The two got out of the Galaxy 500, Marcus’ pride and joy, cherry red and in mint condition.
“Mrs. Wood,” Blanche said, walking toward the woman on the porch and extending her hand.
“Yes, and you must be Blanche.” She easily recognized the librarian from her son’s description. “You are even more beautiful than my son described. It’s no wonder he’s so taken with you. And who’s your friend?”
“Mrs. Wood this is Mr. Marcus, he works at the library with Seymour and me.” The two shook hands.
“Well, what brings the two of you this far out in the middle of the day?” the puzzled woman inquired, looking back and forth between her two visitors.
“I’m afraid we’re bringing some bad news, Mrs. Wood. It seems that Seymour has gotten into some trouble at school.”
“What kind of trouble?” she asked, not allowing Blanche to finish her statement.
“Pretty serious trouble. He’s been arrested for having a concealed weapon hidden in his locker.”
The older woman staggered back, bumped her left elbow against the screen door and dropped the bowl, shattering it into a hundred pieces, shards covering the front porch. Mr. Marcus stepped quickly to catch the woman before she went down as well. Blanche also bolted forward to assist, as she was able. The three moved into the living room and Marcus led Mrs. Wood to a chair where she sat, putting her head in her hands.
“What does this all mean? My Seymour would never do anything like that. He doesn’t own a gun, where would he get one?” Her mouth was speaking the first things that were coming to her mind.
“Now, now Mrs. Wood, we know as well as you do that Seymour isn’t capable of hurting anybody. This is just some sort of practical joke, the authorities will get to the bottom of it and he’ll be home in no time,” Marcus offered.
“I hope you’re right,” she said, taking a hold of Marcus’ wrist and holding it tightly.
“I think we should go see him,” Blanche said.
“Absolutely! My boy must be a mess,” she said, knowing him well. “Give me a minute to get my things together and we’ll go. Should we go together?” she asked.
“You bet mum, I’m at your disposal today. We’ll get this done together.” His upbeat and optimistic attitude helped to lift the women.
The trio arrived at the Valdosta Police Station in the late afternoon and entered the front doors, arm in arm. Mrs. Wood approached the front desk and spoke with the Sergeant that was manning the station.
“Yes, young man, I believe you have my son in custody here, and we would like to see him,” she said, motioning to the others with a sweep of her hand.
“I’d love to let you speak with him Mrs. Wood, but we’ve just transferred him to the Sheriff’s Department. You should be able to catch up with him there,” the officer said, understanding the anguish the accused mother must be feeling.
“The Sheriff’s Department, why have they taken him over there?”
“The Sheriff has jurisdiction over The Stalker case and we positively identified the gun found in your son’s locker as the one stolen from a crime scene, and the one used to shoot Jasper Jackson on the weekend,” the police officer clarified for the group.
“That’s impossible! Seymour was with me at home on Saturday night. He could not have shot anybody. This is ridiculous! Somebody is railroading my boy and I won’t put up with it!” The older woman suddenly became very angry and defiant. She turned, stormed away from the desk, took the other two by the hands and led them from the police station.
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand for this bullshit!” the enraged farmwoman hissed through clenched teeth. “We’re going to the Sheriff’s Office.”
The drive took about ten minutes and no one said a word. Mrs. Wood simmered in her seat, a torrent of anger building inside her. She’d survived the death of a husband, the near collapse of her farm, and she was not going to let her son be incarcerated for something he could not have done. She was angry! No, furious! And somebody was going to hear about it.
With the 500 parked, the threesome made their way to the front door, Mrs. Wood leading the way. Mr. Marcus tried to temper her response but she was not in the mood for listening. Stepping inside the doors, she surveyed the landscape, desks with clerical staff, a few deputies milling about and a woman seated at a main desk. She boldly walked to the woman, slammed her fist down on the desk for affect, and grabbed the attention of the woman and most of the office.
“Where in the hell have you got my son?” she half yelled.
