Chapter 14

The shadows of the trees had only just begun to shorten when Bowman spotted Emrick walking toward him in his youthful springy gait. It was much earlier than he usually dropped by. As soon as he neared Emrick said, "Who was dat fella askin' 'round 'bout you yesterday?"

"What did he look like?" "I don' know. He din' talk to me. He was askin' some other mens - they tole Mama, 'cause dey knew I was spendin' time over here an' she tole me."

"It was a police detective who works in New Orleans, but he grew up around here."

"He gone carry you to jail?"

"No, he offered me a job."

"You gone be a police?"

"No, they just want a little help on a case. I told him I wasn't interested, but he'll be back in a couple of days."

"What kinda fellow is he? They said he was mean talkin'."

"He's really not mean, he is just kinda direct and pushy. Police in the big city learn to be that way. But I don't think you'd like him. In fact, I'm sure you wouldn't. Things that bother you, he wouldn't have any appreciation for. Come to think of it I don't think either of ya'll would like one another at all."

"He don't lak black folks, huh?"

"No, I don't think race has anything to do with it," Bowman said as he thought how to avoid explaining how repugnant Emricks' lifestyle and idleness would be to someone as inflexible as Flint.

As he considered his thoughts, he made his way over and sat on the roots of a large oak tree and leaned back against the trunk. Emrick seated himself close by. "What kinda things do he like to do for goodness sakes?"

Bowman eased his head against the tree. "Now that you asked, I'm not sure I know. I do know that he reads a lot. He likes to hunt and tramp around the woods when he visits his mother up here. When he's home, I imagine he works night and day then spends all of his spare time with his family. He's very intense about everything he does. Unfortunately, he's not like you, he doesn't smile very much." He turned his head to Emrick. "Everything to him is either good or bad, either absolutely right or wrong. There's no in between. Do you understand what I'm sayin'?"

"You' right, I don' think I'd like him at all."

"Oh, you probably wouldn't dislike him, once you got to know him, but you would never understand him and he wouldn't understand you. That's all I'm saying." He returned his head against the tree. "Let me think of a better way to explain it. If they had a contest and gave away a big long Cadillac car and you won it, what would you do?"

Emrick crooked his elbows over his knees. "Well, first thing I'd do is get somebody like you to teach me how to drive it. Den I'd go sit in it in front of Florence's house and den I'd blow de horn 'til she comes out; and den I'd take her for a ride all aroun' town, jes kinda showin' off, you know. Den I'd either drive it to Detroit and look for my daddy or I'd go visit my cousin, Ben, in that gamblin' town."

"Well, you see, Flint wouldn't do any of those things. He probably wouldn't even take the car home. He probably wouldn't even tell his wife or his daughters that he won it. The first thing he would do is sell the car and then take the money to the bank and just let it sit there."

"You kiddin'?"

"No, I'm not, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he would do."

"He mus' be crazy. Don' he believe in havin' fun?"

"Not the same way you do, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't enjoy himself. For example, he likes to read history and understand things that happened in the past. The place you play your music was a location of a famous site as far back as five hundred years ago. He could probably sit up here and talk to us for an hour about what went on up there."

"I don' care nothin' 'bout what happen way back then."

"Right, you just care about privacy and the chance to play your music there. The place is important to both of you, but for different reasons."

Bowman became aware of the heat and noticed the tree was no longer shading them. Stains grew in the armpits of his blue workshirt. He stood and pulled the tail of the shirt from his jeans as he looked over to Emrick who seemed unaffected by the heat. "Let's go walkin' toward the river. Maybe we can find a breeze somewhere.” As they walked alongside one another on the shoulder of the blacktop road, Bowman continued. "Flint belongs to a hunting club somewhere around here. It's probably nothin' but a shack out in the middle of nowhere with mice runnin' around everywhere and with a fireplace in it. Now, when it is cold and rainy and in deer season, he likes to go there. Let's just say he invited us to go up there with him."

"I wudn' go."

"Well, I wouldn't either, but just to understand how different all of us are, let's just say that we went. Now it's cold and rainin' outside, we just ate somethin' and are full as a tick. You and I would probably sit up half the night puttin' wood on the fire havin' a good time talkin' and listenin' to you playin' your music. Flint wouldn't be up with us. He'd've done the dishes as soon as he finished eatin'. Long before light, he'd try to get us up to go out in the cold and rain to shoot a deer. Neither one of us would go."

"Damn right, fool's crazy!"

"No, he's not, just different from us. Anyway, when he came back, we would either still be asleep or sittin' in front of the fire keepin' warm and watchin' the sparks jump."

"Right."

