Close to the Broken Hearted (15 page)

He hung up and smiled. “Done. You start tomorrow at eight.”

“You're serious.”

“Oh, honey, you're gonna find police work is
very
serious business.” Six months later, she got her first big case when Ruby Mae Vickers disappeared from town and she discovered he hadn't lied. You couldn't get any more serious than that.

Shaking the memory from her mind, Leah laid the file folder on her desk. It was rather thick, thicker than most of the files she worked on. That usually meant the case wasn't as clear-cut as everyone would've liked. It meant there was lots of information that had to be kept. Extra information. Complications.

She wondered what kind of complications she was about to uncover about Preacher Eli Brown and Tom Carson's family.

Flipping the file open, the first thing she came to were the statements taken at the scene of the crime. They were in her pa's handwriting and, once again, she had to fight off old memories. If this didn't stop, she was never going to get anywhere with this case. She decided she had better strengthen her resolve and stop being so emotional. “Quit bein' such a goddamn girl,” she said softly to herself.

“You? Bein' a girl?” said Chris from behind her, making her nearly jump clear out of the county. He had been in the restroom when she came inside.

“What you doin' sneakin' round?” she snapped.

“I wasn't sneakin' round . . . I was . . . well . . . that ain't no business of yours. What are
you
doin' is a better question. Ain't this supposed to be your day off?”

She sighed. “I came in to check on somethin'. Sort of a personal project for the time bein'.”

Chris looked over her shoulder. “Preacher Eli Brown shootin' Caleb Carson has become your ‘personal project'? I think you need to get out more. Miss Sylvie's really gettin' to you, huh?”

“I just want to check some things out.”

“Suit yourself.”

Grabbing a cup of coffee, Chris took his seat at his desk, picked up the newspaper, and began reading as though she wasn't there. She half expected his feet to come up on his desktop he looked so relaxed and at home.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Chris said, noticing her staring. “Did you want a cup?”

“No, I'm good.”

“Okay.”

She went back to the statements in the file. Tom Carson's account of the incident was this:

What her pa had written for Preacher Eli was somewhat different from Tom Carson's take on things:

Leah had known the whole “Carson affair” was over some sort of land dispute; she just hadn't known the details until now. There was one more report, taken from Caleb's mother, but it didn't differ much from that of Tom Carson's. Strangely, Sylvie was never interviewed. Leah wondered why. There was hardly even any mention of her in the notes, just that she was there and had blood on her from the gunshot on account of where she'd been sitting. When that bullet got Caleb at such short range, it splattered pretty near the whole side of the kitchen.

Details of the land dispute were now high on Leah's list of things she wanted to know more about. Farther on in the file, she found an appraisal of the land. Tom Carson had estimated a bit high. The appraisal was dated June 15, 1971, and put the value of the land at forty-two thousand dollars. That was still a pretty nice gain from what he had purchased it for only eight years earlier. Still, back then land hadn't skyrocketed yet the way it did in the eighties. Leah couldn't even imagine what that ranch would be worth today. Probably over a quarter-million dollars.

Where had that money gone? Even if the ranch had been sold as part of Tom Carson's estate after his death, which Leah suspected it had, Sylvie should've gotten the money, but if she did, where was it? The girl showed no sign of having a pot to piss in.

There was only one way to find out what had happened, other than asking Sylvie directly, which might not really help at all. Lifting her phone, Leah put a call in for financial records to be delivered to the station for Tom Carson's ranch dating from the time of Caleb Carson's death up to the time Tom Carson was found hanging from the oak tree in his back field. She also made a call to order a copy of Tom Carson's tax returns during that time so she could get an idea of the ranch's profit and losses.

Meanwhile, Chris just went on reading his paper from his desk beside her.

Continuing with the file, Leah found the property deed that Tom Carson had apparently complained didn't exist. It was, in fact, his land, he owned it entirely, his being the only name on the certificate.

What was missing was any clarification as to what this “institution” or project was that the notes taken at the crime scene referred to. Leah found that strange, too.

“Chris?” Leah said, looking up at him. He actually
had
put his feet up on his desk. She could barely believe it.

Chris looked at her over the top of his paper. “Mm?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What's that?”

“I need you to go pay Preacher Eli a visit and ask him a question for me.”

“Can't we just call 'im up on the phone?”

“I want you to look into his eyes and make sure he ain't lyin'.”

“And you're askin'
me
because this is
your
pet project and . . . why?”

“Because last time
I
went, the man nearly threw me off his property, that's why. Come on, please? I think I found somethin' important.”

