by Alan Lee
Lynch moved like a great ape. He jumped into the trench too, dropping his weight onto Jennings.
Ribs cracked. Hot breath smelled like blood. Fists pounding Jennings’ head.
“HAH! She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s MINE!”
The ditch wasn’t big enough for both. Jennings couldn’t move. Pinned beneath three hundred pounds of madman. Slop up to his mouth. He was being buried alive.
The maul now firmly in Lynch’s hands.
“That leg of yours.” A wild manic smile. “Keeps trying to KILL YOU, Daniel.”
Get off, get off, Jennings tried to say. Sinking deeper. No air. The trench walls closing, squeezing.
“The great Jennings military family, one-legged now and suffocating! Here’s how it’s going to happen, Daniel. I’m going to break your mouth. The story about the hooks is true, I already bought the hooks, but I bet some people know you’re here, don’t they? Don’t they, Daniel? So what I’ll do instead is break your mouth. So satisfying when it caves. Like breaking open a pumpkin. I’ll sit with you as you bleed out. Maybe even hold your hand. Then I’ll phone the police. Tell them the truth. That you surprised me on my own property. We fought, you beat the hell out of me, but I won. I beat a Jennings, a Green Beret. I beat the best the Army could throw my way and I stood my ground and you’re dead. Case closed.”
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. Jennings’ heartbeat hurting his ears.
“You know the trouble with graves, Daniel? If you bury shallow, the dogs detect the bodies. But the deeper you dig, the deeper the depression as the dirt settles. A paradox, Daniel, do you know that word? Like God doesn’t want us to murder. I have to come back and even out the dirt, but sometimes life gets in the way and I forget.”
Lynch stood at last. Oxygen returning. Jennings gasping air and rain water, coughing. Still stuck tight in the mire. Lynch a towering monster.
“I dig some of the dirt with a shovel. Therapeutic, like cutting trees.” Lynch lowered the maul head to sit on Jennings’ mouth. Let it bounce twice, bruising Jennings’ lips. “As you feel your face caving in, know that your final act is providing me relief.”
Jennings’ mind scrambling for options, coming up with nothing. Betrayed by his body, so tired, no energy. No reason to remain. No reason except Daisy…
“Open your eyes, Daniel. Open and watch.”
Lynch rose and hefted the maul.
As he did, a shaft of light blinded him. Sudden and brilliant. His face, his shoulders, his maul highlighted by a powerful LED, and a little girl screamed, “Daddy!”
Lynch’s focus tilted. Concentration melting as his world enflamed. He held up his hand, blocking the light.
“Daddy!”
“Ann?”
His little girl.
For thirty-five years Lynch had tried and failed to connect with others. He couldn’t sympathize, couldn’t empathize, couldn’t force himself to care. Until his daughter arrived. The one person who could engage his emotion. Hers was the single voice allowed to wander the halls of his mind.
She was there, perfect and pretty and crying, hiding under an umbrella. Holding her flashlight with two hands. The umbrella was held by Homer Caldwell, both of them drenched. Such a sudden anachronism to his muddy ditch that Lynch had to remember where he was.
“Ann, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Daddy, what happened? We couldn’t find you.”
“Go back inside. Homer, take—”
“But who is that?”
“That’s…” Lynch groaned in arrested gratification. Couldn’t break Daniel’s teeth with his daughter watching. Ann peered farther into the trench.
“Is he asleep?”
“The police, Mr. Lynch!” said Homer. He was crying too. Blubbering like a fool. “The police are, they are here.”
“Police are here?”
“Someone called them.”
“Who?”
Homer was too excited. He was losing muscle coordination, forgetting the pacing, the need to inhale. “They said, they said you’re in danger, Mr. Lynch.”
“Breathe, Homer, you idiot. I don’t understand. Which police? Who exactly, Homer?”
“Daddy, who is that man?” said Ann.
“That…is a man who came here to hurt me. He tried but I won.” Lynch spit out rain. Took a long look at Jennings’ body. Not now, not like this. His brain felt like it might explode, but Ann was here. Slowly he lumbered up the incline. Jennings had passed out. A fallen soldier. The dislodged prosthesis looked like a broken leg. “Where are the police officers?”
