Secrets of the Spiral Tower

by Joe Woods

  SECRETS

  OF

  THE SPIRAL TOWER

  A Novel of Love and Murder on the Mississippi River Bluffs

  Joe Woods

  A traditional publisher with a non-traditional approach to publishing

  Copyright © 2013 Joe Woods

  Cover Photo Credit: iStockphoto.com

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. WARNING: Unauthorized duplication or downloading is a violation of applicable laws. File sharing is allowed only with those companies with which James L. Dickerson or Sartoris Literary Group has a written agreement.

  To Hawkins Stokes Mayo, AKA Hawk Ford

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As with all my novels, I want to acknowledge those who have assisted, encouraged and pushed me to write this book: Bernard, who has criticized and corrected much of my prose; Marcia, who did an outstanding job of editing and punctuation; Jackie and Wilbur, who read the rough manuscript and provided outstanding suggestions; Lillian and Donnie for being such great friends.

  Chapter 1

  The phone call was one Connor had anticipated for more than five years. It could have gone any one of several different ways.

  He was surprised when the caller from the Warren County Sheriff’s office said: “This is Sheriff’s Deputy Nichols, Mr. Peppler. A fisherman has spotted what appears to be the car owned by Willow Kingston McKenzie. We’re headed to the Mississippi River at Port Gibson with a tow truck and divers. If you want, you can meet us there.”

  “Divers?”

  “Yes sir. You know the river hasn’t been this low in several years and the car is resting in about six feet of water. We’ll need divers to hook the tow chain and cables.”

  “Then you don’t know if there is a body inside or not?”

  “That’s correct, sir, but in a couple of hours we’ll know if one of our ‘cold cases’ has a new twist.”

  “Thank you, deputy. Please tell the sheriff I’m on my way.”

  “Will do.”

  It was an unseasonably hot October afternoon as Connor sped south on Highway 61 toward Port Gibson, a town declared by General Ulysses S. Grant, “too beautiful to burn” while on his march to Vicksburg during the Civil War.

  Although this news could provide clues to the disappearance of his lifelong girlfriend, Willow, it did not give him a euphoric feeling … quite the contrary.

  The travel time from Vicksburg to Port Gibson normally took about forty-five minutes. Connor and Willow, during their high school years, had leisurely traveled that highway many times. Occasionally they would cut classes, especially during their senior year, and spend an afternoon just cruising around in her yellow Ford convertible, a graduation present from her father.

  But today Connor had more ominous thoughts running through his head. He remembered the fight he and Willow had on a warm March evening five years earlier when she had uncovered another secret of the spiral towers.

  She had pressed Connor many times to go to the tower and explore the cave nearby, but Connor kept putting her off saying, “That place has grown over with weeds and is inhabited by snakes and spiders.”

  When Willow threatened to go by herself, Connor reluctantly agreed to go along. He thought, once we get to the entrance, maybe I can dissuade her from entering.

  But that wasn’t the case. Walking down the overgrown trail below the tower toward the cave, Willow’s excitement grew. After all, she and Connor had spent many hours walking the trail and sharing romantic interludes inside the cave.

  This time Connor wasn’t so amorous. With almost every step he reminded Willow of the many dangers that lay along the trail. But none of his comments diminished her determination. Arriving at the entrance Willow said, “See Connor, that wasn’t so bad. I didn’t see a single snake.”

  “Willow, just because you didn’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. In this thick underbrush, one could strike you before you see it.”

  Willow stood at the cave entrance. “Well, it didn’t happen, so let’s go inside.”

  “I didn’t bring a flashlight. It’s too dark in there.”

  Willow reached into her shoulder bag. "Not to worry. I’m a Girl Scout and I’m always prepared. I’ve got a key light that will do just fine.”

  Once again Connor tried to keep her from entering. “You know, if a Park Ranger catches us, he’s going to give us a ticket.”

  “If we get one, then I’ll pay it. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.” She tried to lighten the moment with a smile. “C’mon … don’t be a ‘fraidy cat’.”

  I’m not afraid of snakes and spiders, Connor thought. I’m afraid of something else.

  A loud horn woke Connor from his daydream. His pickup had drifted across the centerline into the path of a big tanker truck. Connor snatched the steering wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. The truck driver flipped Connor the bird as he flew by.

  At that point, Connor was only seven miles from where he was to meet the sheriff and the recovery team. During his daydream, he had lost track of time, thinking I want to be there when the car’s pulled from the water.

  In a few minutes he pulled into a parking space beside the sheriff’s car. Connor stepped out of his truck and greeted Sheriff Gatlin with a firm handshake.

  “Who are all of these people?” he asked.

  “Connor, we’ve got cops from Claiborne and Warren Counties, Mississippi Bureau of Investigation, reporters from Jackson and Natchez, two wrecker crews, a dive team from Monroe and a fairly good number of onlookers. I called Woody to inform him also.”

  “Word spreads fast.”

