by Joel B Reed
Albert Jones nodded. “Then I’m not learning much here, am I?”
I laughed. “No, I think you are. You listen with your eyes.”
He looked at me intently for a long moment, then nodded but said nothing.
“We seem to be getting off the subject,” I prodded gently.
“Yes,” he said. “On the other hand, I’m always intrigued when I run into someone as intelligent as myself.” The way he said it was not bragging. It was a simple statement of fact. “I expect you find yourself lonely on that accord,” he added. “I do. One of the reasons I grieve Wilbur’s passing so much is because he was one of the few people I knew who understood what I was saying, and what I was not saying, too. I suspect you listen for what is not said, too, don’t you?”
He had me cold, so I smiled and nodded. “Silence can be eloquent,” I said.
He nodded, then sighed. “You do understand that talking about all this is painful to me,” he said. His eyes were soft now, and moist. “There was a time when I covered the pain with anger, but that was not good. Rage is a cancer that eats the soul.”
I nodded. There was nothing to say. The pastor sighed. “Grasp the nettle firmly,” he murmured softly, speaking to himself. “Remember the good.” He was quiet for a moment longer and began speaking so softly I could barely hear. “We called ourselves the Soul Men Six. That way we could do what Wilbur did. Sing in church and at the roadhouses, too. Only we never made it to the roadhouses. Luther accidentally shot Goody, and we sort of fell apart after that.”
He looked at me. “You wanted to know how it happened. It was stupid. We were out squirrel hunting. All we had was a single shot .22 rifle that belonged to Slide. He was the best shot, but we took turns and Luther was up. Goodie was out front being the dog. Whoever was dog would spot a squirrel and point where it went up a tree to whoever was shooter. The rest of us would stand real still and the dog would walk to the opposite side of the tree. Squirrels like to stay out of sight, so this would push the squirrel around to the shooter’s side, so the shooter could pop him.”
He looked at me and I nodded. We used the same strategy when I was a kid and we didn’t have a good squirrel dog. The pastor went on. “We pretty much had filled our sack and that was the last one for the day. We would have let it go, but Luther missed all his shots and he wanted to get at least one, so we humored him. Problem is, Luther was always clumsy. He had the gun up and the safety off, but he didn’t have a clear shot. There was a branch in the way. So he eased forward and he tripped. The rifle went off when he hit the ground, and the bullet hit Goody straight through the eye.”
He stopped talking. When he turned to me, there were tears running down his cheeks unnoticed. “Luther has never been the same since. None of us have. Wilbur poured his grief into his music, and I suppose that was part of where it got its power. Slide was always a drinker, but after that he grew hard and sour and got in with a bad crowd. He got a job as roustabout for a carnival that came through a couple of years later, but I wasn’t sure exactly whatever came of him until he showed up here again a couple of years ago, and we got reacquainted. I think Wilbur mentioned working with him on the carnival circuit for a while at some point.”
Albert Jones lapsed into silence then looked up. “You’re wondering about me, aren’t you? What happened to me?”
I nodded and he continued. “I finished school and then went to Grambling, which is where my dad went. I did all right there. Played football and tried to leave faith behind. I stopped going to church and got involved in the civil rights movement. That became my God, freedom and self will. I went up North raising money and recruiting Freedom Riders and sleeping with every white woman I could. There were a lot of them, too, and I’ve always wondered how many black kids I left behind.”
He looked at me. “I’m not proud of that part, but back then...”
I nodded. “Everything was crazy back then,” I said. “How did you ever make it back to being a pastor again?”
He laughed. “Ever read The Hound of Heaven?”
I nodded. “As I remember, it’s a long poem, or maybe short prose set to poetic meter.”
“Yes. Well, my own celestial hound just wouldn’t let me be. Can you keep a secret?” He saw the look on my face and added, “It has nothing to do with your investigation, believe me. On the other hand, it would shock some of my good church folk around here.”
I shrugged and he took that for assent. “I ended up in South Dakota at a Benedictine monastery. It was the only way I could get away from the women. I mean, it got so bad I was losing weight.”
I chuckled. “God give me chastity, but not yet!” I said, quoting a famous Catholic bishop.
“Exactly.” He was smiling. “Can you imagine what some of my folk might think about that! Yet, it was the most peaceful time of my life, and I almost stayed there. I loved the daily hours, the times for prayer, and I even came to really get into the Mass.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
He smiled. “The abbot was a very wise man. He knew right off I didn’t belong there, but he let me find that out on my own. This is where I am called, Doctor. This is where God wants me and where I belong. But, I still write to the brothers, and every once in a while I go there for retreat. I draw a great deal of nourishment from that well.”
“My friends call me Jazz,” I told him.
He thought about that for a moment. “Mine call me Albert,” he answered and offered me his hand. I took it.
We were silent for a moment. “Is there anything else?” he asked.
I looked back over my notes and noticed something. “Did I miss someone?” I asked. “You said there were six of you and I only have five down. You, Wilbur, and the three Luthers.”
