Outcast In Gray: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 7)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Informed of anything in particular?”

  “Well, that road dead-ends about a mile up there, so we can always come back and go that way if this direction proves faulty,” she said.

  Less than half a mile later along the road that followed closely to the Ivy River we spotted the dogs. They had slowed to a persistent trot by this time and Starnes stopped the truck to give them some distance from us. Sam looked back to me without breaking stride. Dog never noticed that we had approached. At least Dog showed no signs of noticing. It might be that Dog didn’t care that we had finally caught up with them. She was on an adventure with Sam the wonder dog. Humans were rather unimportant. Dog seemed to be having fun.

  The road became rougher and steeper. Another quarter mile and we came to what I would have considered the end of the gravel road. The grass and high weeds hid whatever gravel had been spread there in years past. There were no vehicle tracks or ruts.

  “We’ll park here. House there,” Starnes nodded to our immediate right, “belongs to a doctor in Charlotte.”

  “You know everyone in the county by now?”

  “Just the necessary ones.”

  “Good to know some doctors in our line of work,” I said.

  “He’s semi-retired.”

  “Still knows what’s what, though.”

  “Reckon so. This is an old logging road. Climbs the mountain. If we walk this trail far enough, we will come to the connecting point where we would have arrived had we gone to our right at the fork.”

  “A large circular path across the little mountain here,” I said as if I completely understood her geography lesson.

  “Never an official roadway, as far as I know, but it was utilized by hunters once upon a time, and later college students with various things on their minds.”

  We could still see the dogs up ahead, so we walked quickly in order to keep them in sight. Actually, Starnes was walking as fast as she could. I was still a bit gimpy from my injury, so I couldn’t move as I was accustomed. Our single file trek had Sam at the head followed by Dog, then Starnes, and I was the tail of the group.

  We remained behind the dogs, of course, but keeping them in sight. They remained mostly on the old logging road. No longer cold, I was seriously considering the idea of removing my leather jacket. Starnes’ hearty breakfast was creating sufficient fuel for me; add to that the mountain climbing, my frequent grunting caused by the pain in my still sore foot, the added heat from this dubious exertion, and I was ready to change into shorts.

  The cloud cover seemed to be thicker than when we had left Starnes’ place earlier that morning. Despite the absence of the leaves from the deciduous trees, the forest surrounding us on both sides was dark and dismal. Sunshine would have helped my attitude immensely.

  Starnes stopped and looked back at me. She waited while I limped to catch up.

  “You okay?” she said.

  “I’ve had worse injuries.”

  “Not much of an answer. One tough old bird, huh?”

  “Old?”

  “Figure of speech.”

  We headed on up the steep roadbed. The dogs were out of sight by this point. Starnes remained close to me as if she thought I might keel over any minute. We walked on in silence for a while, believing that the dogs would reveal themselves around the next turn or over the next rise. No such luck.

  “You hear anything?” Starnes said.

  I held my breath and listened. Nothing.

  “Nary a sound. Not even birds singing.”

  “If they’re singing,” Starnes said, “they’re singing in Florida.”

  I called Sam and waited. A few seconds later, I spotted his black coat approaching us. He was moving quickly. There was something in his mouth.

  Dog was about ten feet behind running for all her worth trying to keep up with Sam. It was no contest. On her best days, Dog wouldn’t be able to match him. His leg strength and stamina was too much for her to equal.

  Dog had a bone in her grasp as well.

  Sam slid to a stop in front of us. The wet grass was a tad slippery. He was carrying a large bone. He dropped it and sat down on his haunches as Dog approached with her treasure.

  “I think they found something,” I said.

  “Sam brought us another femur. Dog, here, has a humerus.”

  “We keep them at it and we’ll have a complete skeleton before supper time,” I said.

  “That’s what worries me,” Starnes said she opened two large plastic bags and put each bone in its own container. “I think we may have a crime scene.”

  4

  Sam and Dog led us to the spot where they had found the two new bones. In addition to fragments and some splintered remains from the larger bones, there was a skull. It was easy enough for us to deduce that a man had died and all that was left of him were scattered bones. Despite our no doubt accurate assessment, we had yet to determine to my satisfaction that a crime had been committed.

  “We’ll treat it as a crime scene,” Starnes said as she took out a roll of plastic crime scene tape and started walking the perimeter wrapping trees to contain what she thought was the place of a man’s death.

  “Is there enough evidence here to conclude anything?” I said with a lot of skepticism.

  “You might be surprised.”

  “You’re the crime scene professional. I just try to narrow the list of suspects and go after them.”

  “You need my evidence to convict,” Starnes said.

  “Granted. And, I would like to have something to get started. What if a person was mauled by a wild animal?”

  “Yet to be determined.”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to fingerprint or handcuff a black bear,” I said. “And he could’ve frozen to death and then the animals of the forest devoured him.”

  “Not likely,” she said.

  “Why is that?”

  Starnes handed me the skull and pointed to some holes on either side of the base.

  “My education suggests that this man was attacked from behind and killed by a fairly large animal. If he had died of exposure here, then there would be no need for these wounds. All the animals have to do is come and dine since he would already be dead in your scenario. But, if he was alive and walking up here … well, you get my drift.”

