The Rivers Webb (8 page)

John turned without speaking, but looked him directly in the eyes.

“Mr. John, I don't mean to be gettin' into the middle of a family matter, and certainly don't want no body thinkin' of me as disrespectful…but they's just one thing I got's to know before we go any further.

“Alright.”

If Gerald was waiting for any more approval than that, he was out of luck.

“What, exactly, are you plannin' on doin' to Mr. George's friend? I jest wanna know, on account o' I seen how some people act about this kinda' thing, and while I don't know you all that well…”

“Gerald, what are you asking me?”

“I'm a God-fearin' man, sir. And I'll be the first to admit that I never did approve o' the way Mr. George and his friend were, but I ain't about ta' be a part o' anything to do that man harm. I figured I should be up front about that, 'fore it came to it.”

John walked back over to him and looked Gerald straight in the face.

“Let's get something straight between you and me, so there won't be any surprises, later. I don't care that George was gay. I don't care what kind of ‘carrying on' the two of them did together. I'm only concerned about meeting this person that George was so close to, and see if maybe there was something he would be able to tell me that might shed some light on this situation. That's all.”

Gerald still stood his ground, as though trying to decide if he truly believed John or not. Eventually, however, he decided that he could take this northerner at his word, and straightened himself to go.

“Thank you, Mr. John. I appreciate your tellin' me.” With that, Gerald went out the door to wait for John Webb to follow.

On the drive over, Gerald filled John in on what details John needed. The man they were going to see was one Fred Tibbs, who had moved into Pelham some eight years ago. This, by Georgia standards, made him a stranger in town. He had another five or six years to go, Gerald informed him, until Mr. Tibbs reached the status of ‘newcomer.' Like George, Fred was a man born into wealth. However, he had, early in his life, decided to make his own way, and left his family and home in search of meaningful employment on his own merits.

Because of his chosen form of companionship, his family did not stand in his way.

The ride to Pelham took 45 minutes, which was ample time for John to get the details he would need for this interview. When they arrived at his small, but well kept home, John hung back and allowed Gerald to break the unfortunate news.

Even standing by the car, he could catch snippets from Gerald as he told him. Gerald, a man of considerable experience in tact and discerning, delivered the news with a compassion and kindness that John found impressive. He left out the most horrifying details, but answered Fred's many questions without actually lying. When he returned the ring, it was with a quiet reverence and courtesy that said, without words, that the secret of his unapproved relationship with George would be kept forever.

When Gerald turned to indicate John, standing by the car, he could actually feel the man tense up. Gerald tried to reassure him, but John had enough experience to know that this was impossible. The only defense this man and George had ever had was secrecy. Without that, Fred Tibbs would never be able to trust anyone…let alone a cop who was here solely to question him about George's death.

“Mr. Tibbs, my name is Detective John Webb. I want to ask you a few questions, but I need you to know, before you say anything to me, that I am here unofficially. While nothing said to me today can be entered as a police interview, it can be used in a court of law as testimony. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand.”

Fred simply nodded, then asked them inside. The inside of the house was as immaculately presented as the exterior, with everything in its place. Fred ushered them to the living room, and offered them a seat.

“You'll forgive me, I generally offer some refreshments, but…”

“Not at all, Mr. Tibbs. We wouldn't dream of imposing, and we won't take up much of your time,” John assured him.

Fred Tibbs nodded his appreciation and had a seat across from the detective. Then, as if a light went on, he looked at John a little more closely.

“Did you say your name was John Webb?”

“Yes, sir.”

“George's cousin—that John Webb?”

“Uh…yeah, actually. I am.”

“I thought so. He spoke of you on occasion.”

This surprised John. He had never met George until he had arrived in Sales City.

“He spoke of me?” John asked, incredulously.

“He told me how you had been taken away up north when you were very young, to live with your Mama. He told me…he envied you.”

“He envied me?”

“Yes, he sorely did. The Rivers family are a hard lot to live with. Poor George could never live up to any o' their expectations. They wanted him to be a pillar o' the community. To stand like the rest o' them as a shinin' example…that's the problem right there. Ain't that George didn't have no aspirations in life. It's that he knew what would happen if'n he was to be that ‘example' they wanted. Why, his whole life would be open to see. You can imagine what kinda' sight that would be.”

“I guess I can understand that. I still don't see where he'd have any reason to envy me, though. People have pretty much the same prejudices up north as they do down here.”

“May be true, detective. May be. But so far as George saw it, bein' so far removed from the rest o' the family, it gave you the chance to be whoever you wanted to. George never had that chance. Truth is, I agree with you. In fact, I even told him once, ‘hate's hate—don't matter what part of the world you're in.' You know what he said back to me?” Fred let a little silence punctuate his point. “He said, ‘I'd rather be hated by a stranger than kin.' That's what he told me.”

Gerald was about to say something, most likely in defense of the Rivers family, but John cut him off with a perceptive look.

“I think I can understand that. George certainly had reason to fear what they might have done had they found out…” John faltered for a moment.

“Had they found out about me,” Fred finished for him.

“I have to ask you something before we go any further, Mr. Tibbs. Please, do not take this as an accusation of any type of wrongdoing. But can you give me some corroboration as to your whereabouts last evening?”

John was expecting Fred to be evasive or insulted, but he was neither. In contrast, Fred only took a moment to collect his thoughts on the seriousness of the question.

“Unfortunately, my personal nature is not given to a great deal of socialization. I was home yesterday evenin', without a single soul to prove it. I suppose that doesn't look good.”

