The Fed Man (23 page)

He put his head back on his mother’s shoulder as she opened one arm to Nube, inviting him to join the embrace.

Pete walked up to them and said, “How about if I have Doc drive you back to your car in Art Schwartz’s driveway, Nube, so you can take the Jamesons home?”

Turning to Doc, who was caught wiping a tear from his eye, he added, “That okay with you, Doc?”

Doc nodded.

“Nube, we’ll catch up with you later. Naldie’s going to stay here and wait for Dr. Anthony and I’m going to pay old Sam a visit.”

Pete didn’t have any difficulty finding the two ruts that served as Sam’s driveway, and when he exited his Silverado, he thought he could already smell the aroma of Sam’s special coffee. As he approached the door, it suddenly opened and Sam extended a flannel-covered arm and a cup of steaming coffee. Pete gratefully took the cup and followed Sam into the kitchen, where his host sat at his usual place. He gestured for Pete to take the other chair, and when he sat down, the two men just looked at each other for a moment. Pete noticed that Jackson had already taken her place next to the stove. He took a sip of the hot brew, smiled, and held the cup up toward Sam.

“Well, I see you haven’t lost your touch, my friend. Perhaps you should tell me your story. What happened tonight, Sam?”

“Well, old Jackson and I were just sitting here minding our own business. I was reading a magazine and enjoying my last cup of coffee of the night when I heard this loud, shrill, ugly noise. Thought at first it was a coyote so I grabbed my .308 Winchester
with 150-grain bullets and thought I’d take myself a look. Of course, Jackson followed me. Can’t go anywhere without the dog following me, you know. We eased ourselves up to the edge. You remember, Pete, the place I showed you?”

Pete nodded and took another sip of coffee.

Sam continued. “I have a sniper’s scope on my .308, so I can see quite well. And there was just enough moonlight to boot. About that time I heard this noise again and realized it was the sickest laugh I had ever heard in my life. Then I could hear someone yelling and heard the words Fed Man. I gathered that young Nube was out there someplace. Of course that got my blood going a bit. I scanned the pit and saw some movement. Picked him up real nice in my scope. He seemed to be carrying something. You know, just like last time. I thought to myself, here we go again.”

Sam stopped so he could take a sip of his steaming coffee. He then continued. “I watched the guy place whatever he was carrying next to that bush in the opening where I found that kid. Then I watched him hide behind that big rock on the edge of the clearing.”

Sam raised his arms like he was looking through the scope of his rifle as he continued. “I know where the trail is that leads into the clearing so I aimed my scope that way just as Nube crawled out of the brush. I saw him hesitate until he spotted the body lying by the bush. When he stood up, I turned my rifle so I could see the other guy.”

He lowered his arms and stared Pete in the eyes. Without blinking, he added, “With the moonlight we had and with the
scope I have, I could clearly see him step out from behind the rock and raise his arm, and I could see plain as day that he was holding an axe. He took a few steps toward Nube, who didn’t have a clue the guy was behind him. I knew what that guy was going to do so I just squeezed one off. I did what I thought I had to do.”

He dropped his head down and placed both hands on his coffee mug.

“You did what you had to do, Sam. You did what any man would have done. I’m going to need you do come downtown with me, Sam. We’re going to need an official statement. You know how it is.”

“I understand, Pete. But what about old Jackson here? What’ll I do with her?”

Pete’s knees creaked as he slowly stood. He took another sip of his coffee, smiled, and said, “Bring her with. This won’t take long. When we’re done I’ll have one of the young deputies bring you home. And don’t you worry none. We’ll talk to those lawyers, Briscoe and Stone, and make sure they help you.”

Sam pushed his coffee mug aside, rose from his chair, and followed Pete to the door with Jackson at his side.

The early morning fog that shrouded the city was beginning to surrender to the intensity of the sun’s early morning rays. The last vestiges of fog hung like white suspended puppets over the Snake River, which silently coursed its way through the sleeping community en route east to become one with the mighty Mississippi.

