“Memories are like that. So tell me what you remember Mary,” I said.
“Well, you know how I told you that I can recall seeing different shoes from underneath the bed. I now remember seeing another pair of shoes.”
“Different from the high top tennis shoes and the high top lace dress shoes,” I said to remind her of what she had previously divulged.
“Oh, yes. Very different from those.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Purple heels.”
“As in high heel shoes?” I said.
“Exactly, only they are purple, you know, like a spring time color. They are quite lovely as I recall, but they don’t seem to fit into the 1933 period.”
“Hence the confusion,” Josh said.
“The purple heels you recall, were they extremely high heels or a lower-heel variety?”
“Well, what I seem to remember are rather tall heels. I don’t recall ever seeing my mother wear anything like that, so I can’t imagine who those shoes belong to.”
“Maybe it’s a...memory...from another time,” I said.
“Well, it’s coming from that same perspective, from under the bed. I see the purple shoes walking over to a crib. The shoes are nearly under the crib so that must mean the person wearing them is standing over the crib.”
“Anything else?”
“No, just that.”
“Do you remember anything else about that day your little brother died?”
“Like what?” Mary said.
“Well, whatever you could recall from thinking back to that time. You were about five years old, correct?”
“Yes, I was about five, maybe six, but closer to five, I think.”
“Do you have any recollection of something happening in regards to that day?”
“I remember my mother and father arguing in the room where little Colby was. Someone shut the door and I could see my father’s shoes maybe, I don’t know, just a few feet away from where I was hiding, standing next to my mother’s shoes. Their voices were very loud. Then the door opened and the tennis shoes entered. That would have been Rosemary coming in. The door was closed by someone, I seem to remember, and my parents began fussing loudly at Rosemary. I think Rosemary was crying and someone slapped someone. I heard the pop, you know, that sound that an open hand makes when it strikes a person. I’m guessing in the face. But I didn’t see that. I just heard the sound and the loud talking, loud voices, and all that fussing. It was a little frightening as I recall. But, someone hit someone. I think that maybe one of my parents hit Rosemary because she began to cry just after the sound of that pop or slap.”
“Is that why you thought that Rosemary killed your brother?” I asked.
“I’m sure that had much to do with it. Like I told you earlier, we didn’t talk about that day after it was over. After the funeral, it was never discussed.”
“And Rosemary stayed on as your nanny.”
“Yes, she did. And she was a good one. I loved her very much. I don’t think I ever really believed that she would harm Colby. It was too difficult for me to think that way. It still is.”
“But you think someone killed him?”
“I do.”
26
We stood in front of Mary Carpenter’s house next to our vehicles – the good reverend, Rosey, and me. We batted around our limited but slowly growing knowledge as well as some what-to-do-next strategy. Josh was interested in our limited discoveries thus far. We recapitulated for him.
“I do apologize for losing my nerve there on you,” he said.
“What changed your mind?” Rosey said.
“I was working on the sermon last week. The scripture passage I was studying made me realize what a coward I was.”
“What were you studying?” Rosey said with some surprise.
“It was Paul’s letter to the Romans. He said that Christians were supposed to present themselves as a living sacrifice to God. Then I read in First John that there was no fear in love. For whatever the reason, the two passages made me rethink my position on helping Mary and finding the truth for her no matter what it might cost me.”
“I didn’t know preachers ever listened to their own sermons. I figured that they were just in it to teach us ignorant souls what God wanted,” I said.
“I don’t know how to respond to that, except to say that preachers need to listen to the voice of God just like anybody else.”
“So God speaks to you when you study the Bible,” Rosey said.
“Not literally, but when I read and study and pray, then I have rather strong impressions, I suppose that would be the term to use, strong impressions that God is trying to get through to me.”
“Get through to you for what reason?” I asked.
“For my own life as well as help me to speak His word to the church folk.”
“So preachers don’t have all the answers,” I said.
“Hardly. Sometimes I think I have fewer answers than most people. At any rate, I am willing to help you both anyway I can. Just tell me what you need from me.”
“We’ll call you, Josh,” I said.
He thanked us for understanding and left.
“You think that was genuine?” I said when Josh drove away.
“You really do not trust the clergy at all,” Rosey commented.
“What can I say? My work moves my attitude towards skepticism about some people.”
“Some people?” he said.
“Okay, a good number of folk I hold in high skepticism.”
“Even me.”
“I trust you.”
“But not enough to tell me early on about one of your deep secrets,” Rosey said as we climbed into the truck.
“You’re not going to forgive me for holding back a little on that, are you?”
“I forgive you. I’m just saying, you didn’t trust me enough to share the knowledge about Rogers and her unique talents.”
“You had been out of my life for many years. People change. I didn’t know the new you.”
“It took you two years or more to discover who I was?”
“I’m cautious.”
