In full uniform, Sheriff Rome entered his kitchen with a mug in hand and found his wife pouring the last of the coffee into her own. Still in her robe, she stopped mid-pour. “Do you want any more coffee?”
“No, I need to get going.” The sheriff placed his mug in the sink. “I’m driving to Knoxville this morning.”
“What for?”
“I need answers, and the best place to start is the TBI.” He grabbed his hat from the kitchen table.
Lula Mae took a quick sip of her coffee before emptying the mug into the sink. “Give me ten minutes to change.”
“Why?”
“I’m off today. I can help.”
“Lula Mae, I’m going to have enough trouble getting them to talk to me.”
“And why wouldn’t they talk to me?”
“You’re not law enforcement.”
“I’m a national park ranger, which means I’m technically a federal peace officer. I also carry a firearm, same as you.”
“That doesn’t give you any jurisdiction over the matter. It happened in my county.”
“And within the boundaries of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.” Lula Mae patted the lapel of her robe. “My turf.”
Sheriff Rome grinned. “You know, you should’ve been a lawyer.”
Sheriff and Lula Mae Rome walked through the parking lot of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Knoxville Consolidated Facility. The sheriff opened the front door of the large brick building for his wife. “Hopefully, he’s here and he’ll agree to see us since we drove all this way.”
“Who?”
“Emory’s old partner.” In the narrow lobby, he introduced himself to the man behind the counter. “Hello. I’m Sheriff Nick Rome, and this is Lula Mae… Park Ranger Lula Mae Rome, that is. We’re here to see Wayne Buckwald.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the clean-cut young man asked.
“No, but it’s about a case I need his help on.”
The man frowned but made a call. A moment later, a balding man in his forties entered the lobby. Wayne greeted the sheriff with a warm handshake. “Good to see you again, Sir.”
“Good to see you, too. This is my wife, Lula Mae.”
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, ma’am. Sheriff, how’s Deputy Harris doing?”
“Doing good. Engaged now. To someone he arrested a couple of months ago.”
Wayne laughed. “Serious?”
“As a copperhead bite.”
“What can I do for you?”
Lula Mae replied, “We need your help.”
Wayne motioned them to the door. “Come on then. Let’s talk at my desk.”
They entered an auditorium-sized room rowed with desks of TBI special agents busy on phones or computers or talking to one another. Wayne led them to an empty desk in one of the last rows, next to a desk where a blond bear of a man was seated. “This is my new partner, Steve Linders. Steve, this is Sheriff Rome of Barter Ridge and his wife… Lily?”
“Lula Mae.”
Wayne apologized and asked his partner to round up a couple of chairs. Once everyone was seated, he waited for someone to speak.
Hesitant to begin with an unexpected set of ears listening, Sheriff Rome tried to signal with his eyes that he’d rather talk in private, but Wayne seemed incapable of receiving or translating the message. After an uncomfortable pause and a glance of encouragement from his wife, he explained the reason for their visit. “I don’t know if you’re aware of what happened to Emory when he was a teenager.”
Wayne snorted. “He never shared it with me, but I’ve since found out.”
“What happened?” asked Steve.
“I’ll tell you later. Not to be rude, Sheriff, but why exactly are you here?”
Sheriff Rome pulled two items from his shirt pocket and placed them on Wayne’s desk. He placed his fingertips on the first item. “This bug—”
“I recognize this.” Wayne picked up the listening device. “We use these. Did Emory take one when he was working here?”
Lula Mae jumped back in her chair. “Of course not!”
The sheriff glared at Wayne. “My son has never stolen anything in his life. As I was trying to tell you, he found that thing in his apartment.”
Lula Mae clarified, “Placed there by someone else, in case that wasn’t clear.”
Steve chimed in with a question. “Who would want to spy on your son?”
“We’re not sure.” The sheriff moved to the other item he had placed on the desk. “But it might have something to do with this picture. That’s Emory when he was a kid, before we adopted him. The last time he remembers seeing this picture is in his granny’s house before it burned down. That was until someone slid it under his apartment door with that note scribbled on the back.”
