by Ron Hudson
Thad’s mind was traumatized with his forays with Jim for a long time. He vowed someday he would find a way to embarrass his juvenile archenemy.
Chapter 24
The case of the murder of the two moonshiners had taken another three weeks. Caley was getting frustrated. With “Sweet” now off patrol duty and assigned to Caley, at least there was someone to coordinate with every day. However, even with Sweet helping, few clues were uncovered.
Together they poured over the evidence. Sweet asked Caley many questions related to the scene of the crime. One was why did she think they found no proof of the perpetrators. Caley had to admit it was puzzling. After a further discussion, they decided to return to the scene and look at everything again. She had intended to do it already, but other events had taken priority. Even though it had rained several times since the incident, which may have obliterated visible evidence, both of them thought it may be helpful to them to get a new perspective.
Parking their vehicle in the field by the path to the site, they walked into the woods. As they approached the site, it was obvious the site had been disturbed. Right away, they noticed all of the still equipment except a few pieces of plumbing connections had been removed. Depressions in the soft dirt were all around, but due to the rain, none were well formed.
“I thought you left the still where it was.”
“We did. Somebody has helped themselves to it. I suspect it is in operation by now and producing high proof alcohol,” replied Caley.
“That’s not good.”
“And it won’t be nice to have to tell Sheriff Wilson either. I made a big mistake by not having it moved right away.”
Then they perused the area looking for signs that might point to something important. A cigarette stub, faded footprints, anything that might offer the tiniest lead! Then Sweet noticed a small faded tire track in several places, including on the path leading to the still site. At one time, he had a job working as a construction laborer and knew the imprint of a wheel barrel tire when he saw it.
“I see whoever took the still used a wheel barrel to help them move it to their vehicle. Come over here. See this,” as he pointed to one of the tracks.
“Yea, I see it. I guess this places suspicion on about 95 percent of the residents of the county,” Caley said with a discouraged expression.
“Maybe and maybe not,” said Sweet as he continued to look around. It only took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. Beneath a thick overhanging gum tree, he found a clear wheelbarrow print that had not been obliterated by the rain.
Pointing to the track, he said, “There!” That’s what I was hoping. It’s a clean print we can get from the track.”
“Then all we need to do is find and check out all the wheel barrels in the county,” laughed Caley.
“Yep, you check half of them, and I’ll get the rest.”
The conversation had turned from a serious discussion to a whimsical exchange. Both of them knew the lead, though small, was all they had at the time. The trip back to the scene may have been worthwhile after all. It took Sweet several hours to return to the office and get a plaster cast kit for the impression.
Although Caley knew Sweet, she had never worked closely with him and seemed to be getting comfortable with his determination to find clues. Maybe they could make some progress on this case after all she thought. She waited at the site until Sweet returned with the plaster kit.
“Sweet, why don’t you finish the impressions? While you wait for them to dry, continue looking around for anything of interest. In the meantime, I think I’ll go see if anyone at Nel’s Place can shed light on who may have taken the still.”
As Caley walked into Nel’s Place, she observed three black and one white man sitting on bags of dog food in the back of the room drinking beer. The dim lit small store no more than 30 by 30 feet was stocked with a limited amount of sundries scattered on a triple merchandise shelf. A dirty and well-used lottery machine was sitting on one side of the room. Its lights were slowly blinking like a beacon to perspective risk-takers.
On the other side of the room, the owner Nellis Garvant, was sitting in a wall to ceiling enclosure behind a counter. It had a glass between him and the customers. Lying on the counter within reach of Garvant was a .45 automatic. No doubt, it was loaded. Also visible behind the counter was a shotgun within quick reach. The weapons were typical at most remote businesses to deter robberies. At least a couple of times a year such robberies were attempted somewhere in the county. The misfortunate consequences that resulted were not always in favor of the robber.
“Good morning, Mr. Garvant,” said Caley as she approached the counter.
“Good morning sheriff,” replied Garvant as he touched the bill of his hat in a courteous gesture. As he did, Caley noted that his blue baseball cap had a logo on it that read, “Vietnam - 115th Cav.”
“Guess you still looking into the two boys that were shot a few days ago?”
“Yes, I am. I was just at the site and saw that someone took the still equipment. You know anything about that?”
“Can’t say I do, guess they needed it worse than you,” said Garvant with a quick laugh.
“I suppose so, but if we find out who took the equipment, we may be able to obtain some information on who committed the murder.”
“What about you folks. You have any information about the missing equipment?”
“No ma’am,” replied one of the men.
Turning back to Garvant, Caley said, “I heard that Homer and Henry were selling large batches of whiskey to another dealer. You know anything about that?”
“As a matter of fact, I know he was making lots of stuff for a fellow named Fish Cleborn, over by Charleston. I saw them come over here one time and pick up two fifty gallon barrels from Homer and Henry. I remember his name because he stopped in here and bought some snacks and talked with me a bit.”
