The Rivers Webb (20 page)

“Didn't seem important. I didn't know that Emma Lou had anythin' ta' do with all these killin's, and it weren't no surprise him stoppin' by. The rev'rend paid calls to half the folks in this county.”

“But it wasn't just a ‘pastoral visit,' was it, Annie Ruth?”

Annie Ruth sighed heavily.

“The rev'rend wanted ta' talk ta' me…about Emma Lou. It seems that he knew a awful lot about what happened back then. He knew more 'an anybody, in fact,” Annie Ruth stated, “He was real upset. I still don't know quite why, but he was definitely bothered by somethin'. He sat here at this table an' told me that the story ever'one took for truth about how Emma Lou died was a bold-faced lie. Emma Lou didn't drink turpentine by accident, and she didn't do it ta' try an' kill the baby.”

“So what does that leave?” John asked.

“You may not like this particular story,” she warned. John stared stoically, as though he didn't hear her.

“Tell me.”

“Rev'rend Rivers was still at seminary when Emma Lou died, but he came all th' way down from Kentucky as soon as he heard. He said that he expected to find ev'ryone cryin' an' upset, and they were—a'cept for Wilhelmina. She was, as the good rev'rend put it, ‘cold as a stone in winter.' He wanted to know why, so he asked…and he asked…and he asked.”

Annie Ruth simply stared at the table as she told her story, so far. But at this point, she raised her eyes to stare at John dead-on.

“Carl Rivers was undecided on the point of whether Wilhelmina finally confessed because she felt a little bit o' remorse, or if she was jest happy to have somebody ta' brag to. I have my own thoughts on that, but that ain't important. Wilhelmina told him that she had convinced Emma Lou that if she was goin' to be bearin' a Rivers' child, then she should do ev'rythin' possible to make sure it were healthy, so she gave Emma Lou some medicine, and told her ta' drink it ev'ry mornin'. That's what she told her. An' that's what Emma Lou did.”

“But it wasn't medicine, was it?” John asked.

“No. Mostly, it was turpentine. She told Carl that she added a little bit o' honey an' moonshine to cover the taste an' smell. That's how Emma Lou died, detective. That's why I lost my sister.”

The three stood in silence for a moment. No one knew quite what to say next. After a while, however, Annie Ruth placed her hands upon the table, as a signal that it was time to conclude the interview.

“Well, that's about it. The good rev'rend wanted ta' get that off his shoulders, an' he did. He muttered somethin' about makin' things right as he was leavin'. I thought maybe he had a mind to tell people the truth, at the time. Maybe he had that idea, I don't know. He never got the chance.”

“Annie Ruth, these are serious charges…” Dan offered.

“They aren't charges at all, dep'ty. The rev'rend didn't tell me nothin' I didn't already know in ma' heart. I kept my mouth shut all these years—I ain't changin' that now.”

“Still…”

“Did the reverend say anything else?” John asked, interrupting.

“No…well, yeah, actually. It didn't make no sense, but he said it three or four times while he was talkin'. It was important to him, I guess.”

“What did he say, Annie Ruth?”

“He said, ‘the seeds of evil will ever bear fruit.'”

Dan looked at John quizzically.

“Mean somethin' ta' you?”

“Not yet,” John responded.

They made their goodbyes and left the house. Though he didn't exactly run, John was keeping a pace that required Dan to put forth an effort to keep up with him. When they reached the car, Dan grabbed John by the arm and forced him to turn and face him.

“I got this real uncomf'terble feelin' that I'm not exactly on the receivin' end o' all the facts, here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're actin' like ya' know somethin' an' ya' jest don't wanna tell me. So, what'd'ya say ya' jest come out with it, an' pretend fer a moment that you an' I are workin' on the same side!?”

John stared back as though he were going to argue, but then just slumped his shoulders and took a long sigh.

“I'm starting to see an unpleasant pattern, Dan.”

“How d'ya mean?”

“These murders do have a connecting factor, after all. We just didn't have all the facts until now.”

Dan let John's arm go.

“Emma Lou? That's your connectin' factor? Somethin' that happened nearly forty years ago?”

“You heard Annie Ruth. Carl Rivers was going to reveal what had really happened. Someone was willing to kill to keep him quiet.”

“First off, we don't actually know that the rev'rend was gonna say anythin' at all. Accordin' ta' Annie Ruth, he just said he was fixin' ta' do
somethin'
, but he never got specific. Second, if someone had a' killed him, why keep goin' with the rest o' the family? Hell, Emma Lou was dead an' buried before George was even born. Opal weren't never nothin' more 'an a shadow ta' Wilhelmina, an' Arnold was still in diapers back then. What do they have ta' do with it?”

