Fallout (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

When he was a little boy, they lived two doors down from the intersection of Joachim and Conti Streets, it was easy to walk anywhere in the city. Many times they had walked or ridden a trolley to the courthouse and then walked to Fort Condé Village to visit with - who was it they visited. He knew the house was Victorian… All the memories he had were just flashes through his brain, though. Tweaking, but not quite making a complete circuit through the thought process.

He remembered holding his mother’s hand and riding a trolley car… The old black woman lying on the floor reminded him of another old black woman. This one had a rag tied around her head. She was handing his mother a cup of tea to drink. After his mother drank it, the old woman swirled the dregs around, stared into the cup a minute and then looked at the palms of his mother’s hands. Joshua could see the old woman’s lips move but did not know what she was saying. He was sitting on a chair by the door, watching through an opening in curtains that hung between the two rooms. They were sitting at a table in a kitchen. As he thought about this, he tried to move his eyes up to his mother’s face, but they would not leave her hands; his memories always stopped on her hands. Why was his mother visiting a fortuneteller?

About two years before his mother’s disappearance was when they moved to Wilmer; a community west of Mobile. His father had left his job downtown and bought a small country store there. They had moved into a two-story house on 4
th
Street.

“Sheriff” John Metcalf called, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, John” he responded, slightly irritated that he interrupted his thought process.

“Sheriff, I believe this man is killing these women and then having sex with them.”

“It is bad enough that he rapes the women, but to know that he takes away their dignity in death is beyond comprehension. The son-of-a-bitch is definitely sick in the fucking head!” Joshua snapped.

He had had to deal with many things in the last six years that he had never had to deal with before. Much of it had turned his stomach inside out. He went from feeling pity for the victims to wanting to puke his guts out because of their condition, giving new meaning to the phrase ‘gut-wrenching.’ He was going to do some gut wrenching all right. If he ever got a-hold of that Mexican, he was going to gut him like the pig he was!

John Metcalf had never seen Joshua this upset, not even when he was dealing with all the havoc the Dixon brothers were dumping in their laps.

What John Metcalf could not see, were the thoughts going on inside Joshua’s mind. Joshua had tried not to place his mother alongside the other dead women, but he had. When he saw Ola Vice lying on the floor with her dress hiked up around her waist, he knew the Mexican had raped her and that he had done it while she was dying or after she was dead and the same with the old Negro woman. His mind automatically grouped his mother with them. He wondered if whoever murdered her had done the same. Had they taken her dignity in death? The mental anguish these women must have suffered knowing what was happening to them and that they were dying was unfathomable… they deserved to at least die a dignified death, as did his mother.

“We have plenty of evidence, Sheriff. All we have to do is catch him,” Metcalf said matter-of-factly. The look Joshua shot at him made him wish he had not said anything.

By the time they left the little house in Theodore, it was getting dark. They had an all points bulletin out with a description of the killer; there was nothing to do but wait, and waiting was not one of Joshua Stokes strong points.

On the drive home, Joshua was thoughtful, not just about the Mexican murderer, but also about his mother and her disappearance. The remembrance of visiting the house in the village at the old fort was a lead he had not had before. He knew he could pick out the house from the rest of them if he drove through the village in the daylight hours.

He remembered walking down a sidewalk, turning right and then going up a long walkway to the front porch. He decided he was going to carve out the time to drive through the village at Fort Condé as soon as possible.

Through thickets, over burial mounds, alongside the river he ran, running as fast as he could through the woods. War drums beat loudly; the noise surrounded him. He knew they were coming closer and closer. One moment he was a little boy laughing and chasing a large butterfly, the next, he was running for his life. Indians wearing war paint were chasing after him. He knew if they caught him, they would truss him up and gut him like a pig. Every time he thought he was getting ahead, he would look back and see them chasing him. They were running fast, jumping over fallen trees and brush from where a hurricane had blown them down. The Indians were hot on his heels and just about to catch up to him when suddenly, Joshua was sitting in a chair by the door, a small boy again. In front of him were curtains. The slightly parted curtains allowed a narrow view into a kitchen where three women were seated at a table. He knew they were women by their dress; however, the only face he could see clearly was that of an old black woman.

The old woman had a rag tied around her head, but he could see sprigs of gray hair. One of the other women slid her chair back and rose from the table. Joshua’s eyes followed her back as she went to the sink. When she turned around to walk back to the table he looked at her face; there was nothing familiar about her at all. She was tall, slim, and wore her blonde hair cropped into a bob. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

The woman whose back was toward him, slid her chair around near the old black woman and handed the woman her teacup, the old woman swirled the cup in her hand and then stared down into it a moment before setting it on the table. She then reached out and took the woman’s hands in hers. Joshua saw her lips move. He could actually hear her mumbling but could not tell what she was saying.

