As Tinkie and I waited in the small but comfortable office for the deputy warden to personally hear our request, I thought about my father, who’d been greatly taken with Alan Lomax’s work in collecting blues from Mississippi prisoners.
“Parchman is a place where the blues find you, no matter how hard you hide,” was a quote my daddy said often enough for me to remember it all these years. While Parchman had a terrible reputation for abuse in the early and middle decades of the twentieth century, it was also the first prison in the nation to allow inmates conjugal visits, though not to female inmates, who had no such rights. Mississippi was, and will always be, a state of great disparity and conflict when it comes to justice and equality.
The office door opened and a pleasant-featured young man with blue eyes and sandy hair introduced himself as Deputy Warden Kim Lambert. “I understand you’re requesting to speak with inmates who knew Luther Potter and Owen DeLong.”
I explained about Pleasant, the baby, and her run-in with the men. “There is a reward, and the donor who put it up would be glad to send it to the inmate’s family.”
“Wait here. I’ll check and see what I can find. I know a couple of guys who were buddies with those two.”
Cooling our heels in the administration building, I worried about Sweetie, Pluto, and Chablis out in the car. The windows were cracked and the day was mild. Still, I didn’t like to leave them for long. As it turned out, we didn’t have to wait. Lambert returned with two names, but only one man had agreed to speak with us.
We followed the warden, wondering if we’d have to use the phones behind glass partitions that I’d seen in movies. We didn’t. Lambert showed us to a small room with a table and three chairs.
“Jimmy will stay with you,” Lambert said, indicating a muscled guard who stood in the corner at parade rest. “Do not pass anything to the inmate. Do not attempt to touch him or make physical contact. Stay in your seats. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” we said in unison, and we weren’t being smart alecks, either. I had one criminal on my butt and I didn’t need to get in Dutch with another.
When we were alone in the room with Jimmy the guard, I turned to my partner. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” She squeezed my wrist lightly. “This is the break, Sarah Booth. We’ll find Pleasant today and have her home for Thanksgiving.”
I searched her face for the distress those words were bound to give her, but I saw only peace. Somewhere in the long night, Tinkie had finally accepted that Libby would live with her birth mother.
“You’ll see her every day,” I whispered. “I believe that.”
Tinkie’s smile held a tiny drop of sadness. “I believe it, too.”
22
Buster Beech, shackled at the wrists, waist, and ankles, clanked into the interview room looking bored and sleepy. He wasn’t a big man, but he carried himself with pride. His head was closely shaved, and his prison jumpsuit was neat. When he sat down across the table from us, I couldn’t help but notice the prison ink that showed a skull on one bicep and a snake on the other. The guard linked his handcuffs to a chain that went to a bolt in the floor.
Buster got right to the point. “The guard said there’s a reward. How much? How do I know you won’t cheat me?”
Using my cell phone, I looked up the newspaper article that showed the flyer of Luther Potter and the five thousand dollar reward. With the guard’s approval, I showed Buster the article. “I told the warden we’d give the reward to your family,” I said. “I promise.”
He snorted. “Like yours would be the first promise made and broken.”
I understood his reluctance, but my patience had thinned. “Either you talk or we leave.” When he didn’t answer, I pushed back my chair. “Let’s go, Tinkie. This is a waste of our time.”
“Wait a minute.” He looked at the guard. “Can you make them sign a piece of paper saying I’ll get the reward money?”
The guard shrugged.
“I can call the Bank of Zinnia and have that money transferred into your wife’s account,” Tinkie said. “But you won’t get a dime unless you start talking.”
I’d never have thought to call the bank. Tinkie was a flipping genius.
Once the deal was struck, Buster was eager to talk. “Yeah, I bunked with Potter. What do you want to know?”
“Did he ever talk about his past?” I asked.
“What? You think I’m Dr. Phil?”
Tinkie snort-laughed and I drilled her with a glare, but she was unrepentant. “It’s funny, Sarah Booth. I don’t think guys in prison talk much about the past. Except maybe their crimes.”
“I’m not interested in hearing about Potter’s emotions,” I said through gritted teeth. “Specifics, like did he have a favorite bar or was there a special place he liked to poach, or some of those things.”
Tinkie was still grinning as she leaned forward. “Did he talk about his family, where he grew up, anyone he might still be close to on the outside?”
Buster thought about it, chewing on his bottom lip. “He talked about playing football.”
It was at least a start, though not where I wanted to begin. “Tell us.”
“He said he was a good player, but that some girl lured him into having sex and then called it rape.” He glanced at the guard. “He was still angry about it. All these years later. He said that girl ruined his life. He said women were cheap whores and had to be taught who was the boss.”
“His criminal record might have had a bit to do with a ruined life,” I said.
“He was a tough guy. He liked to talk about himself, and he made it clear he liked to hurt the other players on the football field. He was on the prison boxing team, and he went after his opponents hard and without mercy. He had a reputation for being a bulldozer. Said he could go through anyone or anything, and he was happy to prove it.”
“Did he ever talk about family?”
“Not that I recall. And nobody ever came to visit him, as far as I know.”
“Where did he live?”
