A Field of Poppies

by Sharon Sala

  “I considered it my legal, as well as God-given duty to stand as witness for a man who cannot speak for himself.”

  “Admirable,” Mike said, and gave Kenny the eye, making sure he was on board.

  “Yeah, good job,” Kenny said. Just looking at the old man made him itch and he had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from scratching.

  “I am having pie,” Prophet said. “As soon as I finish, I will give you my information, is that all right?”

  Mike eyed the pie. “Absolutely. Pie that good needs not to be wasted.”

  Now that the cops were here, John didn’t feel the need to stand guard.

  “Mr. Jones has requested to stay outside, so I’m going to get some folding chairs. I’ll bring a couple out so you guys can be comfortable while you talk.”

  Prophet finished off his pie then handed the dishes to Poppy with a good deal of formality while the detectives took a seat on the porch.

  “It has been some time since I’ve been treated so kindly. It is my opinion that your parents did a fine job raising the pair of you.”

  “Thank you,” Poppy said.

  Prophet took the paper napkin that Poppy had given him and wiped his mouth and hands as carefully as if he was a clean-shaven man, and then resumed his seat on the top step and faced the cops.

  John moved over to where Poppy was sitting for moral support. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be an easy thing for either one of them to hear.

  “I am ready,” Prophet said.

  Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I would like for you to tell us what you saw and if we have questions afterward, would it be all right to ask?”

  “Yes, that will be fine. I will begin by telling you I have a place under the bridge I call the nest. It’s a nice place and it’s private and that’s where I was the night the Devil came to the Little Man. That’s where I was when it got dark. Later it started to rain. Do you remember that it was raining?”

  Mike nodded. “Yes, we remember.”

  “Well then, I will continue,” Prophet said. “I heard noises so I looked out. Two cars were on the riverbank. Two men arguing, waving their arms and shouting while the rain kept getting heavier. I never saw the gun, but I heard the shots. Three of them. As lightning struck, I saw Mr. Sadler stagger and fall backward into the river.”

  Poppy moaned, then doubled over and hid her face.

  John felt the shock, but it was swiftly turning to rage.

  Prophet looked anxious, as if he’d just realized he was talking about their loved one.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” Mike said. “They want the bad guy caught as much as we do.”

  Prophet nodded. “So just after Mr. Sadler fell into the river, another bolt of lightning struck the south side of the river bank, which I considered a sign from God. It lit a spotlight on the evil that had been done, and that’s when I saw the Devil’s face. I saw it as clearly as I’m looking at you, but he didn’t see me. He got in his car and drove away. I ran to the riverbank to see if I could help, but Mr. Sadler was already floating face down and I couldn’t reach him.”

  He glanced over at John and Poppy. There were tears on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help.”

  “You are helping,” Mike said. “You’re standing witness for Mr. Sadler when he cannot. So what happened next?”

  Prophet gathered himself then paused. For a moment they thought he was through, and then he thrust his hand into the depths of the rags he was wearing and pulled out three empty cartridges. He dropped them in Mike’s outstretched hand.

  “I found his footprints. I knew the police would not believe me unless I had proof.”

  Kenny pulled an evidence bag out of his jacket. “What have we got?”

  “45 caliber. We’re gonna be looking for a revolver,” Mike said as he dropped them inside, then sealed, dated it and put it in his pocket.

  “Great job, Mr. Jones. We’ll log this in as soon as we get back to the precinct. This is the first piece of real physical evidence we have from the crime scene. Could you show us exactly where this took place?”

  Prophet got up and then pointed north toward the river.

  “See those three pines grouped up together just to your right? The ones barely showing over the house with the green roof?”

  “Yes.”

  “One of the men parked to the left of the trees. The other parked to the right. The shooting took place between the cars and Mr. Sadler fell off the bank right where they stood. Only the car’s not there anymore. Right after I picked up the footprints, two young men came running up out of the dark. I told them to get away, that the Devil was on the bridge. They took Mr. Sadler’s car but maybe they were just scared. I know I was. The Devil is a frightening sight. I went and hid just in case he came back but I didn’t see him again.”

  “You keep calling him the Devil, but we need a name.”

  Prophet slapped the top of his head with both hands and then the sides of his face. It was hard to tell if he was angry or frustrated, but he wasn’t happy with the question.

  “The Devil has many names. Beelzebub. Satan. Fallen Angel. It is not my place to name him.”

  Mike sighed. This is just what he’d been afraid of. The old man was rambling. Still, they had the empty cartridge, which was more than they’d had before they came.

  “If you saw a picture of the Devil who shot Mr. Sadler, could you identify it?” Mike asked.

  “Of course, of course,” Prophet said. “You find the minion, I’ll say yea or nay.”

  All of a sudden Mike understood. “Minion? Are you telling me that the killer is just one of the Devil’s helpers?”

  “The Devil is legion. He has many guises... not the least of which are those he chooses to do his works.”

  Mike glanced at Kenny, who rolled his eyes and looked away.

  “Do you know where the Devil lives?” Mike asked.