“Carl was killed because he was going to bring shame to the Rivers family. Our killer would stop at nothing to prevent that. George was killed for the same reason.”

“What?”

At this point, John realized he may well have talked himself into a corner. He hadn't told anyone about his interview with George's friend, and he wasn't sure he was ready to reveal George's secret if he didn't have to.

“George had been looking up Emma Lou's death out in Pelham, remember?”

“Yeah, you still haven't quite explained how you knew that.”

“I went up there with Gerald, like I said. I discovered that Roy was checking through the papers to find out what he could about Emma Lou's death.”

“Why Pelham?”

“Because all the papers that mentioned the death in Sales City had been removed and destroyed a long time ago. Funny thing is, when I went to look at those same papers George was researching, they'd been removed.”

“Wait a minute, y'er sayin' that you think George knew about Emma Lou? I mean,
really
knew?”

“Yes. Most likely he first learned about her from Uncle Carl. My guess is that he said something to the wrong person at the funeral. It probably was just some idle conversation, his way of relating to the dearly departed, but our killer must have taken it as a threat.”

Dan paused a moment as he thought this over.

“There's a whole lotta ‘I guesses' an' ‘probablys' in that story. An' it still don't explain Opal or Arnold.”

“That's because they were killed as a distraction. Those murders were meant to draw us off the track. Don't you remember how we both thought that they seemed different than the first two? It's because they were.”

“So…he killed the Rivers family to protect the Rivers family?”

“Don't you just hate it when mass murderers don't make any sense?”

“And you figured all this out 'cause you went up to Pelham? What made you think ta' do that in the first place?”

“I was running a hunch,” John lied. “You would've done the same.”

“That's just the thing. I
was
goin' to.”

“What stopped you?”

Dan shuffled his feet a bit before answering.

“I was told not to.”

“By who?” John asked suspiciously.

“The sheriff,” Dan replied.

* * *

“So, you're telling me you've known where the sheriff was all along?” John demanded as they drove at breakneck speed down the Georgia road.

“No. I just know where he goes when he doesn't want to be found.”

Dan was driving. His knuckles shown white as he gripped the steering wheel. He didn't like where he was going; didn't like what he was doing; and didn't like what it all meant. It was just all falling into place, and whether or not he wanted to admit it the clues were starting to point toward Sheriff Rivers.

He added it all up once again, hoping to find some gaping hole that would allow him to stop the car, but he could find none.

The sheriff had been strangely absent during most of the investigation. The sheriff had openly and directly blocked Dan from investigating the one aspect of George's murder that pointed back to him. The sheriff was one of the few people in the county with the required skill to fire the shots that killed Arnold. And, lastly, the maid confirmed that the sheriff did indeed enter the Rivers house moments before Arnold's phone call, so that he was able to listen in to the phone conversation from another phone in the house.

He glanced at the seat next to him, where detective John Webb sat so calmly, coolly, and apparently unfazed by what they were doing. He envied his distance. Roy's own son, and he seemed to accept all this as if it were any other suspect they were going to bring in.

*

Less than two miles away, a lone man stood by the feed depot and waited. Roy had always felt a degree of comfort in this place. It was where his father would take him and tell him about the future that lay before him.

That future. His father had believed in it so profoundly. Roy could tell, even as a boy, that his father saw in him a leader. The head of the Rivers family and the Rivers fortune—that was Roy Rivers' destiny.

It was not to be. An act of cruelty ended that for Roy 40 years ago.

If only that was the end of it all. It seems that some evil never really ends. Some deeds have a way of coming back. Roy's hand lightly fingered his badge, then drifted down to the gun encased in his hip holster. How many times had those items given him comfort? How many times had he looked to his position as sheriff as a healing balm to ease the guilt of what had been done to Emma Lou—to ease the pain of his own inaction when Emma Lou had needed him? He had tried so hard to ignore the truth, but it did him little good. The facts of it had finally caught up with him. Emma Lou, his young bride, was dead. Not by accident, and not by her own hand. Roy knew that his own sister had acted to kill her.

Roy had genuinely loved Emma Lou, so much more than he had ever openly acknowledged, even to her. He had loved her. And yet, when she died, he lacked the courage to stand up to his own family on her behalf. Even Carl had pulled him aside and insisted, for the good of the family, that Roy remain silent. And damn him if he didn't. Roy held his tongue, bit through the pain of it all, and acted the part of the grieving widower.

And, in doing so, made himself believe that it was done, and the awful secret was as well buried as Emma Lou. He still believed that when he met and married John's mother, Linda. He should have known better.

