Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Beginning of the End

Bill

The rental car was dropped off at 9:30, Tuesday morning. Kristy also booked us at The Mountain View Motel outside of Booneville and made the changes to our airline tickets. We arrived at the Boonville Police Department shortly before noon. Sean showed the desk sergeant his credentials. “We’re working on a cold case with ties to Booneville. Could I speak to whoever is in charge?”

A tall, thin, red-haired gentleman came to greet us. “Good morning, I’m Lieutenant Gary McKinney. What can I do for you?”

Sean asked, “Is there somewhere we can talk? We need to get some information on a cold case from Nawinah, Florida, that has connections to Booneville.”

In the interview room, Sean told McKinney the basic information about the murder investigation and the connection with Saint Ignatius Orphanage and Clement Grooms. “Do you know where we could find the records from the orphanage, and if your department has any files on Clement Grooms?”

“Let’s start with Saint Ignatius. Since it’s a closed facility, all records were transferred to the Vital Records Department of the Arkansas Department of Health, which is located in Little Rock.”

We all looked at one another, realizing that our plans were going to change again. We needed to spend more time in Little Rock.

McKinney continued, “As for Clement Grooms, I can check if he was ever apprehended, incarcerated, or charged with any crime. I’ll get one of my detectives started on it. Why don’t you gentlemen have lunch and return around three o’clock?”

Thinking about our situation, if Saint Ignatius was located in Booneville, it was likely Clay Jackson was adopted by someone in or around there. If that was the case, we’d be driving back to Little Rock to the health department and then coming back to Booneville to search out Clay Jackson, an unnecessary and time-consuming endeavor. I expressed my concern to the lieutenant. “Is there any way your department can get the adoption records from the health department without us returning to Little Rock?”

McKinney said he’d try to get the records scanned to him. He made copies of Clay Jackson’s birth certificate and the police report on Clement Grooms and promised he’d put a rush on getting the information.

The sandwich shop where we ate lunch was not busy, enabling us to hang out a while without taking up valued customer seats. Since we couldn’t check into our motel until four o’clock, we had to wait for McKinney to get us some answers. I gave the friendly waitress a big tip for all the coffee refills.

When we returned to the police station, the desk officer buzzed us back to an interview room. McKinney soon entered, laying some paperwork on the table. “I have some good news and some bad news. Good news. We found the criminal records of Clement Lowell Grooms. He was apprehended in Fort Smith about a month after the rape of Ida Mae Gunderson. Detectives spoke to Ms. Gunderson and her parents, but they were unwilling to press charges because they didn’t want to subject their daughter to a trial. They felt their daughter had suffered enough with the rape and the tuberculosis. Luckily, Grooms already had a record, and the police connected him to a string of burglaries on the east side of Booneville. Before Ms. Gunderson, Grooms had also raped another female in the Boonville area. Unlike Ms. Gunderson, this young lady did press charges. The case was brought to trial, and Grooms was sentenced to twenty years in the state penitentiary. A year before his release, he was killed by one of the guards in a prison riot. So, I guess that’s both good news and bad news. At least he paid for other crimes he committed. Still, that doesn’t help you with solving your case.”

Sean said, “It does eliminate him as a suspect in the murders of the Cunningham family. Gary, what about the adoption? Did you have any success in that area?”

McKinney gave us an apologetic look. “Here again, good and bad news. The captain spoke to the director of Vital Statistics at the health department. After sending him the birth certificate and information on the case, he’s willing to release the information on the adoption. However, he won’t be able to accumulate it until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Andrew said. “We’ve arranged to stay overnight in Booneville anyhow.”

McKinney picked up the phone on the desk. “Stan, will you tell Harry to join us? He then hung up the phone. “I’ve assigned Detective Harry Daly to assist you while in Booneville. He knows the area and many families who live here.”

Detective Daly was an older, very down-to-earth man dressed in a long-sleeved, plaid shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

McKinney went to the door to leave. “Detective Sullivan, I’ll let you bring Harry up to date on your case. He was the officer who researched the records of Clement Grooms. I gave him a brief rundown of the case, but he needs a more in-depth summary.”

