Chiefs (10 page)

He got slowly to his feet and approached the stone. He stopped chewing the sandwich. An acidic foreboding crept into his bowels. As he walked toward the boulder it became, unmistakably, a buttock, and as he drew closer the new angle revealed part of a back and a shoulder and, finally, a closely cropped head, turned sharply to the right. The nose and jaw were covered by leaves, but there was an eye, and it was open. A column of ants wound in and out of it. Buster came over and sniffed at the corpse. Brother dropped his sandwich and ran. Buster collected the sandwich before following.

Will Henry thought fast as he listened to Brother’s story. He didn’t want to spread news of this sort on the telephone. He might as well go to Atlanta and put it on WSB. “Tell you what, Brother. You run over to the funeral home and tell Mr. Maddox I said for him to come out to the Scout hut with his ambulance. I’ll go pick up Dr. Mudter, and we’ll meet you there in a couple of minutes. He’s right at the foot of Hodo’s Bluff, you say?”

“You say he’s naked? In this weather?” Frank Mudter huddled down into his overcoat and put his hand under the dash of the police car to see whether any heat was coming out.

“That’s what Brother said. He was pretty shook up, of course. He said something about the fellow having ants in his eyes, too. Sounds like he might be imagining the whole thing. I hope so.”

Will Henry stopped the car as close as he could get to the Scout hut, and they walked the rest of the way.

Dr. Mudter knelt beside the corpse. “Well, Brother was right. He’s sure naked. Right about the ants, too.” Will Henry shuddered. “Give me a hand, Will Henry, let’s turn him over.” Will Henry was horrified at touching the cold flesh but tried not to show it. “Nothing but superficial wounds. No gunshot or stab wounds that I can see.” A car door slammed in the distance. Dr. Mudter stood up.

“How did he die, then, Frank? Did he fall off the bluff?”

“I don’t think there’s any question about that, Will Henry. Question is, what happened to him before he fell down here? What was he doing running around up there naked as a jaybird?”

“Well, first thing comes to my mind is, there’s only one thing around here that’s bizarre enough to go with this.”

“Klan?”

Will Henry nodded. “They horsewhipped a man up at Greenville two years ago. White man fooling around with a colored girl. But this is just a boy. What would you say, eighteen, nineteen?”

Will Henry glanced at the corpse involuntarily. “Yes, I guess so. How long would you say he’s been dead?”

“Well, the rigor’s still there. Less than twenty-four hours, maybe less than twelve. We can take his body temperature as soon as we can get him back. That might help. Temperature was in the twenties last night. Can’t be more than twenty-five right now, and he’s not frozen. Tell you the truth, Will Henry, this isn’t my line of work. I generally get to ‘em before they go, you know?”

“Well, Frank, I’ve almost certainly got a criminal case on my hands. I mean, this doesn’t look like any kind of accident to me, not like I’ve ever heard of, anyway. There’s going to have to be a thorough investigation of this, and it ought to start with a medical examination. Hadn’t we better get somebody down here from Atlanta to see about this? You know anybody?”

Lamar Maddox came striding through the leaves carrying one end of a stretcher. Brother Maynard trotted along behind with the other end, followed by Buster.

“Morning, Frank, Will Henry. What we got here?”

“You know as much as we do, Lamar. We just got here. I was just asking Frank if he knows somebody in Atlanta, an expert, who could do a thorough medical examination.”

Brother interrupted. ” ‘Scuse me, Chief, but I’m already fifteen minutes late for school. Can I go now, please?”

“Sure, Brother, and thanks for letting me know about this. You did the right thing.”

“Uh, Chief, could you give me a note or something? You have to bring a note if you’re late.”

Will Henry took out his notebook and wrote, “To whom it may concern: Brother Maynard is late for school this morning because he was helping the police with a confidential matter. If there is any further question, please telephone me.” He signed and dated the note and gave it to the boy.

