The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  Nodding, Sandra steered the conversation back to the purpose of the visits. “Do you know what any of the visitors spoke about? Any threats?”

  “No, not really. I wasn’t there. Clayton never really talked much about those sorts of things. He would not have wanted to worry me with talk of threats.”

  “Did he have an appointment book or anything we could check for visitors?” Deets asked, more interested.

  “Well, yes, in his office.” The older woman looked at Deets questioningly. “He kept everything on his computer. His appointments, journal, and articles he was writing. You think this could help find who did this?”

  “Honestly,” Sandra took a deep breath not knowing how this would be received, and then continued honestly, “I doubt it. Carjackings happen every day and this one was pretty standard. Still, the judge was a well-known person, and as you say, he was deeply involved in the civil rights cause and still had influence. We can’t eliminate any possibility for the moment.”

  The older woman nodded considering the detective’s words. Deets continued, “Where is the computer and office?”

  May Marswell looked up at the man standing behind her daughter Margaret. “Harold, would you please show the detectives the judge’s office?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young man said and started to the door.

  May Marswell became aware of Andy Barnes for the first time.

  “You’re the homicide detective they said was coming, aren’t you” Her eyes met his with a questioning look, as if facing some extraordinary puzzle that she could not solve.

  “Yes ma’am. I’m Andrew Barnes, with Atlanta homicide.”

  “Andrew,” her brow wrinkled as if trying to understand. “Why would someone hurt…” She took a breath as if to correct herself. “Why would someone kill Clayton? He was a good man, Andrew.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t know why. We are going to try and find out.” Barnes shifted uncomfortably under the woman’s questioning gaze.

  “You do that, Andrew.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There was nothing more to say. He and Grier turned and followed Harold out of the room to find the judge’s office.

  Crossing the hallway, Harold led them to a small back room. Entering, Andy saw instantly that his was the judge’s office, his space. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with law books. There were books containing opinions and legal briefs, the Georgia State Code, United States Supreme Court opinions, books on constitutional law. Books and more books. Apparently, the judge was a reader.

  Harold pointed to a laptop computer on the broad oak desk.

  “That’s where the judge would work from.” He motioned Barnes over and pointed at the judge’s leather chair. “I’m going back to the family, let me know if you need anything.” Harold turned to rejoin his grieving wife and mother-in-law.

  Bob Grier looked at Andy and asked, “What do you think? Anything here going to be useful?”

  Lifting his gaze from the polished desk where the laptop sat, Barnes replied. “I think some punk ass street thugs jacked the judge for his money and car. When they figured out who he was, they decided to kill him rather than face him in court later.”

  Grier nodded. “Yeah. Gassing up, wrong place, wrong time. Bad luck for him. Bad day for him and the family.” He said it matter-of-factly, somberly, the veteran of many a grisly crime scene.

  Andy nodded. “Yeah, bad luck.”

  “What you going to do? You’re lead, this is a homicide.”

  “I am going to follow up on every possible lead I can find. Go through his computer, talk to his friends, neighbors, other judges, office staff, churchgoers, and anybody who might have had any dealings with him. I owe it to his family.” He paused. “I owe it to the judge.”

  Grier nodded in understanding.

  “Then,” Andy continued, “I am going to write this up as a straight robbery, murder, carjacking and hunt down the motherfuckers that did it.”

  He said nothing about putting them behind bars and the look on Barnes’ face told Grier that the motherfuckers who did it would be lucky to make it to jail. He nodded with understanding and turned to rejoin the family and Sandra Deets.

  Left alone, Andy Barnes seated himself slowly and respectfully in the judge’s chair and pressed the power button on the open laptop. Waiting for it to cycle and warm up, he looked around. He became aware that the desk and walls around it were covered with mementos and photographs of the judge’s activities during the days of strife in the movement.

  Here, a picture of Reverend King holding a young Clayton Marswell’s hand warmly, smiling broadly at him. There, a picture of Marswell standing beside a middle-aged black woman. It took a moment for Barnes to realize that the woman was Rosa Parks, who had refused to sit in the back of the bus. A framed copy of the “I Have A Dream” speech, signed by Martin Luther King, hung on a wall to one side of the desk. On the opposite wall, Lincoln’s “Emancipation Proclamation” was hung in a heavy and ornate frame. It appeared to be an antique.

  Andy realized that this was a shrine. He regarded the artifacts that surrounded him. A brick that had a small plate attached attesting that it had been thrown and struck the judge while he marched through Selma. A church program from the Ebenezer Baptist Church indicated that Reverend King was the pastor delivering the evening sermon. This was hallowed ground. He felt a sense of reverence for the artifacts around him and for the man who had endured so much so that a young boy from a tough part of Atlanta could become a member of the elite Atlanta Homicide Division.

  With a renewed sense of reverence for those who had gone before, Detective Barnes began reviewing files on the judge’s computer. He would follow every lead. Every possible avenue of investigation would be followed. He owed it to the man.

