Leftover Dead

by Jimmie Ruth Evans

  There was an item about the body in the April twenty-fourth issue. It didn’t say much—just that the body of a young woman had been found on the football field at the high school. There was no mention of the person who found the body. The Sheriff’s Department was investigating, and that was about it.

  Jack laid that issue aside and began looking through the one for April twenty-fifth. The case earned a little more coverage on this date. The Sheriff’s Department had thus far not been able to identify the young woman, estimated to be eighteen to twenty years old. No one in town had come forward with any information by press time, and anyone who might know something was asked to call the Sheriff’s Department.

  The twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh were weekend days that year, and the local paper didn’t publish on the weekends. On the twenty-eighth, the paper stated that the Sheriff’s Department was questioning someone in connection with the case, but that was it.

  Jack turned and looked up at Wanda Nell. “So far I sure don’t see anything worth stealing the microfilm over, do you?”

  “No. It sure is strange.”

  With a sigh, Jack picked up the next issue. The headline leaped out at them: “Tullahoma man questioned in murder.” Jack and Wanda Nell quickly scanned the item. According to the paper, the Sheriff’s Department had questioned one Roscoe Lee Bates extensively in the case, but no charges were pending against Mr. Bates, age nineteen.

  “At least we have a name now,” Wanda Nell said, relieved. “That’s who Ernie was talking about. Didn’t she say he disappeared?”

  Nodding, Jack laid the issue aside and unfolded the next one, April thirtieth. There was nothing about the murder on the front page, nor was there anything on the other pages. The May first issue was also devoid of any mention of the murder. Jack pushed the remaining few issues aside. There seemed little point in looking any further.

  “I guess we know when the cover-up set in,” Wanda Nell said. She walked around the desk and sat back down in her chair.

  “Find anything?” Ernie asked as she came back into the room. She was holding a file folder, her face alight with curiosity.

  “We found one thing,” Jack said. “The name of a young man the Sheriff’s Department questioned in connection with the case. Then coverage of the murder stopped abruptly April twenty-ninth. We looked at April thirtieth and May first, and there was nothing.”

  Ernie resumed her seat, brandishing the folder. “That fits with the information I have here.” She glanced from Jack to Wanda Nell. “This is a file of some of the records we keep on the provenance of donations to the Historical Society. I wanted to check the records for the copies of the paper we’ve received. I thought I remembered something odd.”

  “Like what?” Wanda Nell asked.

  “I was pretty sure I remembered that when we received the papers from the library, there were some gaps in what they had.” Ernie held up her file folder again. “And, sure enough, I remembered correctly. The issues you just looked at were missing, along with a few others here and there over the years.”

  “So where did these come from then?” Jack asked.

  “From the father of one of the Historical Society members,” Ernie said with a brief smile. “A real pack rat. He had every issue of the paper going back to when it was founded, in 1903.”

  “Thank the Lord someone had kept them,” Wanda Nell said.

  “Exactly. The fact that those issues”—Ernie pointed toward the stack of newspapers on the desk in front of Jack—“were missing from the library’s set makes it pretty obvious someone really wanted to try to erase as many traces of the murder as possible.”

  “Thanks to an elderly pack rat, they didn’t quite succeed,” Jack said.

  Ernie smiled. “Even pack rats have their uses.” She waved a hand around. “Otherwise this house would hold a lot less local history than it does.”

  Wanda Nell grinned. “Then the next time I clean out my house, I’ll know where to send the stuff I want to get rid of.”

  “You never know what we might want,” Ernie said. “Now, what was the name of the young man the Sheriff’s Department was questioning? I still can’t quite dredge it up.”

  Jack glanced down at the issue of the newspaper with the information. “Roscoe Lee Bates, age nineteen.” He looked up again. “Did you know him? You said something about a suspect disappearing.”