"Okay, he would be screamin' to us to come out and see the fine deer he just shot and probably want us to stand in the rain while he cleaned the carcass and told us every little detail about where he was sittin', how the deer looked comin' up and things like that."

"He wudn' be tellin' me none of that shit 'cause I'd be in front of 'at fire. My mama din' raise no fool," he said with pouted lips.

Emrick took the lead bearing away from the road toward a thicket where the pathway up the back of the hill was hidden. When they reached the path Bowman stopped and caught his breath. When they began walking again, he picked up his comments where he had ended. "That's right. Well, I'd probably go out there and listen to him because I'd know he was excited and wanted to share what happened and I wouldn't want to hurt his feelin's. I'd have to stay way over to the side so I wouldn't have to look in those big ol' deer eyes or smell the carcass, but I'd probably stand out there with him. Now later he would want to have some of that venison for lunch."

Emrick's eyes lighted up. "Now, you talkin' bout somethin' I could get into. One of mama's friends sometimes gives us some a dat and I'm tellin' you tha's good eatin'."

"Right, but you see that's where I'm crazy because I couldn't eat any of it. While ya'll would be stuffin' your face and makin' fun of me, I'd have to eat some sardines or potted meat."

"You mean you'd turn down venison for potted meat or sardines, Man, you the one's crazy."

"I know, but I just couldn't eat it and that's the point. Different doesn't have to be bad and very often it isn't. "

"What does he look like? When I see him comin' I think I'll head the other way."

"He's a tall guy, about my height with black hair cut high on the sides and bushy eyebrows. His arms and legs are both real long. He probably weighs about the same as I do, but most of his weight is in his chest and his stomach. He would be hard to beat in a fight because he would keep you away from him until he got a good hold of you and with that weight, he'd wear you down pretty quick."

"How would you go about handlin' him in a fight?"

"I'd probably just run because he doesn't look like he's in good enough shape to catch me, but I wouldn't be fightin' him in the first place. He's not mean and I'm not either. We could talk things out, but more'n likely we'd end up agreein' to disagree. But I'll tell you one thing - if I got into a fight, I'd love to have him with me because he would be there until both of us lost or both of us won. There aren't a lot of folks I can say that about. Him, he'd be there. Without a doubt."

"Sheeit, Bowman, big as you are, you wudn' run from nobody!"

"You got that wrong, Baby, but we talked about that before."

"I dun tole you not to call me, Baby."

"That's right, you did. Sorry."

Arriving at the crest of the hill, Emrick as if on impulse quickly climbed limbs of the tree leading to a wooden platform. Taking a seat and dangling his feet over the side, he looked down at Bowman sitting beneath the tree and said, "You din' tell me what you would do with that Cadillac," Emrick reminded him.

"I'd probably would sell it like Flint." Bowman replied, looking up at Emrick.

"Then you'd put it in the bank and let it sit there?" Emrick asked.

"Probably put it in the bank, but I wouldn't let it sit there. I'd probably use it as a down payment on a big sail boat, one that could sail way out in the Gulf.” Emrick jerked his head to one side and stared at Bowman in disbelief. “I can see the question in your eye," Bowman added. "Yeah, completely out of sight from land."

"Now I know, you the craziest one of all."

"Em, you're probably right there."

Bowman dropped his head. Silence overtook them both, then Emrick spoke. "Answer me somethin' else. Why ain't you gone take the job?" Em asked.

"Because I think it would be a waste of my time," Bowman answered.

"Why? They gone pay you, ain't they?"

"If I didn't do any good, I wouldn't take their money. That's not the way I work. I'd ask them for more than they're willin' to pay. If I solve the case, I get a good payday. If I don't, I take nothin'," Bowman explained.

"It's sorta like gamblin' ain't it?"

"I never thought of it that way. I always kinda thought of it as keepin' myself honest and lookin' on the pay as a prize for working hard. I like myself better that way."

"Well, if you wuz to take the job, when would you go?" Emrick asked as he adjusted himself to lay on his stomach and rested his chin on the platform.

"If I was to go, I would leave Monday mornin' which is probably when I'm goin' to leave anyway."

"Well, if you don't take the job, where you goin' to go?" Emrick asked.

"Em, I'm not goin' to take the job. I may go back to Gulfport or I may go visit my friend up north. I just don't know yet," Bowman answered with a trace of exasperation."

"Well, if you wuz to take the job in New Awlins, how long would you stay?"

"If I was to take the job, which I'm not, it would be for two weeks. Now you tell me why you are suddenly so interested and askin' so many questions?"

"Cause if you did take the job and it started next week and it wasn't but for two weeks, Mama would probably let me go with you." Em blurted out, his face positively contorted by a grin.