“Listen, Brother. We don’t know yet what’s happened here. Word’ll get around about this sooner or later, but right now I don’t want any talk about it, all right? I don’t want you to tell anybody about this until—until you read about it in the paper, all right?” Will Henry thought for a moment. “And even then, I don’t want you to tell anybody, and I mean
anybody
, about his not having any clothes on. That could be very important, and nobody’s to know about it but us, all right?”

“Yessir, I promise.” Brother hopped on his bicycle and rode off to school.

“You think he’ll keep this to himself?” Frank Mudter asked.

“Lord, I hope so. Frank, you and Lamar have got to help me keep this thing under control. For the time being, when it comes up, let’s just say that it looks like a fellow got lost and fell off the bluff. This is going to be hard enough to handle without a lot of hysteria. All right?”

Both men nodded. Frank Mudter looked thoughtful. “Will Henry, I’ve got an old med-school friend in Columbus who’s pretty much of a hotshot pathologist. He’s done a job now and then for the Columbus police. I could call him up and ask him if he’ll drive up here and do a postmortem. His fee could run to twenty-five or thirty dollars if you figure he’s got to travel, but I think the council will sit still for that.”

“That sounds good to me, Frank. Is there any reason we shouldn’t move him now?”

“I don’t think so. You reckon we can get him on the stretcher and in your hearse like he is, Lamar?”

“No problem, Frank.” Lamar Maddox was, by profession, a stoic.

At the funeral parlor, Dr. Mudter telephoned Columbus. He came back into the workroom, where Will Henry was eyeing the syringes and tubing uneasily. “Well, I had to promise him a fried-chicken supper—he’s a bachelor—but he’s coming as soon as he can get away from the hospital. He figures to be here about four. In the meantime we’re to take the temperature and then keep the body as cool as possible. Lamar, could we put him in your storage room and open a window?”

“Sure, I guess so. What are you going to take the temperature with? I don’t get much call for thermometers from my customers.”

“1 guess I better run back to the office and get an anal thermometer.”

Will Henry spoke up. “Frank, I don’t think there’s any more I can do here. I better check in at the station and see if anything’s happening, then I’ve got some investigating to do, I guess.”

“Why don’t you come back here about four. He’ll do his postmortem first, and then we’ll have supper at my house. I’ll get Martha and the children to go down and have supper with Carrie, and Nellie can leave as soon as she’s cooked. That way we can talk about this by ourselves.”

“Fine. Maybe I’ll know a bit more myself by then.”

Chapter 13.

WILL HENRY sat down at his desk and took a pad and pencil from a drawer. He noticed that his hand was trembling. He was filled with the most curious mixture of emotions. He was angry that someone had caused the boy to die; he was sickened by the thought of the boy wandering, probably pursued, through the woods; and he was terribly excited. He felt guilty about it, but he was excited that he suddenly had a major crime to investigate, to solve, so soon in his new job. He had no doubt that he could do it. He thought that a professional soldier must feel the same way about a declaration of war; regretful, but eager. He began to list the things that must be done.

Question everybody who lived anywhere near where the body was found.

Check with Atlanta for any persons recently reported missing.

Check the top of Hodo’s Bluff for evidence.

Check on Klan activities.

Telephone Skeeter Willis.

Go see Harmon Everson.

He could think of nothing else to do, at least until the medical examination was done. He telephoned the state police in Atlanta. There were no missing-persons reports that matched his victim.

He telephoned Skeeter Willis. “Skeeter, you might want to drop by here today or tomorrow if you get a chance.”

“What’s up, Will Henry?”

“Interesting development. Not much more I can tell you right now.”

“I get you.” Skeeter had telephone operators to deal with, too.

“If I’m not here when you come, get Jimmy Riley to give a blast on the fire siren. We’ve got a signal worked out. I’ll come back to the station.”

“Probably be tomorrow morning before I can get down there. Can it wait until then?”

“That’ll be fine. I’m here from eight o’clock.”

He knew how to check on the Klan, but that would have to wait until he had questioned the householders near Hodo’s Bluff. He would save Harmon Everson until last. He wanted to know as much as possible before he talked to the press, even to the editor of the
Messenger.

