Southern Gothic

by Stuart Jaffe

  “And his name is Luther Boer. He lives on the eastern edge of the city line in a crappy apartment. Married. Didn’t get a good look at the wife. She slept under a ton of covers, trying to save money on heating. No kids. That’s about it for now.”

  Max rubbed his temples to stave off the pounding in his head from getting worse. “Thanks. At least that gives us a little something to go on.”

  “Little? You got thumped in the head too much if that’s what you think.”

  “Maybe I did. What am I missing?”

  With an impatient huff, Drummond said, “Add it all up. You’re called to a murder scene in which Luther Boer is one of the crime scene techs. It just so happens that on the desk of the room in which the murder occurred, there are papers with information on a fixed fight. Luther is at that fight. Want to bet which fighter he laid money on? If those things aren’t connected, I’ll quit smoking.”

  “You quit smoking the moment you died.”

  “Then I’ll figure out how a ghost can smoke, I’ll start smoking, and then quit again. Point is this — if Luther didn’t kill Sebastian directly for those fight fixes, he certainly was involved. In fact, it looks like Sebastian was in on running this fight scam.”

  “Damn.” Max clamped his mouth shut, holding back the urge to vomit. “Why do the weird ones always find me?”

  “Nothing weird about a fixed fight. They happen all the time.”

  “You didn’t see why everybody tried to beat me up.”

  “They didn’t try, they succeeded.”

  Max touched his swollen cheek. “Yeah, well, the reason was that I stumbled upon a witch casting a spell. I don’t know what she was doing exactly, but I’m guessing it had to do with the fight.”

  “That explains what happened after you left. I told you at the fight it looked like Jackson wanted to win. When Gonzalez made his comeback, I thought I was seeing a master actor in Jackson. The expression on his face — he couldn’t believe Gonzalez suddenly fought back. I’ve seen fighters take dives before. They don’t look like that.”

  “So, Jackson didn’t take a dive. The people running the fight used a witch to give Gonzalez an edge.”

  “More like a sledgehammer, but yup. That’s what happened.”

  “Maybe Sebastian was in on this scam. Luther figured it out. Then what? He kills Sebastian?”

  “Probably tried blackmail first. They met at Baxter House because it’s vacant. Sebastian refuses to yield to Luther’s demands, Luther loses his temper, takes a swing at Sebastian, they struggle, and he accidentally kills your client.”

  It fit together, but Max got the feeling they were pounding those puzzle pieces into place. Something was off. Lack of blood, for one thing. A struggle and accidental murder would have left a wound on the body and blood on the floor — but none had been found at the scene.

  “Talking to yourself?” Detective Rolson said as he blustered down the hall toward Max’s cell. “You know, that’s the first sign of insanity from incarceration.”

  Max waited as the heavy steps of the man approached. When Rolson finally appeared at the door, he leaned his shoulder on the frame and grinned. His blond hair seemed brighter this time as did his entire demeanor.

  “I’d like a lawyer,” Max said.

  Drummond said, “That’s right. Never talk to these guys without a lawyer.”

  Rolson raised his hands with a fake, staccato laugh. “Easy there. No need for lawyers. You’re not getting charged with anything. In fact, you’ve been processed. I’m here to let you out.”

  “Since when do detectives handle this kind of thing?”

  “Oh, not usually, I admit. But I wanted to have a little chat with you before you go.” Max edged back in the cell, and Rolson made that same horrible laughing sound. “Now, now, no need to worry. I wasn’t implying anything but a real chat. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Drummond shifted closer to Rolson. “You want me to freeze his brain? I’ll do it gladly.” Max shot Drummond a harsh look. “I was joking. Sheesh. If you want to be like that, then I’ll go wait for you outside.” With that, Drummond left.

  Rolson pressed up against the bars, his belly pushing through, and snorted hard as if he might spit into the cell. “I’m a little troubled by what I see. I got a guy whose name comes up in a murder investigation, and only a couple days later, same guy gets hauled in for disorderly conduct at an underground, illegal boxing match. Quite a coincidence. Now, something I’ve learned over my years as a detective is that there are no coincidences. So, you being at these places — this troubles me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass. I’m trying to help you here.”

  Rolson unlocked the door and slid it open. Even when opening, it made the telltale clanking sound of finality. Max wondered if the companies that made these doors had purposely designed them to make that sound.

  Rolson stood firm in his position, forcing Max to sidestep in order to exit the cell. As he passed through, Rolson poked him in the chest several times. “You listen to me. Whatever you’re involved in, get out now. You’re clearly much too frail to run around with people who can make your face look as bad as it does — people who commit murder. You’re not ready for these kinds of people. You don’t know what you’re up against, and from what I’ve seen in this world, you don’t want to know.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I’ll consider it.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ve seen enough like you in my time. I know how this plays out.” Rolson hefted his pants up and readjusted his shirt. “Well, the advice I’ve given you, that’s the carrot. Here’s the stick — you got connected to my murder case, you got busted at this fight, that’s your two strikes, as far as I’m concerned. You so much as get a speeding ticket, I’m going to find out about it, and I’ll drag your ass in. You understand me?”

