Blood Cries; Blood Oath; Blood Work

by Michael Lister

  “Maybe not, but you could try showing me later tonight when you get home.”

  “Count on it,” I say. “How’s our other girl?”

  “Taking a nap. Full and happy prior to that.”

  I remove my clerical collar as I drive, transitioning from one role to another, the act itself helping me with a shift in mindset.

  Part of the reason I am working two jobs is so I can afford to give Susan far more child support than any judge would order and so that Anna can take her time in healing and raising Taylor. But that’s only part of it. The truth is, I’ve always done both jobs, have always been a cop who ministers or a minister who investigates. Now I actually get paid for both.

  “I got another collect call from Chris today.”

  Chris is her soon-to-be ex-husband, an attorney awaiting trial in Tallahassee.

  “Did you accept?”

  “No. Don’t plan to. Ever. We know what he wants.”

  Yes, we do. For her not to divorce him and for her to come to see him and bring Taylor when she does.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a collect call. All I have to do is hang up.”

  He’s Taylor’s biological father and a judge has granted him visitation rights, which means we have to take her to the Leon County Jail twice a month, but that’s all we’re going to do—no matter how much he begs and pleads.

  “Do you want to change your number?” I ask. “Or we can swap.”

  “That’s sweet. I like the idea of him calling you.”

  “Then let’s do that.”

  “We’ll see,” she says. “It probably won’t be necessary, but thank you. Any word from Reggie?”

  “Still searching. Haven’t turned up anything yet.”

  “I sure was hoping they would have found him by now. It’s horrific enough already. Not having his body is just . . .”

  “Yes, it is.”

  We are quiet a moment and I can hear her breathing.

  “You headed to conduct the interviews?”

  “I am. Can I get you to do me a favor related to that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you search social media, especially Facebook, to see what all Megan has posted?”

  “Of course.”

  “Busybody Vicki with an i said she all but confessed.”

  “Which means nothing.”

  “No doubt, but I’d like to know what she posted. The boys too.”

  “You got it,” she says. “What was Swolle’s actual name again?”

  “Daronté Jackson.”

  Daronté Jackson makes the seat he’s sitting on look like a child’s chair, as if we’re in a pre-K classroom instead of the sheriff’s substation office we use for interviews.

  Since the sheriff’s department is on the other end of Gulf County in Port St. Joe, we have a substation here in Wewa on Main Street close to the library and the old courthouse. It’s in a small building that was once a pizza place and a doughnut shop and had started its life as a service station.

  Everything about Swolle is enormous. Even seated he looks taller than most people standing.

  “Why we gotta do this two times?” he says.

  While I’m interviewing him in the back office, I have a deputy in the outer office with the other two—preventing them from talking to one another, keeping them here so I can go back and forth between them if I need to.

  “Maybe more than two before we’re done,” I say.

  He cocks his huge head back and considers me. “Oh. Do it as many times as it takes to pin it on the black guy. That it?”

  “You really think that’s what we’re trying to do?” I say.

  “Ain’t like it ain’t been done before.”

  “True,” I say. “But that’s not what’s happening here. That’s not something I would ever let happen. Ever. Everything you said before, everything you say today, is being recorded. Everything I say too. No one’s trying to jam you up or make you ride the rap for somebody else. I’m not trying to coerce you or trick you. I’m just trying to understand what really happened. That’s it. When we finish, I’ll give you copies of the interviews we’ve done with you so you’ll have your own record. Cool?”

  He nods. “Ask away.”

  “You were in the water already when the three other guys arrived?”

  He shrugs his massive shoulders. “’Pends on what you mean. I’s sittin’ on the dock with my legs down in the water. I don’t really get all the way in the water.”

  “Was anyone else there?” I ask. “On the dock or in the water?”

  He shakes his head. “Just me. And I’s gettin’ ready to leave when those fools showed up.”

  “But you didn’t,” I say. “Why not? What changed?”

  “Just decided to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  “Is it?” I ask.

  “It’s supposed to be.”

  “Did they tell you to leave, indicate you should? Is that why you stayed?”

  “They just sort of . . . They came in and took over. They large and loud and act like they own the place. Blasting music. Splashing around. Rocking the dock. Sayin’ all kinda stupid ignorant-ass shit. My big black ass wasn’t about to leave then. I get so sick of that shit, you know?”

  I nod. “I do, and I’m sorry. So what happened?”

  “Same shit that always happens. They act like I’m not there, like they own the world. Divin’ off the dock, splashing water up on me and my phone. Never a my bad or sorry or nothin’.”

  “How’d things seem between them?”

  “Fine, I reckon. I don’t know, a little . . . like tense, maybe—especially between Cody and Shane, but I could be wrong. That could be some shit I’m readin’ into it.”

  “It was just the three guys?” I ask. “When did Megan arrive?”

  “That’s when shit really got retarded. I can’t remember how long they’s there before she pulled up on her little Jet Ski, but it wasn’t too long.”

  “She didn’t pull the Jet Ski to the landing on a trailer and unload it?” I ask.

