Chapter One

There were three men in the room. That is, three men and a dead woman. They were deep in the woods, southwest of Tallahassee.

Two of the men stood stiffly in the corner, just inside the open doorway. The door itself hung askew, held only by the rusted lower hinge. These two had been cautioned by their commanding officer not to move, speak, or otherwise disturb the third man. One was there to photograph at the direction of the tall man, and the youngest of the three had been told to be quiet and learn.

The third, a very tall man, knelt by the woman. She was small in stature, and completely naked. Long, thick hanks of copper-colored hair covered her face.

The two in the corner turned questioningly to each other. Was he actually speaking to the woman? It was just a whisper and neither of the two could make out his words.

“Tell me where to look and I’ll find the animal who did this. Give me somewhere to start, and then you can be at peace with the angels,” the man whispered softly, as he gently uncovered her face. The photographer didn’t flinch, but the younger man was unable to hold in a shocked gasp. The only recognizable part of the woman’s face was at the corner of her left eye, where two moles were evident against white skin. The face had been punched, and punched again and again.

Samuel Hinton rose to his full six foot five inches and looked slowly around the room. His eyes took in the four walls of the old abandoned cabin. The broken chair and three-legged table were covered in what was, probably, years of dust. Vines had welcomed themselves in through windows long ago broken, and some had even entered through the rotten floor.

Only the dust in the corner where the woman lay had been disturbed. Samuel was careful not to step on the already present prints. The killer would be a large man. The foot that made those marks would be about the size of his. But it wasn’t really a boot…or a shoe, he thought. He could plainly see the outline of his own boot. The killer’s was more of a scuff, or a…moccasin! Ah, a moccasin. He looked at the bruises on the woman’s upper arms. They were larger than even his hands would have made. Yep, he was a big one.

Samuel stood and spoke to the photographer. “Be sure to get the bruises on her arms.”

Samuel leaned against the doorframe and stared out through the trees, as the photographer set up his equipment. He could hear the tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker somewhere close by. Samuel suddenly pushed off and crossed the clearing. He stopped near the edge of the forest and knelt slowly. The youngest man stared from the doorway as Samuel reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief-sized square of linen. He picked up something from the ground and held it close to his face. Then he placed it in the linen and carefully put it in his pocket. He walked back inside and knelt by the woman; with the thumb of his right hand, he gently raised her upper lip. He lowered the lip, raised her right hand, and looked at the long fingers for a while.

The younger man cleared his throat, and the photographer shot him a warning look. Samuel turned to him. “Yes, you have a question?”

“Y-yes, sir,” he stuttered. “Why did you look in her mouth?”

“Well,” Samuel drawled, “I found a cigarette butt on the ground. It looks like somebody’s been smoking. Her teeth are very white, and her hands have no tobacco stains. If she smoked that cigarette, then it was probably the first one she ever smoked.” As Samuel stood and turned to the door, the young man spoke again.

“But why did you take the cigarette, sir?”

Samuel let out a long sigh. It wasn’t like he minded the questions. He didn’t. He just didn’t feel qualified to be training these boys. Shoot fire, he’d only graduated from the Academy in 1908 himself. He believed Captain Lance should have named an older, more experienced man to train these green ones. Two years on the job did not make him an expert. Besides, what Samuel had to share could not be spoken of, or written in a manual. There was no way he could tell them about the feelings that washed over him, or the visits from his mama, who had died when he was eight. No one outside his family would understand.

He turned to the young man again. “If the cigarette is not hers, then it probably belongs to the killer. The tobacco has an unusual aroma and might help us locate the man.”

Samuel could tell when the young man made the mental connection. His eyes widened in surprise, then focused on Samuel in awe. Now that, Samuel did mind. Most of what he did was common sense; paying attention to detail and just looking at things with open eyes. He was no one special. He was just a man whose heart hated violence, especially violence to women.

****

Samuel Hinton sat on a bale of hay, staring across the meadow. The sun had dropped below the horizon and the sky was streaked with orange and pinks. He held a chunk of wood in each hand, weighing one against the other. He waited for one of them to speak to him. He would listen; then whatever was locked inside the wood would call to him, and he would carve something beautiful, releasing the spirit hidden in the wood. It had been this way since he was a child. Things just spoke to him. Sometimes people spoke to him, and sometimes the people were dead.

The woman he’d knelt by this morning had told him some things. It had been early morning, well before dawn, and she had been walking to the schoolhouse. A man with large hands had grabbed her. But where, where did this happen? She had smelled a strong yeastiness in the air. Had she been near a bakery?

He would give this more attention in the days to come, but now it was suppertime, and afterwards he would have a few minutes to play with his beautiful niece before Mae put her to bed.

****

Samuel woke from a deep sleep with all his senses immediately alert. He sensed the whisper of a voice, and it soothed him. He didn’t need his eyes to tell him Mama was in the room, but the strong smell of yeast caused him to bolt upright. She was seated on the bench near the large window. He sensed that when he spoke she would begin to slip away, so he just sat there, absorbing her presence.

Then her melodious voice spoke. “You must hurry, Samuel. Another is in danger.”

Even as he asked, she began to fade. “Who, Mama, who is in danger?” But she was already gone.

Samuel checked the clock as he slipped out of his apartment over the garage. Three in the morning, and here he was starting his day. Mae would not approve. He pushed his motorcycle a good quarter mile down the lane before heading into town for an early walk.

He had never spoken of Mama’s visits when he was a child. Even though he had never been frightened by her presence, he hadn’t been sure how others would react. Then the day had come when his sister had been in grave danger. Mama had appeared to him in front of others, but they hadn’t seen or heard her. Later, he’d tried to explain it to his Pa, who had assured him he was not crazy.

Samuel laughed to himself as he strolled through the pre-dawn hours. He could laugh now, but that night, when Mae had been in danger of slipping away from them, poor Edward had met Mama. You could say it was a “come to Jesus” meeting. But all had gone well, Mae had recovered, and she and Edward had been married these past five years.

Samuel suddenly stopped walking. He was in one of the narrow service alleys behind the Leon Hotel. There was a slight breeze coming out of the southwest, and on the breeze was the distinct aroma of yeast. He started moving in a southwesterly direction, tacking up and down the empty streets, pausing occasionally to make sure he had not lost the smell he followed. He was moving away from the hotels and boarding houses when suddenly it hit him. The brewery. Damnation, he should have made the yeast connection.

He picked up his pace, being careful to stay in the shadows and walk softly.

Hamish McDuff had a small alehouse about three blocks south, and Samuel was headed there when the now familiar feeling washed over him. He paused to lean against the side of a building and fight the nausea. He straightened up and took deep breaths, then tried to pierce the darkness with keen eyes. He never anticipated what he was looking for, but he always found something. He walked out into the intersection. The city had built the road on each side of a towering live oak whose canopy created a huge circle of blackness on this moonless night. Samuel walked to the base of the tree and knelt. He closed his eyes and let his other senses take over.

After a few moments, his mind began to translate. In the far distance, he heard the faint crow of a rooster. Much closer came the almost silent whoosh of an owl’s wings and the tiny squeak of a mouse. Then, from very near, an odd aroma. Oh, not the smell of McDuff’s yeasty beer brewing. No, this was the curious fragrance of the cigarette butts he’d found by the cabin. Samuel opened his eyes and looked at the ground around him. Barely visible in the darkness were two cigarette butts. Samuel took another square of linen from his pocket and secured both in the square, then passed them under his nose. He actually smiled in the darkness. Now he knew where.