Zeb Hanks Mystery Box Set 1

by Mark Reps

  “Sheriff, have a seat,” said Jake. “We’re rolling for coffee. If you lose, we’re shaking for coffee and sweet rolls.”

  Jake and Eskadi broke into the laughter of those involved in an inside joke.

  “Here.” Jake handed the dice cup to the sheriff.

  Zeb took the cup reluctantly, double-checking to make certain they hadn’t short diced him. A pair of deuces with his first toss brought even more uproarious laughter from Eskadi and Jake. Assuming he’d been set up, Zeb looked suspiciously at his counter mates.

  “Dice are working against me today?” he said.

  “I put an ancient Apache curse on them,” said Eskadi.

  “Maxine,” called Jake, “sweet rolls for everyone, and make it a pair for me. I brought a real nasty sweet tooth to town with me this afternoon.”

  With a sweep of her small arm, Maxine gestured around the entire restaurant.

  “Everyone?” she asked meekly. “Are you sure?”

  “Heavens yes, everyone,” bellowed Jake. “You don’t want the people of our fair city thinking that Sheriff Zebulon Josiah Hanks is some kind of a skinflint, do you?”

  Zeb dug deeply into his pants pocket for folding money as he took a seat. Slapping the cash on the counter, his eyes caught a glimpse of an image on the mirrored back wall. Staring back at him was the face of Jimmy Song Bird.

  “Hon Dah,” said Song Bird.

  “Jimmy, Jimmy Song Bird,” said Zeb. “I didn’t see you when I came in. I’m glad you’re here.

  “I was watching some old men play liars poker.”

  “I know this is a terrible time, but it’s damn good to see you face to face. Thanks for coming.”

  The gathering of Song Bird, Eskadi Black Robes, Zeb Hanks and Jake Dablo, strong men representing opposing cultures and different eras, made for an unusual sight in the café.

  “Let’s get down to business and lay all of our cards on the table,” said Jake, pushing aside the dice cup. “What each of us knows separately, and what each of us surmises on our own, won’t get us anywhere. Our strength will come from combining our knowledge. There’s an adage that tells us the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Look around, gentlemen. That old saying describes our little group perfectly. We have no choice but to work as one, united team.” Jake rested his hand on Eskadi’s shoulder and squeezed down hard. “That means all of us.”

  Eskadi winced, but held the same look of determination in his eyes that the other men did.

  “It’s no secret that I’ve parked my sorry ass in the bottom a whiskey barrel for almost seven years. Seven years,” Jake sighed. “That’s a lifetime for some. For years I believed the death of my precious granddaughter, Angel, was the reason for my being a low-life, cowardly drunkard. But I had it all wrong. The truth is I damn near killed myself by wallowing in hatred. Self-hatred, hatred of others, hatred of everything that got to live and breathe while my granddaughter lay cold in her grave. That resentment injured my spirit and darkened my soul. If I hadn’t been so self-centered, justice may have been served for my little Angel a long time ago. But now something has changed. My spirit has chosen to quit destroying itself. The wounds in my heart are healing.”

  Moved by Jake’s confession, the men offered silent prayers of thanks to God and the Great Spirit. Zeb suspected Song Bird somehow had a hand in helping Jake transform his long standing personal grief into a healing.

  “We have some solid facts,” continued Jake. “We know both killings took place on the eighteenth of October. Why the date is significant we don’t know. We need to find out what relationship it has to the murders. We know both the bodies were discovered with burning candles placed around them at each of the four directions, with a fifth candle being placed above the head.”

  “A pentagram,” said Eskadi. “Traditional sign of evil.”

  “Both were preparing for a traditional ceremony, Angel for baptism into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and Song Bird’s granddaughter for initiation in the Apache tribe with the Sunrise Ceremony. Each child was dressed in clothing related to her ceremony. Lastly, we know that both these innocents were mutilated. Their hearts were removed from their chests and replaced with religious objects. This information doesn’t prove it, but the facts point to a very high likelihood the same person was responsible for both crimes.”

  The men sat quietly, digesting what they had just heard. Song Bird broke the silence.

  “The injured spirit of the killer has come to me in a vision,” said the Medicine Man. “He kills children because he walks every day with the pain and loss of abandonment he suffered. We can help him only by stopping him before he kills again. It is our duty. It is our obligation as men.”

