What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  Jolie rubbed the perspiring cardboard cup against her warm cheek. “Two deputies have died, one lives in Oklahoma, and the two we’ve questioned didn’t give us any information that could help us.”

  Standing outside the open door, Nellie Keenum cleared her throat, then stuck her head in and said, “Got an address for where Aaron Bendall’s retirement checks are sent.”

  “Oh, Nellie, that’s wonderful.” Jolie set the tea on a Post-it notepad atop Ike’s desk.

  “Not so wonderful.” Nellie grimaced. “They go to a post office box in Dothan.”

  “Shit!” Ike mumbled under his breath.

  “I don’t see the problem. If his checks go to Dothan, then that must mean he lives there, right?” Jolie glanced from Nellie to Ike.

  “Wrong.” Ike looked at Nellie. “Have you already—”

  “Yep. I ran a check. No Aaron Bendall in Dothan. No phone. No utilities. No paper trail of any kind.”

  “What does that mean?” Jolie asked.

  “That means somebody picks up Bendall’s check every month and forwards it to him,” Ike explained. “Could be a relative or could be somebody he pays to do it. Whichever doesn’t matter. What’s important is that apparently Bendall doesn’t want anybody to know where he’s living. Now, why would he care, unless he doesn’t want to be found?”

  “And why doesn’t he want to be found?” Jolie smiled. Finding out the secretive nature of Aaron Bendall’s whereabouts was the first break they’d gotten today. She’d known finding information that would clear Lemar in the twenty-year-old double homicide case wouldn’t be easy, but without the case files it might be impossible.

  Nellie hovered in the doorway. “Anything else y’all want me to do?”

  “Yeah,” Ike replied. “See if you can get a phone number for Willie Norville. He lives in Oklahoma with his daughter. I think her name is Merry Watkins. First name spelled like Merry Christmas.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Nellie left, but was back in five seconds, a small thin man at her side. “Linden Singleton is here.”

  Ike met the wiry old man before he entered the office, shook his hand and projected a friendly demeanor. “Come on in, Lin. Have a seat. Nellie, get Lin some coffee. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Cream, no sugar.” While eying Jolie, Linden sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Ike’s desk. “You’re Louis Royale’s gal, ain’t you?”

  Ike shooed Nellie with a swish of his hand. She closed the door before scurrying off.

  “Yes, I’m Jolie Royale.”

  “Good man, your daddy.” Lin studied Jolie intently. “You look like your aunt. Like Lisette Desmond.”

  “Yes, sir, so I’ve been told.”

  “Prettiest woman I ever saw in my life.” Lin looked at Ike. “What’s this all about? When Nellie called, she said you needed some information about an old case I worked on back when Aaron Bendall was sheriff.”

  “That’s right.” Ike took the seat beside Lin. “The Belle Rose massacre case.”

  “Damn, what a bad time that was. They named that case right—it was a massacre. You know, I was one of the deputies who took the call. Me and Earl Farris.” Lin looked point-blank at Jolie. “Miss Jolie, are you sure you want to hear about this?”

  “Yes, Mr. Singleton, I want to hear.”

  Lin nodded. “If Earl was alive he could tell you just what we found. I’ll never forget. Not as long as I live.”

  “Mr. Singleton?” Jolie interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember who made the call to report the murders?” She’d been told that Aunt Clarice had come home from work and found the bodies, but she was curious to see if Linden Singleton remembered that day any differently.

  “Thought you knew that Miss Clarice found ’em. She’s been touched in the noggin ever since, poor soul.” Lin tapped his head. “Don’t know how she was able to make that phone call. But she did, somehow. She told the dispatcher to send an ambulance. When we found her, she couldn’t even talk. Totally zonked out. Her eyes were all funny looking and she was just staring off into space.

  “Anyhow, we went in through the back door—the front door was locked—and walked straight into the kitchen. That’s when we saw Miss Audrey—Mrs. Royale—lying by the table and Miss Clarice sitting on the floor on the other side of the table. She was holding you up, Miss Jolie, your head against her chest, and she was stroking your face. Poor thing had blood all over her dress and on her hands.”

  Jolie swallowed hard. No one had ever told her any of the actual details about that day, about the events that occurred after Aunt Clarice had found the bodies.