  Ernie leaned back in her chair. “Roscoe Lee Bates. So that’s who it was.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember his name. Yes, I knew him. At least briefly, I should say. He was in one of my classes at the high school for about three months, and then he dropped out of school.”

  “When was that?” Wanda Nell asked. “Was it when the murder happened?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I think it was probably the year before that. The boy was average, but he never applied himself all that much. He could have graduated if he’d put a little effort into it, but he just gave up partway through his senior year.”

  “Can you think of any reason the police might consider him a suspect?” Jack asked. “I mean, was he known to be a troublemaker, or anything?”

  “Not really. Now that we’re talking about him, I’m remembering more and more. No, he was basically a good boy, just lazy. He also had difficulty making good decisions, so he occasionally got in trouble—nothing really serious, though.” She cocked her head to one side and stared into space. “He was a very handsome boy, and so he always had plenty of girls buzzing around him even though he was pretty quiet most of the time. He certainly liked girls, so I can easily imagine his chatting up a stranger in town, especially if she was pretty.”

  “There must have been some kind of connection, then, between him and the dead girl,” Wanda Nell said. “You don’t think the Sheriff’s Department would have picked somebody at random, do you?”

  “I’d sure hate to think they’d stoop that low,” Ernie said. “But if somebody in town with a lot of money and influence was willing to pay, the sheriff at that time might have been bought off.”

  “Who was the sheriff back then?” Wanda Nell asked. “I was only about ten or eleven, and I sure don’t remember.”

  Ernie’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I hate to say it, but he was a distant cousin of mine. Claude Carpenter. He had the morals of an alley cat, and was as venal as they come. It was a shameful day for this county when he was elected sheriff, let me tell you.”

  “Was he in office very long?” Jack asked.

  “A couple of terms,” Ernie replied. “Then he had a heart attack and died, just when he was about to run for a third time.”

  “So we can’t question him,” Jack said, sighing.

  “No, but one of his deputies might still be around. I’m sure Elmer Lee can check on that. One of them might be able to tell you something. If they weren’t paid off, too, that is.”

  “Let’s get back to Roscoe Lee Bates,” Wanda Nell said. “About his disappearing. What do you think happened?”

  “Do you think he could have been murdered, too?” Jack asked.

  “I suppose it’s possible. But I think it’s just as likely that he ran off because he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. He came from a poor family, and I seem to recall that his father wasn’t around, just his mother and a younger sister.”

  “He would have made a pretty convenient scapegoat then,” Jack said.

  “Exactly. Too young, too inexperienced, not bright enough, and certainly with no influence—he would have been a prime target if someone wanted to frame him for the murder.”

  “He also could have done it, you know,” Wanda Nell said. “Although if he had, it seems kind of silly for anyone to go to the extremes of covering it up when they had the killer all along.”

  “Maybe, honey,” Jack said. “Maybe he was the killer. But maybe someone in town was more afraid of something else.”

  “Like what?” Ernie asked.

  “Who the girl really was. To m
e, that’s the simplest explanation. If there’s any way to find out why she came to Tullahoma, I think we’d find the key to the whole situation.”

  “Maybe she wanted something from somebody here”—Ernie continued Jack’s train of thought—“and that someone wasn’t willing to give it. That person killed her, and Roscoe Lee Bates looked like an easy scapegoat.”

  “But if he disappeared, it would be a lot easier for the whole thing to just fade away,” Wanda Nell said.

  She, Jack, and Ernie looked at each another. “It’s certainly plausible,” Ernie said.

  “But in order to find out what the dead girl wanted here in Tullahoma,” Jack said, “we’re going to have to find out who she was.”

  “Yes,” Wanda Nell said. “And how are we going to do that?”

  Jack turned to Ernie. “You mentioned that this Bates boy had a mother and a sister. Are they still in Tullahoma?”

  Ernie thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Bates died many years ago. I don’t know about the sister. I seem to recall she married someone local before her mother died, but at the moment I can’t think of his name. I certainly haven’t run across her in a long time, and I have a pretty good memory for former students.” She smiled at Wanda Nell.