  “I’m certain the killer has left evidence behind that we haven’t found,” said Zeb. “We need to find it. We need to go back to the beginning and rethink what we already know.”

  Zeb knew his command would be difficult on the men who had lost their granddaughters. The sheriff well understood what he was asking of Song Bird and Jake. Both men would be forced to relive the past and stare their personal angst in the face. The emotional pain that would be stirred up by talking about the horrific details surrounding the end of their granddaughters’ lives was more than he should ask of any man. But there was no other option.

  Song Bird brought the deep, dark coffee to his lips. Jake slowly stirred sugar into his swirling black liquid. Neither man broke direct eye contact with Zeb. Yet both men appeared to be looking inward.

  “I think one key fact is knowing that both children were murdered as they were preparing for a rite of passage. These rites are similar in that they mark passage into a state of religious and cultural maturity.”

  “The Sunrise Ceremony is about triumph over the dark forces of nature, both personally and in a larger sense. It’s about becoming a woman. Like a Mormon baptism, it purifies the soul and creates a link with God,” interjected Song Bird.

  “The killer, if it is the same person, obviously wanted to be certain his victims didn’t achieve this mature link with God. That may be why he killed them both on the cusp of their reconnection with the spirit,” added Jake.

  “Maybe he hates the Apache culture,” suggested Eskadi.

  “Or the Mormon religion,” said Zeb.

  “Or children,” said Jake.

  “Or women,” added Zeb.

  “His hatred is of himself,” said Song Bird.

  Song Bird’s words brought silence to the table. It was becoming clear to all of them the nature of their common enemy was pure evil.

  “Removal of the heart?” asked Zeb. “What purpose does it serve?”

  “Perhaps he used their hearts in a religious ceremony of his own,” said Eskadi.

  “And maybe he’s just a madman who gets his kicks dissecting the human body,” added Jake.

  “My vision has spoken to me about such matters,” said Song Bird. “The man with the injured spirit believes the heart is the vessel for the soul. With his actions, he seeks to redeem himself and those in his circle.”

  “I will use everything in my power, including everything said here today, to find the killer. But what I really need is some new, hard evidence,” said Zeb.

  “Then I have something for you,” said Jake. “He took something from our Angel besides her life. He stole a cameo necklace she was wearing.”

  “I’ve read the police reports cover to cover a dozen times. That was never reported. Not even the local gossipmongers have brought it up,” said Zeb. “Are you certain?”

  “No one could have spoken of it. My wife gave her the cameo. It was a private, personal gift passed between generations of women. About three years after Angel died, my wife, ex-wife by then, and I were talking about better days. The immediate hurt of Angel’s death had passed, and my wife was seeing a counselor who advised her to talk with me about our granddaughter’s death. It was then she told me about the cameo necklace she’d given Angel the day before her murde
r. It was never found. She was so broken up when her little Angel died that she couldn’t bring herself to look at the body during the viewing. She assumed the necklace was buried with Angel. The funeral director’s records and my recollection were the same. There was no necklace around her neck. It turned out to be missing, but, at the time of the murder, no one even knew to look for it. Like I said, we didn’t even figure it out until three years later. It’s been gnawing at the back of my mind ever since, but I never knew what to do with the information.”

  Song Bird cleared his throat when Jake finished. As he spoke, his words cut like a knife.

  “When my daughter, Maya, performed her Sunrise Ceremony, my wife gave her a necklace of lapis and gold. It was the one her mother made for her and her grandmother made for her mother. In Apache tradition, this ornament along with a second, new one made by the mother, is then handed down. Maya gave the traditional necklace to her daughter, my granddaughter, as she was preparing for her sacred ceremony. This necklace is also missing. Zeb you saw the second one at my house.”

  A common thought ran through the men’s heads. If one or both of the necklaces could be found, they could represent the vital clues needed to help break the case.

  “I believe more answers might be found within Zeb’s dream,” said Song Bird.

  The sheriff hesitated momentarily and took a deep breath. He felt calmness come over him as he looked deeply into Song Bird’s eyes. The other men remained silent as Zeb told his dream-story of Doreen driving the Harley Davidson, Amanda Song Bird her passenger, laughing, hair flying in the breeze. He slowly retold the details of the joy Amanda exuded, the eagle flying alongside the motorcycle, and the image he envisioned in the clouds. With each retelling, Zeb’s memory of the dream became more vivid. But this time it dawned on him that he had seen the necklaces the men were describing.