  “And you were Daniel Boone in the school play no doubt,” I said.

  “Daniele Boone, thank you very much,” she said and snatched the skull out of my hands. “I’ll walk back to the truck and drive up here. Try to keep Sam away from that central area I roped off. And see what you can find around the perimeter.”

  Starnes headed back down the logging road. Dog followed her.

  Sam and I headed further up the logging road to see what we might find that could enlighten us about these skeletal remains.

  It seemed darker and colder to me, but since I was too much a city girl, I figured it was just my whiny nature coming to the fore. Sam trotted in front as if he were in his element. A few hundred yards later, Sam and I discovered a small cabin less than a hundred yards into the woods to our right. If it hadn’t been early February with the absence of leaves, the cabin would still be hidden from the logging road. There was a trail from the road to the small house that we followed.

  I slowed to a halt when the trail opened into a clearing in front of the cabin. Starnes had told me that in McAdams County one never walks up to the door of a place in the remote wilds of this mountain region without hailing the place. It’s good to announce one’s presence.

  “Anyone home?” I yelled out and waited for some response before moving closer to the home.

  Sam stood still and waited just in front of me. I doubt if anyone would shoot him, before they might gun me down; still, I’d hate to be wrong about either premise. My aching foot was a less-than-gentle reminder of the fact that I had no business hiking this logging trail in search of bones.

  After several minutes of stillness and waiting for someone to respond to my call, S
am began sniffing and moving in the direction of the front door. I stayed put.

  “Stop, Sam!” I said and he halted immediately. “Let’s see if anyone is home first.”

  He walked back to my side and sat down next to me. We waited in silence a few more minutes after I yelled for the second time.

  “Hello to the cabin! Anyone home?”

  Silence. A brief gust of wind crossed over us and headed in the direction of the cabin’s front door. Nothing but the treetops seemed to be moving at the moment. I secretly wished that Starnes would get back, sooner rather than later.

  I finally decided that either someone was napping soundly inside or there was no one at home. There was of course one other option, but I didn’t want to encounter any mass murder scene on this little excursion. Coming across those skeletal remains in the remote woods of McAdams County was enough for me. I hobbled to the front door with great caution.

  Sam went around back at my suggestion while I moved as stealthily as possible with my slow-healing foot. I eased along using the larger hardwood trees which surrounded the cabin as a type of thin shield. There were plenty of smaller trees but they provided no cover for a girl of my size and density. Five feet ten inches and nearly one hundred fifty pounds, I could scarcely be considered dainty except by Norwegian standards. The large oaks and maples helped considerably, but for my money they were still a bit thin. Besides my bone structure and lady-like girth, I had my hair to contend with. The color red tends to stand out in an outdoor winter scene.

  Once I was on the porch, I felt a tad more secure in my avoiding being shot by a mountain man or woman. With my back to the wall adjacent to the left side of the front door, I knocked and called out again. I retrieved my 9mm from my back holster. It was a just-in-case move on my part.

  “Hello the cabin!”

  No answer. No movement. I knocked again, this time I hit it harder.

  Nothing but the wind made noise that I could hear.

  I reached for the door knob and turned it to see if the door might open. It turned freely and I pushed the door to its widest, opened position. It stopped opening when I saw that it bumped a chair.

  More silence. I waited for a few seconds. A hasty entrance into an unknown abode could well be the end of my career as an investigator. I was still too young to want such a premature closure to my life and work.

  Sam came around the corner just as I was about to look inside. I put my hand up for him to stop. He obeyed by sitting down and watching me in all of my stealthiness. I could tell he was impressed by his lackadaisical disposition. Despite his seemingly relaxed pose on the floor of the cabin’s porch, he was watching every movement I made.

  I entered the cabin slowly. I looked back at Sam who had positioned himself in the center of the door opening as if he wanted to watch my every move. His head was moving inch by inch, at least that’s what I thought when I would turn and look at him after each step I took. Perhaps I was in need of some affirmation from him. He was alert and a little passive. Perhaps he already knew that the cabin was empty.

  I was still braced for the possibility that someone from behind the closed doors to possible other rooms might emerge with a shotgun and unload it close to me.

  I was now maybe three steps into the outer room of the cabin. Two short walls on either side of me formed what I could only assume to be a very short hallway and entrance place. On my left were some nails with a dirty, heavy coat hanging from one and a equally dirty hat hanging from the other. I peeked around the corner of one short wall to see that the living area and kitchen were clearly exposed and no one was waiting to gun me down. Two doors on the back wall were both closed. I assumed that one entered a bedroom and the other was likely the bath. I moved quickly inside and headed to the back wall where I stood to the side of the door on my right. I turned the door knob and pushed. It was the bathroom. The distance from that door to the outside wall to my right behind where I was standing was shorter than the distance from the other back-wall door to the other outside wall. Likely it was the bedroom. Ever observant and calculating detective I am.

