Secrets in the Lowcountry--The River

by Janet Cooper

  “Definite identification, Sheriff Trotz?”

  “Definite!” he responded as he walked within two yards of the man. “Can’t wait to hear your tale, Mr. Pinckney.

  “Jim, at the very least we have identity theft and falsifying his own death.”

  The trooper nodded. “I don’t think our suspect will try to flee, but let’s search him, hook him up and put him in the car.”

  His partner, after a quick but thorough pat-down, put the handcuffs on Rod. The two policemen headed to their vehicle, with the sheriff trailing in their wake. They carefully stowed their suspect in the back seat. “Ray, call this in, will you? And read him his rights.”

  He nodded.

  Turning toward Leroy, Jim said, “Sheriff, while we’re here and waiting for backup to arrive, let’s check the property.”

  Leroy knew Jim must protect the area and preserve any evidence found, but he really wanted to see what evidence might be available regarding the scam Rod had set up. As they walked toward the house, he said, “Since we found my missing man, I’d like to check inside for his computer and papers. Too many good folks lost money. Maybe there’s a chance to recover some if the computer’s here.”

  “While you do that, I’ll examine the out-buildings. Never can tell what people hide in barns or sheds.” The two split up.

  Entering through the open back door, Leroy allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Quickly, but thoroughly, he surveyed the area starting on the left side of the room. A brick fireplace occupied the center of that wall; on either side of the large fireplace and about a yard from the hearth stood two large couches. Straight ahead and to the left side of the front door, a desk and a computer, the Sheriff couldn’t believe his luck. Although he wanted to check this out, he continued his methodical inspection. On the side directly opposite the fireplace, a partially ajar door, possibly leading to a bedroom, next a kitchen, large enough for a table and four chairs, plus the normal appliances found in homes. He pulled out his cell, made a call to his office, and then started taking pictures.

  “Leroy.” Jim walked in the open door. “If you’re finished here, let me show you the barn.”

  Walking with purpose toward the dilapidated structure, the Sheriff matched Jim stride and wondered what the trooper had found.

  Leroy peered at the man, but no expression showed on his face.

  Pushing aside the twisted vines and carefully avoiding the thorns growing on most of the plants that sheltered the barn, Jim and Leroy slid through the slightly ajar door into the barn. The Trooper pulled a large flashlight from his utility belt and slowly circled the vaulted building. Old tractors of various sizes, many without tires of any type, greeted them. Other equipment, some unrecognizable, but in similar condition filled the space, making moving difficult. Jim wended his way through the metal wrecks toward the back and far right section of the building. Leroy stayed close behind. A side of an old motor home, with its windows fogged over, prevented them from going any further. “An old plastic tarp covered the vehicle. I pulled and shoved it off to the front. Take a look inside.”

  Pulling out a pair of plastic gloves, that Leroy’s wife always teased him for carrying, he turned the knob and opened the door. Dust and mold reached out and touched him. He noticed large foot prints on the floor, glanced at Jim’s shoes, and received an answering nod. Placing his own steps inside those, he grabbed his key chain and flicked on the small attached flashlight.

  “Go to the front of the motor home.”

  Careful not to disturb anything else, Leroy edged forward. Something occupied the two matching club chairs. “Damn.”

  “I think you found the missing parents. From the condition of the corpses, they’ve been dead for a very long time. Now, did he kill them here, or in South Carolina?” Jim eyed Leroy.

  “Shit! Sorry, I promise my wife I’d clean up my language. Let’s hope we can find something to determine who has jurisdiction.”

  “Maybe, our forensic team will get lucky.” Jim added.

  “I guess that puts my request to copy the hard drive on hold,” Leroy said, shaking his head.

  “We’ll see what the big guys say.”

  Leroy nodded understanding all too well the politics of the situation.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hearing Jeff’s car drive up, Taylor, Martin, and Mary almost flew to the front door. He’d scarcely exit his BMW, when Taylor blurted out, “What’s happening? Sheriff Trotz called saying they’d found Rod alive, but won’t add anything else, except to tell us to ask you.”

  “Taylor,” Mary interrupted. “Invite the boy inside before you harass him.”