  Max’s muscles tensed. Part of him wanted to deck Rolson and send him sprawling to the ground. In his younger days, Max might have done just that, but he clenched his teeth and in a low growl said, “Yes, sir, Detective Rolson. I understand you one hundred percent, five-by-five, and crystal clear.”

  Not content to let Max have the last word, Rolson gave Max’s shoulder a little shove down the hall. “We’ll see. Perhaps your wife can keep you in line.”

  Max looked back. “My wife?”

  “Yeah. She’s the one that came to get you.”

  Max swallowed against the lump growing in his throat. Of course, Sandra would be the one to pick him up. He shouldn’t have expected otherwise — the only other living person he knew well in this city was Leon at the library. But knowing that Sandra waited for him, knowing how bad things were between them, knowing that he had no other option — he feared this might be the trial that broke their marriage.

  As he walked to the end of the holding area and waited for Rolson to unlock the door into the rest of the police station, Max concentrated on keeping the tears from falling down his face. Despite the fights, despite the down times, despite every negative instance in their marriage, Max loved Sandra unquestionably. The mere taste of a possible divorce nauseated him, and his heart cracked under the possibility that he had gone too far.

  She stood at a tall counter, filling out some forms, and Max had a moment in which he watched her without her knowing. So beautiful. A simple enough thought, but one that kept repeating in his head, and in its repetition, the words took on deeper layers. Her beauty went far beyond her physical attributes, and his love followed her into her depths.

  When she tilted her head towards him, her eyes glistened over. She rushed into his arms. “Are you okay?” She looked as his bruised face, putting out her fingers to touch his skin but holding back for fear of hurting him.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks for getting me out.”

  Satisfied that he had not been harmed, she slapped his arm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Max heard a snicker from behind. No need to look. He knew the sound of Dru
mmond all too well. Besides, he didn’t want to look over and see Rolson’s smugness staring back at him.

  They all stayed quiet until they were in the car and on the road home. Only then did Sandra speak, and Max shuddered at the worry in her voice. “Let’s start with the obvious. How much trouble are we in?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what’s going on.”

  “Drummond?” she said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  Drummond leaned forward. “He’s telling you fair and square. You got yourself a dead body, a suspicious crime tech, fixed fights, and a witch. I couldn’t tell you what that adds up to for certain.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, running a yellow light as she headed out of the city. “With a witch involved, that means the Hulls. And if the Hulls are involved, that means Cecily Hull’s visit was no accident.”

  Max leaned his forehead on the cold window. “I’m really sick of them. Part of me wants to help Cecily just to get rid of the rest of them.”

  Sandra poked the control console, trying to get the car’s heating to kick in, but only a lukewarm trickle of air came out of the vents. “Let’s focus on things that make sense.”

  “Nothing in this makes sense.”

  “Then let’s look at it like a new case and go from there.”

  Drummond nodded. “You listen to her. She’s still the smartest of you two.”

  “Okay,” Max said. “I’ll start fresh on this. Drummond and I will hit it all in the morning.”

  “Me, too,” Sandra said.

  “Nice of you to offer, but you’ll be at work.”

  Sandra turned onto the gravel drive leading into the trailer park. “Oh, didn’t I mention? I quit that job.”

  “Are you joking?”

  She parked and faced him. “The Hulls are not going to leave us alone. You know that very well. Whatever’s going on here, it involves them, and they’ve got to be dealt with. Working at the bakery won’t help us do that, and if we don’t deal with the Hulls, my part-time job won’t matter. We’ll be lucky if we make it to Christmas alive.”

  Drummond swished out of the car and put out his arms. “Looks like Max Porter Research and Investigations is back in action!”

  Max cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “Since when is that our name?”

  “I think he just coined it. Kind of like it, though.”

  As Sandra exited the car, Max let his head loll back. He didn’t deserve her. Knowing that his fears of ending their marriage had vanished only underscored how much he needed her. For a moment, his mind locked on one simple thought, What an incredible woman.

  She knocked on the car door and gestured for him to get moving. As usual, she was right. They had a lot to do.

  Chapter 7

  Max bounded into the library, ready to tackle the research and find a solution. With Sandra’s aid, he knew they could beat the Hulls — they had done so before — and he marveled at his own idiocy for having doubted her in the first place. He glanced at his wrist and considered having the words SHE’S ALWAYS ON YOUR SIDE tattooed to remind him that she was there for him when things got tough.

  “You in a car accident?” Leon asked, his face wrinkling at the sight of Max’s bruises.

  “Looks worse than it is.” Max smiled until his injured skin complained.

  “Need any help today?”

  “If you got the time, I’m always grateful for your help.”

  With that, Leon and Max went to work. As they navigated their way through online searches and poured over books found in dark corners of the library, Max found his brain falling easily into the rhythms of research. It helped knowing that at the same time, Drummond and Leed searched for Sebastian Freeman’s ghost and Sandra dug up whatever information she could find on Luther Boer.

