Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1)

by Lila Beckham

  Joshua knew he needed to sleep, but sleep was hard to come by; it had eluded him lately. He poured himself a little more whiskey and took another long swig.

  Maybe the whiskey would help him to relax enough to sleep; at least he hoped so.

  Joshua took a long drag off his cigarette then blew it out slowly and choked it off to form a smoke ring. He watched it float away into the night.

  The phone ringing at seven-thirty the next morning woke him. He dropped his feet from the railing and stood upright, then nearly fell because his legs were asleep.

  They had been stretched upright and deprived of circulation for the last five hours.

  Joshua stumbled several more times before making it into the kitchen to the wall-hung phone.

  The caller was John Metcalf telling him they had found another body over in George County, Mississippi. The body was found south of the Four-Mile Truck Stop off Highway 98, just east of Lucedale. This body was another headless man.

  “Randy Mott, a friend of mine from college, told me this one was hacked up pretty badly, Sheriff. They think the weapon used was an axe. You reckon because it made it easier to chop the head off, or do you think he needed more stimulation this time? I read somewhere that after they’ve killed several times, it takes more and more for them to, you know, get off on.”

  “Hell, Son, I don’t have the slightest notion why he used an axe,” Joshua Stokes replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear the fog from his sleepy mind. “I have been studying on this perpetrator from the beginning and haven’t figured him out yet; probably because I am having a hell of a time putting myself in his place.

  Walking in the footsteps of someone as evil and sick as this son-of-a-bitch is hard for me to wrap my head around. I really don’t want to go there, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do, Sheriff, but someone has to get inside his head. I heard the Federal Bureau of Investigation has a new division that does just that. They call it criminal profiling. Maybe you ought to call them in and let them do it,” Metcalf suggested, but John Metcalf could not see the scowl on Joshua Stokes face at the mention of the FBI.

  “No, not yet, John. I am not ready for them to come in here and make a worse mess of it, than it already is.

  I remember what those highfalutin boys done with Willie and Lacey Stringer’s murders. They treated poor Hannah as if she was the murderer to start with and we all knowed that was not the case. She was a victim too.

  I did not have any choice in the Stringer murders, because Autry murdered Lacy on the Mississippi side of the river, but I do in these. We are not even sure this is the work of the same perpetrator. The murders in Mississippi might not have a damn thing to do with these over here.”

  Joshua hated getting so riled up first thing in the morning, but just the mention of the FBI infuriated him.

  After a moment of silence, John Metcalf said, “Before we hang up, Sheriff, there’s something I forgot to tell you.”

  “Well, spit it out,” Joshua said impatiently after a long pause on the other end of the receiver.

  “Sorry, Sheriff, the coroner told me this latest victim didn’t have any sperm inside her either, same as the other three; at least he couldn’t find any inside her, but she was cut up down there pretty bad and all the blood from her wounds could’ve washed it away.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Call me if you hear anything else of interest,” Joshua said, then hung up the phone. He stood there a minute, his legs still numb and tingling.

  Joshua walked back out onto the porch, stretched as far as his aching joints would allow, then took a piss off the end of the porch as he watched a couple of squirrels run up and down the large live oak in his yard.

  By the time he finished, they had swung off the moss and run, tumbling, chasing each other toward the river.

  “Yep, spring is in the air,” he mumbled to Jack, whose ears perked up. Jack wagged his tail, cocked his head sideways and appeared to be listening attentively. When Joshua said nothing else, Jack stretched and rearranged himself on the swing and then lay his head down. Joshua sat down in the rocker and picked up the whiskey bottle. He poured himself a shot to get his blood circulating. He knew it was going to be another long day.

  “Wish all I had to worry about was laying around licking my balls” he said to Jack, who was doing just that. Jack quit licking long enough to wag his tail, then went back to doing business.

  Joshua sat on the porch, sipped the whiskey, and then smoked his first cigarette of the day. He watched two birds building a nest before getting up to take a shower and change clothes.