  “Once we saw that Miss Jolie was still alive, just barely”—Lin’s gaze met hers and she saw the pity in his eyes—“we got on the horn and told them to rush that ambulance. Earl, he stayed with Miss Clarice and Miss Jolie and called for backup while I started searching the rest of the house. I gotta admit that I was mighty scared that the killer was still in the house.”

  “But you didn’t see anyone else? Anyone alive?” Ike asked.

  “Nobody.” Lin shook his head. “I found Miss Lisette lying on the landing. Even dead she was beautiful.” Lin sighed loudly. “And then I found him, in her bedroom, in the doorway. He was lying there, facedown, with the gun in his hand. If the son of a bitch hadn’t already been dead, I’d have probably killed him with my bare hands.”

  “Tell us something, Lin, have you ever doubted that Lemar Fuqua murdered the Desmond sisters and then committed suicide?” Ike Denton asked.

  “Wasn’t no reason to doubt it. All the evidence pointed directly to him.” Lin glanced at Jolie. “Meaning no disrespect to Miss Lisette, but she shouldn’t been fooling around with—” Lin looked up at Ike, then looked away quickly. “Well, folks said that if she hadn’t been messing around with Lemar Fuqua, she’d still be alive. Her and her sister.”

  “Why do you think he killed my mother, too?” Jolie asked.

  “Ain’t it obvious? Because she was there at the house and knew he was there, upstairs with Miss Lisette. She probably heard the shot and—” Lin scratched his chin. “You know there was something I always thought odd. He didn’t kill Mrs. Royale in the kitchen. He killed her outside and carried her body inside. Her blood was on his hands and all over his shirt. He must have killed Miss Lisette, then tried to run away and ran into Mrs. Royale on his way out.”

  “Then why take my mother’s body into the kitchen before going back upstairs and killing himself in Aunt Lisette’s bedroom?”

  “Don’t know,” Lin admitted. “Like I said, I always thought it was odd.”

  “What did Sheriff Bendall think about this information?” Ike asked.

  “Aaron? I don’t recall him ever saying anything about it one way or the other.”

  Nellie knocked, opened the door and brought Lin a cup of coffee. “Cream, no sugar.” She glanced at Ike. “I got that phone number you wanted.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take care of that matter later.” Ike dismissed her, then turned back to Lin. “Is there anything else odd you remember about the case?”

  “Nothing really, except…well, Mr. Louis Royale seemed to have some doubts about Lemar Fuqua’s guilt. But he was the only one, except Lemar’s sister. And I heard that later, when she was able to, Miss Clarice Desmond made a statement that she believed he was innocent. But everybody knew Lemar did it.”

  “Daddy had doubts about Lemar’s guilt?”

  “Yeah, but the sheriff told Mr. Royale flat-out that the evidence showed plainly that Lemar was guilty and that there was nobody else could have done it.”

  “Were any other suspects questioned?” Ike asked.

  Lin shook his head. “Weren’t no other suspects. Not really.”

  “Did the sheriff question anyone else about the case?” Ike tried a different tactic.

  “Well, sure he did. And so did that CIB agent. Can’t recall his name. Sanderson, Henderson, something like that. They had to c
all in the CIB and get some help. Our sheriff’s department and our police department wasn’t equipped to handle anything like the Belle Rose massacre. Anyway, the CIB came to the same conclusion as Sheriff Bendall.” Lin lifted the mug to his lips and sipped on the hot coffee.

  “Who was questioned?” Jolie asked.

  “Who?” Lin sat there and thought for a few minutes. “Well, you were questioned, Miss Jolie. While you were in the hospital. And of course, Miss Clarice, but she was completely off her rocker for a while. I think her doctor kept her doped up all the time. Mr. Royale was questioned and—” Lin became suddenly quiet, his gaze darting back and forth from Jolie to Ike.

  “And who else?” Jolie pressed him.

  “Ma’am, it ain’t something you ought to hear.” Lin looked to Ike for help.

  “I don’t think you’ll be telling Ms. Royale anything she doesn’t already know,” Ike said. “Everybody in Sumarville heard about Mr. Royale’s alibi that day.”

