by BobA. Troutt
Troubled Waters
By Bobby A. Troutt
Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt
Table of Contents
Short Creek
Web of Deceit
Fourteen New Shiny Pennies
A Table for Three
The Audrey Moore Scandal
*****
Troubled Waters
Short Creek
In 1964 it rained nonstop for four days in the little town of Halfway, Mississippi, in Guthrie County. Finally, a week later, the creek crested and the waters flowed back within its banks. I’ll always remember that day when I received a phone call from Oscar Dillehay, who was now the Sheriff in Halfway. My name is James W. Donohue. I am a retired U.S. Marshall. As Oscar and I talked, caught up on some of the things since we had lost contact. I asked him about Nancy, his wife, and Chad, his son.
“Nancy is doing fine,” he said. “But Chad, I don’t guess you have heard?”
“Heard what?” I asked.
“We lost Chad in a car wreck a few years ago,” he replied.
“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that, Oscar. It must be hard.”
“We’re making it,” he said. “We still have our moments.”
“Yeah, I know it’s hard sometimes to let them go,” I agreed.
It was good to hear from an old friend. We had a lot to catch up on. But that wasn’t the reason he called. He told me that Short Creek had overflowed its banks causing flooding, mudslides, and washed out roads and bridges. The best I remember, Short Creek ran about a mile above Benton Bridge, down through Hidden Hollow through Halfway, and emptied out into Coon Creek just north of the delta about Jasper’s Rock. Evidently, the sweeping rains had opened up some ghosts of my past, and now it would bring me back to Halfway to face my demons.
Oscar briefly filled me in. He stated that some boys were playing along the banks of Short Creek when they uncovered a skeletal hand from a body. He believed the body had been there for years and the flooding had washed it out of its grave.
“What does it have to do with me?” I asked.
He replied, “They found a locket around the neck of the skeleton engraved with the name Melba Jean.”
Suddenly, my heart seemed like it fell into my stomach as sweat broke out on my forehead. I was speechless at first.
“Are you sure?” I cried.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said. “The locket is identical to all the others. I thought you would want to know.”
I paused for a minute and dropped my head into my hands. Then I replied, “I do, Oscar, I do. I’m glad you let me know. Give me about an hour and I’ll be there.”
“Okay, James, I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Oh, by the way, did they find much of the body?” I asked.
“Most of it is bones and some small pieces of clothes,” he replied. “We found some hair particles and oh, yes, a wedding band.”
“Oscar, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked him.
“You got it,” he said. “We may have finally found Melba Jean Willoughby’s missing body. I bet it’s been at least 15 maybe 20 years ago.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” I replied. “Oscar, I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Alright, James, I will see you then.”
As I slowly hung up the phone, I couldn’t believe it. Nearly twenty years later, the missing body appears. Maybe it would give me the answer I needed to put a close on the unsolved case that had haunted me for years. Maybe the nightmares would end. I hurried to get ready. I was anxious to look at the new development in the case.
I didn’t live too far from Halfway. I lived over in neighboring Giles County in a little town of Flat Rock. As I was driving over, I tried to remember a little about Halfway. It seemed like it had been so long ago. Of course the courthouse was the centerpiece of the square. There were grocery stores, barber shops, a garage, couple of churches, a five & dime, a small park, restaurants, and a post office. It was a pretty good size town, probably bigger now than then. There was a popcorn stand on the square that sold some of the best popcorn I had ever eaten. It was called the Corn Crib. It also had candy and drinks. I’ll have to go by there and get me some of that popcorn, I thought. On Saturday evenings, crowds of people would go by the Crib to buy popcorn and catch a picture show down the street at the Palace Theater. I looked forward to returning to Halfway.
As I drove, I went over some of the details from the phone call. It was in ‘44 or ‘45 when Melba Jean had disappeared. Who would have thought she’d be buried along the banks of Short Creek? Oscar was a young deputy back then. I remember him as an excited, adventurous officer when I first met him. He was pretty sharp and full of spunk.
Oscar informed me they had finished digging up the bones of the body and sent them to the crime lab in Jackson. The report showed the body had been buried at least twenty years ago. Before I retired, I was working on the case in 1945 around Halfway and Short Creek. It all began to haunt me once again. I was trying to put together the missing pieces, wondering if I had overlooked a key part of the evidence. I wondered if the doors of the mystery had finally opened, that I may have peace.