He still had no idea how she learned of Emma Lou, but she did, somehow. It horrified her to think that she was married into a family so full of hate and evil.

He could see her so easily, even now, standing in the entry to their home, with their young son in hand. He begged her to stay. He asked her to look at him as the man he was, not the boy he had been. It changed nothing. She caught the train out of town, and filed for divorce from Connecticut. He received the legal document, with a single note attached:

“The seeds of evil will ever bear fruit.”

It was her way of explaining her decision. He never told anyone about that note, except his brother. He met with Carl shortly after the divorce papers arrived, right at this spot. That was when he asked Carl to keep an eye on John. He knew that he would never be allowed to be a part of the boy's life, but Linda thought very highly of Carl. Carl would be able to be the father figure Roy could not.

A lonely whistle broke the silence. Roy watched the train approaching.

This spot. It had always held such meaning for him, from those childhood moments with his father, down to this…which is why Roy was standing at the feed depot that day.

This was where he wanted this to end.

“Sheriff?”

Roy turned to face his son. He stood there with his gun drawn. Roy knew what it meant. It was finally done.

“I think we need to talk,” John said, without wavering. Roy could see in his eyes, however, that he had nothing to say.

“So this is how it ends, huh?” Roy remarked, almost casually, “All the searchin', all the evidence, all the hopes for the killer to be some deranged out-of-towner…”

“Take your gun out of your holster—slowly.”

Roy didn't move. He simply stared at his son. His gaze was so intent that he couldn't see anything else. He couldn't even see Dan approaching from another direction, ready to cover him should he make a sudden move.

“After everythin', after what I done… I thought, maybe, I had a chance to make things right. It jest don't work out that way, though, huh?”

“Dad, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be,” John urged, having to yell above the noise of the oncoming train.

“After ev'rythin', I still hoped…” Sheriff Roy Rivers seemed to falter for a split second, then straightened with a renewed strength, as he knew what he had to do.

“Just come with us, now,” John urged him, sensing what was to come next.

“I was afraid it was gonna be you,” was all he said. Dan could not have heard, but John did. They were words that would forever ring in his ears. It was the last statement Roy Rivers ever made.

As the train sped on to the point where Roy stood on the platform, he jumped.

John and Dan rushed forward at the same moment, but not nearly quickly enough. Together, they watched in shock and horror as the train that carried Rivers Sorghum across half the country rolled by.

Epilogue

Monday, May 30th, 1942

It was a bright sunny day in Sales City, Georgia. There was a gentle breeze that flowed across the landscape, offering a moderator to the heat. The blue sky was dappled with just enough clouds to inspire daydreams. It was, in a word, picture-perfect.

Dan Merrill, acting sheriff, would normally enjoy this day. But he was too busy trying to explain what had happened—to the people of Coweta County, and to himself. He and Fred had been taking turns answering phone calls all afternoon, and he was near to exhaustion already.

When the phone rang again, he was sorely tempted to let it ring. But Dan was a consummate professional, though a tired one. With a sigh, he reached across his desk and picked up the receiver.

“Coweta County Sheriff, how can I help ya'?”

“Dan! It's Elijah Morton.”

“Elijah? Oh, hell, yeah—I almost forgot I'd called ya'.”

“I know. Sorry it took so long, but I got some details about that Webb fella' for you.”

“Yeah, 'bout that…”

“Man, I hope y'er not puttin' too much faith in this guy,” Elijah interrupted, instantly catching Dan's attention.

“How d'ya' mean?”

“Don't get me wrong—I mean, if you think you can trust the man, then I don't wanna speak ill of 'im. It's just that…well I'd just keep a close eye on him, is all.”

Dan suddenly became interested. The case was closed, sure, but there was certainly no harm in hearing what Elijah had to say, anyway.

“Just tell me what you know,” he said.

“Well…and this is why it took me so long to track him down…he isn't—exactly—on the force right now.”

Out of reaction, Dan stood up.

“He's not a cop?”

“No, he's a cop. A
suspended
cop. But a cop.”

“Why was he suspended?” Dan asked, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Well, from what I hear, he went kinda' nuts and beat a suspect near to death.”

“He did what?!”

“It's not as bad as it sounds, I guess. His partner got killed, and he was interrogating the shooter. I guess the guy got a little too smug. Maybe he said something to set him off. I don't know. But according to the staff sergeant I talked to, Webb just went berserk, pulled his gun out, and started beating the guy with it. He's still in the hospital.”

“My God.”

“They must have figured that Webb was suffering from some kind of mental break, because they didn't file criminal charges. But he is suspended until they do a psychological review. Fact is they've been looking for him.”

“Wow. Thanks Elijah.”

