Past Dying (The Alan Graham Mysteries)

by Malcolm Shuman

  “You think Jeremiah Persons was lying about not seeing anything?”

  “He said he was sleeping when he heard somebody yell and when he got up and looked out he heard footsteps. But his cabin is a hundred yards away.”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  “But Ethel never said anything about yelling. She says she called out to whoever it was but she never said she yelled.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to admit it.”

  “Believe me, Ethel Crawford isn’t the kind of woman to let out a shriek.” I turned to face her. “I think Jeremiah was lying. I think he was protecting himself. He didn’t want to offend Miss Ethel, because she’s his wheels. But he didn’t want to get involved in white people’s business, either.”

  “So you think he was standing around admiring the bridge on a cold night? Or out fishing? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No.”

  “And what about Jacko’s argument on the phone, the one that Lisa overheard? How does that fit in?”

  “That, I think, is the key,” I said, sucking my finger. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll call the crusading reporter for the Cane River Weekly Trumpet and tell him there may be a story in all this if he plays his cards right.”

  After supper I found Tim Raines’s telephone number on the Internet and called him at home. When he heard my voice he let out a low whistle.

  “You must’ve read the story I wrote about your arrest.”

  “No, and I can’t say I look forward to the opportunity. Look, you want to be in on a real arrest? Want to find out the identity of the person who killed Jacko Reilly and murdered a man in Natchez the other day?”

  “What are you smoking?”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to share.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  And I told him what I wanted him to do. Afterward, I called David and told him to have the crew stand down for tomorrow, until I could straighten things out.

  “I don’t suppose you have any idea where we’ll get another cook,” he said.

  “We only have about a week to go. Maybe we can find somebody in Simmsburg.”

  “Yeah, and what’ll you do to them?”

  “That’s a hell of a thing to say. I never blinked at the girl. This was all something Chaney Reilly put together.”

  “All I know is we’ve got another week of work and the principal investigator’s spent more time in jail than he has at the site. Marilyn said she even got a call from DOTD asking if any of this was true.”

  “What did she tell them?”

  “I think she said she didn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “Well, maybe not that, exactly.”

  I tossed and turned a lot that night and while I was eating breakfast on Monday morning Tim Raines called back and told me I was right.

  “Now what?” Pepper asked, and I saw worry lines creasing her forehead.

  “Oh, just another trip up to Winnsboro,” I said. “I think I need to talk to Jeremiah Persons again.”

  It was just after eleven when I knocked on Jeremiah’s mother’s door. Miss Ethel’s car was behind the house and I knew this time they were inside, waiting.

  His worried-looking mother offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted, trying to mitigate the tension in the room with small talk as I drank it. But it was no use. They knew I hadn’t driven nearly two hundred miles for no reason.

  I got up slowly. “Jeremiah, can we walk around in the back and talk a little, just you and me?”

  His mother shot him a look.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I just need to get some things straight.”

  “Jeremiah didn’t do nothing,” the old lady said.

  “I know,” I said. “He’s not guilty of anything. I just need his help.”

  When we were in the yard, I walked back past the chicken house. For a few seconds I watched a pair of hens picking at the ground in a desultory way, while a rooster stood to the side. Finally I summoned my courage:

  “I want to talk to you about what you saw that night,” I said.

  Jeremiah looked away. “Told you, I didn’t see nothing, just heard the splash.”

  “I’m talking about the night Miss Ethel got chased off the bridge.”

  “I said I was sleeping.”

  “But you woke up.”

  “That’s right but I didn’t see nothing.”

  “You must have. You had a view of everything, Jeremiah.”

  “What you talking about? That old house down in the field, the bridge up high, you can’t hardly see…”

  “Jeremiah, I don’t think you were in the house. You said you heard Miss Ethel yell out. But I don’t think she yelled at all. I think you were just trying to make her happy, support her story, but without getting involved yourself.”

  Jeremiah shrugged. “You can believe what you want”

  I wasn’t making any headway. I took a deep breath.

