Roots of Murder Read online

  “Whiz, for corn sake’s, why?” the deputy asked.

  “They ain’t got a permit,” was his reply.

  “But Sheriff Hickson told them to come out here and do this. What other permit do they need?” the deputy argued.

  “And why is the Chief of Police of Pelican Bay personally stepping out of his jurisdiction to handle permits?” Nell asked. She wouldn’t get an answer, but she was furious that the interference was so blatant and sloppy.

  “Got to have a permit to do any work in the state park,” he parroted.

  “Does this sudden need for a permit have anything to do with the discovery of murder victims on land the mayor granted to the state parks?” Nell threw out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Whiz Brown answered, making it clear that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “So the mayor sent you? Maybe you should go back and tell him you need something better than a ‘permit’ excuse,” Nell said.

  “Mayor didn’t send me anywhere.” He put his hand on the butt of his pistol, as if reminding himself he was armed and dangerous.

  “What are you going to do, shoot us all?” Nell retorted. Then she wondered, what kind of crazy fool am I to goad an idiot with a gun? An angry fool, furious at Thom’s death and now these deaths; like my anger will find some kind of justice for any of us.

  They had divided the duties, the night of the accident. Sheriff Hickson himself went to tell Mrs. Thomas, Sr. about her son. The police got the duty to tell the widow. Of course Whiz Brown had ducked out of that unpleasant task. Instead he had delegated it to a young patrolman who clearly had never had to deliver news of a death before. When he got to the hospital, he stood in the doorway, his silence alone telling Nell. He hadn’t a clue how to handle her shattered reaction, her disbelief and fury, and had hastily retreated from the haunted eyes of the widow. The nurses had started to put a sedative in her IV drip, but she’d ripped the needle out of her arm.

  The deputy, as if to make up for his earlier imbalance, said, “Whiz, you got to talk this over with Sheriff Hickson. He tells us to shut down, we’ll shut down. But right now, this ain’t your jurisdiction.”

  “You sayin’ I should let crime happen just because it ain’t my jurisdiction?” Whiz Brown finally replied. It clearly took him a while to think up that answer.

  “Crime?” Nell said. “You create some fictional permit to impede a murder investigation and you talk about crime? And when did you start looking into crimes out of your jurisdiction? The last time we had this argument, you took the other side.”

  “Look, lady, just because you run the paper doesn’t mean that you can question me,” he growled.

  “But it means precisely that. Freedom of the press, Chief Brown, it’s in the Constitution. You know, law, the thing you’re supposed to uphold.”

  Nell’s anger galvanized the rest of the workers. Two of them were still digging, to get as much out of the ground as possible, but the others had gathered behind her. Whiz Brown finally had the sense to look around and see it was him and two of his men against a deputy sheriff, about ten graduate students, and two professors from LSU, as well as the editor of the local paper.

  “You need a permit to be here and if I catch you again, I’ll run you in,” he pronounced, then left, trailed by his officers. One, like his chief, was stony-faced, but the other looked abashed, as if he knew how foolish they looked.

  Ellen muttered, “Don’t laugh until they’re out of earshot.”

  Save for the diggers, they silently listened to the thrashing steps of Whiz and his troops departing. No one spoke until the sounds of his retreat could no longer be heard.

  “Let’s get as much out as we can,” Ellen instructed. “In the meantime, go ahead and pack up what we’ve already got, in case we need to make a hasty retreat.” In a quieter voice to the deputy, she said, “Are we safe? Should we get out of here?”

  “Well, ma’am, I can’t think they’d do much more than bark,” he slowly answered. “I can’t think of any permit we’d need to be here. Sheriff’s in court now. I’ll call when he gets out. Or maybe go wait and see if he gets out sooner.”

  “And leave us here?” Ellen asked.

  “I doubt the chief will come back today.”

  “That may depend on how desperate whoever sent him is for us not to investigate,” Nell said.

  “Whiz Brown may not be … ” The deputy thought better of what he was going to say. “But he can’t be fool enough to take on the sheriff’s department and muck up a murder scene.”