The Buffalo Springfield song, ‘For What it’s Worth,’ began playing in the background. “
There's something happening here, what it is, ain’t exactly clear. There's a man with a gun over there, a Telling me I got to beware; I think it's time we stop, children what's that sound everybody look what's going down
.”

Joshua knew something was not right. The song was not even around back when he was a boy. He glanced around the room and back through the gap in the curtain. The sensation was odd-he knew he was dreaming and he wanted the dream to continue; however, the modern music was interfering. Did he summon the song himself as part of his dream? The old black woman was staring at him. He could feel her eyes burning into his flesh. Her stare was so intense it caused him to squirm in his chair. Suddenly, she raised her hand and pointed at him. When she did, he saw the blonde-headed woman turn toward him and then the other woman began to turn -

“Sheriff?” someone questioned.

“Sheriff, are you okay?” The words punched through to his subconscious and he woke. Emma Carr was standing on his porch staring at him, calling him by name. He dropped his feet from the railing and sat upright. His body felt like it weighed a ton and had not quite woke yet.

“Emma? What are you doing here… what time is it?”

“It’s six thirty, Sheriff.”

“In the morning?”

“That was what time I told you I would be here to start cleaning today. Did you forget that I was coming?”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry. We have had a case we are working on. I lost track of time.”

“You mean Uncle Jesse and Aunt Ola’s case?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hope you catch him. If anybody can, you can,” she said firmly.

Joshua grunted as he tried to slide back in his rocker.

“You looked like you were having a bad dream before I woke you up,” Emma said, more as an observation than a question.

“Yes, Hon, I was.”

“Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

“That would be nice. I can-”

“No need for you to get up, Sheriff. I am sure I can find everything,” Emma said as she opened the screen door and walked inside.

Joshua heard her moving around in the kitchen. He needed to pee, but with her inside, he knew he could not just piss off the porch as he normally did. He decided to hold it a few more minutes and then go inside to the bathroom. He did not want Emma to think he was checking behind her.

He lit a cigarette and relaxed in the rocker. After a couple of minutes, he could smell the aroma of coffee drifting through the screen door. The dream he was having when Emma woke him came back to him. The soothsayer and the women sitting at the table-and the music-where did that come from, he wondered. He heard Emma call to him from the backdoor and turned to look at her. Emma asked if he had a radio that she could listen to and told him that she liked to listen to music while she was cleaning. He told her there was one in his bedroom on the nightstand. He wondered if she was listening to music when she drove up and if that was what he heard.

He stood and walked down the steps and peeped around to the front of the house. He saw her moped parked beside his pickup; he doubted if it had a radio. The other woman seated at the table had been about to turn around and look at him. If Emma had not awakened him, he might have seen what his mother’s face looked like.

He took a long drag off his cigarette and then threw the butt in a coffee can he kept on the porch for such. Emma was suddenly beside him with a cup of coffee in hand.

“I reckon you couldn’t hear me, Sheriff. I asked you what did you take in your coffee, but there is no sugar or cream in the kitchen so I assume you take it black.”

“Black is fine,” Joshua replied. He actually preferred it with a little cream, but when he did remember to buy a can, it usually went bad before he used it all and he had to throw it out. He took a sip. It was hot as Hades but strong enough. He was afraid she would not make it strong enough to suit him.

“Is it too strong?” Emma asked, saying that her mama always said she made it too strong for her.

“Nah, it’s perfect,” Joshua replied lighting another cigarette. As soon as I finish this and take a shower, I’ll be out of your way.”

“Not a problem, Sheriff. You’re not in the way, but I do have one question.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“What am I supposed to use to clean with? I don’t see anything to use, there’s no bleach or anything under the sink.”

“There should be some down in the cellar by the washing machine. If not, I will leave you the money to buy some, if that’s not too much of a problem.”

“No, sir, I can run up to Wilmer Grocery and get something to use if I need to.” Emma turned and went back inside. Joshua heard her going down the cellar stairs. He listened quietly, wondering of her reaction after being kept in a similar room.

When he did not hear her come up after a couple of minutes, he got up and went inside. The door to the cellar stood ajar. He walked over and looked down into the room; he could not see her. He stepped onto the top step and called out to her. She did not respond immediately, he stepped down several more steps before she did.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh, yes sir, I’m fine - this cellar has two windows” she replied cheerfully. “Do you think we can open them so that when I start sweeping these spider webs down, the dust will go out them? It’s going to be really bad.”

“Sure, I’ll do that now while I’m down here.” Joshua opened both windows and immediately a breeze blew fresh air into the room.

“That’s so much better already. I hope you don’t mind if I air the place out; it’s a mite musty in here.”

