Deadly Decision (20 page)

Yawning, I got up from the kitchen table and paced around in the dark. My shoes made firm solid sounds, unlike the phantom cracks and creaks that normally woke me during the night.

I regretted refusing Sandra's offer to sit with me. Her company would have helped pass the time. Now I struggled to stay awake; and she was staying with Lisa, the preacher's wife.

And what about Pastor Steve? Sandra believed him to be innocent. I wasn't so sure. No one knew better than me how evil can hide in a pretty package.

My muscles ached, and I wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

Coffee.

I groped in the dark trying to locate the coffee and filters. Using my finger to feel the level of water in the glass pot, I poured what I hoped was eight cups into the reservoir and flipped on the coffeemaker.

Startled, I slapped my hand over the brew light. The tiny light had cut through the darkness like a beacon. I mentally kicked myself for giving away my presence if someone was lurking outside. Dropping to my knees, I stretched for a dishtowel, tossed it over the pot to hide the light, and then crawled to the door. Cautiously I pulled myself up and stared into the quiet yard.

Clouds drifted over the moon, changing the shape of the landscape at whim. Light and dark merged, separated, and merged again. I wished for a pair of night vision goggles. Nothing human moved outside, and nothing human or otherwise jumped out at me inside. I yawned again.

I flipped the coffee pot off before removing the dish towel and pouring a steaming cup. The warmth felt good between my hands. The chill was not the same as the cold I had felt in the attic. I roamed my eyes around the room, examining every corner for the hundredth time; no black shadows drained the light like the darkness had done under the eaves. That observation provided no reassurance. The demon could appear in an instant.

The wind picked up. In my darkened bedroom, the rustle of leaves from the old laurel oak had always kept me company. Here the sound mocked me.

I glanced at my watch. Almost 4 AM. Soon it would be dawn.

Sleep overwhelmed my willpower, and I left the house and its occupants unprotected.

 

 

 

 

23

 

I jerked awake and looked around, unable to remember why I was in the kitchen instead of upstairs in my bed.

Ted stood at the sink, looking out into the yard.

I hated that my son-in-law had found me sleeping on guard duty. Glancing out the window, the horizon was outlined in a rosy glow. I glanced at my watch. Six AM. “Figured it was safe to close my eyes once the sun came up.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Ted mumbled. “I keep thinking about all the things that are happening.”

I rolled my head in a circle, trying to stretch out the tightness. “You told me once that if I couldn't do anything about something, I needed to let it go.”

A faint smile curved Ted's lips. “Sorry for that advice. It's harder to do than I thought.”

“It was still good advice.”

“I need to pray,” he said, and walked out of the room, leaving me to stare after his retreating back.

Even with a second sleepless night, my mind was more alert than it had been in a long time. My brain might be working on new batteries, but my legs felt like strips of licorice as I got up from the chair.

I tiptoed to the parlor, knowing Ted would be there. I often saw him on his knees when I walked by. Today a deep intensity etched his face. God was getting an ear-f.

I walked into the room, gently squeezed Ted's shoulder, and knelt beside him. It was time I had a talk with God, too.

 



 

Later that morning Ted and I called the police about the skeleton. There wasn't much sense in delaying. The whole applecart had been upset with the arrest of Pastor Steve.

For the third time since my initial arrival in Darlington, Officer Studler arrived at the house.

“The dispatcher said you found a skeleton.”

We had really put him through the paces. First a ghost, then a marijuana patch, now a skeleton. Maybe all of these were within a normal month's work for him; I wasn't sure. But none of this was normal for me. Ted and I led the way to the kitchen. The cabinet was closed, hiding the stone steps. Moving my hand across the frame until I found the familiar latch, I slid the cabinet from the wall.

Wide eyed, Officer Studler stared at Ted. “How long have you known about this?”

“Bill found it yesterday after he was hit…”

“… I stumbled while trying to reach the top of the cupboard. That's when I found the latch.”

“And you knew how to move the thing off the wall?”