  When that was done, he would, indeed, hunt down the motherfuckers that did it. If they were lucky, they would end up behind bars.

  17. Out of Line

  Going over the crime scene with the techs, Sharon was acutely aware of Sheriff Grizzard’s presence standing over her shoulder. While he did not interfere, he was clearly not happy and seemed to be waiting for an opportunity to assert himself as the senior law enforcement officer present. He was still stinging from Price’s instructions to him to go outside and meet the crime scene unit. She knew they would have to clear things up between the Sheriff and the GBI if the investigation was going to move forward smoothly and cooperatively. She wished she had Bob Shaklee’s ability to remain calm and professional when dealing with what he called petty, but necessary distractions, or as she termed it - bullshit.

  But she did not, and she knew it. Giving herself an inward shrug, she decided that she would clear the air with ‘the locals’ now, rather than later. Let’s end the bullshit. No time like the present.

  “Right,” she said softly to herself and then turned and looked Grizzard directly in the eyes. “So, Sheriff, do I detect some annoyance?” Her continued direct gaze was something the sheriff was not used to, or had anticipated.

  Grizzard was a four-term sheriff in his sixteenth year. He was up for reelection this year and had been counting on a fifth term so that he would leave after a full twenty years as sheriff of Hinchfield County. Somerhill and his supporters had put his reelection very much in question, if not in downright doubt. From the old school, he had served fifteen years as a deputy, working his way up, and with, the former sheriff who had become his mentor and supporter. He had played by the established rules, done his time, and expected the rewards for his faithful service in the system. Somerhill’s opposition had changed all of that.

  After looking into the unflinching eyes of Agent Price of the GBI for as long as he could, he responded. “Annoyance? Reckon I am a bit annoyed if you want to use that word.”

  “Really. Well, what word would you use, Sheriff?” Sharon smiled politely at the senior law enforcement officer of Hinchfield County.

  The sheriff was clearly hoping that Price, a woman much younger and l
ess senior than himself, would back down. He realized that was not to be the case.

  “I guess I would call it…disconcerted.” The stare down between them continued. He waited for the question that he knew was coming.

  An eyebrow-furrowing look of sympathy crossed Sharon’s face. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. Why are you disconcerted?”

  Grizzard, recognizing the false sympathy for what it was, lost all patience with the word games. This…‘woman’ was the only word he could think of now…this woman needed to learn her place. He was, by god, the goddamned sheriff of Hinchfield County. She had better learn it and remember it.

  “Agent Price, you are out of line. I take some exception to your use of the word murder when there has not even been a full investigation of the case yet. So yes, I am annoyed and disconcerted, and with all due respect…” he said glancing over at Lauralee Somerhill who had stepped out onto the back porch as the confrontation began, “with all due respect, I think we would be wise to proceed slowly and deliberately and with due caution before we make any determinations as to what happened here. There are any number of possibilities.”

  Price noticed that the color in Grizzard’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple as he spoke. Conscious of Mrs. Somerhill’s unexpected presence on the porch, she said, “Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere, Sheriff.”

  Lauralee Somerhill interjected firmly, “No. Discuss it now. I want to hear this.”

  Sharon nodded and looked at the sheriff. “And what would those possibilities be?” Her face remained calm and pleasant, her gaze steady, unwavering, and definitely unimpressed with the sheriff’s bluster.

  “Hunting accident. Could have been a hunting accident. People hunt in those woods all the time, even off season.” The sheriff’s voice rose and began to change pitch to a higher octave.

  “So, as I understand it,” Sharon began with a wry smile, “your theory is that a hunter fired a round and accidentally shot the senator, and then fired two more shooting him two more times, accidentally, all of the rounds creating a nicely grouped pattern on his chest.” Sharon’s face contorted, she had gone too far. Grizzard gave her no time to turn and apologize to Mrs. Somerhill.

  “Young lady, you are completely out of line now.” Grizzard’s voice had elevated several decibels. Sharon wondered if his outrage at the disrespect for the feelings of the Somerhills was real or feigned. “Do you have any respect for the feelings of others?”

  “Stop, Harvey.” Lauralee Somerhill looked the sheriff in the eye and took a step to Sharon’s side. “She’s right. You know she is right, and there is no reason to dance around it here tonight. Someone shot Prentiss and did it deliberately. To think otherwise is just ridiculous. He was my husband and someone took him from me. I want that person found.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “No political games now. I know you had issues with Prentiss. Doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever you think, I know you will do what is right as sheriff.” She laid her hand on Sharon’s arm. “You help her find my husband’s killer, Harvey. You do it.”

  Everyone on the porch, including Sharon Price, looked at the floor, embarrassed by what they had put the woman through with their verbal dueling. Way to go Sharon, she thought. You handled that really well.

