Dumping Grounds (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

From what they had said, the truck that overturned was a freight truck. It was loaded with stuff for Mardi Gras; party favors, beads, and various flavors of moon pies. It reminded him that Mardi Gras was due to start in less than two weeks; that was all he needed! The street parties, the balls, the messiness, and the drunkards of Mardi Gras, along with a murderer dumping more bodies.

Joshua gripped the steering wheel tightly and moved a few more vehicles out of his way, using his lights and siren.

His foot was already heavy on the gas pedal and getting heavier as the song got faster and Steppenwolf crested in his song.

Topping Wolf Ridge, he saw that the traffic backed up at least a quarter mile because of the accident. He grimaced and wondered aloud, “When is all this bad shit ever going to end?”

His grandfather’s voice echoed through Joshua’s mind. He remembers they were standing over a spotted puppy that lay dead in the road in front of his granddad’s farm and asking his grandfather why did the puppy have to die and him saying, The misfortunes of life come back to haunt you, Son, no matter how hard you try to avoid them. Joshua had asked him why do they come back to haunt you and his grandfather replied, They just do, Son. There’s no answer to why and there is no way to avoid them.

'Well, when, do they end,' Joshua asked. 'When you’re six feet under, Hoss, when you’re six feet under,' his grandfather replied. It was what his grandfather had always said and it was what Joshua had come to believe too.

Being the Sheriff sometimes had its advantages though. He had made the trip from Fairview to Crichton in record time, two songs by Steppenwolf. He played this game sometimes, whenever he headed toward town, not just to see how long it took him to get there, but because he loved his music too and it gave him a chance to listen.

He ejected the tape as he drove up to the scene of the accident, wanting to save the next song until later. It was one of his favorites by Steppenwolf, called the 'Pusher Man.' It was long and intense and just what he needed occasionally to relax or to get jacked up, depending on which he wanted or needed to do. Just like when he listened to Joe Cockers, With a Little Help from My Friends and I Put a Spell on You, by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Those types of songs were exactly what he needed to hear occasionally. Joshua got tired of listening to the same old thing all the time that was why he was a fan of various genres. He enjoyed country, rock, pop, and the blues. About the only music, he could not stomach, was opera.

Deputy Cook was at the scene of the accident when he arrived. He looked as happy as a kid in a candy store while directing the east and westbound traffic around the overturned truck.

“Sheriff, we got us a situation here,” the deputy hollered from his stance in the middle of the highway.

“Well, I can see that, Deputy,” Joshua replied as he looked around.

“No, Sir,” Cook exclaimed. “I’m not talking about the traffic. I’m talking about what we found in this here truck.” Cook’s bug eyes were about to pop out of his head.

Emma opened her eyes to complete darkness. Briefly, she wondered where she was, before she remembered her captors and the stinky rag they placed over her mouth and nose before she lost conscious.

As she lay there, she could hear music coming from up above her. It was a song called, 'When I Was Young,' by Eric Burdon and The Animals.

The psychedelic sounding yells and echoes of the singer, sent chills down her spine. She could hear people moving around overhead and other weird noises besides the music and people.

Her brain felt heavy and dull. She wondered if she were awake or if she was dreaming.

If they’re getting wasted, I might have a chance to get out of here,
Emma thought, before realizing that she was still strapped to the contraption upon which she lay
.

“If you are out there Goyaa
łé, please help me,” she whispered, falling back on her grandfather’s tales of Geronimo; refusing to lose faith in her upbringing.

A while later, she opened her eyes again and felt even groggier, if that was possible. She thought she might have dozed off for a minute, but it could have been five minutes, five hours, or five days. Emma was not sure, but the next time she opened her eyes, echoes from the music were still coming from overhead. It was one of those long, deeply obsessive songs. 'Kashmir,' she thought was the name of it, by the band Led Zeppelin. Emma was familiar with their music and she liked them.

At home, all they ever listened to was country or gospel music, but Emma had heard many of these songs at several parties she had attended in high school.

One such party was actually a frat party, held off campus by some students who attended the University of South Alabama. She had gone there with her friend and neighbor Rhonda Kay Hamilton.

Rhonda had a knack for getting them into some strange situations, such as the frat party.

At that party, was the first time Emma had ever drank, or been wasted as they called it, and it was the first time she had ever been exposed to illegal drugs.

She and Rhonda both smoked pot at the party and drank beer. It was quite an eye-opened for Emma. Those college kids were a different breed than she was use to.

