If These Trees Could Talk

by Brian W. Smith

  Charity sat down on the sofa. Her cigarette was nearly burned to the filter and she had only taken two puffs. Another observation that hadn’t escaped the detective. He leaned over and pushed the ash tray that was positioned on the coffee table closer to her. Charity dowsed the cigarette flame in the ashtray and then buried her face in the palms of her hands.

  “What happened?” she asked, her face still covered by the palms of her hands.

  “It appears he was stabbed to death,” the sheriff replied.

  Charity looked bothered by the news, but she didn’t react like a woman who’d just received news that her boyfriend was dead.

  Sheriff Duffy sat on the chair adjacent to the sofa. “Do you know anything about this murder Charity?”

  “You still ain’t told me why y’all came here.”

  “Leroy Thomas, he owns that old body shop up the road, he was out there in the woods yesterday hunting for possums,” said Sheriff Duffy. “Old Leroy said he heard somethin’ out there in the woods. When he walked towards the open area where the sound was comin’ from he saw blood stains on the ground. He immediately called the sheriff’s office. To make a long story short, we went out there to investigate and found blood stains, a knife, and eventually Dutch’s body in a grave.”

  The detective was growing increasingly annoyed by Sheriff Duffy’s interruptions. He decided to take control of the investigation. “Sheriff, do you mind?” he asked sharply.

  Sheriff Duffy was clearly offended by the outsider’s attitude and look. He was accustomed to calling the shots in his town, but this was a murder investigation, his role was to be an escort—nothing more, nothing less. Sheriff Duffy scrunched up like he’d just taken a bite into an onion. “I’ll be outside,” he said, and put his hat on his head.

  Detective Cole waited until the sheriff was out the door and then he commandeered the chair the sheriff massive butt had just vacated. Charity was retrieving another cigarette from the pack. Before she could grab her lighter the detective pulled out his own lighter and had the flame waiting for the tip of her cigarette.

  “So, you obviously think I had something to do with it,” Charity commented. “Aren’t you gonna arrest me?”

  “Well Ms. Caldwell, it’s not that simple. Ya see, when our crime scene investigators examined the scene, we found several different foot prints. Foot prints that belonged to a child—or children…not an adult.”

  Charity stopped mid puff. Her eye twitched. Her hand shook violently. “So, what’s your point?”

  “We also found a large knife still lodged in Mr. Stone’s chest. The knife resembles the kind of knives you have over there on your kitchen counter in that knife holder. I noticed that a knife is missing from that holder. I suspect that it’s the same knife that was used to stab Mr. Stone seventeen times.”

  “Seventeen times?” Charity asked, stunned at the amount of rage that must have been built up in her docile child.

  Detective Cole was about to speak, but was forced to stop once Charity jumped up, ran into the kitchen and vomited in the sink. Detective Cole waited until the dry heaves ceased before queering her again.

  “Ms. Caldwell, I’d like you to ask you some questions about you and your son.”

  “What you need to know about my son?”

  “I’d like to ask you about his whereabouts yesterday evening. Based on the decomposition of Mr. Stone’s body we know that his body had been in those woods for less than 48 hours. I need you to come with me to the police station to make a statement.”

  Charity rinsed her mouth out with water. She ripped a paper towel off of the spool and dried her lips and hands. “Detective Cole, am I gonna need a lawyer?”

  Detective Cole turned and looked at the door. He could hear Sheriff Duffy outside talking loud and laughing like he was at a picnic. He looked over at Josh’s bedroom door. He noticed the child’s shadow showing from under the crack of door. He rubbed his hand over chin, clearly disturbed by the entire situation. The civilian in him wanted to advise her to seek legal counsel, but he was a detective by trade; therefore, his primary job was to get a confession and eventually solve the case. “Ms. Caldwell, all I can tell you is that we need to go down to the station so that I can get your statement on record.”

  Elizabeth was in the kitchen washing the dishes while Big Curtis and Curtis sat in the living room watching ESPN. She spent more time looking at the two most important men in her life than she did the dishes she was trying to clean.

