Crown of Thorns (Nick Barrett Charleston series)

by Sigmund Brouwer

  a task as difficult as digesting solid food.

  Jubil jabbed a slice of cantaloupe with his fork. “I didn’t bother asking him who the client was. That’s not part of the deal. And he didn’t complain much when I didn’t give him much on you. ’Course, the whole time I’m thinking there’s a lot more going on than I know about from you. Especially when all you have for me is questions, not answers.”

  He stopped, made a face at a mouthful of grapefruit. “Especially with everything else happening. First, you bring a kid with no mother to the hospital, then clam up about it. And don’t think I’ve forgotten the deadline this afternoon. Then you send me after some punk who shows up dead. You ask me to look into a murder that happened forty years ago. You’ve got one PI on retainer, and I’d like you to tell me why when I get to that part. Plus, somebody else has another PI putting together a file on you. And there’s a voodoo woman I can’t track down no matter how hard I try.” He grinned. “Finally, a reaction. What nerve did

  I hit? Got to be the voodoo woman.”

  I shifted, trying to ignore the searing pain just above my right hipbone.

  “Grammie Zora,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Look, just because I didn’t file a report on the hospital baby doesn’t mean I twiddled my thumbs. You told me the connection was the other girl, the one with the medical bill you’re covering. Pretty simple, getting her name and address. More interesting when I match that to Zora Starr, voodoo legend on the streets. So

  I spend Monday trying to hook up with Zora, just to get some background, plus I’m curious as to why she’s not helping her granddaughter. She’s got a good reputation, and leaving the granddaughter alone in the hospital doesn’t fit in with that. I ask around the neighborhood. Go to the grocery store. Everyone knows Grammie Zora, but no one remembers seeing her. Angel’s been around plenty at the different places. But no Grammie. It’s been a month or two, my best guess, since Grammie Zora’s been seen. Word’s out she did some serious voodoo and is on the run. I’d like to ask a computer geek about it, but if he smells cop, I won’t get a thing.”

  “Send me,” I said.

  “You’re not on my good-person list right now.”

  Jubil stopped talking and returned to his breakfast. He ate in silence. I watched him in silence. The hum of business conversations filled the breakfast room. Occasionally, the ring of a cell phone interrupted all of it, sending people searching their pockets and purses until they realized it was someone else’s phone.

  Jubil pushed away his plate. “This afternoon’s deadline for the baby? That only applies to the baby. The other official business starts now. I’ve got an open file on the drowning murder

  of that kid in the Chevette. Looks like there might be a missing person case with Grammie Zora, only the granddaughter’s not reporting it. So we put the baby and the unknown mother aside until afternoon, when I expect you to come in and give me what you got. But starting now, I’m going to ask questions and you’re going to give me answers. That was our deal. As for the other

  official business, starting now, we can do it here over coffee, or you can follow me to the station. Me, I prefer here.”

  “Here’s good for me, too,” I answered. “Believe it or not, you were going to be my first call this morning. Something happened last night, and I need help. You decide if you’re going to make it official police business.”

  “My ears are open, pal, but my favor bank is closed.”

  “Fair enough. But I do have a question.”

  “No, you don’t. My answer bank is closed, too.”

  “Have you heard anything lately about secret vigilante attacks?” I said. “Like a weird KKK thing?”

  “What kind of smokescreen you throwing at me here?”

  “Weird, like baptizing and branding weird?”

  Jubil squinted at me. “Branding.” It wasn’t a question. He knew something. “You tell me what kind of branding.”

  My cell phone rang. I fumbled for it. The caller ID showed it was Kellie’s cell.

  “Don’t answer it,” Jubil said. “You tell me what kind of branding. We’ll start from there and work backward.”

  I didn’t answer the phone. My voice mail would pick it up.

  “I’ve kept some tape that was used on me last night,” I said. “I’m thinking maybe it will be a match to the tape used to keep Bingo’s hands on the steering wheel.”

  “What?”

