“She had to meet whoever killed her at our
party,”
he said.
“Most
likely.”
He shook his head
slowly.
We
were quiet a moment, which only pronounced
Matson’s
conversation and amplified his voice.
“Wonder
if
it’s
political?” Dad said. “Meant to embarrass me and make me lose the election.”
It was as irrational as it was extreme, and it reminded me of the blind spot and touch of paranoia he had when it came to politics in general and his job in particular.
I shook my head. “Guess
we
can’t
rule it out, but I
can’t
imagine anyone doing something so extreme
given
the stakes and situation.”
“Well,
it’s
what’s
going to happen whether it
was
intended or
not.”
“Maybe we can prevent that from happening,” I said.
We
fell silent again and this time there was only the sad, lonely sound of the wind.
Finally,
FDLE arrived and began to process the
scene.
There
wasn’t
much to it so it
didn’t
take
long.
When they were finished, the lead tech, a diminutive man named Denis, came
over
and gave Dad a preliminary report.
“I’m sure you already know everything I’m gonna
say.
This
wasn’t
where the victim was killed. The body
was
moved here after death.
We’ll
come back in the morning when
there’s
light, but so far we’ve found nothing––no usable footprints or tire
tracks.”
“When you do come
back,”
Dad said,
“let’s
expand the search for evidence to include this field and the woods
over
there.
We
have
reason to believe the killer may
have
come through there. Coordinate with my office and I’ll provide some deputies to help with the search.”
“Will
do.
Sorry
I
don’t
have
more for you . .
.”
Robin Rouse walked up and joined our little group as Kent Clark Funeral Home loaded the body into the back of a hearse to take it to the
ME’s
office in Panama City to await an
autopsy.
Robin, a tall, thin, midforties African-American woman with short, thick black hair and a smallish head, was an investigator with the medical
examiner’s
office. She spoke very softly and
we
all leaned in as she talked.
“Can’t
tell you much until the autopsy is complete,” she said.
“And
anything I say is subject to change . . . but
I’d
say the victim died of blunt force trauma to the head. She was dead a while before her body was moved here.
Rigor mortis had set in, which is how she was able to be propped up against the fence the
way
she
was.
Fixed lividity shows the victim lay on her back for a while after she
was
murdered and before being transported
here.”
“Any
idea how long
she’s
been dead?” Dad asked. Robin shook her small head. “I could only
guess.”
“
Would
you?”
“For
the body to be stiff enough to be propped up against the fence like that, rigor mortis has to be set in. In normal conditions that can take up to twelve
hours.
Certain things can speed it up or slow it
down.”
I looked at the clock on my phone. It was nearly six. “I saw her at a little before
nine,”
I said.
“So then it was probably sped up by heat, exertion, or drugs,” she said, “but
I’d
still guess it happened pretty soon after you saw
her.”
“If she ran from her
killer,”
I said, “and fought with him . .
.”
“Then rigor would set in
sooner,” Robin
said, “and the body
would
be stiff enough to prop against the
fence.”
T
he first hints of dawn showed at the edges of the horizon in a nearly imperceptible softening of the darkness.
Potter
Farm looked to be sleeping it off.
Trash
strewn about.
Beer
cans.
Whiskey
bottles. Paper
plates.
Everything abandoned.
Empty white event tents. White plastic tables and
chairs,
some overturned, no one sitting, no one eating, no one present. The party
over.
Every surface cold and wet from the night
dew.
A handful of cars scattered throughout the large pastures where a few hours before there had been
hundreds.
The thick, damp air still tinged with the smell of smoke and charcoal and grilled meat.
In the farmhouse, we found
Jake,
Ronald
Potter,
Felix
Maxwell, Don Stockton, and Hugh Glenn sitting around a green felt-covered poker table, smoking cigars and playing cards.
The deputy Dad had sent
over
was standing awkwardly in the corner.
“You’re
playing with him?” Dad asked, nodding at Hugh Glenn.
“He’s
taking all my
money,”
Glenn said. “Hell, I’m now financing your campaign.”
“Why
didn’t
you want us to
leave, Jack?”
Don Stockton asked.
He was a corrupt county commissioner with a district so gerrymandered with family and friends, people
he’d
bought and bribed and traded favors with, he never had any serious threat to his seat.
“I just need to talk to y’all,” Dad said. “Who else is
here?”
“May be a girl or
two
in the
rooms,”
Stockton said.
“Andrew,
Jake,
go
through the
rooms,”
Dad said. “I want everyone together in this main room right
now.”
Evidently the
deputy’s
name is
Andrew.
Within a few minutes,
Jake
and Andrew had returned with
two
young women who looked underage and were barely able to walk, and three more men––one old, one middle-aged, one in his thirties––all half asleep and hungover.
Both the girls and the men looked vaguely familiar, but only in the small town-bearing-a-family-resemblance kind of
way.
“That everybody?”
Jake
nodded.