  “Y’all want some desert?”

  “Yeah, what you got mama?”

  “I got some red velvet cake,” Elizabeth said, knowing that it was her son’s favorite.

  “I’ll be damned! I’ve been trying to get her to bring some red velvet cake in here for weeks, and she kept telling me no. You bring your big head ass home, and all of a sudden we got red velvet cake in here. Boy, I tell you…black man can’t get no love in his own home.”

  “Don’t hate Pops. You just don’t have it like me,” said Curtis, as he walked over and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek.

  “Awwh quit whining,” Elizabeth said, and then brought Big Curtis a slice of cake.

  She walked back into the kitchen, and cut put a slice of the moist cake on a saucer for her son. “I’m gonna get you something to drink baby,” she said, and then caressed her sons cheek. “Let me answer this phone first.” She wiped her hands and grabbed the cordless phone of the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Umm hello, Mrs. Tharp,” said the caller.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Tharp. Who’s calling?”

  “Umm, this is Charity…Charity Caldwell, Josh’s mom.”

  To say Elizabeth was surprised would be an understatement. Shocked would be a more accurate adjective. “Uhh, yeah Ms. Caldwell. How may I help you?” Elizabeth looked at Curtis and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Umm, I can’t talk long. So, were you serious about wanting to help Josh?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been arrested. Josh is at my house alone. Can you go sit with him until I get out of here?”

  “Umm yes…I can do that. What happened?”

  “Have you been watching the news?”

  “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  “Turn on the television. I gotta go now. Please go and check on my son for me.”

  “Sure. I’ll head over there right now.”

  Elizabeth pushed the off button on the phone. She stood there for a second in shock, contemplating what Charity could be alluding to. She put the phone on the receiver and then walked over and grabbed the television remote from the coffee table. She turned the channel a few times until she found a local news broadcast.

  “Mama, what’s wrong?”

  “Shhh,” she demanded, trying to hear the reporter.

  We’re on the edge of a wooded area behind Willow Road. Late last night, authorities found a body in a shallow grave in the middle of these woods. According to the Public Relations Office, this is a definite homicide. The victim’s name is Dennis “Dutch” Stone. Mr. Stone lived in that house right over there.

  The television camera swung around and focused on Charity’s house. Six police cars surrounded the house.

  Authorities have taken Mr. Stone’s girlfriend, Charity Caldwell in for questioning. That’s all we have for now, but we will be on top of this story and be ready to report more information as it becomes available. This is John Foster, Channel Four News.

  Elizabeth’s mouth was so wide she could have swallowed a watermelon hole. She looked at her husband. “That was Charity Caldwell calling from the police station. She’s Josh’s mother—that little boy I was telling you about.”

  “What did she say mama?”

  “She’s been arrested and Josh is at home alone with the police. She wants me to go check on him.”

  “I’ll get your car keys and jacket,” Curtis said.

  Big Curtis stood up and held his trembling wife. “It’s gonna be alright,” he said
, in an attempt to comfort her.

  She whispered in his ear. “I told you something was wrong over there.”

  “Yes you did baby. You called it.” He knew his wife cared for her students as if they were her own children.

  “I got your keys and purse mama.”

  “Curtis, you take your mother over to that house and stay with her while she checks on that child. I’m gonna go down to the police station. It looks like that boy’s mother is gonna need a lawyer.”

  C hapter 12

  Charity sat in the sterile interrogation room looking like she was ready to pull her hair out. Multiple sounds resonated throughout the tiny room. The tapping sound made by the table leg on the floor after being lifted ever so slightly by Charity’s right leg; which shook ferociously and caused her knee to bump the bottom of the table’s surface. Controlling her anxiety was her primary focus at that point, but her body was ignoring her brains instructions. Her heel made a slapping sound as it bounced up and down on the heel of the sandal she wore. The sounds were becoming too many to count.