  After a few hours of work, Max had formed a clear picture of North Carolina after the Civil War. It wasn’t pretty. The North had devastated the South. Directly, Northern soldiers raided towns, killed civilians, and ravaged the lands. They behaved like conquerors — which in some ways, they were. Indirectly, the financial toll of running the war and losing much of their industry in the process struck the South hard. The emotional loss hit hardest of all. They needed to rebuild — both physically and mentally.

  Problems started immediately. Carpetbaggers popped up before the canon smoke had cleared. These were Northerners or turncoats who now entered North Carolina politics and leveraged the black vote in order to gain office. Many whites saw these men as opportunists who used the black people in ways every bit as awful as slavery.

  On the other end were the scalawags — disenfranchised rebels, many of whom fought for the South. What kind of life could they live now that the world they had built lay in ruin? The things they valued no longer were acceptable by the law, yet the land was filled with people who still wanted to fight the war.

  It was a confusing, angry time. Every new law that came out of the North seemed designed to punish the Southerners — even as the North publicly said they wouldn’t exact retribution.

  “You know,” Leon said, looking up from one dusty volume, “it’s kind of interesting that when Lincoln was assassinated, many in the South cheered. They were thrilled to be rid of him. But I believe that if he had survived, a lot of the problems the South had to deal with wouldn’t have happened. He seemed to understand that losing the war was punishment enough. He would have had a hard fight with Congress, but I think he might have kept the country on a better path.”

  Max often talked to his books while doing research. Having Leon around made him feel as if his books were talking back.

  “Might never have been a KKK if Lincoln had survived,” Max said.

  Leon gave the idea some thought before shaking his head. “Maybe it wouldn’t have become as big and powerful as it did, but too many white people hated black people. Too many more feared what we’d do after being treated so horribly for so long — especially if we got organized. After all, there were more blacks than whites at the time. So, I think the KKK or some group like it was inevitable.”

  Max had to agree. They both had uncovered enough newspaper articles depicting the latest lynching to know that fear and hatred flowed like the blood of soldiers on the battlefield. In fact, right after the Civil War had ended, maintaining order became the primary job of most leaders. Some attempted to use local law enforcement as well as political maneuvers. Others called on federal troops to force their way in.

  Every night was fraught with violence. Every night ratcheted up the fear. Black people worried the Ku Klux Klan or some other white supremacy group would come after them. White people feared the black men would riot and tear apart the town.

  It reached a point so bad that Congress enacted three laws, the last in 1871 known as the Enforcement Act which gave the President the power to suspend habeas corpus when combating the KKK and other groups like it.

  Max shut one of the books with a hard thump. “How are we going to find one nearly nameless girl in the middle of this kind of chaos? People were bad enough at record-keeping to begin with, but with nightly raids and constant threats, too many of the black populace were on the move. Leaving for the North, running from the most dangerous towns, getting out as fast as they could. It’s not as if these people were giving the post office a forwarding address.”

  Leon scratched the back of his head. “None of my business, so I won’t be offended if you tell me to kiss off, but I got to ask — what’s wrong? I mean, I’ve never seen you this worked up over researching.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t.”

  “I got to be honest, seeing you all beat up and right after reading about Sebastian Freeman being murdered — should I be worried?”

  “Nobody’s coming after you. You’ve got nothing to tell them, anyway.”

  “But there is a them?”

  “Yeah, there is. If you want to stop helping me, I understand. No reason for you to risk anything.”

  “You just said nobody would b
e coming for me. Now, I’m risking something? Which is it?”

  Max paused long enough to give an answer serious thought. Showing impressive patience, Leon waited, his expression never betraying any fear or concern. “I don’t think you’re in any real danger, but the people I’m dealing with are dangerous. They might approach you, might give you a hard time. They’ll want to know what I’ve been researching and how far I got. Stuff like that.”

  “Look here, I’m a librarian, not whatever you are. I like history and family and spiritual, respectful, intelligent debate. I’m not a fighter, and I don’t do illegal things.”

  “And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  “Okay, then. Long as that’s clear, what do you want me to tell them?”

  “The truth, of course — that you helped me search for Sebastian’s family and we never could find anyone on his mother’s side. You only know I wanted this info for Sebastian, that he was my client, and you found it strange that I continued to look into it even after Sebastian’s death.”

  “But what if you find out more?”

  “I think as far as you remember, nothing else happened. You can decide whether that’s truth or lie by staying here or not. I won’t force you to stay.”

  Leon chuckled to himself, smiling and giving a little shake but making no sound. He opened the book Max had closed and tapped the pages. “So, we’re looking for Miss Lilla with no last name and we know she was alive during part of the Reconstruction because she marries the first Freeman that led to Sebastian.”

  “Right,” Max said, holding back the urge to hug Leon. “We also know she lived long enough to have at least one child. So, if we assume she was a normal girl and married between fourteen and twenty, at the latest, that means she would have had to be born no later than 1851.”

  “Yup. And that means, if she lived a normal life, she would be dying around 1900 at the earliest. That’d give her about a good fifty years.”

  “I think it’s a safe bet. If she had died young or outlived most, or if she had died from something unusual, we would know. Stories like that often made the papers, and they last a long time in a family. Especially a black family.”