Close to the Broken Hearted

by Michael Hiebert

  before Eli Brown took a shot at Mr. Carson and

  because of that the shot hit the child and not Mr.

  Carson, as Mr. Carson believes Mr. Brown intended.

  It is noted that Mr. Carson’s report is sketchy at best

  due to his understandable duress at the crime scene.

  What her pa had written for Preacher Eli was somewhat different from Tom Carson’s take on things:

  Eli Brown was found in his church next door to the

  property assumed to belong to Tom Carson kneeling

  in front of his altar praying. It took a long while to

  calm him down, and, once we did, he would not

  talk about the murder right away. His initial

  concern was about the land Tom Carson lives on.

  Mr. Brown claims that Tom Carson stole it from him

  eight years ago. When questioned about how he

  stole it, Mr. Brown said he didn’t know, but that

  the land belonged to his daddy and became his after

  his daddy passed. When questioned if he had

  documentation confirming this, Mr. Brown vaguely

  said there was no written will but a verbal

  agreement and everyone knew the land was church

  land. He further stated that for eight years he let Mr.

  Carson live on his land unmolested and only now

  wants it back in order to use it for a project. He

  claims to have told Mr. Carson he’s willing to pay

  Mr. Carson the same price Mr. Carson paid for the

  land when he purchased it back in 1963, a sum he

  remembers as being nine thousand dollars.

  (Mr. Carson later corroborated this sum, but stated

  that the land was worth at least ten times this much

  in today’s market. When told this, Mr. Brown went

  on to state that the thievery committed by Mr.

  Carson didn’t happen in today’s market and

  therefore should not be held to its prices.)

  When he finally talked about the murder, Mr.

  Brown confessed right away to the shooting of Caleb

  Carson so Officer Cody read him his rights. Mr.

  Brown apparently waived his right to remain silent

  (Officer Cody had to ask him three times if he

  understood that he was doing so) because he kept

  talking anyway, saying that what happened was such

  a terrible shame and that he did not mean to pull

  the trigger and never planned on killing no one. Not

  Tom Carson, he said, and especially not that little

  boy. After that, he fell into tears and it was impossible

  to get any more from him. So we cuffed him and

  brought him into the station.

  Leah had known the whole “Carson affair” was over some sort of land dispute; she just hadn’t known the details until now. There was one more report, taken from Caleb’s mother, but it didn’t differ much from that of Tom Carson’s. Strangely, Sylvie was never interviewed. Leah wondered why. There was hardly even any mention of her in the notes, just that she was there and had blood on her from the gunshot on account of where she’d been sitting. When that bullet got Caleb at such short range, it splattered pretty near the whole side of the kitchen.

  Details of the land dispute were now high on Leah’s list of things she wanted to know more about. Farther on in the file, she found an appraisal of the land. Tom Carson had estimated a bit high. The appraisal was dated June 15, 1971, and put the value of the land at forty-two thousand dollars. That was still a pretty nice gain from what he had purchased it for only eight years earlier. Still, back then land hadn’t skyrocketed yet the way it did in the eighties. Leah couldn’t even imagine what that ranch would be worth today. Probably over a quarter-million dollars.

  Where had that money gone? Even if the ranch had been sold as part of Tom Carson’s estate after his death, which Leah suspected it had, Sylvie should’ve gotten the money, but if she did, where was it? The girl showed no sign of having a pot to piss in.

  There was only one way to find out what had happened, other than asking Sylvie directly, which might not really help at all. Lifting her phone, Leah put a call in for financial records to be delivered to the station for Tom Carson’s ranch dating from the time of Caleb Carson’s death up to the time Tom Carson was found hanging from the oak tree in his back field. She also made a call to order a copy of Tom Carson’s tax returns during that time so she could get an idea of the ranch’s profit and losses.

  Meanwhile, Chris just went on reading his paper from his desk beside her.

  Continuing with the file, Leah found the property deed that Tom Carson had apparently complained didn’t exist. It was, in fact, his land, he owned it entirely, his being the only name on the certificate.

  What was missing was any clarification as to what this “institution” or project was that the notes taken at the crime scene referred to. Leah found that strange, too.

  “Chris?” Leah said, looking up at him. He actually had put his feet up on his desk. She could barely believe it.

  Chris looked at her over the top of his paper. “Mm?”

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need you to go pay Preacher Eli a visit and ask him a question for me.”

  “Can’t we just call ’im up on the phone?”

  “I want you to look into his eyes and make sure he ain’t lyin’.”

  “And you’re askin’ me because this is your pet project and . . . why?”

  “Because last time I went, the man nearly threw me off his property, that’s why. Come on, please? I think I found somethin’ important.”

  “What do you want me to ask him?”

  “Ask him what he planned to do with the land he wanted from Tom Carson eighteen years ago. It says in the report that he planned on buildin’ some sorta ‘institution.’ I wanna know what it was.”

  “Now why would Preacher Eli tell me anythin’?” Chris asked.

  “Cuz you’re a police officer, goddamn it. Now get off your ass and go. And get your feet off your desk. You ain’t at home.”

