Sentinels (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

All the sheriff's deputies tied their horses to Doctor Richardson's hitching posts.

The three soldiers—their heads bandaged in some fashion—sat in an Army medical wagon's canopied bed.

“Not sure the bumps along the road will be good for their heads,” Noah said as an aside to Harrison, who met him in the front of the Richardson's office.

“Just taking them back to base up the road. Doc said he'd check on them all later. He's trying figure out whether any morphine's been stolen.”

“Doubtful,” Noah said. “This look like it's about drugs to you?”

“You mean theft? Nossir, it does not.”

Harrison and Noah walked into the backyard and met with Sheriff Clement and the seven remaining Henderson deputies—Noah knew them by their last names: Arnold, Preston, Broderick, Hughes, Boudreaux, Ellison, and Creighton.

All that remained of Sheriff Cole was the blood-stained grass swath near where Clement stood to address his men.

“Where'd they take him?” Noah whispered to Harrison.

“Undertaker's. Don't know who's gonna claim him.”

The deputies stood before their new boss and waited for instructions.

“We got one eyewitness, if you can call him that, for certain: Vincent Beasley,” Clement said.

“The usually drunk Vincent Beasley?” Noah said.

“The same. I put him in a cell so he could sober up and hopefully tell us more than he already has.”

“What was that?” Noah said.

“He was stumbling away from the Tavern and saw at least three men running from the Doc's place out of town, all carrying long poles—that's what Beasley called them, long poles. Not sure if he meant rifles or what.”

“That's it?” It was Harrison.

“Said they were average looking, sorta on the skinny side. Keep in mind, it was dark, and he
was
drunk.”

“They leave any blood trails?” Boudreaux asked.

“Nothing that we could find. There'd be a lot of it based on what they did to Cole. That's what's odd. Most of it's by our feet and barely a trickle leads out of here. Whoever killed Cole left behind the machetes. It made sense—they were soaked.”

“So they're good at covering their tracks. We're talking about professional assassins then?” said Arnold, at least Noah thought it was Arnold.

“It seems. But why target Cole and that Klansman and leave the soldiers alive after killing two of them the night before?”

“Lunatics,” Noah said. “Ain't no other explanation.”

“Townsfolk will want a more reassuring one, Deputy Chandler,” Clement said in a way that Noah took to be condescending. “Speaking of that Klansman, I'm not taking any chances with him. He's laid up in our cleanest jail cell with Nurse Yarnell tending to him.”

“You locked him in?” It was Noah.

“He's our only other
potential
witness. He's alive and I want him to stay that way. Only spoke about a ‘masked man' as we were carting him to the office. And the Army lent us two soldiers to watch him while I talk to y'all. That means I want to finish up here to make sure the Army doesn't get any ideas and finish the job. So here's what's what.” Clement, a tall man with black hair that crept down to his shoulders, paced before his men while stroking his perpetual five o'clock shadow.

“Deputies Chandler and Harrison will go to the jail and give Beasley plenty of water, coffee or whatever the hell will make him awake enough to talk. Take him out of his cell and talk to him away from Culliver. I don't want one influencing the other with his story. If Culliver's awake enough, interview him in his cell and keep the drunk away.”

And so the directives came. Sheriff Clement, Arnold, Boudreaux and Hughes scoured the roadway leading out of town for clues, while Preston kept watch at the crime scene and assisted the doc however he could, leaving Creighton, Ellison and Broderick to canvass the town for any other witnesses.

“At least we're indoors,” Harrison said to Noah as they arrived back to the Sheriff's Office.

“Some consolation. The jail's hot, sticky and always smells like piss,” Noah said.

“So does Beasley.”

“Touché. But it's still not the best place to keep a man who theoretically could be fighting for his life.”

Noah saw a large wooden crate that had been placed outside of Sheriff Cole's office. It'd been loaded with things Noah had recognized from Cole's desk: a hand-carved cigar box and a shiny bayonet mounted on a wooden stand. Those two items covered a few sets of clean clothes the sheriff might've needed in a pinch. Noah looked at the opened door. A hastily painted wooden placard had been nailed chest-high and centered and read “Sheriff Clement.”