  As calmly as I could, I described the events of the night before. I wanted this in Jubil’s hands. The decision what to do. Anything to give me a sense of protection. My calmness was forced; all I could think of was the feeling of helpless terror as they pulled down the top of my pants. I now understood why the others who had been branded kept the violation to themselves. Shame. The fear of the men returning. The fear of the blindness and the drowning and the searing pain of being branded. Jubil let me finish without interrupting.

  “We’ve got a lot more talking to do,” he said. By then, most of the area had cleared of businesspeople. Only an older tourist couple remained, the husband reading a copy of USA Today, his wife talking as if he weren’t.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Is it you on one side and me on the other? You know, question and answer, here or at the station, which do I prefer, bad cop routine. Or you going to relax some?”

  “I can go easier now. For now, you’re a victim. Not a possible perp.”

  “Comforting,” I said. “I feel I’m in good hands.”

  “The best.” He swirled his cold coffee in his cup. “Alright. This branding. Yeah, word on the streets is that some of the blacks acquitted in local cases have been attacked. But no one will come forward, so we haven’t been able to do anything

  about it. This might be a lead. I doubt they were dumb enough to register the room under a real name, but it will be worth

  a shot.”

  “I think the connection is with a church,” I said. “One just outside of town. The Glory Church of the Lamb of Jesus. But it’s not a church. It’s a cult. The preacher spent some time in prison. Heard he was involved in gang wars inside.”

  “Interesting,” Jubil said. “Got anything more?”

  “I should have told you this before. That kid Bingo? He’s the one that sent me out there.”

  “On what business?” Jubil was intense. “Don’t dream of holding back now.”

  Angel was in the clear on the painting. So I told Jubil about it.

  “Good,” he said. “Some of it is making sense. Anything else?”

  I shook my head. Retha and her boy were still my business.

  Despite the fact I had no idea where she was.

  **

  Retha was awake when the first crack of sunlight penetrated the window shades of her hospital room. The night before, a nurse had offered her painkillers. Retha had hidden the pills beneath her tongue and pretended to swallow, waiting until the nurse was gone before spitting them out. She wanted a clear head.

  Twice during the night, desperate to see her son, Retha had forced her aching body out of bed. Twice she’d made it down the hallway without fainting. Twice she’d seen nurses, lost her courage, and returned to her room.

  Billy Lee, a ward of the state?

  Sure, when she had him brought to the hospital, she had chosen that as a possibility for him over death. But now that he was alive and she had made her decision to leave Junior and the Glory Church, she could not bear the thought of losing Billy Lee to a total stranger.

  When Angel had returned with the news that Billy Lee would be discharged from the hospital today, it had thrown Retha into a panic. She knew she couldn’t pay for Billy Lee’s medical expenses, and she certainly could not claim him as her son.

  First of all, she’d have to prove she was his mother, and that might involve Junior. Retha definitely did not want Junior to find her or Billy Lee. Because then Shepherd Isaiah would know where they were and would send Elder Jeremiah after them. No, she
was free of the Glory Church and intended to stay that way. Second, she was afraid nobody would understand why she had abandoned her baby. And third, she was pretty sure she might get in trouble with the law for it, which was why she’d put mud on the license plates of Junior’s truck when she had first tried to bring Billy Lee to the hospital.

  Since she couldn’t openly claim Billy Lee now, Retha told herself as sunlight began to brighten her hospital room, that left only one option. She’d have to somehow take Billy Lee and escape with him before the state welfare authorities arrived at the hospital.

  The straw of hope that Retha had clung to during her sleepless night was the promise that Angel had made. “I’ll help you lady,” Angel had said when leaving the night before. “Don’t you worry. I stole plenty of things before. A baby should be no problem at all.”

  Retha had begun to believe that Angel had forgotten about her promise to help with Billy Lee. It was eight-thirty when she popped into the hospital room.

  “Hey,” Angel said, grinning from ear to ear. “Sorry it took so long. Had some things to do. You ready?”

