“Where’s Marie?” I asked.
“Safe.”
“Safe from whom?”
“People who might want to hurt her?”
“You can’t hide her forever, Robby.”
“Why can’t you just walk away and leave it be? She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe not, but there’s an ongoing investigation and she’s at least a witness.”
“She didn’t see anything. Her testimony is not that valuable.”
He was looking down at the corner of the coffee table instead of looking at us when he spoke.
“Valuable enough for her to stay available.”
“She’s available, just not out in public.”
“Why are you protecting her?”
“My job to protect the citizens of the county,” he said. He raised his head and looked at me, then returned his gaze to the coffee table. I noticed an arrangement of cheap, plastic flowers in the center of the table. There was a large, ceramic elephant with a smaller one next to it. They both were painted and shiny. The colors were not typical for elephants. They had the Andy Warhol look about them.
“I want to speak with her,” I said.
“You’ve done enough poking and nosing around.”
“Apparently not enough. Still don’t know who killed the preacher.”
He lifted his gaze from the table to me. “His B-12 shots reacted badly. He likely died of natural causes.”
“You have facts to support that?”
“My working theory. I’m gathering more evidence.”
“No report on the contents of that syringe I found?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“You send it off to the lab?”
“You questioning my police skills?”
“No, just asking.”
“I had my deputy take care of that.”
“So why can’t I talk with Marie Jones?”
“No need. I interviewed her and she has nothing more to contribute to this situation.”
“I would just like to ask her a few questions.”
“You have no official capacity in this case, you know. In fact, you have no reason to be here at all.”
“Except someone tried to kill my mother and my friend.”
“He’s in jail in Dan River. And so is Joy Jones. Two prime suspects who will be convicted of murder, multiple murders. That’s probably a solid case. I’d say you’ve done enough.”
“What about Marilyn Saunders?”
“No real evidence against her as yet. There’s an ongoing investigation. If we find something, then she’ll be charged. I can’t go around arresting people just because you have suspicions.”
“I have more than suspicions.”
“You catch her in the act of killing someone or attempting to kill someone?” He raised his head once more and looked into my eyes. He seemed to be gaining confidence. Eye contact lasted longer this time.
“She stole my dog.”
“Misdemeanor. You pressing charges on that one?”
“She was associating with Henry and Joy,” I said in defense.
“You have any proof?”
“I was an eye witness to her association with Henry. Rosey and I both saw her.”
“That’s not enough. I need more. The District Attorney would laugh at me if that’s all I had on her. Besides, association is not nearly enough.”
“Are you investigating her involvement?”
“I’m doing my job, lady. That’s more than I can say for you. You’re doing nothing now but causing trouble. I think you and Mr. Washington should leave my home. I have nothing else to say to you.”
“You know I’ll keep digging.”
“If you get in my way, I will find a reason to charge you.”
“I just hope you’re not making a mistake here, Robby.”
“That’s Sheriff Robertson, Miss Evans.”
“Walk carefully, Sheriff,” I said as I stood from the rocker. I nodded in his direction. He was looking at me once more.
“I could take that as a threat, you know.” He stood up and followed us to the front door.
“Don’t. It’s not a threat. Just a friendly word from someone who thinks you are making a serious mistake.”
He opened the door and smiled. “And what mistake would that be, Miss Evans?”
“Protecting the guilty, Sheriff Robertson.”
69
I decided to drive over to Dan River to visit Joy Jones and Henry Smith. I figured that the local police in Dan River might be more open to my continued investigation. I didn’t actually drive this time. Rosey insisted that he drive us over there. Sam kept his spot in the back, ever vigilant with his watching and sleeping routine. Ten minutes into the drive, Sam was out and snoring.
Rogers phoned me when we were on the other side of Tightsqueeze heading south to Dan River.
“I finally found something that is interesting on Marie Jones. Perhaps I should preface my findings by stating that what I found could be related to my digging on Marie Jones.”
“Okay. Tell me what you found.”
“Well, coincidentally on the day that is given as the birth date of Marie Jones, March 17, 1975, a young woman gave birth to a baby girl and two days later that same young woman died of complications. There was internal bleeding and the hospital did not discover it in time.”
“You find a name?”
“Annie Tilley.”
“Okay. How does Annie Tilley figure into this investigation?” Nothing was clicking for me at the moment.
“Does the name Samuel Tilley ring a bell?” Rogers asked.
“Oh, the young man who was murdered by Preacher Rowland’s son.”
“Good guess, Sherlock.”
“Brother and sister, then?” I said.
“That would be the connection. So, it appears that Annie Tilley is the birth-mother of Marie Jones. Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could discover who the father was?”
“Maybe more than interesting. Any leads on that?”