  His bed looked inviting. He would have like to stay home, maybe get some more sleep, but knew he could tarry no longer. He fed Jack, set the bottle of whiskey and glass on the kitchen table, then left. He was as ready as he would ever be he reckoned, as he drove out onto the main road.

  4

  pink mimosas

  Slowly, Emma opened her eyes. She wondered if she were dead. The sweet aroma of flowers surrounded her.

  What she smelled specifically were lilies, and what she thought were mimosas, the pink spidery blossoms were one of her favorite scents. She also smelled a scent she could not decipher; it was somewhat lemony.

  It was supposed to be springtime. Emma knew the mimosas were not yet blooming, they did not usually bloom until May, but she could smell them as if she was lying beneath one of the trees.

  Emma turned her head to her right and saw an odd window. Through the window, she saw the top of what appeared to be a mimosa tree. It was loaded with pink spidery blossoms.

  As she lay there, memories began to return, but they were fuzzy and blurred; much like the lighting in the room, which glowed oddly. Emma did not know if it was real or if she was still dreaming.

  She remembered that her sleep was filled with terrible dreams. Emma felt violated and dirty. She could smell other odors too and she could tell that she was lying in her own filth. She felt something dry and crusty on her face, as if she had drooled as she slept.

  She also recalled feeling a long, snakelike creature crawling through her body, or maybe it was a dream, but it was sucking every drop of her blood out through her mouth of all places. Then, the snakelike creature would attach to a vein in her arm and return her blood to her.

  Each time it did this, she would hear a loud wah-wah noise echoing through her head.

  Emma felt as though she was wavering on the edge of a cliff about to fall, and then she would lose consciousness again… was it all just a dream?

  Suddenly, Emma remembered the two men in her dream. She could hear them talking in her sleep, talking about her as if she were not even there. They were wondering how long they could keep her under before she would die of starvation.

  Had they succeeded, was she dead? Emma blinked her eyes and looked back toward the window where she had seen the mimosa tree. Yes, it was still there, although it looked odd. Her vision was blurry, which made it look as if it were not quite real…

  She wondered if she had been there since March. She could not be sure because she was having trouble remembering anything. She did not even know how she remembered it was March, much less, that mimosas bloomed in May.

  I have to get up from here, thought Emma, but when she tried to turn over, she realized she was strapped down. Someone had her tied to whatever it was she was laying on.

  Oh no, it is true. I am a prisoner! How will I ever get free from this? What will happen when they return?

  Will they panic and kill me because I am awake, or will they put me under again? Emma was afraid, but she did not panic. She realized that she needed to make a plan and be ready for when they did return. She raised her head as far up as she could so she could look at her surroundings.

  The room reminded her of a cellar at first, but as she looked closer, she was not so sure. Her eyes were still blurry and it was semi-dark. It was either late in the day or very early in the morning from what she could tell.

 
; The faint odd lighting was coming from somewhere behind her. On the far wall, lying on a table next to the stairs, Emma thought she could make out the figure of a person in the dimly lit room.

  This has to be a cellar, why else would there be stairs coming down into the room, thought Emma, as she turned her attention back to the figure on the table.

  She tried to focus her eyes, but then she heard boot-steps cross the floor above her, and before she could prepare herself, she heard a door opening. Someone turned on an overhead light. Emma quickly closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

  Emma lay as still as she could, breathing as evenly as possible, which was hard to do, because she caught herself wanting to hold her breath.

  Her pulse raced. She was afraid, but also curious. Emma wanted badly to peek through her eyelashes to get a look at her captors. She listened as they mumbled to each other, trying to hear what they were saying, but they were across the room and not talking very loudly.

  She could hear their feet scuffling on the floor. The noise their feet made on the gritty floor, sent chills down her spine. She could hear something else. It sounded like a woman moaning, but not in a pleasurable way.

  Emma could stand it no longer; she had to open her eyes and see if she could see them. Her lashes fluttered and she tried to steady them, but from where she was, she could not see anything except the ceiling.

