"Coy found it? In a field? What's the rest of the story?" Link scooted another chair near Eddy's desk and sat down beside Coy. Poor guy was ill equipped to cope with tragedy like this. He must have been scared half to death.
Eddy slid the statement across the desk to him. "You might know her, Link. She went to high school here about the time you did. Name's Mitzi Dunaway."
Coy leaned forward to speak, "You 'member her, don't you, Link? Mitzi Morrison, the head cheerleader when you played basketball."
He turned to Eddy, excitement on his face, "You know why they call him Link? Our basketball team never did win much 'til Link started playing. Oooee. He was so good everybody called him the team's missing link."
Coy leaned even closer to Wells and explained. "See, that's why he's called Link, 'cause he's the missing link and cause Link is short for Lincoln." Coy leaned back in his chair and chuckled to himself, as if he had explained a great joke, his ordeal temporarily forgotten.
Eddy thumped the stack of papers. "Well, maybe you can find the missing link in this case. We figure she was killed elsewhere. She'd been dragged part of the way. Found in the same place as a guy about a month before you started here."
Waves of shock still coursed through Link. Mitzi dead and found where Jenkins was dumped. Poor woman, what was she into? "Damn. I haven't thought about Mitzi Morrison in years."
"Was she your girl?" asked Eddy.
Link hesitated, then said, "No, I never dated her, but, well...Mitzi was, um, sort of...everybody's girl, if you know what I mean. But real sweet and always smiling. You know, heart of gold. She left here right after high school."
Eddy shook his head. "Too bad for her she came back."
Through the door of Chief Investigator Moses Goddard's tiny office, Link saw the man glare at him. Goddard stepped to the door of the office and called, "Dixon, step in here."
Without raising his head, Eddy said, "I don't know what you've done, but I've already learned that's the old man's don't-you-dare-keep-me-waiting tone of voice. You better hot foot it in there."
Link had barely cleared the door when Goddard barked, "Shut the door behind you."
"Something wrong?" Link asked as he closed the door.
"Something wrong?" Goddard mimicked. "Hell, yes, something's wrong! I've got two murders here."
Goddard’s shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and a loose tie hung limply around his neck. Little tufts of graying hair stuck out on each side of his head where his fingers had ravaged, giving him the appearance of an owl. An irate owl. He banged a hand on the table.
"This county will be piled high in bodies if this keeps up, and I've got no one to help me except that eager young Wells. Right now I want to know why you think you're too damn good to work for me, why you'd rather take a demotion and pull patrol than work on these homicides?"
Link stared at the man, wondering what on earth he was talking about. "One of us has been misinformed. I was told patrol was the only position open, or likely to be open, for some time. I wanted to bring my son back to Cartersville, so I took the only job available."
"The hell you say?" Goddard stood and leaned across the desk. "You mean you weren't offered any other job? No one told you I've been screaming for help with this first murder?"
With a shake of his head, Link replied, "You think anyone would prefer night shift patrol if there were a choice?"
Pointing a finger at Link, Goddard stood and walked around his desk. "Yeah? Well, you wait right here. I'll soon know which goddamned sonofabitch screwed this up."
He slammed the office door so hard Link thought it a miracle the glass in the upper half of the door didn't shatter.
Within minutes a much calmer Goddard reappeared. "Awright. Taken care of. Sheriff's not in, but I gave it to Watson with both barrels. As of now, you're assigned to me full time."
Goddard shot him a hostile look, "My cousin's on the Dallas force, told me you were moving out here. Said you're a real hot shot, like to play the Lone Ranger, got a couple of college degrees and all that."
In this county, only two years of college level classes were required to work for the sheriff. Goddard made a masters degree sound like a prison record. No way to rebut that to a man who already looked as if he wanted to strangle him.
As calmly as he could muster, Link said, "I was with the Dallas Police Department ten years. Did quite a bit of work with both homicide and narcotics units."
Goddard fixed another fierce glare on Link. "Well, don't try being the hot shot hero here. None of that Lone Ranger stuff, either. Remember I'm the one in charge of this and, big time degrees and medals or not, you'll follow my orders. Got that?"