I had been on the road about thirty minutes when I noticed I needed some gas. I pulled up to the next filling station and put some in and got me some cigarettes. As the man at the station filled my car up, I slowly opened my pack of cigarettes. I tapped the pack on my finger and out slipped a smoke. I placed it in my mouth, lit up, and began to inhale. As I reached for it to take it away from my mouth, I slowly blew the smoke out. It was good until I started to cough. After a short coughing spell, I reached for the cigarette again. But, I remembered the doctor had told me to give them up. But that was easier said than done. Then I started coughing again and decided to crush it out in the ashtray and drove on.
When I reached Halfway, I pulled in at the Sheriff’s office. As I got out, I noticed the town hadn’t changed a lot. I looked about and saw some officers leaving and some coming out of the door of the station. It brought back so many memories. I reached in my shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit one up. As I stood there that day, I enjoyed my smoke and a beautiful day. I spoke to some officers as they passed and not far out of town you could hear the siren of where they probably caught someone speeding. Would I do it again? I don’t really know. I finished my cigarette and dropped it on the ground, crushed it out with my foot and walked into the station. Oscar met me inside. As we entered his office, I looked around. He had all the cold case files on the case in his office. I began to prowl around in the boxes. I couldn’t believe it, all this work and time and still an unsolved crime. Where, oh, where did I miss the mark?
“James, this is your case,” Oscar stated. “It always has been yours and the Sheriff’s department is here to help in any way. Welcome back to work.”
I didn’t know what to say. Once again I was faced with the unsolved case of my career.
“Where do I begin?” I said.
Oscar handed me the necklace that was found on Melba Jean’s skeleton. It was like the others: a silver heart with a diamond chip in the center. Inside was her name, and the picture was gone.
“I want to set up a team of good, sharp officers,” I said, “to help me go back through the evidence and start all over.”
“You got it, James, and I’ll give you the best deputies I have,” Oscar replied. “You’ll also need a place to work. I’ll set up one of the rooms across the hall for you to work in.”
Within an hour, Oscar had it all set up and I was briefing the officers on the background of the case. As I thumbed through the old photographs of the victims, cold chills ran all over
me as if I had seen them for the first time. Slowly, I placed them one at a time on the bulletin board behind me as I made some brief comments on each of them to the officers.
“These are the victims, all between 45 to 52 years of age, all divorced or separated except for the last victim. None of the victims had children. The first victim, Sarah Bennings, was 46 years of age and a widow from Hamilton County. Ruby Kay was 45 years of age, the youngest victim, and a divorcee from Giles County. Paulette Johns was 51 years of age from Hamilton County and separated from her husband, who was in prison. Vera McDuffie was a 46 year old divorcee from Giles County; her husband died from a heart attack three years after her death.”
I paused for a few minutes as my eyes began to water and my throat knotted up. “She was my sister….”
It took me a few minutes to get a hold of myself as I placed her picture on the board. “Melba Jean Willoughby, the last victim, was 48 years of age and married from Guthrie County.”
I continued, “One of the women was found in her bedroom. The victim had been choked to death from behind. The body was left lying on the floor beside the bed. The bed had not been touched and nothing in the house was found out of place. It appeared that the killer followed her up to the bedroom and then killed her. One victim was found in her backyard. She may have tried to get away. One was thrown into a pond behind her house, another victim was in a motel room, and Melba Jean was buried at Short Creek and the other one was found in the motel not far from town. Each of these victims had been strangled and their necks were broken.”
I reached into the box and pulled out a plastic bag with the necklaces inside. Each victim had a necklace on when they died or at home in a jewelry box. All of the victims lived by themselves except Melba Jean, and she was still married. There were no signs of a struggle, no fingerprints, no blood, and no hair particles. We believe the killer wore some type of hairnet and gloves.
Then one of the officers spoke up, “They must have known the killer very well to get that close.”
“That’s what we believe,” I replied. “There was no sign of forced entry and no robbery.”
“What about sexual activity,” spoke up another officer?
“There was none with any of the victims.”
