All the witnesses said the same thing, that Stanley Bishop had been drinking in Bell’s Tavern since late afternoon and stayed all the way until it closed at two in the morning. I wondered how reliable statements were that came from people who spent all their time drinking. Not only had these witnesses stayed at the tavern until closing time the night before, they were right back there already drinking again when my grandpa interviewed them.
There wasn’t much more about Stanley Bishop. I returned his file, along with all the ones I had out about Thomas Kennedy Bradshaw, back to the stack and straightened everything so it looked the way it had when I first found it today. I never did retrieve the pen from under the fridge and, to my surprise, my mother never noticed it missing. She had just taken another one from the junk drawer and kept going.
Coming to the end of all these files had brought with it a weird sense of sadness. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed reading real police stuff, especially when it involved people I knew like my mother and my grandpa Joe. What I really liked were the handwritten notes I’d find. Sometimes they were written in the margins, sometimes they were just all by themselves. My grandpa wrote most of them; I had figured out how to spot his handwriting.
I sure missed him. I missed my pa, too, but in some ways, I missed my grandpa more, probably on account of I could remember him. I couldn’t really remember my pa. He died when I was still a baby.
But me and my grandpa used to do all sorts of stuff together before he died. He even took me to a baseball game once, and we just missed catching a ball that came up into the stands. Well, we were about five rows away from the guy who caught it, but it seemed really close.
Reading my grandpa’s notes was like having him back for a while. Sometimes it felt like he’d written them just for me.
Now I opened up the last thing I had to look at—the file from the new Stickman killing. As I opened it, I thought about whether or not Harry Stork had been the Stickman. I had read all the information now and figured I should know one way or the other. Trouble was, every time I thought for sure Harry Stork did it, something came up that made me think it was someone else, someone like Thomas Kennedy Bradshaw.
Throughout the files, there was a question in my grandpa’s notes that he kept writing through different files. That question was: Where is the primary crime scene? Because of everything I’d read in Understanding Forensics (a book I’d finally finished), I knew the primary crime scene meant the scene where the victims were killed. Everybody was pretty much convinced the victims were shot to death before having a wooden stake hammered through their chests at the place where the police found them. I kept waiting for them to find out where the place was. I started getting excited about finding that out as I got closer and closer to the end of the files.
Only, nobody ever did. My grandpa said he figured the real key to unlock the case completely was finding that primary crime scene. From his notes at the end of all the files, I think he was disappointed about leaving that part of the case unsolved. I think he might’ve even had his own questions as to whether or not Harry Stork was really the Stickman.
Maybe my mother’s reports and notes from the new case would enlighten me more.
I looked at all the sketches and photographs taken at the newest crime scene.
The body had turned up in Leeland Swamp, a place me and Dewey had ridden our bikes to a few times. It wasn’t as cool as Skeeter Swamp, on account of it wasn’t filled with gators the way Skeeter was, but we hadn’t really gone near Skeeter for the past two years or so. Not since my mother cracked the case of the Cornstalk Killer, which was a dumb name the papers came up with after she’d finished investigating it.
Too many weird memories blew in the breeze down by Skeeter Swamp for me to go back. Probably Dewey would have no problem with it, on account of he never saw what I saw. But he didn’t like going places by himself, so we started visiting Leeland Swamp instead. Still wasn’t the same, though.
One thing was for sure. I’d remember Skeeter Swamp as long as I lived.
The victim of the Stickman’s most recent murder (which was either the tenth or the first, depending on your view of things) was Abilene Williams, a thirty-six-year-old black woman who worked as a receptionist at the Hawk Ridge Business Center on Main Street.
There wasn’t much about the crime scene in the file other than a bunch of pictures (the ones of the dead body I kind of skimmed over—I knew from experience what my memory hung on to and what it didn’t), some sketches, and a few pieces of evidence, like a partial fingerprint, some boot marks in the damp soil around the cypress her body was staked into, and a wheelbarrow track going through most of a trail that wound through the woods back to a logging road.
I looked at a picture taken from near on the other side of Leeland Swamp that showed the entire crime scene. I saw all them thick-boughed cypress with Spanish moss draped over their branches like clothes. You could even see the roots where the cypress dug into the edge of the swamp so they wouldn’t be thirsty. Then I noticed something else. The trunk of the leftmost tree that grew tight against the edge of the photo, had a carving of a big, giant happy face in it. I know that carving. Dewey and I had laughed at it the last two times we visited Leeland Swamp.
This meant that I knew where this crime scene was. Not just in general, but exactly. I made a decision right then, and when I did, the sadness of having no files to go through anymore came to an end, replaced once again by excitement and anticipation.
As soon as we could, Dewey and I would be visiting this crime scene. Now that I was done with my book, I couldn’t wait. Only, it wouldn’t be tomorrow on account of tomorrow was Independence Day.
Me and Dewey would be too busy watching parades and eating burgers till we puked.