“Hey listen, you've spent time with this guy, so maybe you know him a little bit. If you think he's a decent enough person, then do him a favor. Tell him to get his butt back up here as fast as he can.”

Dan tried to absorb it all.

“Okay, Elijah. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime. And hey, Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, just call me to say hello, alright? I got my hands full chasing crooks without hunting up deranged cops on top of it, okay?”

“You got it.”

As Dan hung up the phone, he wondered what kind of man he really had been running around with all this time.

He was still pondering that when the door opened and Sam Posey walked in. That old man fixed Dan with a gaze that would have frozen most men to the bone.

“Doc,” he said flatly.

“Sheriff,” Sam responded.

“Funny you should stop by. I just had me a real odd phone call.”

“That a fact?”

“Yeah.”

Sam stood there, just inside the doorway, and suddenly he didn't look so confident and self-assured to Dan. In fact, the man looked downright apologetic.

“Sam, I don't like bein' in the dark. An' it seems ta' me like I been absolutely blind since this whole mess started. It also seems ta' me like you haven't been,” Dan suggested. Sam said nothing. Exasperated, Dan continued, “There's a whole lotta questions I could be askin'…a whole lotta questions maybe I should be askin'…but when it comes right down to it, the only one that jest keeps jumpin' inta' my head is…am I gonna be able ta' live with this?”

Sam pushed out a sigh, then walked over to Dan's desk and sat down.

“The only fella' what can answer that question is you, Sheriff. You…are the sheriff, right?”

“Until they find somebody better for the job.”

“Oh, I don't see that happenin'. But the point is, if you are the sheriff, then your sole concern is protectin' the people o' this county.”

“I suppose so.”

“Then you can rest easy, 'cause we got the right man for that.”

“You sure about that?”

Sam smiled and allowed himself a little chuckle.

“Ain't your shift jest about done?” Sam asked.

“About ten minutes ago, actually.”

“Good. Over there in Roy's old desk, if you look in the second drawer…”

Dan reached down into the top drawer of his own desk and pulled out a bottle of Stovall's Finest.

“Already found it.”

* * *

John Webb w
as
enjoying the day. Mind you, there was plenty on his mind, and there were a hundred nagging questions left floating around in his head, but he sought to look past all that, to the simple pleasure of a nice day.

As he walked up to the front door of the Rivers Home, he breathed in the air around him and was struck, once more, by that nagging aroma that had haunted him throughout his stay here.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Webb,” Annabelle said as he walked through the door.

“Good afternoon. Any change?”

Annabelle just shook her head sadly. Wilhelmina had been unresponsive since they had broken the news to her about Roy. The doctor said it was a stroke. She knew what was happening around her, but she was unable to respond to it in any way. He had little hope of her recovery.

John contemplated this as he climbed the stairs to her room. He had been debating about this for some time, but he knew that he had to speak with her.

Reaching her room, he opened the door and peeked his head inside. The nurse that had been assigned to her was sitting by her bedside, reading aloud from the Bible.

“Hi,” John said, smiling. “Could I have a moment alone with her?”

The lady smiled and put the Bible aside.

“Of course. I'll be in the kitchen. It's nearly time for her supper, anyway.”

“Excellent,” John said, “and could you see to it that no one comes in? This is kind of private.”

She smiled, nodded, then walked out, closing the door behind her.

John stared at the door for a moment, then walked to the now vacant seat and settled in.

“Hi, Aunt Wilhelmina. I wanted to say goodbye before I go. I'll be catching the next train shortly, but, uh…” John took a moment, then laughed softly, “you know, I thought I'd know how to say all this. I've been thinking about it and planning for it, and here we are, and I can't think of how to start.”

He laughed again.

“How about this,” John said, as he leaned in to whisper in Wilhelmina's ear.

“Roy didn't kill anyone.”

He couldn't swear to it, but John imagined that her eyes widened just a little bit. He backed up a little bit and sighed deeply.

“You can imagine how surprised I was when I came down here to find out who killed Uncle Carl, only to discover…that he killed himself. And, to top it off, my big lead to this discovery was that half-baked psychic, Sam Posey. God, when I think back to that moment at the funeral when he handed me that note that said I would find the gun in the river, just below the bridge…and the capper—that if I looked under the trellis, I'd find his suicide note. It just boggles the imagination, you know?”

John sat back and stared at the ceiling, then dug out a worn slip of paper from his pocket.

“This is powerful stuff, too. I think you'll get a kick out of it: ‘My life is a lie,' he starts out. ‘I have lived with the guilt of silence for too long. I have put forth an image of a Man of God, but I carry with me a burden—the burden of the part I played in the murder of a young woman, whose only crime was trust. Her name is too painful for me to utter, even to write. I will only mention her by the initials, ELP.”

