Stillborn Armadillos (John Lee Quarrels Book 1)

by Nick Russell

  "And these workers wore ID tags like these?"

  "Yep, that SL stands for Somerton Lumber, and the number was their individual worker number. They were worn around their neck on a string or a leather thong or something like that. That way the overseer and his men knew who was who. When they started their work day the captain noted the number to know they was on the job, and he checked them off at the end of the day. And when they went to the camp store to buy something, they showed that tag. Probably better'n half the people working in the camp stores couldn't read or write much, if any at all. So that was an easy way of record keeping."

  "Do you have any way of knowing which workers these tags would've belonged to, Chester?"

  The old man shook his head. "Sorry, I don't. And I don't know if the company has any records going back that far, either."

  "You said something about the camp captains being able to beat workers if they tried to run away?"

  "Not just if they tried to run away. If the boss man felt like they were slacking off, or be'in uppity, or for any reason he wanted to, he could whip them as punishment and to set an example of what happened to people who were shirkin."

  "And that was legal?"

  "Who was going to complain? And who were they going to complain to?"

  Chapter 22

  John Lee had never been much of a student when he was in high school. He always did enough to get by, and graduated with a B average, but he was just putting in his time. But over the two hours he spent with Chester, he found himself becoming fascinated with the history of Somerton County. How could he have called this place home for so much of his life, yet know so little about it?

  Chester had explained how the turpentine business had enabled the county to survive during the bleak Reconstruction period following the Civil War, and how it had continued to thrive through half of the next century. The Historical Museum had several photographs from the old turpentine camps, faded black and white pictures of men and women who looked tired and worn down by their hard lives. Blacks and whites lived and worked side-by-side, united in their common misery. In one of them, a young white man sat astride a horse, holding a double-barreled shotgun and watching several workers loading a cask onto a horse drawn wagon. A coiled whip hung from his saddle horn. The man looked familiar, although there was no way John Lee could know him, since the picture had been taken so long ago.

  "Do you have any idea who this fellow might be?"

  Chester studied it and shook his head. "I have no idea. Obviously he's one of the overseers or woods riders. Those were the captains' underlings. Each camp would have three or four of them, depending on size."

  John Lee looked at the photograph again. "Sure looks familiar to me for some reason."

  "Well, unless you was reincarnated and lived back in those days, I don't see how you'd know him."

  "I guess not," John Lee said, then had an idea. "Would you mind if I took up a picture of this with my phone?"

  "Help yourself."

  While John Lee took a picture of the old photograph, Chester opened up a closet and sorted through several boxes before coming back with an old map, which he opened up on top of the showcase.

  "This map dates back to 1939," Chester told him as he carefully unfolded it.

  The paper was brittle and the ink was faded, but he was able to point out to John Lee the locations of the six turpentine camps that had been operated by the Somerton Lumber Company. One was north of a line that was identified as Turpentine Road, and though there was no scale on the map, John Lee estimated that Chester's three mile guesstimate was pretty close to where the skeletons had been found. Another camp was a little further west, and the other four were scattered further away around the county.

  "Can I take this with me, if I promise to bring it back?"

  "I'd really hate to see something happen to it," Chester said. "It's one of the few maps we have of the county back in the old days."

  "I understand that," John Lee said. "Listen, we've got a copy machine over at the sheriff's office, can I just take it long enough to make a copy? I promise I'll take really good care of it."

  Chester thought about it for a moment and then nodded his head. "Sure, just bring it down to my house when you're done."

  John Lee thanked him for his time and promised to be back in just a few minutes. Chester saw him out and locked the museum's door. He shook the deputy's hand and said, "My old lady's got the Alzheimer's and I don't like leaving her alone for too long, so I'm going to head back over to the house."

  "You've been a great help to me," John Lee said. "I promise I'll make a copy of the map and get it back to you just as soon as I'm done."

  The old man nodded and said, "Whatever was done to those three men out there was a terrible thing. You kinda hate to think things like that happened around here, but they did. I can't help but wonder how many other old bones are buried around this county."

  Driving to the courthouse, John Lee wondered the same thing himself.

  ***

  "It's too big to copy all in one piece," Sheila said, "but I can probably make like six copies of different parts of the map and tape them together for you. Will that work, John Lee?"

  "Whatever you can do," he told her. "As light as some parts of it are, I'm not even sure how well it will copy."

  "I can set the machine to copy it darker than it is," she said.

  "Okay, do that if you would. Will that machine blow stuff up, too?"

  "Oh yeah, up to four hundred percent."

  John Lee showed her the area where the two camps were located closest to where the skeletons had been found and asked if she could give him a blow up of that area."

  "You got it," Sheila said. "Give me about fifteen minutes."

  While she was doing that John Lee went upstairs to update D.W. on what he had learned.

  "Oh yeah, I remember hearin' about the turpentine camps," the sheriff said. "Way I heard it told, it was a good way to get the riffraff off the streets and put them to work."

