least eight or nine feet. It lay dead with a leg in its mouth. The human was lying on his side, the leg almost ripped off.
“You boys stay here. I don’t want any more tracks down there.” Jefferson told the three as he made his way down the bank. When he got close enough, he swallowed hard and took a good look at the body. The head had been bashed in to the point that there was as a dent the size of a cantaloupe in the skull. Jefferson turned his head and began climbing back up the steep bank to the bridge. Out of sheer willpower, he kept himself from throwing up in front of those watching from above.
When he reached the top the boys met him.
“You ever seen anything like it, Chief?” Toad asked with a big smile, garnering a disgusted look from Shorty who was clearly close to losing his breakfast.
“No,” Jefferson said solemnly. “Toad, you and Hunker are now deputy police officers. You’ll get a day’s pay, just like Shorty. I’m going back to town to make a few calls. Shorty, you’re in charge. None of you are to go down to that body. And if anybody comes along, don’t let them near the bridge or down the hill. If anyone tries, arrest ‘em. This is a crime scene.”
“What about my gator?” Hunker asked.
“You can have it after the investigator gets here.”
“You gonna call Sheriff Cadwalder? You know Jonas Cadwalder don’t like us,” Toad said reminding Jefferson that the Sheriff did, in fact, dislike the two boys. When the two brothers were working on the county road-gang, they made an attempt to escape by driving away on a road grader. Unfortunately, the big machine had a maximum speed of about six miles per hour. When the Sheriff’s deputies caught up to them, they drove the grader into a creek. It took Sheriff Jonah Cadwalder nearly a month to find a tow truck large enough to pull it out of the ditch.
“No, Toad, I ain’t callin’ Cadwalder.”
Chapter 5
301 RED OAK AVENUE. ELZA, TEXAS
5:15 p.m. Sunday November 16, 1941
J esse and Gemma sat quietly on the front steps of the house. Jesse had his arm around Gemma. It had been a long day for both. News of a death moves quickly in small towns, regardless of how hard the police chief tries to keep it quiet. Gemma first heard about it when she was walking out of church with her mom and sister, Jettie. It was obvious that something unusual was happening. There was a group of men gathered around Hobe Bethard who was sitting in the parking lot in his wrecker. Usually, after the service, there was a group of men gathered under the sycamore tree to smoke cigarettes and tell each other what a good sermon the preacher had given. It was considered impolite, if not an outright sin, to smoke too close to the church. It always seemed amusing to Gemma that the sycamore was somehow the appropriate distance from the building to allow one to smoke without bringing down the wrath of God Almighty. She also found it amusing that those men pretended to know if the preacher had given a good sermon, since most of them had been asleep.
This time was different. The same men were gathered, but there was a considerable commotion. Pretty soon some of the men began walking off to talk to their wives, and an even bigger commotion seemed to stir. Though Jettie and her mother seemed oblivious, it was clear to Gemma that everyone kept looking their way as if whatever was happening had something to do with them.
After visiting with some of the ladies, Gemma and her mom and sister shook hands with Brother Bill and told him what a good sermon he had preached. That, of course, was a bold-faced lie, because Gemma hadn’t heard a word Brother Bill had preached. Her mind, and Jettie’s too, was on Cliff and what had happened at the Palace. What Cliff had done was unbelievable. The humiliation Jettie was feeling was more than Gemma could stand. She wanted to break down and cry. Everyone was looking at them as they walked into church, which she expected, but after the
“You boys stay here. I don’t want any more tracks down there.” Jefferson told the three as he made his way down the bank. When he got close enough, he swallowed hard and took a good look at the body. The head had been bashed in to the point that there was as a dent the size of a cantaloupe in the skull. Jefferson turned his head and began climbing back up the steep bank to the bridge. Out of sheer willpower, he kept himself from throwing up in front of those watching from above.
When he reached the top the boys met him.
“You ever seen anything like it, Chief?” Toad asked with a big smile, garnering a disgusted look from Shorty who was clearly close to losing his breakfast.
“No,” Jefferson said solemnly. “Toad, you and Hunker are now deputy police officers. You’ll get a day’s pay, just like Shorty. I’m going back to town to make a few calls. Shorty, you’re in charge. None of you are to go down to that body. And if anybody comes along, don’t let them near the bridge or down the hill. If anyone tries, arrest ‘em. This is a crime scene.”
“What about my gator?” Hunker asked.
“You can have it after the investigator gets here.”
“You gonna call Sheriff Cadwalder? You know Jonas Cadwalder don’t like us,” Toad said reminding Jefferson that the Sheriff did, in fact, dislike the two boys. When the two brothers were working on the county road-gang, they made an attempt to escape by driving away on a road grader. Unfortunately, the big machine had a maximum speed of about six miles per hour. When the Sheriff’s deputies caught up to them, they drove the grader into a creek. It took Sheriff Jonah Cadwalder nearly a month to find a tow truck large enough to pull it out of the ditch.
“No, Toad, I ain’t callin’ Cadwalder.”
Chapter 5
301 RED OAK AVENUE. ELZA, TEXAS
5:15 p.m. Sunday November 16, 1941
J esse and Gemma sat quietly on the front steps of the house. Jesse had his arm around Gemma. It had been a long day for both. News of a death moves quickly in small towns, regardless of how hard the police chief tries to keep it quiet. Gemma first heard about it when she was walking out of church with her mom and sister, Jettie. It was obvious that something unusual was happening. There was a group of men gathered around Hobe Bethard who was sitting in the parking lot in his wrecker. Usually, after the service, there was a group of men gathered under the sycamore tree to smoke cigarettes and tell each other what a good sermon the preacher had given. It was considered impolite, if not an outright sin, to smoke too close to the church. It always seemed amusing to Gemma that the sycamore was somehow the appropriate distance from the building to allow one to smoke without bringing down the wrath of God Almighty. She also found it amusing that those men pretended to know if the preacher had given a good sermon, since most of them had been asleep.
This time was different. The same men were gathered, but there was a considerable commotion. Pretty soon some of the men began walking off to talk to their wives, and an even bigger commotion seemed to stir. Though Jettie and her mother seemed oblivious, it was clear to Gemma that everyone kept looking their way as if whatever was happening had something to do with them.
After visiting with some of the ladies, Gemma and her mom and sister shook hands with Brother Bill and told him what a good sermon he had preached. That, of course, was a bold-faced lie, because Gemma hadn’t heard a word Brother Bill had preached. Her mind, and Jettie’s too, was on Cliff and what had happened at the Palace. What Cliff had done was unbelievable. The humiliation Jettie was feeling was more than Gemma could stand. She wanted to break down and cry. Everyone was looking at them as they walked into church, which she expected, but after the