Save the Child

by Jimmy Craig Porter

  “This is a sweet ride, Davis.”

  “Thanks, Rick. But you should see the one I really want. Makes this one look like a buggy.”

  “Are you going to get it?”

  “I wish. Too much moolah.”

  “Who knows? After this story, you may be able to afford two.”

  Wilson turned slowly and gave Hopkins a piercing look, accompanied with a smile. “You might be right, Rick. I certainly hope so. I’ll sell you this one.”

  Both men laughed and looked at Joe Cooper, who wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. He was instead looking intently at the Worthy’s house as they were approaching.

  “Give me a minute to get the camera started. I do not want to miss any of this.”

  “Shouldn’t you warn Mrs. Worthy first?” asked Hopkins.

  Wilson glared at him. “Are you kidding?”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  Within seconds, the crew was filming. Hopkins and Joe Cooper stood behind Davis Wilson as he rang the doorbell. It was eleven o’clock on Sunday morning. Wilson knew they were home. He had checked first, before his initial meeting with Hopkins and Cooper. Now the stage was set. Everybody was in their places and the cameras were rolling, live, unrehearsed, and with the biggest ingredient: the element of surprise.

  Jane Worthy opened the door. “Hello Davis, I’m so glad you…,” she paused, looking at Joe Cooper. “Well, Joe, what are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Worthy. I just heard about Jeff. I’m so sorry.” Joe didn’t worry about his believability.

  She stuck her hand out to Joe, who took it and patted it gently. “That’s so sweet of you. Are you here with Davis?” she asked, looking at the reporter.

  “Yes, Jane. You see, Joe was the one who shot your son’s killer.”

  Jane Worthy burst into tears, tears she was unprepared for. She found Joe’s hand again and pulled him toward her, grabbing and hugging like she never had before.

  “You poor thing, you poor, poor boy. I’m so sorry this has happened to you.” She could only cry.

  Joe was dumbfounded and even quite moved. For a moment he wanted to call her “mother,” to console and protect her. He pushed the truth deep down into his unconsciousness and felt, in his dislodged heart, sympathy—not remorse, but sympathy. And with the ease of changing clothes, he dressed as the hero.

  The camera filmed the event, Hopkins and Wilson letting the scene speak for itself. Everyone was quite astonished, except the crew, who were largely in the dark, doing their jobs and not asking questions, knowing they would find out soon enough.

  At his discretion, Davis Wilson stepped between Joe and Jane Worthy and asked permission for them to continue indoors. Once inside, Wilson directed the crew to their positions and placed Mrs. Worthy in an armed, cushioned chair. Next to her, he placed a matching chair, where he seated Joe. He slid the coffee table out of the way and positioned his own personal stool several feet in front of the two. There were two cameras: one over his shoulder, the other to the side to capture his own presence.

  He asked Joe to tell his part of the story. Joe proceeded to tell his version: stopping for a bottle of wine and going to the restroom, then discovering a black man, Mr. Brown, holding up the clerk. He tried to ease along an aisle and hide behind a beer display; Mr. Brown then shot the clerk. While reaching for the cash register, he knocked his gun off the counter. It bounced and came to rest in front of Joe, and he grabbed it and shot the man as he turned around. He then started to call 911 when he saw a police car drive by. He flagged him down. He wasn’t aware of the death of Mrs. Worthy’s son until later that night and not until moments ago was he aware of the strange coincidence.

  Mrs. Worthy wept and continued to clutch at Joe, praising him as a Godsend. Emotions were running high and Davis Wilson was capitalizing on every dramatic moment. He not only wanted a new Mercedes, he also wanted a new job, one more visible in a larger market. He was quite tired of Lindville and the conservative oil-minded community. He looked at Hopkins for approval. The sergeant nodded his head. Davis had captured a moment of tears and turned to his viewers to explain how the murder of Mrs. Worthy’s son, Jeff, had preceded the second murder. He filled them in, exclusively, as if he were their only source of reliable information. He then reassured viewers that he would follow up with any information he received and ended the interview with a scene of Joe Cooper comforting Mrs. Worthy.