  "Sounds more like slave labor to me," John Lee said.

  "Well now, neither you nor me was there, so don't go judgin' things just based on what one person told ya."

  "Even riffraff doesn't deserve to be shot in the back of the head like that, D.W."

  "I ain't sayin' that, John Lee. Hell, we don't even know if the men those bones belong to came from one of them camps. For all we know it could'a been anything. Bootleggers killin' each other, a family feud, it's hard to say."

  "Or the Klan."

  "Don't go pokin' sticks at a hornets' nest until you know more than you do now," D.W. warned.

  "Wherever this goes D.W., I'm not going to just pretend it never happened."

  "Don't expect you to. I'm just sayin' don't be talkin' 'bout things until you know. You know how it is around here, John Lee. There's a lot of good ol' boys 'round these parts that still hang onto the old ways. Just don't go steppin' on toes until we know they're the ones that need steppin' on is all I'm sayin'."

  "I understand."

  "Okay, get back at it. And keep me posted. I need somethin' to tell those news people."

  "Will do," John Lee assured him.

  He left the sheriff's office and was headed back downstairs when Chief Deputy Flag Newton accosted him on the wide marble steps. "What's this I hear about you being rude to poor old Miz Darnell?"

  "Miz Darnell? I don't know who that is."

  "Don't you try to bullshit me, boy! She said you called her and demanded her to come down to the museum and then you got lippy with her. I don't care if you are brown nosin' D.W., I won't stand for that!"

  "Hazel? Is that who you're talking about?"

  "You know damn well who I'm talkin' about! Hazel Darnell. Where do you get off actin' that way?"

  "I wasn't rude to her at all," John Lee said. "If anybody was rude, it was her."

  "Don't you be makin' excuses, I know what a smart ass you are."

  Flag's right hand was swathed in
a huge bandage, and he accented his words by thumping John Lee in the chest with it. The deputy was tempted to tell him that if he did it one more time, he was in for another trip to the emergency room, but instead he just said, "Have you ever considered that anal bleaching thing those movie stars are doing out in Hollywood, Fig? Because if an asshole ever needed to lighten up, it's you."

  He turned and continued down the stairs, with Flag shouting after him, "There's gonna be a time when you don't have D.W. to protect your ass. And when that day comes, I'm gonna be waitin', John Lee. Oh yeah, I'll be waitin'!"

  ***

  Sheila had done an excellent job on the map, carefully taping six individual sheets together to make a full-size duplicate, and she had also made three separate copies at different magnification levels that zoomed in on the two turpentine camps and the site where the skeletons had been found. She had also been able to increase the contrast so that details showed better than they did on the original.

  "That's perfect," John Lee told her. "Let me get this map back to the fellow at the museum. Thank you, Sheila."

  "No problem." She leaned forward and rolled her eyes toward the door and said, "You watch yourself with Fig. He's really on the warpath. When old Mrs. Darnell came in here raisin' Cain, I tried to head her off at the pass but he was walking down the stairs and heard it and he was all over it right away."

  "Don't fret over it," John Lee said. "He's just pissed off because he can't get his way about my old gun and that Charger, and because he made an ass out of himself and busted his hand in the process."

  "I know, but even so, you just watch yourself, okay?"

  "I will. I promise."

  He left the dispatch office knowing that sooner or later he and Flag were going to have to settle things between them, and he knew when that day came, it wasn't going to be pretty.

  Chapter 23

  "Here you go," John Lee said, handing Chester the map. "Got it back to you all in one piece, just like I promised."

  "Oh, I wasn't too worried about that," the old man said. "Would you like a glass of sweet tea?"

  "I don't recall ever turning one down," John Lee replied.

  "Well then, come on in."

  He led the way into the house, a tidy affair with delicately tatted doilies on the back and arms of each piece of overstuffed furniture. A thin woman with snow white hair that hung halfway down her back was sitting in a rocking chair, her wrinkled, boney hands busy.

  "This is Arlene, my wife," Chester said. "Honey, this here is Deputy John Lee Quarrels."

  "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

  She didn't look up or acknowledge his presence, her hands busy creating yet another doily.

  "Have yourself a seat," Chester said, going into the kitchen. John Lee heard a refrigerator door open and the sound of ice clinking into glasses and then of liquid being poured. Chester returned with a tray holding two large glasses of tea, and a smaller one. He set the tray on the coffee table, handed one of the large glasses to John Lee, then removed a smaller glass from the end table next to his wife and replaced it with the fresh one. John Lee noted that the first glass was still full of tea, the ice long since melted.

  "How did you come to know so much about the history of Somerton County, sir?"

  "Oh, I've always been fascinated by history. Back in my working years I was over in Jacksonville teaching history at a community college. Arlene here, she's from Somerton, and when we moved back here, I just started doing my research. The museum was closed back then and they were talking about hauling everything off to the dump or selling it or whatever, just to get rid of it. But that would've been a tragedy. I got a group together and we went to the county supervisors and managed to convince them to let us keep it open as long as it didn't cost the county anything."