  “Don’t be concerned, Mr. Singleton,” Jolie said. “I know that my father was with Georgette Devereaux when my mother was killed.”

  “Ain’t a man alive hadn’t been tempted at some time or other,” Lin said. “Your daddy wasn’t no bad man. He just gave in to temptation. And Lord knows Georgette Devereaux was a mighty tempting piece of—”

  Ike cleared his throat.

  Lin darted an apologetic glance at Jolie, then looked sheepishly down at the floor. “Yeah, well, Mr. Royale and Mrs. Devereaux were questioned. And so was Parry Clifton, since he was engaged to Miss Lisette. Lucky bastard.” Lin shook his head and tsk-tsked sadly. “Never seen a man so broke up. Parry sure did love Miss Lisette.” Lin took a few more sips of his coffee, then leaned over and set the mug on Ike’s desk. “And they questioned Max Devereaux, too.”

  “Did Max have an alibi?” Jolie asked.

  “Can’t say as I recall. Don’t guess it mattered. Nobody really took those rumors about him killing your mama to clear a path for his mama very seriously.”

  “Lin, is there anything else you can tell us that you think might have been the least bit odd?” Ike flopped his big hands down on top of his thighs in a well-does-that-about-cover-it? gesture.

  “Nope. That’s about it. So, you gonna tell me why you’re wanting all this information about a twenty-year-old case that was solved at the time it happened?”

  “Theron Carter—I’m sure you heard about what happened to him,” Jolie said. Lin Singleton nodded.

  “He believes that Lemar Fuqua was innocent. And I agree with Theron. We think he was murdered by the same person who murdered my mother and aunt.”

  Lin let out a long low whistle. “You’re opening up a can of worms. A stinky can of worms. People don’t like remembering bad times.”

  “All we want is to find out the truth,” Jolie said.

  Lin looked at Ike. “Have you questioned any of the other deputies about the case?”

  “We talked to Carl Bowling and Ernie Dupuis before we did you, and we’re going to call Willie Norville later.” Ike stood and stretched his legs, moving restlessly around his office.

  “You ought to talk to Earl Farris’s widow,” Lin suggested. “She might know something. Earl was the only deputy who questioned Lemar’s guilt. After the sheriff told Earl that there was no room for doubt and not to be stirring up unnecessary trouble, Earl kept his mouth shut. But he might have told his wife something about his suspicions before he died. Now, mind you, I don’t think Earl was right, but if you’re determined to rake over the past, you ought to talk to Ginny.”

  Ike held out his hand to Lin. “I want to thank you for coming in today and talking to us.”

  Lin shook Ike’s hand, then nodded to Jolie. “You might ought to be careful, Miss Jolie. Sometimes it’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie. You never know, you might dig up something you’d rather not know.”

  With that said, Lin turned and left Ike’s office. When Jolie opened her mouth to speak, Ike held up a restraining hand, then closed the door.

  “I say we get Willie Norville’s number from Nellie and call him right now,” Ike said. “Let’s see if he’s as talkative as Lin.”

  “Ike, when did Earl Farris die?”

  “Huh?”

  “Earl Farris. When did he die?”

  “I don’t know. Years ago.”

  “How many years?”

  “Fifteen, twenty years…What are you thinking?”

  “You don’t know exactly when he died or how he died?” Jolie rose from the swivel chair behind Ike’s desk.

  “I’ve got no idea. I wasn’t around back then. I was away at college for several years, then I worked out of state for a few years after that.”

  “Ask Nellie to find out for us when Farris died and how. ASAP.”

  Ike nodded. “Why didn’t you just ask Lin before he left?”

  “Because I think Mr. Singleton was beginning to sweat. I believe he’s had a lot of years to go over things in his mind and he’s afraid that maybe Earl Farris was right to have had doubts about Lemar’s guilt. If Earl was killed to keep him quiet, then anybody who talks too much, even now, might be in danger.”

  “And your imagination could be working overtime.” Ike walked to the door. “I’ll get Norville’s phone number and ask Nellie to see what she can find out about Earl Farris.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Wells,” Willie Norville said. “Sheriff Denton called me and asked me a bunch of questions about the Belle Rose massacre case. And Jolie Royale herself talked to me.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  “What sort of questions did they ask?”