  Maybe if I turn my head just a little, I will be able to see better, thought Emma, turning her head ever so slowly to her right.

  “Hey, Earl, that one over there is waking up,” one of the men said to the other. When Emma heard him, she stilled herself for an attack of some sort, but it did not come immediately.

  “No, she looks like she is still out,” the other man said. It was not the same person; Emma could tell the voices were different.

  “Maybe we should let her wake up a little bit like we done before. It’s a lot more fun that away,” the one who called to Earl suggested.

  “Not now. Make sure she’s out.”

  Suddenly, Emma felt a hand and a rag clamp down over her mouth and nose and smelt a strange odor. Then the wah-wah sound began to echo through her head again. Everything around Emma slowly dimmed…

  5

  dredging the past

  “Mornin’, Sheriff, how’s the world treatin’ you?” Joe Stringer asked as Joshua Stokes walked into the café in Fairview and took a seat at the counter. Joe Stringer was Willie and Hannah’s uncle, and Joshua had known him most of his life.

  Joe was a might older than he was, but they had drowned a few worms together over the years.

  “Fair to midland, Joe, and you,” Joshua answered.

  “Doin’ al’ite. Haven’t seen you in here in a while,” Joe said as he turned over the cup and saucer in front of Joshua and poured him a cup of coffee.

  He was eyeballing Joshua closely. Joe could tell the sheriff had something troubling him. He seemed to have a lot on his mind by the looks of him.

  “How’s business been?” Joshua asked.

  “Aw, it don’t do any good ta complain, now does it?”

  “No, reckon it don’t, Joe.”

  “You jest missed Hannah and Leonard. They brung their younguns down to eat breakfast this mornin’.

  Them boys of theirs shore are a growing too; nearly grown by the looks of em,” Joe informed him as he wiped up some coffee that had spilt on the counter.

  Joe slid an ashtray down the counter toward the sheriff when he saw him light a cigarette.

  “Yeah… Well, I hate I missed them. How is Hannah doing?” Stokes asked, figuring Joe wanted to tell him or he would not have brought it up.

  “Aw, she’s doing well I reckon. She don’t complain, don’t talk about what happened with Willie and Lacey either. If I bring it up, she changes the subject, says she don’t want to dredge the past. You know how hardheaded that woman can be, especially when she sets her mind ta somethin’.”

  “I can’t say as I blame her, Joe. She went through an awful experience when Willie and Lacey was murdered. The years don’t ease it none.”

  “Naw, reckon they don’t.”

  “Just give her time.”

  “Give who time?” Mazy ‘Gypsy’ Jones asked, as she and Kathy Powell walked through the door.

  Mazy sauntered up to the counter and leaned into Joshua Stokes, pressing her breast against his arm.

  “Mornin’, you handsome thang you,” Mazy said, placing her manicured hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “I was hoping it was you here when I saw the patrol car in the parking lot,” Gypsy said huskily.

  “Morning Ladies,” Joshua replied, giving Kathy a wink. He always did like Kathy, but she was painfully shy for a pretty woman.

  Her dark hair, sky blue eyes, and alabaster skin made her seem pale and fragile in the early morning light.

  Gypsy wore her usual sunglasses and costume jewelry. She had her dyed black tresses, teased and piled high on her head. Gypsy never left the house unless she was dressed to the nines and all made up like some movie star. Some folks called her Miss Hollywood behind her back.

  Joshua remembered when she had run off to Hollywood after her first divorce. She told folks she was going to go out there and become a famous movie star like Marilyn Monroe or Jane Mansfield. She was out there for a couple of years, but he reckoned she did not make the cut.

  Joshua remembered someone saying that Mazy had always had a wandering bone; that was how she ended up with the nickname of ‘Gypsy.’ Moreover, he remembered JoAnne Vice responding with, ‘Mazy Jones ain’t no gypsy, y’all. The only wandering that thang does is from husband to husband.’