  “In my dream, I saw a cameo necklace around Angel’s neck and a lapis and gold necklace around Amanda’s. Doreen had the identical dream and saw the same thing,” said Zeb.

  Utter stillness followed his confession.

  “The dream tells me my granddaughter is safe,” said Song Bird. “She lives in the other world with the ancestors of our people. The eagle and the sky spirits have also told me my granddaughter didn’t leave for the world of the ancestors until she passed on information to Doreen. That knowledge will help us find the murderer.”

  Maxine came by with the coffeepot and asked shyly.

  “More coffee?”

  Her question eased some of the tension from the air. The men smiled as they pushed their empty cups in her direction. As she poured fresh coffee for everyone, Song Bird continued.

  “Doreen came to visit me. We walked near the place where my granddaughter was taken, and my granddaughter’s purified spirit uttered one word through Doreen’s mouth. The word was ‘perish’. Perish!”

  Maxine put her hand over her mouth and gasped. The four men’s heads collectively rotated as the glass coffee urn fell from her hand and exploded against the linoleum. Everyone in the restaurant turned to see what the commotion was.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry,” stammered Maxine.

  Embarrassed and scrambling to pick up the remains of the broken pot, the waitress begged their forgiveness.

  “It just slipped out of my hand. I, I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Is everyone alright? Did anyone get burned? It’s such a mess.”

  “It’s all right, Maxine, it’s okay.”

  The comforting words of Sheriff Hanks, who knelt to help her pick up the mess, did little to calm the young woman.

  “I’ll get something to clean it right away.”

  The flustered waitress ran off to get a mop just as tears began to roll down her cheeks. When she returned, Jake, who hadn’t spoken a single word during the entire incident, placed a gently reassuring hand on Maxine’s shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Well, Maxine, don’t worry about what just happened. These kinds of things are just simple mistakes. Everybody makes them. I’ve made a few myself, quite a few as a matter of fact.”

  The gentle words from the older man failed to reassure her, and she ran sobbing into the kitchen. Failing to understand, the four men returned to their previous conversation.

  “We’re going to have to trust each other,” said Zeb. “And share everything we learn. Eskadi, you nose around out on the reservation. See what you can find. Song Bird, if you think of anything else, let me know right away. Anyone have anything else they’d like to add?”

  “When do we meet again?” asked Eskadi.

  “Tomorrow,” said Zeb. “We’ll need to put our heads together and formulate a precise plan of action. Good luck, men.”

  Eskadi and Song Bird got up to leave. Jake stayed on for another coffee refill. Zeb hung around hoping Doreen would pop in. But even before he had the chance to see her, he heard Doreen’s sweet voice consoling the distraught Maxine.

  “Honest, hon’, it’s okay. It was an old thing anyway,” she said. “Don’t you worry your purty lil’ head over such a thing.”

  Doreen’s kindness struck an invisible chord, causing Maxine to break into heartfelt sobbing.

  “Hold on there, kiddo. It’s all right. Now what’s the matter, really? You can’t be that shook up over a little busted up plastic and glass,” said Doreen.

  Maxine's tears became a river of distress and pain. Jake and Zeb, listening in on all the commotion, peered into the kitchen, curious to know exactly what the problem really was.

  “I thought I’d put it all behind me,” bawled Maxine. “I didn’t think that just hearing his name would set me off. I’m so sorry.”

  As the young woman continued to weep uncontrollably, Doreen held Maxine in a motherly embrace. Gradually, Maxine began to regain her composure. Still being rocked in Doreen’s arms, she wiped her tears away with a dishtowel.

  “Who is he? Whose name set you off like that, hon’?” asked Doreen.

  “Parrish, Mike Parrish. The one they call Red Junior.”

  Doreen, more concerned about Maxine’s emotional state, let the name of Michael Parrish go in one ear and out of the other. But the name wasn’t lost on Jake and Zeb. Doreen dabbed Maxine’s eyes with a Kleenex and straightened her messy hair.