Bowman looked down at his lap and shook his head. "You're just daydreamin'. There's no way in the world your mother would let you go to New Orleans. It's a big city and there's a lot of devilment going on. You already told me that she's been there. So she knows. There's no way she would agree with that. Tell you what, if you just want to go somewhere, I'll take you to Gulfport for a few days, if your mother agrees." Bowman offered.

"Don't want to go to no Gulfport, I wanna go to a big city."

"How would you talk your mother into that, by pouting?" Bowman asked facetiously.

"Would if I had to, but I don' have to. My cousin Ben's comin' next week to visit my auntee for a spell. Mama don't like for us to hang together. If I bring it up a few times that Ben's comin' and ask Aunt Ida about Las Vegas in front of my mama and then I just happen to mention that you might be goin' to work in New Orleans for a couple weeks, Mama will axe you to take me. She likes you and she liked the Clark's. She'll axe you!" Em said as he cocked his head to the right and looked down his nose at Bowman.

Bowman was taken aback. He said: "Em, I owe you an apology. I felt like you were smart, but I have to admit I didn't know how clever you really are. He rose to his feet and hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans, pulling them higher. He looked back at Emrick. “I'll tell you what I'll do. Flint will be comin' back by here tomorrow afternoon. If your mother was to ask me to take you with me and the police will agree to provide you with a place to stay, I'll take the job. But you'll have to make me some promises. The main one is you'll have to do exactly what I tell you when we get to New Orleans. It can be a very dangerous place and I'm goin' to have to concentrate on my work. I'll have to know exactly where you are and what you're doing every minute. Your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

Em's face filled with a smile and there was a trace of tearing in his eyes as he began to descend from the tree. "You're not going to play me some tunes?" Bowman asked.

Emrick returned to the platform, playing four songs Bowman had never heard him play before. He questioned him about them. Emrick did not know the names of the songs, but he had merely heard them sometime in the past and played them by ear.

Following the recital, the men walked together on the pathway and alongside the paved road. Bowman began to focus on the work at hand. When they reached the lawn of the old house, he bade his friend good-bye and went directly to the kitchen where he sat down at the table and picked up the stack of papers Flint had left him. He was aware of the change in his mood, more an uneasiness. He found the artist's rendering grotesque, but that was not what was gnawing at him. It was a sense of losing control of his life to the manipulation of others. Then, just as suddenly, he decided that he was being silly. After all, he was aware of what was happening and had a share in fomenting it. Maybe it was just uneasiness with the impending change - perhaps that was it.

He dropped the material on the metal kitchen table, resolving to awaken early and study it more intensely over coffee. He slept a deep sleep for the first time since coming to the old house.

The next morning he arose early and, while the coffee was perking, read the material carefully. Later he pondered all he had read while unconsciously sipping the brew. He reread various sections of the material, reserving for last the page to which his attention was naturally drawn, the artist's rendering of the designs carved into the back of the torso. His inclination, or hope, was that if a key existed, it would lie there. The only character representing anything vaguely meaningful to him were the swastikas on the sides of each buttock. They were not in the customary Nazi rendering - not slanted on axis and bent clockwise - but were rather flat and counterclockwise. That could have great meaning, or none whatsoever. If there was a racial connotation, could such an ignorant person be expected to know the difference? He forced these thoughts aside and considered the drawings as a whole. The figures were apparently patterned and symmetrical, but so primitive and loosely formed as to be unidentifiable. Was it merely the distortions caused by the point of a knife being used as a brush or the pliable skin serving as a canvas that made the figure so unintelligible, or was there simply no sense to be made of it?

There were no upside down crosses, no 666's and no pentagrams, he noted. Surely, it all had meaning, but what or to whom?

He mused that one could become hopelessly lost in a maze of speculation on symbolism.

The center of the mutilation was dominated by a single figure, which appeared at first glance to be a stick figure rendering. A drawing one would expect from a young disturbed child, concentration on a head and face dominated by a frown, anger-filled eyes, with little attention to or absence of hands and feet.

He placed the drawing with the remainder of the report and took his coffee outside, turning his thoughts to items in the report that had especially caught his attention. The forensic report indicated that death probably occurred in the afternoon on Fat Tuesday.

Wouldn't Satanists or Voodooists conduct their rituals at night? Who knows? There were no drugs or foreign elements in the blood of the victim. Several foot sweeps were made by the forensic team, covering every square foot of the northeastern portion of the park. No evidence was found of a ritual altar, grass trampled by a group or fire ashes. There were no homeless campsites discovered which may have provided a potential witness.