  Angel set a large paper bag on the bed beside Retha. “Here’s some clothes like you asked.”

  Angel drew the curtain around Retha’s bed to let her change in privacy. A minute later, Retha swung her curtain open.

  “Looks good,” Angel said.

  She’d brought sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a big blonde wig, all taken from her mama’s closet. The clothes stretched tight on Retha, and the wig was twisted. Angel motioned for Retha to kneel and straightened the wig.

  Retha followed Angel through the door in silence. In the hallway, Retha saw a wheelchair.

  “What do you think?” Angel asked. “Will it be good for a getaway?”

  **

  Retha sat in the wheelchair. Angel pushed her down the hall of the children’s wing. They’d made it down and back once and were about to begin their second trip. With all the bustle of interns and orderlies and nurses and parents, nobody gave them a second glance.

  “Anytime now,” Angel said. “Really, anytime now.”

  She was right.

  Less than thirty seconds later, a high-pitched scream echoed from the nurse’s counter. It drew two other nurses, who began screaming at the sight of cockroaches roiling through papers and out from under the computer keyboard.

  “Let’s go,” Angel said. “We’ve got to make it fast without looking like we’re in a hurry.”

  Retha nodded.

  The screams continued.

  Angel guided the wheelchair into a nearby room. Retha nearly sobbed with joy at the sight of Billy Lee. She picked him up and cradled him.

  “Baby, baby,” Retha said. “I missed you so bad.”

  Angel tugged on the edge of Retha’s sweatshirt.

  “Later,” Angel said. “We don’t got time for that now.”

  Billy Lee gurgled.

  Angel had a soother ready. She plunked it in Billy Lee’s mouth as Retha pulled and placed Billy Lee onto her lap. Angel placed the blanket over Billy Lee.

  “Bye, Maddie,” Angel said to her sister in the other crib. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back later.”

  “Let’s go,” Angel told Retha. “Those cockroaches won’t last forever.”

  **

  I found Kellie waiting in a booth at the Sweetwater Café at ten-thirty, just as she had promised in the voice mail she left during my conversation with Jubil.

  “I didn’t hear back from you, but I thought I’d take a chance,” she said in sardonic greeting. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Just finished a meeting,” I said. Jubil had grilled me exhaustively. “It was easier to come straight here than call ahead. I figured if I didn’t find you here, I’d call.”

  I didn’t add that I had used the time walking here from the Doubletree to call Amelia and postpone until afternoon the midmorning date I had with her at the South Carolina Aquarium. So tempting, just to leave all of this to soak up every possible minute with Amelia.

  “You going to sit?” Kellie asked. “Or are you on your way somewhere else?”

  I answered by lowering myself into the booth. Again, the searing pain.

  “That’s a look of constipation,” she said.

  “It isn’t. Trust me.”

  “Never trust a client. Pop’s advice.”

  “Good advice.”

  Kellie leaned forward. “So I’ve got good news and bad news and good news and bad news.”

  “No different than the rest of my day.”

  “That woman you wanted me to find. The daughter of Celia Harrison? Good news, I found her. Bad news, she lives in Germany. Married some army guy and they transferred there a few years back. Good news, I tracked her down by telephone and she didn’t mind answering my questions. Bad news, it was about an hour-long call. Your expenses jumped some. Plus, because of the time difference, I had to call her about two in the morning. I’m billing you extra for keeping me up late.”

  “Sure.”

  “Agreeing implies you have a choice. You don’t.”

  “Sure.”

  “Ditto.” Kellie grinned.

  I liked it. I thought of the complications with Amelia. That took some of the pleasure out of enjoying Kellie’s smile.

  “Celia Harrison’s daughter remembers Timothy Larrabee and Agnes?” I asked.

  “Want the written report?”

  “I imagine you’re looking for another free meal. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to meet here. So order, then talk.”

  She did.