“No. Apparently there are no files at the hospital with that info.”
“What about names of nurses or doctors?”
“I’ll get you a list. I’ll call you back as soon as I have something.”
“Anything on your end?” Rogers said.
“Yeah, stone walls.”
I shared the information with Rosey. He actually showed some glimmer of emotion with this news. He raised one eyebrow.
“Me thinks that this case is about to break wide open.”
“I hope your thinks is correct.”
I first asked to see Henry, but the guard returned and informed us that Henry was in the infirmary of the prison. I took that to mean that Henry didn’t want to talk to us on this occasion.
We turned our attention to Joy Jones and asked to see her. One of Dan River’s finest escorted her into the visiting area a few minutes later. The policewoman remained by the door in the room. We sat with Joy at a gray table with gray chairs as far away from the officer as we could. Rosey and I sat on one side and Joy sat on the other. Her back was to the policewoman guarding the door.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Joy said.
“We need your help,” I said.
“And why would I help you?”
“Because you’re a good person and probably wouldn’t want innocent people being accused of murder.”
“Not so good, I ‘spect. I’s in here,” she looked around at the barred windows and pointed discreetly at the guard by the door without moving anything more than her thumb.
“Misguided,” I said. “Doesn’t make you evil.”
“Why you think I was misguided?”
“Because you thought the money was important,” I said.
“You ever been poor, Clancy Evans?”
“When I was young, living with my parents. We didn’t have much.”
“You had clothes. You ate regular. Your family had a car. You had shoes
to wear.”
I nodded, “Yes, I had all of that.”
“Then you weren’t poor. I grew up missing meals. I had one dress and no shoes. We walked everywhere, if we went anywhere. Lived in the projects and people whispered about us when they seen us. Poor, Clancy Evans, that’s what we were.”
“So you decided to kill people in order to stop being poor.”
“Didn’t want my grandchildren growing up poor. Money was important. I was used to poor, but I couldn’t bear to see my grandchildren being laughed at. You understand that?”
I didn’t say anything. There was no way I could understand the pain of what she had been through in her life. No use pretending that I could. I stared at her arms resting on the gray table across from me. I waited for a minute or two before I responded.
“I know that you have suffered in ways I can’t imagine. Still, you knew right from wrong and killing those people was at best misguided.”
“They wuz old and going to die anyway,” she said.
“But they still had some years left perhaps. It wasn’t your right to decide when they died, or if. It wasn’t your call. You trying to justify the money you were paid?”
“I wuz paid to make that call. You didn’t understand the power of the preacher. He said he’d fire Marie and see that she never got another job if I didn’t help out. He cudda’ done that, too. If you doubt that, you know nothing about the power that man had over folks.”
“You think maybe Marie killed him intentionally?” I said.
“No way. That child’s got nothing mean in her. She’s a good girl. She couldn’t kill nobody, and that’s the truth.”
“So where’d she get the syringe if you didn’t keep them at your place?”
“I don’t know where she got it. I just know she didn’t get it from my stuff. I do keep syringes and morphine in my house. Marilyn Saunders got me the stuff, but I keep it all in a locked cabinet. One place, one key, one lock, and I has the key.”
“Would you be willing testify that Marilyn Saunders was involved in this?”
“What good would ‘dat be? Gonna help my case? I’m the one who kilt those folks. Marilyn’s nothing more than an accessory or whatever you call it. Wouldn’t help me none.”
“You told me earlier that you didn’t take B-12 shots.”
“I don’t.”
“So why would Marie lie to me about that? She said she borrowed a syringe from your collection in order to give Preacher Rowland his dosage. Why would she tell me that?”
“Don’t know.”
“You never told her what you were doing and what you kept in the locked cabinet?”
“Never. She knew nothin’. Only that when I started helping the preacher get rid of those people, he was a lot nicer to her. She commented on it to me now and again, but she never knew why. I never told her nothin’.”
“Does she know that she’s not your daughter?”
Joy’s gaze moved from her folded hands lying in front of her on the gray table to meet my eyes head-on. Surprise was evident as she sought for the words to answer.
“She’s my baby,” Joy said as a tear followed a path down her right cheek. She wiped her chin just before the tear would have fallen onto the gray table.
“I know. But you didn’t birth her.”
“I did everything for her. I did it all. I cared for her like a mama. She was so precious. My sister Faith was dying of cancer. Her oldest, Ray, had joined the Navy. Then Samuel was murdered. Then Annie died. Two children dead, the other gone. I did it for her, too, you know.”
More tears were coming and finding their way down both cheeks.
“You know who the father is.”
