Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (11 page)

Rosswell and Ollie stood outside Maman’s door. Lazar had
disappeared.

Rosswell said, “Her left thumbprint was blood red.”

“Maybe she pinched it in a door.”

“It was tattooed. Why?” Rosswell considered all he’d
heard. “ ‘Cave of one eye have much treasure. Cave of blind eye, she holds a
treasure but not what you seek,’ ” Rosswell quoted Maman. “I don’t understand
what went on in there. Are there two caves? Two treasures? Are we supposed to
seek the treasure in the cave of one eye but we’ll find a real treasure in the
cave of the blind eye but it won’t be what we seek? I’m confused.”

“Omne ignotum pro magnifico.”

“Sherlock Holmes said that. Everything unknown is magnificent.
That doesn’t explain anything. She’s an atheist fortuneteller?”

Ollie stared at the closed door. “Maybe she’s never
read the Bible.”

“
‎
If
you believe the scriptures are the only source of knowledge about God, then you
have never witnessed a sunrise.” Rosswell fondled the braid of the necklace. “What’s
this all about?”

“It’s
soutache
, an old-fashioned decorative
braid, sometimes used to cover a seam on a piece of clothing. The braid
represents earth. The star represents heaven.”

“A seam? That’s where two pieces of something come
together. Is that what we’re searching for?”

“I’m a lamb lost in the fog.”

“More like a goat confused by the smog.” Rosswell
stroked the necklace. “I’ve seen a lot of these around lately. Must be like
mood rings. I’ll bet they sell them at every truck stop in the country.” The
necklace joined the crucifix that Father Mike Smothers—Mabel’s uncle—had gifted
him when he was in the hospital with a gunshot wound at the same time that Tina
was being treated for her wound.

Two talismans. Hope one of them works. Preferably
both, but if only one works, I’ll be happy.

“Uh-huh, mood rings.” Ollie rolled his eyes. “Anyway,
time to go find that cave. If Maman saw something, it must be around here,
somewhere on this bluff. Probably on the river side since we didn’t see any
caves on this side.”

Rosswell spotted a flat place next to the cabin. Four
rows of rocks. He nudged Ollie. “A cemetery.”

Ollie mouthed words silently as his finger bobbed. “Four
rows, twenty-five stones in each row. One hundred graves.”

“Unless there’s been a mass death recently, that’s a
bunch of old Fribeaus buried in that cemetery.”

“Interesting. But there are thousands of graves out in
the hills in cemeteries all over the State of Missouri. For now, we need to
focus on caves.”

Rosswell said, “All right. Then what’s a cave of one
eye?”

“Let’s go find out.”

They clambered down the opposite side of the bluff,
the one facing the Mississippi. The cliff was covered with vines, trees
sprouting out of cracks in the rock, and various other plants impeding their
progress. Here and there indentations appeared, but nothing deep enough to be
called a cave.

Rosswell stopped, wiping sweat from his brow with the
back of his hand. “Hold on before I collapse from the heat and fall in the
river. Let’s talk this out. How would you define cave?”

“A hole in the ground. More specifically, an
underground hole that’s got air in it and large enough for somebody to explore
it.”

Rosswell poked into one of the indentations in the
rock face. “I can see the back of this hole. If it’s a cave, it’s small. Tiny.”

Ollie turned his head left and right, up and down. He
threw up his hands. “There aren’t any caves overlooking the river. Or, if there
are, they’re lower down and covered by water right now because the river’s up.
And if a cave is full of water, we won’t be going in it unless we plan on scuba
diving.”

“We’re not equipped to explore wet or dry caves. I
hate dark places. Especially small, dark places. Claustrophobia plus fear of
the dark.” The thought of how many snakes could be in a cave sent ice spiders shimmying
down Rosswell’s spine. There might be real spiders, too. That thought made him
whimper. If he were forced into a tight cave, he’d go if it meant finding a
clue about Tina. “Center. Center. Center.”