  Prophet pointed across the river. “He dwells in the same place he’s always been ever since the city began.”

  Mike kept remembering John’s story about Adam Caulfield supposedly buying off the police so that no one was held guilty for the deaths of Prophet’s family. But Adam was dead. So were they looking for someone who worked for Caulfield, or was this just the rants of a man bent on revenge?

  He couldn’t ignore the fact that Justin Caulfield’s name was on the list of Helen Sadler’s classmates and he’d been the person who’d left the hospital just ahead of Jessup the night he died. Had he and Jessup caught up with each other? Was the shooting a result of the confrontation? So far they had nothing but theories, and police work was all about facts not guesswork.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that J.T. and Big Boy’s alibis had just been verified. They would be charged with car theft, but nothing more.

  “Is that all you need?” Prophet asked. “I have an appointment I need to keep.”

  “Unless you have something more to add, I think that does it,” Mike said. “I said it before and I’ll say it again, thank you for coming forward. I promise your testimony will not be wasted.”

  “Then I will be off,” Prophet said, and got up with a flourish. It was a fact that his gentlemanly speech and manner were at odds with his appearance. But it was noticeably poignant that he paused to brush off the back of his pants, as if it was actually possible to shed the years of accumulated dirt with which he lived.

  Poppy stood up, as well. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. Johnny and I will be forever grateful to you. Whenever you want something to eat, just knock on my door.”

  Prophet beamed. “You are a good woman and a fine cook and I thank you for the open door invitation.”

  He walked off the premises with a bounce in his step and never looked back.

  Poppy caught Mike looking at her. “I have pie.”

  Mike smiled. “You’re not trying to bribe an officer of the law, are you?”

  “Certa
inly not. Just a bite of something sweet to send you on your way.”

  “I’ll take some and Mike’s share too, if he doesn’t want it,” Kenny said.

  “Come inside,” John said, and held the door for them as they followed Poppy into the house, then into the kitchen.

  Poppy pulled three pies out of the refrigerator, set three plates and forks on the kitchen table and handed John a knife.

  “Would you cut the pies while I make some more coffee?”

  “Sure.” He waved the detectives toward the table. “Take a seat, guys. We’re trying to eat our way through the generosity of our neighbors.”

  Kenny grinned. “Happy to be of service.”

  Mike had yet to sit. He wanted an excuse to help Poppy, but it wasn’t happening. He finally sat down just to keep from calling attention to himself then wound up watching her as she worked. She caught him staring again, but this time she smiled.

  Mike was verging on making a fool of himself and realized he didn’t care. He made a vow that when this case was over, he was going to come back and knock on her door for an entirely different purpose.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Poppy was at loose ends. Her father’s body had yet to be released and she was too unsettled to go back to work, although she would have to go soon. It wasn’t as if she could afford to stay home much longer. She dreaded going back and facing Vic knowing he was no longer engaged. He was a good guy but, for her, the magic wasn’t there.

  She’d done all the laundry and John was out running errands. She was still avoiding her parents’ bedroom, which was prolonging the inevitable. It wasn’t like the place was haunted by anything but memories and it would give her something to do.

  As she entered, she left the door ajar then pulled up the blinds and opened a window. The air was chilly, but she wanted lingering scents of aftershave and perfume gone. It made her sad that a scent could survive the people who’d worn them.

  She hesitated only briefly before moving to the closet. Money was too hard to come by to waste something that could be reused. John might want some of his father’s shirts, but the pants would never fit. Jessup had been a good fifty pounds heavier.

  Poppy moved hangars back and forth, checking Helen’s clothes and knew, because she was much taller than her mother, they just wouldn’t work. The logical thing would be to have a yard sale and get what she could for the clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to hawk their clothing for nickels and dimes on the dollar. Her other option was donation, and that’s the way she would go.

  The black dress she’d worn to Helen’s funeral had worked only because it had been an extra-long style. As soon as John came back, she’d have him go through the shirts he might want and pack up the rest for donation.

  Satisfied by the decisions she made, she scanned what was left of the room. There was the dresser where she’d found the infamous diary, a couple of chairs, and Mama’s vanity. The furniture stayed, and she would pack up the drawers when she packed up the clothes.

  Her gaze went back to the drawer where she’d found the diary and couldn’t help wondering where it had been hidden or how her father had come to find it. She wondered if anything else might be hidden that she needed to find.

  The property had been in the Roberts’ family since her great-grandparents time and she’d heard stories of the old-timers in the family no longer trusting banks after they failed in the 1930s. There were bound to be hidey-holes in this house where they’d kept money and important papers. Although she’d lived in this house her entire life, she’d never thought about looking for secrets. It might be something she should do.

  Now that the notion was in her head, she couldn’t let go. The logical places to begin were in closets. Since she was still in her parents’ bedroom, she started with theirs.

  She pulled everything from the bottom of the closet out into the room, shoved all the hangars to one end of the rod and got down on her hands and knees. An hour and three closets later all she had found were dust bunnies and the occasional spider.