  “Look, I don’t want to involve you. And I won’t. Unless you keep denying things and then it’ll all have to come out.”

  His eye darted to my face. “What’ll come out?”

  “How you like to climb up to the bridge tender’s house at night with your wine and sit up there and drink. I asked Tim Raines to talk to Mr. Peebles, the bridge tender. Peebles said the lock hadn’t worked for a while and he figured somebody had been up there when he saw the bottles. He got rid of them, of course, and put a new lock on the door of the control house. I’m sure your fingerprints are all over the place, though. So if you were up there, with a good view, you may have seen a lot more than you’re telling, and that makes you a material witness.”

  “But I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Jeremiah, you can break the law by not doing something as well as by doing something. If you see something you ought to report and don’t, then …”

  “You don’t need to tell me the law. I seen enough of the law when I was in the army. I seen what kind of law they got.”

  “Oh?”

  “Law is what the officers say. You do it or else. Then, something go wrong, it come down on you, it’s all your fault, you should of known …”

  He turned to face me. “Mister, I been threatened by worse than you and in a worse place. I may not be much, but I’m a man and I ain’t gonna be threatened about something I didn’t do and wasn’t none of my business in the first place.” He spat on the ground and one of the hens strutted up to inspect it. “And don’t tell me about justice and what’s fair and protecting people, because that’s what all that was about over there. Every time we burned a village it was to protect people and I protected people until I can’t sleep no more.”

  I could see there wasn’t anything more to say. I’d lost.

  “I guess I can’t blame you,” I said and left him in the yard.

  The two women looked up as I entered.

  “Well?” his mother asked.

  “He’s been through a lot,” I said. “I can’t blame him for not wanting to take any more chances.”

  “You think he saw something he isn’t telling?” Miss Ethel asked.

  “I had that feeling but maybe I was wrong.”

  Jeremiah’s mother shook her head and seemed to grow smaller in the chair, with the bright quilt around her.

  “Boy never was right after he come back from that war. I had four boys. Lost one in a wreck, from drinking, right out there on Highway 15. Lost another one in a shooting in New Orleans. My oldest boy, he died six years ago this April from a infection. That was Jonathan. Jeremiah, he was my baby. He was so handsome in that uniform.” She pointed a withered hand toward the wooden mantel and I walked over and took down a small, framed photograph. It was of a young black man in fatigue uniform. He was smiling and there were palm trees in the background. I put the photo back on the mantel.

  “I don’t know what happened over there,” the old woman went on. “He used to be so friendly, so happy being with people, but afte
r he come back he just kept to himself.” She reached a hand up to wipe her eyes.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Miss Ethel soothed.

  I held out a hand. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I just thought it was worth the chance.”

  I made my way back out, zipping up my jacket, though the weather had warmed up. For a few minutes I stood in the open air, feeling the heat of the sun, and then went over to the red Blazer. I heard the screen door slam and saw Miss Ethel coming down the steps.

  “What do you think he saw?” she asked. “Something I missed?”

  “I think he was in the bridge tender’s house,” I said. “With a bottle of wine. I think he may’ve seen the whole thing when you went down to the river that night.”

  “My Lord.” She clutched at her throat.

  I shrugged. “I don’t have any proof, though. I don’t think I can get the police to sweat it out of him. He’s made up his mind not to talk.”

  “But there’s a murderer running loose.”

  “I know. Maybe you’ll have more luck with him.”

  She frowned. “Jeremiah’s a strange man. He doesn’t talk much. It’s like there’s a whole world in there nobody can get to. But when he does talk he makes perfect sense. I know he drinks, but he never has around me, and I don’t think he’s had a drop since he’s been up here.”

  I got into the Blazer and started the engine.

  “Good luck, Dr. Graham.”

  I thanked her, released the hand brake, and started out of the yard.

  And heard someone calling after me.

  I braked and looked in the mirror.

