Dead South (Mattie O'Malley FBI agent)

by Daniel Adams

  Three bullet holes in the stomach.

  Mattie instantly breathed a sigh of relief that she had done the crime scene right instead of letting the Sheriff talk her out of it. There were a few things she could have done better but overall, she had done a great job.

  “He was shot first—three times,” Andrew said unnecessarily. Everyone there saw the three bullet holes.

  “Same place Noonan was shot,” Deputy Frank suggested.

  “Same number of times, too,” added Deputy Dave.

  “Was he shot here?” Sheriff Wilks asked Andrew.

  “Over by the tractor,” Mattie interjected. “He was dragged to the baler from there.”

  All of them looked at her like she was some sort of specimen.

  “How do you know that?” Deputy Clyde asked.

  “Hey, I’m askin’ the questions,” Sheriff Wilks snapped. “You want to ask ‘em, run for Sheriff.”

  Mattie held up a clear plastic evidence bag. Three deformed slugs rested on the bottom of the bag.

  “Cause I have the slugs and you can see where his heels dragged across the floor.”

  The Sheriff held out his hand.

  “Let me see them,” he ordered.

  “You can see them but I’m holding them for evidence,” she replied.

  “It ain’t a federal case.” Sheriff Wilks was very unhappy with her. She didn’t give a damn because he could have done the crime scene investigation but chose to let her do all of the work. So Henny Penny was going to keep the goodies.”

  “If this related to the Noonan shooting it’s a federal case,” she needled him.

  “You was holdin’ out on us. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Cause like you pointed out on the brass I found at the river, they could have been shot any time.”

  Andrew emptied Paxton’s front pants pocket onto the floor. No one was surprised to see a handful of rubbers.

  “He sure was an optimist.” Mattie exclaimed.

  “I ain’t yieldin’ jurisdiction yet,” the Sheriff argued.

  “If not Noonan, who else wanted Paxton dead?”

  The Sheriff scratched his head. No one else spoke up.”

  “FYI, Noonan was still unconscious yesterday afternoon when I tried to interview him—as in he was in a coma—not just asleep,” she told them.

  Mattie knelt beside Paxton’s head, looked very closely at his hair. After a few seconds, she pulled out several wood splinters.

  “You want these?” she asked the Sheriff.

  “Just wood splinters off the floor. Ain’t nothin’ special.”

  She bagged and tagged the splinters.

  “Andrew, can you give me an approximate time of death?”

  Mattie noticed the Sheriff didn’t say “give us” a time of death. She wasn’t on the team. Just the men.

  “’Round midnight, twelve thirty,” he pronounced. “Half hour either way.”

  That explained the condition the body was in. He had been dead nearly twelve hours.

  “You got anything else you found?” Sheriff Wilks asked her.

  Mattie dug around in her shoulder bag and came up with a sealed evidence bag. She held it up. Inside was a bloody gauze bandage.

  “What is it?” Deputy Frank queried. He was too far away to see clearly.

  “Bloody bandage. Like the kind they use in hospitals,” she responded.

  “Where’d you find it?” the Sheriff wanted to know.

  She pointed. “Behind those hay bales.”

  The Sheriff thought about it, then spoke. “Frank, you and Dave stay here. Clyde you come with me. We’re gonna have a little talk with Noonan.”

  “Not without me, you aren’t,” Mattie bristled.

  “Don’t get your undies in a bunch!” the Sheriff snapped. “You can follow us in your car. Andrew, call if you find anything else.”

  “Shur nuff.”

  Mattie followed the Sheriff and Clyde out to the cars. Moments later she had the accelerator to the floor to keep up with Sheriff Wilks as he hauled ass to town.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On the way back to town, Mattie had time to look over the countryside. East of Kingswood, the grassy flats across from the river gave way to some low hills that stretched east as far as the eye could see. Most of the flat land near the river was planted with a variety of crops. Even though she hadn’t been raised on a farm, Mattie knew a few things about the farm world. She saw wheat, watermelons, corn and soy and some fields she thought might be peanuts. It was late enough in the season so most of the crops were ripe. The wheat was still a little green and she knew it had to be dead and yellow before the farmers would bring in the combines to cut it. Actually, most of the farmers probably didn’t own combines any more. They hired out the work to custom farmers who followed the ripening crops all across the U.S. The average small farmer couldn’t afford a $200,000 combine so the custom farmers were a blessing.