  “Her name is Jasmine,” Kellie said. “She was only about nine years old when all this happened, but she remembered it very clearly. And when she told me about it, I understood why. You will, too. I recorded the conversation for you.”

  Kellie pulled out a microcassette recorder. She clicked the play button and handed it to me.

  I lifted it close to my ear and listened to a woman in Germany tell me about events that had happened decades earlier.

  **

  “See, what happened was my mama had to bring me over one day, and me and Timmy started talking and playing. You know how kids do when they’re too young to understand that income level and skin color are reasons for people to keep apart from each other.

  “Except we didn’t play all that much—I mean, there was nothing for kids to do around that big old house, and looking back, I feel sorry for how he had to grow up with that mean old lady—and his talk was always pretty serious for a kid his age.

  “I can’t remember exactly what it was he did that one day, but I teased him, saying if he didn’t quit, I’d get Zora to lay a curse on him. He got real quiet and asked what did I mean, so

  I told him about the voodoo woman what lived in our neighborhood and that opened up a bunch of questions that he asked.

  “I explained and after, he said he wanted her to lay a curse on someone, but I said she always needed to be paid, and I thought that was the end of it. ’Cept a couple days later, he gave me this dusty little painting and asked would I take it to Grammie Zora to pay for what he wanted her to do.

  “I said sure, I wasn’t scared of Grammie Zora. She was old then, but I knew she was only mean if you got on the wrong side of her. So about a day after that, I brung him over to her house and she took us inside in front of her voodoo altar and asked him what did he want.

  “He said he wanted his own grandmother hexed. That surprised Grammie Zora and she said she didn’t know if she could do that, and Timothy, well, he busted out crying, saying that his grandmother whipped him plenty and he hated her.

  “Grammie Zora wouldn’t budge though. Said it wasn’t right to try to hex his grandmother, just because she was a little heavy with her punishment. That’s when all his tears stopped and he grew real still and quiet.

  “He said it was worse than that. ’Course, I was right there and listening to all of it with my eyes as wide as you can imagine. She asked him what it was that was worse, and he said he�
��d show her, right there. Then he looked at me and got real shy. He asked me to leave the room because he had to take off his shirt. So I went out into Grammie Zora’s kitchen and a few minutes later,

  I heard her start into a heavy hex on old lady Agnes. To this day,

  I wonder what it was.

  “And to this day, I don’t like Timothy Larrabee much, no matter what was done to him. Because a week or two after, he said I needed to help him. He said I had to start a fire for him.

  I told him no, was he some kind of crazy. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d tell his grandmother that it was me that stole the painting and once he did that, then my mama would lose her job and I’d go to jail.

  “So what I did was go into the Aimslick’s Hardware with him one morning and drop a lighted match on a pile of newspapers at the front. It started a fire alright, and there was hollering and old man Aimslick stamping on the papers with his feet to put the fire out, and a lot of smoke and confusion. When it was all done, there was Timothy Larrabee, standing out in front on the sidewalk, with a little smile on his face. He didn’t tell me why he made me do it, and I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t have anything to do with that boy after that; you can be sure.”

  **

  “Forty years ago,” I said after clicking the recorder off. “That’s the connection between Timothy Larrabee and Grammie Zora. He was ten. Grammie would have been in her forties then. And now, after all that time, in her eighties, she sends for him.”

  “Why?” Kellie asked.

  “Crown of thorns,” I said. “It’s only a guess, but things keep coming back to that phrase. Except it’s more than a phrase.”

  “You will explain, right?”

  “I’ll need three days of fees up front, and I don’t get started until the retainer check clears.”

  “How about instead of a retainer, I don’t apply any of my judo expertise to your stupidly grinning face.”

  “I will explain.” I told Kellie about Grammie Zora giving Bingo that phrase to bring Larrabee back to her house. I told her how Glennifer and Elaine had passed on the information about

  the Larrabee family using it as a brand a century and a half earlier. And although I didn’t want to tell her about the humiliation of the torture of the night before, I did have something else for her.