Buster’s eyebrows jumped. “Yeah, yeah. I remember something he said. There was a cabin. In that national wildlife refuge over by Rosedale. He said he could live off the land there and stay completely off the grid.” Buster leaned forward, but when the guard stepped toward him, he relaxed back in his chair. “He said all he lacked was a woman to serve his needs.”
Tinkie carefully put her hands on the table. “Where was this cabin? Be as specific as you can.”
“It was federal land right around here.”
“Dahomey National Wildlife Refuge?” I asked.
“I guess. If that’s the one by Rosedale. That’s all I know. It was close to here. He said he could kill a deer most any time of the year, and there were ducks and fish and squirrels and rabbits. He said he could live without ever goin’ into town for food or supplies.”
My brain was racing. A hunting cabin would be the perfect place to hold a hostage. So isolated that even if Pleasant could escape, she might not find her way to civilization. “Where is the cabin? That refuge is ten thousand acres.”
“Do I look like a freakin’ GPS?” Buster asked.
“Did he say anything about the terrain? Was there a creek nearby? How did he get water?” Tinkie asked.
“There was a creek. Just down a little hill. He said sometimes the land flooded if the winter rains were bad, but the cabin was built up.” He ignored me and focused on Tinkie. “Do I get the money?”
She glanced at me, and I nodded. “Okay.” She dialed Oscar. “Please assure Mr. Beech that I’ll personally guarantee the transfer of five thousand dollars into his wife’s account when the information leads us to Potter.”
“Hey, you said you’d do it while we were sitting here.”
Tinkie arched one eyebrow. “The information has to pan out. And we need some information from your wife. I can’t magically make the money fly through the air. We need a bank account and routing numbers.” She
put the phone on speaker. “Oscar, please tell Mr. Beech that you guarantee the money.”
Oscar’s voice came through loud and clear. “You will get your five thousand dollars if Luther Potter is found,” Oscar said.
“I don’t like the way this came down.” Buster was agitated. “I’ve been tricked.”
“You’ll get your money,” I assured him. “If Potter is in that cabin and we capture him, you’ll have the money within the hour.”
We stood up, and the guard unhooked Buster’s handcuffs from the table and led him out. Tinkie and I sprinted for the door. We needed a map of Dahomey National Wildlife Refuge, and I knew exactly where to get one.
* * *
Tinkie idled the Caddy as I slid out of the front seat at one of the entrances to the largest remaining tracts of bottomland hardwood forest in the state. Dahomey was a relatively new refuge, and one my folks had supported creating.
A bulletin board held maps and a list of hunting and fishing seasons and licensing procedures. I grabbed a map and jumped back in the front seat. Spreading the detailed chart out on the seat, I studied the topography to find the area that best fit the vague description Buster had given us. I did believe the inmate had told all he knew—it just wasn’t enough to pinpoint an exact location.
I tapped a section of private land between Stokes and Belman Bayous with my pointer finger. “The cabin could be there. I don’t think the Wildlife Services would allow a private citizen to maintain a cabin on federal land, but you never know about the good old boy club.
“The private land looks more plausible,” Tinkie agreed, “and it’s smack-dab in the middle of the refuge. That’s what I’d call isolated.” She turned the Caddy down a rutted dirt road that led into the interior of the refuge. Maintenance of the road had been neglected, and washouts and sandy pits, where the tires were almost trapped, were the norm. I didn’t say anything, but the Cadillac was not the vehicle for this job.
I whipped out my cell phone. “I’m going to call Coleman. He’ll have to get Kincaid to help, but we need to do this right. They can bring some ATVs. If Potter is hiding out in here, we’ll need manpower to bring him in.”
“Good idea.” Tinkie stopped beside a cypress pond covered in a brilliant green algae. Even with the sun hiding behind clouds, the pond seemed lit from below in a light so intensely green that it looked unnatural.
“Green, green, green,” I said, remembering Madame Tomeeka’s words. She’d said Pleasant was somewhere surrounded by green. “This is the place, Tinkie. We’re on the right track.”
“And we can’t go any further.”
Up ahead a giant tree had fallen across the road. There was no way the Caddy could plow through the small trees that crowded the road on either side.
“And we don’t have a cell signal here.” I held up the phone, which clearly said no service. We were caught between a rock and a hard place, as my aunt Loulane would say.
“Let’s ditch the car and walk in,” Tinkie said.
“Wait!” She wasn’t going to like this plan, but it was the best one I had.
“Wait for what?” She looked at me.
“Take the car and drive until you get a signal. Then call Coleman for backup.”
One eyebrow arched. “And what do you think you’re going to do? Go in there alone? Not in this lifetime.”
“Only to observe.” I put on my most noble and trustworthy expression. “I’ll mark the trail so you can easily follow me. I’ll break limbs and draw arrows in the dirt to show which way I’ve gone. It might save us several hours. If I find a cabin, I swear I won’t go close.”
“As if I would believe that.” Tinkie wore her stubborn face. “I’m not going anywhere and leaving you alone to traipse into danger.”
“I brought my gun.”
“And I’m the better shot. You take the car and leave me.”
