Roots of Murder

by R. Jean Reid

  The interruption of Carrie, returning with their lunches, did little to give her any inspiration. Nell started to grab her sandwich and go back into her office, but instead pulled a chair in front of Jacko’s desk.

  There were a few minutes of unadorned eating, then some talk of weekend plans. Nell wondered if her presence was damping the conversation. She often overheard some raucous laughter when people congregated to eat. Although not recently, she thought.

  She finished half of her sandwich just as a lull came into the conversation. “Next week is going to be a busy week,” she said. Brilliant opening, McGraw, she told herself. For a moment, she fumbled, tried to think what Thom might say, but realized she wasn’t Thom. I can only be Nell, and Nell is straightforward and blunt.

  She began again. “I know it’s different without Thom here. It’s … at times I feel like I’m in uncharted territory. We’re left with the hard task of making up for all the places he was. It’s probably an understatement when I say it’s going to be a busy week. We’ve got a lot of follow-up to do on the bones discovered in the woods. I’ve stumbled onto something that might be a link, but is certainly a story—an explosive story—in its own right. In the late fifties, early sixties, a number of poor, mostly black, people were cheated out of their property by, at best, an unforgiving and unfairly applied tax collection, and, at worst, by outright thievery. Jacko, I have a feeling that following this property scam might lead us to the people in the woods, so I’ve got some records for you to go after. Carrie, we’ve got to still pay attention to the upcoming elections. I want you to continue to follow the candidates. You’re going to have to pursue some hard questions, like how Hubert Pickings got his money.”

  “The bones are the big story,” Carrie said testily.

  “Yes, they are,” Nell acknowledged. “I’m going to be blunt here. You and Jacko are pretty new at reporting. I need to use your strengths. He does good work in hunting down the details. You’re a good interviewer, able to read people and get them to reveal more than they intended. If what I’ve found so far plays out the way it looks like it will, the bones and the property scam will blow up this election. So far the names that have benefited are Pickings, as in Hubert Pickings, and Brown, as in Whiz Brown’s family. Those are big boys, and if you’re questioning them about stealing property from poor black people, you’re going to be playing in the big leagues.”

  “I get to do the follow-up?” Carrie asked.

  “If you get results, you get the follow-up,” Nell told her.

  “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” the young woman challenged.

  “You have to do it, since there’s no one else. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  Carrie was silent, then said, “Hubert Pickings is having his ‘Pickings in the Park’ event this weekend. How hard do I hit him there?”

  Nell considered. “Pickings in the Park” was a picnic/rally in the state park, a not-so-subtle reminder that his family had donated the land. “Let’s see how much Jacko and I can dig up by then. If we can show that he got the land for a song, it would be a very poetic place to confront him.”

  “What about Aaron Dupree?” she asked. “I know that you’re going out with him on Saturday, but he’s doing a meet and greet at the fishing rodeo on Sunday. What do I hit him with?”

  “So far I’ve found nothing to link the Duprees to any of this. That doesn’t mean we won’t. Right now I can just suggest that you push him for his reaction to the discovery of the bodies. See how he uses the information.” Then Nell added, “And I’m not going out with him on Saturday, it’s a political event. He’d probably be willing to substitute you for me.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in me,” Carrie replied.

  “I don’t think he’s interested in me, either,” Nell retorted. “He wants the coverage.”

  “I’m sure that’s all he wants,” Carrie said, her meaning not quite clear enough for Nell to call her on it.

  For a moment there was silence. It’s my job to fill the silences now, Nell thought. “Are there any questions or concerns?” With that, she glanced around the room, taking in Pam, Dolan and Ina Claire as well as Jacko and Carrie.

  “You might be poking some pretty big guns,” Dolan said slowly. “Hubert didn’t much like the story about the bodies, what’s he going to do if you come up with a story that his family cheated to get what they got?”

  “Are you suggesting I back down?” Nell challenged. “What if the Pickings family did get their property by cheating a poor black man out of it?”

  “Better have good proof,” Dolan said. He quickly added, “I’m not saying that to make things difficult, just … ” He trailed off.

  Nell started to demand, “Just what?” but held off. Trust was a two-way street, and as she had to learn to know and trust what they would do, they also had to know and trust what she would do. Was the widow going to go off on a half-cocked crusade, an amalgam of angers, or would she be a sober reporter hunting the facts? When she could speak, she said, “Dolan has a good point. If we pursue this, we might find we’ve yanked the tail of a tiger. If so, we’re not just going after thieves, but murderers. It’s something we all need to think about.”

  She paused for a moment, then continued. “Right now what I have is a witness, someone who worked in the records back when this happened. She’s given me enough names that we should be able to verify everything she’s told me. I’m also going to trace some of those who lost their property, get their stories. Nothing goes in the paper without adequate documentation, enough to defend the Crier should anyone sue.”

  “Do people do that anymore?” Jacko asked. “Public figures? They’re just about fair game for anything.”