  Chris just laughed at her. He could tell she wasn’t actually mad. “You really think Preacher Eli’s up to no good?”

  “I dunno. I didn’t after I went and saw him, but now that I’ve read his file, I dunno. I just have a funny feelin’ there’s a lot more to the man than shows on the surface. Apparently, he has superpowers. He knows how to make things like property deeds disappear. At least until the police or the bank comes lookin’ for ’em, that is.”

  Chris stared at her a long minute. “You’re serious ’bout this.”

  “Somethin’s up, Chris. Maybe it’s all in the past, but there was definitely somethin’ dirty ’bout him. I just wanna make sure the past stays in the past. As for the magic powers, I’m guessin’ he had some inside help.”

  Chris laughed. “You mean like maybe God?”

  “I don’t think God would be the side I’d be choosin’,” she said.

  Chris might give the indication of not doing much at work, but the truth was he was a damn good cop. He noticed things most people missed and as he pulled into Eli Brown’s yard, he noticed a new car parked on the right side of Eli’s shack. Eli’s station wagon was parked on the left.

  Chris knew the car didn’t belong to Eli for a number of reasons. First, it was too new. Eli had been in prison seventeen years and this Toyota was barely four years old. Second, the tire tracks leading through the dirt in front of Eli’s house behind the car were fresh, so whoever drove it in did so recently. From what Leah told Chris about Preacher Eli, he wasn’t getting out much these days. And lastly, what the hell would Eli Brown need two vehicles for? He wouldn’t. His wife had been dead for four years. He lived alone.

  So this meant he had company, which just complicated things for Chri
s. Chris hated complications. With a huff, he got out of his cruiser, put on his hat, and closed the car’s door. He walked up the porch steps and knocked, expecting to see the aged face of the preacher man answer.

  Instead, a young kid, probably in his late teens, swung the door open.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” Chris said, trying not to appear too taken aback. “Is Eli Brown home?”

  “Yeah, sure. Hang on.”

  The kid left the door open and walked off into the house. A minute later Eli Brown appeared in the doorway and things became much more the way Chris expected them to be.

  “I already talked to you guys,” Eli said, his voice thin and reedy.

  “You haven’t talked to me,” Chris said. “I’m Officer Jackson.” He held out his hand for Eli to shake. Eli studied it a moment before taking it in his own.

  “What can I do for you, Officer? And is this gonna be a regular occurrence, the police showin’ up on my porch like this?”

  Chris laughed. “I hope not. It’s a long drive and not a lot to look at but trees.”

  The preacher didn’t return his laugh.

  Growing serious, since the laughing didn’t break the ice, Chris said, “I hope you don’t mind me askin’ you a few questions.”

  “I’m havin’ a game of rummy with my grandson, who drove all the way down here from Alabaster just to see me. I’d really rather not waste his time answerin’ your questions.”

  “They won’t take but a few moments, I assure you.”

  “What are they ’bout?”

  “Well, there’s only one, really. And it concerns something we found in the report taken at the crime scene during the whole Carson incident.”

  Preacher Eli looked back into a room, presumably the room where his grandson was sitting waiting for him to return and play cards. Then he opened the door fully and stepped out onto the porch. Chris had to take a step back to accommodate him.

  “Let me tell you somethin’,” Eli Brown said in a clipped whisper. “I don’t want any of that past bein’ dredged up, you hear me? I done my time. I don’t need this, and I certainly don’t deserve it.”

  Chris held up a hand. “I assure you, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s actually a question ’bout your intent.”

  Preacher Eli’s eyes narrowed. He studied Chris’s face. “My intent? What you mean?”

  “Well . . . the report says you was gonna use the land to build some sorta ‘institution,’ but nowhere in the file does it explain what you meant by ‘institution.’ We was all just wonderin’ if you could tell us what you had planned. We’re all just interested, is all.”

  The preacher continued analyzing Chris, as if unsure as to whether to take him seriously or not. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ll play. I planned on buildin’ an education complex.”

  “Education complex?”

  “Yeah. You know, like a private school. Baptist. Alvin doesn’t have a proper school that runs from kindergarten all the way to the twelfth grade so I was gonna give it one. I had the business plan, the blueprints, everythin’. I even had people ready to work on it. I was basically set to start diggin’. Then that whole fiasco happened.”

  Chris couldn’t believe he’d just referred to killing a three-year-old boy as a “fiasco.”

  “I see,” Chris said.

  “That answer your question?” Eli Brown said, his eyes once again narrowing. He tilted back his head and looked down his nose at Chris.

  “Yeah. That was it. Just the one.”

  “Good.” With that Preacher Eli walked back into his house and closed the door behind him.

  Chris angled into his squad car and backed out of Preacher Eli’s yard onto Hunter Road. Just before he got to the bridge, he radioed Leah back at the office. “Well,” he said, “his idea wasn’t half bad. He wanted to build an education complex. Basically provide a private school for Alvin that went from kindergarten to twelfth grade. Save kids having to take the bus all the way to Satsuma for high school.”

  They talked a bit more about it. He told Leah about the grandson.

  “What’s the grandson’s name?”

  “No idea. You told me to ask about the institution he was buildin’. That’s what I did. I ain’t goin’ back. The man gives me the willies.”