  Detective Cole sat there calmly. He sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup and patiently waited for her to spill her guts. A veteran at the psychological games played during the interrogation process, he allowed Charity to smoke and drink coffee to help calm her nerves. An ashtray sat on the table in front of her. It was filled with partially smoked cigarettes she’d puffed on briefly and then extinguished. The scene looked like an episode from the First 48 Hours television program.

  “Ms. Caldwell, I need you tell me what happened again.”

  Charity’s leg wiggled violently. She’d been there for an hour and the detectives comments were the same. He wanted her to fill in the blanks. Her comments weren’t making sense.

  “I’ve already told you,” Charity mumbled.

  “Yeah, you told me that you came home and caught Mr. Stone molesting your son. The two of you started fighting and he chased you in the woods.”

  “That’s what happened.”

  “But when I asked you to describe the area where you buried him, you couldn’t.”

  “I told you I was upset. I don’t remember the exact location.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but you still haven’t explained to me how your son’s finger prints ended up on that knife.”

  “He must have grabbed the knife after I dropped it.”

  “So, your son witnessed you stab him?”

  “No. Josh was in his bedroom. He didn’t see anything.”

  “So, can you explain why there were blood stains on your son’s shoes?”

  “No.”

  Detective placed his coffee cup on the table. He sat his notepad next to it, and then leaned forward. “Ms. Caldwell, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know when someone is covering up for someone else. I’m not stupid. I know you aren’t telling me everything. I need you to tell me everything. You are admitting to killing Mr. Stone. Do you realize what you are doing? You could be looking at 25 to 30 years easy. Is that what you want? Do you want to leave your child out here in this hard world alone like that?”

  Charity burst into tears. She saw her whole life flashing before her eyes. She was terrified of prison. When Dutch went to jail she wouldn’t even go and visit him. She knew she wouldn’t last.

  “Ms. Caldwell, may I call you Charity?”

  “Yes,” Charity replied, in between sniffles.

  “Charity, your boy is a minor. Whatever happened to him can be defended. But before we can get to that point, I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

  Charity laid her head on the cold steel table and cried uncontrollably. Deep down she knew the detective was right. Josh was a minor; his sentence wouldn’t be that bad—especially if he had a good lawyer. She knew Elizabeth’s husband was a lawyer. Ironically, she had stumbled on that revelation when she happened to pass in front of his office on Main Street earlier that day. It wasn’t hard to make the connection once she paid close attention. They were the only Tharp’s she knew. The tall black man she saw using his keys to go into the law office had to be Elizabeth’s husband or brother because he was too old to be her son. It may have been presumptuous of her, but Charity just assumed that he’d defend her child aggressively. Even if he didn’t want to, she figured Elizabeth’s concern for Josh would dictate that her husband do his best.

  “Charity, I need the truth or else you’re going to make this situation much worse. So, are you gonna tell me what really happened?”

  Charity lifted her head. The whites of her eyes were as red as cherries. Her normally pale nose was hot pink. Her hair looked like it had been primped using a hair dryer, but no brush or comb. Unsure of what to do with all of the penned up energy inside of her, she started rubbing her hands like she was anticipating receiving a large check.

  “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” she finally murmured.

  Charity talked, and talked, and talked. Detective Cole’s facial expressions seemed to adjust according to the level of repulsion he felt as Charity spoke. The interrogation process lasted approximately an hour. He sat with his legs crossed, taking notes on a pad with long sheets of yellow paper. His fingers scribbled notes non-stop as he hurried to keep up with Charity who was babbling, sniffling, and crying simultaneously.

  She spoke and he took notes for nearly an hour. It would have lasted longer if Sheriff Duffy hadn’t knocked on the door and interrupted Charity’s statement. Upon entry he cleared his throat. “Umm detective, can I speak to you out here for a second?”

  Detective Cole asked Charity to pause for a second. He then excused himself.

  “What sheriff?” he asked, in the same tone Sheriff Duffy used when speaking to his subordinates.

  Sheriff Duffy became defensive, “It ain’t me.” He pointed at the person who accompanied him.

  “How may I help you?” asked Detective Cole.