  Jeremiah’s mother was standing on the front porch, waving to get my attention. I put the Blazer into reverse, returned to where I’d started, and got out.

  The old woman was making her way down the steps now and I hurried toward her.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  That was when I saw Jeremiah on the other side of the screen door.

  “It’s my son,” she said. “I told him he had to do the right thing, didn’t have no choice. He’ll talk to you now, Mr. Graham.”

  I went up the steps slowly, afraid the man on the other side of the screen would vanish, but he remained, not moving, until I got there, and then he spoke:

  “You was right. I was there that night,” he said. “I seen it. I seen who was after Miss Ethel.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I met Tim Raines at the Recreation Area, just on the other side of the bridge. He drew his battered tan Tercel next to my Blazer and got out, smiling.

  “We scored, did we?”

  I told him what Jeremiah had said.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked.

  “You got a pocket recorder?”

  “Just like you asked.”

  “Then let’s see what we can do.” I put my cell phone in my pocket, locked my vehicle, and got into the Tercel. “I hope you don’t mind driving. My Blazer’s pretty well known by now and we have to pass through the middle of town.”

  We crept over the bridge and I saw that Jeff’s Explorer was in the driveway leading to the sheriff’s office. A couple of trusties in orange jumpsuits were washing it and I had to fight the chill that came over me as I remembered my own night in jail.

  We passed the Highway 12 turnoff that led to the archaeological site and Simmsburg, and kept going, the hills on our right. Just ahead, on the left, past the high school, was the gravel road that led to the archaeological camp. As we passed it I caught a glimpse of a vehicle in the woods, near the house.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  “But I thought we were going—”

  “Somebody’s at the camp. I want to check it. The crew isn’t here today.”

  Raines nodded, found a driveway, and turned around. He came to the camp drive and turned in.

  “I know that truck,” Raines said as we pulled up beside the other vehicle. “It’s—”

  “It belongs to Luther Dupree,” I said. “I imagine his daughter’s here, since Luther’s in jail again.”

  Before Raines could say anything I was out of the car and on my way into the house.

  Alice Mae looked up from her mopping as I came in and gave a little gasp.

  “Oh. Mr. Alan. I didn’t … I mean …”

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “I saw the truck here and just wanted to check.”

  “Mr. Alan, I hope you aren’t mad. I didn’t say nothing against you, really. I mean, I don’t even remember what happened. I woke up and I was here and there was all these men around and they was telling me you … But I didn’t think you’d … I mean, I didn’t know, and they told me I had to sign something and I didn’t know what it was, but I was scared, they said my paw would never get out of jail and …” She twisted her wristwatch. “Then they said they’d let you go and I was glad but I figured you’d be mad and then the sheriff said you wouldn’t be, on account of you weren’t that kind, you’d understand, and you weren’t coming back here, anyway, just Mr. David and the others, and they wouldn’t hold nothing against me, he didn’t think, and I thought if I cleaned the place up real good, maybe, had a good meal ready, though I’m not sure where to get the food, but—”

  “Alice Mae …” I held up a hand. “They aren’t coming today. But it’s good of you to clean up here. And I don’t hold anything against you. You were drugged. You weren’t responsible.”

  “God bless you, Mr. Alan.”

  “But there are a couple of things you may be able to clear up.”

  “Oh?”

  I heard Raines open the door behind me.

  “Did you know Jacko Reilly, Alice Mae?”

  She flushed red and started twisting at the watch again. “I reckon everybody knew him.”

  “But did you ever talk to him? I mean, just the two of you?”

  She gave an exaggerated shrug. “I reckon once or twice. I know what folks say about him, but he was nice to me.”

  “He was a nice-looking man, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, Jacko was nice-looking.”

  “And when he disappeared you were unhappy.”

  “I reckon.” Another shrug. “I mean, I figured he was just gone somewhere, but I didn’t know he was dead or nothing, not until they found him.”

  “And that made you real sad, didn’t it?”