“Center of what? You think you’re the center of the
universe?”

Rosswell stopped the chanting since it did no good.

Ollie checked his watch. “Let’s go back to town. We’ll
get flashlights, candles, whatever we need and come out here tomorrow, when we’re
fresh.”

“I’ll be free about noon.” Then, under his breath,
added, “Maybe the snakes will be gone by then. And will have carried off the
spiders.”

They trudged down through the trees and brush toward
the river, Rosswell hoping that they were headed in the direction of the truck.
The sun began its slow march to darkness, the shadows of the men stretching to
infinity.

“Wait.” Rosswell stopped. “How do we get back to the
truck?”

“There’s a cut in the bluff down by the river. It’s
flat and we can walk right through it to the other side of the hill,” Ollie
said. “I don’t know why Lazar couldn’t have waited for us.”

“He’s quite inconsiderate.” Rosswell glanced over his
shoulder. “Wonder if he made it down—” He grabbed Ollie’s arm. “Take a gander.”

Ollie shifted his view to the same direction Rosswell looked.
“Eyes.”

“The light from the sun makes that part of the cliff look
like a skull.”

On the formation, one of the eyes was lit by the sun,
the other, in shade, stayed dark.

Rosswell said, “The cave of one eye. But is there one
or two caves?”

“Two. Unless they’re connected, then there’s one. Which
eye do we search first?”

“Let’s try the one that has the light.” Rosswell didn’t
try to hide his reasoning. “Maybe that’s the cave we’re searching for. If so,
then we don’t have to go in the dark cave.”

They reversed their direction, climbing back up the
bluff.

Ollie said, “You’re a spelunker.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not a compliment. That’s an insult to a caver,
which I am.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“There are three terms you need to know. A
spelunker
is someone who bumbles into caves. That’s you, but not me. A
speleologist
is a scientist who studies caves. That’s not you or me. A
caver
is an
informed explorer. That’s me, definitely not you.”

“Oh, mighty caver.” Rosswell saluted. “Let us bumble
on.”

“Yes, let’s. Missouri is a cave factory, especially in
this part of the state. We’ve got lots of carbonate rock, plenty of rain,
vegetation galore, entrances you would die for, and variable climate. Not to
mention that the caves in Missouri are the only ones in the whole United States
featuring true Karst topography.”

“I learned that in math class.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s geology.”

“I knew that.”

“Karst topography means a geological formation shaped
by dissolving bedrock. Around here, that’s limestone. Another feature can be
sinkholes. We’ve got lots of those. Some Karst areas have a gazillion caves,
although the presence of caves isn’t necessary for a region to be true Karst
topography.”

“Karst topography means dissolving bedrock.” Rosswell
threw up his hands. “Now, please, stop.” He couldn’t take one more syllable
from Ollie. “I believe you.”

“Cavers rescue spelunkers for the reason you
demonstrated—you don’t want to know about caves.”

The sun, setting on the land side of the bluff, made
the side they were on dimmer. If they wanted light, they needed to hurry. Peering
inside the cave where the sun’s weakening rays managed to penetrate, it was dry—except
where the stream from a small spring gurgled out. The entrance was narrow and the
cave shallow.

Rosswell noted droppings, fur, and gnawed bones. “I
think a bear is using this cave.”

“I hope he’s out searching for food.”

“Maybe it’s a mountain lion.” Rosswell planted his
feet, working up a dab of courage to keep himself moving forward. “I wish I had
my gun.”

“I hope the bear and the cat meet up and kill each
other.”

Ollie dove into the cave. Rosswell reluctantly
followed.

They crawled along the floor and examined every wall. Near
the back of the cave, Rosswell disturbed a salamander. “Crap. A snake with
feet.” If there were treasure of any kind, it wasn’t visible. “Nothing of value
here.”