“Did you know anything about Homer owing him money?”
“All I can say is that he and the boys must have had a falling out because he was a regular customer until suddenly he stopped coming by. The last time he stopped in, he was cussing Homer and Henry like crazy. He said the son-of-a-bitches owned him a lot of money and he was going to get it back one way or the other.”
“You think he was mad enough to have shot them,” Caley asked.
“Yea, it’s possible. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before.”
Caley continued to question Garvant and the other men. However, the visit had revealed what she felt was a significant clue. She definitely needed to find and talk with Fish Cleborn.
As she walked out, she saw another black man sitting on an orange-cola crate by the tree next to the store.
She introduced herself, and said, “You know about the two people murdered across the field from here?”
“My name is Mo, ma’am, I heard about it alright.”
“You sit out here a lot?”
“Quite a bit!”
“Have you seen anything unusual going on over by the woods that may help us find out who committed the crimes?”
“No, but you know I heard they had a really fine still they wuz using.”
“Did you ever see them go in or come out of the woods, Mo?”
“No, I heard they did it mostly at night.”
“Mo you seem to hear a lot sitting out here. Who do you talk with mostly?”
“Oh, just the people who visit the store here.”
Not getting any place, Caley realized that either Mo didn’t know much or wasn’t going to tell her if he did, so she started to get into her vehicle.
As she opened the vehicle door, she heard Mo say, “You know, on second thought, I did hear something about who mighta took that still!”
Caley turned around and said, “Who is that Mo?”
“Well don’t hold me to it, but I heard that it was taken by a boy up the road.”
“What boy? Mo.”
“There was
a man who came by the other day asking if I wanted some moonshine. Not that I would buy it of course, but I just know this fellow is new in the business around here and he might have been the one that stole that still.”
“What’s his name Mo?”
“I don’t know his last name, but they call him Pootsie, and they say he lives up the road toward the Combahee.”
“OK Mo, if you hear anything else, let me know. Here is my business card where you can reach me.”
“Sure will, but I don’t have a telephone. Oh, by the way, do you know Mr. Harley?”
“Harley who?” Caley asked.
“I don’t know his last name either. We all just call him Harley.”
“What about Harley?”
“Well don’t tell him I said so, but Harley always bought a lot of whiskey from them men that got killed. He might know something wat would help, replied Mo.
“Do you know where I might find Harley?”
“I don’t know where he lives, but I ‘magine Mr. Garvant does. I do know he is sitting in there right now,” said Mo pointing back toward the store.
Caley got in her vehicle and decided for some reason not to talk with the man Mo identified as Harley right now, as all of them men inside were previously not very communicative. Maybe she could get with Harley by himself. Then she entered the main highway traveling south.
As she went south, she stopped at three different houses and spoke with people. She asked questions about whether anyone knew the men who were murdered or if they might have seen any activity that may be useful. None had!
One lady seemed to be very talkative, asking several questions about the murders. She also suggested that Caley be sure to question Nellis Garvant and some of the men that hung out at his place. Since her house was within sight of Nel’s, she said she occasionally noticed some of the people who visited the place. Caley asked if she saw any one person more than any other visit the store. The lady replied that the only one she knew was Harley Kettle and he was always there. She knew him and his pickup from a small job he had done delivering some bags of dog food to her for Garvant.
This comment registered with Caley since Harley’s name came up with Mo. Now she made a second note to follow up with him. Harley was definitely a person of interest right now for her.
Her investigation so far had taken most of the day. Never anticipating how close she would come to the tragic edge of her life, she decided to make one more stop.
Chapter 25
Turning into a small road, Caley slowly drove the half mile to the two houses facing each other with a large open space between them. Red’s new outdoor building off to one side of his house stood out since the clapboard siding was new. She pulled up in front of Red’s house first and honked the horn. No one appeared to be home, so she got out of the vehicle and walked a few steps toward the house.
Pootsie and Red were inside the outdoor building and heard the vehicle as it approached. They peered through the small window in the door to see who it was.
Without opening the door, Red said, “it’s a sheriff’s car.”
He continued to watch as Caley got out of the vehicle. By this time, Pootsie had retrieved a shotgun, they had just happened to have been using to shoot at a squirrel only a few hours earlier.
Slowly and silently, he pulled the slide backward and the three shot .12-gauge pump smoothly injected a size eight shotshell into the chamber. Instinctively he felt to ensure the safety was off and the gun was ready to fire.
Walking back over to the door Pootsie sidled up beside Red. Both of the men were peering through the window waiting for Caley’s next move. Having knocked on the door of the house without getting an answer, she then went down the steps and walked over to the door of the outdoor building. Red and Pootsie saw here coming and moved back along the wall so she couldn’t see them through the window.
Caley walked up to the door and pulled her hat down an inch to shade her eyes as she squinted to see through the glass.