“What about the last body found around Short Creek?” asked another officer.
“We are still waiting on tests on Melba Jean. I don’t think we have much luck with her because it’s been so long. But, to go on with the question, no there was no rape or any kind of sexual assault. We’re not really sure about the motive. There may be more than one reason why. Each victim had money in the bank, but there was no substantial sum taken out around the time of the murders. The woman at the motel got a room in the early part of the evening. She was alone at the time. Sometime between 11:30 p.m. and 7:10 a.m., the maid found her body. The cover on the bed had been turned down but there was no sign that anyone had been in the bed. She was found lying across the bed, dead. Again there was no forced entry or struggle. Vera was found floating in the pond face down and Melba Jean had disappeared and no one could find her until just a few days ago. It was as close to a perfect crime I had ever seen. It was like the killer was a ghost. One day he appears, one minute he’s there, and the next minute he is somewhere else. His random killing spree made it almost impossible to pinpoint his next move. At the pond where they found one woman, they found a bunch of cow tracks in the mud. That made it hard for us to find any shoe or boot prints. But they did find some small round peg-like tracks in the mud about the pond. Speculation was they were the ends of a walking cane.
“That brings me to the suspect, William David Ward. He was a nice looking young man with dark eyes, wavy black hair, and a dark complexion. He was part gypsy. A real woman’s man, I guess you could say. He traveled around the country, peddling pots and pans, material, hats, medicine, vegetables, clothes, shoes, tobacco products, and scarves. He is now serving a thirty year sentence for the murder of Melba Jean in the Jackson State Prison. He was tried and convicted on slim-to-none circumstantial evidence. We were not completely sure if he was the man or not. I hoped we hadn’t sent an innocent man to prison. The strongest evidence of his case was he was having an affair with Melba Jean and he had been with her the day she disappeared. If that sounds like case closed, it’s not. We still have five unsolved murders that maybe linked to him. He had a little brother by the name of Danny Ward, nicknamed ‘Shakey.’ Danny was the right opposite of William David. He was short and a little chubby. He had an acne problem on his face, more white skin, and dark straight hair. Danny was a cripple. He wore braces on his legs and walked with two canes. It appeared that Danny, the younger brother, worshipped his older brother. He wanted to be like him, a ladies’ man. But due to his looks and complexion his circumstances made the ladies shy away from him. But when we investigated there were no signs of mud or dirt from the pond. The canes were completely wiped clean. Not only that, he had an alibi. He had spent all day with his brother and they had not been out of each other’s sight at the time of the murders. That, gentlemen, was their story throughout this whole investigation. We could not find a way of breaking their alibi. It was airtight. What do I think, men? I believe they did it, but we never could get enough hard, strong evidence to support our theory. Some of the townspeople even believed they had seen them out together about town, but they weren’t sure of the time. There was no way of placing them at the scene of the crime. No one was sure of the time, and their alibi they were always together. But, there was a common denominator of the case and that was each victim, a few weeks before Melba Jean’s death she had been seen with the peddler. The peddler was never pinpointed at the scene of the time of the crime, nor around the area of the scene. Some of the murders took place at night, some in the daylight, and early morning. Before we take a little break, I do want to mention that at some of the murder scenes there was a slight odor, like a cigarette or cigar smell. But, as we followed in the investigation, it appeared that neither William David nor Danny smoked. We assumed once again that the killer smoked a cigar after the murders as some sort of ritual celebration of his victory over the victim. Speaking of smoking, let’s take a break and come back in about fifteen minutes.”
As the officers filed out one by one I made my way to the door. I was about to die for a smoke. As I stepped outside in front of the station, Oscar approached me. I quickly placed a cigarette in my mouth and started to light it but didn’t have a match. I was out of matches. I must have left my lighter at home on the table, I thought.
“Oscar,” I said as he appeared beside me. “Do you have a light?”
As he ran his hand down into his pocket, he pulled out a book of matches. I reached for them, took one match, and struck it. As I placed it at the end of the cigarette the end turned red with fire
“What a relief,” I said as I blew out the smoke.
