by Sharon Sala
Vic felt as if he was leaving something out – that there was some kind of social protocol that he was missing. But all he could do was smile.
“That’s good. Tell him I said hello.”
“I will,” Poppy said.
Vic watched as she got in the car then went back to work. At least in here he knew what to do without making a faux pas.
Chapter Seven
The Caulfield police department was unusually quiet as Mike escorted one of the clerks from the convenience store into an interrogation room to view the footage from the night Jessup Sadler had been killed.
Billy Joe Fossey was a scrawny, forty-something man with bad teeth and a fear of cramped spaces, which explained why he was working at a quick stop rather than down in the mines.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Fossey. Have a seat. This won’t take long,” Mike said.
“Yeah. Glad to help.”
Mike pointed to the screen near Fossey’s elbow. “If you’ll just turn your chair a little you’ll get a better view of what I’m about to show you.”
Fossey shifted his chair. “Is this the tape of them men leaving Sadler’s car?”
Mike nodded. “As you know, the footage isn’t good, but I want you to watch closely and see if you recognize anyone.”
He hit Play and the grainy, black and white images popped up on the screen.
“Just take your time. You don’t have to ID by just their features. Pay attention to the way they stand, the tilt of their shoulders, their stride as they run away.”
Fossey leaned forward, staring intently at the screen.
Mike played it over for him seven times before Fossey finally gave up.
“I’m real sorry, but I don’t recognize neither one of them, and they don’t bring no one to mind.”
Mike turned it off. He knew it had been a long shot, but they’d had to take it. “It was worth a try. I appreciate your help. I’ll walk you out of the building.”
Their trip through the department was silent. Mike gave Billy Joe a pat on the back at the front door.
“Well, thank you again. Have a nice day, Mr. Fossey,” Mike said.
“Yeah sure, I’ll see you around,” he said, and left the building as Mike went back upstairs.
Mike’s frustration was growing. He’d dropped Poppy Sadler’s fingerprints off at the crime lab several hours ago and wondered if they’d found any prints other than those belonging to the family.
“How did it go?” Kenny asked, as Mike slid into the chair behind his desk.
“Like everything else connected to this case...nowhere.”
“Have faith partner, things are looking up. The crime lab got a hit on two separate sets of prints out of Sadler’s car. They belong to two young perps named James Thomas Walters and Marlin Barnett. They’re being brought in for questioning as we speak.”
“How young?” Mike asked.
“We have two eighteen-year old neighbors with almost identical rap sheets. They’ve been in and out of juvie for crimes ranging from shoplifting to selling weed.”
Mike frowned. “Their juvie days are over since they turned eighteen, and if they’re good for this murder, they’ve just moved themselves up into the big time.”
“As always, they’re coming into the station in separate cruisers which will keep them from getting a chance to coordinate their stories. It will be interesting to see what they have to say about stealing a dead man’s car.”
****
Poppy was sitting on a bench in Maypenny Park watching mothers pushing their toddlers in the swings. The mothers’ voices of caution were drowned out by the toddlers’ squeals and shrieks, although it didn’t seem to matter to anyone concerned that one was canceled by the other.
The breeze was brisk, but the sun was warm. For Poppy, it seemed a bit obscene to be sitting in the sunlight in the middle of a beautiful day amidst so much life and laughter as her own world was crumbling around her. It was past time to go to the funeral home and yet she couldn’t bring herself to move.
Suddenly, an acorn dropped onto the ground near her feet. She looked up just as a small squirrel disappeared into the upper branches of the old oak, then she looked beyond, to the intermittent rays of sunlight unraveling through the leaves and spilling down into her eyes. She took a deep breath then closed them, feeling the warmth of the sun and the swift kiss of the breeze upon her face.
God help me get through this.
A happy shriek suddenly turned into a cry of pain. Poppy turned just as one of the mothers scooped up her child in a comforting hug and then walked away.
Taking that as a sign it was time to go, she reluctantly got up and began walking across the grass to where she’d parked her car. She was more than halfway there before she realized that crazy homeless man, Prophet Jones, was standing in her path.
The last time she’d seen him had been the day her mama and daddy had died. Then, he’d been soaking wet and standing between her and the way home. Now here he was again, standing between her and her only means of escape.
He was taller than she remembered, and looked like a scarecrow wearing too many clothes. The breeze was flying his thick gray beard at half-mast, while even bushier eyebrows gave his eyes a hooded appearance. To her horror, he began to wave his arms and mutter under his breath. When he began to shout, Poppy started backing up.
“Heed my word. The devil is in this world. He’s in the mines. He’s in the cars. He’s on the streets.”
Poppy felt trapped. The more she backed up, the closer he came. Just as she was about to turn and bolt, an older woman who’d been watching, got up from the bench where she’d been sitting and introduced herself to Poppy.
“Hi honey. I’m Lucy. I’ve seen you at The Depot. Don’t worry about Prophet. He won’t hurt you. He’s just sad.”
“The devil steals lives. I know it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes!” Prophet yelled, and then stomped his feet and turned in a little circle.