In her mind, Emma pictured her captors on the floor above her. She wondered if that was what was going on. Were they getting high on pot and listening to music to get in the mood for whatever they had in mind to do to her. She tried sniffing the air for the aroma of tobacco, but all she could smell was some sort of disinfectant. Maybe they’re simply relaxing to the music… What did they have planned for her, she suddenly wondered. She would get her answer shortly, because she heard the door opening and then a light was switched on.

It was not a bright light; it was one of those florescent black lights. The kind that caused everything white, to glow in the dark.

Emma noticed the window again, the one where she had seen the mimosa tree. In the black light, the lightest colors glowed brilliantly, oddly bluish in color, causing her to wonder if the window were real…

When Emma heard their footsteps on the stairs, she pried her eyes from the window and closed them tightly. Her disappointment was immediate.

She wondered if it were even a real window. It was possible the scene on the window was painted on.

Someone had probably painted a picture onto an old window and then hung it on the wall just to give the illusion that it was a bright and cheerful room. She now feared she was in a dungeon like cellar with no windows or other means of escape.

Emma peeked through her lashes. She saw two men coming down the stairs. They were leading a young black-headed woman down the stairs.

The girl was staggering badly. Several times, she slumped forward and almost fell, causing the men to grab her around her naked waist and tote her down the remaining steps. At the bottom she still could not stand.

Emma knew she should pretend to be asleep, but her curiosity was greater than any cats could ever be; she just could not help herself; she had to look.

She tried to follow them with her eyes and not turn her head. As they reached the bottom of the steps, she lost sight of them, causing her to raise her head to look. When she did, she looked right into the face of one of her captors. He was the one who had come toward her with the gun at the campsite!

Suddenly, some of her memories returned, flashing through her mind like pictures in one of those slideshow thingamajigs.

Emma saw him let go of the woman and start walking toward her. Too late, she tried to close her eyes and lay still.

“Ain’t no use trying to hide now, Girly,” he whispered, leaning in over her.

She could feel and smell his hot, liquored breath on her cheek. It caused her to gasp and cringe, and he laughed at her for being scared.

Emma’s eyes popped open and she glared at him. Suddenly, something inside of her snapped, causing her to become furious. No longer able to control her anger, she screamed at him to get out of her freaking face before she bit his nose slap off his head.

She meant it too, because she wanted to bite him. She wanted to bite him so hard it would take the smirk clean off his face. Emma never remembered being as angry in her life, as she was at that very moment.

“Looks like we got us a live one,” the one leaning over her said. As she protested, he untied her, and then jerked her off the small metal table.

“Don’t hurt her yet, Earl,” the other one said.

“You need a bath, you smell like a whore,” Earl, spat the words at her. His touch disgusted Emma. She wriggled with all her might trying to loosen his grip as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

The two of them began to drag her up the stairs and as they got several steps high, Emma looked toward the other girl whom they had strapped onto another table against the far wall. The terror in the girl’s brown eyes let Emma know that she was in for an awful experience.

Emma fought harder but it was no use; she was not strong enough.

At the top of the stairs, they adjusted their grip on her and turned down a hallway.

When they drug her through the door into the bathroom, Emma caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. All of her breath left her body.

Her once blondish, red hair, now cropped, was just above her shoulders, and dyed jet black. Her face and pale eyes looked like the image on an Egyptian sarcophagus’ picture she remembered seeing in history class.

Emma was stunned into submission, compliant as he made her get into the bathtub. Once seated in the tub, she sat there in silence as one of them turned on the faucet and began running water for her a bath.

Emma’s mind was bombarded with images of what they might have done to her and what they may have in store for her. She wondered why they had changed her appearance. Her hair was cut in the same style as the girl they had led down the stairs.

Did they do all of this to fulfill some sick fantasy of theirs, or was it to keep her from being identified by anyone who might see her, or find her body after they murdered her. Emma’s thoughts were racing though her mind so fast that she felt her brain would explode!

“
You know I smoked a lot of grass, oh Lord, I popped a lot of pills”
sung Steppenwolf, and the sheriff was singing right along with him. Joshua sung louder, mashing the gas pedal harder after rounding the 90-degree curve on the Georgetown-Wilmer Road. He was thinking about the overturned eighteen-wheeler from the day before.

The driver of the vehicle had jumped and run as soon as the truck stilled its overture and the homeless bums who stayed in and around the intersection, that consisted of a creek, a railroad crossing, and a trestle were looting when deputies arrived.

There is no telling how much merchandise got stolen before they arrived either, he thought to himself. Well, at least they didn’t find the cocaine.

