Fatal Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series)

by Mark de Castrique

  I snagged the phone receiver and punched the blinking line. “Reverend Pace?”

  “Barry?” He spoke my name in a tense whisper. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we meet at the church?”

  “When?”

  He cleared his throat and an even more urgent tone came through. “As soon as you can get here.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  He paused a second. “I’m fine. But I need to see you. And I don’t want anyone else in the department to know it.”

  “Why?”

  “I just had someone confess to the murder of Carl Atkinson.”

  Chapter Ten

  The late afternoon sun created a golden aura around Eagle Creek Methodist Church, and the soft glow made the white structure appear like a portal to another dimension, which, I guess, the congregation hoped was true.

  I parked my jeep beside Pace’s Plymouth Duster. Ours were the only cars in the lot. As I crunched across the gravel, I glanced at the mound covering Blake Junior’s grave. Shadows muted the stark contrast of fresh dirt and withering grass, but nothing could ever mute the feeling of plunging backwards into the space now occupied by Blake Junior’s casket. I knew I’d also plunged into the folklore of the community. Fifty years from now, some old man would step out of the church with his grandson, point to Blake Junior’s grave, and say, “Ya see over yonder. I once knew a fella…”

  I entered the sanctuary through the main doors. A three-foot-high wall formed a narrow narthex where people could gather before proceeding down the aisle to the pews. A stack of bulletins sat atop the dividing wall, indicating that the morning’s attendance had been sparse.

  The wide floorboards creaked under my feet as I walked toward the chancel. Light from the windows faded the closer I came to the pulpit centered on a raised platform. Behind it, a simple altar, more of a rustic, plank dining table, held a wooden cross flanked by flowers and two, tall white candles. An exit to the left of the chancel led to the wing with Pace’s office.

  As I neared the doorway, he stepped through, using his rhododendron cane for more support than I’d seen before. In the shadows he appeared a shadow of himself, smaller and distorted by the arch of his back where gravity and age conspired against him.

  “I heard your car.” His voice barely broke a whisper. He waved his cane toward the first pew. “Let’s sit here rather than my office.” He turned to face the altar for a second and straightened slightly, as if drawing strength from the symbols of his faith.

  I followed him to the end of the pew near the center aisle. He grabbed the corner where the wood met in a right angle and steadied himself as he sat. He motioned me to the spot beside him.

  “You’ve had a busy two days,” I said. “The Nolan funeral, church this morning, and then whatever happened this afternoon.”

  He shrugged. “You do what’s required. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. My knee’s tender, but I didn’t tear anything.”

  Pace smiled. “In all my hundreds of funerals, your falling in the grave was a first. Thanks for keeping life fresh.”

  “Is that what I was doing? I thought I ruined a memorial service.”

  Pace patted my knee like a grandpa consoling a grandson who’d just struck out. “On the contrary, you were the bright spot.”

  “If you like comic relief.”

  The old man looked surprised. “Didn’t Blake Senior speak to you after the service?”

  “He told me to play the trumpet.”

  “And you did. And everybody knew you’d hurt yourself. Blake Senior was so choked up he could barely talk. He managed to say ‘Barry Clayton’s a Godsend. Taps and the TV people.”

  “Can I take credit for the howling coon dogs?”

  Pace chuckled. “Yes, that was a nice touch. My point is the Nolans came away from that service with everything it could give them. Comfort, hope, and pride.” His smile vanished and he gripped the top of his cane till his pale knuckles turned even whiter. “I’d hate to see that go for naught.”

  “Why should it?”

  Pace looked to the altar. “Because Blake Nolan Junior might have been murdered.”

  “What?”

  Pace gave a slow nod. “That’s what I was told.”

  “Someone confessed to two murders?”

  He turned back to me. “No. Someone confessed to Carl’s murder because of Blake Junior’s death.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “What do you mean you can’t tell me? Why’d you call me out here?”

