CHAPTER 21

CAL RUSHED BACK to their car and opened up an app on his phone. He needed to see the scene for himself, if for anything to capture it for his article or possibly one that the news side would want. With the likelihood that Isaiah Drake was about to be released, the murder of his best friend from high school on the same day seemed strange and at a minimum newsworthy. But Cal wanted to see the body for himself.

“Are you trying to find out where they are from the scanner?” Kelly asked, following him back to the car.

Cal nodded. “Doesn’t it make you miss when we first started out as cub reporters in Statenville?”

“I don’t know if miss is the word I’d choose, but it definitely makes me sentimental.”

Cal searched until he found the Pickett County live feed and listened in. After a few moments of garbled communication and a couple of codes Cal had never heard of, he finally heard that familiar booming voice.

“It’s Sheriff Sloan,” Kelly said.

“Sshh.”

We got a 926 at the north end of Bee Gum Lake, just off Swamp Perimeter Road. Requesting a 901.

 

“Did you get all of that, Cal?” Kelly asked.

He nodded. “Yep. Buckle up. Let’s go.”

“Come on. Don’t leave me in suspense.”

Cal winked at her. “They’ve got a dead body at the lake, and they need an ambulance.”

With the county’s law enforcement all working the crime scene, Cal didn’t hesitate to stomp on the accelerator once they left the city limits. Their twenty-mile trip took only fifteen minutes. And when they pulled up to the scene, Cal was amazed that The Searchlight’s editor Larry Arant was already there.

“Nothing gets by ole Larry, does it?” Cal asked Kelly.

“Speaking of getting by, I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get by one of Sheriff Sloan’s deputies.”

She nodded in the direction of a deputy Cal didn’t recognize. The deputy was placing sawhorses every few feet to create a crime scene around the perimeter. Cal noted that most of the people at the scene were first responders, though he saw a few Looky-Lous wander up to find out what was going on. Cal thought the saw horses were a bit of an overkill.

“What’s next? Helicopters overhead to keep the news choppers from getting footage for the six o’clock news?” Cal asked.

“You’ll have to ask Arant if this is protocol for Pickett County. Maybe it is.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Cal said dryly.

“Turn around,” Kelly said, nodding to Cal’s right. “Here’s your chance to find out.”

Cal spun to see Larry Arant shuffling toward him.

“Larry,” Cal said as he offered his hand, “it’s so good to see you. You made it out here quickly, didn’t you?”

Arant nodded imperceptibly. “Murders around here happen about as often as a day in July without gnats. Gotta enjoy ‘em while you can.” He patted his pants pocket. “Those scanner apps are somethin’ else, aren’t they?”

“Have Sheriff Sloan or any of his deputies let you know what’s going on yet?” Cal asked.

“Not yet.”

“So, they’re keeping you in the dark?”

Arant started laughing before he broke into a coughing fit. Once he stopped, he continued. “Sloan’s boys live in the dark. If Isaiah Drake had woken up in that boat without a soul around him, I’m not sure he would’ve ever been tied to Susannah’s murder all those years ago. Aside from Deputy Tillman, these Pickett County deputies make Barney Fife seem like Sherlock Holmes. And I say that as someone whose cousin works for the department.”

“Is your cousin working the case?” Cal asked.

“Who? My cousin Betty? She’s lucky if she can find her way out of bed in the mornin’.”

Cal wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, deciding to go with a forced smile. He craned his neck around Arant to see a large figure coming toward them. It was Sheriff Sloan.

“You mind givin’ me a statement?” Arant asked as Sloan approached them.

Sloan stopped and exhaled. He glanced at his watch and looked back at the scene. “Not at this time, gentleman . . . and lady,” Sloan said. “We still have to sort through this scene, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help anyway.”

Cal furrowed his brow. “Can you at least give us the victim’s name?”

“Not until we can confirm his identity,” Sloan answered.

“So, it’s a male?” Cal asked again.

“It’s a dead person, Mr. Murphy,” Sloan said, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Cal and Kelly. “Didn’t I tell y’all it was time to get out of town?”

Cal nodded.

“He’s not very good at following directions,” Kelly said, throwing her hands in the air. “I ought to know—I live with the man. If I’ve asked him once to pick up his dirty clothes in the bathroom, I’ve asked him a thousand—”

Sloan narrowed his eyes. “The last thing Pickett wants is another media frenzy descending on our little town, so I strongly suggest you skedaddle back to Seattle and let the local newspaper editor here handle the story.”

“Do you have a suspect in custody?” Cal asked.

“I’m beginnin’ to get concerned about your hearin’, Mr. Murphy,” Sloan said. “It seems like you’re havin’ a hard time with it. So, I’m going to say this again slowly and loudly: Get out of my town, and don’t come back.”

Cal remained undaunted. “Why? Afraid of what little secrets I might unearth about you? Scared I might tell Larry here about how you covered up the fact that you were out of the office the night of Susannah’s murder at the exact time of her death?”

Larry’s eyes bulged out as his mouth fell agape. “Sheriff, is that true?”

Sloan waved dismissively at Arant but maintained his steely gaze on Cal. “Better stop talkin’, son, before you dig yourself a hole that you can’t climb out of.”

Cal fished his recorder out of his pocket and dangled the device in front of Sloan’s face. “I hope nothing happens to me because this conversation will be challenging to explain.”

Sloan spun around and stormed off in a huff.

Arant watched the sheriff for a few moments before turning back to Cal and Kelly. “I’ve rarely seen him that rattled,” Arant said. “Usually, he’s so even keel.”

“That’s not the Sheriff Sloan we’ve come to know and love,” Cal said.

“Yeah, he’s been on edge since we came to town,” Kelly added. “What could possibly be bothering him?”