Outside, Rosswell watched the sun’s rays weakening. “Let’s
get in the next cave before we lose all our light.” This side of the bluff,
facing east with the sun behind it in the west, grew dark before the other side
of the bluff.

Rosswell, his courage a tad stronger now that he’d
explored a hole in the ground without dying, plunged into the dim cave before
Ollie. The darkness swallowed the light shining from the outside. He pushed
away thoughts of snakes, bears, or something else watching him from somewhere
in the back of the cave.

That’s when he stumbled over a body and fell to the
ground like a burlap bag full of hammers.

Rosswell screeched. “There’s a corpse in here!”

“Freaking frost!” Ollie yipped, then, glancing at
Rosswell, who was indeed lying next to a dead person, asked, “Are you all
right?”

A sharp intake of air hurt Rosswell. No bones were
broken. “Better than him.” The corpse paid no attention to the men. “Got the
wind knocked out of me. I’ll be okay when I remember how to breathe.” Rosswell
eyeballed the dead guy. “Is that who I think it is?”

Ollie stared at the corpse in the remaining light. “This
messes up our investigation.”

Rosswell’s nose caught a faint odor. There was only
the barest hint of decay. The corpse was fresh. In fact, the corpse was Ribs
Freshwater. A hole, drilled in Ribs’s forehead by a small caliber weapon, was
the only obvious wound. A trickle of dark stain meandered down the corpse’s
nose.

Rosswell pointed to a plastic bag lying on top of the
body. “What’s that?” A piece of paper lay inside, the typed words on it starkly
visible even in the waning light.

Ollie knelt and leaned over the body. “There’s a message.”

“Don’t touch anything.” Rosswell struggled to his
feet.

“But—”

“This should be called in right now.” Rosswell, hands
shaking, wrangled his cell phone from his pocket. “No bars. I’ll have to get
out of this cave to call 9-1-1.” Rosswell stepped out and reported the find.
After he disconnected, he asked Ollie, “Can you read the message?”

“It says, ‘Rosswell Carew is next.’ ”

Although Sheriff
Gustave Fribeau arrived
on the scene quickly, it seemed to Rosswell that
it took hours. Waiting with a dead man slowed
time
way down.

“Judge, you find more corpses than the average bear.”

“It’s a talent I have.”

“You have that fancy camera with you?”

Rosswell fixed the Nikon at eye level. “Always.”

“I’ve got crime scene folks coming down from Saint
Louis. But I want photos myself. You got plenty of flash bulbs? It’s mighty
dark in here.”

“I haven’t bought a single flash bulb since 2006.”
Rosswell snapped a picture of Gustave, filling the cave with a burst of light
brighter than sunshine. “Electronic flash.”

Gustave blinked and spit on the ground. “Do you mind
taking photos?”

“No.” Rosswell started snapping. “By the way, be sure
to tell the CSI that black thing on the ground is part of your cigar. You don’t
want to screw up the crime scene.”

“Don’t
you
screw up the crime scene.” Gustave drifted
close to Ollie. “And you are?”

“Ollie Groton.” Ollie stuck out his hand but Gustave
ignored it. “I’m Judge Carew’s research assistant.”

“I didn’t know judges had research assistants.”

“Special assignment.”

Rosswell stopped snapping pictures. “I pay Ollie for
information on non-judicial projects I’m developing.”

Gustave’s reaction showed he wasn’t buying this greased
pig in a puny poke.

“In fact, I have heard about Ollie. Your sheriff in Bollinger
County tells me he’s a criminal.”

“Respectful correction, Sheriff,” Ollie said. “I’m
certain that Sheriff Frizz Dodson told you that I was a recovering criminal.”

“See to it that you don’t recover anything in Sainte
Gen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even though Ollie had never stolen anything, Rosswell
knew his research assistant was smart enough not to argue with a sheriff. Ollie
didn’t want to spend any more time in jail on charges, trumped up or real.

Gustave said to Rosswell, “You know the deceased?”