Two hours later, he had talked with people at nine houses on the mountainside. Nobody had seen, heard, or noticed anything unusual the night before, except for one woman who had heard something crashing through the bushes sometime after midnight. She thought nothing of it; deer and other animals were about; she often heard them. There was nobody home at one house, and a neighbor said they were away for a week, visiting relatives in Waycross. Only the visit to Foxy Funderburke was left, that and the inspection of Hodo’s Bluff. Foxy lived down the other side of the mountain and seemed the least likely of Will Henry’s prospects to have seen or heard anything, but Will Henry was not looking forward to interviewing Foxy.

He drove slowly up the gravel road to the Funderburke cabin. The road wound back and forth up the mountain and was very steep in places, but it was well cared for, not rough at all. Foxy probably didn’t get too many visitors, not with his personality, so the road didn’t get worn down much from trafic. Still, Will Henry figured Foxy must be spending a good bit of money keeping it so well, since it was not a county road, but private. The road turned and fell away slightly downhill before the tall pines gave way to a large cleared space. The cabin stood squarely across the road, and on each side of the house were matching flower beds. There was nothing blooming this time of year, but Will Henry thought the place must look very pretty in spring. A
profusion of azaleas formed a background for the beds, and two quite large dogwood trees faced each other in front of the house. He had expected something much rougher and was surprised that Foxy had spent so much effort to make the place beautiful. It was obvious how Foxy, who had no regular job and needed none, occupied much of his time. Still, in midwinter it failed to be beautiful. The place had an oddly regimented orderliness about it, as if it were part of some eccentric military reservation. It was a lot like Foxy. Will Henry immediately felt like an intruder.

He got out of the car and approached the house. The place seemed deserted. There was no answer to his knock at the front door. He walked around to the back of the house, peering into windows. The rooms seemed almost unnaturally neat. There was a large shed at the back. Will Henry peeked through the crack between the padlocked doors. Foxy’s pickup truck stood inside. He walked back to the house and looked through a kitchen window. It was much the same as the other rooms—neat, cold, well equipped, orderly. Only in the kitchen was there a touch of disarray. The chairs surrounding the little kitchen table were in the process of being recaned. Two of them had complete new backs and seats, one was half done, and the fourth was stripped down to the bare wood, waiting its turn. Foxy seemed to have a number of manual skills.

Will Henry froze. There had been a tiny, almost surreptitious, sound, then silence. Then there was an explosive sound of something striking wood and the creak of metal. Will Henry spun to his right, clawing for his pistol. He found himself facing a large, placid golden Laborador retriever. The dog approached him, everything wagging. Will Henry sagged against the house with relief. He felt a complete fool. He scratched the dog behind the ears. Why had he drawn his pistol? Why did he feel threatened on Foxy’s property? He realized he was, irrationally, still very afraid. His heart was pounding, and he was sweating in spite of the cold. There was more to it than being startled by the dog.

“How are you, old fellow? You scared me real good, there.” There was another scraping. The dog turned to the back door leading into the kitchen and pushed the lower panel with her nose. It swung back, and five puppies tumbled through the opening. “Sorry, it’s old girl, isn’t it?” The puppies, which seemed to be five or six weeks old, surged around his ankles, yapping and stumbling over his feet. He squatted and played with them for a moment, and his anxiety ebbed away. The bitch and her puppies made the place seem less threatening. He walked to the door, tucked the puppies through the flap, gave their mother a pat, and walked back to the car. She came with him and sat in front of the cabin, watching, as he drove away.

Will Henry drove down the track from Foxy’s cabin to the main road, continued for a mile, then turned left up the Scenic Highway, as the road was called which ran along the crest of Pine Mountain, overlooking Delano. He drove another mile until he came to the bottom of a steep dip in the road known as Hodo’s Gap, named for a reclusive old Cherokee Indian who had lived in a shack near the spot until his death years ago. Hodo, said to have been in his nineties, had fallen to his death from the bluff which bore his name.