As I enjoyed my smoke, Oscar gave me an update on Melba Jean. The dental records confirmed that the body was definitely Melba Jean. With only a few of her bones it was going to be hard to determine how she died. As I stood there listening, I lit another cigarette. As I puffed on it, the smoke encircled my head and I began to cough.
“James, are you alright?” Oscar said.
I tried to answer him but I was coughing so bad I had to throw the cigarette down.
“James,” he said again.
“I’m okay,” I replied. “It’s just a little allergy.”
“That cough sounds bad. Have you been to the doctor about it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “He said it was nothing. He says I should quit smoking.”
Finally, I stopped coughing and told Oscar I would work on it. Then we headed back in to the conference room. As we all gathered around as a group, we exchanged our thoughts and ideas. We then divided up in pairs.
“Men,” I said, “I want each te
am to take the names of the people that were interviewed at that time. Interview them again and see what you can find out. Some of the people have passed on. Just do what you can. There may be someone who saw something but kept quiet about it. They may not have wanted to get involved.”
Then an officer spoke up. “Did the necklace give you any leads?”
“Good question,” I replied. “I meant to bring that up. The necklace was traced back to a small gypsy village in Italy. But there was never a necklace found on the two brothers or in their truck. The locket was a sign of eternal love. The jeweler in question was interviewed twice, but we could not make a connection with the peddler or his brother. Men, that’s about all that we have. The rest of it will be leg work of interviews and pure luck. Good luck, men. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I may not have the answer but maybe we can find one.”
The following two weeks were crucial. We were hoping to uncover new evidence in the case so that the judge would reopen the case of a full blown investigation and put away the ghosts of my past. If the judge could find fit cause to reopen the case after all these years that would give us the manpower and the money to pursue more advanced technology than we had before.
As I reached into my shirt pocket for a cigarette Oscar hollered for me. He was in his office.
“Do you want some popcorn?” he asked.
“From the Corn Crib,” I replied. “You bet.”
“I’m buying,” he said.
As we walked and talked about the new evidence of the case of finding Melba Jean’s body, I finished my smoke. We both knew that it was a long shot to find enough evidence to try William David for the five unsolved murders.
“Oscar, is William David still in Jackson State Penitentiary?”
Oscar replied, “As far as I know.”
“I’d like for us to go up there and have another talk with him. Can you arrange that?” I asked.
“Sure,” answered Oscar. “That won’t be any trouble.”
When we got to the stand it was as I remembered it and the smell made my mouth water. It was as good as I remembered or maybe even better.
“James, meet Benny, old man Willie’s son. He took the Crib over when Willie died a few years back.”
“Hi, Benny,” I said. “You’ve got your dad’s touch with the corn. It’s good.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied.
“Hey, I’ve got a good idea,” said Oscar. “Why don’t you come over to my house for supper tonight?”
I hesitated, “I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you had a good old hot meal?” he asked.
“Well,” I slowly replied. “It’s been awhile.”
“What about it?” he encouraged. “Nancy will be glad to see you again.”
“Well,” I replied, “since you twisted my arm, I guess so. It won’t be any trouble for Nancy will it?”
“No way,” said Oscar. “She’d love to see you again. I’ll call her when we get back to the office and tell her you’re coming.”
As we turned and headed back to the station, Oscar told me while he was on the phone he’d call the warden at Jackson and see about making an appointment to see William David.
The day soon passed and I drove up at Oscar’s house. It still looked the same. It was his dad’s old place. He was a fireman when Oscar was growing up. He got burned real badly when they were putting out a house fire. The roof caved in on him. By the time they got to him it was almost too late. He spent a little over a year in the burn center and was later put into a nursing home where he finally passed. As I got out of the car I headed for the front porch. Oscar and Nancy met me at the door. She reached out and hugged me.
“Will James Donohue, it sure has been a while.”
“You sure look great,” I said.
She took me by the arm and Oscar by his arm and waltzed up into the house.
“You always were a man of flattering words,” she laughed.
“Mmm, mmm, what on earth are you cooking?” I cried.
“Oh, nothing much,” she stated. “Just some white beans, hoecakes, stewed potatoes, turnip greens, slaw, some homemade macaroni and cheese, and chocolate pie and fried apple pies for dessert.”
