Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (14 page)

She looked at me. “You read the article about Wilbur, didn’t you?” I told her I had. “Well, when the deacons invited Wilbur to leave, it was Slide he went to before he ended up in New Orleans. It may have even been those very same deacons, of this church, mind you, that Slide angered. They were known as moonshiners, and he probably didn’t pay them. Anyway, it was Slide got Wilbur his job with the carnival. I think he decided he could starve to death just as fast playing piano as working as a roustabout.” She smiled. “Wilbur really wasn’t a physical person. Moving his fingers was about all the exercise he cared to get. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was with a piano or one of the ladies.”

I laughed. “What about the deacons? Any of them or their kids still around?” It was a stretch, but like human memory, motive for murder is not bound by time. Sometimes it is not even tied to people still living.

Emma Jones shook her head. “They died out years ago and their children all moved away. I can give you their names, but it’ll be a waste of time. They’re all respectable people now, and they never came back…ever.”

“Why don’t you tell me, anyway? Then we can cross them off the list.” I was thinking of Spinks when I said that. I didn’t think there would be any fruit from this line of investigation, but it was something that would keep him busy in Little Rock for a couple of extra days. With luck, it could take him a week.

Emma gave me seven names. She thought four of those lived in or around Memphis, but was not sure where the others were. That was even better. Spinks might have a difficult time tracking them down. Nor could Lonnie say I wasn’t keeping the Bureau actively involved.

I looked over my notes. I saw two things I needed to ask and decided to take the easy one first. “There was a sixth member of the choir: Edward Posey. Do you know whatever came of him?”

“Poor Eddy,” she said. “He was the youngest one by three or four years. I think the others picked on him pretty bad, especially Slide. Wilbur was his hero, at least at first, and he was standing next to Goodie when he was shot.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what ever came of him. His family moved away five or six years after the accident, and we never heard from him again. I heard he was drafted and sent to Vietnam, but I have no idea what happened to him after that. He was one of those people other folk never notice. When they did, they thought he was Slide or maybe Wilbur’s younger brother. He looked exactly like them.”

I did some mental arithmetic. Smiley Jones was celebrating his eightieth birthday when he was shot, which would put Pastor Jones somewhere in his middle seventies. It didn’t add up, and I asked Emma about it.

“Wilbur was old enough to be their dad,” she told me. “I know Albert must have told you different, but he sees himself as much older than he is. He is still on the prime side of sixty. Even so, Wilbur looked younger than him.”

“So Edward would be in his middle fifties?” I asked. Emma nodded. “Then Smiley was old enough to be his father,” I said.

“That’s true,” she said. “There was even some talk that he was. He sure looked enough like him. Back then, Wilbur was a real heartthrob, even to the younger girls.” The way she looked at me said she was speaking from experience.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Was Edward his son?”

She frowned. “I really don’t think that matters. Let’s not go there.”

“All right,” I agreed. “You told me Smiley was Edward’s hero at first. What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “After the accident Edward kept more and more to himself. He still came to church and sang in the choir, but I didn’t see him with the others much any more. Wilbur had left town by then, and I know Edward must have missed him. But when Wilbur’s name came up, he never had anything to say. The one time I remember, he looked angry. Even bitter.”

“Maybe he felt abandoned,” I suggested. “Kids do that.”

She shook her head. “Maybe so. Who knows?” I had the impression she thought there was more to it than that, but she fell silent.

I decided it was time to ask the tough one. “I need to ask you some things. I am just trying to be thorough. There is one thing I do need do know. Were you and Albert in the community center when the shooting happened?”

“Of course,” she said, surprised. “We were talking to a group of people when someone came in and told Albert that Wilbur was shot. Albert was the first one out the door.”

“Do you remember who it was that brought the news?”

“Yes. It was one of the children. I told the other policemen this.” She was beginning to grow uneasy. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m just trying to get a clear picture,” I said. “Police reports don’t always give enough details. Or the right details.” That was an understatement. Police reports are often barely literate. There were sharp complaints when I put some of the CID investigators through a course in remedial writing, but it paid huge dividends in clearing cases. It paid off even better in court.

Emma nodded, but she was not convinced. “Please bear with me,” I said. “Were you and Albert in the community center the whole time the celebration was going on?”

“Yes. I told the other officers that, too. Neither Albert nor I left the center from the time we came in until the news came Wilbur was shot.”

“Neither of you left at all…not even to use the privy?”

I expected her to get angry, but she laughed. “No. Albert would tell you that two things are necessary for the ministry with all the pot luck suppers and long board meetings. One is a brass stomach and the other is a cast iron bladder. We are very careful to watch our intake at things like that.” She looked at my watch. “We better wind this up soon, or there will be talk.”

I thanked her for her time, and she walked me to the church door. “There is one other thing,” I asked. “Are there any other Luthers around here?”

Again, she laughed. “No, praise God. Three of them has been confusing enough. Especially with Slide being mistaken all the time with Wilbur.” Then her fact took on a mischievous look. “There was a Luther Anne, but she always went by her middle name.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Not for a minute. She used to live in Nashville, but she grew up here. She married and moved away.”

I turned to leave, but stopped. “Where does Luther live?” I asked. “I want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It would save me a trip. Albert usually checks on him.” She gave me directions.