  “Yeah, once there are any radio transmissions, with all of the people that monitor our frequencies, the word spreads like a wildfire on a windy day. I’ll have to hold a news conference once the vehicle is pulled from the water.”

  “Sheriff, is it okay for me to walk down the launching ramp for a closer look?”

  “Yeah."

  “Okay. I’ll help wherever I can.”

  “Just keep out of harm’s way, especially when those tow trucks tighten their cables.”

  “Will do, sheriff.”

  Connor walked down to the water’s edge wondering what evidence might be found in the car. At that moment, one diver surfaced and motioned for the tow truck operator to toss him a cable. He dove again, attached the cable; then two divers surfaced and walked up the ramp.

  “Sheriff, we’ve hooked the cables. Are you ready?

  “Yes.”

  Sheriff Gatlin motioned for everybody to move back from the launching ramp and gave the tow truck operators the thumbs up. The winches on the tow trucks slowly turned, tightening the cables. The trucks’ big engines seemed to stall for a second as the pull grew harder. Suddenly, there was a sucking sound as the vacuum broke between the car and the bottom of the river.

  The water bubbled and churned a muddy, dark-brown color.

  Then the rear license plate on the car became visible, but only three letters, “WIL,” were legible. The others were covered with mud. Within five minutes, the entire car was out of the water, sitting at the end of the launching ramp.

  Sheriff Gatlin, turning to Connor, asked,” Do you recognize the car?”

  With his heart pounding, Connor said, “Yes sir. That appears to be Willow Kingston McKenzie’s Jaguar.”

  “Appears to be,” Gatlin asked. “Let’s uncover the other letters on the license plate.”

  Gatlin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped t
he mud and slime off the license plate, and revealed WIL K MC.

  “Yes sir, that’s Willow’s car,” Connor said.

  “Someone bring a pry bar,” Gatlin called out. “I want to open the trunk.”

  At that, Connor turned and walked away. He didn’t want to see what might be revealed.

  Hearing the sheriff’s request for a pry bar, the crowd pushed closer as Connor walked back to his truck and attempted to back away from the scene. At that moment, Woody pulled into the parking area and motioned for Connor to stop.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think they’ve found Willow’s car,” Connor said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “The sheriff is about to open the trunk and I don’t want to see what’s inside.”

  As Connor drove off, his mind flashed back to the first time he was interrogated by Sheriff Gatlin and his deputies concerning Willow’s disappearance. Her house had been a total wreck, as if a terrific struggle had taken place, but there was no evidence of forced entry. Blood splattered the floors, walls, ceilings and furniture in the master bedroom, bathroom, and hallway to the kitchen. There were bloody footprints, smears on the walls, and a blood trail out the foyer on to the driveway.

  It is common police procedure to question family members nearest the victim and, depending on their findings, expand their investigation into the community.

  Mrs. Bray, Willow’s next-door neighbor, an elderly person known for being nosey and watching the comings and goings in her neighborhood, hadn’t seen Willow in a couple of days. She observed that Willow’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway and after noticing that the front door was open, walked across her lawn to Willow’s house. She saw the red stains on the driveway, but didn’t immediately identify them as blood.

  Upon entering the house she saw the bloody scene and called out Willow’s name, hoping to hear a response. Suddenly, it dawned on her that something terrible had happened and she had wandered into the middle of it. Panicking, she wondered what to do next. Who should I call?

  On a small message board hanging near the sink, she saw Connor’s name and a number beside it. She dialed the number and in an excited voice said, “Connor, please come to Willow’s. Something terrible has happened.”

  “Mrs. Bray, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s blood all over the house and Willow isn’t here.”

  Seeing the caller ID on his phone, Connor realized the call was coming from Willow’s house.

  “Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay, but hurry!”

  Connor called 911 from his cell phone as he rushed to his pickup truck and asked the operator to send a unit to 530 Windward Way, Willow’s address.

  Leaving his North Frontage Road office, Connor sped up the hill, turned left on red and down the on-ramp to Interstate 20. He took the first exit right, and then left onto Warrenton Road South. Within four minutes of leaving his office, he skidded into Willow’s driveway. Mrs. Bray stood in the doorway to Willow’s house, waving frantically.

  “Oh Connor, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m really scared.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Bray hyperventilated and collapsed. Connor was able to catch her before she hit the floor. Seeing a sofa pillow in the hallway, Connor gently laid her on the floor, placing her head on the pillow. Quickly, he rushed to the kitchen, found a dish towel, wet it and returned to place the damp towel on her forehead.

  Within a few seconds, she regained consciousness.

  "Mrs. Bray I’ve already called 911 and the ambulance crew will be here to take care of you in a couple of minutes. You stay still. What happened here?”

  “I don’t know. I saw the door was slightly open this morning, so I walked over and discovered all this blood.”

  “When was the last time you saw Willow?”

  “Don’t know. A couple of days ago, I think.”

  “Okay, just stay still. I hear the ambulance’s siren now.”

  Immediately behind the ambulance came a Vicksburg police car with siren screaming and blue lights flashing.

  Mrs. Bray tried to get up.