“Good God, he couldn't even wait until the man was in the ground.” Harrison looked warily at the sign and the box of the dead man's things.

“I'd rather talk with Beasley right now, if you can believe that,” Noah said.

“I can.” Harrison trailed Noah to the rear of the building and its jail cells.

Noah thanked and dismissed the two soldiers guarding the door fronting the cell room and then entered with Harrison.

Beasley, smelling of boozy foulness, rested on the slender, metal-framed bed bolted to the cell's floor. A flat, dingy mattress provided little comfort or support. A metal bucket full of water rested next to the bed. A wooden cup stood next to it and appeared dry. Nurse Yarnell, sitting on a three-legged stool, rose to greet the lawmen.

“How's your patient?” Noah watched Culliver's belly rise and fall in the cell next to Beasley's as he slept on a thin mattress that featured its first clean sheet in years. A second white sheet covered Culliver from his ankles to neck. Blood stained the sheet near the Klansman's abdomen.

“He's full of morphine right now. His fall to the ground busted open his stitches. Doc did a quick suture on him at the scene and I sewed him up here. He won't wake up for a while.”

“Think he can hear us?” It was Harrison.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she said.

“Do you mind stepping outside while we discuss matters with this other upstanding gentleman?” Noah motioned to the snoring, stinking Beasley. “Feel free to wait out front or go to the doc's if need be. One of us'll come find you when it's time.”

“Thank you—I thought you'd never ask.” Yarnell barreled between the lawmen to escape the sleeping wretches.

“Rise and shine in there,” Noah called, and then as an aside to Harrison, “Please go find the key.”

Harrison left and Noah shook the cell door with his hands to startle Beasley, whose mouth slacked agape, and whose rhythmic snores were distorted by his nose's spastic wrinkling.

Harrison returned and unlocked the cell door. Noah pulled it open and walked toward the sleeping man. He lifted his boot and nudged Beasley's shoulder. The body jiggled but stayed asleep.

“Harrison, see if you can find a mop.”

“What do you want a mop—”

Noah picked up the bucket and poured its contents onto Beasley's head, making certain the water flowed down his gullet and into his nostrils. He flailed his limbs and sputtered for breath.

“Christ almighty!” Beasley croaked and sat up, launching into a coughing fit.

“I'll go look for a mop,” Harrison said.

“Wait.” Noah handed him the bucket. “Bring some more water too. Maybe he'll drink it on his own this time.”

Water dripped from all parts of Beasley's drenched beard and pooled into a murky brew of dirt, snot and sweat at the bedside. The drunkard shook his head like a dog ridding itself of bathwater.

“Can't say I appreciate that.” Noah wiped water off his clothes.

“You ain't supposed to, dickhead. Am I supposed to appreciate you trying to drown an incapacitated man while he sleeps? What's your deal?” Beasley wiped water from his eyes.

“What'd you see this morning by the doc's place?”

“Like I told the other guy—”

“I already know what you told the other guy. Maybe things are a little less foggy now that you've had a chance to sleep on it.”

Harrison returned and placed a fresh pail of water in front of Beasley and then began cleaning up the spill with a bunch of large rags.

“Couldn't find a mop,” Harrison said. “These'll have to do.”

Noah turned his attention away from Beasley and grabbed the wooden cup to scoop fresh water from the bucket.

“Would you care to drink this the normal way?” Noah jiggled the cup and Beasley snatched it and drank.

“That's better. Now, let's say you and I talk about these men you saw this morning. You saw two or three of them?”

Beasley help up one finger to kill some time as he greedily gulped the water.

“Three.” He took the cup from his mouth and went for more water. Noah didn't stop him. “Three guys. Real skinny from the way their clothes hung.”

“You could see how their clothes fit from where you were?”

“I was sitting on the porch by the mercantile, feeling all good, you know. I spotted the soldiers in front of the doc's house, just standing there.” Beasley placed the cup next to the bucket. “Then out of nowhere they get bum-rushed. These two guys charge them, and each one grabbed a soldier's head, and”—Beasley loudly clapped his hands once for effect—“rammed 'em together. They plopped to the ground like shit from a horse's ass. Just, plop.”