  Nell peered at his name tag. “Mr. Johnston, three people have been killed here. We can’t assume whoever did that won’t kill again if they feel threatened.”

  “But this is different,” Johnston argued. “These are old murders and besides … it was different back then.”

  “Different?” Nell said.

  He sighed, then said it. “Mrs. McGraw, a lot of black people got killed back then. But we’re, well, ‘important.’ Even Whiz Brown can’t be stupid enough to think he can come out here and murder about fifteen people like us and get away with it.”

  “Not to mention a deputy sheriff,” Kate, who had joined the conversation, added.

  “You said that this land belonged to the mayor?” Ellen asked Nell.

  “Used to belong to his family. They bought a huge tract back in the early sixties, still own half, but gave this part to the park system. It does make you wonder.”

  “You think the mayor told Whiz to come here and claim we needed a permit?” Kate asked.

  “You really think Chief ‘It’s Not My Jurisdiction’ came from a sincere concern about paperwork?” Nell replied.

  “But is he hiding long-ago murders or just trying to throw a wrench in something that might prove embarrassing during a tight election?” Kate said.

  “Hubert Pickings is stupid enough to do the latter,” Nell conceded. That Whiz hadn’t shown up until after Aaron Dupree’s announcement argued for that.

  “Whoever killed these poor souls has got to be old or dead,” Deputy Johnston said. “This sounds like Hubert trying to flex his political muscle. Dead bodies on land his family used to own is going to just about hand the election to Aaron Dupree.”

  “What I need to know right now is should I pull my students out or keep going?” Ellen asked. “If you stay”—this was to Deputy Johnston—“then I’m inclined to see if we can get this skeleton out of the ground.”

  Kate’s cell phone rang. “Hello,” she answered as she stepped away from them.

  “Keep digging, ma’am,” Deputy Johnston told Ellen. “Soon as I can I’ll call the sheriff and see if he can wrangle loose another man for out here.”

  “Nell,” Kate said. “It’s your daughter, Lizzie.”

  “Lizzie? How did she get your cell number?” Nell asked as she took the phone. “Lizzie, what’s going on?” This was probably an “I need a ride” call, which happened more than Nell thought it should.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, what’s going on?” Nell asked again. She almost said “if you need a ride, too bad, it’s a long wait or a long walk,” but decided she didn’t want her onlookers to know she had that derelict of a daughter.

  “Mom, I’m okay. It’s Josh.”

  “Josh! What’s wrong?!”

  “Yeah, that’s right, worry about him and not me,” Lizzie said, commenting on Nell’s dramatic change of tone.

  “I’m talking to you, so you’re obviously okay,” Nell replied.

  “Right. For all you know I could be on my death bed and these would be my last words on this earth.”

  “Lizzie,” Nell said, cursing the timing of her daughter’s adolescent mood. “What happened to Josh?”

  “He’s okay. Maybe just a broken arm.”

  Nell didn’t consider that okay. �
��What happened?”

  “Some jerk threw a stick into his bike wheel. Good thing he was actually wearing his helmet.”

  “Where is Josh now?”

  “Here at the ER. They’re doing an x-ray. Do I have to call Grandmom?”

  Nell debated, then chose what suited her. “No, you don’t need to call your grandmother. I’m on my way. Can I talk to Josh?”

  “He’s getting an x-ray right now,” Lizzie pointed out, winning Nell a few more stupid-mother-who-wasn’t-listening points. “I talked to him before he went in. He told me to call Kate’s cell to get to you.”

  Her children were alive. She could get the rest of the story in person and not use up more of Kate’s minutes. “All right. Please be someplace where I can find you. I should be there in about twenty minutes or so.”

  “See you, Mom. Be careful. The guys that threw the stick yelled at Josh to tell his mother to back off.”

  “What?” Nell said, but the phone faltered and they were cut off. “Lizzie!” she yelled, but the call was lost. I’ll ask when I get there, she told herself.