  Looking up at Grizzard, who stood sullenly staring at the toes of his shoes, she realized that old time sheriff or not, his outrage at her lack of tact had been real. Not a bad man, just set in his ways and annoyed at the intrusion of the GBI onto his turf. She wondered why Bob Shaklee wasn’t there to handle the bullshit. Oh yes, he had some church event to attend with his family that evening. No excuse, Bob, she thought. No excuse.

  Day Two

  *****

  How easy it is for generous sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous courage to lose their influence beneath the chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man who was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found wanting when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior to policy.

  *****

  James Fenimore Cooper

  ‘The Last of the Mohicans’, 1826

  Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.

  *****

  Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the United States

  (1809 – 1865)

  18. Such a Fine Place

  “Good morning, Clarence. Anything new?”

  Clarence Greene folded the Atlanta Journal – Constitution in half and laid it on the white linen tablecloth. “Not much. Seems that Judge Marswell was carjacked and murdered yesterday afternoon in Atlanta.”

  “Really?” Charles Montgomery pulled back the chair opposite Greene and seated himself, taking the linen napkin from the place setting and placing it neatly in his lap.

  Greene nodded and added, almost as an afterthought, “Prentiss Somerhill was also killed at his home some time later in the afternoon. Possible hunting accident the paper reports.”

  “Hunters? At his home? Seems strange.” He allowed himself a small wry smile.

  “Yes, very,” Greene returned. Not allowing any facial expression to betray his thoughts on the matter, he continued, “They say he was seated in a chair on his back porch…they called it a veranda…when a high-powered round struck him in the chest, probably killing him instantly.” He paused allowing that bit of information to linger in the air between them for a moment.

  “One round…through the chest you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Must have been a very lucky shot,” Montgomery said. A thoughtful look on his face gave the appearance that he was considering the probabilities of one accidental round ending the late state senator’s life.

  “Of course,” Green added, “the police never release all of the information. Who knows, there may have been more rounds fired.”

  Montgomery nodded thoughtfully, the wry smile back on his face. “Yes, yes. Very true. They always keep some information to themselves, for investigative purposes, of course.”

  Greene nodded. In truth, both men had a great deal more personal knowledge of yesterday’s events than the police did, or the papers were reporting.

  A white jacketed waiter approached to take their breakfast order. The two sat at a table in a five star hotel restaurant, in a very high-end neighborhood of the city, overlooking a patio surrounded by green shrubs and flowers. Through the glass, they could see a khaki uniformed worker tending to the flowers. It was a place they often met, as much for its privacy as for the excellence of its service and food.

  Dutifully and quietly, the waiter…there were no servers here, only waiters, all male…recorded their breakfast orders on a neat white pad in a black leather folio. Oatmeal, fruit, and coffee for Greene. Two eggs, two strips of bacon, wheat toast, and coffee for Montgomery. Refilling their juice glasses, he nodded politely and moved away as quietly as he had approached.

  “Any numbers of interest being reported?” Montgomery asked, sipping his orange juice.

  Greene understood the allusion immediately. “No changes, if that’s what you mean. Our supporters across the state are still under fire, many in serious jeopardy.”

  “Yes, it’s early still though, isn’t it?”

  “Correct,” Greene replied with some force. “As we discussed, it will take some time for the effect of…shall we say, recent actions to be felt.”

  “Yes, I know,” Montgomery replied calmly. “Just stating it out loud for myself.” He smiled at Greene. “One of the shortfalls of getting old, you know, stating the obvious.”

  “I know, but remember, it’s the reason we started the project as early as we did. We knew it would take time to stem the tide.” Then he added with a confident smile, “As the voices are silenced, the numbers will change.”

  “Yes. Turn them back to their own self-interests.” He paused reflecting on what he had said. “And self-interest is what makes the world go round. If you think about it, it is t
he American way, maybe as much a part of the ‘American Dream’ as Mom and apple pie.”

  “There will be a serious investigation, you know. Some smart detective is likely to connect the dots, so to speak.”

  “True,” Montgomery replied. “That was why we agreed that the first two…” He thought for a moment about his next word. “The first two major elements would be removed at the beginning. There may be questions asked, but once removed, the other elements could be… silenced without any connection to the others. As time passes, things will die for want of leadership.”

  Greene nodded. “Yes, I know, but the investigation will bear some watching, don’t you think?”

  Montgomery folded his manicured hands delicately in his lap and gazed serenely out at the flowerbeds. He had come a long way from his rough Georgia country roots. He had succeeded in ways that he had never dreamed, driven though he was. His success had brought him rewards far greater than he could have imagined as a young man trying to make his way. After considering Greene’s question for a minute, he replied, “Yes, I think you may be right. No harm in keeping tabs on things.”

  “No harm at all,” Greene agreed, “and certainly to our benefit.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “I think we should enjoy our breakfast and then make a call to the governor’s office. He will want this handled correctly. A task force, perhaps?”