“
You know I seen a lot people walking round with tombstones in their eyes. But, the pusher don‘t care Aw… if you live or if you die. Goddamn, um hum the pusher. I said, God… damn, yeah, the pusher man
,” Stokes sung at the top of his lungs, his cruiser rolling through the back roads of Wilmer.

He knew some folks did not understand his love of this type of music, but he considered himself a connoisseur of good music and music that soothed your soul had to be good for you, right.

The Sheriff was on his way to Cuss Fork, a community north of Fairview, to investigate the report of a flourishing field of marijuana.

Someone had reported that the Vice boys were growing it out behind their daddy’s fallow cotton fields, near the old Stringer Cemetery.

Joshua knew exactly where the caller was talking about. They had pulled up that same field and had a burning several years earlier.

The homegrown the Vice boys were growing was not worrying him; it was stuff like that uncut heroin in the overturned truck that was his concern. He did not want
that
in his county. At least they now had the name of the company that shipped the cargo, and they knew the truck had come out of Texas.

Joshua was feeling in a charitable mood that morning and had decided he was just going to have himself a talk with the Vice boys and give them time to clear the field. They could dispose of it ever how they seen fit.

The caller had accused the Vice boys of being drug pushers, but Joshua did not see it the same way. He did not want to see the boys sitting in jail, booked for pushing pot.

Those boys were the only form of support their mama had since their daddy died. Besides, he did not want to be tied up all day writing reports; he needed to get a haircut and he wanted to get one before he went to Mobile.

The boys were not home when he got there. Mabel, their mama, came when he knocked, but did not open the screen door. She looked worried.

Stokes felt sorry for Mabel; she had had a hard life. Then, to be left to rear six younguns on her own after her husband died, was a damn shame.

Joshua told Mabel that her boys needed to get the field cleaned up and cleaned up quick; else, he would have to pick them up. He told her he wanted it cleared before the end of the month.

Mabel said she would see to it they did as he wished, although it was going to make it harder to make ends meet. Joshua apologized for having to enforce the law on them. He knew the boys would most likely turn to stealing to “make ends meet” and in all their minds that was far worse than growing a little weed would ever be.

He left the Vice’s small clabber board house and drove the back roads toward Semmes. The barbershop would be crowded if he waited too late in the morning.

Buck’s Barber Shop was where many of the nurserymen got their haircuts and Saturday was about the only day they had to get it done. Joshua also needed to go to the tattoo parlor to check on the rosebud tattoo. Every time he headed in that direction, it seemed that something else needed his attention and he would be sidetracked.

He was glad to see that there were only two vehicles at Bucks when he got there. He went in a waited his turn.

“Oh, I’m still alive and kicking,” Stokes chuckled, to James Fortner’s “How’re you a doin, Hoss?” as he sat in Buck Parker’s barber chair getting a trim and a good straight razor shave.

“Yeah, I’m just a simple kind of man” Joshua said, referring to the lyrics of a song that had just played on the radio.

“Yeah, too much smoke and too much coke they say too, but you ain’t no fool” James nodded, chuckling along with his old friend. He knew Joshua was just fooling with him. He could tell that Joshua was in a good mood.

A minute or two later, Stokes was all business when he asked, “The monkey off your back yet, Hook” Joshua used James’ nickname, but all the joking was aside now.

Temporarily caught off guard by the sheriff’s sudden seriousness, James run his fingers through his dark curls before answering.

“Ain’t had a monkey on my back for a while now, Hoss. Still pissed off and I get a little antsy once in a while, but I ain’t gonna let it run me crazy, that’s for sure,” James replied, getting into the other barber chair as Junior Parker finished with Jesse Vice.

Jesse looked back at James as he was headed out the door and said, “See ya later son, and be sure to tell your mama and daddy we said hello,” Jesse then nodded to Joshua adding, “Good to see you too, Sheriff.”

“Will do, Uncle Jesse, good seeing you too,” James replied, before focusing his attention back to Stokes. Joshua acknowledged Jesse’s goodbye with a nodding gesture.

They both knew what Joshua was referring to, and although it had been nearly ten years, neither one had forgotten nor had they discussed it in a while.

So why is Joshua bringing this shit up now,
James wondered, and then thought the heck with it, and asked him why he brought it up.

“When we get through here, we need to take a little ride. I got something I want to show you,” Stokes said, all the earlier merriment gone from his eyes.

Buck and Junior Parker glanced at each other, but both knew not to ask any questions. The father and son team had heard many things while they cut hair and shaved men in their shop there in the heart of Semmes. They usually made small talk and listened; knowing that was what was expected of them. They never offered an opinion, unless asked, and they were not asked.