  “They asked me if I remembered anything odd about the case, about the investigation.”

  “Who else have they talked to?” Roscoe Wells asked.

  “All the deputies who are still alive. Bowling and Dupuis and Singleton.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “Like who?” Willie asked.

  “Like Ginny Farris.”

  “Ginny Pounders. She got married again about five years after Earl was… after Earl died. But I think she’s divorced now.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Ginny Pounders. Well, maybe I need to send somebody around to talk to Ginny, make sure she remembers to keep her mouth shut.”

  Jolie parked her SUV on the cracked concrete driveway directly behind a black Honda Civic, then removed the folded paper from the sun visor she’d used as a paper clip. She held the address in her hand and double-checked the address: 132 Sunrise Avenue. She had phoned ahead to set up a time that was convenient for Ginny Farris Pounders, who worked at Shop Rite Foods and didn’t get off work until six. Jolie glanced at her wristwatch. Precisely seven o’clock.

  “Come by around seven,” Ginny had said. “That’ll give me time to change clothes, fix me some supper, and relax a few minutes.”

  “I appreciate your talking to me,” Jolie had told her.

  “I’ll talk to you. I think you got a right to know. But I’m not telling the law nothing and if you get the case reopened, I’m not testifying.”

  What did Ginny Farris Pounders know? And who was she afraid of?

  The one-story, yellow frame house, adorned with dark green shutters, sat back off the street, giving the property a large front yard, but practically no backyard. Neatly trimmed green grass, low round shrubbery, and a couple of old oak trees added curb appeal to the residence. A neat house on a street of small neat houses dating back to the Forties. A thickly wooded area ran behind the house. Hobo Woods. Jolie recalled her father saying people named the woods that because the old railroad tracks were on the other side of the woods and during the Depression years, hobos had often lived temporarily in the shallow caves nearby.

  Jolie got out of her Escalade, the straps of her bag over her shoulder, and made her way across the stepping-stone walkway to the front porch. Behind the storm door, the dark green front door stood wide open, which, to Jolie, meant Ginny had been watch
ing for her arrival. But when she reached the door and peeped inside, she didn’t see a sign of anyone. She rang the doorbell and waited. Quiet neighborhood, she thought. Not even a dog barking. Where was Ginny? Jolie rang the bell again. Damn! Had the woman changed her mind? Was she afraid to tell anyone about her first husband’s suspicions concerning Lemar Fuqua’s innocence?

  After ringing the bell a third time, Jolie wondered if she should leave. Instinctively she reached out and yanked on the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Should I or shouldn’t I? Yes, you should—go in and see if you can find Ginny.

  Jolie entered the small living room, well lit from the double windows that let in the early evening light. “Mrs. Pounders?”

  No response.

  “Ginny, are you here?”

  Silence.

  A niggling sense of uncertainty crept up Jolie’s spine, but she disregarded it, telling herself that there was nothing to fear. She called out for Ginny several times as she made her way from the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen. The aroma of meat cooking filled Jolie’s nostrils. Glancing at the stove top she saw pork chops frying in an iron skillet on the large right-front stove eye and potatoes boiling in a pot on the left-back eye. Ginny was cooking supper; that meant she was here. Somewhere.

  Through the half open back door, Jolie could see a small screened-in porch. Had Ginny gone outside for some reason?

  “Ginny?”

  Jolie stepped onto the back porch. She blinked several times, telling herself that her eyesight was playing tricks on her. A woman lay on the wooden floor, her sightless eyes wide-open, and a bright red ring of fresh blood circled her neck from ear to ear. A bloody butcher knife stuck straight up in the wooden floor beside her. Jolie opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Run! Now!

  When she turned to flee, back into the house, she caught a glimpse of someone hidden in the shadows behind a rusty metal baker’s rack filled with flower pots. Ginny’s killer! Spurred into action by sheer terror, Jolie ran into the house. The man followed her, his heavy footsteps pounding behind her. As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and flung it to the floor, directly in her pursuer’s path. While rushing into the dining room, she heard the loud crash as the chair hit the kitchen wall where no doubt the murderer had thrown it.