Poppy was shaking. “I’ve seen him on the streets for years and never saw him act like this. What’s the matter with him?”
“It’s hard to say. He used to be a preacher, but he hasn’t been right since his wife and three little boys were killed in a wreck years ago. Here, you just give me a minute. I’ll calm him down,” Lucy said, then called out. “Good afternoon, Prophet. How have you been?”
The old man’s beard was still flapping in the breeze, but the question stopped him cold. He squinted against the sun then all of a sudden he smiled.
“Why, good afternoon, Lucy. I’m fine. How about you?”
“I can’t complain,” she said, then tugged on Poppy’s hand, pulling her closer. “I know you didn’t mean to, but when you started preaching, you didn’t realize you were scaring her, did you?”
It was a bit difficult to tell what with all the hair on his face, but it appeared that Prophet Jones was appalled.
“Oh my! I never meant anyone harm. You know that.” His gaze slid to Poppy’s face. “Do I know you?”
“No sir,” Poppy said.
“Do I know your people?” he asked.
Lucy slid an arm around Poppy’s waist. “Her parents were Jessup and Helen Sadler.”
Prophet threw up his hands. “Jessup Sadler is dead! Lord, lord, the devil is on the streets!”
Lucy sighed. “Prophet, Miss Sadler needs to go about her business. Would you step aside so that she could be on her way?”
To Poppy’s surprise, the old man bowed and stepped aside.
“It’s okay,” Lucy said. “You can go now.”
Poppy didn’t have to be told twice. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then tried not to run as she passed him by.
“God be with you,” Prophet yelled, as she reached the street.
She jumped into the car, but didn’t breathe easy until she’d started the engine and backed away from the curb. It was only two blocks from the park to the Edison Funeral Home, but it would be the longest two blocks of her life.
She didn’t want to see her mother laid out in that casket, but today wasn’t about what she wanted. Today was about duty, and it was her duty to make sure that Caulfield’s last glimpse of Helen Sadler was one of serene repose.
****
Truman Epperson was watching for Poppy Sadler’s arrival. He’d known her and her family for a good number of years and was saddened by what had happened. As soon as she entered the funeral home, he stepped out of a nearby office to meet her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sadler. We have your mother ready for viewing. If there’s anything you want changed, or something you’re uncomfortable with, please let me know. Our purpose is to give the family of the dearly departed some peace and closure, and we want you completely satisfied with her appearance.”
Poppy’s stomach rolled. She took a slow breath to calm herself, bracing for what lay ahead.
“Are you ready?” Truman asked.
She nodded.
“This way,” he said, then cupped her elbow and led her across the lobby, pausing at a small table outside one of the viewing rooms. “Visitors will sign this guest book and at the end of our services, you will receive it, along with all the sympathy cards that accompany the flowers.”
Poppy heard him, but most of her focus was on the casket in the room beyond.
Truman followed her gaze, then folded his hands and then stepped aside.
“I’ll be waiting out here for you. If you want something changed, just let me know.”
He closed the door behind her as she walked in, and the first thing she noticed was the dark blue carpeting and pale gray walls with dozens of tiny shelves affixed to the surfaces. It took her a few moments to figure out that’s where floral arrangements and potted plants could be displayed.
There was a pearl gray casket against the back wall with tall palm fronds in massive silver urns at either end. The assortment of gray, wing-back chairs were for the mourners, and there was church music playing softly in the background, but her heartbeat was so loud against her eardrums that all she heard was a buzz. Her hands were shaking as she moved closer.
“Help me, Jesus,” she said, and then found herself looking down at the body inside.
There was a moment when she thought they’d made a mistake – that this couldn’t be Mama, and then she began to focus.
Helen’s hair - hair that had been so limp and lifeless was curled and shiny. The hollows in her mother’s cheeks from the many months of suffering had somehow been miraculously filled. Her lips had a brush of pink and her fingernails had been painted with clear gloss.
They’d done as she asked.
They’d made her mama pretty.
Poppy set aside her grief to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. The pink dress she’d chosen looked nice against the white satin of the inner lining, and the wedding ring she’d been so worried about was in its proper place on the third finger of Helen Sadler’s left hand.
Tears welled as her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Oh Mama, I don’t yet know how I’ll live my life without you, but I will learn. I’m not sure how any of this works, but I think you’re somewhere close and that you’ve been waiting for me to come say goodbye. I hope Daddy’s with you. I don’t want the two of you hanging around worrying about me and all the stuff that’s going on because of Daddy’s murder. Johnny’s coming home. I won’t be alone. Go be with God, Mama, and know that I’ll love you forever.”
She staggered backward, then dropped into one of the chairs and began to sob.
Truman Epperson had been waiting for the sound. Even though those left behind were never ready to accept it, tears were healing.
****
J.T. Walters swagger ended the moment the cop handcuffed him to a table fastened to the floor and shut him inside an interrogation room alone. He stared up at the mirror on the opposite wall and knew from watching TV that the other side was like a window, and that whoever looked in, could see him. He wanted to act tough, but he was worried. This was the first time he’d been busted since he’d turned eighteen and the laws were no longer in his favor.