Pootsie, squeezing the Winchester pump until his hands were white, whispered to Red, “If she opens that door, she’s dead.”
Red was more scared than when he had been in the jungles of Vietnam. Not because he thought he may be caught with the still equipment in the building, but he knew that if Caley opened the door, Pootsie would carry out his threat.
He was frozen by a flashback of a similar situation in the of Vietnam 42 years earlier when he and another Marine were caught in the jungle outside the perimeter of the compound and heard Vietnam soldiers coming down the path. They hid off to one side and held their breath as the stream of enemies walked by. Knowing it was best to return to the compound and report the company of enemy than to make a futile and possibly fatal attempt to attack them, they just froze until the men disappeared.
Red wanted no part of killing a law enforcement officer, but somehow the urgency of the moment and his flashback prevented him from taking any action other than just freezing in place.
“I don’t know man,” was the only protest Red was able to muster up.
“Yep, she’s had it if she comes through that door.”
“Anyone in there,” Caley yelled as she knocked on the door.
Silence!
She didn’t give it a second try since she knew if anyone was in the building, they should have heard her. Red and Pootsie heard her feet make a crushing sound on the rocks as she turned around and went back to her vehicle. The men were both sweating profusely when they finally heard the car start up and move down the road.
“I think I just shit my pants,” said Red laughing a nervously.
“Not me, I was ready. Good thing she didn’t try to come in. If she had, she would have been dead as a doornail.”
Of course, he may have shot her, but he was sweating just as much as Red and no doubt, he was happy he had not pulled the trigger.
Caley will never know just how close she had come to her demise. Just as well. She had a full plate of work heading her way over the next few days and weeks.
Chapter 26
Caley drove north on the main highway toward Warrenton for about eight miles, when she noticed a lone building standing in the middle of a well-manicured lawn of at least two acres. There was a simple sign besides the small two-rutted road leading up to the building that said, “Lowcountry Masonic Lodge 129.” There was a square and compass symbol with a large letter “G” in the center. Caley recognized this as the universal sign for the Masonic Fraternity. Her thoughts went back to the picture of the ring she had seen on the figure of the dead body of Homer Aiken. That was it. Homer Aiken was part of the masons. Another lead…More people to interview. Caley was beginning to get frustrated. Of all the people she and Sweet had talked with so far, they hadn’t gotten very far.
She turned into the small road and stopped in front of the building. A listing of the lodge offices was posted beside the front door. She wrote down two of the names listed. Gilligan Sears and Charlie Huss were at the top of the list. Charlie Huss was a name familiar to Caley. She had interviewed him when she was interviewing people who lived along the swamp.
She pulled onto the main highway and headed south toward where she remembered Charlie Huss lived.
Charlie was outside sitting beneath a large live oak tree that must have been a hundred feet in diameter. He was relaxing in a wooden recliner with what appeared to be a glass of ice tea in his hand. Charlie’s large frame was stretched out in the chair. His feet were resting on an old box. His knees protruded from holes in his faded blue overalls. A black and white hunting hound was sleeping peacefully on the ground beside the chair.
Caley eased her vehicle into the grass and stopped within fifty feet of Charlie.
She introduced herself as she approached the resting man, “Hi remember me, I’m Caley Givens of the sheriff’s office.”
“Oh Yea, I remember you. Good morning.” He smiled as he pointed to a second chair, “Have a seat and take the load off your feet. What brings y
ou this far out of the big city today?”
“I am still trying to get information on the two people that were killed at a whiskey still a ways up the road.”
“Yes, but I told you all I knew the last time we talked. As I said before Homer was a very good friend of mine. I’ve known him for years.”
“One thing you didn’t mention was that he, like yourself, was a Mason. I got your name from the lodge building. I was hoping you tell me some more about his relationship with some of his lodge buddies.”
“He was a good mason. He did lots of things to help us in the lodge and in the community. What else would you like to know?”
Charlie had a pleasant personality and seemed to really want to help Caley with the investigation. She had no reason to doubt his forthright manner, so she continued the discussion about Homer.
“Well did he have any misunderstanding with anyone in your lodge that you know of?”
“Certainly not! You probably don’t know it, but one of the sworn obligations of our organization is to never speak negatively or do any harm to another brother. In all my thirty years as a mason, I have not seen anyone violate that oath.”
“What about Homer owing money to a man named Fish Cleborn? Did you know anything about that,” asked Caley?
“Yes, I heard about it. I also heard that Homer owed him a lot of money. Just how much, I really don’t know, but I am told it was upward of $1,000. I was also told that he was really worried that Cleborn would come after him to get his money back. The reason I heard about it, is because he was trying to borrow money from some of the lodge brothers to pay Cleborn.”
“You think Cleborn threatened Homer in some way or maybe killed him for the money.”
“Well I don’t know, but maybe so. Or maybe they had an argument, and the result was a shootout.”
