Birdsongs (16 page)

    “Mr. James,” Rachael said popping her head back. “That’s an extremely confident statement don’t you think?”

    “Yes ma’am it is,” Benny said with a wink and smile that exposed a glimpse of his personality.

    Rachael cackled internally to hear Benny call her ma’am on national television. “Do you think a statement like that might possibly give the public and especially the residents of Tilley false hope?”

    “No. I am hoping it does just the opposite; that it gives them genuine hope. If the residents of Tilley will allow their lives to be inconvenienced for another week, give or take a few days, staying ultra aware of their surroundings and being vigilant, we will get this town back to normal.”

    “Now Mr. James,” Rachael said intensifying her gaze. “I don’t mean to doubt your proclamation that you will solve this within ten days because you do have an extraordinary record of solving perplexing cases. And I would like to let the viewers know we did speak earlier and you disclosed to me what information the crime lab came back with.”

    “They came back with nothing,” Benny stated.

    “Let me get this right,” Rachael said pausing, playing it up for the cameras. “The crime lab states they obtained no leads from the evidence.”

    “Correct.”

    “Mr. James,” Rachael said still playing. “How do you solve a crime with no evidence?”

    “I never said we didn’t have any evidence,” Benny said wryly. “I guess I did not make myself clear. We did not find any scientific evidence. Big deal. So, we have no help from science. We have plenty of other evidence.”

    “What kind?” Rachael asked, her play ended.

    “Psychological evidence, messages…”

    Rachael cut in, “I don’t recall hearing about any messages.”

    “He didn’t write them with letters, he didn’t speak them with words, he communicates like an artist. Visual images, hints and traces of what he did and what paths he took to create the staged crime scenes. Basically, what he left for us to find. He rears questions and dares us to unravel his secrets.”

    “So,” Rachael said slowly. “You have some of that?” She could not believe the phrase that she had just spoken.

    “We have plenty and it’s beginning to gel.”

    “Good Luck Mr. James.”

    “Thank you ma’am.”

Chapter 49

   R.C.’s last task before confronting Miles and exacting his long awaited revenge was a daytrip to Pascagoula, Mississippi. It was three hundred and sixty four miles one way. He figured he could make it round trip in twelve to fourteen hours, depending on the amount of time it took him to find the grave once in town.

    Pascagoula, Mississippi was once a sleepy fishing village. That was before World War II. The war brought the shipbuilding industry to town and cranes now delineated the water’s edge as they rose and hovered like giant robotic monsters above the passing shrimp boats. R.C. passed several refineries and fish rendering plants. The smells stimulated further his memories of the short span his life was planted along the Gulf before being rudely and unjustly uprooted.

    Upon arriving and stopping to ask for directions twice, he found the cemetery. R.C. smelled like the highway with a splash of truck stop. The flowers in the graveyard didn’t seem to mind. Myra Robinson’s resting body didn’t mind either. After such a long haul on the motorcycle, he was worthy of membership in the Iron Butt club. The numbness that the hum and vibration of the engine provided momentarily covered his aching. He could still hear the motorcycle’s drone as he neared the site where she was buried. The aging headstone had a barely legible quote at the bottom. This was R.C.’s first visit to the site so he was not familiar with its message. Whisked away and pronounced immediately guilty, he did not even know who was responsible for her burial. After reading the quote he knew. It read, “Birdsongs.”

    Miles.

    Ray Clint Boyd cried. He cried like a baby. “I loved you,” he said to the gravestone. “I could have made more of myself I know.”

    He placed a dead bird on Myra’s grave and said out loud, in a voice filled with emotion, “I’m coming for you Miles, god dammit.” With the words still in the air, R.C. turned, walked to the Gold Wing, and headed back to Tilley.

Chapter 50

   Benny and Vernon walked into Rene’s for lunch. Jerry Lee and Larry from the music store were sitting at a table just inside the door’s entrance. There was a mass of food on the table. Larry looked directly at Benny and back to his fork that was about to enter his mouth without recognizing Benny. He had on a shirt that read, “I’m as baked as fried chicken.” A teriyaki chicken wing distracted Jerry Lee.