  “You sure do.” Wanda Nell smiled. “So you taught this girl?”

  “Yes, and I think she was three or four years younger than her brother. Her name was Sandra.” She paused. “Sandra June Bates. Her mother’s name was June, I believe.”

  Wanda Nell exchanged glances with her husband. “Now I guess we have to track down Sandra June Bates. She’s our only link to her brother, and if we can find her, she might know something about what happened to him.” Jack crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “But how are we going to find Sandra Bates?”

  “First off,” Ernie said, “I’ll do my best to remember who it was she married. Once you have that name, it should be easier. Of course, she could have been married and divorced seven times since then, but hopefully she won’t be that hard to trace.”

  Wanda Nell stood up. “Once again, Ernie, you’ve been tremendous help.”

  Ernie smiled at her former student. “It’s my pleasure, of course, Wanda Nell.” Her smile faded. “I hate to think of that poor girl lying somewhere nameless, unavenged. If I can do anything to correct that, I’ll be proud to do it.” She stood.

  “That’s how we feel,” Jack said.

  “Hang on a second.” Wanda Nell was struck by a sudden thought. She stared into space for a moment. “What happened to the girl’s body? Would they have buried her somewhere?”

  “Good point, honey,” Jack said. “In big cities, they often keep unclaimed bodies in the morgue for years. But here, well, I don’t know.” He looked at Ernie. “What do you think?”

  Ernie frowned. “They might have turned her body over to the state, but I’m thinking that if someone went to such great lengths to cover this all up, she was probably buried in town or somewhere nearby. And probably in an unmarked grave.”

  “That’s awful,” Wanda Nell said around a sudden lump in her throat. The thought of such a careless burial struck her as particularly sad. Jack slipped an arm around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “It is.” Ernie’s voice huskier than usual. “She deserves better than that.”

  “We have to find her, Jack.” Wanda Nell lifted her head and looked into Jack’s eyes. “And give her back her name.”

  “We will, honey. One way or another, the good Lord willing, we’ll do that for her.”

  Eight

  On the drive home from the Historical Society, neither Jack nor Wanda Nell found much to say. Wanda Nell was still gripped by the image of an unmarked grave, and that grieved her.

  “Surely somebody, somewhere knew her,” she said, startling Jack.

  “Yes. She had a life somewhere else.”

  “I wonder why someone didn’t come looking for her,” Wanda Nell said. “Don’t you think it’s strange that nobody did?”

  “As far as we know, honey, nobody came looking for her. But the sad fact is, young women—and young men, too, for that matter—go missing all the time, and a lot of them are never found. Some people disappear because they want to, and this girl could have been one of them. Why, I don’t know. But it happens all the time.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Wanda Nell said, feeling even sadder. “This sure is a depressing case.”

  “Yes. It’s pretty damn awful, all the way around. And I guess that’s one reason I’m even more committed to try and figure it out. For the sake of some nameless, faceless girl.”

  “That’s the best reason there is,” Wanda Nell said with a sad smile at her husband.

  Jack nodded. “This morning, when Gus told me about it, all I could think about at first was what an interesting subject for a book it would make. But now it’s much more than that. Even though we have no idea who she is at this point, I feel like I have a duty to do what I can to make things right for her.” He shook his head. “At least as right as you can, after all this time.”

  Jack pulled his car in behind Wanda Nell’s in their driveway, and for a moment they sat, the motor still running. With a sigh Jack switched off the air conditioner and then the ignition.

  Wanda Nell didn’t wait for him to open her door. She got out and followed him up the stairs to the door of the trailer. Jack unlocked it, and Wanda Nell preceded him inside.

  “What are you going to do now?” Wanda Nell asked as she set her purse down on the table near the door.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to do some work on this, but if you need me to help with something, it can wait.”