  “Sure. Thinking about him down there in that car, under all that water for those months, and no Christian burial or nothing. I know Paw didn’t like him but he was always a real gentleman to me. Just like you, Mr. Alan.” She smiled shyly. “I mean, he used to sometimes give me things. He said I was pretty. Ain’t no man ever said that to me before.”

  “What did he give you?” I asked. “Do you remember?”

  “Well …” She licked her lips and her hand went down to her left wrist again, and the blocky old watch. “He give me this watch, for one thing.”

  “It’s a pretty watch,” I said. “Mind if I take a look at it?”

  “I reckon not.” She slipped the watch from her wrist and held it out to me. I held it up for Raines to see.

  “Did he tell you where he got this?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “When did he give it to you?”

  Another shrug. “Dunno. Before Thanksgiving. He said it was a Christmas present. I said it was early. He just laughed and said they had all the Christmas stuff out in the stores so he didn’t reckon it was early.”

  “What did your father say about his giving you this?”

  “He didn’t like it but I cried when he said he wanted to take it away so he said I could keep it.” She sniffed. “That was when Paw was in the jail. He was mad because he said while he was in the jail couldn’t nobody keep an eye on me and make sure nothing happened. But then Jacko disappeared.” She shook her head. “You don’t know how lonely it was, Mr. Alan, with Jacko gone and Paw in jail.”

  “I’m sure it was. I want you to think back a week or so, Alice Mae. I want to tell you a story and I want you to
tell me if it’s true, okay?”

  Her nod this time was doubtful. I went on:

  “It was a cold night. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were thinking about Jacko, just lying there in bed. Your paw was in jail again, so you were by yourself. And like you said, it gets lonely.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And maybe you got up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Does that ever happen, Alice Mae?”

  “Sometimes.” She looked from me to Tim Raines and then away.

  “Maybe sometimes at night you even take your paw’s truck.”

  “Sometimes. I mean, he won’t let me drive except just to work and back, and never no other time. Only time I get to drive it is when he ain’t around. Sometimes late at night I drive it up and down through town, when it’s quiet, so don’t nobody see, and I go slow past the houses, all them houses dark with folks inside, and a few of ’em with little lights on, with maybe people inside can’t sleep, and I try to think what it’s like in there, how it’d be to live in one of them houses, maybe like if I was married and had my own kids, and how maybe those houses ain’t like the double-wide, all drafty with a hole in the floor where the cold air comes in …”

  “I understand.”

  “Sometimes I even look in the windows and—” She stopped suddenly.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know it was you outside my window that night.”

  “Mr. Alan, I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s all right. Alice, do you ever go down by the bridge?”

  “Maybe once.”

  “Thinking about Jacko?”

  “Yeah.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “You parked and got out?”

  “I went down off the road and stopped in the woods on the other side. I got out and walked down by the water and I was thinking how terrible lonely it would be down there.” She looked up at me. “I know folks said bad things about Jacko, and maybe they was true. I just know when I seen him he had nice words to say to me and no other man never did. There wasn’t nothing like you think, neither: My paw was always too close for that. It was just Jacko was somebody to talk to sometimes and he was nice.”

  “Sure.”

  “And after a while I walked down under the bridge toward the other side, where couldn’t nobody see from up above. Funny, I almost felt like somebody was watchin’. Then, after a little while, I heard feet walking and I knew somebody was coming down by the river and I didn’t know who it was, but I knew if they caught me and my paw found out, he’d be mad as a nest of hornets and so I tried to get way back in the dark, and then somebody called out for me to come outa there, and it was a woman’s voice, but it scared me, and I kinda tripped on the rip-rap and whoever it was, they give a little yell and took out runnin’ and I wanted to say, ’Wait, I ain’t gonna hurt you,’ and so I went after her, but she kept going and when I got up on the bridge she was all the way to the other end, so I went back and got the truck out of the woods where I parked it and I drove all the way to Carter Crossing before I turned around and come back.”