by Jack Todd
“Is it fair to say that he was concerned about the welfare of the victim?”
“Yes, it is. Very concerned.”
“Now, I’m going to ask you to draw on your experience, your thirty years as an officer of the law. Is it common for the perpetrator of a crime to show such concern for the victim?”
“Maybe not, but I’ve seen it before. A man gets angry with his wife, for instance, and knocks her around, and then afterward he’s very contrite and anxious to see that she gets proper medical care. An individual’s attitude toward the victim is not an indication of his guilt or innocence, one way or the other.”
“Alright, Sheriff. I’d like to move on to the unusual situation we have here, in which a crime was committed but the crime scene has vanished. To what degree would you say the collapse out at the gravel pit that wiped away most of the physical evidence has compromised your investigation?”
“Well, it doesn’t help. The crime scene itself is normally a key component of any investigation, and we’ve had to operate without it. That means I was unable to check the defendant’s story about the black car that might have a shattered windshield. I could have looked for broken glass or tire tracks. He mentioned a wine bottle and the victim lying on a blanket having a picnic. I couldn’t locate any objects to confirm that story. It also means that we could not find footprints that might have told us who the attacker was.”
“And as you have already said, there was a considerable delay in getting out to the crime scene caused by the storm. What does that mean, in practice?”
“Well, under normal circumstances, we would have been out there that evening, using whatever light remained to examine the crime scene, probably working under the lights for a while.”
“But at the gravel pit, there was no scene tape put down, no attempt to secure the area, nothing of that sort?”
“Nothing. As you say, we were dealing with unusual circumstances.”
“So there were no tire tracks, no cigarette butts, no empty bottles, no blood or semen traces, no ejected cartridges, no hunting knife, nothing whatsoever that might be of use in an ordinary criminal investigation. No crime scene. The crime scene itself had effectively been completely erased, never to be found again?”
“Exactly. As though by the hand of God, I believe is how I put it before.”
“The hand of God. It would seem, Sheriff, that the hand of God — or chance, as an unbeliever might have it — has played a rather prominent role in this case?”
“I suppose that’s true. God or chance, it hasn’t worked in favor of a thorough criminal investigation.”
“And in more human terms, we are also lacking any real testimony from the victim because she is suffering short-term memory loss?”
“That’s about the size of it. Just about everywhere we turn with this case, something we’d like to have is missing.”
“I must say, Sheriff Dunn, we are dealing with a unique set of circumstances here. I’ve been practicing law in this county for more than four decades, and you’ve been a law officer in this area for twenty-five years, and I think it’s safe to say that between us, we have never seen a situation quite like this. Is that right?”
“Absolutely. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”
“So we have no crime scene, we have no witnesses, we have a victim with no memory — and yet we have a defendant charged with aggravated assault and aggravated sexual assault, two very grave crimes that, taken together, might mean that he spends the rest of his life behind bars. Is that right?”
“I think that sums it up pretty well, except it’s not quite true that there are no witnesses: I am a witness.”
“Yes. And you are both the arresting officer in this case and the star witness for the prosecution, true?”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Please understand, Sheriff. I’m not in any way impugning your integrity. What I am trying to get at here is the fact that in this particular case, you are missing so many of the tools you would normally have used to investigate a crime.”
“I understand that.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. That’s all I have for now.”
~
The Year of the Flood
When Poe sees Elmer Hepp called to the witness stand, he waves and calls out to him. “Hi, Mister Hepp. How are them Percherons doin?”
The judge bangs his gavel and warns Poe that he can be removed from the courtroom. There are titters in the gallery: Hepp is wearing an ancient brown suit that is three sizes too large, a white shirt with a filthy collar and a string tie, and he still has the gunnysacks tied with twine around his battered boots. He glares around the courtroom with one fierce eye, the patch on the other eye askew, as though daring someone to challenge his version of events. When he’s sworn in, Hepp disdains the courtroom Bible, takes his own Bible from an inside pocket, and waves it around as though brandishing a sword.
The state’s attorney approaches him cautiously. “Mr. Hepp, in order to establish a time line of the events on the day the victim in this case was attacked, we’re going to ask you to take us through this. Is it true that on the day in question, you were driving your team out along Highway 116 when you encountered the defendant?”
“Yessir, it is.”
“And you offered him a lift in your wagon, is that right?”
“That’s absolutely right. I gave ’em both a ride.”
“Excuse me? Did you say both?”
“Are ye deaf, sir? I said both.”
“So you’re saying there was more than one person on the road?”
“Sure there was.”
“So you gave a lift to the defendant and to someone else?”
“I thought lawyers was smart. I believe that’s what I said. Both.”
Brendan Savage takes a cautious step back. “And can you tell us who the other person was, please? You picked up the defendant and someone else?”
“I most certainly did. I don’t know the Jezebel’s name, but I drove this Poe fella and that young harlot out to the gravel pit, where he did unspeakable things to her.”
