Chapter 35: Whispered Cabal

According to the paper, apparently, a MONSTER is stalking local young women. Criminal psychologists predict such a gruesome ghoul capable of perpetrating such mutilations, won’t be able to restrain it’s appetite for mayhem. Won’t likely be satiated for long with just one single victim! Where and when will the next victim turn up? How soon? How young?

Guess what topic everyone’s obsessed with?

There are definitely occult overtones and undertones in this horrendous murder. Could Elaine be evil enough to do THIS?

Are my suspicions valid enough to act upon? I mean, mention to authorities, or anonymously suggest to a reporter? I don’t dare mention Elaine as a possible suspect, to anyone! She’ll snitch I’m having sex with underage girls in a revengeful single heartbeat. As I sincerely claimed before, I’d prefer to be arrested for murder than child molestation. Maybe, I’m about to get my wish, be just that.

Five Sheriff’s deputy patrol cars just pulled up around my horse trailer and the deputies are leaning on their cars, sheltering behind their vehicles, with weapons trained on my office door. It’s possible, I won’t survive long enough to be arrested. The Sheriff called for an ambulance, apparently in advance, in anticipation of need, which just arrived out front, too. What do I do?

Hide the evidence if possible. All my tonic ingredients could unfairly implicate me. Get rid of the name labels is my first thought. Swallow the evidence is my second thought. Can’t consume all the fluids but I can eat the paper label girl’s names. Need to hurry, they’re shouting orders over a megaphone to show myself. Quick! Drag the mini-fridge into the chillroom accessible from my office quarters. Less a personal connection with me than inside my quarters would be. Scribble and slap paste a misleading label on the fridge door. Cheese cultures. Maybe they won’t look too close at the contents. Essences of women are suspiciously similar to the lymph fluids the paper reported were sucked out of Tina’s body.

“Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed! I’m innocent! Don’t know what this is all about, but I surrender! I’m coming out! Please don’t shoot me!”

Practically everyone knows the drill that followed from watching TV crime dramas so I won’t detail it here. Came out as instructed, with my fingers laced behind my head and lay face down in the dirt when ordered to. Painfully cuffed overly tight, hoisted to my feet only after patting me down and turning out my pockets. A hand on my neck ducked me into a cruiser’s rearseat. I was informed of my rights enroute to being booked on suspicion of homicide. Finger printed, IDed, mug shotted, and tossed into an unoccupied cell. The cell’s outfitted with wall hung iron cot and a metal washbasin toilet combination fixture. I drink from spigot in my cupped hand.

What do I do? Can’t do much. Wait.

Best way to wait is to sleep, dreaming of improbable miraculous escape. Instead, I dream erotic dreams of women I doubt I’ll ever see or touch again. Sad dreams. Not quite twenty one yet, and my life is in the can. Maybe headed for death row. Well, I’m not going to die today. Am I sure? I suddenly remember Bob’s unfortunate son, the suspicious suicide. Can’t sleep. I’m fully alert and paranoid.

When will they come for me? How will they execute me? What end is planned the despicable monster they captured?

Poison in my food? The dry hard corn bread, greasy turnip greens, and mushy blackeyed peas served me for supper weren’t poisoned. I ate ever bite ravenously. Enjoyed the poorly prepared acrid sour tasting food, like it was my very last. Might be my last meal, if they come for me in the middle of the night. Am I about to embark upon the greatest adventure of all? Will I ever wake up from the big sleep?

If I eventually end up on death row, do they really offer me a choice of last meal the night before I’m to be executed at dawn? I want to have enough nerve in the end, the guts, to pull an old joke on my jailers, if it comes to that. For my last meal, I’ll order a variety of mushroom dishes, every which way I can remember mushrooms can be served. As soup, stuffed caps, inredient in an omelet, and mixed with sour cream as dip. For the main course, mixed grill. Italian sausage, beef tips, and tenderly cooked calves liver with sautéed mushrooms, fried onions, green peppers, and chunky bacon bits on the side. Lots of whole button mushrooms in sour cream liver gravy over a mountain of smashed potatoes and accompanied by a green beans, cauliflower, pearl onions, and condensed mushroom soup casserole with french-fried onions and Parmesan melted on top in a crunchy toasted crust. A veritable mushroom lover’s feast. Actually, these are favorite dishes, but I’ll lie. Pretend I never tried them before. I’ll confess I always wanted to try these dishes but was too afraid I’d accidentally get hold of a poisonous mushroom. Hopefully I can continue the charade, maintaining a straight face to my grave.

That was my night’s dream, or nightmare. Suddenly I awoke to a new day. Tepid coffee and two cold scrambled egg burritos was given me for breakfast. Then pacing the floor, or sitting on the bunk, the hours slowpoke monotonously inched past. Ah, I have a visitor!

Cuffed and led to a locked consultation room, I’m cuffed to a ring in center of a table with two chairs facing it. My temporary attorney entered and introduced herself. Liz, for Elisabeth. She will handle this morning’s preliminary interview, in advance of the big shot West Coast attorney, my real attorney, arriving later this afternoon. Don’t worry, I won’t be arraigned or charged, and I’ll soon be out on the street again, probably sometime tomorrow. There is no evidence to charge me with, and now that I’m lawyered up, the DA won’t be allowed to go on a third degree, hot seat, inquisition type fishing expeditions. Keep my mouth shut at all times, she instructs me.

Then, a detective grade deputy sheriff and an assistant DA came in to question me. My advocate responds to all their questions, like my name, address, etc. I stay mum. The inquisitors get angry at both my attorney and me, insisting I MUST answer them for myself. No! I won’t answer a single word. I have the right to remain silent, and she has advised me to do so. She won’t tolerate the suggestion it would be better for me if I cooperate. Called it bullshit, and told them to go screw themselves. She told them exactly that. Interview over.

Afterwards, she asked me questions. About my finances, income, expenses, alibis for my time, who would give me good references as to morals and character, even about my love life, personal stuff like that. My answer to the love life, made her whistle. We missed the lunch jail served. She called her office and soon an assistant brought us burgers and fries in a fast food sack. Soft drinks in a can she bought herself from a vending machine outside in the hall. Deputies refused to uncuff me in order to eat. She hand fed me. I like her.