  “Fair enough.”

  When they were done talking, Chris added, “Oh, just before you go? There’s somethin’ you probably ought to know. Your son and his little friend are sittin’ across the street in the woods from Eli’s place with fir tree branches tied all over ’em with kite string. I think they’re havin’ a little stakeout.”

  Leah didn’t say anything for a good couple of seconds. “You sure it’s my son?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “Dear God. Does Eli know they’re there?”

  “I don’t think so. They actually did a pretty good job camouflagin’ themselves.”

  He heard her frustration right through the radio. “Okay, I’m on it.”

  Chris set the radio back in its cradle and smiled. No, not much got past him.

  CHAPTER 15

  The most exciting thing me and Dewey had spotted so far on our watch of Preacher Eli’s place was Officer Chris Jackson stopping by for some reason. We had no idea why he was there, but we did see Preacher Eli whisper something to Officer Jackson and then make a point of coming out on the porch to talk to him.

  We figured this was on account of the fact that someone else was over at the preacher’s house. Some guy who looked like a teenager who happened to answer the door when Officer Jackson knocked. I didn’t have any idea who the guy was. Now that I knew he was there, I was guessing the silver car parked out front of the house might belong to him since I didn’t remember seeing it when me and my mother came here. I figured this way of thinking was how detectives did their work. I was probably a natural detective.

  Luckily, me and Dewey were dressed as trees and hiding in the forest, because if Officer Jackson had seen us he’d probably have told my mother and she would likely have not thought my idea of spying on Preacher Eli was a good one. We didn’t see eye to eye on some things. I figured spying on people fell into the category of being one of those things.

  But Officer Jackson had left maybe fifteen or twenty minutes ago (I’d forgotten to check my watch) and, of course, hadn’t seen us. So we were in no danger of my mother finding out we were here. And Preacher Eli obviously didn’t know either, or he’d have undoubtedly told Officer Jackson about us. That made me feel quite a bit better.

  Since then, we hadn’t seen any sign of Preacher Eli or the other guy in the house. Wherever they were or whatever they were doing they were doing it in a room away from the front windows.

  “They’re probably makin’ plans,” I told Dewey.

  “What sorta plans?”

  “Not good ones.”

  But still, it would’ve been better if we actually got to see them from time to time.

  In fact, I was starting to get the feeling this whole idea might not have been my best idea. Worse yet, the only good part of it might turn out to have been Dewey’s invention of creating a method of making us invisible to anyone who happened by.

  That’s when a car stopped on the road right in front of where we were lying. I didn’t recognize the car right away because I wasn’t really bothering to look at it. After all, we couldn’t be seen, so the car must be doing its own business and was of no concern to us.

  At least that’s what I thought.

  Then I studied the car a little more closely as I heard the driver’s side door open. I actually did recognize this vehicle.

  It was my mother.

  I gulped. Had she come to see Preacher Eli again? What was she doing here? Why hadn’t she parked in his driveway?

  Then, as she came around the front of the car, I found out.

  “Abraham Teal! Get out of those woods right this instant!” She was nearly screaming. I wanted to shush her. Tell her to keep it down on accoun
t of she was going to attract the attention of Preacher Eli, but there was no shushing her. “How dare you do something like this?”

  I looked at Dewey. He looked at me. I still wasn’t sure she could see us, even though she seemed to be staring right at us. “You too, Dewey, get up! Come on! Now!”

  Slowly, we stood from where we were lying, both of us covered in fir tree branches tied to our body with kite string. “Oh my God! You look ridiculous! What the hell are you doin’?”

  “Watchin’ Preacher Eli,” I said quietly, still hoping not to be overheard across the street.

  “Chris was right. You are on a stakeout. Well, guess what? Your stakeout just ended. Where’s your bikes?”

  Dewey pointed to the ditch, down a little ways.

  “Nice,” my mother said. “You threw your bikes in the ditch. Go get ’em!”

  I started walking toward the ditch on the outside of the woods, but she stopped me.

  “Take those things off you first,” she said. “You look absolutely ridiculous.”

  I couldn’t undo Dewey’s knots. He had to take my branches off and then, using the garden shears, I had to take off his. Then we went and got our bikes. Dewey carried the shears. Halfway there, he turned around.

  “What are you doin’?” my mother asked him.

  “I left the roll of string in the woods,” Dewey said. “I need to put it back in my dad’s shed.”

  My mother let out a deep breath. “Go get it. But do it fast. You’re ridin’ home. I want you on your bike and down that hill in the next five minutes. Abe, you’re comin’ with me. Bring your bike up to the car. I’m throwin’ it in the trunk.”

  “Why can’t I go with Dewey?” I asked, climbing into the ditch. It was a very wide and deep ditch and getting my bike out wasn’t easy. Luckily, there was no water in it on account of all the sun we’d had lately.

  “Because I said so. Why do you have to spy on people?”

  I thought this over, but before I could answer she told me it was a rhetorical question. Then she clarified: “That means I don’t expect you to answer it. I expect you to think about it.” I didn’t really understand, but I knew when to keep my mouth shut.