Rosswell eyed Gustave, thinking that the sheriff
already knew the victim’s name. Answering the question straight sounded like a
good idea. “He’s a Native American from Bollinger County named Ribs Freshwater.
The last time I knew of his whereabouts, I believe, but can’t prove, that he
was running dope for Johnny Dan Dumey.”

“Johnny Dan Dumey.” Gustave stared at the ceiling of
the cave. “Oh, yeah. The guy you smoked.”

Rosswell cringed at the callousness of Fribeau’s
remark, but continued photographing the scene. “Ribs and Johnny Dan were hooked
up with a fellow named Nathaniel Dahlbert who’s now living north of Sainte Gen
at River Heights Villa.”

Gustave groped in his shirt pocket for a fresh cigar. “Tall
guy? Red hair? Albino?”

Rosswell lowered his camera. “Herman Melville asked
why an albino repelled and shocked us. ‘The Albino is as well made as other men
and yet this mere aspect of all-pervading whiteness makes him more strangely
hideous than the ugliest abortion.’ It’s because the pale color reminds us of
death.”

Gustave bit on his cigar, narrowing his eyes. “Herman
who?”

“Herman Melville wrote
Moby-Dick
.”

Gustave laughed. “Yeah, lousy movie. I saw it on the
Alzheimer Channel. Jimmy Stewart made a lousy Captain Ayrab.”

“Gregory Peck played Captain Ahab.”

Ollie stepped closer to Gustave. “Nathaniel’s not an
albino. If he were, his hair would be white. It’s not really red. More like
orange. And it’s his natural color. He doesn’t use dye. Nathaniel looks like a rodeo
clown.”

Gustave rolled the cigar between his thumb and
forefinger. “No such thing as natural orange hair.”

Ollie rubbed his head, clearly trying to decide if he
should speak. After a brief time, talking won out over silence. “Beg to differ
with you, Sheriff. Red hair in certain ethnic groups runs from deep burgundy to
burnt orange to bright copper. That’s because there’s a lot of the red pigment
pheomelanin and not much eumelanin, which is a dark pigment.”

Gustave chewed on the cigar for a long moment, no
doubt trying to digest what Ollie had told him. “You research him?”

“Six ways from Sunday and straight up on Monday.”

“Nathaniel Dahlbert’s probably of Scottish stock.” Rosswell
hated to admit that part. “Ollie will be glad to show you his report. I don’t
have solid evidence on any of the three. Since they’re dead, it doesn’t matter
about Johnny Dan and Ribs. Nathaniel’s alive and dirty as a skunk dragged
through pig crap.”

Gustave jabbed the cigar in his mouth. “What’s
Nathaniel got to do with Tina?”

“I don’t know of anything connecting them. However, I
find it more than passing strange that Tina called me from here and when I show
up, I find Ribs and Nathaniel. That doesn’t make sense. They’re dopers. Why
didn’t they head out for some big city far away from here?”

“And you and Ollie decided to search here after Maman
pointed in the right direction?”

“I guess you heard about that.”

“Before it happened.” Gustave shook his head. “I can’t
understand why anyone believes anything that crazy old woman says. How much did
she take you for?”

“Five hundred dollars.” There was little use lying to
Gustave. Rosswell theorized that the sheriff knew every detail of their visit. “In
silver.”

“Exactly what did she say to you?”

“ ‘
Cave of one eye
have much treasure. Cave of blind eye, she holds a
treasure but not what
you seek,’ ” Rosswell quoted Maman again. “Obviously, we didn’t find what we
sought, which was the body of a
woman.
Instead, we found the corpse of Ribs Freshwater, which we didn’t seek, even
though it’s treasure of a sort.”

Ollie made sure Gustave saw the plastic bag containing
the note. “Sheriff, if I might ask, what are you going to do about the threat
against Judge Carew?”

Gustave pointed to Rosswell. “I’m advising you to stick
to judging and let the cops do the detective work.”