  The grandfather clock at the end of the hall struck the hour as she walked past on her way to the linen closet. She paused to check her watch against the time and then stopped, suddenly struck by the clock, itself.

  It had been sitting in the same place for as long as she could remember. She knew there was nothing behind it, or in the floor beneath it, but the glass door on the front opened up when the pendulum needed to be reset.

  She had a moment of ‘what if’ and opened the door. She stopped the pendulum, then knelt and began running her fingers all along the inside.

  The base of the clock’s interior was a good fifteen inches above the floor. If the base wasn’t a solid piece of wood, it would leave plenty of room to stash stuff – if, in fact, the little floor came up.

  There was only one way to find out.

  It didn’t take long to find a thin, fingernail-size groove at the back of the base. She felt a kick of excitement, thinking she might be onto something, so she dug in her nails and pulled. The floor came up, revealing a deep pocket beneath.

  “Oh wow,” Poppy said, but excitement quickly faded when it appeared to be empty.

  As she leaned in for a closer look, she saw something up against the front corner wall. She pulled it out, then rocked back on her heels.

  An old tobacco tin?

  She eyed the faded red paint and the Prince Albert logo, remembering her Granddaddy Roberts had rolled his own cigarettes. Still, it seemed odd to hide something so ordinary. She opened the lid, tilting it toward the light and saw what appeared to be a piece of paper inside. When she turned the tin upside down, the paper fell out.

  Her eyes widened, and then her heart skipped a beat. It was a check - made out to Helen Roberts - for the sum of fifty thousand dollars – and it had never been cashed.

  When she saw the signature, her stomach rolled. She had a sick feeling she’d just found the identity of Sunny’s first love. Her pulse began to race from the weight of new fear.

  She put the check in her pocket, dropped the floor back in place and set the pendulum into motion. Her legs might be shaking but her thoughts were clear. She had to call Mike.

  ****

  Kenny Duroy was at the dentist having a root canal. Detective Harmon was doing follow-up on Tom Bonaventure out at Caulfield #14.

  Mike was stuck at the desk catching up on paperwork, the only part of his job he disliked. When his phone rang, he was glad for an excuse to stop.

  “Homicide, Detective Amblin.”

  “I know who got Mama pregnant.”

  And just like that, his heart was racing. “Poppy?”

  “I am going to talk to him. You can go with me, or I’ll go on my own.”

  Panic set in. “Wait! You can’t go on your own. It could be dangerous. He may be connected in some way to your father’s death.”

  “Then I guess you better come get me, because I’m going, one way or the other.”

  The line went dead in his ear.

  “Oh shit.”

  He headed for the Lieutenant’s office on the run, then knocked once and poked his head inside.

  “We may have a break in the Sadler case. I’m going to pick up the daughter now.”

  Green frowned. “Why do you need her? I don’t like getting citizens involved in police procedure.”

  “Because she’s the one with the information and all she told me was that she knew who got her mother pregnant and that she was going to see him, with or without me. I can’t stop her when I don’t know where she’s going.”

  “I don’t like this. Get the info and leave her at home.”

  “Sorry, sir, but you don’t know her. The woman has a mind of her own.”

  “Then make damn sure no one gets hurt. And take Duroy.”

  “He’s at the dentist, remember?”

  “Call him to meet you.”

  “Yes sir,” Mike said, and left the room running.

  All the way across town he
kept wondering what condition she’d be in when he arrived. She’d sounded mad and determined which, for him, was far better than hysterical or on the floor in a flat-out faint.

  He had no sooner pulled up to the house when she came out. Her chin was up, her long hair flying, and the length of her stride was nothing short of forceful.

  Yeah. She was pissed. That he could handle.

  She opened the door and got in, then fumbled for the seat belt before she finally got it buckled.

  “Well?” she said, when he still sat there with the car in park.

  “I don’t know where we’re going, remember?”

  She sighed, shoved her hands through her hair in quiet frustration, then took the check out of her pocket and handed it to him.

  “I found this hidden in an old tobacco tin.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch, so it was Caulfield.”

  Poppy flinched. “You suspected him? You never said anything about it.”

  “It was part of our ongoing investigation. We had the list of boys your mother graduated with. It was a case of simple elimination to figure out who was from the high side of the city and who lived in Coal Town, then find current addresses. There weren’t all that many who would have been present the night your father died. And there’s still no proof that the person who killed your father was connected to the boy who got Sunny pregnant.”

  Poppy frowned. “That’s not true now! You heard Prophet Jones yourself. You heard what he said. If he considered anyone connected with the Caulfields the Devil, and Justin Caulfield’s name is on the graduate list, and his father’s name is on that check you are holding, and he said the Devil’s minion killed my daddy, what else could you possibly want?”

  “We have to have more than Prophet’s eye witness testimony. Remember the time and the weather when Prophet claimed he was the witness to the murder? He was a good distance away under the bridge, in the dark, and in a torrential downpour. Any lawyer worth his pay would excuse all that away as nothing more than the crazy ramblings of a man with a grudge against one family.”

  “But you have the shell casings.”