We spent the next hour and a half briefing Detective Daly. After we exhausted our knowledge, Detective Daly spoke in his thick, southern drawl, “Well, now, we gonna need this Clay Jackson’s adoptive kin afore we can find his whar-bouts. How ’bouts if I meet ya’ll here in the mornin’ at nine when we git that information?”

When we arrived at the police station the next morning, Detective Daly was already seated with his coffee in hand. He called Vital Statistics in Little Rock shortly after nine. They’d send the records within the hour. At nine-thirty a clerk brought us the scans from Little Rock. Detective Daly briefly looked over them, then handed them to me. I held them in my hands, hesitant to look at them. They might hold the key to all my pain and suffering. I looked around at Andrew, Sean, and Joel. “Here goes.”

I read each document and passed each one to the others: Clay Jackson’s original birth certificate, which was a duplicate of what was in my mother’s lock box; an updated birth certificate with the name of Clay’s adoptive parents, Elmer and Bessie Jackson; affidavits from both parents on their intentions and financial status; testimonies from each of them stating the reason for adopting the child; attorney documents confirming it was a legal adoption; character references from friends or relatives of the adopting parents; and a physician’s statement on the health of the child, affirming the male child was in good health with no physical maladies. Importantly, the address of the Jackson family was included-13001 Duck Creek Road, Magazine, Arkansas.

In a surprised voice, Detective Daly exclaimed, “I’ll be damned. I knowed that address. Beatrice and Billy Bob Willis have lived thar fo’ years. I b’lieve Beatrice’s given name was Jackson. Magazine is jist a stone’s throw away.”

Sean tilted his head and half-saluted with his left hand. “Then that’s where we start. Let’s go, guys.”

Duck Creek Road was about seven miles away on winding, hilly roads in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, Daly turned onto a long, dirt road, travelling about a mile before coming to a shabby, one-story house with a dilapidated barn in the distance. He pulled onto an uneven driveway and drove up to the house.

The front porch was about ten feet square with two side by side, worn rocking chairs. Daly walked up the narrow steps and rapped on the patched screen door while we stayed on the ground below. For a few moments, no response came from within the house. He rapped again. Then we heard a female voice. “Who is it?”

“Ma’am, this here is Harry Daly from the Booneville Police Department.”

The inside door opened about five inches. “What do y’all want?”

“We’d like to ask ya’ll a couple questions.”

“’Bout what? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“It ain’t ’bout you or Billy Bob. We jist need to talk to you ’bout a kin o’ yours.”

“What kin you talkin’ ’bout?”

“Please, Mrs. Willis, jist let us in, and we’ll explain.”

Slowly she opened the inside door as Daly opened the screen door. When she saw the group of us walking up the stairs, she backed into the house again. “Hold on here. Who be all these folks? Ya’ll can’t come in my house.”

Sean interjected, “Ma’am, we don’t need to come into your home. We can talk on your porch. We don’t mean to inconvenience or frighten you. Our questions have nothing to do with you or your husband.”

“Aw, okay, but there ain’t no husband no more. He be dead now.” She cautiously came out the door, closing it behind her.

She was a short, plump woman dressed in a faded, floral-print housedress, white socks, and tattered slippers on her feet. A frayed, brown sweater was draped around her ample shoulders. She went to one of the rocking chairs, squeezing her large buttocks between the arms as she sank onto the seat.

Detective Daly sat in the other chair. The rest of us leaned against the porch railing.

“Now, ma’am, we’all are intrested in Clay Jackson, who used to live here. Do ya’ll know anything ’bout this man?” Daly asked.

“I sure do. He be my ’dopted brother.”

Sean asked, “Do you know where we might find him?”

“I don’t rightly know All that son o’ bitch ever want from me was money. He a no-good bum. I tell him I have no money, but son o’ bitch knowed I keep some in my music box. He steal it in middle a night and run off again.”

Sean continued, “Was he an older brother? Can you tell us anything at all about him?”