Nube absolutely loved this part of the day. It afforded him time for a leisurely walk along the river with Ms. Abby. Being in the brisk cool morning air with nature that was awakening and with Ms. Abby running in front of him, he had the opportunity to reflect upon the days past and to think about the new day he was beginning.

He had spoken to Corrales yesterday. That was the third time he had spoken with his boss since the saga ended at Whitsell’s pit six days ago. She had requested that a full summary be sent to her by tomorrow. She also informed Nube that she wanted to speak
with him again about returning to Washington, D.C., and resuming his career. Her message was quite clear: return and resume or resign.

Last night had been one of the longest, most soul-searching nights of his young life. He had actually come to enjoy the quiet, unassuming life he had been living in Oak Ridge. It was a small community of 3,200 people with the Snake River running through the middle of it and its streets lined with large, mature oak trees. And he had discovered he possessed some creative talents, a part of himself that he did not know existed until he began working for Steve Smithson at Burnt Wood.

Then his thoughts turned to the Jamesons. He was thankful that their lives had returned to normal. PJ had started school and appeared to be adjusting just fine. Nube had actually watched from afar a couple of mornings as the youngster practiced his golf shots around the eighteenth green. Nancy smiled whenever he saw her and on the few occasions when he had spoken to her. She gave the impression, at least, that all was okay. Nube felt things had changed between them. His concern and his caring for them had grown and he just wasn’t sure what he should do about these feelings.

In an attempt to clear his mind, he had even taken out his Sparrow Hawk Native flute last night and played it for a while. He had purchased this after visiting with a psychologist shortly after moving to Oak Ridge. Nube recognized that he needed someone to help him adjust to the death of Ellie. As part of his therapy, the psychologist had recommended that he purchase and learn to play
a Native American flute in an attempt to learn how to relax and be in the moment. He found that it actually did help him relax and allowed him to think clearer. But not last night.

He had spent a fair amount of time thinking about the meeting that would be held this afternoon in the office of Briscoe and Stone. Today he and his friends would attempt to fill in the blanks about their investigation so that a final report on this case could be filed. But before that, he had a lot of work to complete this morning at the golf course. He whistled for Ms. Abby and the two of them began the trek back home.

Nube had completed what he thought was a somewhat difficult morning, at least physically. His crew finished digging a thirty-foot trench by hand that would contain the pipe with the electrical wiring for the aerator in the new water hole along the fifth fairway. It wouldn’t have been so arduous, but because of the meeting this afternoon, he needed to accomplish in a morning what would usually be a full day’s work. He left an unhappy crew to finish the cleanup work.

Somehow a long, hot shower always loosened up the knots in his back and shoulders after a hard day’s work. But today, for some reason, even a longer, hotter shower didn’t erase all the pain. And he couldn’t believe that he had developed a new blister on his calloused left hand.

He finished dressing and then ate a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he washed down with a glass of cold milk. Then he gathered the file he had accumulated on the case, along
with his laptop, and prepared to leave for the meeting. He stopped at the door and took a moment to just look at the place he had come to call home. He smiled as he thought that he had really come to like the quaint little three-room home with its view of the golf course, but he started to shake his head as he realized that it could use something to be a real home. Through a small grin he said aloud, “Perhaps it needs a woman’s touch.”

Nube, Naldie, Doc, Pete, and Marie were met by Francie as they entered the elegant reception area of Briscoe and Stone’s office. The room was tastefully decorated with the intent of giving prospective clients a warm, at-home feeling. Nube couldn’t help but notice that in lieu of the usual landscape art that adorns the walls of many reception areas, Briscoe and Stone had chosen prints of the various golf courses they had played, such as Augusta National and the Old Course at St. Andrews. Francie’s smile and charm warmed the room even more. He thought of the stark contrast from visiting Dr. Anthony at his office.

