Cracker Town

by WF Ranew

  “Shit, what do you know about hurt and pain?”

  Wallace let the silence set in. He needed it because he wanted Jamison to calm down more, have his say, and get his drunk ass out of there.

  “There’s one other thing, Wallace,” Jamison said.

  “Oh, yeah? Speak it.”

  “I know you’d been humping my little sister,” Jamison said. “I know you knocked that sweet thing up. And she told me you weren’t going to own up to it,” Jamison said. “I figured you might’ve had that simpleton cousin of yours to kill her. Hell, or done it yourself.”

  Wallace stood up. He saw a bad situation turning worse with the accusation.

  “Hold on, that’s a mighty nasty thing you’re saying, Jamie. Let’s talk this out. I need some water. You want a beer?”

  Jamison nodded.

  Wallace walked back to his kitchen to fetch one.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The state pathologist ruled all three Goings family members died by gashes to their bodies, likely made by a meat cleaver. Walter Goings died first. His wife and daughter were bound with a telephone line before they were killed.

  Red, back in Atlanta, sat in his office reading the final report and viewing crime scene photos. So early in his career, he’d seen nothing like the slaughter of the family.

  The shocker came in a key paragraph in the report. Mrs. Goings’s autopsy report revealed she was three months pregnant.

  Her hands were tied over her head. According to the report, her daughter was bound in the same manner, but there was no evidence of a sexual assault. That suggested to Red perhaps the killer might have been interrupted.

  Questioning the son Randy revealed he got home around eleven o’clock Saturday evening. He came into the house and found his mother and sister in the little girl’s bedroom. His father lay in a fetal position in his study.

  Randy called the funeral home, and the director and his son—a friend of Randy’s—drove over. They called the county sheriff.

  Red put the report down, stacked the photos, and put all into a file folder. He eased back in his chair.

  He looked up to see Matthew Bailey standing in his office doorway.

  “We got another one,” his boss said. “Remains found in a swampy area near Damville. They think it’s a local man who went missing about three weeks ago.”

  Red asked if a date of death had been determined.

  “Too early yet,” Bailey said. “The county coroner says several weeks ago. Could have been about the same time as the Goings family murders. But we don’t know enough to confirm that yet.”

  Red sat up in his chair. “A good way from Damville.”

  “Yes, but we’re jumping the gun a bit,” the boss said. “Still, you need to get on down to Damville and see what they’ve fucked up. Who knows what you might find. The state crime lab is on the scene, too.”

  Bailey disappeared down the hall.

  * * *

  Red drove to Damville that afternoon. It was late May when he rolled through the small town and to the Walmore County courthouse. There he found Sheriff Dick Nelson.

  The sheriff invited him to take a ride out to where a fisherman found the body.

  They drove south of town almost to the Florida line. A full sun brightened the day, and a few puffy clouds slowly floated by. They turned off the main road and drove by a pond with cypress trees standing high, their roots jutting up in knees two and three feet above the water.

  The going from there got rough. Three miles along the gravel road, the sheriff turned onto a rutted path and bumped and splashed along to an area suitable for parking. A state crime van took most of the space. From there, they walked a couple of hundred yards to a creek where tents had been set up for the investigation.

  Red spoke to several of the state employees. They offered little information at that point.

  But in talking with the sheriff, Red learned something that held his attention.

  “We think this fellow the fisherman found might be Jamison Elton,” Nelson said. “He went missing the first week in May. That’d be about two and a half weeks ago. What with the gators tearing him up and critters getting their share, we cannot make an immediate identification.”

  “Any reason for this Elton fellow to skip town?” Red asked.

  “None at all. We’ve asked a bunch of people that,” Nelson said. “Neighbors and his two employees.”

  Jamison Elton left his store in a hurry on the day he disappeared. His employees had to lock up.

  He had a visitor early in the afternoon, a man named Drew Jackson. They talked for half an hour in a back office. One of the employees tending the cash register overheard part of the conversation.

  Jackson told Elton that he spotted Cleet Wrightman hanging around his cousin’s house. He hadn’t seen him since then but thought Jamison would want to know he was back.

  “Now, it was way before my time, Red,” the sheriff said. “Eighteen years ago. But Cleet Wrightman was accused of killing Elton’s sister, Mitsy. She was nineteen.”

  “Was Wrightman convicted?” Red asked.

  “Not according to the clerk of court, who talked with Nelson. The man had been in that position since the sixties and lived in Damville at the time of the murder.”

  “What happened to Cleet?”

  “The judge ruled he was mentally incompetent to stand trial. The sheriff at the time drove him up to Milledgeville, and he’s been there ever since. Until April this year, that is.”

  That surprised Red. “He got out?”

  “He did. How? I don’t know,” Nelson said.

  “Did you see him back in Damville since April?”

  “No. I wouldn’t know the boy. We only moved into town after I sold the farm in the early sixties. Ran for sheriff five years ago and won.”

  Red wrote down everything the sheriff told him. Then, he looked back over his notes and hit upon something that stuck out.

  “Sheriff, tell me about this cousin of Wrightman’s,” Red said.