He laughed at his own joke before reaching for the water cup.

Noah seized Beasley's arm. “There was porch light at the doc's place, I know it. So what else happened?”

Harrison had stopped toweling and squatted in place before Beasley, more interested in his story than anything else. Noah freed Beasley so he could drink.

“Much obliged.” Beasley downed a third cup of water and went for a fourth. “As I was saying, the two fellers who laid out the men on the porch then ran around back, carrying the soldiers with them, but before they did, I saw a third one beat 'em to the punch. Same build, just scampered back there.”

“You said they carried them?” Noah said. “Like one took a soldier by the arms, the other by his legs and they lugged him into the back?”

“Nossir, each feller picked up a soldier and flung him over his shoulder, like he was carrying a sack of grain. Did it quick-like too.”

Noah looked at Harrison, who thought the same thing.

“These men must've been pretty strong to do that, don't you think?” Noah continued.

Beasley let loose a long, deep burp, which wafted over to Noah and then Harrison. Both did their best to ignore it.

“Ah, that's better,” Beasley said. “Yep, they must've been strong like the elephants. Only they wasn't built like elephants—maybe their tusks. I told you they was skinny.”

“Any of them look at you?” Harrison asked.

“Looked in my direction, sure. I don't think they saw me. No light around me.”

“What'd their faces look like?” Noah said.

“Didn't have any.”

“What? Make sense, boy. Or I take away the water.”

“I am making sense,
boy
. I couldn't see none of their faces. Even with the light. It's not like they challenged me to a staring contest. They was moving quick, like they had a hot date with a whore. And they were wearing hats and hoods, so it made their heads darker.”

“Hoods? Like Klan hoods?” Noah said.

“Near as I could figure. At least one of them was.”

“Klan taking revenge on the Army for what happened at the Elkton farm?” Harrison said.

“But why hang Culliver if he was one of their own?” Noah said. “Maybe they were freedmen?”

“Why would niggers attack the soldiers that freed them?” Beasley said.

Noah smacked him to get his attention. “Knock it off. You hear me?” Beasley fluttered his eyelids, not sure of why Noah slapped him. He let it sink into the man's whisky-stained skull.

“Now, answer my question. Were they black?”

“Black? White? I can't say, maybe they was wearing masks? That might make sense. I mean, wouldn't you want to hide yourself as best you could?”

“Obviously, yes.” Noah's frustration grew. “They say anything to each other? Could you hear?”

“No words. Just grunts. Like when they was lifting up the soldiers. But they didn't carry on any meaningful dialogue like we are at this moment.” Beasley smiled.

“And then what?”

“Well, I heard some trees rustling and then gunfire. That spooked them all to run away. Two were already up front waiting for their buddy in the back. All three ran out of town a few seconds after the gun blasts. That's when the fourth one came by.”

“You said you only saw three,” Noah said.

“I hadn't gotten that far along yet to tell you what I seen. You gotta learn to be patient, boy.”

Harrison couldn't suppress his laugh. Noah looked at him with a
“Really?”
expression.

“The fourth guy walked down Main Street all cocksure like. That one had knives. I could tell. Saw the shapes. Big ones like the clowns juggle at the circus. The other three guys had long poles with them. Those boys dropped them so they could attack the soldiers, then picked up the poles in one hand and lugged the Army boys over their shoulders using the other.” Beasley mimicked the movements with his arms.

“They had rifles?” Noah said.

“Boy, I shot rifles before. I ain't shot poles. One of the poles had points on the end.”

“Like a pitchfork?” Noah said. “They were carrying tools?”

“Poles with tools on the end? I suppose that could be it. One of them looked like a big letter L.”

“Pitchfork, reaping scythe, just like what probably killed the Klansmen the other night,” Harrison said.

“I guess the fourth guy was there to finish the job. He walked in—this one actually talked, and I heard the other feller reply.”