Francie greeted each by name as she shook their hands and then escorted them into the conference room. It was obvious that Francie had been in charge when it came to decorating this room. It did not reek of big-time corporate, but rather had the smell and view of small-town Americana, from the vase of fresh flowers to the beckoning soft chairs and the dining room–like conference table.
Nube felt that the room was almost giving him permission to sit back, relax and put his feet up.

When they had taken their chairs, Nube almost chuckled. Everyone was sitting in the exact same positions they had assumed in Naldie’s office. The only exception was that there was no chair at the head of the table. Nube also noted the mood was definitely different from when this group had met just six short days before. At that last meeting, everyone had seemed somewhat disconnected.

Today there was a sense of unity. The chief was chuckling and gave the impression he didn’t care if the frosting from his chocolate éclair was staining his untrimmed mustache. Pete had a clean shirt on, although his tie was loosened, and the brand-new camo cap advertising some type of deer-hunting equipment was tipped back on his head rather than pulled down over his brow. He and Doc were exchanging light banter, with Doc sounding like he was telling Pete some private, amusing story. Marie was leafing through the papers she had brought to the meeting, and Nube thought she looked more radiant than ever, with a smile that would have lit and warmed the room without any of the modern day’s conveniences. Nube was beginning to think about how this group of people had impacted his life so much in such a short period of time, when the door opened and C. J. and Doug entered.

Doug was listening while C. J., using his glasses as his pointer, was softly telling his partner something that seemed quite important. As if on cue, both stopped when they entered the room. Doug smiled and C. J. spread out his arms.

“Well, would you look-it here. You all look so relaxed today compared to the last time we visited. I see that Francie got you all some coffee, and by the looks of the chief’s face, some nourishment.”

Like the tag team they were, Doug interjected, “Thanks for agreeing to meet here. C. J. and I thought it would be a bit easier to hold this wrap-up meeting here where there’s a little more room than at the chief’s office. You perhaps noticed that there is no head of the table chair like one would expect. That’s because C. J. and I have always seen ourselves as equals and like to sit across from each other.”

C. J. held up a hand and with a laugh said, “I think that way we can keep an eye on each other.” Assuming a serious note, he continued, “However, today we would like to have a head of the table.” He pointed to the chair that Doug was setting at the head of their conference table. “And we’d like Nube to assume that position. I think we’d all agree that we are where we are with this case because of him. So if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Lawson, we’d like you to sit here for this meeting.”

Nube began to reply, but C. J. held up his hand, put a faux stern look on his face, pointed to the chair, which he had pulled out from the table and said, “There is no room here for rebuttal, son. Sit here, please.”

Nube slowly stood and took his place as directed. When everyone had settled in, Nube said, “Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m deserving of this. I think we have a lot to cover today to wrap up and bring some closure to this case.”

He shuffled through the papers in his folder, looked up, and said, “Perhaps we should begin with you, Marie. Did you find out anything more regarding the evidence that had been collected?”

Clearing her throat, she began. “Well thank you, Nube, for letting a lady go first. Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman? Yes, I did learn a few additional things. First of all, the socks found on the front seat of the Nissan matched those found in the pocket of the perpetrator’s sweatshirt. And they matched those found in the throats of our two victims as well as those found in the throats of the two cold-case victims from Danburg and Cedar Junction. Forensics has reported that the light green crew socks are definitely manufacturer specific, and,” reading from her notes and using her index finger to follow the words, “they concluded that ‘from the application and absorption of the color it is determined that they are of the same fabric.’ In their report they also concluded that the midnight gray fabric we discovered is a definite match to the sweatshirt the man was wearing who had kidnapped little Peter Jameson.”

She looked up, studied the room, and said, “And there’s more.” She picked up another piece of paper and continued, “The lab also had a note about the duct tape that was removed from the Jameson boy.”

Searching the page for the correct information, she added, “Their report concludes that the duct tape removed from the Nissan pickup and that found on PJ was, and I quote, ‘comparable to one another in all physical attributes and in the chemical
composition of their backing and adhesive components. Therefore, they originated from the same source roll of tape or from rolls of tape manufactured in the same manner.’”