  He shakes his huge head. “She come up from the river, you know, like from upstream. Just drove right up on ’em. None of ’em happy to see her.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then they took stupid to a whole new level.”

  “How?”

  13

  Cody and Shane have always had this sort of competition going,” Matt says. “But it’s on steroids since Shane became a Ranger.”

  Soft and pale and flabby, Matt is good-natured and easygoing—not someone either Shane or Cody would feel the need to compete with.

  “I think Cody kinda feels left behind,” he continues. “He was the better athlete in school. The more popular kid. And he thought he was gonna be like this big baseball star—in college and then the major league, but he got cut from the college team that signed him and . . . he dropped out of college in the first semester, moved back home, and is basically doing nothing. So any chance to beat Shane at something. Anything.”

  “So they decide to race across the river,” I say.

  “Yeah. Swim across, fighting the current, dodging debris and boats and gators, touch the houseboat, and swim back. Whoever touched the dock first won.”

  It was a stupid, immature, impetuous thing to do. The river is extremely wide there. I’d guess two hundred yards. It’d be an exhausting swim even in the best of circumstances, but between the current and boat traffic and air pockets, tree limbs, snakes, turtles, and gators, it was testosterone-induced insanity.

  “Whose idea was it?” I ask.

  He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, seeming an attempt at accessing the memory. Eventually he begins to slowly shake his head. “I’m not sure I heard. Didn’t really know about it until they were doing it.”

  “Who won?”

  “Shane. He rubbed it in too.”

  “And this was after Megan showe
d up?” I ask.

  “I think she’s the real reason they did it. Showing off for her. Cody’s always had a thing for her. And with her and Shane breaking up . . . it wouldn’t’ve be long before he was . . . making his move. And Shane knew it. Shane didn’t want her anymore, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.”

  “What did you, Swolle, and Megan do while they raced?”

  “Swolle didn’t move off the dock. I didn’t get far from it. I guess I joined him on it at one point so I could see them better. Megan raced with them—on her Jet Ski I mean. She was being so fuckin’ nuts. She was all over the place. Almost hit them several times. I think she may have one time.”

  “I take medication for depression and ADD,” Megan says. “I was upset and I was drinking. I got a little . . . I don’t know . . . whacky.”

  “Why were you upset?” I ask.

  “I don’t know . . . It’s just been a shitty few weeks. Life’s so stinkin’ hard sometimes. People are stupid. I’ve been feeling like Shane and I have been drifting apart. Then he comes into town and . . . not only am I not the first person he sees, he doesn’t come see me at all. So I started drinkin’ a little.”

  I nod.

  “You’re easy to talk to. Am I diggin’ a hole for myself here? Underage drinkin’ and all.”

  “Not at all. Is that all you were upset about?”

  “No. Why?”

  “What else?”

  “Really? Well, my bitch of a greedy ex-grandmother canceled my Florida pre-paid college program she had been paying into and took the money out, so there’s that.”

  “Ex-grandmother?”

  “My dad’s a creep. After he and my mom split, he and his psycho mother became dead to me.”

  “Why did she cancel your pre-paid tuition program?” I ask.

  “Because I won’t sit on her lap or kiss her ass or have anything to do with her. Because she’s a greedy old bag. Take your pick. I don’t know.”

  “Did you go to the Tupelo Festival?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “I thought I saw you. Did you see Shane and follow him to the landing?”

  “I saw him. I didn’t follow him. I knew where they were going . . . so I decided to bump into him, you know? Kinda cool like. I put my Jet Ski in at Iola and rode down to where they were. I say mine—it’s mine now. My mom’s ex-boyfriend left it behind when he moved on. Said he was coming back for it, but still hasn’t.”

  “How’d Shane respond?”

  “Shane’s always nice. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled I crashed his little boys’ swimming party, but . . . he was pretty cool about it.”

  She starts to cry again.

  “He was such a good guy. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Tell me what happened? When and where was the last time you saw him?”

  “It was just like they told you. They decided to leave. Matt was already out. Cody got out and started walking up the dock. Shane was still in the water. He and Cody had just had a race. He was winded. I was just sort of floating on the Jet Ski near him. I said, ‘Well, guess I’ll go now. You be sure to let me know if you ever want to see me, okay?’ He said, ‘Wait. Don’t go. I need to talk to you.’ He told me to pull around to the boat launch and tie up my Jet Ski. He’d give me a ride to my truck in Iola and we could talk. When I came up . . .”

  She begins to cry again. Harder this time.

  I hand her some tissues and wait.

  “When I came up to the dock after I tied up my Jet Ski, Matt and Cody were looking for him. Asked if he was with me or if I knew where he was. I knew right then something was wrong. We started yelling for him. Looking. I called nine-one-one.”

  “Why didn’t y’all get back into the water and look for him?”

  “I did. I tried so hard to find him, but . . . it was so . . . I couldn’t see anything. I kept feeling around but . . . I just couldn’t . . .”

  “Just you?”

  She nods. “When I called nine-one-one, the guys panicked. They were too busy hiding their shit from the cops to help. We might have been able to save him if they hadn’t been. Fuckin’ selfish assholes.”