  “You can help me by discontinuing this interrogation of my client without me being present.”

  “Are you representing Ms. Caldwell?”

  Big Curtis crossed his arms and stared at the sheriff and detective. “I am now,” he said confidently. “Now…I need to see my client.”

  Elizabeth and Curtis pulled up to Charity’s house expecting to see several police cars, news trucks, and maybe even a mob of angry people. But the scene was nowhere near that level of chaos. Standing on the porch was one Deputy Sheriff. He wore a uniform that appeared to be two sizes too big, a hat that swallowed his tiny head, and a gun belt that would have surely fallen around his ankles had he not kept his left hand clamped on it.

  Curtis squinted. “I’ll be damned…it’s Barney Fife.”

  “Where is everyone else,” Elizabeth wondered aloud. “Didn’t they just do a news broadcast from in front of the house?”

  Elizabeth pulled her car next to the officer’s vehicle. The officer placed his right hand on his holster and took a step closer, and asked. “How may I help you?”

  “Well, you can start by not putting your hand on your holster like you’re going to shoot us,” said Elizabeth and moved towards the steps. “My name is Elizabeth Tharp—I’m a friend of the family. Charity Caldwell called me from the police station and asked me to sit with her son. This is my son Curtis.”

  Curtis stood next to the steps and examined the goofy looking officer from head to toe, and then acknowledged him with a head nod. The universal gesture for, ‘I’m saying hello because it’s the polite thing to do, but I don’t really want to.’

  “Stop right there ma’am! I need to call this in.” said the officer, titling his head so that he could speak into the microphone clamped to his epaulet. “Ahh, yeah this is Officer Fife.”

  Oh shit! This dude really is named Fife. Curtis looked at the officer’s name tag to make sure this wasn’t some stress induced mind trick. Sure enough, the name on the tag was Fife. Curtis looked at his mother and smirked. Elizabeth was too concerned about Josh to give the coincidence much thought. She just
shook her head in disgust.

  “Ahh, yeah, dispatch, this is Officer Fife.”

  “Go ahead Officer Fife.”

  “Yeah, my 10-20 is the Caldwell residence. I got a lady here named…” He quit squeezing the mic. “Ma’am, what did you say your name was again?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “My name is Elizabeth Tharp!” she replied forcefully.

  The officer flinched from her tone. “Ahh, yeah dispatch. I got a Ms. Elizabeth Tharp here. She claims that she was contacted by the suspect, Charity Caldwell, and was instructed to come sit with the little boy. I need you to contact Sheriff Duffy and get this cleared.”

  “10-4,” the dispatcher replied.

  Officer Fife adjusted his pants. “I just called and the dispatcher is gonna…”

  “We heard,” Elizabeth interrupted.

  “Where did all the reporters and people that were standing out here go?”

  “Everyone went down to the station.” Officer Fife replied. “That’s where the suspect is being held. I’ve been assigned the protection detail on the small boy.”

  “You’ve been assigned to the protection detail huh?” Curtis’ question dripped with sarcasm.

  A confused look came across Elizabeth’s face. “So, are you saying she was arrested? Because, there is a difference between taking someone down for questioning and arresting them.”

  Officer Fife started rocking back and forth. His six months on the job left him ill prepared to deal with inquisitions of this nature. “Umm, ma’am I can’t say.”

  “What you mean you can’t say?” asked Curtis. “My mother asked you a simple question?”

  Officer Fife yanked on his gun belt again and adjusted his tilted hat. “Sir, it’s against department policy to discuss the status of an investigation.”

  Curtis became incensed by the response. “Man, we ain’t asking you for the damn blueprints to the jailhouse so we can bust her out! We just ask you if she is being questioned or if she was arrested!”

  Curtis gave Officer Fife a look that suggested he would snatch a knot in his bony ass if he wasn’t wearing that gun. Officer Fife straightened his posture, drew back his slouching shoulders and gave Curtis a look that suggested he’d shoot him in the ass with his one bullet if he kept mean mugging him.