CHAPTER 31
In the afternoon, Ethan lumbered from his office and approached Leah’s desk, at first saying nothing. Leah looked up from her chair and could tell something was spinning in his head. “What?” she asked. Chris looked up, too.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Ethan glanced at them both. “Y’all know what tomorrow is?”
“Sure,” Leah said. “It’s the Fourth.” She already knew what this was about. Every year, Ethan elected either she or Chris to work Alvin’s Independence Day celebration. It was rare, though, that their presence was ever actually needed. The worst thing Leah remembered ever having to do was to get a drunk man down from the roof of the Alvin First National Bank. He’d gone up the fire escape in the back, and Leah deemed him way too wasted to climb safely back down by himself.
It was barely eleven in the morning.
So while he hollered and waved to everyone lining Main Street watching the parade, he also watched as Leah went up and finally escorted him down. She made sure his foot hit a ladder rung with every step. Once on the ground, his wife—who didn’t seem to have had anything to drink—did everything but slap him she was so mad. After calling him a bunch of names Leah rarely used, the woman asked if he had to go to the police station or could she just take him home.
Leah figured compared to his wife, the drunk tank would be a vacation, so she let the man’s wife take care of doling out any punishments.
She couldn’t remember another incident, other than breaking up the odd fight between teenagers or having to confiscate fireworks, which usually belonged to the same kids doing the fighting.
“I got Independence Duty last year,” Leah said. “And the two years before that. It’s always me. It’s Chris’s turn.” Her eyes went to the window outside. The rain had all but stopped. Main Street appeared shrouded in a light mist that clung tightly to the air and appeared bright from the sun struggling to break through the high layer of clouds in the overcast sky. Truth was, with Dan down and all, Leah really didn’t want to have to work all day tomorrow. It would be much more fun hanging out with Dan and the kids.
“We don’t take turns,” Chris said. “We draw straws. Whoever gets small straw works the parade and t
he park.”
Each year the parade started around nine in the morning, heading out from down at the courthouse. It continued to the other end of Main Street before turning up and heading to Willet Lake in the center of town. Everyone followed the end of the parade, walking with it to Willet Park, which wrapped around the lake, where there was always a big barbecue and sports for the kids and things like that.
“I know how we do it,” Ethan said. “I got the straws.” He held up two white straws with thin red and blue lines running along the outside.
Leah narrowed her eyes at him. “Where did you get those from? Steal ’em from Guppies?” Famous for their deep-fried halibut nuggets, Guppies managed to grab the number-one position for fast-food restaurants in the Alvin Examiner’s yearly poll.
“It’s not stealing when they have them in a dispenser.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know ’bout you, Ethan. First it’s illegal gambling, now drinking straw thievery. I can’t help but wonder what’s next.”
Ethan ignored her. “Just pick a damn straw.” He placed his hands behind his back and mixed up the straws. When he held them back out, there was one in each fist, both looking roughly the same height.
“Who’s first?” he asked.
“Me,” Leah said. “I’ll take this one.” She pulled the straw from Ethan’s left hand and felt a surge of adrenaline go through her. Her choice was the right one.
Just as Leah had expected, Chris started whining. “Ethan, I honestly reckon you should have just as much of a chance as me to work tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a holiday.”
Ethan gave this some thought until he finally put his hands back behind him. “Fine,” he said. He brought the straws back out and Chris pondered over which hand to pick for a few seconds. Finally, he nabbed the straw from Ethan’s right hand. A smile burst across his face. He’d left Ethan with the short straw.
“Great,” Ethan said sarcastically. “There goes my day.”
“Spare me,” Leah said. “I’ve never known you to ever do it. It’s always been between Chris and me.”
“I used to do it all the time,” Ethan said. “Back when it was me, your daddy, and Strident. We’d all draw straws and, pretty near on every year, I got short straw. I’m pretty sure them two cheated, but I never figured out how.”
Chris laughed. “It’s really not so bad. You kind of get to be part of all the action.”
“I’d rather be part of my sofa watching baseball.”
Leah rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure the Texas Rangers will play the same whether you’re watching or not.”
Ethan went back to his office.
The fax machine started sputtering as a piece of paper began crawling from its front.
“That’s the end of it,” Chris said.
“End of what?” Leah asked.
“The research I’m doin’ for you. You know, finding out which of your thirty-nine suspects from Grell Memorial have priors?”
“That was fast.”
“That’s me,” Chris said. “Speedy McDeevy.”
He went over and tore the fax sheet off, bringing it back to his desk, where he had two more very similar fax sheets. He began going through them all and making marks on a copy he’d made of the list of people Leah got from the hospital.
“Here,” he said when he was finished, and handed her the list. “There were seven with priors, but you only need to worry about four.”
“Why’s that?” Leah looked at the paper. Seven names were circled. Two of those circled were also crossed out. One had a tick beside it.
“Two are dead.”