  “I think we all need to sit before I tell my story,” Jeff said, as they walked up the three steps leading to the door.

  Martin led them to the Florida room and chose the couch for him and Mary. Jeff and Taylor selected the cane armchairs directly opposite.

  “Talk!” Taylor demanded, feeling Jeff’s eyes on her.

  “Rod’s in custody.”

  Taylor furrowed her brow and bit her lip.

  “For faking his disappearance and death?” Mary asked.

  “There’s more, much more.” Jeff slid his chair closer to Taylor and took her left hand in his. He proceeded to tell them what the police had found.

  As he talked, Taylor felt herself shrivel inside. Had I ever known him? She tightened her hold on Jeff, needing his strength. “Has Rod explained any of …” Shaking her head unable to finish.

  “Not as of last night,” Jeff responded.

  Martin interrupted, “Who has jurisdiction in the case?”

  “The two states are discussing this. Taylor, are you sure you want to hear all this?”

  She grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the table in front of her. “Do I want to learn all his ugly secrets, no, but hiding or ignoring the facts doesn’t change anything. Let’s finish the ‘surgery’.” She gasped out the last sentence.

  Mary went to her side, bent down, and hugged her. “Are you positive?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “Then sit next to your father, so he can hold you. And Jeff, why don’t you take her other side? I’ll sit here and listen.”

  Everyone shifted spaces.

  Once seated, Jeff resumed holding Taylor’s hand and continued, “The police have read him his rights and since he won’t talk have appointed a public defender. Murder usually takes precedence, but since there are three bodies …”

  “His parents?” Mary asked in disbelief.

  “DNA must confirm that, but since they found them in a motor home and the style of dress fits with the period …”

  Taylor groaned.

  Her father reached for her, but Jeff reacted sooner. He folded her against his chest and held her firmly with his arm.

  “Go on,” Taylor sobbed. “Get it all out!”

  “The forensic people must determine, if they can, where the killings happened. The police are sure LeFarge died in South Carolina, but the other two?”

  “I can’t believe this.” She struggled to sit up, but when Jeff would have removed his arm, she placed it on her waist. “How could he hide all this from me, from us?” She glanced around.

  “Sheriff Trotz made a suggestion to the Louisiana cops, that they agreed to try, but everything hinges on you, Taylor. I objected, but the sheriff insisted I ask you.” Caring showed in Jeff’s eyes and face as he regarded her.

  “What?” She eased back and his arm slip from her shoulder. Blinking her eyes to keep the tears from falling, she blew her nose, hard.

  “That you and I fly to Bayou. He wishes me to check the computer and he wants you to talk to Rod, since he hasn’t said anything since they brought him in.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Martin. “My daughter’s not getting near him.”

  “Dad, please. All my life, you’ve instructed me to help others.” He blustered, but she kept speaking, “Answers are required to a basketful of questions: his parent’s and Sam LeFarge’s
deaths, his investments, his disappearance and faked death. People must know why. I must know why.” As she spoke, her words steeled her soul and stiffened her steadfastness.

  *~*

  “Taylor, Jeff thanks for coming to Louisiana. Is your dad still talking to me, Taylor?” Sheriff Trotz asked as he greeted them on the steps of the local State Police Station.

  “Dad might forgive you, but don’t expect Miss Mary to bake corn muffins for you any time soon.”

  “Now that’s a major problem. No one makes them like Mary.” He stared at Taylor. “You can change your mind.”

  “I need answers for myself as well as for everyone else.” Since she’d decided to come, her resolution had turned to steel. He owes me.

  “I understand. Once inside, I’ll introduce you. Do you have any questions for me now?”

  Both shook their heads.

  As they mounted the steps, the front door opened and a very tall man held the door for them.

  He nodded his head as they passed him. “Thanks, Jim,” Leroy said. “We’ll go back to the office.” Using his hand, he directed them to the right.

  She sensed many eyes on them, but no words reached her. Occasionally, she noticed a head bob as they passed. They entered what appeared to be a conference room, with a large table squarely in the center, banked by six chairs on each side and one at either end. Three men and one woman stood along the nearest wall.