We sat awhile and talked about the old days. I enjoyed being with them, but I still had the case stirring in my mind. My thoughts raced in my head, they were tossing and turning. What had I missed? What could I have overlooked? I didn’t want to talk about the case around them at home. So I excused myself and stepped outside for a smoke.
“She’s a good woman, Oscar,” I said.
“I agree to that,” he replied. “You can’t let it go can you James.”
“No, Oscar,” I replied. “It’s hard to do. Does it show that bad? I’ll never be able to let it go until I find my sister’s killer. Senseless acts of murder for no reason.”
Nancy came to the screen door, “Let’s eat,” she announced.
I took a couple of hits of my cigarette and thumped it out into the yard. Then I started coughing again. I paused for a few minutes as I reached into my pocket and pulled out an inhaler and breathed in the medicine. The cough slowly eased up.
“That sure is an awfully bad cough,” Nancy said as she stood and held the screen door open. “Go in there and eat you a good hot meal and relax. I have some cold iced tea waiting.”
“It’s good to spend some time with old friends,” I replied, “and eat a good hot meal.”
After Oscar said grace, we tore into the meal. It was delicious. After supper, I headed for the front porch to take a smoke. Oscar followed as Nancy cleaned up the kitchen. As we sat and talked, Nancy soon joined in.
“You miss her, a lot, don’t you, James,” said Nancy.
I couldn’t help myself. A big lump came up in my throat as my eyes gave away with tears. I started to cry. We were more than brother and sister, we were best friends. When Mama died, she made me promise to take care of her. I tried, but somewhere, somehow I feel like I failed. She loved dogs. When Lucky got hit by a car she cried for weeks. I went out and bought her another dog. She was so happy. She named him Mr. Roosevelt. We used to play a lot and help Mama around the house. Mama had emphysema and Daddy had died a few years earlier with lung cancer. One time on the creek, I dove off some bluffs. I floated to the top of the water like I was hurt, then when she raced out to me, I jumped up and started laughing. She grabbed me by the hair of my head and pulled me up on the bank. She broke a fine limb of a nearby tree and striped my naked legs. It hurt but I couldn’t help but laugh a little. Do I miss her? Yes, more than anything. I was with her that morning before she was murdered. She told me she had someone she wanted to meet. I then wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt and lit up another cigarette. If I only had it to do over, I thought as I exhaled the smoke.
Oscar then spoke up, “I’m sorry James. I can imagine how hard it can be. Nancy and I lost our son about five years ago to a drunk driver and I have to say that it is something you never get over. But, by the help of the Lord he helped us to live with it and he’ll do the same for you.”
“You think so,” I replied.
“Talk to him,” Oscar said as he placed his hand on my shoulder and patted it. “Trust him.”
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“I’ve got a room at the station,” I replied.
“His office,” interrupted Oscar.
“Why don’t you stay here with us? We have an extra room,” she insisted.
“Yeah, James,” spoke up Oscar. “It will be better than sleeping on that old couch in the briefing room.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I appreciate you asking.”
“There’s nothing else to be said,” said Nancy. “You can stay here. I’ll fix your room.”
“But…” I tried to say.
“No, buts about it,” they replied.
/>
“Hey, it’s still a little early,” Oscar said. “What about catching a picture show at the Palace?”
“Yeah, that will be fun,” replied Nancy.
“I’m sort of tired,” I spoke up. “I’d probably fall asleep.”
“Come on, James,” said Oscar. “You need a break. Let’s go for it.”
“Well, it has been a while since I was at the Palace. Years, really.”
“Then come on. We can get some popcorn at the Crib,” she said.
“Now, that would be good,” I replied. “Okay, why not. I’ll buy this time.”
It was late when we got back home. The movie and corn was good and the bed was a lot better than the couch at the office. It had been a long time since I had slept on a feather mattress. I guess the last time was when I was a kid and stayed over at my grandmother’s house. It was late when I turned in but early when I heard the rooster crow. I got dressed, ate one bite of toast, drank some coffee, and headed for the station. When I left, Oscar was staring at two eggs sunny-side up and gravy and biscuits. The time seemed to pass so quickly.
It had been a few days since the briefing and I wondered if anything new had turned up.