Link bit back the rejoinder that came to mind and merely smiled and held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just one of the Indians, Chief. Where do you want me to start?"
Goddard eyed him suspiciously, "Yeah, well, for starters don't call me Chief. You're the one who looks a like a damn Indian, except for those blue eyes."
Link had the distinct impression Goddard hated Indians almost as much as he hated big city cops with college degrees, so he didn’t mention that his dad’s mother was a Cherokee. Instead, he listened intently as the investigator continued.
"Get out there and read Wells' report—and then take that damned idiot back to get his damned bike with that godawful goat cart hooked to it.” He rose and walked out with Link, heading for Eddy Wells’ desk.
“Medical examiner's finished out there. By now there's nothing left to look at but our tracks. You can look around if you want to."
He stopped at Eddy’s desk. "Brief Dixon on both deaths, will you? He'll be helping us from now on." He spun on his heels and went back into his office. This time he didn’t slam the door.
Chapter Thirteen
“Man, it’ll be great to have some help here,” Eddy said.
When they finished talking, Link told Coy, “I’ll take you to get your bike.”
“Oh, thank you, Link. I sure will ‘preciate it.” Coy's hands still shook.
Before they left the office, Link stopped by the soft drink machine and let his friend choose a soda.
Coy was as pleased as if Link had given him an expensive gift. "I'll take tiny sips so it'll last a long time. Mama always told me to do that, take tiny sips. I always try to do what my mama told me, even now she's gone."
They walked to Link’s Jeep and Link held Coy’s drink while the man fastened his seat belt.
Coy reclaimed the can and sipped Dr Pepper. He smiled. "Mmmm, mmmm. This sure is good. I just never do get these cans when they're cold and full," he said as Link guided the car out of the parking lot. "I 'member how you always used to drink Dr Peppers. They still your favorite?"
"Yes, still are." Link gave the man a close look as he fastened his own belt and started the engine. Coy's hands no longer shook, but his pale face retained an ashen cast. "Did you get any lunch?"
Coy sipped the drink then nodded. "Mr. Goddard got me a hamburger with French fries and a great big chocolate milk shake. He's always real nice to me.”
“Goddard is?”
“Oh, yes. He acts all gruff and ever’thing, but he’s real nice inside.”
“If you say so.”
“Oh, I do. You can tell from his eyes. You ever notice people’s eyes?”
“Try to.” The revelation that Goddard treated Coy well surprised Link, but he let Coy ramble on.
“You know, I believe a hamburger's my favorite food to eat out like that. D'you like hamburgers?"
"Guess most people do. Coy, what were you doing so early in the day out by Duckett Road? That's a long way from your house."
"Oh, no. No, it's not." Coy looked surprised and guilty simultaneously. He stared at the drink can and appeared suddenly close to tears. "I guess you didn't know, and I ought not to say, but a while after Mama died, I had to move out of my mama's house.” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Oh, it was terrible."
Link tried to conceal his surpri
se. "I thought your mother owned that house. Why did you have to move."
"I don't know, Link, it was somethin' about taxes. My daddy always paid the taxes when he was alive, but I guess Mama just forgot. Oh, my, I'm not supposed to tell anyone I moved, or why, or where. And now I went and told you."
"Why aren’t you supposed to tell, Coy?"
"Sheriff Gary Don said my mama would turn over in her grave if folks found out I had to move out of her nice house. I was scared they’d try to lock me away for being feeble minded, but I know you won’t do that.”
“Of course not,” Link reassured him.
“Oh, my, my, my. Mama, see, she thought she had it all fixed for me to live there forever. She was always real careful, so I don't know what went wrong."
Coy sipped more of his drink. "Well, now I come to think about it, I guess maybe since you work for Sheriff Gary Don and all, it's all right you know.” He sniffed and said. “I tell you, Link, it like to have killed me to move out of my mama's house. I’d lived there all of my life."