That wasn’t going to happen in a million years. “Look, I won’t get far from this road. Ask Coleman to bring some ATVs and hurry back. I’ll just scout around a little.” I pointed to her stylish shoes, some lovely red velvet flats that perfectly matched her red shrug and black leggings. “I have on sturdy paddock boots. There are big snakes in the woods. Timber rattlers. Copperheads. They’re aggressive and fast.” Snakes would likely turn the tide.
“I’m not afraid of snakes.”
“And alligators.”
“Pffft.” She waved the gators away.
“And this is the home of the three-inch palmetto roaches that fly and are attracted to hairspray. Remember when Ruth Ann Scott went camping with her boyfriend and that cockroach flew into her hair? She knocked herself out on a tree running in the dark. She said his little legs were digging into her scalp, pinching. She could hear it gnawing her hair roots.”
Tinkie’s head swiveled toward me like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist. “You’re making that up.”
“I am not. And these big bugs have those long legs that grasp and hold. If you put them on something shiny and hard they make that terrible clicking and scratching noise.”
“Stop it, Sarah Booth. I’m not afraid of a few flying bugs.”
“You will be if they get in your hair and start chewing at the roots. Did I say they’re drawn to hairspray?”
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
But she did. I’d finally figured out how to keep her safe, and I didn’t feel bad about the deception at all.
I found a pen in the glove box and marked an X where I thought the cabin might be. “This is where I’m headed, but I promise not to approach the cabin until you guys get here. Just hurry. If I find her, I’ll try to let her know help is on the way.”
“I don’t like this one bit.” Tinkie’s bottom lip protruded in a pout.
“Please, Tinkie. Drive like the wind. The quicker you go, the sooner you can bring Coleman back.”
“If you swear you’ll stay safe.”
I held up the three-fingered scout pledge we’d learned in grammar school. “You have my word. I’ll just be able to save some time by moving on this while you get help.”
“Coleman is probably going to kill me.”
But the argument was won. I retrieved my gun from the trunk of her car. I considered taking hers, too, just for the extra firepower, but I didn’t want to leave Tinkie without protection. I handed her pistol through the driver’s window. “Just in case. You might run into Potter on your way out. There are a million little pig trails through here that a powerful pickup with four-wheel drive could manage. Be careful.”
“And you, too.” She reached through the open window and grasped my hand. “I love you, Sarah Booth. Keep yourself safe. You’re the best partner ever.” She choked up.
“Tinkie, I promise not to do anything rash. You act like we’re saying good-bye forever.”
“I do love you.”
“And back at you.” I turned and walked to the downed tree. It was a simple matter to climb under it, but I checked for snakes first. It was November, and most limbless reptiles were likely hibernating, but it always paid to be careful in the woods. I heard Tinkie’s car door slam and whipped around to see she had loosed the hounds and Pluto on me. She wasn’t leaving me to face danger alone.
Tinkie did a neat turnaround and headed back to civilization. Though the day held patchy sun, the big storm had moved closer. As I stepped into the dense growth of trees, I felt the temperature drop. I loved Mississippi’s beautiful woodlands, but I was no fool. The woods could be dangerous for those who failed to pay attention. And not necessarily because of the wild beasts. Luther Potter was a lot more deadly than any wild animal I might encounter.
An hour later I figured I’d covered three or four miles at a brisk pace. The first pitter of rain sprayed across the road in a gust that shook dead leaves from the hardwoods and sent them flying. In the proper gear, I’d enjoy a walk in the rain. Not so much without a waterproof slicker, which I didn’t have. This was going to be nasty.
I’d exp
lored a couple of deer trails that I thought might be a secret entrance to a cabin, but I’d ended up at one of the creeks in a dead end. Still, I had the sense that I was closing in on Potter. When I came to a mud track with tire marks, my gut sent out a warning that made me take cover and drop into a crouch. The tracks were fresh. Danger was near.
I picked my way through the mud, hoping I wouldn’t slip and break a bone. Thick layers of claylike soil stuck to the bottom of my boots and made my feet feel like cement blocks. Somehow the critters knew exactly where to step, and they crossed the bog without incident. The ground tilted slightly downward, an indication we were heading for water.
While the area was mostly flat and filled with small lakes, ponds, creeks, streams, and swamps, the area on either side of the creek was sloped. As I pushed through the dense undergrowth, I could see watermarks where flooding had pushed the creek out of its banks. Such a flood could happen in an instant if the rain was heavy enough. The cloud that had drifted atop me was pregnant with water. Any minute now the bottom would drop out.
Pluto scampered up to me and jumped on my leg, all four paws digging in. I hopped and choked back my cries of pain, and finally picked him up and tucked him into my warm jacket. He sensed the approach of the rain and—typical cat—he wanted inside my coat. He wouldn’t be totally dry, but it was a lot better for a black kitty than slogging through mud. Sweetie Pie and Chablis were oblivious to the horrors of impending wet.
The crazy thing about my dog was that she could swim in the icy creeks and rivers and never feel it. A good hot bath, on the other hand, left her shivering and acting as if I’d been terribly cruel to her.
Rock-a-Bye Bones Page 23