  “Thanks.” Nell handed the phone back to Kate. “Josh had a bike wreck and may have broken his arm.”

  There were murmurs all around hoping that he would be okay. Both Kate and Ellen promised to update Nell of anything that happened at the site.

  Nell hurried down the trail, breaking into a run in the less overgrown parts.

  “Goddamn them!” she cursed as she started her car. Josh could have been killed. Her anger boiled until she had to tell herself out loud to calm down or at least not let her anger affect her driving.

  By the time she got to the ER, Nell was calm enough to marginally pay attention to parking in a legal spot, far enough from the entrance to cause her to run. She wasn’t sure if it was worry about Josh or a way of getting rid of the still-searing anger. Thom is dead, you bastards, she thought as she pounded across the pavement, and now you want Josh. Bastards, bastards, fucking bastards.

  “Be careful, you don’t want to trip,” someone in scrubs called to her as she ran up the steps. An ambulance was in the bay and two wheelchairs were passing on the ramp, one entering, one leaving. Nell hurried in front of the entering one.

  Approaching the desk, her breathing heavy from the run, she said, “I’m looking for my son, Joshua McGraw.”

  As the woman flipped through papers, maddeningly reducing Josh to a name on a sheet of paper, Nell scanned the waiting room for Lizzie. She’d better be with Josh, Nell fumed, as the woman turned another page and slowly scanned it.

  Another sheet was thoroughly scanned and Nell was about to start yelling when she spotted Lizzie coming down the hallway, her hand in a bag of chips, a soda tucked in the crook of her arm.

  “Lizzie!” Nell called, ignoring the scanning woman. “Where’s Josh?”

  “Mom? You got here fast.”

  “I told you to wait where I could see you, damn it! Did you think the candy machine was the best place?”

  “I was only gone a minute.”

  “You knew I was on my way. Couldn’t the minute have waited?” Nell demanded.

  With an angry gesture, Lizzie suddenly threw her chips and the still unopened can of soda into a trash can. “There! I’m sorry; I didn’t know I should be your handmaid waiting every second for you! Making sure Josh was okay and getting him here isn’t enough. God forbid I get hungry!” Lizzie ended her speech close to a wail. Nell felt ashamed as she watched tears on her daughter’s face.

  She has to be as scared as I am, Nell thought. Thom is just as dead for her as he is for me. Lizzie handled her raw emotions with the inexperience of a teenager.

  She reached for her daughter, but Lizzie spun away.

  “I’m so sorry,” Nell said softly. “I … I guess sorry isn’t quite enough.”

  Lizzie still kept her head turned away, hastily wiping the tears away.

  Nell continued. “I’m sorry. I was worried about Josh and I … oh, fuck. You didn’t hear that.” Lizzie glanced her way. “I’m not doing a good job here. You did the right thing; you got Josh here and made sure he was going to be okay. And, well, what else is there to do while waiting around in a hospital? It’s not reasonable you’d do homework.”

  “I’m worried about Josh,” Lizzie said in a voice cracked by tears. “About you, too. I wondered if something had happened when I couldn’t get you at the newspaper or home.”

  The tear-stained words cut into Nell. Even if I were a perfect mother, she thought, I couldn’t make up for the hurt and fear that’s come into their lives. “Please, honey, I messed up, okay? Can you forgive me?”

  “Okay, this time,” Lizzie said, but Nell recognized the armor for what it was, a thin layer of tinfoil. The same flimsy protection she’d worn when she was an adolescent.

  Nell reached for her again and Lizzie didn’t pull away, instead wrapping her arms around Nell with a fervor that belied her cool words. They held the embrace, and then Lizzie said, “Did you really say ‘fuck’?”

  Nell kept her arm around her daughter’s shoulder and her face close to Lizzie’s. “Yes, I did. You now know the truth. I know those words. But that doesn’t mean you can say them, particularly if there is a chance your grandmother might find out. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s go find Josh,” Nell said.

  “Okay. But can I get my drink out of the trash? I’m thirsty.”