“It doesn't look good or bad, Mr. Tibbs. On any given night, any innocent person can be found in the comfort of their home. And on any given night, any criminal can name countless friends to lie for them and give them an alibi. It was just a question.”

“Certainly.” Fred looked away for a moment. John could see the beginnings of tears as the man struggled to hide his grief.

“Mr. Tibbs, has George indicated to you, in any way, that he felt threatened, or afraid for his own safety?” John asked. Fred simply shook his head.

“Has he seemed different? Was there…anything about his behavior of late that was out of the ordinary?” John asked, trying a different tactic.

“I haven't seen George in three weeks.”

It was almost a whisper, and John wasn't truly sure that Fred was actually speaking to him. The reality of George's death was crushing down on him, and he was just moments from completely shutting down. When that happened, John knew, any information he might have would be completely inaccessible.

John had to do something to shift his mind off of the pain.

“Tell me, Fred, how did you and George meet?”

Fred looked up, as if just remembering that John and Gerald were still in the room. He cleared his throat.

“At the library, of all places. I find the quiet to be comforting, among so many people. You can find every type of person there, you know. Young, old, rich, poor. In a silence that is almost holy, they sit. They read. They are all equal. They are all accepted. For someone such as me, it is a unique experience.” The faintest of smiles crossed his lips as the fond memory played out.

“Okay. So, what brought George all the way over here?”

“About three years ago, the Rivers family presented a collection of rare hymnals and books of religious music to the library. Oh, they were quite beautiful. Not a one with a single blemish, and all at least 200 years old, hand-bound in England. The Rivers were known to do such things from time to time. And, whenever they did, George was always ‘volunteered' to make the presentation.”

“So, that's how you met.”

“Wouldn't have been much of a meetin,' tell ya' the truth, except that George had an ‘ulterior' motive for his trip into town. He was wantin' to look up an old newspaper article.”

“Why not look it up in the library at home?”

Fred smiled faintly.

“That's the same question I asked him, when I saw him pourin' through those old copies. He looked up at me, even though I was a total stranger, and said, ‘What I'm lookin' for doesn't exist in Coweta County. They wouldn't let it exist.' That's what he said.”

The hairs on the back of John's neck just went up, as he realized, almost instinctually, that this was more important than anything else he had seen or heard since arriving in Georgia.

“Fred, what was he looking for?”

“It was a death certificate. An old, old death certificate. I ended up helpin' him look. We got to talkin'. Found out we had a lot in common. A lot in common.”

John barely heard him as his mind raced to put the pieces together. That strange scent was wafting in again.

“What was the name on the death certificate?”

“I'm sorry?”

“The name, Mr. Tibbs. You said you helped him look for it. Do you remember the name on the death certificate?”

“Posey. That was the name. I'm tryin' to remember the rest…it was a woman's name, I recall, from the turn o' the century—1902, 1903, somewhere around then. That's all I can remember. I know it was important to George, but he never said why.”

“Did he find it? Did he find the death certificate?” John could hear the desperation and need in his own voice, and only hoped it was not as obvious to the two other men in the room.

“He did. He found it, and I believe he must have stared at that newspaper item for twenty minutes. Then he put it down, returned it, and never spoke a word of it again.”

John knew that there were other questions he should be asking, but nothing else seemed to be that important. He unceremoniously got up from the couch he was sitting on to say a quick goodbye.

“I appreciate your time, Mr. Tibbs. I'm sorry that we had to meet this way, under these circumstances.”

“Of course. Of course. It's strange, though. You are the first member of George's family I ever met. He knew you least of any of them, and yet, I think he thought of you more highly than any others.” Fred rose from his seat and reached out his hand. “I am glad, despite everything, that I had the opportunity to have met you.”

John accepted the hand and walked to the door. Gerald was a step behind him, offering a final condolence before leaving.

As the front door shut behind them, John felt a twinge of guilt. Dredging up the memory of their first meeting might have helped distract Fred from his grief, but it would just trigger a chain reaction of painful memories, and each one would pull the poor man deeper down into depression. He had seen it before.

“Gerald?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. John.”

John handed the keys over to Gerald.

“You know this town. You drive.”

“Where to, Mr. John?”

“The library.”

Gerald looked at him quizzically, but was clearly hesitant to say anything to offend him.

“The library? But…it's gonna be nearly closed by now.”

“Good. Fewer distractions.”

John caught the look on his face, and for a moment, suddenly remembered Wilhelmina's words to him when he first came into town, “Our coloreds know a thing or two about dignity.”

Gerald had spent nearly all of his life taking care of the Rivers family. Sometimes it meant protecting their secrets. Sometimes it meant catering to their whims. All without question, because that was his job. Now, here he was following some fool northerner on a seemingly pointless endeavor. But that northerner, as far as he was concerned, was still a Rivers, and while Gerald might question John's actions in his mind, he would never say it out loud.

Wilhelmina was right about one thing. Gerald certainly understood dignity.

“I want to see what obituary George was so interested in.”

That was explanation enough for Gerald, apparently. He walked to the driver's side and got in.

The library was a picturesque red brick building on Main Street in Pelham. If John allowed himself the luxury of a moment, he might stop to appreciate the way they had carefully blended in the building to look as if it had always been a part of the town, despite the small brass plaque that stated its build date as recently as 1936.

“I'll wait here in the car, if you don't mind,” Gerald said quietly as John opened his door.

“Are you sure? I might be a while.”

Gerald smiled a knowing smile.

“You remember what Mr. Fred said about the library? About it bein' a place where everyone was accepted?”

“Yeah,” John acknowledged.

Gerald nodded toward a sign in bright white letters with an arrow pointing toward the rear of the building. It said, “Coloreds entrance.”