  “He’s Wallace Adan,” Nelson said. “Lives over on Chestnut Street. Runs a garage two blocks behind the courthouse. Quiet fellow, although he can become riled when threatened, or so I’m told. Always known him to be the silent type. Still waters, you know.”

  “I want to go talk with Mr. Adan,” Red said. “Anybody else you looking at?”

  “Nope. Beyond that, we don’t know much,” the sheriff said.

  Red looked around the swamp area where the body was found, staying clear of the state crime scene people.

  A week later, an autopsy on the swamp body determined it was that of Jamison Elton.

  Red, who had returned to Atlanta, got in his car and traveled back to Damville.

  He wanted to talk with Wallace Adan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ginger Gail Swanton’s first big death benefit on a life insurance policy went to Jamison Elton’s family. Since he’d been murdered, the insurance company had questions about the claim and planned to send down an investigator.

  But as the agency’s new owner-operator, Ginger Gail didn’t wait for a man from Atlanta wearing a gray suit, white shirt and tie, and sporting shiny black shoes to get down to Damville. Might take weeks.

  She investigated the situation herself.

  The whole thing didn’t pass the sniff test. In fact, it stank to high heaven. She remembered Mitsy Elton’s death. Ginger Gail was only six at the time, but she grew up in a house near the Elton home. Even though the murderer was apprehended and sent off almost immediately, fear gripped the neighborhood for weeks after the gruesome death.

  She also knew the more recent history. Namely, Cleet Wrightman had been released from the mental hospital and traveled to Damville. Not long after his arrival, Jamison went missing. Somebody found his body in a swamp. That discovery came about three weeks after Cleet himself disappeared.

  Ginger Gail wrote down the key points of her thinking. Mitsy Elton. Her brother, Jamison Elton. Both killed eig
hteen years apart, and the man accused of Mitsy’s death just happened to come into town right before the second murder.

  Highly coincidental. Highly, highly suspicious.

  I’m new at this. What do to?

  Ginger Gail got out her life insurance books and reviewed everything the instructor covered about death under suspicious circumstances. Then she went to work.

  She talked with the county sheriff, the coroner, and someone at the state crime lab, who confirmed the cause of death. Then, she ordered a copy of the death certificate.

  She located the beneficiary, a distant cousin in Tallahassee, Florida, and explained the circumstances of the death benefit and pending investigation.

  Ginger Gail also heard a state law officer was investigating Jamison’s death. She knew about the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and figured he’d have to know more than the local yokels.

  The sheriff told her to call Red Farlow, who was staying at the hotel in Thomasville.

  * * *

  Red’s breakup with his college sweetheart devastated him for months. More than a year had passed since the coup de grâce was delivered in what he considered the ultimate Dear John letter.

  Except the salutation read, “My dearest, loving, most tender, and sweet Laurence.” The missive went on to explain why Leigh Wallace needed time for herself and, the crowning blow, “to see other men.”

  It was relatively short and to the point but enough to pierce Red’s heart and soul.

  Time would heal, he kept telling himself. Time would heal.

  Well, it hadn’t. Not at that point anyway.

  A soothing balm swept over him the moment he saw the redhead walk up the steps of the Decatur County courthouse in Bainbridge.

  “Hi, Mr. Farlow, my name is Ginger Gail Swanton. Thank you for meeting me,” she said. “As I mentioned, I’d like to speak with you about some things relating to Jamison Elton’s death.” She’d already explained on the phone her status as his life insurance agent.

  Red also knew Walmore County wasn’t the place for their conversation. He invited her to have lunch with him in a more discreet location.

  They dined around one o’clock at a back table in Bainbridge’s Bearcat Lounge, named after the local high school’s mascot.

  * * *

  Red caught himself staring into the young redhead’s eyes as she explained the steps in the death benefit investigation.

  The discussion quickly devolved into the gory details of Jamison’s murder, which didn’t seem to disturb Ginger Gail.

  She asked him to provide as much as the state knew about the murder investigation.

  “I know Sheriff Nelson,” she said. “But, frankly, he’s not as thorough as the GBI.”

  Red assured her he’d provide a summary document about the murder that would satisfy the insurance company.

  When they’d gotten that out of the way, Red shifted the conversation to Ginger Gail herself.

  “You’re pretty young to be an insurance investigator, if I may say so,” he said.

  “Oh, Red, I’m not one. I have my own agency here in Bainbridge,” she said. “Life, casualty, auto. You name it, I’ll cover you.” She blushed. “I mean, my company will provide coverage to meet your insurance needs.”

  Red raised his hand for the waitress and asked that she refill their iced tea glasses. The woman poured the tea and walked away.

  “Do you enjoy what you’re doing?”

  “I do, yes. When I got out of high school, there were two choices,” she said. “The first one was what all the girls around here aim for, and that’s to get married. The second, go to college. I couldn’t afford that, so I did the next best thing. Got an associate degree at the business school over in Thomasville. Then I started working here when I was twenty, three years ago.”

  “I’d say you are doing well for yourself.”

  “I think so.”

  Red had demurred long enough. He had to know, so he asked. “Ginger Gail, are you seeing anyone?”

  Her cheeks reddened, and for a moment, Red thought he’d overstepped.