  “To talk about what’s going to happen. I’m not going to violate a confidence.”

  “And what if he kills again?” I asked sharply.

  “He won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Pace’s jaw trembled and then he spoke in loud clipped syllables. “He gave me his word.”

  I stood and walked toward the pulpit, struggling to control my temper. A black Bible lay on top and I snatched it up. “If he can break Thou Shalt Not Kill, he won’t give a damn about lying.”

  Pace stared at me, his chest rising and falling quickly. I realized I’d yelled at an old man, someone more than twice my age who had been there for my family whenever we’d needed him. The silence hung between us like an invisible barrier. I started to apologize but Pace held up a hand.

  “He does give a damn, Barry. That’s why he came to me. I can help him make peace with God. You can help him make peace with man.”

  “Not if I don’t know who he is.”

  “All you need to know is that he’s going to surrender. I’m here to work out the terms.”

  I set the Bible on the pulpit, and then held out my hands, empty and palms up. “I’m not the D.A. I can’t make any deals.”

  “No. But you can spare him the gauntlet of cameras and microphones. He wants to come in quietly and not at the courthouse or Sheriff’s Department.”

  I relaxed. If we were talking logistics, then I could accommodate a wider range of scenarios, especially if Reverend Pace stayed as the go-between. “Okay. What’s he want?”

  “To come here. Tomorrow night after dark. There’s nothing going on at the church. You and I will meet him.”

  I shook my head. “Tommy Lee will insist on backup. We’re isolated out here.”

  “He’s coming in voluntarily. He doesn’t want any trouble.”

  “Neither do I, but he’s confessed to a murder. I can’t run the risk that at the last minute he won’t have a change of heart. You know his identity. He might feel compelled to take out both of us.”

  Pace leaned forward in the pew. “He’s no danger.”

  “Tell that to Carl Atkinson.”

  Pace drew his lips in a thin line. For the first time since we began talking, I seemed to make a point that struck home. After a moment he nodded. “I can make him understand the reasonableness of that condition. You and a second officer. I suggest Tommy Lee.”

  “I’ll bring an unmarked car in case anyone passes by.”

  “He wants to be isolated from the other prisoners.”

  “Okay. But what’s he afraid of?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me. He said I’d be in danger.” Pace gripped his cane with both hands and lifted himself out of the pew. “Real or imagined, the boy is terrified.”

  Boy? Had Carl been murdered by a minor? I let the slip pass and returned to what started our conversation. “Where does Blake Junior’s death fit in all this?”

  The sun had set behind the ridge, leaving the sanctuary in the murky shroud of dusk. Pace stepped closer. “Blake Junior,” he echoed. “He was killed because he knew what they were doing. That’s what I was told. I don’t know who they are or what they were doing.”

  “It’s got to involve Carl Atkinson.”

  “Yes. I suppose so. Here’s the final condition of the surrender. You’ve got to exhume Blake Junior’s body for proo
f.”

  I stared out the window at the gravestones rising like ghostly shapes in the gloom and I understood what Pace meant when he said Blake Junior’s funeral might be all for naught. “I can’t agree to that. There’s no cause. I embalmed the body myself and I’ve seen enough wreck victims to know that was the cause of death.”

  Pace put his hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “Then I’ll say you agreed to listen to his story and make a decision based on it. I want him to come in, Barry. For his sake as well as your investigation.”

  I slid my arm free and shook his hand. “Amen. I’ll do what I can. Call me tomorrow after you talk to him.” I left Pace in front of the altar, an old shepherd hell bent to bring one more lost sheep into the heavenly fold.

  On the way to my cabin, I phoned Tommy Lee at home and gave him a condensed version of my conversation with Pace. He listened without interrupting until I mentioned exhuming the body of Blake Junior.

  “Damn. Did Pace say why he was killed?”

  “No. I don’t think he knows.”

  “Well, I’m not requesting an exhumation until we interrogate the suspect.”