  She planned to buy a fresh watermelon from one of the farmers but knew she would take endless ribbing from the deputies if they found out about it. She had seen several small fruit stands next to farmhouses on the way out. Evidently, it had been too early for the stands to be open on her way out, so she was watching for one to be open so she could stop a moment. She was tired of butting heads with the Sheriff and hoped their relationship would cool down so they could work the case without acrimony. Both of them were proud which explained why they had crossed swords so early. Only one person could run the show and both of them wanted to be that person. He felt she was the intruder who wanted to boss everything while she felt he was a dinosaur who would cut enough corners that it would jeopardize the investigation. Both had some elements of truth to them.

  She had come to Kingswood for a couple of reasons. First of all, her supervisor had told her if she took the assignment, he would support her request to transfer to San Diego where her mother and father lived. Both were ill and in Jackson, she was only able to see them twice a year. Second, she was coming off a bad break-up. She and Keith had been going together a little over four years. He was an agent, too and the relationship had been great for both of them. They had moved in together a year earlier with the intent being to consider marriage in a year or two. With their combined salaries, life had been good although he tended to hold more of “his” money than she did “her” money. As far as she knew things were going great until one day she found him in a hotel room with one of the secretaries. It had been a huge blow to her confidence—oh, and talk about trust issues. She no longer trusted men like she had before her little discovery. Later that day, when he came home, she had given him two words: Get out! It had taken a couple of months just for her to get used to the fact she was single again. It hadn’t slowed him down at all. Six months after the break-up he married the secretary. So, every day she had to see both of them in the office, which is why she had decided to ask for the transfer. After this assignment, the odds were good she would be transferred to San Diego.

  She followed Sheriff Wilks’ car through several neighborhoods before she recognized Doctor Flint’s street. She parked behind Sheriff Wilks’ car then hurried across the lawn to catch up with Sheriff Wilks and Deputy Clyde at the door. Deputy Clyde, who was behind the Sheriff, let the door slam in front of her instead of holding the door open for her like a gentleman. What was she expecting, she asked herself. These yokels could barely put two words together let alone learn the finer points of etiquette. She opened the door for herself and continued after them. This time there were a couple of local people, waiting for the doctor. All were heavy and all looked like they hadn’t ever missed a meal. One of them hadn’t bothered to change his shirt, which was spotted with whatever it was he had eaten for lunch. From her perspective, it looked like there was enough left on his shirt for a light meal

  They found Doctor Flint in the back room with Noonan who was awake and eating something out of a cup while Doctor Flint checked his IV line. True to his word, Doctor Flint wore clo
thing that had come from some sort of thrift shop. When he saw them come in, his face got serious quick.

  “I assume this isn’t a social call,” he joked.

  “We need to talk to Noonan,” the Sheriff said.

  Sheriff Wilks stood over Noonan, stared down at him until Noonan stopped eating out of the cup.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. He’s lost a lot of blood and he just came out of the coma about two hours ago. Course you don’t care what I think so he’s all yours.”

  Doctor Flint smiled at Mattie who patted his shoulder.

  “It’s good to see you,” she whispered.

  “What are you doing with these mutts?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Official business,” she whispered back.

  Noonan looked up from his cup, fear very clear in his eyes. A visit from the Sheriff was no little thing.

  “What’s up? Sheriff?” he gulped.

  “How you feelin’, Noonan?”

  Noonan was getting more nervous by the second. He pulled the sheet up under his chin.

  “Like somebody ran a cattle prod through my guts and forgot to take it out.”

  The Sheriff scanned the area around Noonan’s bed.

  “You been up?”

  “Once, to go to the bathroom. Hey, what’s this about, Sheriff? I’m the victim, right? Paxton shot me.”