A wild buzz ripples through the crowd and the judge bangs his gavel. In the midst of the confusion, Poe protests: “Nossir! Nossir! Nossir! That ain’t true at all. It was only me that took a ride in Elmer’s wagon! There wasn’t nobody with me!”
The judge hammers his gavel again and the gallery subsides into whispers and falls silent. Poe is warned again. Brendan Savage flips through his legal pad, buying time, trying to decide what to make of this new twist. He ventures another question: “You’re quite sure, then? Two people, not one. The defendant and a young woman, is that correct?”
“How many times do I have to say it? Are ye as thick as that fella Poe yonder? There was two of ’em, the giant and the Jezebel. I said it already.”
“And both of them got off at the same place, the turnoff to the gravel pit?”
“That’s right. They was goin fishing, they said. But I knew damned well they had somethin else in mind. And he shall lay his hand upon the head of his offering, and kill it before the tabernacle of the congregation: and Aaron’s sons shall sprinkle the blood thereof round about upon the altar . . .”
The judge bangs his gavel again. “Mr. Hepp, I am going to have to ask you not to recite the scripture in my courtroom. Please answer the questions and leave it at that.”
Elmer Hepp rounds on the judge. “Are ye telling me the word of the Lord is not accepted in your courtroom, sir?”
“That is not what I am saying. I am telling you simply that quotations from the scripture are not relevant to this case, so please confine yourself to answering the questions or I will have to hold you in contempt.”
Savage steps forward gingerly. “Can you tell us why you didn’t mention the young woman when the sheriff asked you about this the first time, Mr. Hep
p?”
“Because he never asked me! That ought to be plain as the nose on your face. He asked me, did Poe ride in my wagon, and I said he did. That was an end to it!”
Savage, flustered, retreats to his seat, mumbling that he has no more questions. He doesn’t dare mention that Elmer Hepp had told the sheriff in no uncertain terms that he had given a lift to Poe and Poe alone.
Lambert Cain approaches Hepp slowly. He can see that it will take very little to provoke an outburst from the old man, but it’s hard to say whether that might benefit the defense.
“Mr. Hepp, I have one further question. I wonder if you can recall what the young woman, the victim in this case, was wearing when you picked her up in your wagon?”
Hepp doesn’t hesitate. “She was wearing pants! I don’t approve of a woman in trousers, and I told her so at the time. Only a harlot would dress in such a fashion. I tried to warn her that the giant Poe might be dangerous, if she sought to preserve her virtue. I spoke to her of the Year of the Flood, and I told her that the end time is upon us, but her ears were as closed as her mind and she would not listen.”
“I see. Do you remember exactly what kind of trousers she was wearing?”
“They was blue jeans. So tight it was like she was poured into ’em. Blue jeans and a red T-shirt. Not what any proper young lady should have on her person, especially not on the Sabbath.”
“Alright, Mr. Hepp. Now, I have one last question. How wide is the seat on your wagon?”
“Exactly thirty-six inches. Three feet. Built that wagon with my own hands, wheels included. Don’t believe there’s many here as could do that.”
“You’re correct in that, sir. It’s a lost skill, the wheelwright’s trade. Now, the wagon seat is three feet wide, and you all sat on it — yourself, the defendant, and the young woman, is that right?”
“Where else would we sit? I wouldn’t ask a female to ride in the wagon box. Wouldn’t be proper.”
“Now you’re a reasonably slender fellow, Mr. Hepp, but Poe — well, let’s just say he’s wide in the beam. But there was room for the three of you on the seat?”
“Are you calling me a liar? I just said there was!”
Lambert Cain lifts a hand. “Thank you kindly, sir. That will be all from the defense.”
The judge nods to Elmer Hepp. “You may go, sir. We thank you kindly for your time.”
Hepp rises, holds his Bible aloft, and begins to address the gallery as though he’s delivering a sermon: “And for his sister a virgin, that is nigh unto him, which hath had no husband; for her may he be defiled . . . And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire . . .”
It takes three bailiffs to get Hepp out of the courtroom. He is still bellowing scripture as he is led away. The judge declares an hour-long break in the proceedings, and Lambert Cain confers with Rose in the corridor.
“I was a bit alarmed at first, but that may have been good for us,” Cain tells her. “I could try to get that stricken from the record because we hadn’t been told in advance that he would say he picked up both Poe and the girl. But there were so many holes in his testimony, it made our friend Mr. Savage look a bit ridiculous.”
Rose bites her lip. “I surely hope so. I know it ain’t the truth. I watched Poe leave, all by his lonesome. I’m sure he didn’t go fishing with that girl.”
“I believe you, Rose. I think we can simply leave that where it is. The dress speaks for itself. He had that all wrong.”
~
Friday the 13th
“Good morning, Poe.”
“Good morning, Mister Cain.”
“How are you feeling today, Poe? Did you sleep well last night?”
“Yessir. I always sleeps well, especially since they brought in the long bed so’s I got room for my legs and I don’t hang over the end, like.”
“Good. Then we’ll get on with it. The first thing is that we need to be sure you understand why you’re here. Do you understand that clearly, Poe? And do you understand that we can’t say the name of the person who got hurt?”
