Chapter 11

I arrived back at the motel, two hundred miles from my home town at four in the morning. I was exhausted, but more concerned with my mom's feeling than anything else. It wasn't the first time in my life that I was awake at 4AM. Since there was nothing I could do to help mom at 4AM, I fell into bed and at least tried to sleep.

The ringing of the room phone woke me. My cell phone couldn't ring because it was turned off. I had even taken the battery out, so that I wouldn't be disturbed at home. Of course I was no longer at home, so the room phone rang until I answered it.

"Hello," I said probably sounding like a zombie.

"How quick can you get down here?" Chief Deputy Webster asked.

"If I come in dressed for work about an hour, if I come in dressed like a hag from the underworld ten minutes," I replied.

"Uniform, no fixing up, but clean and not smelling like a bar," he said. "It's important." He did not give me a chance to complain, he just hung up on me.

I jumped out of bed and into a shower hot to scrub my nasty ass then cold to clear the cobwebs. After that I put on a clean uniform. I brushed my hair as I walked to the car. Since I didn't go by a drive in restaurant, I went to the courthouse hungry. I made it through the front door, then was told by the receptionist on duty to get my ass into the detective's offices.

"Porter, I need you to talk to the Allen woman's sister. We finally found her, Every time I say hello to her, she starts to bawl." Simpson said.

"What in the world would cause anyone to bawl around a sensitive guy like you?" I asked trying to keep a straight face.

"Listen up Porter, this is your chance to prove you can be of some use around here," he said.

"Simpson, you don't get it. I don't have to prove I'm good enough to be here. You assholes have to prove, you have reason to let me go. You are already being investigated for discrimination. So now you can either get your head out of your ass, or I'm going back to bed."

"Porter, get in there and find out all you can from that woman and Simpson try to keep your fucking mouth shut. It's men like you who have the labor relations people on my ass," Webster said it from across the room.

Deloris Harold was a small woman and old looking even though she was probably no older than me. She most likely had a much harder life, even than me. She was seated at the metal library type table, which was in every TV cop show's interrogation room.

"Before we get started, do people call you Deloris or Dee?" I asked

"Most people call me Dee," she said trying to smile.

"Then do you mind if I call you Dee as well?" I asked.

"No not at all. You are a lot more polite than that guy who was in before you," she added.

"I don't expect that he set that bar very high," I said "Men seem to think they have all the answers and all they have to do is say it and everyone accepts it immediately."

"Yeah," she said hoping for a break from the interrogation.

"I have to talk to you but all I want to do is help you and your sister. You know all I ever heard her called was Mrs. Allen or Jennifer's mother. What did ya'll call her growing up?" I asked

"Gypsy, we called her Gypsy when we were kids. She was just plain wild but in a good way. She was the one who would jump out the barn loft onto the hay pile. You know just adventurous." Dee said.

"She sounds cool. Judging from her pictures it looks like she got married young." I said it just to add words to the conversation.

"Yes, pregnant at 16, so she got married," Dee said sadly.

"There, but for the grace of god, go I," I said it and I meant it.

"Me too," Dee said.

"So Dee, if you have heard from her since the night Jenny went missing you need to tell me now. The guy who was in here before me, wants to charge you with hindering the investigation. If I were you, I would help me help Gypsy, or I would call a lawyer. I probably shouldn't have told you that." I waited to see what she would do. First one who speaks in a situation like that loses.

"She called me the night it happened. I have been sick wanting to tell someone what happened. Ya'll have it all wrong. Gypsy didn't kill Jenny," she said.

"Then tell me what happened," I asked gently.

"Her no good husband Harold killed Jenny and beat Gypsy while he was at it. He might not have meant to kill her, but he did. When he saw what he did, he wrapped her in a plastic sheet and took he out to hide. Gypsy was crazy by the time he got back. She had his shotgun and when he walked through the door she shot him.

"So after he was dead she loaded him in the truck and took him to the boar ramp?' I asked.

"She said she backed the truck into the boat ramp opened the rear door and pulled him out into the water," she said.

"I wonder why they didn't find any blood in the truck?" I asked.

"Harold was a painter. He had lots of that blue painters plastic tarp stuff." Dee said.

"Dee everything you said sounds perfectly reasonable what did she do after she dumped the body?" I asked.

"She had her bike on back of the truck. She rode the bike to the Jarrell cabin and took a shower. When her clothes were dry, she dressed again and rode the bike ten miles to the truck stop on the interstate highway. She got a ride with a trucker and has been in Florida ever since.