  “How did he seem the last time you saw him?” I ask. “Do you think maybe the swim had—”

  “That damn race. So important to win. Do you think that could’ve been what . . . He didn’t seem to feel too good. Looked pale and . . . He was breathing sort of heavy and said his head hurt, but he seemed okay. I wouldn’t’ve left him if I thought he was anything but a little tired. But you should ask Cody. He’s the one who was in the water with him.”

  14

  I think it may be my fault he’s dead,” Cody says. “We should’ve never raced like that. He took it so seriously. He pushed himself so hard. I could’ve beaten him, but I backed off and let him win. Even then he didn’t slow down, didn’t stop trying to prove he’s some dumb fuckin’ Marine. We just should’ve never done it.”

  “Whose idea was it?” I ask. “The race.”

  He shrugs and seems to think about it.

  Cody has the build of a high school baseball player. Tall. Trim. Muscular, but in the longish way that lacks much in the way of definition. His green eyes beneath his short and wavy dirty blond hair are dull. He’s cocky and entitled but like so many mama’s boys around here, he has a finely honed faux humility, insincere deference to authority, and a manipulative Southern charm he can turn on at will.

  “Sort of just happened,” he says. “I’m not sure exactly. His, maybe, but it could’ve been Megan’s. God, I just feel so dang bad about it. I know how he is. I shouldn’t have agreed to race him. He’d probably still be alive.”

  I don’t say anything, just listen.

  He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. One second he’s there in the water with us, the next he’s . . . he’s just . . .”

  “Gone?” I offer.

  “Yeah.”

  Everything Cody says comes off as manipulative and insincere.

  “Whatta you think happened to him?” I ask.

  He seems to really consider my question.

  “Most likely he caught a cramp and went under, got caught on something or a gator got him or he just couldn’t get back to the surface and he drowned. Or . . . I think he hit his head—or got it hit. Maybe he was . . . you know . . . dazed . . . had a concussion or something like that.”

  “How’d he hit his head? What happened?”

  “Just an accident.”

  “What was?”

  “Megan was sort of racing with us, making big circles around us. She didn’t mean to . . . it was just an accident, but . . . she got too close one time and hit Shane in the head. She felt horrible. It was a total fuckin’ accident. Just one of those things, know what I mean?”

  “He got hit in the head and still won the race?” I ask.

  He lets out a harsh little laugh. “I guess he did. But like I said, it was just a little hit and I backed off to let him win. It was just that he didn’t slow down then. He kept going full force. He overdid it.”

  I nod.

  “What happened to him could have nothing to do with the race,” Cody says. “He could’ve just drowned. Gator could’a just come up and got ’im. Could’a just been his time, God’s mysterious plan and all. I don’t know. You just asked me what I thought could have happened.”

  “And I appreciate it. So why didn’t you get back in the water to look for him after y’all noticed he was missing?”

  “Well . . . I . . . I wish I had. By God I really do. But at the time . . . I thought he was with Megan at first . . . then . . . I . . . I guess I just thought he’d pop up any minute, you know? Then Megan called you guys . . . and then I thought, well . . . and then she jumped in and started looking . . . and I . . . I don’t know. I . . .”

  “Had to hide your drugs and alcohol and—”

  He frowns and begins to shake his head, his eyes moistening just a bit. “No. There’s no way you found any of tha
t shit in my truck. I’m clean. What? Did you plant some shit in my truck?”

  “No, we found it in the bathroom where you hid it so you could come back for it later,” I say.

  “You find shit in the bathroom and you just assume it’s mine, huh?”

  “Not assumption,” I say. “Fingerprints.”

  “Oh.”

  “What if I told you you had immunity for the drugs, that all I’m interested in is finding out what happened to Shane? Would you answer my question? Why didn’t you go back into the water?”

  “I . . . I panicked, all right? If I had known he was going to . . . I still thought he was going to be okay. I was doing it as much for him as the rest of us—more so. He could get kicked out of the army for . . . I was just trying to take care of everything for us. I’m working hard to get a baseball scholarship next year. I ain’t tryin’ to fuck that up.”

  “Not what it looks like to me.”

  “It was stupid, okay. I shouldn’t’ve been doin’ it, but I damn sure didn’t want to get caught with it. I knew it could fuck up both of our futures,” he says.

  “Whose?”

  “Mine and Shane’s. The rest of them don’t have anything to fuck up. I wasn’t just thinking about myself. I was thinking about him too.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Reggie leans her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. Can I borrow you a minute?”

  15

  How’s it goin’?”

  I tell her.

  “That fits with what I have,” she says.

  “What’s that?”

  “We found blood on Megan’s Jet Ski. On the front. Could’ve been where she hit him.”

  I nod and think about it.

  Reggie continues. “Could be why she was so shaken up. Question is . . . was it really an accident or did she mean to do it?”

  “It may’ve had nothing to do with what happened to him,” I say. “He finished the race—even won it, and seemed fine for a while after that. It could’ve contributed. It could have nothing to do with it. We won’t know until we find his body and figure out exactly what happened to him. We don’t even know if it’s his blood.”