BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 40. Taylor on Site

Click image to
access installments

Taylor checked into the Roadway Inn at 3:15 the same afternoon. He called Wayne as soon as he got to his room, and 10 minutes later there was a knock on his door. “Man, I’m glad to see you!” Wayne said.
    Taylor went back to the bed and got a file from his suitcase. “Here’s everything we have on Banks, but there’s nothing that says serial killer.”
    Wayne sat down at the table by the window and quickly perused the file. “It’s the only lead I have,” he said. “Nobody will talk to me here, black or white. The one and the only person who has spoken to me about the murders is a drunk, but I believe him when he said Banks picked up his friend that night.”
    Taylor pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from his bag. “It’s a long step from the sheriff picking up a drunk walking down a street to him being a killer. I’m going to have a drink. Can I pour you one?”
    Wayne closed the file and slid it away. “Just a short one. Where do we go from here?”
    Taylor poured the drinks and took the chair across from Wayne. “We start over, but no more mister-nice-guy bullshit. If we have to lock up half this town for impeding an investigation, then that’s what we’ll do.”
    Taylor’s phone sounded and he quickly answered. “Hold on, Blake, I’m with Wayne now. I’ll put you on speaker.”
    “Rainbow contacted Peter for some information about a couple of murders in Decatur 20-some-odd years ago, and I’m forwarding to you what Peter sent me. You need to contact Rainbow before 5:00 this afternoon and relay the information to him. It could explain why the bodies are being dumped by the tracks. Before 5:00, no later.”
    Taylor picked up his phone and took it off speaker. “I’ll take care of it, Blake. Have a good day.”
    He disconnected and searched for the text. After he read it, he handed the phone to Wayne. “Looks like what we have is a copycat.”

Twenty years ago two black men were reported killed by the railroad tracks. They had 10 to 20 stab wounds, and both eyes gouged out. They were then hanged from a tree close to the tracks. The FBI was brought into the case because of the Klan activity in the county. A man fishing reported seeing a motorcycle leaving the area right at sundown. He could not see who was on the bike but said it was two people – a grown man and what could have been a woman or younger person. He recognized the motorcycle as belonging to a Mr. Johnson, owner of the local lumber mill. The FBI contacted the sheriff, who was the father of the present sheriff. He produced a complaint signed by Mr. Johnson stating that the motorcycle had been stolen a month before the murders took place. The FBI was unable to get a search warrant for the mill. It’s still an open case.

    Taylor forwarded it on to Rainbow. In a few minutes, Rainbow texted back: I have the motorcycle.
    Taylor walked over to the dresser and poured another drink. “What do you make of this, Wayne? It kind of takes the spotlight off the sheriff.”
    Wayne was still toying with his drink. “Maybe not. It could be that the man and the boy on the motorcycle were the Banks, father and son.”
    Taylor took Wayne’s empty glass and moved it to the dresser. “Go back to your room, rest up, get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you downstairs at 8:00 in the morning and we’ll go ask the sheriff who was on that motorcycle.”
    Wayne walked toward the door laughing. “That should really be fun. He’s going to love you being here.”
    Taylor closed the door and listened to Wayne still laughing as he walked away. He called Rainbow, who told him, “Taylor, you can’t keep calling me. Wait until I call you; this phone could get me killed.”
    Taylor knew Rainbow was right, but there was something Rainbow needed to know. “Where and how did you get the motorcycle?”
    Rainbow hadn’t thought to tell anybody where the bike came from. “It was given to me by the owner of the Johnson Mill, Kirk Johnson.”
    It seemed that nothing was simple about the case. “Is Kirk Johnson about the sheriff’s age?”
    Rainbow said he was.
    “Well, then, it could have been the sheriff and his father on the motorcycle, or Kirk Johnson and his father.”
    Taylor saw a conflict if he confronted both families about the same murders. “Rainbow, I’ll deal with the sheriff. See if you can get Kirk Johnson talking about those murders. Something started the copycat murders all these years later. If we can learn what it was, maybe we can find our killer.”
    “I’ll call you once I find out something. In the meantime, don’t call me.”
    Taylor was left holding a dead phone. He laid it on the table and took a shower. He came out and poured another drink, and then ordered a burger and fries from room service. With the TV on, he settled in for the evening.
    The next morning at 8:00, Taylor was on his second cup of coffee when Wayne entered the restaurant. Wayne said, “I thought you said to meet at 8 o’clock.”
    Taylor emptied his cup and slid it to the middle of the table. “I woke up early and found myself in need of coffee. Do you want breakfast before we see the sheriff?”
    Wayne walked to the breakfast bar for motel guests. He reached for a paper cup, filled it with coffee, put a lid on it, and grabbed a roll. “I’m good to go!”
    Taylor drove as Wayne ate and drank his coffee. “What kind of a man is this Sheriff Banks?” he asked.
    Wayne washed down the last of the roll with the warm coffee. “He’s like every country sheriff you run across in the South. He’s a racist bigot who will swear on the Bible he isn’t prejudiced. This county is so locked down by the Klan, I can’t believe he’s not involved with them. Other than the fact I believe he’s our killer, I guess he’s okay.”
    Taylor laughed. “Glad to see you’re keeping an open mind.” He eased into the parking space in front of the sheriff’s office.
    The female deputy on duty remembered Wayne. “I’m sorry, Agent Roberts, but the sheriff is running a little late today. If you would like to have a seat, he should be along soon.”
    The two men had no more sat down than Banks walked in. “Well, Agent Roberts, what has happened to warrant this early-morning visit?”
    The men stood and Wayne addressed the sheriff: “This is my boss, Agent Manning.”
    The sheriff didn’t bother shaking the hand Taylor extended. “This way, gentlemen, let’s take this to my office.”
    In the sheriff’s office, Banks sat down but didn’t offer them a seat. “I’m a busy man and I’m getting tired of my town filling up with Feds. Agent Manning, I told your friend here everything I know about these murders. People around here don’t talk to the law – not even me. Not about nig— um, black people getting killed, anyway.”
    Taylor threw the file of the murders in front of Banks. “It would seem you didn’t tell Agent Roberts everything you know. Like the fact that the same type of murders took place here more than 20 years ago.”
    Banks opened the file. “I remember this. I belonged to the National Guard back then, and we were called up that very day. By the time I got back from the Gulf, everything was over with. They never found who killed those two boys.”
    Taylor moved a little closer to Banks’ desk. “Are you sure you and your daddy didn’t take a motorcycle ride the night before you left – you know, as kind of a rite of passage?”
    Banks’ face became bright red and he jumped up from his chair, which banged against the wall. He leaned across the desk and pushed the file against Taylor’s chest. “Get the hell out of my office, and don’t you come back unless you have an arrest warrant.”
    Taylor and Wayne left Banks’ office, and as Taylor pulled out into the street and drove away, Wayne couldn’t hold back any longer. “Well, that sure as hell didn’t accomplish anything.”
    Taylor glanced at Wayne to see if he was serious.
    “Don’t you understand, Wayne? People react out of fear. The blacks in this town fear the KKK more than the killer or us – that’s why they won’t speak. The sheriff and the other white people have no fear of the killer because he’s killing blacks and Mexicans. I just gave the sheriff something to be afraid of – a 20-year-old murder case that we can put on his doorstep. He knows that the motorcycle has turned up, so now we can sit back and see where the rabbit runs to.”
    Taylor had been driving slowly away from the station house, and now he pulled to the curb and parked. He adjusted his outside mirror so he could see the sheriff’s car parked out front behind them. “We’ll wait here. He’ll need to do something, and soon. Sitting in that office will drive him crazy. When he moves, we follow.”

Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers