Care

Sundown in zion

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

            Nelson returned to find Sheriff Love on the phone. Ushered into the Sheriff’s office by a tearful Miss Matheson, he listened as the Sheriff finished his conversation.

            “It may make me look weak all right, but two bodies in my county in two months gets the Bureau involve as far as I’m concerned.” He paused and listened. “Okay,” he said, “you can hide below the breastworks for the time being. Why don’t I send you the photographs of the signs painted on the body and you tell me if they belong to any gang you know.” He winked at Nelson. “You’ve got a database and I don’t.” He paused again. “Semper fijealous,” he said as he disconnected the call. He punched another button and looked at Nelson. “Wait one,” he said. “It’s Roger Cassidy, my chief deputy.

            The Sheriff placed the phone next to his ear, and waited. “Hopalong,” he said. “I’d like for you to send the photos of the signs that were painted on Bonnie Sue to Special Agent Benson over to the Bureau office in Little Rock. Yeah …,” he consulted a rolodex on his desk and read an email address. “Tell him I said if he didn’t get back ASAP, I will leak a story that the FBI is holding up this latest investigation.” He smiled and said, “No, you tell him just like I said it.” He nodded and clicked off the phone. Facing Nelson, he said, “Hardball.”

            “You’re not buying this gangbanger garbage again, are you?” he asked.

            “Not for a second,” the Sheriff said, “but it lets the feds do something useful for us without showing up in the county. They don’t want to show up over here right now for some reason or other.” He stopped, took deep breath, and lowered his chin. “And how was the mother?”

            Nelson recounted his visit to the Anderson home, omitting the part about Irena Dillahunty. He did include the fact that Dale Underhill had been on the scene when arrived.

            “How the hell did Holy Dale know about?”

            “Seems like,” Nelson said, “news travels fast in the north of your county. Before the Sheriff responded, the phone rang.

            “Love,” the Sheriff said, answering the call. He paused, listened, and directed a grimace toward Nelson. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Rick Duffey, ace reporter.” Returning to the call he said, “Editor Duffey, how nice to hear your voice. He grimaced again at Nelson, who had begun to laugh. “Well why don’t you just bring your inquisitive ass on over and we’ll talk. An old friend of yours is here.” He paused, then said, “Himself. Tell Miss What’s Her Name out front that I said the press is always more than welcome at the Armistead County Sheriff’s office.” He listened. “Bite your tongue lad, I could arrest you for disrespecting an officer of the law.” He put the phone in its cradle and turned to Nelson.

            “This is crap,” he said. “Know what we’re gonna do?”

            Ten minutes later, the door to the sheriff’s office opened and Rick Duffey entered cautiously. He looked from Sheriff Love to Nelson, determined that there were no others in the room and said, “Gents.”

            “My favorite wretch,” Sheriff Love said, and motioned for Duffey to sit.

            “Inky wretch. Full names, if you please,” Duffey said as he took a seat. He reached in his pants pocket and retrieved a battered note pad and yellow pencil.

            “Put that goddammed thing up,” Sheriff Love said.

            Duffey pretended to write, and said, speaking to the pad, “First Amendment rights crashed to the ground like a felled tree today in Armistead County, Arkansas.”

            “Off the record, or off the team,” Sheriff Love said.

            “As he threw the ‘Freedom of Information Act’ through an open window, Sheriff Love commented …,”

            “I’ll kick your ass and call it information,” the sheriff said. “In or out?”

            “Well hell,” Duffey said, replacing his pen, “you knew I would be in, or you wouldn’t have let me come here. You aren’t going to get me beat up or arrested, are you?”

            “Not both, anyway,” the sheriff said. “At least not both at the same time.” His eyes danced as he smiled. “Now here’s your part.”

            Later, the three left the sheriff’s office and headed in different directions. Duffey drove to the office of the Armistead Announcer. Sheriff Love drove home. Nelson drove to Barker’s store and parked at the far end of the complex. The late-afternoon rush was in full force and most available parking spaces were filled. Exiting his truck, he looked both ways, then walked to the entrance.

            Inside, both Barkers were busy waiting on customers. Elvis nodded and motioned toward the “collusion corner.” Nelson returned the nod, retrieved a soda from the bank of refrigerators, and walked to the small collection of tables near the rear of the store. The area was used primarily by the morning crowd and Nelson was now its only inhabitant. He took a note pad from his shirt pocket, along with the stub of a pencil, and began making notes as he drank. Time passed. Outside, the sun diminished in strength. Inside, the crowd of late afternoon trade thinned. As it did, Nelson laid his pencil aside and stared ahead.

            After the last customer left, Elvis joined Nelson. “This better be good. I told my wife you had a tip on the fifth race at Oakland tomorrow. She already has the women’s-wear catalogs out for review. Rick Duffey called and said you and Sheriff “Happy-Face” had an adventure in the works. How could a poor colored boy trying to make a living in a hardscrabble store in a county that used to sell slaves possibly be interested in that?

            “Is this place really known as ‘Gossip Central’ or do you just brag too much?” Nelson asked. Elvis straightened, glanced to make sure his wife wasn’t listening, and leaned forward.

            As he exited the store, Nelson’s cell phone rang. He answered and listened. “Good,” he said, “that’s what we figured of course, but it’s nice to have the feds confirm it.” He listened again. “No, I only told him enough to get the rumors started. You, the feds, and I are the only ones who know. Deputy Cassidy may conclude something is afoot. Is he dependable? Good.”