“The ‘thing' is a cupboard. And yes, I knew to pull it off the wall.”

“How?”

“Instinct.”

“And you moved the thing and found the alleged skeleton?”

“Ted and I found it; the ladies stayed in the kitchen. And it
is
a skeleton.”

Officer Studler pulled out his black department-issued flashlight and shined it down the stone staircase. “And you never knew this was here?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“OK, show me your skeleton.”

“Be careful, the steps are slick,” I said.

Ted and I turned on our flashlights. At the bottom, I tucked my light under my arm, removed the crossbeam, backed myself onto the stairs as I opened the door.

“It's in the back,” Ted explained.

Officer Studler stared into the darkened space a few seconds before following Ted into the cave. Taking up the rear, I watched the young officer's reaction when Ted directed his light on the bones.

Studler stepped backward.

“Ever see a skeleton before?” I asked.

“Not a real one.” He roamed the beam of his flashlight around the edge of the bones.

“I've seen enough.” He led the way to the door.

Topside, Officer Studler pulled out his cellphone. “Put me through to the Sergeant.” He drummed his fingers on his holstered gun. “Sergeant, you better get over here. It looks real.”

Scraps of conversation floated from the other end of the phone. “Yes sir. I know sir. I already have.” He glanced our way. “Yes sir.”

He ended the connection. “The sergeant's coming. I don't need to tell the two of you to stay out of that cellar until he gets here.”

The young policeman headed to the front porch and paced for ten minutes until the second cruiser arrived. Meanwhile the neighbor across the street stared from her porch, and an elderly gentleman and two teens gawked from the sidewalk.

A repeat of the marijuana crowd was starting to form.

The second cruiser pulled into the yard. “Hey Mike, what's going on?” an elderly man yelled from across the street.

Sergeant Cooke lifted his hand in acknowledgement but didn't reply.

“It's in here, sir.” Officer Studler said, leading the sergeant into the house, through the kitchen, and down the stone stairs.

Trailing behind, I heard the senior officer whistle softly when he reached the dark cave.

“I've heard some old houses have rooms like this, but I've never seen one. Amazing it's still standing.”

“There's a porch overtop,” I muttered, “and the house sits on a high spot in Darlington.”

Ted came down the steps and handed me my flashlight. I had forgotten it in my haste to eavesdrop.

“OK Studler, where's your skeleton?”

Officer Studler walked to the back of the cave and illuminated the bones.

Sergeant Cooke rubbed his jaw. “Looks like it's been here awhile. Even so, best to call in the investigator.”

More people gathered as we waited on the porch for the third cruiser. The old man was gone, but the two teen boys were joined by a third. The young mother pushing a baby in a stroller had stopped, and across the street, a group had settled in chairs, as though waiting for a parade to pass by.

Investigator Patterson arrived, and after a quick trip to the cave, he called SLED.

“Sled?” I questioned when he got off the phone.

“South Carolina Law Enforcement Division. They'll be here in an hour to remove the bones. In the meantime…”

“I know, stay out of the cellar.”

In an hour to the minute, three men arrived. Blue uniforms were replaced by dress shirts and ties. Once SLED arrived, both Sergeant Patterson and Officer Studler disappeared. When the cruisers left, so did the crowd. Apparently, men in suits weren't interesting.

“I'm Ben Smith,” said the first man, extending his hand.

“John Clark,” said the second man, followed by Frank Sanchez.

Ben Smith took the lead. “Hear y'all have a skeleton.”

The man looked about as interested as a pony forced to walk round and round at a children's fair. I wondered how many of these cases he had been on. It probably felt like the same old, same old, to him.

“I'll show you,” I answered.

“How about we chat first? Do you have a place we can sit?”

“We can use the parlor,” Ted replied.

After we were seated, Frank Sanchez pulled out a notebook and pen.

Ben Smith started the questions. “How long ago did you find your skeleton?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday. And you didn't call the police until today?”