  “How do you want to handle things tomorrow? Should I pull Carson and Shelton off the case?” For a moment, the cell phone was quiet as if the call had been dropped. “Tommy Lee?”

  “I’m thinking.” Exasperation rang in his voice.

  The road began a series of switchbacks ascending to my cabin. Driving one-handed isn’t the smartest and safest method for negotiating hairpin turns, but I kept my cell phone pressed against my ear, waiting for Tommy Lee’s instructions.

  “I want to keep Jamison in the dark,” he said. “I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut, and I’ve heard enough phony confessions to be leery of this one.”

  “Okay.” I shared Tommy Lee’s concern that the D.A. couldn’t resist dropping hints to the media that a major development was imminent.

  “But I don’t want to waste effort either,” Tommy Lee said. “If we learn a motive, I’ll want to verify it, and I’ll want to be damn sure we’ve got probable cause before digging up Blake Junior.”

  “Should I tell Carson and Shelton about the surrender?”

  “Yes. They’re entitled to know what’s going on, but stress it’s not to go any further. I’ll want them on duty tomorrow night, but not near the church.”

  “Once Pace gives us a time, I can have them waiting at the department. No telling what follow-up we’ll have to do.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Tommy Lee said. “I’ll go ahead and talk to the bankers about Carl’s finances. Have someone track down the money from the haunted house and go through Carl’s Lexus.”

  “How about Blake Junior’s truck?”

  Tommy Lee grunted. “Damn good point. See if there was any tampering with the brake lines or pads. Better check for traces of deer hide while you’re at it.”

  “I’d like to see where the accident happened.”

  “Sure. Carson was first on the scene. Have him go with you.”

  I flipped the phone closed as I turned in my driveway. It was only eight, but felt like midnight. All I wanted was a hot shower, cool sheets, and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow promised to be one hell of a day.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning I got to the Sheriff’s Department a few minutes after seven. No TV remote trucks lined the parking lot and no reporters thrust microphones in my face. Carol glanced up as I passed her dispatch desk.

  “Anything shaking?” I asked.

  “No. A few calls from the press wanting to know if we’ve had any new developments. They’re too lazy to send somebody unless we promise to parade the killer up the courthouse steps.”

  I smiled. “Keep them away. Tommy Lee and I’ll appreciate it.”

  Carol lowered her head and then looked at me from the corners of her eyes. “Even your ex-wife?”

  “Especially my ex-wife. Remind her and everyone else all comments on the case come directly from Tommy Lee.”

  She laughed. “And Tommy Lee’s favorite phrase is ‘No comment.’”

  I spent half an hour writing up the day’s assignments for the investigation. First, they went on a legal pad for my reference: Tommy Lee and the banking inquiries, Deputy Shelton to check both Carl’s Lexus and Blake Junior’s truck, Deputy Carson and I to the accident scene, my search for the money from the haunted house ticket sales, continued inquiries into possible conflicts Carl might have had with anyone on the list of attendees, and a confirmation call with Reverend Pace to work out the final details of the surrender. I added a note under attendees to highlight any boys between fourteen and twenty-two. At his age, Pace probably considered the word boy to include a wide age range.

  I also made a personal to-do list to check with Fletcher on the Atkinson funeral arrangements and to touch base with Melissa Bigham and Rachel. Both women would ignore Carol’s admonition to wait on Tommy Lee for information, and I didn’t need them hounding me today.

  Then I transferred my investigative list to the flipchart, tore off the sheets, and taped them to the wall. It was window dressing for others in the department and in case Jamison dropped by. I left out all the items involving Pace and the possibility that Blake Junior had been murdered.

  Tommy Lee came in shortly before eight and eyed the sheets. “Looks good. I’m meeting Jamison in a few minutes in his office. I’ll try to keep him out of your hair.”

  “How are you going to finesse the surrender? He’ll be pissed when he’s informed after the fact.”