He wondered what Big Boy was thinking and hoped he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, although that was hoping for a lot. Big Boy wasn’t all that bright and J.T was worried he wouldn’t remember about the age thing and that it would change how they might be charged.
It never occurred to him to wonder what it was they’d been picked up for because they’d done enough in the past to get arrested for most anything. Still, just to make himself feel better, he looked straight up into the mirror and gave himself the finger, well aware he’d just ‘told’ whoever was looking at him to ‘fuck off’.
****
“Look at the little bastard,” Kenny muttered.
Mike nodded. “I see him. So let’s go take that smirk off his face. What do you say?”
“Hell yes,” Kenny said. “You’re the lead on this case, but anytime you want me to scare him, just nod.”
Mike grinned. “It’s too bad you don’t enjoy your job.”
Kenny shrugged. “You gotta take it when you can get it. Let’s go rattle his cage.”
They walked around the corner and then into the room. Kenny slammed the door behind him.
J.T. Walker flinched then glared as the two cops took seats on the other side of the table. He knew how this worked. Good cop/bad cop. The taller younger cop would play good cop. The shorter older one the bad cop. He lifted his chin and stared in their faces without comment.
Mike slid a file onto the table in front of him.
“I’m Detective Amblin. This is my partner, Detective Duroy. Did the officers read you your rights when they brought you in?”
“I know my rights,” J.T. muttered.
“Answer the question,” Mike snapped.
J.T. frowned. So maybe his IDs were off. Maybe this one was playing bad cop.
“Yeah, they read me my rights.”
“Do you know why you’re here?” Mike asked.
“Cause I’m a bad boy?”
Mike leaned forward. “Your fingerprints were found inside a car that did not belong to you. Want to explain how they got there?”
Understanding dawned and if he was smart, he just might talk his way out of this.
“It was raining. We needed wheels. It was there on the banks of the Little Man with the door open and the engine running. Yeah, we took it. But it’s not like we stole it. It had been abandoned. And we didn’t take it far. We left it at the station where it would be found.”
Mike’s instincts told him that had come freely and with a ring of truth. He glanced at Kenny then looked away.
“What time was that?” Mike asked.
J.T. frowned, thinking back. “It was late. After midnight but other than that, I ain’t sure.”
“What were you doing at the river that time of night?”
They could see the kid weighing his options when he suddenly shrugged.
“We was smoking weed under the bridge, okay? No big deal. Then it started to rain.”
“And you needed a car to get home and didn’t want to walk all that way in the rain so you took one that didn’t belong to you? Is that right?”
J.T. shrugged.
Mike glanced at Kenny who jumped into the conversation with both feet.
“So you yanked a drunk out of his car, pumped his belly full of bullets and drove yourself home, is that how it went down?”
The kid’s eyes widened. His mouth went slack. That was definitely the bad cop.
“No, man. We didn’t kill no one. That car was empty like I told you. I don’t even own a gun.”
Kenny slapped the table. “So your buddy was the shooter. But you had to help throw the body in the river, because the man you murdered was a real big guy. If you’re not the shooter now’s the time to say so. It will keep you off death row. You better talk now because when we go talk to your friend and he rolls over on you, your chance is gone.”
“No
! No! We didn’t shoot no one. No one, I tell you.”
Mike stood up and headed for the door. Kenny followed.
“Hey! Where you guys goin’?” J.T. asked.
“To talk to your friend,” Mike said, and shut the door behind them.
They paused out in the hallway and looked back into the room through the two-way mirror. The kid was in full-blown panic.
“We should have known they wouldn’t own up all that easy,” Kenny said.
“Do you think he could be telling the truth?” Mike asked.
Kenny snorted lightly. “I don’t think that boy’s told the truth since he learned to talk.”
They moved down the hall to another interrogation room where Marlin ‘Big Boy’ Barnett had been stashed. There was no two-way mirror in this room and when they walked in abruptly, the skinny teenager handcuffed to the table actually jumped.
“Man, like what’s goin’ on?” he asked. “This situation is whack. You guys just show up and slap me in handcuffs without no explanation whatsoever. You can’t fuckin’ do that.”
“And yet it happened,” Mike said shortly, and sat down across the table, thinking Big Boy’s nickname was overrated. He wasn’t much over five feet tall and so skinny his pants wouldn’t stay up. “My name is Detective Amblin and this is my partner, Detective Duroy. Why do you think you’re here?”
“I ain’t got a clue,” Marlin said.
“Did the officer who brought you in here read you your rights?”
“Hell yes, and wouldn’t tell me why.”
Mike leaned forward. “If I told you that we found your fingerprints inside a stolen car, what would have to say about that?”
Marlin’s eyebrows arched then his lips went slack.
Mike could almost hear the wheels turning in the teenager’s head. If he admitted to it, then it linked him to a dead man. The trick was to explain away the fingerprints without linking them to a murder.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” Marlin muttered.