The first week came up with nothing much. The officer had interviewed several people. A lot of them couldn’t remember anything. It had been so long ago. But some of Melba Jean’s close friends did recall seeing William David and her together a lot. Especially around the time she disappeared. They always believed he had something to do with it. The motel owner and his wife had placed them at the motel several times. That was on the original police report and the court transcripts. According to the transcripts they had also been seen together at Brazwell Ford Bluffs, a clearing above the creek, and also from time to time at Burgett’s Bar. The bartender thought he had seen them together that day at the bar before she disappeared, but wasn’t sure about the time. It was enough to bring a guilty verdict by the jury, even though there was no body.
The first week we only rehashed what we already knew. But we did get an interview with William David. Oscar and I took off for Jackson, which was only a few miles up the road. As Oscar drove, I glanced back over the court transcript. The peddler had been offered a plea bargain. If he would admit to the murders of the other women he would receive life with possible parole in thirty-five years. If not it could be the death penalty. But as the jury deliberated on the case, they unanimously agreed without a reasonable doubt of a second degree murder conviction. They believed he had something to do with it, but weren’t completely convinced he had killed her. The second degree guilty conviction gave him thirty-five years in prison with the possibility of parole in eighteen years.
Shortly, we arrived at the penitentiary. As we waited for them to bring in William David, I started getting a sick feeling in my stomach. Then suddenly the door lock slowly began to turn. Click, click went the lock as the guard slowly opened it. He hadn’t changed much. I felt a lump come in my throat as I hadn’t seen him since the trial. I started coughing as we sat down at the table.
“Do you have a cigarette?” asked William David as he rubbed his face with his hands.
I replied, “Sure.”
He took it and as I lit it he slowly inhaled and exhaled out the smoke.
Oscar spoke up, “I am…”
“I know who you are,” he shortly replied. “You are here to talk to me about Melba Jean,” he said, “and the other women.”
I spoke up, “I have told you time and time again I had nothing to do with those murders. Why can’t you believe that?” he stated.
“What about Melba Jean?” asked Oscar. “Do you have anything else to add to her case?”
He paused for a few minutes and crushed out his cigarette on the metal table top. The guard stepped over to the table and slid the ashtray over to him. As William David looked up at him with a hard look, chills raced down my back.
“What about Melba Jean?” I asked.
“What about her?” he said. “We were in love. That’s what I know, and I didn’t kill her. If anybody killed her it was her angry and jealous husband. I have tried to tell you I was set up but you don’t believe me and you’re not going to believe me now.”
“Why should we?” spoke up Oscar.
“All you want from me is a confession that I killed those women and I keep telling you I haven’t killed anybody.”
As he started to stand up, the guard placed his hands on William David’s shoulders and pressed him back down at the table.
“Okay, okay I have something for you. Melba Jean’s husband found out about our affair. He tried to keep her from seeing me. She told me she had lived in an abusive marriage for years and when we met it was different. We fell in love. At first we saw little of each other, but as time passed we couldn’t stay apart. Her husband threatened to kill her and me if she didn’t stop. He would hit and choke her. I saw the bruises. I confronted him several times, but she was afraid of him. She thought he would kill me. I had to promise her I would not confront him. That’s the truth.”
“Go on,” I said. “What else happened?”
The first time I seen her I was down by Short Creek. She had her shoes off and was wadding in the water. She had her dress pulled up about her knees. I watched her from a distance. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Then suddenly she screamed and ran toward the bank. I ran out to her. As we met she fell into my arms. I quickly looked in the water; it was a snake swimming across the creek. It was then our eyes met for the first time and our hearts burned with fire from that first kiss. Can I have another cigarette?” he asked.
I took one out of the pack and he reached for it.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Like I said, time went on and spent more time together. Then one day while my brother and I were hiking in the woods, we found her body in a gully next to a ravine. She was dead. It appeared she had been strangled and her neck was broke. I couldn’t bear seeing her like that. I couldn’t let her go. So my brother and I buried her on the banks of Short Creek where we first met.”
“Why didn’t you bring this out at the trial,” questioned Oscar.
“What good would it have done? You already had tried and convicted me before then. It wouldn’t have done any good. You wanted to hurry up and put the blame on someone and I was an easy target.”