After a pause, he continued, "I was sure worried folks would think since I had to move out that maybe I ought to be locked up. But Sheriff Gary Don, he took care of me like it says in Mama's will. He has this little place out on Duckett Road, and he lets me live there for free. He even got me a phone and he pays the phone bill for me."
"I'm sorry to hear about your house, Coy, but you don’t need to worry about being locked up. You’ve always stayed out of trouble. When did all this happen?" Link asked as he guided the car down the highway.
He wondered why Gwen failed to mention Coy's home problems. Link’s sister saw Coy at her antique store fairly often when he brought in items he'd found to sell. Gwen called herself a hard-hearted businesswoman and insisted the simple man had an uncanny instinct about which items were valuable to her and which were not. Link suspected that, to help Coy, she bought many items for which she had no use. She also fed him several times a week.
Coy sat quietly, lost in thought. Link waited patiently, giving Coy time to think. He knew Coy must be trying to calculate how long ago he had moved from his home. After several minutes, Coy answered as if there had been no time lapse since the question.
"It was just after Christmas. Not the last one, you know, but the one before that. It was cold, real cold."
A chill as icy as any winter wind slipped over Link, a terrible sense of foreboding. What had he come back to? What had he brought Jason to?
Cartersville had represented a haven to him, an almost idyllic place of honest people, unlocked doors, and friendly faces. How could he have forgotten time wrought changes on all of mankind, not just those in the city? Had his beloved hometown always been so full of problems, but he was blindly unaware of them? Memories flooded Link's mind. Bits of old gossip floated forward, forgotten bits of trouble in this family or that. His life in Cartersville had seemed perfect back then, but always there were those around him who endured problems. Nothing came to mind like this thing hanging over them now.
Sighing, he fought to hold personal worries at bay. He faced a tough job, requiring all of his concentration. The question returned to nag at him. What the hell had happened to his hometown?
"Here's Duckett Road.” Link guided the car to a stop just in front of Coy's odd vehicle. “And there's your bike and cart."
The other man appeared relieved. "Thank goodness. I sure was worried about 'em. I have to have both of 'em for my bidness."
They got out of the car and walked along the roadside.
As he looked past his bike, a look of fear came over Coy. "That's where I found Miz Mitzi," he said and pointed to an area just inside the barbed wire fence.
Yellow crime tape fluttered in the breeze.
"You know, I 'member her from when she was livin' here before, but I never did talk to her much. She was allus nice to me, though. I 'member she wore real pretty clothes, such bright colors and all. And she smiled a lot." He pointed again. "Right there's where I found her."
Link surveyed the area. The barbed wire fence that separated the field from the road made it unlikely the body entered this way. He saw a cattle guard about thirty yards down the road. The round pipes of the ground-level grate formed the only break in the fence. No cows were in sight, but the barrier and scattered cow chips suggested they were nearby.
He patted Coy on the shoulder. "I know you already told the other deputies, Coy, but I'd sure appreciate it if you'd tell me exactly how you found the body. Start with before you saw anything wrong and tell me everything you saw or heard."
Coy pointed down the road to a distant house. "That's where I live now, that little house by those trees. I was on my way to town to see Miz Gwen." He looked at Link with amazement, "Why, just like the other time. Yes, sir, just like that other time."
"Wait a minute, Coy. You mean you were the one who found the other body, too?"
"Why sure, Link, I thought you knew that."
Link digested this tidbit of information. Two bodies, found by the same person in almost the same location at the same time of day. That seemed beyond the realm of coincidence. Besides, Link didn’t believe in coincidences. But best not confuse Coy by exploring both murders at once.
"Okay, let's concentrate on this morning. You were on the way to see my sister, then what?"
"Well, I seen the buzzards a circlin' and I stopped. I seen her from the road--not like the man. He was back a ways. But she was wearing a bright red dress, so it showed up real plain." Coy pointed further from the road. "This mornin' I left my bike at the side of the road and crawled through the barbed wire."
"Okay, Coy, let's pretend we're doing everything you did this morning. Stand where you left your bike and we'll walk to the fence."