“Who else has been here?”
“About
a thousand other people, Sheriff,”
Felix
said. “Including you.
What’s
this all about?”
“I mean since the event ended and your little after-party began.”
No one said
anything.
“What time did everything outside end?” Dad asked. “What time did y’all
move
in here?”
“But you were
here.”
“
Pretend I
wasn’t.”
“I’d
say around
nine,” Felix
said. “People left pretty quick after the food and booze ran
out.”
“Card game started about
eight-thirty,”
Stockton said. “There were still some people outside, but not
many.
They were gone by nine
I’d
say.”
“I was one of the last to come
in,” Felix
added. “By that time there were only a handful of people left outside and they were
leaving.”
“I came in right after
Felix,”
Glenn said, looking at his phone. “It was three minutes after nine. I know because I called my wife to tell her I was going to
stay.
And when I came in, there was no one up around the house or barn, just a few people in the parking area, cranking up and pulling
away.”
“Who else has been here?” Dad said. “In here since,
say,
eight-thirty.”
“There’ve been a handful or so wandering in and
out,”
Stockton said. “Especially early on. Coach from the high school played a hand or
two.
So did Neil Williams and Mark Smith. Ralph Long came in for a while. Played a hand or
two.
Hung out. The judge decided against driving and waited in here for his daughter to come get him. Deacon
Jones
came in, looked around, and went out again pretty damn fast. All of ’em were gone fairly
early.
The warden came in and had a cigar and told us how much better Louisiana is than Florida.
John’s
number one fan, Chris
Taunton,
was here. May still
be.
He tried to play a few hands but was too fucked
up.
Hell, even the high sheriff stuck his head in for a
few.”
“I know what I
did,”
Dad said. “I’m asking about everyone
else.”
“Just answering your questions,
Jack.
No need to get
testy.”
“How’d
you
two
get here?” Dad asked the girls.
They looked confused.
“Where’s
your friend?” I said.
“Who?” Stockton said. “They drove themselves. It was just them. They partied a little too hard, so I
wouldn’t
let them
drive.
Was
letting them sleep it
off.”
“Nobody saw a third girl?” I said. “Blonde.
Older.
Bigger. But dressed like these
two.”
No one had.
“I seen another girl
outside,”
the girl to
Jake’s
left said. “But she
wasn’t
our friend though. And she
didn’t
come in or
nothin’.”
“What’d
she look like?” I asked.
“Like you said, I think. It was pretty dark.”
“What was she doing?”
“I
didn’t
pay her much mind. Nothin’. Just sort of hangin’. Like
she’s
waitin’
on somebody or somethin.”
“I think she come inside,” the other girl said. “I came down to pee. She was standin’ at the back
door.
I opened it for
her.
I
didn’t
see her when I came out from peeing. Guess she could’ve not come in. Just figured she did.”
“Who else saw her?” Dad said.
Either no one had or was willing to admit they had. “I want statements and contact information from everyone before you
leave.
And tell the absolute truth. No matter what.
Don’t
lie to
us.
We’re
gonna find the truth.”
“About
what?” Stockton said again. “What is this all about?”
“The young lady that
John
described and this young lady opened the door for was found dead not far from
here.”
“Now wait just a
minute,”
Stockton said.
“You
should’ve told us that first.
We
didn’t have
anything to do with that.
We’re
not––”
“How old are these young ladies, Don?” Dad said.
“Twenty
something.”
“I wanna see their
driver’s
licenses and I want to know everybody’s whereabouts and anything you can remember that went on last night, understand?”
“E
verything was pretty
much
like they said,”
Jake
was
saying.
He, Dad, and I were standing outside the farmhouse, the day beginning to break around
us.
Inside, Andrew and
two
other deputies were taking statements from everyone.
“They left shit
out,”
he added, “but I
didn’t
hear any outright
lies.”
“Did the poker game last all night?” I said.
“Yeah,
but guys came and went.
They’d
play for a while, then
go
off, then come back later and be dealt back
in.”
“Where’d they go?” I asked.
“You
know.”
“Say it
anyway,”
Dad said.
“To
dip their
wicks.”
“Do you know how young they are?” Dad said.
“You
tryin’ to sabotage my campaign or are you just that––”
“Did you
go
back there with them?” I asked. “Just
one.”
“Did everybody?”
“I think
so.
Some a few times I think.”
“Did Hugh Glenn?” Dad asked.
“Definitely.”
“Were
the girls
drugged?”
I asked.
“Fuck
no.
They were drinkin’. I saw one of ’em pop a pill or
two,
but nobody gave ’em
anything.”
“That you know
of,”
I said.
“Jake,”
Dad said, “what the hell were you thinkin’?”
“
Wasn’t,
I
guess,”
he said. “But hell, I was with the head of the Republican Party and a county commissioner. Hell, all the leaders of the county had been here . . . I just thought . .
.”
“You
thought this group of men are untouchable,” I said.