  “Just lie there still and let the medics assist you.”

  “I’m okay. I don’t need any help.”

  Moments later, the medical technicians unloaded the gurney and rushed up the driveway.

  “Boys, I don’t need to be loaded onto that thing. I’m okay.”

  One of the emergency medical technicians said, “Please be still—we need to do a quick exam.” He checked her pulse and said, “Okay ma’am, you seem to be fine. Let me help you to your feet.”

  Mrs. Bray extended her hand.

  “Just give me a little help and I can get up on my own.” She stood and said, “See boys, I can walk.”

  “I wish you would let me help you to one of those lawn chairs out there.”

  “Will you get me some water?”

  “Yes ma’am. Take a deep breath and I’ll get you a bottle of water.”

  Connor and the policeman had been standing by without speaking for the past couple of minutes. The policeman broke the silence. “Man, this is a horrific crime scene. Everybody get outside immediately. Don’t put your hands on anything.”

  Turning his attention to Connor, the policeman asked, “What happened here?”

  Walking to the door with Mrs. Bray in tow, Connor said, “Mrs. Bray called me and that’s all I know.”

  “Sir, will you please step outside and take a seat with the lady over there?” asked the policeman. “I’m sure the sheriff will want to talk to both of you when he arrives.”

  Connor stepped through the doorway and helped Mrs. Bray onto the patio. He took a seat and asked,” When did you first notice that something wasn’t right at Willow’s house?”

  “Connor, I keep an eye on everything that comes and goes on this cul-de-sac. I know every time you come and what time you leave. I first noticed the door open while I was walking in my yard. I stuck my head in the doorway calling for Willow, when I noticed the blood and within minutes, I called you. I’m glad your number was posted by the phone.”

  “That was certainly the right thing to do—thank you.”

  The stillness of the morning was once again pierced by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. In a couple of minutes, the sheriff, four deputies and a crime scene investigator roared up the street. Seeing what appeared to be blood on the driveway, Sheriff Gatlin barked out orders to all of the officers to take special precautions to preserve the crime scene.

  “I want a complete photographic record of everything from the street, up the driveway, front, back and side lawns, outside walls and every inch of the inside. And I want blood samples taken from each room and every wall.”

  The crime scene detectives were well at work when Sheriff Gatlin approached Mrs. Bray and Connor.

  “Mrs. Bray, I’m Sheriff Gatlin. I need to ask you a few questions. Could we go into your house?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve got some fresh coffee if you want some.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Connor, why don’t you just hang out here for a few minutes? I want to hear your side of this story as well.”

  “Okay, sheriff.”

  Standing inside Mrs. Bray’s house, sipping on a cup of coffee and listening to her ramble, Sheriff Gatlin watched Connor through a gap in the curtains of the big picture window. He saw an uneasy look on Connor’s face as he watched the deputies process the scene.

  Gatlin called one of his deputies on his cell phone.

  “Go over and talk to Connor. Ask him a few routine questions. He seems awfully tense. I’ll be watching from inside Mrs. Bray’s house. She is a prime witness, but I think Connor is a prime suspect.”

  “Roger, sheriff.”

  In her sweet southern accent, Mrs. Bray asked, “Sheriff, would you like a piece of warm coconut crème pie?”

  “Yes Ma’am. That would be very nice.”

  Gatlin conti
nued to watch Connor as Mrs. Bray returned with a large serving of pie on her finest china.

  “Come sit at the table. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bray, but I think I’ll stand by the window. It is such a lovely day outside. You know, I need to get one of my investigators over here with a recorder so you can tell us all you know about the activities around Willow’s house. Would you do that?”

  Mrs. Bray, sensing an opportunity to be part of something big, said, “Oh, yes—just let me know what to do. I want to help.”

  “All you have to do is just tell us everything you can remember about people and cars around Willow’s house for the last month or so.”

  “Oh sheriff, I can’t remember as well as I used to, but I’ll do my best.”

  “That will be good enough.”

  As the deputy talked to Connor, Gatlin noticed how rigid Connor had become. His arms were folded tightly in a very defensive posture and his usual relaxed expression was replaced with a deep frown.

  The deputy asked, “Are you okay?”

  Connor took a deep breath. “I’m okay. Just a bit shaken up by all of this. What have you found? Do you know what happened here?”

  “We don’t know yet, except that a violent struggle occurred. When were you last here? Were you and Willow an item in town?”

  “I’ve known and worked for the McKenzie family most of my life; Rupert McKenzie treated me like a son.”

  “Yeah, but my question is when were you last at this house?”

  “Oh, it was three or four days ago.”

  “Three days or four?”

  “Why do you ask? Why is it so important that you know exactly when I was here? Do you think I’m guilty of something?”

  “In an investigation such as this, it’s good police work to learn as much and as quickly as we can about the people Ms. McKenzie might have had contact with. And by the way, you never did answer my question as to your personal relationship with her.”

  “She and I have dated on and off for many years.”

  “Does this mean that you were romantically involved or just a close acquaintance?”