    “The music man and the paper man,” Benny said, stopping in front of their table.

    Larry popped his head up like a spooked turtle and Jerry Lee said, “God bless America!”

    Vernon laughed and said, “Damn, can’t a black man come in here without scaring folks?”

    “That was a joke, wasn’t it?” Larry said sputtering, not sure if it was or not.

    “Of course man,” Vernon said with an unconscious wink. “How’s it going Jerry Lee? Find out anything new today?”

    “Just what you guys released of the lab results. Doesn’t really seem like enough to write two paragraphs worth without a whole bunch of filler and re-tell of the story. And everybody knows the story. Can I ask you guys a few questions?”

    “No,” Benny responded.

    “And don’t be eavesdropping on us either,” Vernon added.

    Benny and Vernon sat down at a table as far away from the two as possible. Their conversation was light and personal, not case related, as they ordered, waited for their food, and waited for Jerry Lee and Larry to leave. Benny got Vernon up to speed on the situations with Rachael and Red. Vernon commented on how boring his life was compared to Benny’s. Their food arrived almost simultaneous to the time Jerry Lee and Larry departed. As they left, Jerry Lee promised Benny a call later in the day. Benny did not promise to answer.

    Larry and Jerry Lee left the café and the lunch hour wound down into its waning moments. Benny and Vernon once again, with Rene dressing the sinful desserts in the kitchen, had the place to themselves. Vernon smiled.

    “What?” Benny asked. “You have something,” he said pointing his finger Vernon’s way beginning a smile of his own. “I know that look.”

    “I think I do,” Vernon responded. “The last time we were here talking about the case, you asked me if Ryan had a computer.”

    “Yeah. You said you didn’t see one in the apartment.”

    “Well, I started looking into some of his financial records and found he had been paying the bill for a high speed Internet connection. And the connection was not at his and Farrah’s apartment.”

    “Oh no,” Benny said wheels turning. “Oh shit!” Benny gulped as he knew what Vernon was about to say.

    “Yep, the house on Little Pond Road. Crime scene number one.”

    “Oh Jesus,” Benny said losing his appetite.

    “That’s not all.”

    “Something else big?” Benny questioned.

    “I’ll say. Farrah gave me the boss’s number and I got him to round up the crew that was working on the house before the investigation shut it down. I had them meet me down in the unfinished basement. It’s still pretty dark down there and I thought the atmosphere might intimidate the boys a bit. It did. I started acting like I knew all kind of stuff I didn’t know and they started sweating. Even the ones who didn’t know a thing were wiping their brows. The Mexicans who couldn’t understand a word I was saying were shitting bricks thinking I was the INS or something. They looked like they were ready to run so I rested my hand on the gun by my hip and I gave them all one of my cop looks. They didn’t move a muscle. When I brought up the Internet connection this one skinny washed out roofer lost it and spilled his guts. He said Ryan used chat rooms to meet girls. He said he also had some sort of weird club. He said Ryan had found some girls and guys within a minimal driving distance and they rendezvoused at the house after work hours; hence the inflatable mattress we found in the master bedroom closet. He went on to say Ryan had recently met this one chick he was wild about. He said Ryan had bragged a time or two about his conquests but was mostly secretive about it. He supposedly talked constantly about this new girl he hadn’t met yet. The only other thing I got out of him was her screen name.”

    “What was it?” Benny asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

    “Littleredhen.”

    “Little red hen?”

    “Yep.”

    “God damned birds.”

Chapter 51

   Chief Neighbors moped around his house, feeling his ineptitude. The phone rang and he answered hesitantly. It was his and Benny’s ex-wife Jane.

    “Hi Chuckie,” she began. “I saw Benny on the news last night,” she continued casually. “When’s this going to stop?”

    “I’m sure Benny will solve it any day now.”

    “But…” Jane croaked, “Benny said on the show you didn’t recover any evidence?”

    “C’mon Jane,” he said. “Didn’t you have enough time to get to know him better than that?”

    “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sure he has something up his sleeve.”

    “He does,” Chuckie stated.

    “What is it?”

    “I don’t know. I just know him.”