  Introductions were made but Taylor remembered no one’s name; she heard only her own voice inside her head, sorting out what question to ask first. Finally, the tall State Trooper, she’d heard Leroy call him Jim, spoke.

  “Miss Harris, I’ll be in the room with you as will the public defender and the prosecutor. The others will be behind the two-way mirror.”

  “I insist on being with her,” Jeff said.

  Looking at the others as if waiting for an objection or confirmation, but hearing none, Jim went on, “Shall we go in?”

  She and Jeff followed the cop. He pushed the door wide open, so it almost hit the wall. For a moment, she could only stare. Rod sat on one side of a table, his hands, cuffed, rested on the scarred table, a bottle of water stood near him. On either side of him sat two women, probably the lawyers for and against him. Seeing him in this state, Taylor wondered if she could do this.

  Jeff, obviously sensing her concern, whispered, “You can leave anytime.”

  His words strengthened her tenacity, and she squeezed his hand before marching into the room.

  Jim Davies made the introductions. Her heart pounded in her chest and she gritted her teeth. Somehow, she managed to nod her acknowledgement of the other women. She must retain control.

  Rod rose. She heard the sounds of chains. They encircled his waist before dropping down and attaching to the anklets he wore. Taylor swallowed hard. I can do this.

  “Taylor. You’re looking well. Hi, Jeff, long time no see. How’s everything going?”

  Can I be hearing right? He sounds as if we’ve come for a visit. Forcing her body, she walked to the side of the table opposite Rod and the prosecutor and the defense lawyer. Jeff followed in her footsteps. Jim stayed by the now closed door.

  “Everything will go better, if you could answer a few questions,” Jeff replied.

  “Sit. The chairs aren’t too comfortable, but …” He shrugged. “What questions?” He glanced from Jeff to Taylor, his face devoid of expression.

  Although she’d planned her initial statement, his calmness, his lack of concern, his everyday voice and lack of visible emotions startled her. I must disarm him. “You missed our wedding. Why?”

  His eyes expressed surprise. Eventually, he answered, “Other things came up.” He shrugged.

  “Jilting me at the altar? Scaring all our friends? Leaving messes for others to clean up? What happened to the Southern Gentleman I thought I was marrying? What happened to the kind, considerate man who’d courted me for years?” She sat down on the un-giving metal seat.

  “I’m still a Southern Gentleman.” His voice sharp and edgy, “I had my reasons.”

  “Oh? Was I ever to learn about them? Was I to go through life grieving for you? Was I forever to search for answers and find none? No Southern Gentleman ever allows a lady to suffer so. Why?”

  He appeared anxious. From the corner of her eye, Taylor saw Jim tense and straightened his stance.

  “I am a Southern Gentleman!”

  “No, you’re a red-neck.” She took a chance. “Just like Bubba LeFarge.”

  “Damn you, Taylor. Bubba was nothing. His death meant nothing. I planned to make something of him by using his identity as my new name.”

  “So you killed him to do this? What conceit!”

  “Mr. Pinckney,” the woman in a light green suit said, “Don’t say any more.”

  He gestured for her to keep quiet and stared hard at Taylor. “No one will miss that piece of junk,” he lashed back.

  “And your parents? Why did you kill them? So you could have a better life? What about the life they gave you?” She slapped out her words.

  “My parents held me back! My father …”

  Spit shot across the table and almost hit her, but she remained still and kept her eyes locked on his.

  “My father hated me. No pleasing that man. And my mother shook in her shoes when he talked to her. Stupid bitch.” His hand grabbed the water bottle and he threw it at the mirror behind her. Jim moved and she sensed Jeff wanting to, but Taylor signaled them to wait. Rod’s chains would protect her.

  “Why kill them?”

  “They bought a motor home and put the house on the market. Where would I live? How could I survive? I was on a partial scholarship. I told them to go and leave me the house. My father laughed. Told me he’d paid for the house and he’d collect the money. Told me to enlist in the military, if I wanted money. Told me he hoped never to see me again.” Rod laughed.

  “Mr. Pinckney,” the same woman interrupted. “Please be quiet.”