“Yep, that’s what you are,” Rosey said as we drove away.
We arrived in Elizabeth City. Neither of us said anything during the thirty minute ride to our motel. Sam yawned a time or two, but he made no effort to stimulate our conversation. The silence was deafening. I think I could have cut the ambience of my discomfort with a knife. I wondered if Rosey was feeling the same way. Friendships can sometimes be shaky.
There was a light on in our motel room. It was reflected onto the closed curtains across the extended front window. Sam was sitting up in the back seat and began growling softly as we pulled into the parking place in front of our motel door.
Rosey drew his gun and tapped my shoulder to make sure that I had noticed his drawn weapon. I pulled mine from my backside as we eased out of the cab. Sam followed us still growling softly. As the three of us moved ever-so-cautiously towards the door, I put my left index finger up to my lips to signal Sam. He stopped growling.
Rosey took out his room key-card and eased it into the door slot. We readied ourselves to move quickly at the sound of the click once he removed the key-card from the slot.
Rosey accomplished the feat effortlessly. In a split second he opened the door and crossed in front of me moving to the right in a crouching position. I moved to the left behind him in a low body position. Sam held back on my command, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Don’t shoot,” Gunther said from his seated position in the corner of the room. His weapon was drawn but was pointing downward by the time we saw him.
“You expecting someone besides us?” I said.
“Indeed,” he said.
“What are you doing back here, and how did you get inside?” I said.
“Cleaning lady let me in. I can be compelling.”
“Mind telling us why you are back?” Rosey and I both
lowered our guns at this point but didn’t put them away. Gunther laid his weapon on the nightstand next to him.
“Whenever I came to see you the other day, I was followed by someone. I think my cover is blown.”
“One of the bikers?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So who then?”
“Hard to say exactly,” Gunther said.
“Okay, how about generally?” I said.
“I don’t follow.”
“Do you have any general idea of who might be following you?” I said.
“Oh, I think it is someone connected to the gun running, but not one of the bikers.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Rosey asked.
“Bikers have their own code of justice whenever they think a person has entered their ranks under false pretenses.”
“In other words, they would have shot you on the spot if they believed you to be a spy, say,” Rosey said.
“Or beaten me to a pulp. They like to play with their fists whenever they can. Inflicts more pain without killing.”
“But they’re not above killing someone who is found to be lying to them,” I said.
“Probably not, but none of the bikers have said anything to me, or even hinted that they suspect something. I have proven myself more than once. And, the little episode with you two really put me in good stead with the gang.”
“Good that we could help,” I said without really meaning it.
“How do you know you were followed here the other day?” Rosey said.
“There was a truck that followed me here as I was coming out of Bakers Station. I figured it was just some local going to the beach. But I spotted the same truck whenever I got back to Bakers Station. It was on the edge of town, sitting, waiting. Then it followed me back to where I am staying.”
“Have you seen it since?” Rosey asked.
“Yeah, every day since my visit with you guys.”
“The same time?” Rosey said.
“No. Times vary.”
“Have you seen the driver?”
“He stays in the shadows, but I did get a glimpse earlier today. He had a mustache. That was about all I could see. White, mustache and wearing sunglasses.”
“You’re thinking someone is watching you and believes you to be disingenuous,” I said.
“Not sure what that means, but I think someone thinks I am up to something.”
“Devious.”
“Yeah, they’re being devious about it.”
“I meant you,” I said.
“Oh, that. Yeah, I guess that’s what I am being.”
“And you want us to protect you?” Rosey said.
“I just needed a safe place to hold up. Can’t trust too many people. So I suspect whoever is following me will be gone from Elizabeth City by morning. They’ll likely think I am meeting some dame at this motel.”
“So if they did see you come in here, then I am to represent the dame with whom you are to hook up?”
“I hope that means what I think it means,” Gunther said.
“It means you can stay,” I said. “And you need to read more.”
27
Sam Gunther, a.k.a. Big Mike, slept on the floor of Rosey’s room while Sam the sleuth-dog and I spent the night next door. Sam slept on the edge of my bed. We had agreed to meet at seven the next morning to catch an early breakfast in the lobby. A good breakfast is important before continuing to poke around and infuriate an entire community. Unveiling embedded secrets of the past requires some vital nourishment. And lots of endless pondering as to what we know, what we don’t know, and what to do next. My work is never obvious.
Sam and I were the early birds on our way to Rosey’s room next door just prior to seven o’clock. I stopped to remove a wad of gum attached to the bottom of my left shoe. I crouched down to detach it when the first three shots hit the brick wall in front of me to my right. I turned and moved to the grill of Rosey’s big white truck. Sam crouched beside me. It was entirely too early to have someone shooting at me. I hadn’t even had a cup of caffeine. I detest gunfights on an empty stomach and certainly without lots of black coffee. The adrenalin rush I was having was a nice benefit under the circumstances. Still, it was too early for this kind of behavior.
