The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

  “I will not be prevented in carrying out this divine plan. This is something which God wants me to accomplish for him. This is all his timing. We are on a schedule here. Do you understand me?” This question was addressed to the tall woman. He had turned to look at her as he spoke.

  She had heard the words before. Many times. Still, the force of his tone this time caused her to move away from the sound of his voice ever instinctively. She understood the divine plan of which he spoke, and had accepted it. More than that, she had adopted it as her own mission. She agreed with him. A time of judgment had come to those twelve people. This judgment was justice, a justice that was meted out with some measure of mercy. They were all old and some were dying already. The only question was why the preacher had waited so long. Since she was a little girl she had worked for the preacher. There were odd jobs around his other house, before he had moved to his estate. Once he was here, there was more that could be done, should be done, needed to be done. Once his wife died, her hours were increased so much that she practically lived on the estate. But he never asked her to come live with him. She had her small hovel in town. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. He had helped her buy it. It was her home, he had said.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Tonight,” he said.

  “But if they refuse RHC?”

  “Make it so appealing that they cannot refuse. Whatever it takes. Win them over. Get it done.”

  “You don’t think waiting a few days after RHC has begun would create less suspicion?” she asked knowing full well that acting so impulsively would definitely cause some questions.

  “Tonight!” he yelled at her as he yanked on the leashes of both dogs simultaneously. She didn’t notice if the dogs had done anything to merit his action. She only saw them fly ungracefully through the air a short distance and land on their sides. They both yelped. She wondered if the dogs shared her feelings about this man. Ever since this divine judgment had begun she had more fear of him than she did respect. There were times when she felt as if there was a leash around her neck. At first he only had to ask her to help him. Now, months later, as his obsession had increased, she was a reluctant participant despite her philosophical agreement regarding the justice behind this divine judgment. If he would let her, she would carry it out. She would accomplish it her way. She was rational and methodical. She planned carefully. This new plan was out of line. She could foresee difficulties.

  She bowed slightly, backed up two or three steps, and then turned and left him standing near the small pond at the center of the garden. The two dogs were resting now. No more exploring for them for fear of reprisal. The preacher watched the woman walk away and wondered if she had the right attitude to finish this holy task. He would pray for her, but also he would check to see if he could continue to count on her. This was much too important to leave into the hands of someone undependable and less than vigilant. How dare she question his plan. How dare she have the audacity to question God’s mission. He would pray for her soul. He would decide what to do if she failed him.

  38

  It was late-afternoon and Rosey and I were sitting in his Jag on White Horse Lane. We both watched Marilyn Saunders go into the mansion owned by Preacher Rowland, and then twenty minutes later return to her car and leave the mansion.

  “We have another clue,” Rosey said.

  “Yeah, but what does it mean?”

  “I don’t interpret them, I just notice them,” he said.

  “We can connect her with Preacher Rowland on White Horse Lane.”

  “True. But we know nothing about him, do we?”

  “I know a little from stories around town and my mother, of course. He’s a legend in our county. In fact, his reputation extends throughout south central Virginia. Well known and well loved.”

  “Is that it, the sum-total of your knowledge of this man?”

  “The sum.”

  “Run his name through your computer and see what pops,” Rosey suggested.

  “Yessire,” I said, saluted, and made the call to Rogers. Saunders turned out of the driveway and headed back in the direction of Clancyville. Rosey began following her a safe distance back.

  Rogers answered my call.

  “Did you run Robert Lee Rowland through your database?”

  “Of course.”

  “Give me all you have,” I said.

  “Don’t I always?”

  I was afraid to answer for fear that Rosey would get suspicious from what would sound like a conversation between two people.

  “Hey, don’t I always give you everything I find?” she repeated trying to force a reprisal from me. I refrained.

  “Go back forty years,” I said.

  “Are you alone?” Rogers asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, I see the problem. We have to sound like a person talking to a machine, do we?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Okay. That male thug is with you?’

  I wanted to ask her if she had been talking with my mother, but I knew better.

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back. People searches don’t usually take too long,” she said.

  I hung up without another word. Saunders was definitely returning to Clancyville. We followed her to her house, watched her park and go inside. The trail was getting colder by the minute.

  “We’re running out of clues as to where Sam might be,” I said.

  “You worried?”

  “A little. We know from an unreliable source that she had the dog when she left Norfolk and returned here.”

  “Unreliable, but we did threaten him.”

  “A bit more than threaten, I’d say,” Rosey said.

  “Okay, so we can assume that under duress he told us the truth. Still, she could have stopped anywhere along the way and turned Sam loose or placed him somewhere between here and there.”

  “Lot of land. Think he’ll find his way back home?” Rosey said.

  “Given enough time, yeah, I do. But not if he’s being locked up somewhere.”

  “What would you do with a dog if you had no place to house him as a prisoner? And, let’s say that you were acting on orders from someone else to steal the dog. The person who ordered you to steal the dog doesn’t want the dog around, so you have to find some place where the dog cannot escape in order to use him as collateral … or leverage.”