“I suppose that’s a pretty solid alibi. What about the third, this one with the tick?”
“Currently doing time. Went in last January. He couldn’t have killed our recent victim.”
Leah let this swim around in her head.
“What?” Chris asked.
She shook her head. “Nothin’, I s’pose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. How could he have murdered anyone?”
“I . . . just . . . I keep looking at this whole thing as two different cases, the old Stickman murders and the new Stickman murders. I have to get that view out of my mind.”
“I don’t think you even need to really address the old murders. You’re trying to investigate a body found three weeks ago. That’s the case, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. I just—”
“You just don’t like the way your pa’s tied up in it. I understand that, Leah. But you can’t let that twist your focus on this latest suspect. This is the case you want to solve.”
“I keep thinkin’ about what Dan said, about there being two Stickmen.”
Chris shrugged. “Even if there was or is, you still need to concentrate on the newest aspect of the case, don’t let your thoughts get dragged through fifteen years of sludge.”
“You’re right,” she said, looking up. “What about the nine without addresses or Social Security numbers?”
Chris shrugged. “I’m not a super wizard. Nothin’ I can really do about those nine.”
“Okay, I understand,” she said. “Hopefully, the one we’re after is one of these four.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “And here, you’ll want these.”
“What are they?”
“Their police reports, along with mug shots.”
“Wow, this was more than I expected,” Leah said. “The mug shots are perfect.”
“You goin’ to interview them four? Three of them don’t even live in Alabama anymore. One’s as far from here as Oregon.”
“First thing I’m goin’ to do is put together a photo lineup for Duck.”
“Duck?”
“Sorry, Stanley Bishop. The witness these leads came from.”
“His nickname is Duck?”
Leah nodded. “Mhm.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “It’s one of the great unknowns.”
CHAPTER 32
Leah lay in bed, sound asleep, her quiet snores filling the bedroom’s tacet song. When she had fallen asleep, any noise she made had been overwhelmed by the rain outside ping-ponging against the window glass behind the tightly drawn drapes. Now a faint pinkish-yellow glow lit the thin border along the top of those drapes.
The telephone on the nightstand beside her head came alive with a shrill ring.
Jolted from sleep, Leah abruptly opened her eyes. While her heart bounced off the inside of her rib cage, she lifted the phone’s receiver to her ear and answered the call.
“Leah, it’s Ethan.”
She reached out, fumbling with the radio alarm clock that, for some reason, had its green digital time readout turned away from her bed. With a clumsy left hand she accidentally pushed it off her nightstand and it fell down between the back of the nightstand and the wall. “Jesus!” she said as the clamoring sound of electronics tumbling against wood rattled inside her head.
“What happened?” Ethan asked. “You okay?”
Leah pulled herself up to a seated position and caught her breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Ethan, what time is it?”
“Half past seven.”
“Are you callin’ me from home or work?”
“I’m at the station. Wanted to get something done before I started my Independence Day duties.”
“What’s up? Why are you calling me at seven-thirty in the morning?”
She heard him let out a big breath. “We got another one, Leah.”
Her brain switched to high alert. “Another what?” Only she already knew what he would say.
“Another letter. Addressed to Leah Fowler. Found it under the door about five minutes ago. Inside it’s just like all the others.”
Leah’s insides went hollow. She knew what it all meant, but somehow she needed to hear him say it. “Man or a woman?”
“Woman,” Ethan said.
“Where?”
“The Anikawa.”
“The Anikawa? That
’s all it says? Just the Anikawa? That’s an awfully long river, Ethan. Does it even say ‘in Alvin’ or anythin’?”
“Nope.”
Leah felt her head spin. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “How much time we got?”
“Till noon.”
“It says that? ‘Noon’?”
“Says twelve o’clock.”
Leah tilted back her head and thought about this. “Christ, it’s the Fourth today. Main Street will be closed. This is going to be a mess.”
“I know.” Ethan’s voice never wavered from its low, lulling tone. He had far better control of his emotions than Leah had on hers.
“And we’ll have nobody workin’ it. We can’t possibly leave someone watching the damn parade when we need to search the whole damn river.”
“I know.”
“Okay, I’ll be there ASAP. Just gotta get Dan movin’ and throw on some clothes. Have you called Chris?”
“Nope. I’ll do that now. Just get here as quick as you can.”
Leah hung up the phone and let everything in her mind settle down before she started the day.
“Goddamn Anikawa,” she said. “On the goddamn Fourth.”
CHAPTER 33
Despite the way the day started, Leah felt wide awake as she and Dan drove down Hunter Road. Dan, on the other hand, had been strangely quiet since she woke him. The smell of bourbon sweating out of his pores filled the inside of the car. Luckily, the day was beautiful. The near on endless rain they’d been going through finally came to an end. Today the sky was completely blue without a cloud in sight. Leah rolled down her window, letting the summer’s fresh air inside to lessen Dan’s smell.
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