  “No, you can’t get it out of the trash. But you can certainly get another one. I’ve got change in my purse. Can we see if Josh wants something, or are you dying of thirst now?”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be polite of me to munch and slurp in front of him.”

  The woman finally finished scanning her pages. “He should be in the third slot on your left.”

  Josh indeed was, looking lost and pale against the white hospital sheets.

  “Mom,” he said weakly. “I’m going to be okay. Arm’s not broke.”

  A doctor entered, carrying x-rays with her. “Nope, the arm’s not broken. Good thing you were wearing a helmet. You’re going to be a little bruised and have some ugly scabs for a while, but nothing’s going to follow you into old age.”

  “He’s all right?” Nell asked. She wanted to hear it again.

  “He’ll be fine. You’re his mother?” the doctor asked.

  “Thank God,” Nell said, then answered the question. “Yes, I am.”

  “He can go home soon. It won’t hurt him to just lie still for a while. He’s probably going to be sore for a few days. Any sharp pain, anything that seems odd, come right back in. I’m not going to write a prescription for pain meds; the over-the-counter stuff should do. No aspirin, of course. Take it easy for a few days and keep wearing that helmet.” With that, the doctor exited the cubicle.

  “How are you feeling?” Nell asked Josh.

  “I’m okay. A little sore, I guess.”

  Nell looked her son over. He had a scrape on his chin; the helmet hadn’t protected him there. His left elbow looked like raw meat. His legs were still covered by the sheet. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

  Lizzie and Josh exchanged a glance, as if trying to decide how much to tell—and worry—Mom.

  “I must have hit a pothole,” Josh said.

  “It’s too late,” Lizzie interjected. “I already told her about the guys throwing the stick in your spokes.” She added defensively, “I had to let her know. They might have come after her next.”

  They’re protecting me and worrying about me, Nell thought. She wondered how she could return her children to their interrupted childhood. Or if there was even a way.

  “Tell me what happened. We’re going to have to go to the police with this,” Nell added.

  Again they exchanged a look. Nell thought about demanding they tell her what they were
hiding. But that could wait; she would give them a chance to tell her on their own, without heavy mother strong-arm tactics.

  “We were going home from school. Josh was riding his bike and I was a little behind him,” Lizzie said.

  Nell was attuned enough to her children to see the gap of information. Lizzie, walking, would have been left quickly behind by Josh on the bike. Still, she didn’t interrupt.

  “And this red truck comes zooming around and pulls up even with Josh’s bike. Some guy hollers out, ‘You Josh McGraw?’ Josh, dumb bunny, answers, ‘Why, yes, I am.’”

  Nell suspected that Josh didn’t really say that; Lizzie often made fun of the way he talked like his parents while she was taking on the speech of her peers.

  Josh protested. “I just said, yeah.”

  “So they yell out, ‘Tell your mother this is from us,’ and they shove a broom handle into his wheel. Josh goes head over heels into the air. And we ended up here,” Lizzie finished.

  Nell decided it was time to ask a few mother questions. “What else can you tell me about the truck?”

  “It was red, sort of new,” Josh said.

  “Bunch of junk in the back,” Lizzie added. “Boards and paint, like they did that kind of stuff.”

  “What about the people in the truck?”

  “It happened so fast, I didn’t really see them,” Josh said in an abashed voice, as if he’d failed miserably by not being a hero, or at least not getting a good look at the bad guys.

  “Men or women?”

  “Men, of course,” Lizzie said.

  “Young? Old?”

  “Not young,” Lizzie said. That could be anyone over twenty-five, Nell thought. “But not real old either.”

  “White?”

  “Yeah. Brown scraggily hair on the one who threw the stick, and he wore a sort of dirty baseball cap,” Josh offered.

  That sounded like the Jones brothers to Nell. She decided the rest of the questions about the attackers could wait until they talked to the police.

  “Just how did you get here?” she asked.

  Lizzie jumped in. “Well, Billy Naquin just happened to drive up on his motorcycle and he had a cell phone.”