  “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

  “I think a lot about everything. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

  “What is it you do?” I asked.

  “I help people like you who have lost their dog.”

  “So what is your summation?”

  “Saunders would likely drive through Dan River coming from Norfolk, correct?”

  “Coming from Norfolk, yes. She would skirt the town, but still be close to Dan River.”

  “I assume that there is an animal control facility there?”

  “There is, and wonder of wonders, it’s on the east side of town.”

  “She’d have to drive right by it?” he asked.

  “No, but she would drive close to it.”

  “Let’s go to Dan River and do some checking.”

  “Nothing happening here,” I said.

  “Nothing visible to the eye.”

  We headed south to Dan River to check out the Pitt County Animal Shelter. I called ahead to see if they stayed open past five o’clock. We were in luck. They were open until 6:30. I had one other question related to our search for Sam.

  “How long do you keep dogs brought in as strays?” I asked the lady on the phone at the animal shelter.

  “Unless the dog is showing signs of aggression, we generally keep them for two weeks. We try to find homes for them, but there are simply too many dogs for that. Some are claimed, of course, but many are not.”

  “Then you exterminate them?”
r />   “We put them down,” she corrected me.

  “Oh, that sounds better. Same result, but it does sound better,” I said. “Thank you for the information.”

  The lady hung up without saying another word. I think I ruffled her feathers. She could join the very large club begun in my honor.

  When we neared Dan River and the animal shelter, Rogers called and gave me what she had on the preacher.

  “The Reverend Mr. Robert Lee Rowland started and ran the Clancyville Divine Church of the Savior for 45 years before he retired in 2000. Born in 1923 in Duley, West Virginia, he moved back and forth from Virginia to West Virginia until he went to college in 1941. He married Cybil Maloney of Kentucky in 1945, and they had three children – Andrew Jackson Rowland; Nancy Ann Rowland Shelton; and Jefferson Davis Rowland. Andrew was born in 1948 but died in the summer of 1952, the victim of a hit and run while riding his tricycle. The family was living in Richmond at the time. The driver was never found. Nancy Ann was born in 1950. She married Herbert “Hubie” Shelton of Riceville, Virginia in 1968. She currently lives in Richmond with Hubie. They have four grown children. The third child, Jefferson Davis, was born in 1952 and died in 1971. He was arrested in 1969, charged with the murder of two teenagers, Samuel Tilley and Barbara Ann Smith. Sam Tilley was black. Barbara Ann Smith was white. They had been secretly dating. Apparently J.D. took exception to this interracial relationship, killed them, and was found guilty. He was sentenced to die by lethal injection after a lengthy trial of 8 months. J.D. died at the Richmond facility on February 14, 1971.”

  “Any more background on Preacher Rowland?”

  “He’s a Civil War buff and supposedly has a remarkable collection of Civil War artifacts. Cybil died in 2007, just a few months after the new house on White Horse Lane was completed. Is that enough for now?”

  “Well, it certainly connects some dots, that’s for sure.”

  “You talking to me?” Rosey said.

  I had a momentary lapse. I closed the cell phone and told Rosey what Rogers had found out.

  “I’d say that Preacher Rowland is connected, wouldn’t you?” he said.

  “Not buying the coincidence, huh?”

  “No such thing, I told you before.”

  “It’s certainly worth paying Robert Lee Rowland a visit,” I said. “Besides, I want to see the inside of that mansion on White Horse Lane.”

  “Me, too.”

  39

  We arrived at the Pitt County Animal Shelter in Dan River a few minutes before six. The lady at the main desk checked her records to see if a dog matching the description of Sam had been brought in anytime yesterday.

  “Yes, here’s one. Large, black Lab was left here sometime in the early afternoon. It says here that he might be vicious, and that he had attacked some people earlier that day.”

  She looked up at us and waited for us to say something. The silence was awkward.

  Finally, I said, “May we see the dog?”

  “If you want to,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She led us through a heavy, green metal door and we followed her past some offices and storerooms along a hallway towards the back of the building. We passed through another green, metal door at the other end of the hallway and into a large room full of cages which were full of dogs. I tried hard not to feel anything for the caged animals. It was difficult.

  “We keep the larger breeds out here,” she said as we left that room and entered another area, larger still, with ground cages and more exposure to the outdoors. “We try to walk them as much as possible, but we are understaffed and the number of animals is growing.”

  I nodded and quietly appreciated the problem she had. I was hoping to help eliminate at least one of her concerns.

  “This is Beulah,” she said as we came upon a slightly overweight young woman whose Pitt County Animal Shelter uniform did not fit her too well. In addition, the uniform was dirty and her shirttail was out. She did, however, look very comfortable.

  “Hey, folks. Looking for a good pet to take home?” Her dress belied her personality.

  “They’re wanting to see that Lab brought in yesterday, the one I told you to be careful with that he might be vicious.”