Seconds passed. Rosey opened the door and rolled out to a position next to me as another barrage of bullets battered the metal door and shattered the large picture window.
He was next to Sam who was next to me and all three of us were crouching in front of the large, white truck that kept us from being interred later that week. Gratitude has many forms.
“Anything hit my truck?”
“I haven’t been paying much attention to the truck,” I said.
“It’s still sort of new.”
“Well this ought to break it in for you.”
Rosey eased around the corner of the truck for a view. Another barrage of gunfire was sprayed in our general direction.
“You okay?” Rosey said moving back to me.
“Thanks for asking. I’m good. Peachy even,” I said.
“Peachy about what?”
“That we didn’t have our bikes parked in front of your room. Did you see where the shots were coming from?” I said.
“I think from those shrubs that separate the motel from the fast food joint next door,” Rosey said.
I knew him well enough to know he was not guessing. His military training was a God-send at the moment.
“Where’s Gunther?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I heard him get up earlier. Thought he was going to the bathroom. Then I heard the room door open and close. I figured he was going out for a smoke.”
“You want me to draw fire so you can maneuver to a position where you might see who is trying to end our lives prematurely?” I said.
“How do you know if it is premature?” he asked.
“Let’s not do philosophy right now.”
“I was simply wondering if our number is up.”
“My number’s not up. I haven’t had food,” I snapped. “You want me to draw fire?”
“One of us needs to do that,” Rosey said.
“I think it’s my turn,” I said.
“Besides,” I continued while Rosey was focused on making sure his weapon was loaded to the max, “you actually believe you are a better shot than me. Not the time to argue the point, but, for the sake of living to tell the tale, I will concede the argument for the sake of expediency. I’m going that way,” I said and pointed in the direction back towards my room where there were other vehicles providing some minimal cover. One of them was another truck. I suddenly liked trucks.
After I told Sam to stay put, I moved quickly without waiting for Rosey to answer. Several rounds glanced off of the motel building behind me, some broke the back windows on the poor vehicles granting me a little extension to life, and some bounced off of the sidewalk near my shoes. I turned to see where Rosey was. He was gone. I scanned the parking lot but could see no movement. The man was quick.
I had two more vehicles to shield me before I ran out of coverage. As I moved to the last car, another volley of shots sprayed everything close by. Again I was relieved to discover that I was not hit and my number had not come up. After a two-second pause – yes, I was counting – I prepared to run towards the little out-building across the narrow stretch of the parking lot that separated the actual motel from some vending machines. Two shots rang out from across the parking lot away from my position. The sound came from the area of the shrubs Rosey had mentioned earlier. The sound of the two shots was noticeably different from the sound of the ones that had been coming my way moments ago.
I eased my head up over the hood of the black Audi that was presently my shield and defender. Rosey was walking towards the shrubs across the parking lot in the open. I stood and moved towards him. Sam met me as we joined Rosey.
“Confident that you shot him?” I said.
“More than that.”
>
“How much more?”
“He’s dead.”
We found the body exactly where Rosey believed the shooter to be from our earlier conversation. Rosey was also correct about the other thing. The shooter was dead. His G. 36 was lying near his right hand. I kicked the weapon away and we both stared at the body after Rosey had checked his vitals out of habit just to be absolutely sure. It’s bad karma to allow someone you think dead to rise up and kill you. Especially before breakfast. Before coffee.
“Who do you think he is?”
“No idea,” Rosey said. “But for the moment, let’s just call him Sam Gunther.”
We spent our day talking with the local police as one might expect. I called T.J. Wineski, my old Captain with the Norfolk PD, just to let him know what had happened.
“How the hell do you get yourself in these tiffs?” he responded to my information. “Never mind, I know the answer to that. So do you. You need anything from me?”
“Maybe a character reference if they decide to put us in jail for disturbing the peace.”
“That might be the least of it. But I promise I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll tell them that you are in fact a character and trouble follows you as surely as night follows day.”
“The mantra of my life. Not really what I had in mind for you to say. Perhaps a kinder word would go further,” I said.
“Then call someone else.”
“Thanks, Captain. I owe you one.”
“You’ve owed me one, two, three, …. hell, I’ve lost count how many you have owed me. Just tell them what happened and get your butt back to Virginia.”
“Still have a case to solve here.”
“And how’s that going so far?”
“Have you had your coffee today?” I said.
“That bad, huh? I’ve only downed three cups. You called too early. Call me after lunch and let me know what’s happening. In the meantime, I’ll place some calls to people I know in Raleigh. No promises, just some calls.”
“Love you, too.”
“I don’t love you, Clancy. Some days I don’t even like you. Say, is that black SEAL with you down there?”
“He did the shooting.”
“You never fired a shot?” Wineski said.
Mercy Killing Page 13