            Thirty minutes later, Nelson left Barkers. He took his time returning to Little Rock. Reaching the city, he ignored the exit leading to his house and took the inter-urban freeway West. The tall buildings of Downtown slid by to his right, but he took no notice, nor did he respond to the other vehicles speeding past him, apparently aggravated at his pace. He was still thinking.

            Before long, he had parked in the parking deck where he had encountered the two Soul Warriors. He took the elevator, exited and walked to the hospital entrance. He checked with the information desk, ascertained that Clifton had not been moved, and walked toward the elevators. He was still moving with a deliberate pace, as if some effort of multi-tasking had slowed his entire being. He reached the door to Clifton’s room and stopped. The door was nearly shut and a person could hear voices from within. He pushed the door open slowly, as if ready to back away if necessary. It wasn’t.

            Nurse Christina Lopez sat in a chair beside Clifton’s bed. She, wasn’t, however, wearing her uniform. She wore a soft pink blouse, a pleated skirt, and dress shoes. The result was pleasing. Clifton was almost sitting up, his face much improved. Swelling had diminished and the angry red patches of before had settled into mottled bruises. Both looked at Nelson and immediately lowered their eyes. Christina blushed faintly. They were holding hands.

            Nelson stared at the two and said nothing. It was his turn to blush. “Excuse me,” he said.

            “Come on in Gideon,” Clifton said. “We were just talking about you. Your ears burning?”

            “Don’t think so,” Nelson said.

            “Tell me first though,” Clifton said, “don’t I look a little better than last time?”

            “Much better,” Nelson said. He looked closer at Clifton’s face, and Christina removed her hand, folding it into the other in her lap. “I hope you were saying nice things about me,” he said.

            “Always,” Christina said. “You’re the only one who ever comes to see him. Clifton shot a quick glance at her. “Except,” she said, “for me.”

            Silence in the room became uncomfortable before Clifton broke it. “Guess what?” he said. “They’re going to let me out on parole.”

            “Parole?” Nelson was confused.

            “Parole,” Clifton said. “I just have to have adult supervision … home health care they call it. … they want me out of here but I have to have somewhere to go where I get me some supervision.”

            Nelson started to speak, but Christina broke in. “He’s coming to my house,” she said. “It took threats to uncover every skeleton I’ve seen buried since I came here, but I’m caring for him until he’s able to carry out the necessary functions for a normal life.”

            “I see,” Nelson said. He paused, then spoke, slowly as if choosing each word with caution. “I could have taken him in if there were no alternatives.”

            “No bother,” Christina said. “I have room, and he minds me better than he does anyone. And hell, I’m a nurse.”

            Clifton smiled, showing a gap where the Soul Warriors had knocked a tooth loose. “She’s teachin’ me some Spanish,” he said. “She says she’s La Jefa. Know what that means?”

            Nelson smiled. “Could it be the feminine version of El Jefe?”

            Clifton looked at Christina. She nodded. He turned to Nelson and said, “I reckon so. Anyway, she’s ‘The Boss,’ so I just best do what I’m told.”

            Nelson started to speak, but stopped. Three sets of eyes snapped to the television monitor extended from the wall opposite Clifton’s bed. A young announcer had just begun the local evening news with the lead, “Good evening and welcome to Channel Seven News. I’m Tom Allison. Lots of local news ahead. Erin Lawson leads off tonight’s segment with a report from an unnamed source who suggests that new leads may shed light on yesterday’s tragic murder of a high school student from Connorville.”

An attractive young woman’s face filled the screen. She stood before the entrance to the Connorville Police Station. “Thanks, Tom,” she said. “This murder, if you remember, follows the discovery of another young girl’s body near the same city a few weeks ago. Law enforcement officials also wonder, according to our source, if the brutal beating of an Armistead County man a week ago may tie into the murders. We are here with Police Chief Rowland Banks of Connorville.”

            The camera turned and the sharp face of Chief Banks filled the screen. The off-screen voice of the announcer said, “Welcome Chief Banks and thank you for your time.”

            He nodded weakly and said, “Right.”

            The voice continued, “Chief, our sources relate that the murder, perhaps the other violence as well, may have resulted from a local group from Connorville joining forces with a drug gang, or gangs, in Little Rock. Can you add any insight or details?”

            The Chief exhibited a flash of shock, then shook his head violently. “I can assure you that this news did not originate with anyone from my department. We are actively assisting the Armistead County Sheriff’s Department, which has jurisdiction over this case since the body was found outside our city.”

            The voice broke in, “But the victim was a resident of your city, right?”

            “That’s why we are assisting so fully with all our resources and will continue to do so.”

            “But you have no information to support or refute our source.”

            “Absolutely not. But I will tell you that the fine people of our city do not form partnerships with drug gangs from other cities.” He scowled and said, “I can assure you of that. I suggest you contact the Sheriff’s department for any further details.”

            He turned away and the reporter’s young face filled the screen. “The Armistead County Sheriff’s Department responded to our request for confirmation by saying that the investigation was in, as they termed it, a critical phase and the department would be issuing a report as soon as it could.” She glanced at a notebook in her free hand. “When pressed as to when his department might issue the report, Sheriff Love simply said, ‘Soon, very soon,’ and declined further comment.”

            The reporter signed off, but Nelson, Clifton, and Christina continued to stare at the screen, transfixed.