He withdrew from his thoughts as he caught sight of Emrick coming toward him. His pace was little more than a saunter, but there was even more liveliness in his gait than usual.

"You're up and over this way early this mornin'," Bowman said cheerfully. "Florence must have made you a promise."

Em's shook his head and grinned. He touched the bill of his cap with his hand and tilted his head back placing his hands in each back pocket. "No, Mama wants you to go by Miz Sarah's house this morning."

"You must of brought up your cousin Ben last night."

"Come to think of it I did," Em said. His smile again became so broad that his eyes teared.

"Do you know what she intends to say?"

"No, she din' tell me nothin'. Jes' axed you to come, if you could."

Bowman did not reply at once, but went into the house and returned with his car keys.

"Might as well see if this thing will still crank. Want to go with me?"

"Naw, I'll be 'roun' here somewhere when you come back."

Bowman nodded in reply and walked to his light blue sedan, and was relieved when the engine started at once. He drove slowly to the front of a large two-story house set on a rise. The house was not nearly so ornate as the Clark house, but only because the entrance lacked the sweeping front porch and large pillars. What it lacked in ornamentation was made up for in condition and placement. The home could not be seen from the paved road. In fact, there was not even the customary archway of trees down the half mile gravel drive and there was no structure at the head of drive entrance to suggest it was anything more than a well maintained field road.

It was the privacy and sudden appearance of the house that Bowman found especially appealing. The natural setting of large old hardwoods, interspersed with fruit trees and ornamental shrubs, seemed to him to form a perfect balance.

He then walked around to the rear of the house and tapped lightly on the screen door. Looking through the screen, he could see Miz Emma scrambling energetically, returning pots and pans to their place. He then rapped lightly again.

"Lord, Mr. Bowman, you didn't have to come so quick! You wanna biscuit or somethin'?"

"No ma'am, I'm not hungry, but they sure look fine. I don't think I've seen biscuits that big and fine since I was a small child."

"Well, I ought to know how to fix 'em by now. Seems like I've made 'em everyday of my life."

"Well, they look delicious. Em said you had somethin' you wanted to talk to me about?"

She answered: "Wait a minute." Then she walked to the enter door and called, "Miz Sarah." She then turned back to Bowman. "Miz Fremont wanted to meet and talk wi' you."

Bowman smiled inwardly thinking he bet the last thing in this world this lady wanted was to talk to him. He could imagine the subtle pressures Emma had brought to bear to force the imposition on her.

An elderly woman entered the kitchen. She briefly studied Bowman. "Miz Fremont, have you met Mr. Bowman? He was Miz Clara's son-in-law. Miz Carolyn's husband."

Mrs. Fremont flicked a stare at Emma, then turned and smiled at Bowman, more with her eyes than with her mouth. Bowman recognized that the stare at Emma was admonishment for calling to her rather than coming to get her. The look to Bowman was a combination of greeting, apology and recognition that he knew the meaning of the expressions. In short, an acceptance of him on a near status level - more or less. Considering her perception of herself as a planter's widow and the lady of the house - probably not as a peer - but acceptance, nonetheless.

Mrs. Fremont, typical of her station, carried her age well. The faint shadings of red in her gray hair, the lines on her forehead and around her eyes and mouth bespoke her advanced age, but her eyes still emitted a sparkle. She handled herself with poise mastered at finishing schools long ago. She had probably never been beautiful, but that would have been no handicap to her.

Her clothing was an informal light cotton dress, not new but clean and recently pressed. Bowman reasoned that each item had been carefully selected for the effect she decided to convey. That knowledge caused her new yellow canvas slip-on shoes to stand out in his mind. They didn't so much clash as not match. He forced his attention from the shoes to Mrs. Fremont's eyes and met them with a smile. He knew that she would be judging his every action. He concluded that her clothing budget was sacrificed for more pressing needs. Under no circumstances did he wish to cause this lady concern. She had burdens enough.

"Mr. Bowman, why don't we make our way to the parlor where we can talk. Is it too early for you to take tea?"

"I just finished coffee before coming over, Mrs. Fremont, so please don't make any just for me; but if you're going to have some, I'll take a cup as well."

"Emma, would you put on some water?" Mrs. Fremont said softly.

The furnishings of the house were about as Bowman expected them to be - heirloom quality furniture, worn persian rugs and velvet drapes that had hung for a lifetime. The placement of the furniture would be as it had been for many years. The room was musty, suggesting that it was seldom used anymore. She studied his gaze and his eyes, but Bowman gave her nothing to catch but an accepting smile.