  Only when the cameras were taken from the room did John Worthy make an appearance. He shook everyone’s hands, thanking them for their concerns and efforts. He politely excused himself and retreated to the sanctuary of his study. He was not interested in any interviews or publicity. They would not bring his son back.

  Hopkins and Wilson said their goodbyes, while Joe Cooper lingered to speak with Jane Worthy a bit longer. He promised to return the following day and visit.

  As he joined the other two men, he noticed them staring at him, somewhat in awe. That was a feeling he had never encountered, but one he liked.

  “God, I could use a drink.”

  “You’re entitled, my friend,” said Hopkins. “What about you, Davis?”

  “I’m in agreement. Give me your keys, Rick, and I’ll have Greg bring your car back into town from the studio.”

  “You sure it’s no trouble?”

  “Greg will appreciate a beer himself. Ginger’s okay with you?”

  “Sure. Probably nothing else open, anyway.”

  “I like his place. Ginger is all right. Besides, it gives me a chance to slum.” He smiled at Hopkins, knowing they were the best of friends.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be some food.”

  Joe wasn’t over-enthused about going to Ginger’s, but the thought of food sounded good. He was on the verge of a headache from lack of food. Being with Hopkins and Wilson, he might upstage Ginger, which could make the trip worthwhile in itself.

  Davis Wilson pulled the white Mercedes into the semi-vacant parking lot.

  “Rick, I’ll give you five bucks to stay with the car,” he laughed.

  “Trying to abuse a public official?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Joe, don’t grant any more interviews. He’ll turn on you.”

  “I don’t care, as long as I get a beer.”

  “After you, then.” Hopkins held the door open for his companions. “I smell some of Drummer’s chili.”

  “Is it safe to eat?”

  “No, but you’ll be warm until spring.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  Matt and a few regulars were at the shuffleboard table. Ginger was at the bar, watching a basketball game, drinking a beer and eating a bowl of Drummer’s chili. Drummer was in the kitchen, looking for crackers.

  “Well, my goodness, Hopkins. Hobnobbing with the upper crust nowadays. You been to the country club?” Ginger smiled.

  “Just observing the talented Mr. Wilson feed questions to our fair-haired hero.”

  Ginger looked at Joe and forced a smile. “Well, you’re going to be the talk of the town now.”

  Joe returned a fake smile. “I can hardly wait. Now, give me a beer.”

  “Still drinking Miller Lite?”

  “If you please.”

  “I’ll fetch some from your private stock, sir.”

  “Very good. And a clean glass if you have one.”

  Ginger laughed. “Drummer just finished some grape jelly this morning. I’ll scrape it clean and fix you right up.”

  Wilson looked at Hopkins. “The boy has class.”

  “Loaded with it.”

  They took stools around the corner of the bar next to Ginger. Drummer brought out some chili and the conversation hummed about various recipes and additives. Everybody agreed: Drummer’s chili was the best they had ever had. Even Drummer concurred.

  “What’s your secret, Drummer? An old family recipe?” asked Wilson.

  “There’s no secret to good chili, Mr. Wilson,” Drummer sai
d, without sarcasm or even a smile. “It’s just like your job.”

  Wilson looked curiously closer at the older black man. “How’s that?”

  “Well, if you stick to the basics and don’t get fancy or lazy, you’ll most likely have a good end result.” Drummer started to the kitchen. “I got a hankerin’ for some red beans and cornbread. Stop by tomorrow, Mr. Wilson, I’ll save you a bowl.”

  “I appreciate that, Drummer. I’ll do just that.”

  “So, Davis, did you follow Drummer’s recipe at your interview this morning?” Ginger asked.

  Wilson paused from his chili and thought for a minute. “I think so. I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “How was it for you, Joe?” Ginger turned his attention.