  “Mike Parrish,” repeated Maxine.

  The sniffles began anew and quickly turned to a torrent of tears as Maxine once again said the man’s name.

  “Did you say Parrish?” asked a startled Doreen.

  Jake and Zeb’s hearts raced in unison with the realization this could be just the break they had been waiting for. Could the word ‘perish’ Doreen had uttered when she collapsed on the ground out at Song Bird’s house be Parrish, as in Michael Parrish? Was this the mystical, missing link they had all been praying for?

  “Let’s sit down and have something to drink,” said Doreen.

  As the ladies came through the kitchen door, Doreen signaled Jake and Zeb with her eyes to have a seat in the adjoining booth. She knew they had overheard Maxine’s outburst and well understood they would have a few questions of their own.

  “Mike Parrish?” whispered Zeb. “Red Parrish Junior?”

  “I knew his old man. Red Senior. He was a real bastard,” replied Jake.

  “I remember Red Senior,” said Zeb. “I heard he just disappeared one day. Is that right?”

  Jake turned to Zeb and gave him a look quite unlike one Zeb had ever seen in his former mentor’s eyes. It was a hard, secretive, faraway look, part hatred, part fear.

  “Word is he ran off with some teenager he was banging,” said Jake. “It all happened when you were away.”

  “I haven’t proven it yet, but I’ve got it on pretty good authority that Red Parrish Junior is back in town,” said Zeb. “Only he’s calling himself Michael Doerry. If it’s true, he could be the Parrish in Doreen’s vision and the one we’re looking for.”

  Doreen
and Maxine continued chatting woman to woman in the adjoining booth.

  “I think the sheriff has a few things he might like to talk to you about,” Doreen said.

  “I didn’t spill coffee on his uniform, did I?” asked Maxine.

  “No. No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Well what then, I haven’t broken any laws, have I?”

  “No, not that I know of,” laughed Doreen. “I think it has to do with Mike Parrish.”

  Maxine’s eyes couldn’t hide behind the glaze of dejection.

  “Oh.”

  Doreen nodded at Zeb. He recognized it as the okay signal to approach the table. Maxine looked up at him, trying with all her earthly might to fight back tears.

  “Do you mind if we sit down and join you?” asked Zeb. “We have a couple of simple questions for you.”

  “Have a seat, Sheriff,” said Maxine. “I’m so sorry about the coffee. It just slipped out of my hands.”

  “It’s okay. No harm done. Except to the pot.”

  The sheriff’s feeble attempt at humor was met with a cold silence. Eskadi Black Robes, who had returned to the café to pick up his car keys, stood in the background, listening in on the conversation.

  “I would like to ask you about Mike Parrish, the one they call Red Junior.”

  Maxine avoided eye contact with the questioning sheriff.

  “I suppose,” she replied. “If you insist.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “From high school, mostly, I guess. He asked me out on a date a few times,” said Maxine.

  “Did you go out with him?”

  “Once, sort of. You see it was my senior year, and I had never been asked out on a date. I thought I was going to graduate and turn into an old maid. Looking back, I was naïve and desperate. That’s why I said yes. I never really liked him. In fact, I always thought he was a real creep. Turns out I was right,” said Maxine, bursting into a hard cry.

  Doreen hugged the sobbing waitress and wiped away her tears.

  “Are you okay, honey? You don’t have to talk about all this right now if you don’t want to,” said Doreen.

  “It’s okay. It feels terrible to have it brought up again. But, at the same time, it feels good too. Sheriff, you asked me what happened. Well, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Mike took me out on a date. When he picked me up, he brought me flowers. I thought that was so sweet. We went swimming out at Ropers Lake. We were having fun, or so I thought, when suddenly he yanked off the upper half of my swimming suit and ran on shore. He stood there laughing like crazy, whipping my top in circles over his head. I begged him to throw it back to me but he wouldn’t. At first I was embarrassed. Then he ran to his car and got a camera. He said he was going to take my picture when I came out of the water. I stayed in the lake as long as I could, but finally I just got too cold. I tried to sneak out and grab my towel, but he knocked me down and forced himself on top of me. I was really scared. Just then a car drove by, and I screamed as loud as I could. He let loose of his grip on me for a second and I escaped. I know he would have raped me if I hadn’t gotten away.”