    “You feeling pretty low?” Jane asked concerned.

    “Yeah.”

    “Ah c’mon Chuckie. Solving crimes just isn’t your thing. Being Sheriff and Chief doesn’t mean you have to be the best at everything in the whole system. If that were the case, you would have to be the best typist, the best driver in high-speed chases, and make the best coffee. You type with two fingers, you drive like an old man, and your coffee taste like shit. Chuckie, you’re the glue that holds it all together. You’re a people person and even though you oftentimes give people plenty of reasons to hate you, they still love you.”

    “You think?” he said, seeing a light out of his downtrodden tunnel.

    “Yeah. And you’re making the right decision by giving Benny and Vernon ten more days before you call in the feds. I hate to say anything good about him because he really pissed me off on the phone the other day but he is better than anyone you could call in there.”

    “He is that,” Chief Neighbors said.

Chapter 52

   Peter sat at his desk with the paper work Benny had filled out for the paternity test. He wondered where to begin. In a covert manner, Peter needed to get an inside track into what became of the found son of Jack Baker. Benny had written his cell phone number on the documents but Peter didn’t want to take the chance of talking to Benny while he was working. Peter wanted the exchange to be a casual one in which he might pick up a hint or two about Benny’s client through relaxed conversation. He thought he would ask where the kid worked even though he knew as a professional, Benny probably would not reveal this information. He decided he would lie to Benny and tell him the lab was running behind schedule and the results would be available in the next couple of working days. Being a Friday, this strategy would buy him a few days to conduct his investigation. Peter decided to try the home phone he found listed in the phone book.

    The phone in the house with the red picket fence rang. Red, now accustomed and no longer frightened by its sound, answered. Peter did not understand the greeting and asked for Benny, not using his last name for the sake of his laid back tone. “Bendy trying to jail up bad man,” Red stated.

    “Excuse me?” Peter asked.

    “Bad man hurt bad kill people. Bendy hide and seek him.”

    “OK…” Peter said trying to get his mental feet under him. Peter looked at the name Benny had written on the documents to make certain one final time that he was reading it correctly. “Do you know where I can find Red Jasper?”

    Red thought the voice on the other end of the phone was looking for his father and he said, “He’s dead.”

    “What!” Peter asked. “He’s dead? When did this happen?”

    “When Red seventeen.”

    “Where is Red now?” Peter asked, attempting to understand the strange conversation he embarked upon.

    “Here.”

    “Can I talk to him?”

    “You do.”

    “All right,” Peter said getting frustrated. “Red is there?”

    “Here Red.”

    “Can you please get him for me?” Peter pleaded.

    “You get,” Red replied.

    “How the hell am I supposed to get him when I’m not there and you are?” Peter’s frustration turned to anger.

    “You get.”

    Fed up and not wanting to continue the Abbott and Costello routine, he slammed the phone to its holder.

    Peter, having the address decided to drive over and attempt to find the underlying cause of the bizarre situation. He had a vacuum cleaner in his trunk he used for such occasions. He planned to use his door-to-door salesman routine. On one such enactment, he made his pitch and showed a demonstration to a woman who to his surprise requested to buy one. Thinking fast, Peter promised a delivery the following day and never returned. In his other false sales pitches, Peter never even had the opportunity to plug the vacuum into the wall.

    Spotting the mailbox displaying the numbers he sought, Peter wondered why the fence was red. Puzzled, he thought of the person he spoke with on the phone. Peter, still thinking about the strange voice, knocked on the door with his vacuum in hand.

    Peter thought the young man who answered the door looked like a real life version of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. Red stared at Peter and his vacuum without saying a word. Peter waited for a greeting that never came and said, “Hello, my name is Lou Stewartson. I’m with the Handy-Vac Corporation and it would be my pleasure to demonstrate for you our most popular selling vacuum.” Red remained silent, as he had never seen a vacuum cleaner. Boldly wanting to gain entrance into the home Peter spotted a plug, pointed towards it and in the same motion walked past Red and into the house. A potted plant sat on the coffee table and Peter grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it on the floor. He plugged in the vacuum, gave Red a cheap smile, and sucked up the dirt.