“What about the other women?” I spoke up.
He hit the table with his fist and jarred the ashtray over and stood up. “Damn it, man. I’ve told you that I didn’t have anything to do with those other women.”
The guard stepped up and cuffed William David’s hands behind him. They made their way over to the door.
“Time is up,” said the guard.
As William David neared the door, he stopped, looked back, and smiled. “Thanks for the smoke,” he said as the lock clicked twice again.
Oscar looked over to me and said, “Maybe he didn’t do it.”
Then we got up and headed for home. But as we passed through the prison lobby Warren Bond stopped us and asked us how the interview went. We filled him in. Then he showed us a letter he had in his hand. It was a letter to the United States Department of Criminal Affairs in Washington from Interpol. He told us they were inquiring about an inmate. A William David Ward, alias Marcus Diego Florentinoa. The State Department had been notified of the expedition of William David back to Italy for questioning of his mother’s death several years ago. They had substantial proof and evidence that he had something to do with her death. Quickly, Oscar looked at me and I looked back at him. After his trial in Italy he would be sent back here to finish his time and then go back to Italy to do his time there.
Evidently, the peddler and his younger brother had gotten a job on a ship years ago as crew members came over to New York. Then they changed their names and left and were never heard of since, until they came to Mississippi.
&n
bsp; “They were illegal immigrants,” I said.
“Right,” replied the warden. “We will be getting him ready for expedition soon.”
“Thanks, Warden Bond, for all your help,” said Oscar.
“Thanks a lot,” I replied. “What do you make of that, Oscar?”
Then we headed back to Halfway. It had been a weird day.
“Do you still think he killed those women?” asked Oscar.
“Yes, I do,” I replied, “and his mother, too. Oscar, will you stop at the next store?” I said. “I need to get a pack of cigarettes.”
“Sure,” replied Oscar.
“I wonder whatever happened to his younger brother,” I said.
“I don’t know,” replied Oscar. “No one has seen him since his brother’s trial. He just disappeared.”
“They were close,” I reminded Oscar. “Real close. Maybe we could put the word out and find him and talk to him to see what he would say.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Oscar.
We finally arrived at Halfway. It was getting late. Oscar asked if I was coming over, but I told him I was going to work on something and get my thoughts back together. I was coughing more and more now, so I decided to try to lay off the cigarettes. I hadn’t told anyone, but I had been spitting up some blood and my chest had begun to hurt more often now. I really didn’t want to go back to the doctor now. He had already said there was nothing left to do. The year he had given me was about up. If only I could just hold out to find my sister’s killer.
The night was long and haunting. Between the murders and the pack of cigarettes, my restless night soon came to a halt. At the break of day the door of the conference room opened. I slowly rose up off the couch. I was still tired and getting more weak. Oscar entered and brought me a cup of coffee.
“James, are you alright? Your hands are trembling,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. “Thanks for the coffee. I needed that.”
For the next few days of the second week, we heard nothing. Time was running out, especially for me. Late last night I ran across a police report by Wendell, the sheriff at the time, of the murders. I had completely forgotten about it. The sheriff held Danny, the crippled brother, for seventy-two hours for questioning. While he was in custody there was another murder. But the peddler stated that he had spent the night with a prostitute and she backed his alibi. The murder proved to be a random killing, but not a copycat murder. Wendell soon put pressure on William David to push him into a mistake, but he was too smart. A lot smarter than we gave him credit for. There had been some calls to the station between Melba Jean and her husband. But when the sheriff’s department went out there, Melba Jean would not go against her husband. She would always say it was a misunderstanding. Not long afterward, she disappeared.
Then I looked up at Oscar. Maybe William David was right. Maybe he didn’t kill Melba Jean.
“But who then killed her?” I asked.
About that time a deputy entered the room.
“Oscar, I have a call for you,” he stated.
“I’ll take it in my office,” he replied.
I followed him. As I waited, I tried to make out the phone call, but I wasn’t very successful. In a few minutes I heard Oscar tell them we were leaving shortly and thanks again for the help. As Oscar hung up the phone he told me that was the Louisiana State Police. They had found Danny Ward, dead, a few days ago. Evidently he left here after his brother went to prison to go live with his uncle in Louisiana. They found him in the swamp. They believed he was fishing and somehow fell out of the boat and drowned. There wasn’t much left of him by the time the gator got through.