  Wanda Nell smiled. “No, you go ahead. I’ve just got some laundry to finish, and I don’t mind doing it by myself.”

  Jack gave her a quick kiss before disappearing down the hall to his study. Wanda Nell knew she probably wouldn’t see him for a couple of hours. When he was working, he got so focused he lost all track of time.

  Wanda Nell headed for the small utility room close to their bedroom. She switched on the light and began loading the washing machine. Once that was done, she pulled a load of whites from the dryer and began folding them.

  As her hands performed a task they knew all too well, Wanda Nell let her mind wander over the events of the day. It seemed like longer, but it had been only this morning when Jack first told her about the case. They had certainly made some progress today, despite the best efforts of someone to cover it all up.

  There were still big obstacles in the way, though. Who was the dead girl? And why had she come to Tullahoma? Wanda Nell sighed and stacked a newly folded towel on top of the others she had done.

  If they could find Sandra June Bates, and if she knew what had happened to her brother, they might have a good chance of figuring this thing out. If he knew something, that is, and hadn’t been picked at random to be the scapegoat.

  If, if, if. Wanda Nell frowned. Too many of them at this point, but she knew that wasn’t going to stop Jack, and it certainly wouldn’t stop her, either. With Ernie Carpenter on their side, she reflected, they surely couldn’t fail. Ernie had the determination and drive to help them see it through.

  Before they had left the Historical Society, Ernie had promised to do whatever she could to help. Wanda Nell, struck by a sudden inspiration, suggested looking through the newspapers to find an announcement of Sandra June Bates’s wedding. Ernie said she would look, but she doubted she’d find anything. The Bates family wasn’t the kind to pay for a wedding announcement in the paper, and she didn’t think Sandra June Bates had married a man whose family would have done it, either.

  “But I promise I’ll look,” Ernie said, “and who knows? We might get lucky. Or else I’ll finally dredge up the boy’s name from my memory.”

  Wanda Nell smiled fondly. Ernie did have an amazing memory, especially for her former students. If she couldn’t remember this one person, he probably hadn’t been a student.
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  Jack had already mentioned going through the records at the county courthouse, because if Sandra June had been married in Tullahoma County, the marriage license would be on file. He was planning to do it on Monday.

  There was no need for Jack to do that, Wanda Nell realized. Her son, T.J., could easily do it for him. In his work with his partner, Tuck, T.J. often did research of this kind at the courthouse. They knew him there, and no one would pay much attention to him. Jack, however, had rarely done this, and if he wanted to keep a low profile for as long as possible on this case, then it would be better to have T.J. do the job.

  Wanda Nell laid aside a hand towel and went to the kitchen. She picked up the phone and punched in the number of T.J.’s cell phone.

  After three rings, T.J.’s voice came on the line. “Hey, Mama, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, honey, how about you?” T.J. sounded more and more like his father all the time. She pushed that thought away.

  “Pretty good. We’re just relaxing a bit before deciding what to do for dinner.”

  “He means deciding which one of us is going to cook it,” Tuck said, his voice surprising Wanda Nell.

  “You’d better do it,” Wanda Nell said. “I’m not sure T.J.’s learned enough yet.”

  Tuck laughed, a rich, warm sound, and Wanda Nell could easily picture his handsome face as he gazed lovingly at her son. “I don’t know, he’s a pretty fast learner. He’s at least picked up on how to boil water.”

  Wanda Nell heard the sounds of a brief scuffle as T.J. recaptured the phone. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Mama,” he said, laughing. “And just for that, he’s going to have to cook dinner and clean up afterward.”

  “You two are something else,” Wanda Nell said, trying not to laugh. “You be good, and help.”

  “Yes, Mama,” T.J. said, in his best good-boy voice. “Now, did you have some reason for calling other than to tell me to behave?”

  “I did. I was hoping you’d do a little work for Jack on Monday, if you have time.”