  “It doesn’t mean they can’t sue,” Nell said. “Nor do we want anyone to say Nell McGraw has gone mad with grief and has some crazy agenda. It’s possible we’ll find out that Hubert Pickings is a saint and his family gave some poor dirt farmer a nice retirement. We’ll print that, too.”

  “That would take a lot of proof,” Dolan said. He slowly added, “Okay, I’m in. I’m just worried about you Nell, about the paper. Don’t think I can get another job at my age.”

  “You know I’m with you,” Pam said. “But you knew I would be,” she added.

  “Hey, it’s a great story,” was all Jacko said.

  “It’s more than a great story, it’s a chance to right some wrongs, fix some of the things that the older generation left for us,” Carrie said, a subtle poke at Dolan’s hesitancy. Nell wondered if that meant Carrie was finally taking her out of the old fogy category, or if she was just ignoring Nell’s age to make her point.

  As usual, Ina Claire surprised them all. “Well, I marched in Selma. Seems this is on the same road.”

  Nell caught the look that took place between Dolan and Ina Claire, let the younger generation top that, it said. She was gratified when Ina Claire caught her eye and included her.

  She hurried to her office and snatched a sheet of paper. “Jacko, to the courthouse. Here’s a list of names and, as best I could get, dates. Go for these first, but see if you can get comparison properties. What were they selling for? Check the tax records. Were the rules strict only for some and not the others? Get what you can this afternoon. Report back to me when you’re done. Carrie, you can go ahead and take the afternoon off, but I’ll call you after I talk to Jacko and see what questions you might ask Mayor Pickings. And the rest of you … just carry on.”

  Jacko swallowed one last bite, then said, “Off to the courthouse.” His excitement was palpable as he quickly gathered what he needed to take with him.

  Carrie, at a more leisurely pace, corralled her purse and other necessities. “I may be doing some errands, so call me on my cell,” she told Nell.

  They both headed out the door, Jacko restraining himself enough to hold it for Carrie, but then he quickly
bounded across the town square to his car, leaving her behind.

  Lunch was over. Nell carried her half sandwich back to her office. The pile of paper on her desk was daunting, everything from bank statements to ad revenue reports to press releases from every charity, organization and business in all of Tchula County. She had to go through them and make decisions about which to run and which to toss—and do it before the event date passed. There was also a long list of phone calls to return, from the printer with scheduling questions to the organizers of the fishing rodeo to Whiz Brown. Nell stared at his name. He had called twice. He left no message other than she needed to call him back. If Nell were a betting woman she’d put her money on him reinforcing the mayor’s earlier message rather than any developments on Josh’s assault.

  Nell developed a rhythm, a few press releases, a bite of sandwich, dialing as she finished swallowing, finishing the phone call and going back to the press releases. She hated making phone calls, usually Thom did it. She started out being methodical, taking them in order, but quickly abandoned that after the third person who felt the need to say, “Oh, I was so sorry to hear about Thom’s passing.” Nell sorted out those who really needed to be called back today. Then, in either a bolt of inspiration or cowardice, she sorted those into ones she personally needed to call and the ones that could be handled by someone else.

  She sheepishly approached Dolan with the handful of messages. “I have neither the ability nor the patience to make all these phone calls,” Nell confessed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to dump them all on you—and if you feel there’s any that really should come from me, pass them back. But any of these that you can take care of, I’d appreciate.”

  Dolan looked up from his ledger and took the handful of messages. He looked through them before saying, “No problem, don’t worry.” Then he called out, “Ina, your cousin Alvin is calling from the fishing rodeo. See what he wants. Pam, can you manage the fifty calls it’s going to take to get the basketball schedule?”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Nell chanted as she retreated to her office. In quick fashion, Dolan parceled out the messages. She overheard Ina Claire saying, “We’ll give you coverage, Alvin. Don’t worry, if you catch it, I’ll come up with a recipe to cook it.”

  The only messages left were Whiz Brown and Mrs. Thomas, Sr. Nell turned to her email. Nothing there she could use to avoid those calls. But there was an email she could write.

  “Mr. Fletcher, I talked to Penny March this morning. Right now Jack Evens, one of my reporters is digging in the files in the courthouse. Can you give us any assistance in tracing the identity of the bodies found in the woods?”

  Nell suddenly had another idea. “In fact, I could use assistance in other areas. Both the murdered people and the property swindle are big stories and we’re short-handed. Would you be interested in coming to work with us at least through these stories? The Crier can’t pay much, but let me know what you’d need.”

  With that she hit send. She had no real idea of whether Marcus Fletcher was really a reporter or just someone who had thrown together a sheet of information, but they were short handed enough that even the latter might be a help. Nell’s instincts said he could be a big asset, not just in his knowledge and connections in the African-American community, but in the way he had edited her story, she felt he would be good.

  That left her mother-in-law and Whiz Brown. Being a true coward, Nell called the police chief first.

  “Well, Miz McGraw, I was wonderin’ when you’d call back,” he greeted her.

  “So have you found them yet?” Nell cut in.

  His reply, “Found who yet?”, made Nell wish she’d had someone to make her bet with.