  Rod continued as if no one had spoken, “He’d forgotten he’d given me Power of Attorney a month or so before. Wanted to make sure all his bills got paid.” Another chuckle, harsh and cruel, echoed off the walls. “His direct deposit retirement checks from the government arrived each month as did Mom’s. Not much, but over the years they’ve paid for the basics.” He glared around the room. “My father said that he wanted his motor home to be his final house.” Once more the same harsh sound filled the room. “He got his wish.” Rod’s chains banged against the table. Suddenly, he stared at Taylor with hatred. His lips formed a single, ugly line.

  “Miss Martin, Mr. Benjamin,” Jim said, “Please come with me.” His voice compelled them to go and ask no questions. Once outside the room, he said, “Thank you. We’ll handle it from here.”

  Jeff grabbed her and held her tight. “Please, please, don’t ever scare me like that again. I understood your comments, but I kept watching his face. I almost punched him. I saw your signal and forced myself to remain still, but I edged forward poised to move.”

  “I sensed your tension, but strangely until the end I never experienced fear.”

  Jeff slid his hand around her waist and kissed the side of her head. When they heard another door open, they turned in unison.

  Sheriff Trotz emerged from the connecting room. “Miss Taylor, you sure worried me.”

  Trying to relax, Taylor joked, “I believe you feared Miss Mary’s wrath if anything happened.”

  “That, too!” He nodded.

  The other men and the woman, who they’d met earlier, joined them. She appeared to be in charge and showed it by speaking first, “Clever idea about the southern gentlemen. What made you select that topic?”

  “Thinking back over the years, Rod often mentioned the importance of being a Southern Gentleman. Another topic was “Bubbas” as he called them. He mocked what he called rednecks, almost hated them. He talked about my family and my social position, telling me he wanted had to have, standing in the commu
nity. I decided I needed to push his buttons.”

  “And push them you did,” Jim responded, as he rejoined the group.

  The woman spoke again, “The State agreed to let you copy Rod’s computer records. From what we heard, sounds like the murders took place in South Carolina. He’ll probably be transfer to Sheriff Trotz, but we have some paperwork to complete. He’ll be staying for a day or two. After making a copy of the hard drive, you’ll be finished here, Mr. Benjamin. You and Miss Harris are free to go home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the ride to the airport, Jeff started to speak several times, but Taylor simply clasped his hand and shook her head. During the flight home, Jeff honored her earlier silent request while maintaining physical contact with her. Sitting at the window, she stared outside without seeing the view, while Jeff worked at his computer. After landing, he grabbed both satchels from the overhead bin, placed them on his left shoulder and put his hand on her right shoulder. Once on the gangway, he slid his arm around her waist. His constant support bolstered her spirits. As they maneuvered through the terminal, she peeked at him often. Each time, he smiled back at her. Jeff’s nearness and strength fought to fill and replace the sadness seeing Rod had caused.

  Miss Mary and Taylor’s dad waited on the other side of security. Both faces showed their worry and trepidation. Unwilling to increase their apprehension, she managed a small smile. The twosome collectively sighed. How good they look together, she thought. Her dad’s extended his arms and she ran into them. Mary grasped Jeff in an equally tight squeeze. Taylor spoke first, “Let’s go home and talk there.”

  In the back seat, she rested her head against Jeff’s shoulder and breathed in his familiar aftershave. Here was happiness. Why hadn’t I seen this before?

  They found seats, once again, in the Florida room. This time Jeff and Taylor occupied the couch, while Mary and Martin selected the cane chairs.

  “If I could, let me tell all of you what I discovered about the ‘scheme’ before we discuss our trip,” Jeff said, getting out his computer. “The ploy Rod used was that he arranged with property owners to use their land, saying he would pay them off after a number of lots were sold. The people he contacted all had property in the same area, which gave him control over 3000 acres. He talked to the County and told them he’d put low-income housing in one section. This made State money available for the project. Then he advertised the development at special prices with very low down payments, so low that even in tight times, people can buy. He managed to seduce a large number of people, but not enough to pay the initial investors for their property. Instead of declaring bankruptcy, he decided to take the money he’s collected, close to a quarter-of-a-million and leave town.”