“Aside from you two picking at the old wounds this story conjures up for people around here? I’m sure he would’ve preferred to leave it buried along with Susannah all those years ago.”

“Wait,” Cal began. “You aren’t the least bit curious about what we found out about the night of Susannah’s murder?”

“I am,” Arant said. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m a journalist. But I’m also a small town journalist. I live with these people, and I have to get along with them. If I wrote about every secret I knew about and put it on the front page of The Searchlight, I’d hardly have a friend left, much less any subscribers.”

“But this is murder,” Cal said. “And it’s being pinned on a guy who might be getting executed very soon for something he didn’t do. If there was ever a time to cast aside your neighborly approach when it comes to running your paper, this is it.”

“You don’t live here, Mr. Murphy, so I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t live here. But I do have some level of expectation of you as a journalist when it pertains to something as serious as this. This town needs to know about this. Everybody needs to know about it.”

Arant took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He stared off at the scene behind Cal as an ambulance pulled up next to the blockade before it was allowed inside the perimeter.

“What if I told you things aren’t always as they seem?” Arant asked. “Appearances can be deceiving. Maybe he has a good reason for not wanting that information to get out.”

“Yeah, like he murdered someone and tried to cover it up,” Cal said, his voice rising with each exchange.

Arant held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look, I know what this may look like to you, but I’ve known Sheriff Sloan for a long time, and he’s never shown even an inkling that he might have violent tendencies. He’s a gentle giant. Add that to the fact that he was always doting on Susannah, I just can’t see him having the gumption to murder his own child like that.”

Cal shook his head in disbelief. “Would you have thought that about Isaiah Drake if the roles were reversed? Would you believe that he could’ve killed Susannah either?”

Arant remained pensive for a few seconds, crossing his arms before looking down at the dirt. He kicked at a rock with his foot. “I wouldn’t have predicted him doing something like that, but I can’t say I was completely surprised.”

Cal’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Kelly, whose expression matched his own.

“And why would you say you weren’t completely surprised?” Cal asked.

Before Arant answered, a couple of black Suburbans screeched to a halt near the crime scene, knocking down the sawhorses.

“What the—?” Arant muttered, ignoring Cal and walking toward the scene.

Cal turned around to see what he figured to be several federal agents hustling toward Sheriff Sloan and the dead body being hoisted onto a stretcher by a pair of EMTs.

The trio of journalists watched from afar as the conversation between the feds and Sloan involved plenty of animation. Finger wagging, throwing hands in the air, kicking at the dirt—Sloan looked like a baseball manager getting in his last two cents with an umpire after getting ejected from a game.

“What do you reckon that’s all about?” Arant wondered aloud.

“Is this part of the Okefenokee protected by the federal government?” Cal asked.

Arant shrugged. “Depends on where they found the body. Portions of Bee Gum Lake are, but not all of it. Why does that matter?”

“Jurisdiction. If it’s a national forest or reserve, the feds take over the investigation. Otherwise, it’s a local matter.”

“But how’d the feds get here so fast?” Arant asked.

“Now, that’s a really good question,” Cal said. “Maybe we can ask Sheriff Sloan when he comes over here.”

“Screw ‘em,” Sloan yelled as he stormed toward the journalists.

“What is it, Sheriff?” Arant asked.

“The damn feds are comin’ in here and takin’ over my case,” Sloan said, breaking into jittery nervous laughter. “And they told me not to tell you a thing. Well, I say screw ‘em. I’ll even tell you, Mr. Hot Shot reporter,” he said as he looked at Cal.

“What can you tell us at this time, Sheriff?” Arant asked.

“The deceased is Jordan Hayward. He was found lying dead in a johnboat with a gun in his hand. It looked like a staged suicide to me.”

“Just to be clear, as a source close to the investigation,” Cal said with a reassuring wink, “you’re of the opinion that it wasn’t a suicide? And his body was found in a johnboat?”

“That’s right on both accounts. Somebody wanted us to think it was suicide.”

Cal shook his head. “Sounds eerily familiar to how your deputy found Isaiah Drake all those years ago.”

Sloan nodded and complained for another few minutes about the feds taking over his murder case.

Cal was listening so intently that he didn’t see Kelly slip off. After a few minutes, he noticed she was missing and scanned the area to locate her. When he finally did, he watched her click off a few photos.

She’s always thinking. Man, I love that woman.

When Sloan finished ranting, he stormed toward his truck. In an apparent rush to leave, dirt and rocks flew everywhere as Sloan’s vehicle roared away from the crime scene.

“Well, that was interesting,” Cal said. “Let’s go introduce ourselves to the feds.”

Arant declined and headed straight for his car.

Cal shook a couple of the agents’ hands, but they all stonewalled him just like he knew they would.

Doesn’t hurt to try.

Cal hustled back to his car, where Kelly was waiting for him. She grinned wide and motioned hurriedly for him to join her.

“What is it?” Cal asked as he got inside the car.

“I decided to take some pictures of the scene, as I’m sure The Times would want them to go along with your story,” she said.

“Good thinking, honey. I can always count on you to be two steps ahead.”

“No, that’s not the good part. It’s when I started taking pictures, I caught someone lurking in the shadows near the tree line.”

She held out her camera and showed the display screen to Cal.

“Now, who does that look like to you?” she asked.

“I can’t quite tell on this small image area. Can you put it on your computer for me?”

“Give me a minute,” Kelly said as she took the camera from Cal’s hands. She worked quickly to retrieve the memory card and then placed it in a slot on her laptop. The computer whirred and came to life as it downloaded the photos.

After a few more seconds, she turned the screen around to Cal.

Cal stared at the screen again, glaring hard at it.

“Is that who I think it is?” he asked.

Kelly nodded. “Yep. None other than Jacob Boone.”