Arlene stammered, more than a little surprised by the attack from the modest looking countrywoman. “Who? What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“I’m Lillian Wood, and I better be able to see my son pretty damn quick! You hear me?” she continued her aggressive assault.
“What is going on out here?” came a voice from her left.
She turned to see the large Sheriff standing with his hands on his hips, just outside his office.
“Sheriff, this is Seymour’s mom apparently, and wants to see him.”
“Okay Arlene, I’ll handle this. Mrs. Wood would you step into my office please, and are these folks with you too?” he asked, pointing to Marcus and Blanche.
“I don’t want no run around Sheriff, I respect you, but you got my boy, an innocent man locked up back there and I want to see him.”
“You’ll be allowed all the access you want but give me a minute to talk with you,” he explained, keeping his cool, understanding the plight of the angered mother.
The group entered the office, each taking a seat, but Mrs. Wood continued to stand and pace the floor between Blanche and Marcus. 'The Wolf' sat in his chair and faced the three. Before he could start Lillian peppered him with questions and statements, her emotions boiling over as she collapsed into a nearby chair, sobbing, tears flowing freely down her wrinkled face and dropping onto the blue dress. Blanche immediately went to her, knelt on the floor before her and offered her hanky that she always kept in her clutch. The tears were blotted away and she mumbled into the hanky, talking to herself more than the Sheriff.
“How can it be? How can they have him in jail when he was with me? It just can’t be,” she uttered.
“Mrs. Wood, what was that? He was with you, where and when?” the Sheriff said, pen in hand and taking notes.
“Seymour, he was with me Saturday night. We spent the day rounding up and stacking the hay bales. Didn’t get done till pretty late, was dark when we finished. I fixed us a late dinner, pork and beans, and we watched a little TV before we both went to bed. We were together all night, he could not have shot that black boy,” she explained.
“I see, is there anyone else that can corroborate your story? Did anybody else see you around 7:00 p.m.?”
“It's no story, it’s the God’s honest truth.” She again began to sob.
Sheriff Lupo keyed the intercom on his desk, “Arlene, will you have Officer Guest take a statement from each of these people here to see Seymour, and then let them have access to him for no more than an hour, thanks.”
"Mrs. Wood, I know you are under a lot of stress, but you could help our department immensely if you would allow us to search your home and farm without having to go to a judge for a warrant."
"Will it get my son out of here any faster if I let you?" she said, wiping tears away, Blanche still kneeling before her.
"If he's innocent, yes."
"Then get to work. What do I need to sign?"
Young Deputy Guest had the friends and family follow her to a conference facility. She pulled two chairs from the room, placed them in the hallway, and invited Blanche and Mrs. Wood to have a seat and wait while she interviewed Marcus. Across the building, Sheriff Lupo had Seymour brought to his office for an interview. It was the first time 'The Wolf' had seen the young man and he wanted to get a feel for who he was dealing with before they filed formal charges. For now he was being held on a single charge, more evidence would be ne
cessary before the additional charges could be laid by the district attorney.
Deputy Breland brought Seymour to the office, his hands still cuffed behind his back.
Sheriff Lupo greeted the two men with a nod, "Deputy, I think we can dispense with the cuffs."
The officer quickly removed the cuffs allowing Seymour to rub the soreness from his wrists, and Breland left the office. The two men stood, sizing each other up. The Sheriff spoke first, "Have a seat Seymour, I wanted to have a chance to talk with you before your mom and friends have access to you."
"Is my mom here? How is she doing? She's probably not taking this very well. When will I get to see her?" The questions came in a torrent. It had been hours since he had talked to anyone that would respond, and he had more questions than answers.
"Slow down there a minute fella. Let's take it a bit slower and I'll help you out if you're willing to help me," he said, keeping his voice soothing and even. "Your mom is angry, as you can imagine, I don't blame her, but she seems to be a strong woman and will be okay. She's given us permission to search your home and farm. You okay with that?" The Sheriff watched his eyes carefully for any hint of deceit. There was none.
"Fine. I have nothing to hide; I've tried to tell your people. I'm being set-up. I have no idea where that gun came from."