  “My God, you are a faster’n a bird dog on point,” she said. Then she paused a bit too long for Red’s comfort. “But, yes, I’d love to out with you.”

  He hadn’t asked that but was leading up to it. This woman got right down to what he thought. He liked that.

  Red really liked Ginger Gail.

  “That’s great. How about tomorrow night?”

  “Sure, pick me up at seven,” she said. Ginger Gail took out her business card and flipped it over. On the back, she wrote down her home address and phone number. “It’s in a big old house behind the First Baptist Church. My uncle owns it. In case you get lost, just call.”

  Red handed her his card.

  Being an investigator, he went back to his original question. “But you didn’t answer,” he said. “You must have a boyfriend.”

  “Well, yes and no,” she said. “Depends on how I feel at the moment. There’s a guy from high school who gets out of the Army in a month. We’ll see how it goes when he’s home. But…”

  “But, in the meantime?” Red said.

  “Yeah, in the meantime, I would love to do something besides sell life, auto, and homeowners insurance policies. And sing in the choir.”

  Red laughed. “A soprano, I bet.”

  “Oh, you’re good, Red,” she said. “So good. Yes, I sing a solo a couple of times a month at a little country church outside of Damville.”

  Red wondered if she might know Gordon Adan. He didn’t ask.

  “Why don’t we go out for a nice dinner,” he said. “I know a place in Tallahassee. It’s a drive, but I think you’ll enjoy it. Besides, the trip will get us time to talk more.’

  Ginger Gail smiled. She loved to talk.

  Red said he’d get back to her on her request. In the meantime, they would see each other the next evening.

  * * *

  After dinner, Red opened the passenger door for Ginger Gail. She got in and immediately scooted over to the middle of the seat.

  She wore a pink mini skirt and a white knit sleeveless sweater.

  He got in and put his arm around her. As she snuggled close and looked up at him, Red kissed her. Short and sweet.

  Ginger Gail fondled his necktie and loosened the knot. She raised her left arm and hooked it around Red’s shoulder, pulled him close, and kissed him long and lovingly.

  “You are delightful, sweet, and a hell of a kisser, Ginger Gail,” he said softly. She moved her arm down and took his right hand into hers.

  “I think you are divine, Red.” She smiled and looked into his eyes. “Really, really divine. Now, will you please drive me down to Alligator Point?”

  Red started the car, pulled out onto North Monroe Street, and drove through downtown Tallahassee. He picked up speed as they headed south on US 319, hooked a right onto US 98, and rolled on to Panacea. Across the bridge, he turned left and drove out onto Alligator Point.

  He stopped at the first public beach access point.

  They got out of the car and strolled barefoot out across the sand.

  “Why is it I didn’t meet you a long time ago?” Red asked Ginger Gail as they held each other on the edge of the surf.

  She didn’t answer immediately. She just snuggled into his chest.

  Finally, she looked up at him.

  “Maybe it was because you were a big football player, and you just never noticed me all the way down here, did ya?” she said.

  “I’m noticing you now.”

  “Yes, sir, you are.”

  They kissed again.

  In a few minutes, Red went back to the car and fetched a sleeping bag. He took it onto the beach and found a spot behind a dune.

  He sat down and pulled Ginger Gail to him.

  She rolled up onto him and held his head in her hands. “Told you I could cover all your needs,” she whispered.

  The only movement was their tongues exploring, dipping in and out,
savoring, devouring.

  Off in the distance to the west, lightning flash and showed mountainous black clouds.

  Red was content holding Ginger Gale on the blanket.

  They kissed endlessly until the high tide rushed in and waves tickled their feet.

  They got into his car.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Red doodled on a clean page in his notebook. He sat at the tiny desk by the window in his Thomasville hotel room. Occasionally, he’d glance down onto life on the street. Mostly, though, in his doodling, he contemplated his course the last several days.

  First, his professional task.

  The investigation into the murders of the Goings family and Elton Jamison got nowhere very fast. Matthew Bailey had returned to Atlanta four days after arriving with Red in Valdosta to investigate the family’s deaths.

  Red stayed a few more days before he, too, returned to the state capital.

  Then he was ordered to Damville to investigate the missing man and a body found. He would ultimately identify the victim as Jamison Elton, the missing man.

  He planned to head back to Atlanta a second time to meet with his boss, Matthew, but he encountered someone who forestalled that trip.

  Ginger Gail Swanton.

  His doodles shifted as he focused on the woman. He wrote the words “hackneyed phrases” on the note page. Under that, he penned other words and phrases. “Love at first sight.” “Romance.” “Spring fling.”

  “She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever known, second to the love of my life, Leigh Wallace.”

  Finally, Red devolved into something like personal guilt in his scribblings.

  He hadn’t been completely adult on the previous evening and feared his lovemaking might produce something beyond the romantic moment. Perhaps Ginger Gail used birth control.

  He scrawled the thought. That concerned him most of all. There it was. Not only out in the open but written down on paper in black ink by his hand with his fountain pen.

  From early in his teens, Red knew about the tender trap. He’d been told a girl wanted nothing but marriage and kids with a guy who appeals to them.