  Cooper was somewhat startled. He wondered what Ginger was getting at. Perhaps it was just simple conversation, but Joe had the feeling there was an underlying meaning. He tried to look into his eyes, but Ginger busied himself serving beer.

  “Pretty strange, Ginger.” He personalized the answer, trying to peer inside Ginger’s thoughts. “I’ve never been on television and, considering the circumstances, I was quite nervous, especially knowing one of the victim’s parents.”

  “You mean the clerk?”

  “No, the Worthys. I had been working on their house.”

  “John Worthy?”

  “Yeah, I had been roofing his house. Do you know him and Jane?”

  “I know John.”

  “Did you know it was their son who was killed?”

  “Yeah, Rick told me, and I heard it on Davis’ newscast.”

  “God, I was the last one to find out.”

  “Sorry, Joe,” Hopkins turned to Ginger. “Through all of this, Joe didn’t know the victim’s name from the other robbery. He was totally focused on the liquor store scene.”

  “When did he find out?”

  “This morning before we went to the Worthy’s house.”

  Ginger looked at Joe, each searching for their own answers. “Bet that was a shock.”

  “Devastating. Both John and Jane have been extremely pleasant to work for. My heart goes out to them. But I’m sure you feel the same way.”

  Ginger nodded in agreement. He was aware that Joe understood the sparring. He just wondered if their actions were obvious to anyone else. It didn’t appear so, which surprised Ginger. He considered that perhaps his suspicions were mostly within his own mind. However, he knew that Joe recognized his doubts. Although Joe might simply perceive it as jealousy over Marjorie, he could not dismiss his feelings. He would let things ride for the time being. Matt signaled for another round and a few more Sunday drifters wandered in, as did Detective Dave Martin.

  “Your wife lets you out on Sundays?” Ginger asked.

  “Trust me, it wasn’t her idea. There’s been another multiple murder.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I wish I was. I’d better fill Rick in.”

  “Yeah,” Ginger followed Dave toward Rick. He went behind the bar for a beer. Rick took one look at the young detective and knew something was wrong. “What’s up?”

  “Another double homicide last night.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No. Not far from here. Neighbors discovered the bodies this morning. Everything is secure.”

  “A seventyish man shot in the head and his wife smothered. A handgun was left behind. Apparently after the shooting, the person laid the gun on the bed and smothered the woman, then panicked and fled.”

  Hopkins pushed his half-filled beer back and stood. “I’m sure you’ll want to go, Davis?”

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. What’s the address, Dave?”

  “408 South Clyde.”

  “408?” Joe Cooper asked.

  “Yeah. Do you know the people?”

  “No, just the house. It was my grandmother’s. I stayed there a lot when I was a kid.”

  “She doesn’t still live there, then?” Hopkins asked.

  “No, she’s in Dallas.”

  “This is strange,” added Wilson.

  “Just coincidence, Davis. Don’t make anything out of it.” Hopkins said.

  “I’m not. Just strange that Joe used to live there. His day for weirdness.”

  “Today is too strange for me. I never liked that house, even as a kid. I’ll see you all later.”

  “Okay, we’ll check on you later. When Greg brings my truck by, just leave it at the house when you get yours. Let’s go, Dave. Are you ready, Davis?”

  “I’ll call for a camera and meet you there.”

  “Don’t hurry. We’ll need some privacy.”

  “Too late, boss,” said Dave. “Channel 8 is already there. Full of questions… real pain in the ass.”

  “Get rid of them, Rick. This is our story.”

  “Yeah right. I’ll tell them just that.”

  “Well, Joe, now that we’ve gotten rid of the good guys, how about us outlaws having another beer?” Ginger asked.

  Joe was surprised at Ginger’s friendliness. Perhaps he was being a little too paranoid. Ginger might not be as much of a threat to him as he had first thought. And if Ginger was as perceptive as Joe initially suspected, Ginger’s good side might be the correct place to be. Apparently, Ginger was well thought of by a lot of people. Joe was used to playing up to people’s good sides. He should not have any problem with Ginger. He would use Ginger to promote his own cause, giving him just enough information to support his own personal gain.