  Mattie saw how effective questioning can be when the suspect knows the cops can do anything to him that they want to. Noonan was so scared he would probably admit he was Hitler in disguise.

  “Once to the bathroom.” He saw the look on Sheriff Wilks’ face. “I ain’t lyin’.”

  Deputy Clyde stepped around the bed and leaned down over Noonan.

  “You always lied before, why should we believe you now?”

  “Cause, I’m too sick to lie.”

  “In my professional opinion, that’s probably true,” Doctor Flint said. “I gave him a general anesthesia while I operated on him. It won’t wear off for at least a week.”

  “Thanks, Doc, but we have reason to believe he’s lyin’” Deputy Clyde asserted.

  “Were you here last night, Doc?” Sheriff Wilks asked.

  “On and off. I checked him a couple of times.”

  “What about between 11:30 P.M. and 12:30 P.M.?”

  Deputy Clyde leaned so far down over the bed that his face was nearly touching Noonan’s face. Sweat broke out across Noonan’s brow. Cold fear clouded his eyes. He didn’t know what was going on but he knew he was in trouble.

  Doctor Flint picked up Noonan’s chart. After studying it a moment, he shook his head.

  “I checked him at 11:00 P.M. and 1:30 P.M. He was unconscious both times.”

  “How do you know if someone is really unconscious or just faking?” Sheriff Wilks asked without taking his eyes off of Noonan.

  “I look at their eyes. If I shine a strobe into a normal person’s eyes, their pupils contract. The can’t help it. It’s the brain responding to a stimulus. When I shown the light into Noonan’s eyes, his pupils didn’t contract. No way to fake that.”

  With a catlike move, the Sheriff snatched the sheet off of Noonan, exposing his gown that was splotched with blood.

  “Son of a bitch,” Doctor Flint exploded. He quickly checked out Noonan to see if he was bleeding.

  “Noonan, are you bleeding anywhere?” Doctor Flint asked.

  “Don’t know, Doc.”

  Doctor Flint checked the splotches then pulled aside the gown to reveal a large bandage that covered most of Noonan’s stomach. He checked every part of the bandage.

  “I can’t find where he’s bleeding,” he said.

  “Ain’t his blood,” Deputy Clyde sneered.

  “What’s that mean?” Doctor Flint questioned him.

  “Last night, someone shot Paxton three times in the guts then threw him in a baling machine,” Sheriff Paxton stated flatly. “I’m gonna need that gown,” he told Doctor Flint.

  Mattie had stayed out of it mostly because she wanted to watch Noonan a while to figure him out. She walked over to the bed and picked up his bathroom slippers.

  “It weren’t me that shot him, Sheriff. I was gonna shoot him as soon as I got out of here but I can barely go to the bathroom. You got to believe me, I’m too weak to do anything.”

  When Mattie turned over the slippers, the whole room grew still. Big splotches of blood covered the bottoms of both slippers.

  “Did he get that blood on them slippers goin’ to the bathroom, Doc?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Noonan, we’re movin’ your bed over to the jail. You’re under arrest.”

  “This ain’t right, Sheriff.”

  “Can you tell me how the blood got on your gown and slippers?”

  “Somebody’s framin’ me, only thing it can be.”

  “Who, Noonan?” Deputy Clyde sneered. “Who would want to frame you?”

  Noonan didn’t say anything more. Mattie saw tears in his eyes and wondered if he really was innocent. She started to ask him something—something that might have freed him but instead, the door banged open and a dozen men with rifles, shotguns and pistols barged into the room. She and Sheriff Wilks quickly stepped between the men and Noonan. The group included Jubal, Poptop, Wade, A.J. Morris and some other men she recognized from the parade. They were all loud and obnoxious, fueled no doubt, by big shots of shine to bolster their courage. They stopped a few feet from Sheriff Wilks and Mattie noticed they all carried their guns like farm tools not weapons. To add credence to her belief they were all drunk, she saw that Jubal’s face was a bright shade of red.

  “We come for the son of a bitch who killed my boy,” Jubal yelled. “You step aside, you won’t get hurt.”