“Looking, looking for you, Mr. Lynch. Two, two, two cars. We found you first, we found—”
“Lead them away, Homer, damn it. Don’t let them come here.”
“They’re already coming, Daddy.”
A long pause. Jennings lived forever in it.
“Okay. Give me the umbrella. Ann, come here.”
“What about the man, Daddy?”
“Homer, grab the man. Drag him out. Drag him back to the house if you can.”
“Yes, yes sir I can, I can do that.”
“Come, Ann. Let’s talk to the nice policemen. We’ll take them to the house.”
Her tiny voice a pearl in the pigsty. “You’re disgusting. Did he hurt you?”
“No. Yes. But I’m alive. Let’s tell them about the bad man so they’ll lock him up.”
Lynch limped toward the tree line, holding the umbrella over his daughter. The gears of his mind churning. He made it nearly home before collapsing. Overcome by his injuries. He leaned against a tree trunk to wait. Ann ran for help.
42
Jennings knew he wasn’t in Landstuhl. The sounds were different from a military hospital. No, the same sounds but a different texture.
He knew it but his body didn’t believe him. The black hole threatened where he’d built hope. He hadn’t opened his eyes but he knew he was under a thin blanket, knew he had an IV, knew he was shivering, sweating, knew his leg was gone, but this wasn’t Landstuhl.
He came more fully awake, like waters clearing of silt.
His right arm was handcuffed to the bedrail. That was different.
Jennings’ leg was swollen purple like the weeks after surgery.
He peed and the nurse left, replaced by Officer Goodwin. Jennings was cuffed again. Goodwin touched Jennings’ shoulder with his left hand. With his right he read from a card and Mirandized him.
“I’m under arrest.” Jennings couldn’t prevent a grin. Lynch won again and it bordered on sick comedy now.
“You are. Think that’s funny?”
“I mean no disrespect, officer. What time is it?”
“Ten in the morning. Want to tell me what you were doing last night?” said Goodwin.
With his left hand Jennings brought the water close and drank through the straw. Set it back. The hospital’s white walls were absurdly clean after his nightmares of mud.
“Are my ribs broken?”
Goodwin shrugged. “That’s what the lady said.”
“What else did she say? I can’t remember.”
“Nasty cut on your neck. Something about head trauma, but you’ll be discharged today into our custody. Doc should be here soon. What do you remember about last night?” said Goodwin.
Jennings closed his eyes. “Everything.”
“Tell me the story.”
“Do you know Mackenzie August?”
“The private detective? I do.”
“Let’s call him.”
“Why would I call a private cop?”
“Because I trust him. And I want an attorney.”
Jennings drifted away again.
Josh Dixon was in his early thirties. Shaved head, fit, lots of energy. Black. Dressed in a sports jacket and bow tie. He quickly ended the game when Officer Goodwin refused to leave the hospital room; Dixon started dialing Judge Schmidt. Goodwin said, “Alright, dammit, I’ll be outside,” and he left.
Dixon closed the door and sa
t in the chair Goodwin had vacated. “Mr. Jennings, I’m Josh Dixon and I’ll be your attorney. Mack August explained your situation, or some of it. Tell me what you told the cop.”
“I told him nothing.”
“Perfect.”
Jennings felt like an ass in the bed, unable to move his hand. “Dixon, what are your thoughts on police chief Buck Gibbs?”
“His old boys club sucks and so does he. Roanoke is segregated as all get out and he’s part of it. I hope to make a name for myself fighting against him. Mack told me about Peter Lynch accosting a woman in the backseat of his car before Thanksgiving. Is this related?”
“Yes. I think Peter Lynch is a sadistic sociopath and a killer.”
Dixon leaned back. “Well damn, Mr. Jennings.”
“Daniel.”
“Did the man outside inform you of the charges?”
“No. Just my rights.”