  “Only for a moment. Then he’ll be too eager to bask in the limelight. And I’m going to lie and say I didn’t know about it till late this afternoon. If the true version comes out, then I’ll claim to be pissed at you for keeping me in the dark.”

  “So, I’m the fall guy.”

  He smirked. “The fall guy. Seems to be your specialty, especially in the funeral business.” He glanced at the wall sheets again. “What are you really doing today?”

  I ran down the list of activities triggered by Pace’s revelation.

  Tommy Lee nodded his approval. “What do you think about those boys who found Carl’s body?”

  “No way,” I said. “I was in uniform and they wouldn’t have walked near me teasing the kid with blood on his hands.”

  “I guess not. And we know the killer hid and exited from the bathroom.” He looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t keep the good D.A. waiting. Let’s meet at four and go over how we want this to go down.”

  The door opened and Carson entered followed by Shelton. The older deputy gripped a large mug of coffee. He sipped it as if the caffeine provided the energy for him to put one foot in front of the other. He grunted a greeting and leaned against the wall.

  By contrast, Shelton was all smiles. “Good morning, sheriff. Barry.” He surveyed the sheets on the wall and rubbed his hands together, eager to get started.

  “Good morning,” Tommy Lee replied. “Have a seat. Barry’s got something to tell you and it can’t leave this room.”

  The tone of his voice caught both men by surprise. Shelton’s perkiness immediately disappeared. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked from the sheriff to me, his eyes still bright but his lips drawn tight.

  Carson seemed to wake up. “All right. Sounds like we’ve had a breakthrough.” He took a chair across from Shelton.

  “Maybe more than that,” Tommy Lee said. “Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

  As soon as the door closed, Carson said, “You nailed him, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I sat beside Shelton, but gave my attention to the veteran deputy. “Reverend Pace is arranging a surrender. I’m clueless as to the killer’s identity.”

  “The preacher’s bringing him to jail?” Shelton’s face showed his astonishment.

  “He’ll be at Eagle Creek Church tonight. Tommy Lee and I’ll take him into custody. The only concession we made was no press, which we wouldn’t want anyway. And he wants to be kep
t isolated from the other prisoners.”

  “What the hell are Shelton and I supposed to do?” Carson asked.

  “You’ll be here when we bring him in. We’ll need to verify everything he says.”

  Carson nodded. “Make sure the facts support the confession.”

  “What about the stuff on the wall?” Shelton gestured to the flipchart pages.

  “We’re doing that and more,” I said. “We still need to build a case.”

  Carson slapped a hand on the table. “You’re damn right. Won’t be the first time a guy’s confessed and then lawyered up and retracted his confession.”

  “There’s another wrinkle,” I said. “The guy claims Blake Nolan Junior was murdered. He says that’s why he killed Carl.”

  Even Carson appeared taken back by that news. “What’s this town coming to? Jamison’s probably salivating like a half-starved dog over two murder investigations.”

  “Jamison doesn’t know about it,” I said. “And for the record, we didn’t get word of the surrender till late in the afternoon.”

  Shelton looked confused but Carson nodded. “You promised no media circus and that means no leaks. Anyone else in the department onboard?”

  “No. Just the four of us.” I gave them the rundown of assignments. Shelton would find the body shop where Blake Junior’s wrecked truck had been towed. Carson would take me to the scene of the accident.

  We were about to break when Tommy Lee’s administrative assistant Marge spoke over the intercom.

  “Barry, I hate to bother you but you’ve got a call.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t give his name. His voice sounds really odd. Like he’s trying to disguise it.”

  “Maybe it’s our guy,” Carson whispered. “He wants to talk direct.”

  “Okay. Transfer him.”

  I picked up the receiver. “I won’t put him on speaker. He’ll hear the echo.”

  The phone rang and I punched the blinking line. “Deputy Clayton.”

  A croaking voice said, “Barry, are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” The raspy sound vanished.