Twenty minutes later, Sheriff Stokes and James Fortner walked out of the barbershop together. James climbed into the patrol car with him and they drove around to the elementary school and parked under the shade of a large live oak.

Joshua reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, before offering one to James.

“Well, you said you had something you wanted to show me,” James said, curious as to why all of a sudden, Stokes wanted to bring up those mutilations that happened a few years earlier.

“I think” Stokes said, reaching into a document folder and pulling out some Polaroid’s, “That our goat molesters have graduated to larger game,” he said, handing James the pictures.

“Da’yum” James exclaimed, looking at the pictures of the murdered women. “Shit fire! Are these for real?” he asked, not wanting to believe his eyes.

“Hell yeah they’re real. Nobody but us in law enforcement is supposed to see these, but I got me a theory I need to explore. Especially after I run into you and remembered your goats.”

“Well, whoever did that to my goats is sick in the head and if they’re now doing it to womenfolk, then they’re really some sick ass fuckers.”

“I know it made you plumb sick to come home and find your goats killed and mutilated like they was. I hated to bring it back up, but we never solved who did that to those goats of yours.

You know, we always figured it was some of them devil worshiping youngsters; the one’s that was having séances and sacrifices in the cemeteries back around that time. Heck it seemed like every weekend we had to investigate some sort of shenanigans. There was everything from sacrifices to crypt robbing going on back then.

I was wondering if you had developed a theory of your own, as to whom it might have been that done that to your goats. Any information you can remember or anyone you might suspect of doing that to your goats, counts, no matter how insignificant, it or they may have seemed at the time. They could have been young, old, or in between. No one should get past your scrutiny. Now think about it, Hook,” Stokes suggested earnestly.

“Well, you know, there were several who I thought it could’ve been back then, but heck Joshua, they was just boys, maybe ten, eleven years old or so. I never… well, I don’t know what to say,” James mumbled.

“They cut your goats heads off, Hook,” Joshua said, “And then they cut their udders off and gouged out their vaginas, the same as with these women here.

I don’t know exactly what they do to the men that are being mutilated over in George County, or even if it’s the same ones doing it; I ain’t seen no pictures of them yet.”

“Why ain’t this crap making the news then? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“Cause we have to keep things under wraps. People will freak out if they know about this stuff. If the public panics, we will have more than we can handle. By keeping it on the down low, we can investigate it better.

What boys were you referring to?”

“They were from over there on Box Road. Lived way in the back where they subdivided Boots Foster’s old homestead. Those younguns was always a coming through them woods towards my house. They was trying to get my boys to hang out with em, but I told mine if I caught em off with them boys, I’d beat the hide off em. Didn’t like their looks at all; I could tell something wouldn’t right about them two.”

“Do they still live back there?” Stokes asked, hoping that they did.

“You know, I don’t know if they do or not Joshua. I put them as far from my mind as I could, once they quit coming around the house, which now that I think about it, was right after my goats were killed.

I was just glad they weren’t coming around anymore, if you know what I mean.”

“You don’t remember what their names were, do you?” Joshua asked.

“Their last name was Dixon, I think, but I’m not sure.”

“I think I know who you’re talking about; those two have always been into something. I was called to the school once because they had put a dead field rat into the science teacher’s desk. I even heard they would bury kittens up to their neck and then run over them with a lawnmower. Now that’s perverted. That right there will tell you those boy's ain’t right in the head!”

“They’d be in their twenties by now, same as my boys,” James offered.

“Yeah, I know. I will look into them. I’m glad I run into you this morning,” Stokes said, lighting another cigarette. He held the pack out toward James, offering him another.

“Well, I’m glad I could help, if that is what you want to call it,” James replied, shaking his head and taking the cigarette Stokes was offering.

They sat there and talked a few more minutes, enjoying the camaraderie before Joshua drove James back to the barbershop so he could get his pickup.

As Joshua drove out of the parking lot onto Moffett Road, a black Ford Mustang, that seemed to appear out of nowhere, broadsided his truck!

James Fortner had seen it all. Watched in horror as the Mustang hit then flipped over Stokes patrol car. It then flipped several more times, before sliding on its roof about two hundred feet past the barbershop.

James jumped out of his truck and ran across the parking lot toward Stokes’ vehicle, hoping his friend was all right, but before he reached him, he could see Joshua’s upper body hanging out the driver’s window, blood pooling on the ground beneath him.

James was stunned into silence, immobilized from the shock of what had just happened; and it happened so fast, so unexpected.

James had witnessed countless fights and injuries in his lifetime, but he had never witnessed anything like this happen to someone he was so close to.