  “The men who assaulted my son,” she testily reminded him.

  “Oh, them. Well, we’re still investigating.”

  “And what has your investigation found?” Nell questioned.

  There was a silence that indicated he either didn’t like the question or had no idea what the investigation had found.

  Nell continued. “Have you traced the truck? Have you questioned the Jones boys? Certainly by now you should know what kind of vehicles they drive?”

  He was again slow in answering. “Well, Boyce Jenkins is handling that. I’ll tell him to give you a call and let you know what’s going on.” He hurried on, as if making sure that Nell didn’t get a chance to ask another question. “Now, I’m calling about all the riled citizens who are calling up the police station worryin’ about murders and the like since you ran that story. Seems to me that some old bones in the woods are causing a lot of fuss. Seems to me you ought to be just a little worried about causing this kind of stir.”

  “Chief Brown, I can’t understand why anyone would get upset about three young people shackled, brutally murdered, and dumped in an unmarked grave. No matter what the forensic evidence, they are, as you’ve pointed out, just old bones in the woods.” Nell almost quoted him, calling them “nigger bones,” but she wasn’t sure she could get the vile word out in a properly caustic fashion.

  Chief Brown was again silent, only his heavy breathing on the phone. He evidently wasn’t sure whether Nell was being sarcastic or agreeing with him. It seemed to finally occur to him that she had put it on the front page of the paper. “I got to keep peace in this here town, so I got to step in when I see people riling up some people.

  “And just who are the ‘some people’? The mayor has already been here. Who else could it be?”

  “Why, just the citizens of the town. Old ladies worried about killers creeping in the middle of the night. Mothers worried about their children, letting them play in the yard …”

  “Right, all the orphans, widows, puppies, and kittens,” Nell cut in. “Are you threatening me, Chief Brown? Suggesting I not report the facts? Hide a few murders because they’re just ‘nigger bones’?” This time she did get it out, the anger rising in her voice. The man was a fool. She had to wonder if he was a dangerous fool. First he blew off the assault on her son, then was clumsily trying to bully her. Nell decided it was time to do some bullying of her own. “I’ve already sent the story to colleagues at NPR and the New York Times. This one is going national, Chief Brown. Do you want CNN and all the networks camped outside your door? Want me to pass on some of your enlightened comments? Drop a few hints about the chief of police trying to stymie the investigation? Tell them my twelve-year-old son was assaulted and you couldn’t bother to look into it? It’s my paper breaking the story, they’ll all come to me and I’ll sic them on you like young hounds on an old fox. Forget taking it easy on your way out the door, forget a peaceful retirement. After the media smears you across this town, you won’t be able to get a part-time job at the bait shop, let alone the casino security job you’re looking for.”

  “You can’t do that,” he sputtered.

  “Want to find out? One email and we can see just how hard the media will come after you.”

  “Dammit,” he muttered, then said, “I don’t need that.”

  “Fine. Tell Boyce Jenkins to find the men who assaulted my son. Stay the fuck out of my reporting and if you’ve got an opinion, you’re welcome to write a letter to the editor. Do we have an understanding, Chief Brown?” Nell almost spat out his name.

  He was again silent for a moment, the only telltale sign the heavier breathing coming from the phone, then he said quietly, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear, “Look, this wasn’t my idea and I didn’t have anything to do with it. I just don’t want no trouble.”

  “Have anything to do with what?” Nell asked.

  “Whatever upset ’em. I just don’t know.”

  “What do you know?”

  But again there was silence, and this time in the background, Nell could hear other voices. Finally he came back and said in his usual voice, “I’ll have Boyce get back to you as soon as he gets in. I think he’s m
ade some progress on things. We just don’t want trouble here in town. I don’t want any trouble.” With that, he put the phone down.

  Nell was left wondering how seriously to take his threat. She couldn’t call it anything else. She may have used it, but the truth was she couldn’t see the story fading out. Nell could walk away, stick to reporting high school football scores, but she doubted she could kill this story. And if it’s going to come out, I might as well get the credit because I’ll certainly get the blame, she decided.

  That left one final phone call. Her mother-in-law rarely called her, almost never when Thom had been alive; they always communicated through him. Nell would have to finesse Saturday night, getting Mrs. Thomas, Sr. to agree to take Josh and Lizzie without actually admitting where she would be going.

  “Hello, Nell, glad you could finally call me back,” was Mrs. Thomas, Sr.’s greeting. “You certainly were the topic of conversation at my bridge club. I don’t think the Pelican Bay Crier ever had real human bones on the front page before.”

  “I’m always glad to enliven your bridge club. I’ll be happy to show you the pictures that I didn’t print.”

  Nell detected as much of a sigh as Mrs. Thomas’s politeness would allow. “Is it really murder, do you think? How can they tell after it’s been so long?”

  Nell did know her mother-in-law well enough to know she was not asking for an explanation of forensics. She wanted murder and mayhem to all be a mistake that could be taken away with just a closer examination. “Given all the evidence, it couldn’t be anything but murder.”