  “Oh,” Beulah said and laughed. “Yeah, he’s vicious alright. He attacks food. But he’s my buddy. Come on, I’ll show him to you. He’d make a great pet.”

  “You can follow her,” the lady from the main desk said. “I have to get back up front and close up.” She left us with Beulah.

  We followed Beulah out the back door into the courtyard. Sam was sitting in the little shade that was created by the roof line of the building. When he saw me, he sprang to his feet and bolted towards us. Beulah stepped in front of me as if to protect me from the charging dog.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Beulah. “He knows me.” I moved alongside of Beulah and allowed Sam to put his front paws on my shoulders and lick my face. I say allowed as I had any method of stopping him short of shooting him.

  “I’d say he does know you,” Beulah said. “I had to convince him I meant him no harm before he would lick me. How’d you lose him?”

  “He was stolen.”

  “Wow. Why would someone steal him and then drop him off here?” she asked.

  “Long story, Beulah. Doubt if it would interest you very much. Thanks for taking care of my dog.”

  “It was my pleasure. What’s his name?” she said.

  “Sam.”

  “Good name. Sam, it’s been a pleasure to know you and have you stay with me. I’m glad you have a good home.” She put her hand down in front of him to shake hands. Sam extended his right front paw and they shook. He then quickly licked her face and Beulah laughed. “I would have taken him home if no one had claimed him by the end of the two weeks. No dog deserves to die like this, but we have laws and …, well, we have to follow them. But I could tell he was special. I let him roam around the yard without restraints because I knew right away I could trust him. But don’t tell Susan. She’d get all bent out of shape. Miss Rules, you know.”

  “It’ll be our secret. And thank you again.”

  “Anytime. Sam, you come back to see me.”

  Sam gave her what I surmised to be an appreciative look as we headed back to the front of the building.

  “You’ll need to stop at the desk. Susan will have some forms for you to fill out.”

  Thirty minutes later we were headed back to Clancyville and I was feeling much better.

  “You owe me,” Rosey said.

  “I do. Sam does too.”

  “He owes me twice.”

  “Twice?” I said.

  “He’s riding in my Jag. Dogs don’t ride in my Jag.”

  “He likes riding in your Jag.”

  “Don’t get too attached to it,” he said to Sam.

  Sam licked Rosey’s ear and then continued to stare out the front window as if he were looking for something or someone in particular.

  “I think we should drive by Marilyn Saunders’ place. I think Sam would want to speak to her, don’t you?” I said.

  Rosey smiled at me. I could tell he liked the idea.

  “Better save that meal for another day,” he said.

  40

  The Residential Health Care van pulled into the driveway of the home on Highland Drive a little after one o’clock in the afternoon. A tall woman emerged from the passenger’s side wearing a nurse’s uniform and carrying a clipboard. She walked to the front door purposefully as the driver of the van opened his door and got out. The driver, a black man of medium height wearing a white technician’s uniform with the initials RHC clearly evident over his shirt’s front pocket, slid open the side door and took out a wheel chair and a black bag. He left the wheel chair sitting next to the van. He carried the black bag to the front door where the tall woman was standing. They waited for someone to answer the door.

  An elderly lady finally opened the door and greeted the two people from Residential Health Care as
if she had been expecting them. The tall woman and the black man entered the house and sat down on the sofa in the living room. The lady of the house, Mattie Rowland, sat down in the high back blue chair next to the sofa. The blue chair was no match for the sofa’s blue color. The incongruent colors were only obvious to the tall woman.

  “Mrs. Rowland, I am Marilyn Saunders from RHC and this is Mr. Jones. We’re here to do the final paperwork on your husband and prepare his room for our services,” the tall woman said.

  “Thank you for helping us,” Mattie Rowland said to the two people sitting on her sofa.

  The tall woman smiled but said nothing in response to this opening remark.

  “We certainly could not afford your service without that grant you offered us,” Mattie continued.

  “I need you to fill out these papers here,” the tall woman said as she handed Mattie the clipboard with several forms attached. It all looked very official.

  The tall woman and the black man watched Mattie begin the process of filling in the lines on the multiple forms. The black man glanced over periodically at the erect Marilyn Saunders, but the tall woman kept her focus on Mattie Rowland. Her only concern was the job at hand. There was no compassion in her stoic demeanor. The black man crossed and uncrossed his legs multiple times. The comfortable couch made him even more uncomfortable. While Mattie Rowland slowly, methodically filled in the blank spaces on the sheet in front of her, the black man’s eyes roamed the living room taking in the arrangement of Mattie’s home décor. He was not thinking of the ambience of Mattie Rowland’s living room. He was wondering if the tall, thin woman had any concern for these people.

  “I don’t know what this means,” Mattie said after several minutes of work on the form. “Question number 8 here,” she pointed to the line on the top sheet and looked up at the tall woman. “What should I put in the blank as the reason for the decision to use RHC?”

  “Invalid husband,” the tall woman said flatly without emotion.

  “Invalid?” Mattie said. “I don’t like that word invalid. That’s not my word.”