  “I’m with you, Ginger. A beer sounds a lot better than chasing after the cops and the press. I never thought I would look forward to climbing on a roof, but I assure you, I’m looking forward to getting back to work and a regular routine. This police stuff is wearing me out.”

  “I can only imagine. I feel drained just trying to keep up with the latest crises.”

  “And now, there’s more.”

  “Yeah,” Ginger paused. “I wonder who’s behind this.”

  “Who knows? After this morning, nothing would surprise me.”

  “How long did you live in that house?”

  “Off and on until I was twelve or so. It was my grandmother’s. She lived there until this past year, when she moved in with her sister in Dallas.”

  “Lucky for her.”

  “I never thought of that. I guess it could just as easily have been her.”

  “Probably so, unless the murderer knew who he was killing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he might have had a motive for killing them, other than robbery.”

  “Such as?”

  “Beats me. Maybe a business dealing that went bad.”

  “I guess anything’s possible. I bet it was a robbery, though.”

  “You’re probably right. We’ll know soon enough.”

  “Maybe if we drink enough beer between now and then, everything will make sense,” suggested Joe.

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Matt signaled for more beer and asked if Joe wanted to play. Joe declined, adding, “Perhaps later.”

  Joe was indecisive. The chili and beer had made him drowsy, but he was tempted to wait for Hopkins’ return. He wanted to get the official gist of the situation. He felt sure he was in the clear. After all, he had been with Rick, Linda, and Marjorie most of the night. If necessary, he could use Pam as an alibi. He had worn gloves and the .9mm couldn’t be traced back to him.

  Joe made a visit to the restroom, much larger and cleaner than he would have expected. He hadn’t paid that much attention the night before. It had obviously been redone recently. All the plumbing was new, the walls freshly painted almond, and the floor covered with a well-made commercial vinyl, slightly darker than the walls, with splashes of black.

  Outside the restrooms was a payphone, secluded in a corner. It was the old kind of booth that afforded some privacy and a light that signaled when the door was closed. Joe fished for change
and Pam’s phone number. Her voice was drowsy with sleep. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Didn’t have the heart to. Besides, you didn’t wake me last night.”

  “You were deep into sleep.”

  “I wish I were now.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Hopefully soon.”

  “Did your interview go well?”

  “I suppose.” He told her the news about working for the Worthys. She listened intently and told him she would fix spaghetti for supper. He hung up the phone and returned to the bar.

  “The more I think about it, the stranger it seems,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Ginger.

  “Knowing the Worthys, and then another murder happens right where I grew up.”

  “Don’t forget the liquor store.”

  “No kidding! If anything else happens, I’m going back to Houston. In fact, the only reason I didn’t go back for Christmas was to finish the Worthy’s roof.”

  “Well, it’s lucky you didn’t go. That guy might still be on the streets.”

  “Apparently there is still someone else out there.”

  “It would seem that way.” Ginger walked around behind the bar. He opened two more beers. Drummer came from the back, wiping his hands on a white apron. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the opposite end of the horseshoe bar, facing Ginger and Joe.

  “Get your beans started?”

  “They’re cooking!”

  Ginger returned to his stool, handing Joe a beer. “I wonder if this one is connected to the others?”

  Joe looked at him. “I don’t see how, unless that guy came back from the dead.”

  “Maybe he had a partner.”

  “I hope not, he’ll be after me. No, he doesn’t even know who I am. My name hasn’t been released yet.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but it is food for thought.”

  “I suppose so, but I’m not that hungry.”

  Ginger looked toward Drummer. He knew Drummer was listening and forming his own ideas, but he wasn’t ready to express them. He drank his coffee and looked at nothing in particular.

  The phone rang, and Ginger picked up the portable that lay beside him. “Yeah, what’s going on? Yeah, he’s still here. Sure, I’ll tell him. Okay. Bye.”