“Yes, there were six of us. The other was Edward…Edward Posey. I forgot him, but people always do.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Edward is one of those people who others don’t seem to see,” he told me. “We called him Eddie, and even though he was the youngest of us, he looked like Wilbur or Luther—Slide Luther. That was part of the problem, I guess. People always confused him with Smiley or Slide. Nor was he one to toot his own horn. He seemed to like being anonymous.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“No one seems to know.” There was something in the way he said this that told me he was hiding something. I decided to come back to it later, if necessary.
“So he wasn’t here for the birthday celebration?”
“No, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. I think I would have noticed. I did see Slide here, but I didn’t get to visit with him much. Of course, I doubt he would have made much effort to talk to me just then.”
“Why is that?” I asked. “Did you have a falling out?”
“No, nothing like that. He and I are friends and we visit from time to time. There were just a lot of people here, and at these things the pastor is always surrounded by people trying to get a word with him. Slide came here to talk to Wilbur and I had the impression he was keeping a low profile.”
“Did he talk with Wilbur?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I never noticed them together, but then there were a lot of people needing my attention.” He shrugged.
I nodded. “I think that’s all I need for right now. I really appreciate your cooperation. We will want to talk to you more when you have a lawyer.”
He looked at me and nodded. “That’s really not necessary now,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll try to railroad me. Get your friend and I’ll talk.”
I shook my head. “As a friend, I wouldn’t advise it. I’m not worried about me or Dee, but Spinks. No. You need to insist on a lawyer until we get the mess he made cleared up.”
“A most unpleasant man,” Jones agreed. “What’s he afraid of? Or is it a racial issue with him?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s scared and that makes him dangerous,” I said. “Let me talk to his boss and see what I can do. In the
meantime, insist on a lawyer.”
I left to find a phone to call Lonnie. Dee saw me and headed my way. I told him Spinks was way out of line, and I was going to phone Little Rock. He looked at his watch and grinned. “Good luck. I just happen to know Lonnie is on the golf course this afternoon,” he told me. “He hates to be interrupted.”
“Maybe he got rained out,” I said. “I need to talk to him right away.”
“So insist on being put through. Seems to me you have good cause.”
“Does he have a cell phone or pager?” I asked. “I’d rather go direct.”
“Cell phone and state of the art.” Dee took out a small address book and looked in it. He frowned. “No luck there.” Then he stopped.
“Damn! What am I thinking?” He took out his cell phone and did something. He handed it to me. “Your tax dollars at work. I have the number stored here, and it’s current. I talked to him on it two days ago.”
The phone was connected when I put it to my ear. I listened to it ring a dozen times and was just about to hand it back to Dee when someone picked it up. “What!” snarled a surly voice.
“Hello, Lonnie. Jazz Phillips. Sorry to bother you. It’s urgent.”
“Just a minute.” I heard him tell someone else he would catch up later. A few moments later he was back on the line. “All right, go ahead.” There was no trace of anger in his voice.
“We may have a touchy situation here.” I told him what had happened at the crime scene in Oak Grove, about our efforts to work with Spinks, and how the arrests were made. “There was no legal basis for the arrest,” I said. “The sooner we get both men released, the less likely they are to raise a stink.”
“Not possible,” Lonnie told me. “At least, not with Jones.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Spinks sent us a set of prints right away when they were booked, and the system was not busy. We got an immediate hit. Jones has a federal warrant out for his arrest.”
“What’s the charge?” I asked.
“I don’t know what the original charge was, but it must be something big. What we have on him now is a fugitive warrant that says he may be armed and dangerous. So there’s no bail, either.”
“What about Adams?” I explained what Luther was confessing. “He’s an old man, Lonnie. Not well. We need to get him out right away.”
“All right,” Lonnie told me. “I’ll call Spinks and tell him to get on it now.”
“What about Spinks?” I asked.
“So what about him?” Lonnie’s tone told me to step cautiously. I knew that in his mind, he thought he had already made a major concession.
“Don’t you have something for him to do in Butte? I think his talents may be wasted around here.”
Lonnie chuckled and evaded my question. “What about Kruger? How is he doing?”
“Kruger’s a good agent. And a good man. If I were still with CID, I’d hire him away from you.”
“He is good,” Lonnie said. “I’m glad to have him.” He fell silent.
“So, what about Spinks? You think you could put him on something else?”
There was a long silence. “Think about it, Jazz. Put yourself in my place. Right or wrong, the guy just made a major felony bust. Taking him off the case would be a slap in the face. The only way I could justify doing that is to put him in charge of something big. There’s not a lot going on right now and, as you put it so well, I think his talents would be wasted.”
It was my turn to be silent. It was Lonnie who spoke first. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to my game.”
“All right, Lonnie. I’ll write up what I have, and Dee will send you a copy. I think it may be time for me to go home. This is turning into a real disaster.”
He spoke so softly I could barely hear him. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it. I never figured you for a quitter.”
The words stung. “Then we’re both surprised. I thought we were friends, but apparently not. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll give you one in return. You might want to know is that my final report will contain everything I’ve told you along with your response. One copy will go to your headquarters in Washington and I wouldn’t be surprised if one didn’t end up with the Washington Post.”