Steve said, “Someone could’ve just found it online and printed it.”
The sheriff shook his head. “They were pretty poor. Emory never had a phone or computer until he came to live with us, and he’s never had a social media account to post a picture on.”
Wayne picked up the picture, turned it around and read it aloud. “‘Who bears the iniquity of the son?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
Steve took the picture from his partner. “It’s likely a biblical reference. There are several verses about the son bearing the iniquity, or sins, of his father. The Bible actually goes back and forth, saying they do bear it and they don’t, even within the Old Testament. I’m not aware of any verse that states the father bears the iniquity of his son, but that seems to be what the message on the back of the picture is implying.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “After the incident eight years ago, the TBI took possession of the evidence left behind, and I turned over all I had, which didn’t include this picture. We figured Emory’s biological father took it from the house before starting the fire and that it eventually ended up in the TBI’s custody. The question is how did it find its way from TBI evidence to Emory’s apartment and why was a bug commonly used by the TBI also planted there?”
Wayne took the photo and dropped it onto his desk. “And you assume that there’s some nefarious plot by the TBI, the agency that fired Emory, to set him up for some reason?”
“We never said it was a plot by the TBI, but we need you to tell us if that picture was ever here in evidence. If it was, then yes, I think someone here is out to get my son. If it wasn’t, the only explanation I can think of is that one of Carl Grant’s followers kept it all these years and has hatched some kind of revenge plot that involves taunting Emory and spying on him. Either way, we need your help to find whoever it is before he does anything more serious.”
Wayne leaned back in his chair. “You know, on our last case together, your son lectured me about something called Acme’s Razor.”
Steve corrected him. “I think you mean Occam’s Razor.”
Wayne clenched a fist at his partner. “Don’t you start!” He turned his attention back to the Romes. “The gist of it is the simplest explanation is almost always right. Now I’m thinking Emory took the bug and had the picture all along, and he’s just making all this up to help in his lawsuit. You heard he’s suing the TBI, right?”
“He dropped that!” said Lula Mae. “And Emory would never do something like that. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. No offense.”
“I have to tell you, I do take offense to that,” said Sheriff Rome. “And who are you to tell us we don’t know our own son?”
Wayne smirked. “Do you know he’s gay?”
Sheriff Rome took a second before replying. “Excuse me?”
Wayne tapped his desk with each word he repeated. “Emory. Is. Gay.”
Her face frozen, Lula Mae made only a slight movement with her lips as she asked, “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. I caught him sucking face with that PI. The one he’s working with now. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
Sheriff Rome frowned at Wayne’s smug expression. “No, I don’t think you did.”
From the back of the room, a woman with stern demeanor and bright red hair approached. “Hello.” Her eyes dripped contempt over the sheriff and Lula Mae.
Wayne introduced her to them. “This is Eve Bachman, Special Agent in Charge.”
Eve fixed her eyes on her subordinate. “Special Agent Buckwald, I assume this interview is related to the Curson case.”
“Actually, no. This is Sheriff Rome and his wife, Lula Mae. We worked together on the Algarotti case a few months ago.”
“Rome?” Eve glanced at the picture and listening device on Wayne’s desk. “As in Emory Rome?”
“We’re Emory’s parents,” said Lula Mae.
“My apologies,” replied Eve, although unclear for what she was apologizing. “Special Agent Buckwald and Special Agent Linders, I’m certain I stressed the importance of the Curson case in our briefing this morning. Please schedule personal visits for hours past five.”
“It’s not a personal visit,” said Sheriff Rome. “We came to ask for Agent Buckwald’s help with a case.”
“Special Agent Buckwald receives his case load directly from me. If you have a formal request for TBI assistance in a legal matter within your county—”
Sheriff Rome grabbed the picture and bug from Wayne’s desk. “It was an informal request for help. Consider it withdrawn. Lula Mae, let’s go.”