“It hasn’t been opened up and aired out since Mrs. Moffett died. She used to come clean the house and wash clothes for me.” Joshua informed Emma.

“I remember her. Grandma Stringer use to get her to iron for her. Grandma always said that she could do it herself, but Mrs. Moffett did it better and needed the money.”

“Yes, she was a kind old soul.”

“I heard her granddaddy was a slave on the Moffett Plantation. That was how they became to be known as Moffett. Most slaves took on their master’s last names.”

Joshua was surprised at how talkative Emma was - for some reason he had assumed she was shy. Maybe she was nervous was why she was chattering away.

“Don’t overwork yourself today; it may take several days to get it in shape. I am about to get a shower and leave… Emma…”

“Yes, Sir?”

“After I leave, if you want you can lock the doors. I’ve been kind of worried about what Leonard might try; he is mighty pissed off at me right now.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sheriff. I’ll manage,” Emma said as she turned and began sweeping down spider webs.

Joshua knew she was capable. Anyone that had managed to do what she done when those lunatics held her captive could most likely take care of herself. He went up the stairs to his bedroom, got a clean shirt and a pair of jeans out of the closet and then took them into the bathroom with him. Any other time, he would have showered and then walked around naked before getting dressed.

Joshua showered, changed, and then hollered down to Emma that he was leaving. She told him to have a nice day. He laid twenty dollars on the table in case she needed more cleaning supplies and then left. He drove straight to the courthouse; however, he did not go to the Sheriff’s office. He passed the courthouse by and then turned right toward Fort Condé; the entrance was near the intersection. He eased past the entrance of the fort proper and drove to Fort Condé Village, which adjoined the fort.

The Village consisted of a two-block square and maybe twenty houses, all built in the Victorian manner. As he drove around, he tried to picture in his mind walking the streets with his mother when he was a young boy. It was no use; it was different in a car. He parked and got out. Joshua walked to the entrance to the fort and then toward the village. The cobbled streets were worn smooth, but were uneven beneath his boots. He stopped and closed his eyes, trying to drop through the years, back to that time.

He inhaled deeply; he could smell the salty brine in the air. He could smell sausage cooking; he could feel the cool breeze from the river and the bay into which it emptied. He began walking slowly toward the first street. He decided to follow his intuition.

When he reached the first street, he kept going. When he reached the second street, he turned right. He walked past the first house and then the second. At the third house, he stopped and turned up the sidewalk. The front porch was familiar. He took the steps two at a time and then stood in front of the door. He did not know what he expected to get from this visit; after all the years that had passed, there was no way the same people would occupy it. However, he had to get in there if he were to regain the memory.

Mounted at eye level was a lion-headed doorknocker. Joshua reached up and knocked on the door. He heard someone coming through the house and a woman’s voice say “Just a minute,” he waited. When she opened the door, a look of shock come over her face, the cup she held in her hand fell to the floor. Joshua quickly squatted and began picking up the pieces of broken china.

“Georgia,” the woman yelled, “Get out here, hurry. Bring a broom and dustpan!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to surprise you-”

“Well, you did!” the woman snapped. “I’ve had that set of china for nearly sixty years and never broke a single piece before today,” she said, her tone sad. Whoever Georgia was, Joshua heard them coming from somewhere in the house.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be standing there,” the woman explained, and Joshua wondered who she
was
expecting to be at the door. “Please, do come in,” she said graciously, stepping back and opening the door wider.

Joshua caught his breath. Straight back from the main entrance was a double-door entry into the kitchen. Heavy curtains hung tied back on either side to reveal the table he kept seeing in his memories.

“May I ask, what is the meaning of your visit young man?” Joshua stared at the woman - yes, she could be the blonde headed woman from his memories.

“My name is Joshua Stokes,” he said and watched for a reaction of some sort but was not sure what he expected.

“And, what is it you want?” she asked curiously. Joshua took a deep breath. He did not know what to say and he did not want to sound like some whack job.

“I remember coming here as a little boy. I think my mother visited here.”

“Who is your mother?” the woman asked.

“Her name was Annaleigh Stokes.”

“Anna! You’re Anna Touart’s boy?” she said in disbelief “It has been so many years… at least forty years since I saw you or your mother.”

Joshua could not believe that she actually knew his mother. There were so many questions he wanted and
needed
to ask her, but did not want to overwhelm her with them.

“I did not make the connection immediately because in my mind Annaleigh would always be Annaleigh Touart,” the woman told him. “That was her name when we were in the orphanage together. It was the Episcopal Church - Home for Orphans.

Anna and I had a lot in common. My mother and father both died when I was eleven, Anna’s mother died when she was eleven, her father died shortly afterward. I had three siblings that went to the orphanage with me, two older ones that did not. Anna had a younger brother and sister that came to the orphanage with her.