“You son of a bitch!” he snarled.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I told him calmly. “My mother was hell on wheels! I hope you enjoy Butte.” I hung up. I looked at Dee. His face was grave. I grinned. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. And I really enjoyed it.”
“Are you really bailing out?” Dee asked me.
“Of course, not,” I answered, looking at my watch. “Just wait. He’ll call back. Three minutes, maybe five at the most.”
Dee looked at me like I’d just told him the world is flat. “The Washington Post? For real?”
“No, at least, not yet. Having a nuke doesn’t mean I want to use it.”
Lonnie was more torqued than I imagined. It was a full seven minutes before Dee’s phone rang. Dee answered it, and I could hear angry squawking from the receiver. After a minute he said, “Let me look around. He was here just a minute ago.” He grinned and covered the microphone. “Guess who?” he asked. “Are you ready to talk?”
I nodded and he handed me the phone. “This is Phillips,” I said, pretending I didn’t know who was on the other end.
“Does this need to be a pissing contest?” Lonnie asked. It was the closest I would ever get to an apology.
“I hope not,” I answered back. “I think I’m empty now.”
“Would you let me see what I can do with Spinks?” he asked.
“I had an idea about that,” I told him. There was stony silence from the other end, and I realized what I had just said. “Sorry. I wasn’t being tacky. What I meant was, I have an idea what he could do to be useful to us both.”
“I’m listening,” he told me.
“There’s a lot of stuff he can do with the computer in Little Rock,” I said. I told him what I had in mind, which was mostly background checks on the people in Oak Grove the day of the shooting. “I know it sounds like scut work, but I need the information, and I don’t have access.”
“Kruger’s actually much faster with the computer, and Spinks will want him to be assigned to that.”
“Tell him that Kruger’s going to be going through paper files,” I suggested. “I know for sure Spinks would rather be on the computer than in the county file room. It’s not air conditioned.”
“I thought you liked Kruger,” he said.
“I do. He and I will tackle any paper files together. I’m not sure exactly what we’ll need there yet. I think I’ll want to go over the computer generated reports first. I could also use some good help on ground. Kruger seems to be good at interviews.”
“He’s one of the best. That’s why...” Lonnie caught himself just in time. I was sure he was about to tell me that was why Kruger was assigned to Spinks, to clean up any messes. Such a remark would embarrass the Bureau. “That’s why he won’t be in Arkansas long. Someone else will grab him.” Lonnie was almost civil now. “Tell you what. I can keep Spinks busy here on the case for a week, maybe ten days. How does that sound?”
“Like manna from heaven,” I told him and he chuckled. I had no illusions that we were on good terms again. I don’t hold grudges, but Lonnie does. I doubted I would ever be invited on a federal consultation again if Lonnie had anything to say about it. However, I doubted he would. I was still tight with the top agency brass, and I doubted he would object too strenuously. Some of us choose to live in Arkansas because we love it here, warts and all. Lonnie did not, and there was a reason he was assigned here—probably because of his temper. While Little Rock might be sufferance vile to him, Butte was worse and I doubted he would risk badmouthing me.
“I appreciate your letting Adams go,” I told him. “At this point, I think he’ll be glad to get out and won’t raise a stink.” I didn’t think he had forgotten about i
t, but I wanted to make sure Luther didn’t suffer from our falling out. “I’ll give him a ride home. Maybe without Jones along, he’ll tell me something.”
“Good idea,” Lonnie said. “I’ll call Spinks.”
I switched off the phone and grinned at Dee. “That was fun. You should have taken the bet.”
He smiled back and nodded, but he looked worried. “Lonnie won’t forget this,” he murmured. “He holds grudges.”
I nodded.“I know. I hope he doesn’t forget. Maybe he’ll stay out of our way. Or, maybe he won’t. It really doesn’t matter.”
“What if Lonnie had not called back?” Dee asked. “Would you have quit?”
I shook my head. “No way. I would have still worked on it for you on the Q.T.” I glanced down the hall to where the pastor sat waiting. “Why don’t you sit in on the rest of this? I think it will be all right.”
Albert Jones may have been surprised to see Dee come in with me, but he didn’t show it. He looked at us calmly. “They’re going to release Luther,” I told him. “I’ll give him a ride home.”
The pastor nodded. “Good.” When I said nothing more, he added, “I gather they are not going to release me.”
“No,” I told him. “There’s a federal fugitive warrant out for your arrest. They’re holding you on that.”
“A fugitive warrant?” He was clearly surprised. “Well, I suppose I do have a common name.”
“Actually, they picked it up from your prints.” I watched him closely.
At first there was no reaction. Then I saw his eyes narrow and his jaw set. When he spoke, there was no question he was angry. “This is not right. I was given a presidential pardon. That warrant was voided. Years ago.”
“Why don’t you tell us about it, then?” Dee asked. “Maybe we can get it straightened out.”
Jones looked at him coldly. “Don’t play cop games with me, Mr. DiRado. I assure you it won’t work.”
“We’re not playing games, Mr. Jones,” I responded. “We’re trying to figure out who killed your cousin, and I appreciate all your cooperation. The warrant is a side issue as far as I am concerned.” I looked at Dee. “I’m done here.”