"You've been read your rights, is that correct?" Seymour nodded, he had. "Fine, and you understand them?" Again a nod, "They tell me you don't want an attorney. If it's a matter of money we can have a public defender assigned to you."
Seymour’s head hung low, looking at his feet. "We don't have much money, but it’s not a matter of money, it's a matter of truth and innocence."
"Would you answer some questions for me and I have to tell you, I will be recording our conversation, okay?" the Sheriff asked, taking a pen and preparing to take notes.
"Let's start with this past weekend. Your mom says you were doing some chores around the farm. Tell me what you were doing and when, be specific as you can."
"Well, I spent most of Saturday with mom, like she said doing chores. In the morning we did some weeding in the garden by the house, then in the afternoon and into the evening we took care of the hay. You know, moving the bales to the barn and storing the rest along side the barn and covered it with tarps. We finished after dark, had dinner, and watched TV for a bit then went to bed. Sunday we went to services in the morning, and had lunch with some neighbor friends. The rest of Sunday I did homework and got ready for my school week."
"That's fine; we can confirm much of that. What did you have to eat Saturday night?"
"Is that important?” Seymour asked.
"It could be, your mom was specific and I'd like to know if you can remember as she did."
"Okay, let’s see. I know Sunday night we were pretty full with the late lunch with those friends and I think we had soup, but Saturday after we cleaned up from doing the hay we had pork and beans. I remember cause I fried up the bacon while momma got the rest together. Is that right, is that what she said?"
"And what time do you think that was?" the Sheriff continued.
"It was dark so I think about 7:00 or 7:30, thereabouts."
Lupo had seen liars and truth tellers his entire career and prided himself on being able to tell the difference. From the few questions and responses he'd reviewed with Seymour, he could tell he had an honest man seated before him. He looked him in the eyes, was forthright with his answers, did not look to the ceiling to retrieve lost information, and spoke with conviction.
"Seymour, for a moment let's suppose that you're not The Stalker and you didn't shoot Jasper Jackson. Do you have any enemies that would want to lay this on you? Do you have any explanation for that gun being in your locker?"
"That's the strange thing, Sheriff; I get along with most everybody. I don't hang out much with the other students but I think I've got friends. Everybody at work is great, never had any trouble there, and I didn't even know this Jasper guy until Blanche said you thought I shot him."
"Back up there a minute. Blanche told you that we thought you had shot Jasper?" he asked.
"And who is Blanche and how does....wait a minute, I read a report with her name attached. She's the young lady that was with Jasper at the time of the shooting. How are you involved with her?"
Seymour was not quite sure how to respond to the question but gave it his best try, "Well, I work with her and I think she's kind of my girlfriend."
"Could you be a bit more specific, how is she kind of your girlfriend?"
"We've been friends since she moved here from Arizona. We both work at the library, anyway, last Friday night we finally had a date and I think she likes me as much as I like her," he declared.
"So let me get this straight, you take this woman out on Friday, then she goes out with another guy on Saturday, but that guy ends up getting shot by a white guy in a hoodie with sunglasses and a baseball hat on," he was speaking more to himself than Seymour.
"I guess, I haven't heard that much about it except that I supposedly did it," he smirked.
Lupo again keyed the intercom on his desk, "Arlene, send Breland back in here will ya."
A minute later the deputy stuck his head in after opening the door, "Yup Sheriff."
"Mrs. Wood has given us permission to search their place, secure her keys from her over in the conference area and take Deputy Firth with you and do a thorough search of the place. Take Ricky with you and his forensics gear, tag and bag anything that looks important. You know what we're looking for from the crime scenes. Have Arlene give you that list I made up so you don't overlook anything. Get out there asap and phone me with what you find."
"Sure Sheriff, we're on it."
"And Breland, these are nice folks; you take care not to damage any of their belongings. You got that?" Angelo confirmed.
"Thanks Sheriff. They aren't going find anything cause I didn't do it," Seymour said, feeling the stress of the day catching up to him, his energy all but gone.