  "I know you're not open all that much, but it still must cost some just to keep the power on," John Lee said. "How can you afford it?"

  "Mostly a lot of begging, hat in hand. We charge a couple of bucks admission, and I spend a lot of time sucking up to local businesses, trying to get anything I can out of them. We hang on by the skin of our teeth, and now and then I dip into my own pocket to help make ends meet."

  "John Kennedy and Jackie are comin' to town next week," Arlene suddenly said.

  "Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

  "President John F. Kennedy and his wife Jackie are comin' to town."

  "Is that a fact? I hadn't heard about that."

  "Yes, siree. He's Catholic, ya' know. But that's okay, I think he's a good man."

  "I think so, too," John Lee said. "What's that you're making, ma'am?"

  She didn't answer him, lost again in the fog that had taken so much of her mind. Chester looked at her with fondness, as if her comments were as timely as they would've been back in 1962.

  He took a sip of the tea, which was delicious and cooled him off well.

  "I was thinking," Chester said, "even though it's been a long time since the last turpentine camp closed up, I imagine there's still some old folks around here that remember them. You might ask around, see if anybody remembers any stories about those days."

  "I'll do that," John Lee assured him. "Thanks for the tip."

  "Of course, you have to remember where you're at, officer. Just because folks remember things don't mean they're going to want to talk about them."

  "I understand," John Lee said.

  He knew the old man was right. People in Somerton County were not always eager to talk to the police. Sometimes it was because of a natural resentment of authority, sometimes because they themselves or a family member were involved in some kind of nefarious activity, and sometimes because they feared repercussions. And then there were those who just believed in minding their own business. But one never knew, information could come from the most unlikely places.

  "Let me ask you something, Chester. Do you think the Klan could have had anything to do with those skeletons we found? They were black men."

  "You know as well as I do, officer, that's always a possibility. And what did you tell me, that those bones have been out there at least fifty years?"

  "That's what they told me at the crime lab up over in Tallahassee."

  "There was a lot of bad stuff goin' on back then."

  John Lee finished his tea and put the glass back on the tray.

  "You've been a big help to me, Chester. I may be back to pick your brain some more, if I can."

  "Anytime, officer. You know where to find me."

  John Lee stood up and Chester walked him to the door. Before he left, John Lee handed the man a $20 bill and said, "It's not much, but maybe it will help keep things running over there at the museum for another day."

  "That's not necessary," Chester said, trying to give the money back, but John Lee shook his head and insisted he keep it.

  "Believe me, I probably already wasted that much in gas money just running around town getting nowhere."

  As he went out the door Arlene called after him, "Be sure to be on time when President Kennedy and Jackie get here."

  "Yes, ma'am, I will," John Lee promised. "You can count on me to be there."

  He had just gotten back in the Charger and pulled away from the curb in front of Chester's house when an emergency warning alert came over the radio and then Sheila's excited voice. "All units, shots fired! Officer involved shooting. Homestead Road by the old service station."

  John Lee grabbed the microphone off the car's dashboard. "County 16, I'm on my way!"

  There was so much radio traffic at once that he did not know if Sheila heard him or not, but he turned on his overhead lights and siren and sped toward the south end of town.

  "Who's shot?"

  "County 9 on the way."

  "Is anybody hit?"

  "Is the shooter still on the scene?"

  "What does he look like?"

  There were so many questions coming at once that the dispatcher could not break through to reply to any of them. Suddenly Flag Newton's
voice boomed over the radio. "Everybody shut up! This is County 2, I said shut up! Radio silence, now."

  He got his message through and the radio fell silent. "Okay, Sheila what's going on?"

  "County 24 reported shots fired," the dispatcher replied. "He's parked at the old gas station. He's not hit and doesn't know who the shooter is. No description."

  "24, this is 2," Flag said, "What's your status?"

  "Whoever it was shot out my back window," Greg Carson said. "I don't know who it was, I never saw anything. The window just shattered and I heard the shot. Then he fired again and I felt it hit the car."

  John Lee whipped into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting a car that pulled out from the curb in front of him, the driver oblivious to his lights and siren. The young woman behind the wheel, talking on her cell phone, glanced up as the police car barely missed her but kept right on talking. Once he was outside of town on Homestead Road it was a straight shot to the old gas station, which had been closed for years now. He floored the accelerator and the Charger shot forward.

  The gas station came into view and he could see Greg's car there, but there were no other vehicles and no sign of life. Roaring into the gravel parking lot, John Lee hit the brakes and the Charger began to slide sideways. He was afraid he was going to lose it, but managed to get control and came to a stop sideways behind the other police car. He jumped out, with his pistol in his hand.

  "Greg, you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine, John Lee."

  "Where are you?"

  "On the floor of my car."

  The other deputy managed to crawl out and ran to crouch beside John Lee.

  "You sure you're okay?"