Dixon rolled his eyes. “Absolute amateurs. You’re charged with trespassing—”
“That part’s true.”
“Keep that to yourself. And assault—”
“He attacked me. But I retaliated with extreme prejudice,” said Jennings.
“Lynch was taken to the hospital too, they tell me.”
“Good.”
“Not good for your case. What were you doing there, Daniel?”
“Looking for buried bodies.”
Dixon sniffed. “Find any?”
“I think so.”
“For real?”
“Yep,” said Jennings.
“In Peter Lynch’s yard? Are you serious?”
“I’ve been looking for proof and I think I got it.”
“Wow, Daniel. I mean, wow. That could really get our names in the papers.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay. We’ll come back to that, my man,” said Dixon. Jennings saw a feverish light in the man’s eyes and he wondered if that was good or dangerous. “Right now we’re focused on your arrest. Police found cocaine in your truck. Tell me about that.”
Jennings jerked at the handcuff. “What?”
“An ounce of coke on the passenger seat.”
“You’re kidding. On the passenger seat?”
“That’s right.”
“No. No way. Check my blood, I’m clean. Never done cocaine in my life.” Jennings sat up straighter. “Lynch put it there. Or Gibbs or someone in the good ol’ boys club. That’s such bull.”
“Does sound weird, blow lying in plain sight.”
“It’s a setup. Do you understand how ridiculous this is? Lynch is a master in the courtroom, and he’s connected with the corrupt chief of police, and his brother’s a judge. We’re screwed no matter what we do. They can plant cocaine and not worry about repercussions. You see why I was looking for bodies?” said Jennings.
“You saw the bodies?”
“Grave sites. Depressions in a field. ”
“Aight, man, we’ll figure this out. No way we’ll be in front of Peter Lynch’s brother. Judge Lynch will have to recuse himself.”
“Cocaine possession is a felony?”
“Yeah but listen—”
“My mom will die.”
“—you don’t say a thing to what’s-his-name outside. He’ll put you in the back of his car and we’ll go before the magistrate. We’ll skip the arraignment and you’ll be held without bond until I talk to the commonwealth's attorney. You understand all that?”
Jennings finished sipping from the straw. “Not a word.”
“That’s fine. You don’t even have to trust me. But I’ll get you through this. Be a pleasure to screw over Gibbs and his goons. Especially if there’s bodies in Lynch’s backyard, boy. We act fast, maybe you’re home by dinner. First things first—you should shower. I never seen so much dirt.”
The police department in Salem.
Goodwin let Jennings move around without handcuffs so he could operate crutches provided by the hospital— Jennings tried to ignore the awful void below his knee. The mangled prosthesis sat in Dixon’s car trunk.
Goodwin took Jennings before the magistrate. The officer charged him with 55.1-2803, 18.2–248, and 18.2-57—trespassing, cocaine possession, and assault and battery. The magistrate ordered Jennings held without bond because of the felonious severity. An inner reservoir of goodness, a belief that things will work out, kept Jennings from despairing as he listened.
“I’m going to jail?” he asked Dixon. “Like, into jail?”
“Yeah, but stay strong, my man. Won’t be long.”
Had Jennings known he’d be in jail, he’d have prepared lesson plans for his substitute teacher. A funny thought.
Jennings walked on the crutches deeper into the jail to be processed. Dixon talking into his ear, “You have no priors, you’re an upstanding citizen, you have a good job teaching, you’re no danger to yourself or the community, you’re no flight risk. I already placed a call to the commonwealth and I’m headed to see him now. We should work something out and I’ll get the order signed at the bench immediately. Understand?”
“Do what you gotta do.”
Dixon spoke to the deputy sheriff and left.
Jennings was forced to change into the orange jumpsuit. He was fingerprinted and photographed and processed.
The deputy directed him into a holding cell on the main level, not upstairs into population yet. He took Jennings’ crutches and the heavy door slammed with a thunderous boom.
Jennings’ faith and hope staggered with the sound. He hopped to the bed.
Hours later, when the footsteps came, it wasn’t his attorney. It was the dinner cart.
