Travis Lee: Letter To Belinda Part 4

"I got something you might want, Travis."

"What's that, Bird?"

He briefly flashed a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket. "A gun?" Travis asked.

"Not just a gun," Bird said, "This is a .38 special, a throw-away gun. The serial number has been filed off, so there is no way it can be traced. I have had it in my closet for years, just waiting for a need to use it. I've even got bullets for it, if you want to use it to solve your problem!"

"I appreciate your concern, Bird."

"Terry, out in the shop said that after you use it, bring it out to the shop, and he can light up his rose-bud, and make this baby disappear! Drops of molten steel can't be traced back to a gun!"

"That is mighty thoughtful of you, Bird, and of Terry, but if I have to kill him, I will most likely do it with my bare hands."

"That's what me and Terry thought, but we figgered we'd make the offer anyway."

"I appreciate that. I will keep your offer in mind."

Later, after Travis had changed clothes, and was sitting out on a bench, waiting for the s.h.i.+ft to begin, Cecil, a miner operator came and sat down beside him. Not a whole lot of people knew it, but Cecil was the Grand Dragon of the Byram County branch of the Ku-Klux-Klan. Cecil had often offered Klan members.h.i.+p to Travis, who was always diplomatic in declining the offer. Today, however, he approached as a fellow coal mining brother, to offer his services.

"Afternoon, Travis!"

"Afternoon, Cecil."

"I hear you are having some difficulty with a good-for-nothing son-in-law?"

"Yes, word certainly does get around, doesn't it?"

"The word I hear is that your son-in-law is a low-life, and a devil wors.h.i.+per."

"That's true."

"This outfit I head up we take a very dim view of devil-wors.h.i.+pers!"

"Yes, I've heard that."

"If there's one thing we hate worse than n.i.g.g.e.rs, Jews and h.o.m.os.e.xuals, it's devil-wors.h.i.+pers! Say he was practicing that s.h.i.+t in your back bedroom?"

"Yep, before I threw him out, he was."

"Tell you what, Travis. Even though you ain't a member of our organization, I will take care of this guy, just as a favor to you!"

"That's awful nice of you, Cecil."

"Hey, it's the obligation of white folks everywhere, to hold on to our heritage, and get rid of subversive elements that want to undermine our way of life. This son-in-law of yours, is he a Jew?"

"I don't know. He could be."

"That's close enough! Being a devil-wors.h.i.+pping Jew, we'd be happy to take care of this matter for you, me and the boys!"

"That's not really necessary, Cecil."

"Hey, what are friends for? You just give me a photo of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and let me know where we can find him after midnight tonight, and we will solve your problem! He will disappear and never be seen again! And the good part is, there will be no traces of evidence leading back to you. All you got to do is have a good alibi of where you are tonight from midnight on, and we will take care of the rest!"

"You can do it tonight?"

"Or tomorrow night. Whenever is convenient for you. You just let me know when!"

"Well, I would like to try a more diplomatic route first, but if that fails, I just might take you up on your offer, Cecil."

"Great! Just let me know. Me and the boys would love to be a help! There ain't much call for our services nowdays, not like there used to be!"

"Yeah, the world moves on."

4.

The next day, as though he was not busy enough already, he got another call from Miranda, this time at home. Fortunately, he was the only one in the house, so he had to answer the phone. This was two days after he had freed her from Judge Rosewood's bedroom. He had been so busy that he had not even thought about that strange incident since it happened. This call was not so frantic, but intense, none the less.

"Travis?"

"Is that you, Miranda?"

"Yes, it's me."

"How have things been going? I mean, I've been watching the local news, but I've seen no mention of Judge Rosewood. I'm a.s.suming that he hasn't been found yet?"

"SSs.h.!.+ Not over the phone!"

"What? Why not?"

"They could be listening, that's why!"

"Who could be listening?"

"Meet me somewhere. We have to talk."

"About what?'

"You know about what! Meet me in Bates Park in an hour!"

"Is that a request, or an order?"

"I'm not kidding, Travis! This is serious!"

"Okay, in the park, in one hour. I can do that."

(click.) It didn't sound very good. He wondered what she had done this time. So mostly out of curiosity, he stopped what he was doing, and made preparations to meet her at Bates Park. Janice was not home, so he didn't have to explain who called. As an afterthought, he deleted Miranda's call from his caller I.D. before he left. No need in arousing suspicions with Janice.

It was a beautiful late-July day to be in the park, which meant that it was also hot. Late July to late August in Central Alabama was a most miserable time to be outside, because of the heat. But that was good, because it meant that though the weather was good, there were few people in the park. He left his truck, taking only his walking stick, as though he intended to walk a few laps.

