The Sequoyah Killings- Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tim woke with a gasp, unsure of where he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept soundly. After a few confused seconds, the previous night’s events ran through his mind. Tim sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight crept in behind the edges of the curtain, shining through the dust floating in the air. He checked his watch, but the battery was still dead, the blank screen staring up at him. Tim quickly showered and shaved with the travel razor that had been left on his bathroom counter. Wiping away the shaving cream, Tim chuckled at the sight of his face. He hadn’t been clean shaven since his family’s funeral. The feeling of his bare chin under his fingers was strange, but he liked it. It made him look ten years younger. Tim dressed, and stepped out of his room into the bright morning sunlight.
He had no idea what time it was, so he walked at a brisk pace towards the church. He wanted to arrive well before the ten o’clock service time, so that William Carey could show him around the outside of the church where he’d found May’s body. Afterwards, he would attend the church service. In his years as a detective, Tim had learned that people had a way of  “performing”  when they were being interviewed during an investigation. He had always found it helpful to observe a suspect when they weren’t aware they were being watched. More of their natural characteristics tended to shine through, and you could learn a lot about a person that way. Afterwards, he would find Bailey Jenkins, who William named as a possible suspect.
Tim was pulled out of his planning by the sound of shouting coming from just around the corner of the library. He sprinted toward the sound of the commotion and was met with the sight of a small group of protestors. Tim guessed that there were about twenty of them gathered together, and they all held signs that looked like enlarged versions of the flyers he had seen the night before. The group was made up of both men and women of various ages ranging from twenties to one woman likely in her fifties, and Tim noticed they all followed the lead of one man, who stood in front of them holding a megaphone. They repeated his angry calls into the megaphone in unison.
“Say ‘no’ to Sequoyah Grove!” he yelled.
“Say ‘no’ to Sequoyah Grove!” was their answer. Their volume increased as they saw Tim pass by them. He scanned the faces of the protestors, wondering if Bailey Jenkins was a part of this crowd.
The noise from the protestors had finally faded to a murmur by the time Tim made it to the church cemetery. He continued over the large hill and could see William standing in the church’s parking lot, next to the door through which Tim had entered the church the previous night. It must have been well before ten o’clock, Tim decided, because the parking lot was completely empty of cars, and William was still wearing the sweats that he’d been wearing the day before. Tim allowed himself to slow his pace and catch his breath. When he reached the parking lot, William looked up at him. Tim noticed that his face appeared pale and that he was out of breath.
Tim stuck out his hand and said, “Good morning, William. Thanks again for agreeing to see me this morning.” William shook Tim’s hand instinctively, but he displayed a confused look on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think we’ve met before.” If this was a joke, Tim thought it was made in bad taste, given the circumstances, but he realized he was clean shaven, and it really had changed his appearance.
“Pastor William,” Tim said. “We met last night. I’m Tim Stephens. I’m investigating the death of Daniel May, and you told me that if I came before the church service started, then you’d show me where you found his body.”
“I don’t know who you are, or who put you up to this, but it’s not funny at all,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tim asked.
“I don’t know who you are,” William repeated. “I didn’t speak to anyone last night, and I just found Daniel May’s body ten minutes ago.” He looked like he might be sick.
“What do you mean?” Tim asked. “I sat in your office. We talked for ten minutes. You told me about how you heard a gunshot while you were eating breakfast yesterday, and you came out and found Daniel’s body.”
“That’s true, except it happened just now,” he said. “I wasn’t even in town last night. I spend every Friday hiking in the national park, and I don’t get back until late. I don’t know who you are, but I didn’t meet you last night.”
“But yesterday was Saturday,” Tim said. “It’s Sunday morning.”
“No, sir, it ain’t,” William said. “And if you don’t believe me, come look. Daniel’s body is just over there around the back of the church. I just called Carl Fields, the town’s mortician, to come pick it up.”
The two of them walked together without speaking. As soon as they rounded the corner of the church building, Tim could see a form lying motionless in the grass a few hundred feet away. He could feel his heart beating rapidly and he began to feel dizzy. What the hell is going on?
When they arrived at the corpse, the first thing that Tim noticed was the contorted positioning of the victim’s body. His legs were sprawled out beneath him, and both arms were bent at a rigid angle, with his hands covering his ears, like a child afraid of a thunderstorm.
“Have you touched the body at all?” Tim asked.
“No,” William answered. “As soon as I saw him, I knew he was dead, so I called Carl and walked back to the church. I didn’t want to be around him. I’ve preached my fair share of funerals, so I’m used to being around dead bodies, but never right after they’ve been murdered.”
Tim kneeled down to get a closer look at the victim. There was no question that this was Daniel May, or at least, someone impersonating him. He wore a police uniform with a small, rectangular, silver name plate above his heart with D. May engraved in blocky letters. There was an expression of shock frozen on his face. A perfectly rounded hole marred his forehead, and a small trickle of dried blood ran down the left side of the wound. His head lay in a large pool of blood. Tim began to feel disoriented, unsure of what was happening. Had everyone been lying last night?