“Are they sure it’s him?” I asked.
“His uncle was able to positively identify him. It was Danny,” replied Oscar.
“Then why are we going down there?” I asked as I eased down into the chair.
“Are you alright, James?” asked Oscar.
“Sure, I’m fine,” I replied. “I’m just a little weak.”
“Do I need to take you to the doctor?” he said.
“No, no, Oscar, I’ll be alright,” I assured him. “Now what were you saying?”
“Danny had kept a journal. When his uncle was going through his things he found a fake bottom in the trunk where he kept his journal. The detective down there said that we needed to see it. James are you up for the trip?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“You can stay here until I get back,” suggested Oscar.
“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I can make it,” I replied. “I have come this far; I can’t quit now.”
Soon we were on the road headed south. I didn’t have a lot to say. I was quiet.
“Have you quit smoking?” Oscar asked.
“Yeah, I’m trying to cut back,” I replied.
“It’s about time,” he said.
I didn’t want him to know that they made me sick now. I just had to hold on and try to make it. But it was a long drive to Bottom Creek, Louisiana.
“You’re awfully quite today, James,” he said.
“I’m just sleepy,” he replied. “I didn’t sleep good last night. I wish I had some of Nancy’s iced tea right now.”
“We’ll get some when we get back,” he replied. “Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you later.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
As I turned my head and stared out the window, I felt tears slowly running down my cheeks. I knew it was only minutes, but I thanked the Lord I didn’t have to die alone. I then took a deep breath, swallowed and slowly closed my eyes as the last tear fell from my chin. A few minutes later Oscar called my name.
“James, James…”
I could barely hear his voice. It sounded like a whisper. Quickly, Oscar pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned me toward him. The last thing I remember were the tears beading up in his eyes. As Oscar reached for the mic he called out the distress call.
Not long, an ambulance came and took James to a nearby hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival. It was hard to keep from breaking down. They took James back to Halfway where he was buried beside his sister.
About a week later I headed back to Louisiana, alone this time. It was an even longer drive. Hours later, I arrived. I spent hours reading Danny’s journal. William David’s and his mother was a full-blooded gypsy. William David and Danny had different daddies. Their mother had been with somebody else, according to the journal. William David loved and admired his daddy. He was obsessed with him. But his mother cheated on him and this made William David mad. It also caused his dad to commit suicide. William never could accept her infidelity. His daddy always blamed her for Danny’s crippling. He believed it was a curse from her affairs. Danny believed this was the reason he killed her. He had stated in the journal that he was afraid of William, but he loved him and respected him. He knew that his brother was sick. He also feared that his brother might turn on him. It was like his brother was three or four different people at different times. But, William had always taken care of him. Inside the journal was a photograph of his mother and father. In the photo she was wearing the same necklace around her neck as the other victims. His uncle had found some more of them in the bottom of the trunk. As I turned the pages, I ran across this quote Danny wrote.
I guess I was jealous of him and Melba Jean. He hardly had time for me anymore. I had gone down to the creek to get some water. I ran upon Melba Jean and her husband. William was no where around. They were fussing and arguing. I couldn’t make it all out. He then slapped her and she fell to the ground, then he left. About that time I saw William step out from behind a tree. I don’t know how long he had been there. She sat down on the ground and was crying. I watched for a minute to see what my brother might do, but he just turned and walked away. After that evening, I never saw her again. Wil
liam and I, later on, was walking through the woods where we found her dead. We took her and buried on the banks of the creek. I was the last one to see her alive.
The journal went on and on giving the account of the other five murders. From what Danny had said in his journal, William David had murdered four of the women, but he didn’t kill Melba Jean. He didn’t think so. But yet was tried and convicted for her death alone. They had found a pack of European cigars, made in Italy a European blend, in the bottom of Danny’s boat. I smelt of them and lit one up. It smelled like the odor of the crime scene. I’ll never forget the smell. Then I paused for a few minutes. “James, I wish you could have read this journal. I believe you knew all along, but you wanted somehow to make it up to Vera, your sister, for you not being there.” Case closed.