“He be eight when Ma birthed me. Ma say he a no-account all the time. Lazy son o’ bitch. Ma and Pa didn’t think they could have no youngins, so they got him from the orphanage when he jist outta his mama’s belly. Pa wanted a boy to help in the fields, but when he growed up, he a lazy bum. I ’member Ma and Pa always a yellin’ at him ’bout this an’ that. He always runnin’ away from home, but always come back, mostly for more money. Ma, she always give him, but not Pa. He tell him he got to work for money. Clay say why should I work when I can git for nothin’ from Ma. So he come ’roun’ when Pa not home.”

Sean continued to ask questions. “Do you know where he lived when he left home?”

“He in Li’l Rock for a spell. He say he shack up with some no-count ho. He say her and him, they rob some stores for money when he run low.”

“Is there anywhere else he might have gone?” Sean asked.

“He tole me one time he go to Flarda. He say once he go to somewheres in Pennavania. Clay say he stay with Pa’s kin up thar for a spell.”

“Mrs. Willis, did your brother finish school?” I asked.

“He quit agoin’ when he run away from home. I heerd tell he finish learnin’ somewheres. Sometime when he come back, he dress real nice and fancy like a rich man. I ax him whar he git the fancy duds. He say he have money now. He even buy Ma and me purdy new dress.”

“Do you recall when he came back with the nice clothes?” I asked.

“Oh my! Long, long time. Maybe thirdy, fordy years.”

“Did he ever tell you where he got the money for the new clothes?” asked Joel.

“He say he have rich kin in Flarda who gave him lots o’ money. I tole him he be crazy. We have no rich kin in Flarda. He say he do, but I din’t. It jist his kin, not mine or Ma or Pa.”

My heart began beating so fast. All four men looked at me, then each other without speaking. Was I hearing correctly? Could this be the clue we’ve been looking for? I then asked, “Did he mention what sort of kin this was?”

“Naw. Jist that they be rich. He show me lotsa money in his pocket. I think he rob bank or somethin’. He say no. It from his kin. He not have to rob stores no more.”

Excitedly, I asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us about him? Anything at all, even if you don’t think it’s important?”

She hesitated and gave me a strange look. “Why you want to know ’bout Clay so much? What he do? He start robbin’ agin?”

After looking at me, Daly answered, “Ma’am we think your brother might be involved in a crime in Flarda.”

“What kind a crime?”

Sean replied, “We aren’t at liberty to discuss it at this time, but it’s a very serious offense.”

“I done knowed he git in big trouble someday! He a bad man, even if he be my kin.”

Sean pleaded, “That’s why it is so important we learn everything about him we can. If there’s anything at all you can tell us, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Well now, lemme think. He brung that ho back here one time. Her name be Gypsy Rose Lepard, but I heerd Clay call her Sylvia sometime. She weared these lepard skin, skimpy, li’l clothes alla time. She weared so much paint on her face she look like a Kewpie doll.”

“Do you remember how long ago he brought Sylvia to your home?” Sean asked.

“It be afore he git rich, maybe ten, fifteen years, ’cause he be askin’ Ma for mo money.”

She paused and wrinkled her nose, squinting her eyes partially closed. “I ’member he tellin’ me he got some book learnin’ from some mail order books. He tell me it gonna make him a honest man.”

“Do you know what kind of learning he received?” I asked.

“Naw. Jist that he say he be impotant afterward.”

“Do you happen to have any pictures of him?” asked Sean.

“I only gots baby an li’l boy pitchers. He gone so much Ma didn’t take no pitchers when he growed up.”

“How about any birthmarks or anything that would help us identify him?” Sean questioned.

Her eyes opened wide, as if she were visualizing Jackson. “Well, one time he come home, he done have this here tattatoo on his shoulder. It be this here skull with a big knife stuck in da eyeball, and blood a drippin’ all da way down da skull. I ax him why he do dat to his body. He say ’cause he tough.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Willis. This information could prove very important. We appreciate talking to you,” Sean remarked.

Both Detective Daly and Sean gave her their business cards and told her if she remembered anything, whether she thought it was important or not, to give one of them a call.

Beatrice Willis was still standing on her porch waving as we drove away.