“Our pastor was arrested about the time we found it,” Ted interjected. “Taking care of his wife was more urgent than calling about dead bones.”

Way to go Ted! Up another notch on my totem pole.

“Any idea who it is?” Smith asked.

Ted nodded his head toward me. Apparently, I was the official police spokesperson. “No sir,” I said.

“Any family missing or community legends?” He looked toward the other officers. “What was that kid's name?”

“Jimmy Roberts,” I answered for the men. “The house belongs to his grandmother, Sandra Roberts.”

“Is she here?”

“She's with our pastor's wife,” Ted explained, “but I live here now. My wife and I are fixing up the house for Mrs. Roberts.”

“Nice job,” John Clark said, looking around.

“Well, gentlemen, let's go see your skeleton.”

The men stood and headed toward the front door. “It's this way,” I said.

“We need to get a few things first,” Clark replied.

An assortment of cases and containers was pulled from the trunk of the vehicle.

For the fourth time I led the way to the cellar.

Each man knew what to do. Sanchez pulled lights out of a case and positioned them so the bones were fully illuminated. Each man put on surgical gloves. John Clark took pictures, snapping from one angle then another, never touching the site.

Ben Smith leaned over and scraped the stone around the scene.

“You want some samples? Sanchez asked.

“It looks old. Doubt it will tell us much, but we might as well be thorough.”

Frank Sanchez pulled several test tubes and swabs out of one of the cases. He scraped the shiny surface that surrounded the body. I had not noticed the difference in color between the stone until now.

“What is it?” I asked.

Sanchez talked as he worked. “Dried up body fluids. When the body decomposes, the muscle and fat turns to a liquid which contains five fatty acids. The liquid oozes out of the body. If we can collect some of the residue it helps pinpoint time of death.” He looked up at me. “The profile of the acids changes over time, that's how they figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Way more than I wanted to know, but it made me think about the cause of his death. The anger and fear that I had felt the first time in the cave had not reoccurred since finding the skeleton. Was the man murdered down here? Or did he die a slow death from an injury. Or starvation? I shivered.

John Clark lowered the camera to his side. “I didn't see anything that would make this a crime scene,” he stated.

“Did you get good pictures of the hyoid?”

“Yes sir.”

“The ribs are scattered, but I'm not seeing anything that's suspicious.” Ben Smith put his hands on his hips. “Let's bag him up, gentlemen.”

Frank Sanchez unfolded a large brown paper sack.

“That's what you're putting the bones in?” I asked.

“Yes sir,” responded Sanchez.

“You don't use a black body bag?”

Sanchez laughed. “You got that on TV, didn't you? No, we use paper bags so any body fluids that are left soak into the bag and don't contaminate the bones. Always put bones in a paper bag. It's the first thing you learn.”

Sanchez picked up the boots, supporting the bones protruding from them with his gloved hands. Even so, a bone fell to the floor with a sickening thud. A small puff of sandy dust rose into the air. I held my breath, unwilling to inhale death.

“Careful,” said Smith. “They look old. Probably brittle. We don't want to break any. Gives the coroner fits.”

Ted's cellphone rang and he moved out of the room. When he returned he whispered, “Pastor Steve has been released from jail. He wants to know if you will come and get him.”

As I headed up the stairs, I caught just a glimpse, blackness on the top landing. Once in the kitchen I scanned for the shadow. It was gone. I ran to my room for my car keys. I stood just inside the door, wrapped in the room's warmth. I had almost forgotten. As I backed the car out of the drive, anger tinted my mood. Why me? Wasn't there anyone else who could pick up the pastor?

I gunned the engine, caring less about posted speed limits. I just wanted to get this over with.

How could I look in the face of someone I suspected was a child murderer?

 

 

 

 

24

 

Angst ate at my stomach. I could have been a character in a play, performing a role that was as phony as cheap ice cream.

“I can't thank you enough,” Pastor Steve said as he climbed into the passenger seat of my car. “One night in jail is more than I ever hoped to experience.”