She seated herself on the sofa and gestured for him to take a chair. "It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Bowman. Of course I'd heard that you were here. I should have dropped by to welcome you and make your acquaintance, but I'm afraid I don't get out and about too much any more. There's enough to be done here to keep one occupied full time."

"It certainly shows, Mrs. Fremont. You're doing an excellent job of maintaining the place. It is simply perfect and the grounds are so balanced. I don't mean to gush, but seeing what has happened to the Clark's house makes me aware of how much effort is required."

"Yes, my greatest fear is what will happen here after I am gone," she said turning her eyes surveying the room. After a pause, her eyes returned to his. "Do you plan to take up residence at the Clark home, Mr. Bowman?"

"No ma'am. In fact, the family does not even know I'm here. If they do, no one has said anything. I came up here with the intention of painting and making minor repairs, but I'm afraid that the time for that has passed. I have no claim on the house and never intended to make any. It was just something I felt that I should do. I'll be leaving soon."

"I commend your good intentions and I hate to hear that you will be leaving so soon. The condition of the house grieves me more than you can know, but that's what happens when families can't pull together. Unfortunately, it's not all that rare."

She paused as if she were in a quandary as to how to proceed.

"Please feel free to ask me anything you like, Mrs. Fremont. You won't offend me. In fact, if you'll share your concerns I'll volunteer any information you may need."

"Thank you, you are very perceptive. I'm afraid it's becoming evident that I'm not spending enough time in society. This should not be difficult for me, but I find it is somehow. Not to waste your time, I'm sure you're aware of Emma's overprotection of Baby. Perhaps overprotection is an understatement, for he is certainly not prepared to fend for himself should something happen to Emma. It's a subject that I've tried to broach with her over the years, but she is clearly not interested in discussing it with me. Now, she has asked me to involve myself once she feels she has a crisis."

"A crisis, Mrs. Fremont?" Bowman asked innocently.

"It seems that a cousin with an extremely unsavory reputation is coming to town next week to visit his mother. This cousin has proven to be very influential over Baby in the past. Emma is concerned that she'll lose control over her son. Baby has mentioned to her that you'll be doing some work briefly in New Orleans and would be agreeable to taking him with you. She's asked me what I thought and I told her I could make no judgment. Frankly, it all seems very unusual to me." She adjusted her chair and looked away.

"I certainly agree with you, Mrs. Fremont. Knowing Emrick and his mother, it would have to be. To begin with let me allay one fear. I'm not gay."

Her eyebrows arched. "Sir?"

"I'm not a homosexual. I realize that this is not a subject that normally comes up in polite conversation," he said in her response to her obvious embarrassment. "But it's something I felt that I should reassure you about under the circumstances. I've enjoyed Emrick's company in the weeks I've been here. He's been my principle social contact. He trusts me. I mean him no harm. Mrs. Fremont, I was a federal agent for many years and enjoyed some success at it. Occasionally, local police will call on me in times of crisis. Sometimes my efforts are helpful, sometimes not. There's such a crisis in New Orleans right now. I hadn't planned to accept the assignment because I really didn't see that I could be of assistance any way other than allowing them to use my name. Emrick has never spent time anywhere other than here. He has these fascinations built up in his mind around his father and his cousin, and the lifestyle in metropolitan areas. Should something happen to his mother, I suspect he would either move in with some local woman or dash off to the big city. It doesn't take much imagination to realize that neither would work out very satisfactorily.

I don't suggest that anything I would be able to do at this late juncture is going to make much difference, but at least he will have had some experience away from this area and his mother's tight control. If I accept this two-week appointment in New Orleans, I will do so only if they agree to provide Emrick with a hotel room and subsistence as my assistant."

"Assistant? Mr. Bowman that is ludicrous. The man is like a child." Mrs. Fremont snorted - turning her head down and peering over the tops of her eyes.

"I'm aware of that Mrs. Fremont. As I said, I don't expect to be very successful. Emrick would be expected to do nothing more than operate in a very small geographic area and try to develop information for me. I will be working and making an effort, but I would be available to him around the clock, if he needs me, but I can't babysit him. He would have to agree to follow my instructions. There are some very real dangers and, yes, he could get hurt. Emma would have to understand that. Frankly, I hope she doesn't take me up on my offer."

"I understand your position, Mr. Bowman. I'll explain it to her so that she can understand. I can 't predict what her reaction will be, but I know she's very fearful that Baby will run off to Las Vegas with his cousin. Unfortunately for you, I'm afraid your offer is the lesser of evils. I realize in talking with you about it, this is probably a terrible idea. At any rate I'll stand by my offer, if that is what she wants. But she must understand that I can't hold myself responsible for him."