He did make one complete lap before he saw a small red sports car pull into the park, which he knew belonged to Miranda. The woman who got out of the car was over-dressed for the weather, however. She had bulky clothes, a head scarf, and dark gla.s.ses. It was the absurd image of a woman who was deliberately trying to hide her ident.i.ty. He was almost embarra.s.sed to be seen talking to someone who was trying so hard not to be noticed. He walked another half lap, and she caught up with him.

"Pardon me, Lady, but you look familiar. Haven't I seen you somewhere before? Hey, you're one of those movie stars that's hiding from the paparazzi!"

"Can it, Travis! I've got a big problem!"

"You sure do. You're going to fall out with a heat stroke, dressed like that. At least take off that bulky overcoat."

"I'm just trying to protect you. You don't need to be seen talking to me."

"Then let's at least sit down and talk. There at the pavilion, . . . n.o.body is there." They went and sat down in the shade, across the table from one another. She looked both ways before she took off her sungla.s.ses, revealing, as usual, the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

"Like I said, I've got a big problem."

"How big?"

"About 225 pounds!"

"You don't weigh that much, do you?"

"No, it's the Judge."

"Ah yes, the Judge! How is the old boy doing these days? Or have you not been back to see him?"

"I've been back, all right! I loaded him up, and took him to my house!"

"You did what? Why did you do that?"

"I couldn't bear the thought of him lying there in his own home, rotting down on the floor! It just isn't right! You know how hot the weather is! He wouldn't last but just a few days before he gets ripe!"

"Then call the police, and get him into that refrigerated morgue."

"I can't do that!"

"So you'd rather he rot down on your floor?"

"He's not rotting. He's frozen. I bought a big freezer, the biggest chest freezer they had, and got them to deliver and install it, and I put the Judge into it. But just until we decide what to do with him."

"WE? He's not my problem!"

"You've got to help me, though! It was all I could do to haul him over to my house!"

"I guess so! And how many people saw you hauling a dead body out of his house, and into yours?"

"n.o.body saw me!"

"You don't really know that. There are billions of people in this world, and all you need is for one of them to see you!"

"Believe me, no one saw me! I live in a secluded area."

"Okay, a.s.suming no one saw you, what now? You have the Judge on ice, but what now? You can't leave him there. What's your plan?"

"That's why I called you, to get some ideas."

"You want me to help you dispose of a dead body?"

"Not necessarily. I want ideas. You're a writer, you should have a few ideas on how to get rid of a body."

"Writing a fict.i.tious story is different from real life. These days, forensics investigators have an awful lot of tools to work with. That's why I told you that you should just call the police and report his death. It wasn't murder, it wasn't even an accident. It was a heart attack. It was just one of those things that happens that is n.o.body's fault."

"But it was very embarra.s.sing. I would die, if all this were to come out, especially now that I've tried to cover it up. Being rich doesn't keep you from falling into shame. Believe me, if there had been any other way of getting out of this mess without telling even you, I would have done it! I called you because I was out of options. Just like now. I'm out of ideas, and since you already know about it, why not ask your opinion?"

"You don't have any ideas?"

"Well, I thought about dumping him into the river. Maybe he'd drift down a few miles before anyone found him. Maybe they would think he had a heart attack, and fell into the river."

"If he did, he wouldn't drift anywhere. The body would hug the bank on this side, and he'd be found within just a few feet of where he fell in. How long have you had him in the freezer?"

"Since yesterday."

"So he is probably frozen solid by now. That presents a problem too. Investigators can tell if he has been frozen, and then thawed out. That would raise a few questions right there."

"How can they tell if he's been frozen?"

"I don't know, but they can. It leaves tell-tale signs in his body somehow."

"Then how about dumping him into the river weighted down with concrete blocks?"

"If he is ever found, it would be obvious that it wasn't an accident. They would suspect murder. And by that time, the evidence that it was actually a natural death would be gone."

"But how would he be found, if he was weighted down and sank in the river?"

"The same way bodies are always found, by accident. When a body decays under water, it bloats up, and wants to come to the surface. If it rots enough that the ropes come lose, it pops up like a cork. Or one of these catfish fishermen snags into him with their hook, and they think they have a 200 pound catfis.h.!.+ They winch him to the surface, and there you have it! Smiling Judge Leo, grinning at the whole world! And then somebody comes forward to say that they saw you dumping something into the river a month earlier, and suddenly, you are in jail for murder!"

"Okay, so give me your recommendation. What would you do with him?"

"Do you want to bury him? Burn him? Dump him in a well? Slice him, dice him, blend him into a puree? Just what do you want to do with him?"

"Whatever method will result in him never being found."

"Nothing is fool-proof. There is always the chance that someone will do something entirely unexpected, and then you have complications."

"Then suggest something."