If William had been telling the truth the night before, there would be no formal investigation, so Tim didn’t feel the need to follow standard investigative procedures. He straightened out May’s legs, and checked his sides for any other potential injuries. When he found none, he attempted to move May’s arms to get a better view of his head, but as he tugged on May’s right arm, the entire corpse was lifted off the ground at the waist, as if he were sitting up. Both of Daniel May’s hands remained fixed to his ears. He lowered May’s body back onto the ground, and gently attempted to pry his hands from his ears. Neither hand budged.
“It’s like his hands have been fixed to his ears with glue,” Tim said.
“Why on earth would someone do that?” William asked.
“I can think of a few reasons,” Tim replied. He’d seen cases like this before. “Most likely, it was symbolic. Maybe May had heard something, and that had gotten him killed. Or, maybe the murderer was trying to send a message to someone else. Whatever the reasoning, the murder must have been premeditated. People don’t normally carry super glue with them, and even if they did, if this murder were spontaneous or random, the killer wouldn’t stick around to glue his hands to his ears. Whoever did this, did it with a specific purpose in mind.”
Just then, a hearse pulled into the parking lot of the church, driving all the way to the grass and parking next to Tim and William. A short, balding man with glasses stepped out of the car and walked over to them.
“Thanks for coming so quick, Carl,” William said.
“Of course,” the man responded, kneeling down to look at the body. “How awful. He was a good man.” He looked up at Tim and then to William, waiting for an introduction to be made.
“Carl, this is Tim Stephens,” William said. “We just met a few minutes ago. Tim is investigating Daniel’s death.” Tim and Carl shook hands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Carl said.
“Likewise,” Tim responded.
Carl turned to William and said, “I’m going to take him back to the morgue and look over the body. I’m not an ME, so I can’t do a thorough autopsy, but I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve got.”
“Great,” William said. “Thanks, Carl.”
The three men worked to lift Daniel May’s body into the back of the hearse and onto a makeshift pallet of white sheets. Carl closed the door and thanked Tim and William.
“I’ll give you a call when I know more,” he said to William, before entering the hearse and driving away. Tim and William stood in silence for a moment, before Tim spoke up.
“What’s going on, William?”
“I’m just as clueless as you,” he answered. “But I swear to you, I have no idea who you are.” Tim didn’t know what to say, so he turned and began walking back in the direction that he’d come from, leaving William standing alone. As he neared the library, Tim could hear the sound of the protestors, still shouting about Sequoyah Grove. When he reached the group, which had grown in number, he caught the eye of the young man holding the megaphone.
“Excuse me, what day is it?” Tim asked him.
The man looked confused. “It’s Saturday,” he responded, and continued shouting into his megaphone. Tim shook his head and turned back towards Main Street. He made his way to Sammy’s Place and pushed through the doors, into the restaurant’s dining room. The booth where he sat the night before was unoccupied, so he eased back into the seat, and caught his breath. Tim’s mind raced with all that had just happened, and he tried to make sense of what was going on, but he was unable.
After a few minutes, Eleanor came out of the kitchen carrying a coffee pot, and smiled when she saw Tim. Tim breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone recognizes me. She poured refills of coffee for a few customers and then made her way to Tim’s table.
“Hey, there,” she said. “What can I get for ya?”
“I’ll just take a cup of coffee,” Tim said.
“Sure thing,” Eleanor said, filling the empty mug that sat on the table. “What brings you to Sequoyah? We don’t get too many visitors, especially this time of the year.” Tim’s chest tightened.
“I’m just passing through,” he said. “I told you last night, remember?”
Eleanor made a face at this. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t work on Friday nights. And I don’t think we’ve met.”
Tim felt dizzy again. “Yes, we did,” he said, his voice cracking. “We met right here last night. You told me your Uncle Daniel had been killed, and I offered to investigate, because I used to be a detective.”
“My uncle?” Eleanor asked, her face turning pale. “What happened to him?”
Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood and pushed past Eleanor, making his way to the restaurant’s exit. When he was out on the street, he took off at a run, heading the way he had come into town. He didn’t care how long it took, Tim would wait for a ride all day if he had to, but he was getting away from Sequoyah.
He was still feeling dizzy when he came to the welcome sign at the edge of town. Once he had passed the sign, the dizziness grew worse, and Tim felt his head spinning. He lost his balance and fell to his knees. His vision began to grow blurry, and a black form appeared in his peripheral vision. The black blob grew, rapidly spreading, until Tim could no longer see. He fell face down into the road, unconscious.

#

Tim was one of the first officers to arrive at the scene. It was like something out of a movie. The sun shining through the smoke and dust cast an eerie light, making the whole place look like an old sepia photograph. Even before he turned off his cruiser’s siren, he could hear the frantic screaming of mothers searching for their children and injured crying for help. He choked on the dust as soon as he opened up his door, nearly retching from the acrid taste of sulfur in the air. Shattered glass from a blown out store front window crackled under his shoes. He bent down to help a man to his feet and realized he was dead. He scooped up a boy of maybe nine or ten and sent him running to safety. The boy couldn’t have been any older than his son Jack. Oh God, Marissa and the boys. He remembered they’d been out this way for lunch. He called out their names, his voice drowning in the sea of voices, each calling for their own loved ones.