John stopped for a moment.

“ELP—remember that? He goes on, of course. ‘That my family is so steeped in self-righteousness and cruelty that we could perpetrate this crime, and then work so hard to cover it up all these years, sickens me. And I am no better than any, for I have worked harder than any to hide it. I have conspired with Wilhelmina, I have assisted Opal, and I have encouraged Roy to keep silent with the rest of us. And, possibly worst of all, I would keep my secret even now, if recent events had not served to utterly convict me. Our one bright hope, that I believed to be protected from our sin, I fear is now just as tainted and broken as the rest of us. The seeds of evil will ever bear fruit.”

John looked down at the letter for a little, then put it away.

“Uncle Carl sure could turn a phrase, huh? When I read this, I felt such a blinding rage. That…that someone who meant so much to me should be taken away, and all because of some crime that happened years ago. I just had to take it out on someone.”

John took a moment to collect himself, as if he were still undecided whether he wanted to continue or not.

“The problem was, I just couldn't figure out who! I drove around for a while, sorting it through, and then it hit me.”

At this, he stood and walked around for a bit, as if the sheer energy of his confession was overcoming him.

“I blamed you, Wilhelmina. After all, I had already learned from everyone in town that, when it came to the Rivers family, you pulled all the strings. Plus, he did mention you in his suicide note, before anyone else…so I drove over here. I had it my mind that I would sneak up to your room and smother you in your sleep.”

“But poor George, he had to be the first one to cross my path. He must've heard something outside and came out to take a look. Isn't that something, Aunt Wilhelmina? As little as you thought of your son, he died trying to protect you!”

John sat back in his seat, forcing himself to calm down.

“It wasn't until after I had finished taking the axe to George that it occurred to me that killing you just wasn't enough. I figured that, since you took someone away from me, then I could take someone away from you. I could make you suffer; I could see you in the kind of pain that I was feeling.”

“Of course, if I had known you a little better, then I would have realized that I killed the wrong family member. George was always a disappointment. Be honest, you were a little bit relieved when you heard that George was dead, weren't you?”

John took a deep breath to steady himself. He felt like he ought to be enjoying this moment more. After all the planning, all the machinations set into play to bring him to her bedside to deliver this message…but all he really felt was tired. He was almost tempted to just walk away, forget about this place, and try and put his life back together. But he had come this far, and in an odd sort of way, it seemed wrong not to finish this out. It was the difference between revenge and justice: revenge was based on whether or not you felt like getting even. Justice was meted out whether you wanted to or not.

He looked down at Wilhelmina and continued.

“I'm not really sure what inspired me to write the initials. Maybe I hoped that you or Roy would recognize them. But it wasn't to be. Nobody gave it a second thought. So, I had to find out about your dirty little secret myself. And the more I learned, the more I hated you, and the more I wanted to take away from you. Opal was a simple matter—although I didn't expect the granary to explode. I didn't know they did that. I just thought she'd burn up.”

John got up and walked over to the window. He looked over the treetops and paused for a moment.

“I had to get a little creative with Arnold. Fortunately, he loves to talk about work. That's all he did at the funeral. I learned all kinds of details about his new business partners, and about the big business meeting on Saturday. It's amazing how you can push a man to do almost anything if you just know the right words to say. And there are so many things you can do to disguise your voice over the phone. Apparently, though, I need to work on my southern accent… No matter. It worked well enough. And it couldn't have worked out better to frame dear old Dad.”

He went back to the side of the bed, but didn't sit down.

“He was a lot smarter than any of us gave him credit for, you know. I thought he was just avoiding everyone at the end. In fact, it wasn't until I was standing there, facing him, that I realized what he was really doing. He must have realized that there was only one way to catch the killer. And that was to make himself the target. He probably figured that the killer would eventually come looking for him…and I did. I guess that was too much for him to take, huh?”

John leaned over her and, with great care, kissed her on the forehead.

“Don't worry,” he whispered, “I'm not going to kill you.”

Straightening up, he smiled a sad smile, then walked to the door and left the room. He never saw the tear that rolled down Wilhelmina's cheek.

Outside, he started down the stairs, but was assailed by that all-too-familiar smell once again. Looking around, he finally saw its source. A vase filled with small flowers, some purple and some white. While he was still staring at it, Annie Ruth crept up behind him.

“You weren't thinkin' about leavin' without sayin' goodbye, were ya'?”

John turned quickly, to hide being startled, and smiled.

“Not at all. In fact, that's why I'm here.”

Annie Ruth smiled and nodded.