Coy looked around and walked slowly to stand by a clump of Johnson grass beside the road. Link trailed him and they walked toward the fence. He pulled the strands apart and Coy climbed through. Link followed, careful not to snag his clothes on one of the barbs.
Coy stopped and looked around again. "This is right where I was...and then I walked over to Miz Mitzi. She was a layin' on her side, kind of like she was sleepin', right there by them flowers. Her purse was on the ground by her, kind of tucked under her hand like."
They continued across the pasture to a spot near a patch of trampled wildflowers. A maze of footprints scarred the ground. Vehicle tracks cut into the grass where the ambulance had driven. Link would defy Sherlock Holmes to find a clue here. Anything not discovered early on was thoroughly trampled by now.
"Tell me exactly what you did next."
"I went over to her and tried to wake her up. Her skin felt real funny, all cold like Mama's when I couldn't wake her. It made me remember when Mama died and it scared me. It scared me real bad."
"You’re doing fine, Coy. Her skin was already cold? Okay, then what?"
Coy looked back at the way they had come. "I ran back to the fence and went to the house. You know, I told you Sheriff Gary Don got me my own telephone. Well, I dialed that 9-1-1, just like they say to do on TV."
"Did you wait at the house or come back here?" From their childhood, Link knew that getting this man to tell all of a story took patience. And time.
Coy looked from the house to where he stood. "Well, I was goin' to wait there so I wouldn't have to see Miz Mitzi like that no more, but then I got to worryin' about them buzzards botherin' her. It didn't seem respectful, so I came back here to shoo them away."
"That was good of you."
"Thank you, Link." The pleasure he displayed at Link's small praise turned to bewilderment. "But I couldn't do nothin' about them bugs. They was so many a crawlin' all over her. I just sat on the grass over there and waited. I felt so sorry about Miz Mitzi, I...I cried.”
Talking about it upset Coy so much a tear rolled down his face at the memory. “I tell you, Link, I just don't know who keeps leavin' these bodies here, do you?"
Link patted the older man's shoulder. "No, but we'll find out. Why
don't you show me where you're living now? You ride your bike on home and I'll follow you."
Living conditions of the house for which Coy seemed grateful appalled Link. If the clapboard shanty had ever been painted, the paint long ago peeled and faded away. The wallpaper in the three rooms sagged and circles rimmed the peeling strips, testifying to multiple leaks in the roof. Illumination came from a single light bulb fixture in each room.
Coy indicated a large hole in the sofa with stuffing poking out. "A rat tried to live there. I have me such a terrible time with rats. I just hate 'em, don't you?"
Link hated this house. "Yes, I hate rats." Two legs or four, and he smelled the two-legged variety now.
Anger consumed him when he thought of the trim house on Madison Street where Coy had lived with his widowed mother. How could this happen? How could Mrs. Cox have gotten so far behind on her taxes that Coy lost the house?
And why didn't Coy's mother arrange for him to be taken care of after she died? What was it Coy had said about Gary Don being in charge of him since Mrs. Cox’s death? Link looked around and wondered how this rat hole qualified as taking care of anyone?
This place would have been condemned if it weren't a few hundred feet outside the city limits. It was a dump and a firetrap, but it was clean.
"You keep the place real good, Coy. Your mama would be proud of the way you clean up everything."
Coy's face broke into a genuine smile. "Mama always said it was important to keep everythin' real clean. She always said that, so I try to do like she said even though she's not here no more."
"You know, Coy, if you want to be closer to town you could move in with Jason and me. There's plenty of room."
Link spoke before he knew it. He wasn't sorry, though. No one should have to live like this.
"Thank you kindly, but I can't do that. Mama said I got to live by myself so folks will know I don't need to be locked away somewheres. I sure don’t want to be locked up. I got to live on my own to prove I can."
Driving away from Coy's place, Link's concern for his simple friend had him searching for answers. Too bad his garage apartment had already been rented or he could move Coy into it today and Coy could think himself independent. Damn. What process reduced the man to this sorry life style? Wasn't he entitled to some benefits from somewhere?
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