  No one was in the bathroom. I moved ahead to the other door still inching along the wall between the two doorways. I made the same movements and swung open the door revealing a small chamber that had a bed, chest of drawers, and an old trunk on the floor at the foot of the bed. No one was in the bedroom.

  I holstered my weapon and let out a long breath. Sam entered the cabin without my inviting him. He seemed to know that the coast was clear. Perhaps more proof that he had been watching intently my efforts at avoiding being shot in the Blue Ridge. I trusted his senses and could feel some actual relief come over me.

  I checked for anything that might assist in determining the inhabitant of this domicile. That means I went through all of the drawers that I could see as well as opened cabinets and search behind furniture for spots that were not readily apparent while standing in the middle of the room. Within twenty minutes or so, I had determined that despite the sparse existence of the owner of this place, one Rufus Ramsey lived here. As far as I could tell, Rufus lived alone. Not only that, there were no photographs hanging on the walls or resting on the limited tables in the place. I did find one small photo in a drawer in his bedroom. It was the photo of a rather young person wearing a funny-looking cap, much like a Russian cap with earflaps and a long strap which could have been buttoned or snapped underneath the chin but was hanging to the right of the face in the picture. I assumed it to be an old photograph.

  I put it in my pocket.

  My diligent search revealed one other item from the person-less cabin. In the trunk at the foot of the bed I found an old newspaper folded and inside a shirt box. The newspaper was the Asheville Citizen and was dated September 19, 1983. It was folded to an article on page four, the story of a family of five who were all killed in an automobile accident on Highway 19/23, the major artery in those days from the east side of McAdams County to Asheville. The article said that the family killed was heading into Asheville when a tractor-trailer jackknifed, came across the line on the two-lane road, and hit the truck head-on. The family of five had no chance to survive. There was a photograph of what was left of the truck.

  The name of the family was Ramsey. Buford, Liza-Mae, Dottie Belle, Harry, and Billy-Bob. The possible calculations were buzzing in my brain as I stood in the center of the room wondering what had happened to Rufus and how he was related to the Ramsey family mentioned in the tragic article.

  5

  “Anybody home?” a welcomed voice called out.

  I walked to the only door of the cabin and watched Starnes and Dog approach through the dense forest. Despite the time of year and the lack of foliage, it was still thick with trees so that it was quite difficult to see this place from the old road. Hermit city, so to speak.

  “Took your own sweet time,” I said.

  “Drove slowly. Want my old transmission to last another ten years. Find anything of substance?”

  “Apparently this home belongs to Rufus Ramsey. Recognize the name?”

  “Nope. Contrary to your opinion about my county knowledge, I do not know all the souls that reside in these hills.”

  “The best I can tell is that Rufus lived alone. Very much alone.”

  “There’s an old country store back down the road, farther back from where we stopped to begin our hunt. Maybe he traded there and someone knows him.”

  I showed Starnes the photograph and the newspaper clipping. The photo showed an eighteen wheeler atop the demolished truck. The tractor-trailer was still mostly intact except for the driver’s cabin. The driver of the semi was also injured in the wreck, but survived according to the newspaper account. The name given for the driver was Siler Proctor of Erwin, Tennessee.

  Starnes placed the newspaper and the photograph in separate evidence bags. She handed them back to me. Then she entered the small bathroom. I watched her open the two drawers in the vanity cabinet underneath the sink. She took a comb
from the drawer and put it inside another bag. Gathering clues, I suspected.

  “The comb for DNA?” I said.

  “Yeah, might help to match with the bones the dogs brought to us.”

  “In case Rufus doesn’t come home soon,” I said.

  “You check the outside yet?” Starnes said.

  “Nope. Wanted to be sure the inside was free of intended malice upon my person. Ever cautious, you know.”

  “You check every nook and cranny inside this place?”

  “Give me one more round to be thorough. I need to consider where a person who lived alone might hide valuables.”

  “You do that. Dog and I will canvass the outside.”

  “You want Sam to help?”

  “Yeah, three noses better than two. Besides, experienced noses are superior. Remember, I wanted him to come along for this adventure,” she said.

  “I recall.”

  Starnes, Dog, and Sam exited the front door and I turned to review all of the places I had searched in my first pass around the little cabin. This time I moved every piece of furniture just to be sure that Rufus wasn’t hiding something under or behind a displayed furnishing. In my own life I used to hide treasures in places where I suspected folks would never think to look. Not that I was that secretive as a child, I simply took it as a game of hide and seek of sorts trying to outwit my investigative father who was quite a deft sheriff in Pitt County, Virginia. I had to be clever in order to keep him at bay. This innocent game from my childhood does in fact help me in my searches from time to time.

  Rufus Ramsey had a rocking chair resting comfortably directly in front of a small fireplace. The rocker had some age to it. Smaller than most modern day rockers, it had years of stories to tell about the folks who had rocked babies, small animals, and themselves. The varnish had long since turned from a brown tint to black. No doubt Rufus had used it for several years since there were small grooves in the floor of his cabin where the rocker had performed its up and down dance while Rufus warmed himself by the fire. That fireplace was the only observable form of heat for the cabin; however, the size of his domicile was such that the fireplace likely was sufficient.