43
Josh Dixon tried and failed to find a commonwealth’s attorney at the courthouse, so he ate lunch and made phone calls and billed two hours before returning.
He finally found one in the hallway behind the courtroom, Boyd Warren was flipping through a file. The man had gone to the Appalachian School of Law, and it galled Dixon he had to pander to the man. One day his star would outshine Warren’s like a supernova. Buried bodies in Peter Lynch’s yard could be his ticket.
“Mr. Warren,” said Josh Dixon. “I need your signature on a bond release.”
Warren didn’t look up. “Who you got, Mr. Dixon?”
“The man who attacked Peter Lynch last night.”
Warren snapped the folder closed. “Yeah? I read about that.”
“Daniel Jennings, a good guy. He’s a teacher, former special forces. Clean record. He’s not going anywhere.”
“What about the cocaine?”
“He says it was planted. He’ll take a drug test right now.”
“They all say it was planted, Mr. Dixon. What was he doing at Mr. Lynch’s house?”
“Looking for buried bodies.”
Commonwealth’s Attorney Boyd Warren smirked. “Your man sounds delusional.”
Dixon lowered his voice and stepped closer. “He’s not, I don’t think. Someone I respect told me to trust him. This could be big, Mr. Warren.”
“You always think your case is big, Dixon.”
“Bodies buried in Peter Lynch’s backyard, are you kidding me? If I’m right, you’ll see my name in the newspaper. I’ll get a sit down on Channel Ten.”
“You better be careful with that ambition, especially in this building.”
Dixon grinned. “After I’m huge, maybe I’ll hire you to do my grunt work, Mr. Warren.”
“Lucky me.” Warren checked his watch. “It’s too late today.”
“I’ll spring him tomorrow morning.”
“Give it here.” Warren accepted Dixon’s papers and he wrote on them. “Jennings will need to take that drug test. He must stay away from Lynch, even if an entire cheerleading team is buried back there.”
Dixon looked up and down the hallway, his grin close to splitting his face. “How great would that be.”
The Honorable Francis Lynch was leaning against the door to his office. He’d changed out of
his robes and signed off his computer, ready to leave for the day. But instead he was still. All his body straining to listen.
“Jennings will need to take that drug test. He must stay away from Lynch, even if an entire cheerleading team is buried back there.”
“How great would that be.”
“You’re sick, Mr. Dixon. Here’s the bond release. Tell Jennings to keep his head down. Not bad advice for you either.”
The two men, mere feet from the judge’s chambers, moved down the hall, out of earshot.
Francis Lynch clicked off the overhead light. He moved to his desk on weak legs and sat in the darkness.
An hour later, he was still there, a handkerchief pressed to the corner of his mouth, pondering the fate of his little brother.
44
The longest night of Jennings’ life. His fellow man had thrown him into a cage like an animal and the idea of never getting out loomed. He expected Lynch to arrive any minute and laugh in his luxurious freedom.
He’d been moved to the third floor after the hospital medic declared he could keep the crutches. He had his own cell on a long hall and he listened to other inmates shout at one another. He felt like shouting too, raging against everything. It wasn’t him who should be locked up, it was Lynch.
Winner gets the girl.
She’s MINE!
Lynch had truly lost his mind.
He spent the night thinking of historical men he admired who’d spent time in jail—RFK, MLK Jr, Saint Paul, Nelson Mandela, Dietrich Bonhoeffer—and realized their stories rarely ended well. He slept fitfully for ninety minutes. But it might be worth it.
He had proof. Proof!
His attorney arrived the instant the jail opened.
“Daniel, damn, my man, I’m sorry for the delay. The commonwealth was wrapped up and we didn’t hammer it out until it was too late and I couldn’t get you a message… Anyway, you’re free.”
Jennings, bleary, trembled with the news.
He changed into the clean clothes his attorney bought at Walmart. Dixon chattering, “Obviously you can’t go near Peter Lynch, the alleged victim. You have to pass a weekly drug test as part of the probation. Bail was set at $25,000. I took the liberty of posting it but—”