“What do you want me to ask him?”

“Ask him what he planned to do with the land he wanted from Tom Carson eighteen years ago. It says in the report that he planned on buildin' some sorta ‘institution.' I wanna know what it was.”

“Now why would Preacher Eli tell me anythin'?” Chris asked.

“Cuz you're a police officer, goddamn it. Now get off your ass and go. And get your feet off your desk. You ain't at home.”

Chris just laughed at her. He could tell she wasn't actually mad. “You really think Preacher Eli's up to no good?”

“I dunno. I didn't after I went and saw him, but now that I've read his file, I dunno. I just have a funny feelin' there's a lot more to the man than shows on the surface. Apparently, he has superpowers. He knows how to make things like property deeds disappear. At least until the police or the bank comes lookin' for 'em, that is.”

Chris stared at her a long minute. “You're serious 'bout this.”

“Somethin's up, Chris. Maybe it's all in the past, but there was definitely somethin' dirty 'bout him. I just wanna make sure the past stays in the past. As for the magic powers, I'm guessin' he had some inside help.”

Chris laughed. “You mean like maybe God?”

“I don't think God would be the side I'd be choosin',” she said.

 

Chris might give the indication of not doing much at work, but the truth was he was a damn good cop. He noticed things most people missed and as he pulled into Eli Brown's yard, he noticed a new car parked on the right side of Eli's shack. Eli's station wagon was parked on the left.

Chris knew the car didn't belong to Eli for a number of reasons. First, it was too new. Eli had been in prison seventeen years and this Toyota was barely four years old. Second, the tire tracks leading through the dirt in front of Eli's house behind the car were fresh, so whoever drove it in did so recently. From what Leah told Chris about Preacher Eli, he wasn't getting out much these days. And lastly, what the hell would Eli Brown need two vehicles for? He wouldn't. His wife had been dead for four years. He lived alone.

So this meant he had company, which just complicated things for Chris. Chris hated complications. With a huff, he got out of his cruiser, put on his hat, and closed the car's door. He walked up the porch steps and knocked, expecting to see the aged face of the preacher man answer.

Instead, a young kid, probably in his late teens, swung the door open.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Chris said, trying not to appear too taken aback. “Is Eli Brown home?”

“Yeah, sure. Hang on.”

The kid left the door open and walked off into the house. A minute later Eli Brown appeared in the doorway and things became much more the way Chris expected them to be.

“I already talked to you guys,” Eli said, his voice thin and reedy.

“You haven't talked to me,” Chris said. “I'm Officer Jackson.” He held out his hand for Eli to shake. Eli studied it a moment before taking it in his own.

“What can I do for you, Officer? And is this gonna be a regular occurrence, the police showin' up on my porch like this?”

Chris laughed. “I hope not. It's a long drive and not a lot to look at but trees.”

The preacher didn't return his laugh.

Growing serious, since the laughing didn't break the ice, Chris said, “I hope you don't mind me askin' you a few questions.”

“I'm havin' a game of rummy with my grandson, who drove all the way down here from Alabaster just to see me. I'd really rather not waste his time answerin' your questions.”

“They won't take but a few moments, I assure you.”

“What are they 'bout?”

“Well, there's only one, really. And it concerns something we found in the report taken at the crime scene during the whole Carson incident.”

Preacher Eli looked back into a room, presumably the room where his grandson was sitting waiting for him to return and play cards. Then he opened the door fully and stepped out onto the porch. Chris had to take a step back to accommodate him.

“Let me tell you somethin',” Eli Brown said in a clipped whisper. “I don't want any of that past bein' dredged up, you hear me? I done my time. I don't
need
this, and I certainly don't deserve it.”

Chris held up a hand. “I assure you, you've got it all wrong. It's actually a question 'bout your intent.”

Preacher Eli's eyes narrowed. He studied Chris's face. “My intent? What you mean?”

“Well . . . the report says you was gonna use the land to build some sorta ‘institution,' but nowhere in the file does it explain what you meant by ‘institution.' We was all just wonderin' if you could tell us what you had planned. We're all just interested, is all.”

The preacher continued analyzing Chris, as if unsure as to whether to take him seriously or not. Finally, he said, “Okay, I'll play. I planned on buildin' an education complex.”

“Education complex?”

“Yeah. You know, like a private school. Baptist. Alvin doesn't have a proper school that runs from kindergarten all the way to the twelfth grade so I was gonna give it one. I had the business plan, the blueprints, everythin'. I even had people ready to work on it. I was basically set to start diggin'. Then that whole fiasco happened.”