  Sheriff Wilks shook his head in disbelief.

  “Ain’t you learned nothin’ about me, Jubal?” he snarled. “Who do you think you are and what the fuck do you think you’re doin’? You know damn well I ain’t gonna give him to you. Now, get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper and do somethin’ you’ll all regret.”

  Jubal glanced behind him, gaining confidence from the others with him.

  “We got you outnumbered, Sheriff. Ain’t no way you can stop us from takin’ him. If you think this here nigger is gonna slow us down, you’re nuts. She ain’t even got her gun out.”

  Jubal started to raise his shotgun. “I’ll bet you I can—“

  In a flash too fast for the mind to comprehend, Mattie drew her Glock pistol and aimed it at Jubal’s forehead. It was so fast no one saw it happen. One microsecond she was standing there, the next, she had the 9MM Glock pressed against Jubal’s forehead. For those who saw her draw that day, it was so unbelievable that it was all they talked about for the next few months. Word spread through Kingswood and surrounding community and it was just about all they talked about at the barbershop.

  “You move that shotgun and I'm gonna splatter your brains all over the dumb fucks behind you,” she threatened.

  Jubal swallowed hard. He wasn’t even sure what had happened only that he was face to face with a cocked 9MM. His shotgun wasn’t even close to pointing at her.

  “You still wanna bet, Jubal or do you want to go home and change your shorts?”

  Jubal looked down. A dark stain widened on the front of his pants. He felt pee trickle down his leg.

  “Come on, you cowards. Let’s dance. I’ll bet one hundred dollars I can get all of you before Jubal’s head hits the ground.

  No one wanted to take the bet. Jubal backed a couple of steps away from her.

  “You boys are makin' me look bad in front of the FBI. Now I gots to shoot one of ya so she don't think I'm yella. Who’s it gonna be?”

  There were no volunteers. What Mattie did next would be the talk of the town for years to come. Without a word, she holstered her gun. It was so mind-blowing, the men just couldn’t comprehend it. Jubal still had his shotgun pointed ominously near her head but she didn’t care. That could only mean one
thing. She wasn’t worried about him or them. Even Sheriff Wilks was taken aback.

  “He killed my boy, Sheriff. Shot him down like a dog.”

  “And he’s gonna go to trial. That’s how it works,” Sheriff Wilks responded. With one hand on his pistol, Sheriff Wilks looked over the men. His eyes stopped on Wade. In one smooth motion, he brought up his pistol and shot Wade in the leg. Wailing, Wade hit the floor, thrashing around like a landed carp.

  “Who’s next?” the Sheriff hollered.

  With a mad rush, the men rushed for the door, trampling each other and throwing elbows so as not to be the last one out. They figured, and rightly so, Sheriff Wilks might shoot someone else.

  As the last man went through the doorway, Sheriff Wilks brought up his pistol. With an evil grin, he shot again, sending a bullet slicing along the man’s butt cheek.

  “YOW!” he bellowed but he didn’t stop.

  “Clyde, help Wade up on that table. Doc, how long to patch him up?”

  “About half an hour.”

  “Clyde, soon as he's done, you bring Wade over to the jail. He's gonna do two weeks for threatenin' an FBI. And Clyde, next time something like this happens, you better step up, or I'll shoot you myself.” He looked down at Noonan. “You want to walk over to the jail or have us carry your bed?

  “I ain’t lyin’ to you, Sheriff. I can’t walk that far.”

  “Clyde, cuff him to the bed. I’ll send someone over to get him.”

  “I’m gonna collect some evidence,” she told Sheriff Wilks.

  “Honey, I ain't never seen no one draw a pistol that fast. Man, it gives me goose bumps.”

  “You think that’s something, Sheriff. You ought to see me shoot.”

  Doctor Flint looked across the table at her. “I can use some help, if you don’t mind being a nurse a while.”

  “Just tell me what to do.”

  Sheriff Wilks left.

  “I’m not going to work on him here. We have to get him to my operating room.”

  “Am I gonna die, Doc?” Wade asked, his voice shaking with fear.