The Guilty (Will Robie 4)

“I think we need to find out if the man is home or not.”

“Do you think somethin’ might have happened to him?” said the woman.

In answer Robie and Reel drew their weapons.

Both the man and the woman took steps back.

Robie said, “If we’re not back out in five minutes, call the cops, okay?”

The woman looked like she might faint, but the man said, “Right, got it. Five minutes.” He looked at his watch as Robie went to the front door and Reel headed around back.

* * *

Robie picked the front door lock.

Reel put her elbow through a glass pane of the back door, reached through, and turned the knob.

They met in the middle of the first floor, having each cleared their half of the main level.

They both eyed the stairs going up.

“Mr. Bunson?” called out Robie. “We need to speak with you. Are you okay?”

There was only silence as a response.

“Okay, this is getting weirder by the second,” commented Reel.

They headed up the steps, their guns still out and pointing ahead.

They cleared one bedroom, then a second.

And then came the bathroom in the hall and their search was over.

The man was lying in the bathtub. There was no water in the tub but he was naked. His eyes were open. He was not breathing and had not been for a while.

There was dried blood between his legs.

They took a closer look.

“Damn,” said Robie.

The man’s privates had been cut off.

“Emmitt Barksdale?” ask

ed Reel.

“Sure looks like him. It also looks like the guy I saw in the bushes at the Willows.”

“I don’t see any obvious wounds. Other than someone turning him into a eunuch. I doubt he bled out from that.”

Robie drew closer and touched the dead man’s arm.

“He’s not in rigor.”

“If it came and went we’re talking at least twenty-four hours.”

Reel pulled out her phone and punched in 911.

With a resigned sigh she said, “The Mississippi cops are really getting to know us.”

Chapter

70

REEL HAD ALSO called Taggert, and she showed up an hour after the local police did.

It had taken Robie and Reel a long time to explain things to the locals, but when Taggert arrived she pitched in, and it seemed unlikely that either Robie or Reel would be arrested for breaking into the place.

The local detective, Clyde Driscoll, was young and obviously nervous. He had mentioned to Taggert, in a voice loud enough for Robie and Reel to overhear, that this was his very first homicide after five years as a beat cop.

Taggert suggested that she could assist and then recommended that Robie and Reel could as well. The result was that, while the coroner was examining the body, the four of them made a very thorough search of the crime scene and the house.

Barksdale’s bed had been slept in, and his pajamas were on the floor next to the bed.

“So maybe the killer disrobed him here,” Driscoll had suggested. “There’s no blood on the pajamas.”

They had found financial records in the name of Ted Bunson that indicated Barksdale made his living through investments. He wasn’t wealthy, but he did make enough to live modestly. There were bills for the care of a Jane Smith, and they were fairly substantial.

“Maybe that’s why he lives so modestly,” said Reel.

“I remember Emmitt from his time in Cantrell,” said Taggert. “And though it’s been a long time, I could pretty much swear that was him.”

Robie nodded. “Though he hasn’t aged well.”

“Well, being dead doesn’t help one’s looks,” retorted Taggert.

They had told Taggert about meeting Jane Smith at the institution.

“You really think she could be Laura Barksdale?”

“Let’s put it this way: I can’t say for sure that’s she not.”

They found only one item from Emmitt’s past life in Cantrell as a member of the prestigious Barksdale clan.

The photo was on a table in the bedroom. It presumably would have shown the four Barksdale family members. Only Laura and Henry Barksdale’s images had been cut out.

“Okay,” said Robie. “Two members deleted and two members left. Father and daughter gone. Mother and son left.”

“And that symbolizes what?” asked Taggert, who was staring closely at the photo and the two dark holes where the images had once been.

“Maybe Laura in a state mental institution and father Henry… out there somewhere?” said Robie.

“You think Henry came here and killed his only son?” said Taggert in disbelief.

Robie said, “I don’t know. It’s one possibility. But to cut off his penis?”

There were also numerous Bibles in the house and writings associated with religious studies, which showed Emmitt Barksdale to be a very devout man. They also discovered he was a youth minister at the local Baptist church.

“I don’t remember Emmitt being that religious,” said Robie.

“Neither do I,” said Taggert. “He was mostly a party animal who did what he wanted and to whoever he wanted. He even tried it with me once when he was drunk.”

Robie looked at her surprised. “What happened?”

“His nose took a long time to heal.”

“Well, sometimes people find religion later in life,” said Reel. “To atone for a past misdeed.”

Driscoll had one of his techs dust the frame for prints, and then the tech took the photo out of the frame and did the same.

The tech said, “What’s this?”

He had turned the photo around. There was writing on the back. It looked relatively recent.

Taggert read out each word and number.

“L 18, Calvin, R-O-H.”

The tech looked at the others, bewildered. “What the hell does that mean?”

“A code maybe,” said Reel uncertainly.

Driscoll nodded. “We have a guy who’s good with that. I’ll get this to him.” He put the photo in an evidence bag and sealed it.

“What we didn’t find was interesting,” said Reel.

“What we didn’t find?” asked Driscoll curiously.

Taggert answered. “No smartphone and no computer. Most people have both. Everyone has one or the other.”

“The killer could have taken them,” suggested Reel.

“You folks explained about the possible connection to the events down in Cantrell,” said Driscoll. “But who would want to murder this Barksdale person?”

“Sherman Clancy, Janet and Sara Chisum, and now Emmitt Barksdale, if he was indeed murdered. They could all be connected,” said Reel. “We just have no idea how.”

The coroner, a petite woman in her forties with short auburn hair, came into the room.

“Okay, I’m goin’ to need to take the body back and open him up, but my prelim is that the cause of death was poisonin’.”

“Poisoned?” said Taggert. “With what?”

“I won’t know until I do the tox screens, but there are no fatal wounds on his body, at least that I can find now. However, I found some bloodstained froth inside his mouth. I hit the top of his trachea with my light and found some more froth. That would point to a poison like cyanide.”

“If it’s cyanide, how long would it take for him to die?” asked Taggert.

“If it was pure acid, ten minutes or so. Potassium or sodium cyanide, a half hour. It’s nasty stuff. Fatal in small doses and it doesn’t take long.” The coroner smiled grimly. “Someone is an Agatha Christie fan, because that was one of her favorite ways of doin’ someone in. The screens will take a while to get back, but I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve finished the autopsy. Cyanide leaves telltale signs in the body. I’m goin’ to start the autopsy as soon as I get him back. I’ll have