“Yessir. I understand. I’m here ’cause she got hurt. And ’cause I went fishin that day.”
“But you understand you’re not charged for fishing, right?”
“Yessir, only if I hadn’t have gone fishin, none of this woulda happened to me.”
“Let’s begin with that, Poe. How did you happen to go fishing?”
“I pretty much always goes to fish on a Sunday afternoon, only most times I goes to the river or one of the creeks. But they was all riled up on account of the flood, so I went back to my old fishin hole at the gravel pit.”
“It’s a spot you know well because you used to work there, I believe?”
“Yessir. I had a regular job, dumpin gravel in them trucks, till they closed down the pit.”
“How did you get out there on this particular day, Poe? It’s a long walk.”
“Yessir, it is. But I had a ride partway from Elmer Hepp. He takes them Percherons out for a drive on Sunday afternoons, and he picked me up. Quoted a whole mess of scripture at me, then he let me off.”
“He picked you up and you alone, is that right? Because Mr. Hepp has testified that you were with a young woman at the time.”
“Yessir, I heard what he said and that’s a lie. I wasn’t with nobody. Well, except Elmer, after I got in the wagon. It’s been ten years since I went fishin with anybody but myself.”
“And did you have a good day fishing, Poe?”
“Sure did. Caught me a good mess of fish. Then I went up in the tower to play with the handles where I used to load them gravel trucks. That used to be my job when I worked at the gravel pit, see, to pull the handle and load the trucks.”
“Is there another reason you climbed the old tower?”
“Yessir. Them old comic books that I used to look at was still there.”
“What kind of comic books are these, Poe?”
“The dirty kind. The kind that shows stuff.”
“Did you look at them this time?”
“Yep. I always do. I looked at them a bit, and I stroked myself some, and then I was done.”
“You mean that you were masturbating, Poe, is that what you’re saying?”
“I think that’s the word, yep.”
“And — I’m sorry to be so specific here, but it’s important — when you ejaculated, did some of it fall on your coveralls?”
“You mean did I shoot it on myself? I sure did. Was quite a lot, too. I expect that’s how it got on her dress, later, rubbin against her when I was carryin her.”
Cain raises a hand. “Alright, Poe, I think you’ve said enough. We don’t want to speculate as to how things got on her dress at this point. Now, can you tell us what happened next?”
“I went right to sleep. I ain’t supposed to, on account of Mama says, ‘Get them fish home before they stink.’ But I was right tired.”
“And when you woke up, what did you see?”
“I seen the girl. I know who she is. We been friends a long time, only I ain’t supposed to say her name, on account of the law says I can’t. She was just layin there on a blanket, up on that little rise that looks down over the river. It was like magic. She was not there and then she was there.”
“And to repeat, she had not traveled out to the gravel pit with you, is that correct?”
“Nossir. She was there when I woke up. I don’t know how she come to be there.”
“What was she doing when you first saw her?”
“Layin on that blanket and readin a book. She had a bottle of something, I think it was wine, and she was drinkin from a glass. Like she would have a little drink of the wine, and then she would start readin that book again. She was holdin the book up over her face, like to shade her
eyes from the sun. And she was wearin a real pretty white dress.”
“Can you tell us what happened next?”
“I heard her talkin to somebody. First I thought she was talkin to me, but somebody answered back.”
“Somebody? A man or a woman.”
“A man, for sure.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“Nope. But he wasn’t talkin loud.”
“What were they saying to each other?”
“I couldn’t make it out. But then he came around from the other side of the tower. He must’ve been watchin her, too, same as I was.”
“Did you recognize him then, Poe? Do you know who he is?”
“Nope. I was mostly lookin at her, and I could only see him from the back.”
“Could you tell if he was young or old?”
“Nossir.”
“Tall? Short? Fat? Thin?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. Kinda medium, I guess. More tall than short. A kinda big fella, only not big like me.”
“What about his clothing, Poe? Did you notice anything about what he was wearing?”
“Yessir. He was wearing a hat.”
“Can you describe the hat?”
“Like a big old round hat somebody wears if they don’t want to get no sun on their neck or their eyes. I think it was brown.”
“And what did he do, the man in the brown hat? Did he lie down on the blanket?”
“Yeah. Well, first he pours wine in her glass and he does somethin over it with his hand. Then he hands it to her and he waits, and I can see his shadow over her while she drinks. Then he moves real quick and he lays on top of her and starts grabbin her all over. And then he’s hittin her in the face. Boom! Boom! Boom! And I was tryin to get down off the tower, only it was hard to squeeze through that little hole there, and I was caught in the hole and I couldn’t get through. I could hear him hittin her, but I couldn’t get there quick enough. I could hear her, sayin, ‘No, no, no, you gotta stop,’ only he wasn’t stoppin.”
“Can you tell us what happened next?”
“Well, then she went all quiet and I couldn’t hear nothin at all. And I knew she was in real trouble then, somethin bad gonna happen, but I still couldn’t get loose.”
