to cut the straps to get the remains out which is exactly what the Sheriff did. Using a big pocketknife, he sliced the straps that “popped” when they snapped apart. The deputies used whatever tools they could find to pick apart the bale. With Andrew helping, they finally got the body out of the bale and laid out on the plank floor. At least what was left of the body, which amazingly was still fully clothed.

  “Can you tell if he was alive when he went into the baler?” Sheriff Wilks asked.

  “Judging by all of the blood under the machine, I’d say he was,” Andrew intoned.

  Andrew started at the top of the body and worked his way down. When he opened the tattered shirt around Paxton’s chest, everyone caught their breath.