Luther’s place was in the deep woods behind the store, not far off the path Dee and I followed that morning. Even though we passed within fifty feet of it, the brush was so dense we never saw it, and I would have missed the turnoff if I had not been watching carefully. It was getting late and light was fading fast in the deep woods. Without my flashlight, I couldn’t make out more than the dim outline of the path.

When I first saw Luther’s shack, I thought I had taken the wrong turn. It was low and badly weathered with ill fitting boards nailed at odd angles to cover places the wallboards were missing. I found out later it had started out as a barn before being converted into a chicken shed and then a hay barn. At some point, it was abandoned, and later on Luther bought it for next to nothing. There was no power and no plumbing, but it was home to him, and he had lived there for more years than anyone could remember.

There was no light showing when I got there, and I almost went back to the parsonage for better directions. Yet, there was a hint of wood smoke, and I could see faint tracks in the grass by the door. So I knocked loudly. There was no answer, and I turned and was half way back to the path when the door creaked open. I looked around just as Luther stuck his head out. He was holding up a coal oil lantern in one hand, and I saw a stout length of an oak hoe handle gripped in the other.

When he saw who it was, Luther pushed the door farther open and waved for me to come in. I had to duck my head to enter, and I was surprised by what I saw. I found myself in a very comfortable room. Despite the outside appearance, Luther had carefully covered the outer walls with board and batten and had done the same with planks for a ceiling. The floor was made of what looked like old paving bricks laid tight against one another and held in place by sand. His bed was a simple iron Army cot covered with what looked like an old bedroll, and a rough table with two old chairs stood next to a small iron cookstove toward one corner. An old army locker at the foot of his bed apparently served as his dresser, and a small wooden crate stood by his bedside. A worn Bible lay open on it.

Luther offered me a chair, but I told him I was just checking to make sure he was all right. I told him he had a nice place, and he seemed pleased. Then my eyes caught a familiar shape in the dim yellow light and I felt a chill run up my back. There by the door, leaning next to his length of shovel handle, was the unmistakable outline of an Army M-16.

Luther seemed puzzled when I quickly stepped to the door and grabbed the rifle. “Is this yours, Luther?” I asked, and he nodded. Since the shovel handle was behind me, I glanced at the rifle. Even in the dim light I could see it was in very rough shape, and, when I tried to clear the chamber, the bolt was stuck solid in locked position. The same was true of the safety which was on. “Where did you get this?” I asked.

“I found it,” Luther told me. “It don’t work. Rusted shut. I tried soaking it with kersene, but dint work.”

“Where did you find it, Luther?”

“In one of them empty buildings. You know, next to the store.”

Suddenly, the mystery of the missing floor boards I’d seen in the back of the blacksmith shop was solved. I pointed to the walls. “Is that where you got some of this lumber?” The way Luther nodded it was clear he did not consider this to be stealing. To him he was simply recycling what others abandoned, and I had to agree. Better it be used for a purpose than left to rot. “That’s where you found this,” I asked, holding up the rifle. “Under the floor?”

“Yessuh,” said Luther. “I found them there, too.” He reached to the back of the table and picked up a stained cardboard box about the size of a paperback. He handed it to me, and I looked at it. Sure enough, the lettering told me it was military ball ammunition, caliber .223. It would fit the M-16. I opened the box and counted the shells. From what I could tell, there were about a dozen missing. The markings on their bases were exactly the same as the one Dee had found by the blacksmith shop.

“I am going to have to take this with me, Luther,” I told him. “Our lab will have to look at it. It may be evidence.”

Luther looked sad, but said nothing. He stood up and held out his hands, as if he expected them to be cuffed. “I’m not going to arrest you, Luther,” I said. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He looked surprised and sat down. “Did you find anything else in there?” I asked him. He shook his head, but I could tell he was lying. I decided not to push him at the moment. For one thing, I was alone and without backup. I had no warrant to search nor the authority to enforce one even if I had. Yet, more to the point, I did not think even the rifle had anything to do with our case. Luther was welcome to whatever else he had found as far as I was concerned.

“Will you show us where you found this?” I asked Luther. He nodded. “All right then, I‘ll see you tomorrow.” As I turned, my eye caught something in the shadows on the table. I reached out and picked it up. It was a military commando knife, still in the case. I pulled it out. The blade was bright, clean and sharp. I looked at Luther. “This is what you didn’t want to tell me about, isn’t it? You found this under the floor, too, didn’t you?” He nodded glumly, and I understood. The rusty gun was of no use to Luther and no great loss. The knife was a tool he could use every day and probably did. It would be a big loss.

I slipped the knife back into its case and laid it on the table. “Well, I won’t mention this if you don’t,” I told him. “It will be our secret, between me and you. Thanks for your help.”

Luther looked like I had just given him the moon. He jumped up and shook my hand, then insisted on walking me back to my car. The last time I saw him alive was in the rear view mirror as I drove out of town, a sad old man standing there in the rain with a lantern in his hand.

4. Slide Jones

There was a note from Dee waiting for me when I got back to the motel. It said something came up that required his presence in Little Rock the following day and that I would be on my own. It also gave me several numbers where I might reach him. I wondered what could be so important to pull him away in the middle of a major murder investigation, then remembered the same thing happening to me when I was at CID. More than likely it would turn out to be something that could have waited or someone who considered themselves too important getting impatient. I hoped it was not something that grew out of my crossing swords with Lonnie.