“Of course I knows. I knows the whole story, Clancy Evans. I knows the whole, nasty story of growing up poor and trying to find a way out. You’ll travel any road to get out. My sweet sister traveled one road. I traveled another. We both wanted out.”
I waited to see if she would tell me. Sometimes I found it best to let the person you are questioning to find their own pace, their own rhythm for telling you what you need to know.
“That little baby was so precious. I had to help. I jest had to help Faith out. She cudd’na raised no child. That cancer was evil. Destroying her. So Marie became my baby, my little girl.”
“Who was the father?” I finally asked.
“Oh, him. Well, he did help out. He’d come by once in a while, mostly at night so no one sees him. But he brought money, always brought money to help me. To his credit, I ‘spect. It wudd’na done nobody no good for him to tell the world that Marie was his baby. It might’a hurt Marie, you know. If this town knew that her father was white. Naah…t was easy for us to keep that secret. Some secrets be good to have.”
“Joy, I need to know the father’s name.”
“I know you do. I just not sure I wanna give it.”
“You protecting him?”
She looked away from us, and her hands, searching for some answer along the dirty, gray walls of the room where we sat. I could tell that she was considering what might happen if she told.
“No way you can keep this secret,” she said.
“Afraid not. I would if I could, but the truth is, I believe it has a lot to with this case.”
“But I’m the one who actually kilt those people.”
“True, but the preacher was behind it.”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead enough. But someone has to answer for his death and you certainly don’t want that person to be Marie.”
“You think he did it? You think Marie’s daddy did it?”
“I don’t know until you give me a name and I check it out.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“His identity?”
“Yeah.”
“No. But I could guess.”
“Then you needs to guess. I ain’t ever told anyone who her daddy is. I can’t start now.”
I nodded to her and looked at Rosey.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We have enough.”
70
“I would have pressed harder,” Rosey said as he increased the speed of the Jag along Highway 29 going north to Clancyville.
“I know.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t think it would’ve helped.”
“But you didn’t try. I think her story got to you. Very unprofessional.”
“I know.”
“You feel sorry for her?”
“To a degree. I could never condone the murders. It’s the other part that gets to me.”
“The stuff we can’t change.”
“That would be the stuff.”
“I would have pressed harder.”
“I know.”
“No argument, huh?”
“No need. When you’re right…”
“Where to now, since we only know a little?”
“I know enough.”
“Is there a next?”
“I’m going to visit my old friend Jessica Thompson, Mrs. Chatterbox herself.”
“Does she know all this?”
“No. It would be all over town if Jessica knew it.”
“So how can she help?”
“She knows something, but she doesn’t understand what she knows. Perspective. She sees what she sees and knows what she knows but only through one view. That view has to do with her granddaughter. If she would ever move to another viewpoint, she could unlock this whole secret mess.”
“You gonna tell her that?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not stupid. No, I’m not gonna help her rethink all of this. I just want to know one thing from her.”
“And she will tell you?”
“No question about it. She will tell me.”
“And she won’t figure it out?”
“I doubt it seriously.”
We checked in at my mother’s place and found everyone resting well. I left Rosey and Sam to interact with Sarah and Rachel. Bir
ds of a feather. I went to see Jessica on Mulberry Avenue.
Jessica sat on the edge of the love seat which was across from the matching couch on which I was perched. Her knees were together and her back was perfectly straight, much straighter than I would expect for someone in their nineties. We were both drinking tea since it was early afternoon.
“So good of you to call again. It’s always nice to chat with someone like you, Clancy.”
I decided to let that one fall on the floor and die. If I reacted to everything Jessica ever said, I would never get to the subject I needed to discuss.
“Did you ever learn the identity of the woman who Robby Robertson was seeing?”
“You mean the one who destroyed my granddaughter’s dreams?”
“You could put it that way if you like.”
“I do put it that way. She did. But, like most Thompsons, Sally Mae endured and moved on,” she said with an air of intended distinction.
I waited for Jessica to continue while I nursed the last few drops of my tea.
“You want some more tea, dear?” she asked.
“Another cup would be good.”
She picked up a tiny bell and rang it. In a few seconds a middle aged black woman came into the sitting room and stood at the door without actually entering the room.
“Yes, ma’am?” she said to Jessica.
“More tea.”
We were silent as we waited for the woman to bring us more tea. I felt uncomfortable, but Jessica was definitely in her element. In a few moments, the woman returned and poured both of us some tea.
“Will that be all, Mrs. Thompson?” she said.
“Yes.”
The woman left and nearly took all of the air of the room with her. I took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then I sipped my tea. It was very hot. Jessica smiled and sipped hers.
“Now, you were asking about that horrid situation long ago,” she said.
“Not so long ago, I suppose.”
The Peace Haven Murders Page 30