  JoAnne’s assessment was probably about right. As he recollected, Mazy had even married one of her husbands twice and she had had several.

  She is a good-looking woman though. It’s a damn shame she tries too hard, Joshua thought, trying to remember the true color of Mazy’s eyes. Since her return to Mobile, he had never seen her when she was not wearing what had become her signature sunshades, and that had been many years now.

  “What are you too hens a doing up here so early?” Joe hollered from the kitchen. “Don’t usually see y’all till later in the day,” he said, as he came out of the kitchen carrying a platter loaded down with bacon, eggs, grits, and a couple of buttered biscuits. He sat the platter of food in front of the sheriff.

  “We got appointments over at Eva’s to get our hair done. Thought we’d just stop by here and visit with Joshua a minute,” Gypsy replied, giving Joe one of her ‘none of your damn business looks,’ for asking.

  “Well excuse the hell outta me then,” Joe said snidely, turning his attention to Kathy and asking “Kathy, how is yer maw a doin’ these days?”

  Kathy’s mother, Fay, was Joe’s first cousin.

  Kathy, who had said nothing since they had been there, mustered up enough voice to finally answer him, saying that her mama was doing well.

  Joshua knew it had been nearly three years since Kathy’s father passed away and that was why Joe did not inquire of him. Everybody knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other in small towns; although, some, still had secrets…

  Kathy climbed onto a stool at the counter. She was a short woman, maybe four foot ten if that.

  “I’ll take a cup of that coffee, if you don’t mind Uncle Joe,” she said timidly.

  “Naw, Honey, don’t mind a tall. Got plenty,” he replied, turning over another coffee cup that sat on the counter ready for whoever took a seat there.

  “So, y’all is a going over to Eva’s an gettin’ your hair done, huh?” Joe said in his best imitation of Henry Long who cackled when he talked.

  “How is Miss Eva and her mama a doing these days? I don’t see much of em, even though they’re running a beauty parlor right there in the heart of Semmes. Reckon they don’t have much time fer eatin’ at café’s two miles away,” Joe grumbled, sounding disheartened as he poured Kathy a cup of coffee. He set the cream and sugar nearby, and th
en finished wiping the counter.

  When no one responded to his reckoning, Joe turned and walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen, shaking his head and muttering “galldern idjuts” under his breath. Joe could not stand it when folks acted as if they did not hear a word he said; it seemed there were several of them in his café today.

  “When are you going to come see me?” Gypsy asked Joshua, still hanging onto his shoulder with her left hand while reaching into his plate and picking up a slice of bacon with her right.

  “You’re a married woman, Mazy,” Joshua replied, choosing to use her Christian name. “You know your old man wouldn’t appreciate it very much if I come a calling on his wife,” he said, pushing the plate away from him as if it had become contaminated by her touch.

  Joshua regretted the one time he had given in to Mazy’s womanly wiles a few years before. She had chased him relentlessly since then.

  Delbert and Sadie Moffett walked through the door, rescuing him from Gypsy’s advances, at least he hoped, as she turned and walked over to their table, sat down, and began talking to Sadie.

  Joshua looked over at Kathy, who was over-stirring her coffee. He knew how shy she was and he knew she had a crush on him. She had ever since she was a teenager and he a young deputy in his mid twenties, but she was a married woman too and Joshua had decided married women were off limits, especially after what had happened between Willie Stringer and Autry Reston.

  Kathy kept her eyes on her cup of coffee as if she were afraid to look anywhere else in the room.

  “How’s those younguns of yours, Kathy?” he asked, finishing up his coffee, throwing two dollars on the counter and then standing up to leave.

  “They’re doing good Joshua, it’s good of you to ask,” she replied shyly.

  “I saw that youngest boy of yours; Dougie, I believe he’s called. He was out there in Wheelerville. He said he was racing horses for Boney Maples and Jesse Pierce now.”

  “Yes, he is. They take him to the track in N’ Orleans and he jockeys for them.”