Sheriff Lupo noticed the fatigue setting in and stepped to his door, "Arlene, fetch Seymour and myself a sandwich and a coffee would ya?”
"Seymour, we still got the problem of this gun. We can't let you just walk until we, or you, can explain how a stolen gun got into your possession. You say you don't have any enemies, nobody that wants to give you a hard time, but then why and how?"
The accused had been searching his memory all afternoon and could think of no one specifically that would want to set him up. He ran through his day prior to them finding the gun and had no answers. He shook his head side to side and raised his hands indicating that he could be no help. The two talked, Lupo taking notes until the food arrived. They ate and talked, Seymour giving the Sheriff as many details as he could about the past month. What he had done, what days he had worked, who had he seen and when. The list was extensive, giving the Sheriff a good idea of who he was dealing with, and having enough specifics that they could either confirm he had alibis or put his neck further into the noose.
At the end of what seemed like hours to Seymour he was returned to his cell and his visitors were allowed in. Seymour stood close to the bars, his face pressed between them so that he could kiss, first his mom, then Blanche. Marcus also leaned in for a kiss making Seymour pull away and laugh, momentarily taking his mind off his worries. Lillian cried as Blanche held her close, her arm around the woman's shoulders and comforting her as much as she was able.
"We gave statements to that nice young Deputy Guest, I think she's cute," his mom said.
"Yeah, how did it go?" her son asked.
"We don't have anything to hide, the truth will come out and quickly we hope," she said.
"The Sheriff said they will have to confirm my alibis so I can't go anywhere until they know how I got the gun, or I mean how the gun got in my locker," he quickly corrected himself. "I guess I go before the judge tomorrow around noon. Will you be there?" he said to his mom, noting that both women nodded in the affirmativ
e.
They spoke for the full hour allotted them; a deputy broke up the exchange around 8:00 p.m. Marcus agreed to take both women home, dropping Lillian off first, but they found her home invaded by numerous sheriff vehicles and personnel going through everything and everywhere.
"Mrs. Wood, you can't stay here," Blanche said. "Go in, gather up what you need for the night and come and stay with me. I can make room and we can spend the night consoling one another. How does that sound?"
"Well, I would rather not be alone tonight. Are you sure it's not too much trouble? I hate to put you out," the older woman spoke again on the verge of tears.
She ducked into the home for only a few minutes before returning with an overnight bag and her purse. Marcus drove the pair to Caroline's Bed and Breakfast with a promise to take care of everything at the library, at least for Tuesday, and anything beyond that would have to be worked out between Blanche and Mrs. Anderson. They exchanged goodbyes and thank you's as he drove off for home.
At midnight the Sheriff's Department was finally quiet. Lupo sat in his office looking over the statements of each of the four taken that afternoon. He compared the dates and times of the break-ins and assault with the sheets before him, nothing seemed to come together for him, no pattern, no clear indication that Seymour could have done the crimes. The prospect that perhaps he was not working alone entered his mind but the forensics did not support that. Ricky would be taking a casting of Seymour's foot in the morning and DNA samples as well. Seymour had agreed to both. On paper, face-to-face, on the evidence and in his heart, 'The Wolf' knew Seymour was innocent, which left a rather sinister question. Who and for what reason? Who else could be in danger, perhaps Jasper was only the beginning.
As the Sheriff sat sipping his eighth cup of coffee of the day, the phone on his desk rang. He retrieved the portable from the cradle and spoke, "Yeah, Lupo here."
"Sheriff, Breland out at the Wood house. Let me start by what we do have, a motorcycle and it's a dirt bike, lime green 250cc Suzuki, older model. We also found an old single shot hunting rifle and a few rounds of ammunition but no other weapons. I know we were supposed to be looking for a Polaroid camera, came up empty handed there, just a small hand held digital with a dozen miscellaneous pictures on the stick but nothing pertinent. Ricky has been all over this place too, taken some samples, you know the usual stuff, but I got to tell you beyond what I've told you, we haven't found jack shit."
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