Sapphic Voices Mystery

The Ross/Fletcher Case

Part Three

Ian insisted I was present for Fletcher's exhumation while he took care of something else. I tried to question him on what that something else could be but he avoided my questions. So Agent Jefferson, whom I had begun to call AJ out of convenience, and I made our way to the Hillcrest Burial Park in Kent.

The cemetery seemed small compared to the Washington Memorial Cemetery where my father was buried. Sculptures were faded. One cement angel was missing a wing. Headstones crowded together as if a storm were brewing. The grass covering the ground was starved, deprived of meals waiting in cramped vaults just beyond its reach.

Ruben Fletcher's grave was marked off on a small map AJ had been faxed this morning. We didn't need it. As soon as we entered the grounds we could see a large, yellow piece of digging equipment and several men near the North border of the cemetery. One of those men, with a cloth name tag that read Frank sewn to his shirt, met us as we parked and exited the car.

"You got the papers?" He asked Agent Jefferson.

"Nope." He replied before I could say anything. He paused for a moment and returned Frank's stare. "She does." He finally answered, pointing to me.

Frank snorted under his breath and held out his hand in front of me. I retrieved the Order of Exhumation from my jacket pocket. I fought back the urge to ask him to recite the magic word. Instead, I placed the crisp text on neatly folded paper in his grimy hand. He looked it over and announced to the group behind him, "It looks good boys. Lets do it."

A moment later the yellow monster began its laborious work, spilling noxious fumes upward in the form of thin black smoke. The operator held the toothed bucket and arm over the grave plot while Frank checked his angle of attack from the ground. Ruben Fletcher would see the light of day for the first time in four years. His headstone was taut with anticipation.

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"No, I can't say as I remember no one coming in to do what you did today," Zeke, the cemetery's caretaker said, "And ain't no one dug up no graves at night neither. Never had a problem with grave robbers." Zeke stopped to clean his glasses. When they were secured to his face once more he added, "What you did today ain't right. I don't care what he's done, a man's got to be able to rest in peace."

"I couldn't agree more," I replied, "But don't you think it's very odd that Ruben Fletcher's corpse is missing a hand? He was one of the more notorious killers this area has record of and somehow his hand has mysteriously disappeared. You don't have any idea how that could have happened?" Zeke returned a blank stare.

“Maybe someone offered you a little extra cash if you’d look the other way?” AJ clarified my position.

Zeke’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I ain’t done nothing against the law,” He said, “And I don’t like no suits coming around here suggesting I did.”

I took a step away from Agent Jefferson. “I’m sure you haven’t.” I said, trying to hide a smirk, “Please forgive my partner. He’s new and a bit overzealous.” Zeke took a moment to look back and forth between the two of us. He sneered in AJ’s direction but his expression was more determined when he looked at me. “You’ve told us no one else has pulled Mr. Fletcher’s body to the surface until now, and I believe you.” I continued, “So that leaves us with only one other solution.”

Zeke’s blank stare returned until AJ spoke, “The hand must have been taken before the body was put into the ground.”

“Naw,” Zeke said, shaking his head, “I seen it before we buried him, the hand that is. I seen both of em.” He paused for a moment and focused his eyes on a far away image. “They had his hands touching,” He continued, clasping his hands above his abdomen, “Like this.”

“Yes, but was that before or after the final words at the gravesite?” AJ asked.

“I think that was before.”

“Did anyone have access to the body after you saw it?”

Zeke shook his head, then raised his eyebrows. “Wait a darn minute.” He said, rubbing his chin, “There was a fella who wanted to be alone with the body for a second. Said he wanted to put something in the casket and say g’bye. I wasn’t gonna let him but he said he was the man’s son.”

AJ met my eyes then turned back to Zeke. “His son?” I asked, “He said he was Ruben Fletcher’s son?” Zeke nodded his agreement. “You’re sure of this?” I continued.

“Yes Ma’am.” Zeke answered, “He showed me his driver’s license. It was the only reason I let him do it.”

“How long did this man have with the coffin?” AJ asked.

I stuffed my enthusiasm deep in a crevice of my mind, adding, “And what did he look like?”

“I reckon he had long enough to cut off a hand.” Zeke responded, “I ain’t got no idea what he could have used though.” He then turned to face me. “He looked like the picture on the driver’s license. He was short. Had scruffy black hair. Didn’t dress up a bit and he wore a cap, a baseball cap… Dodgers I think.”

I wrote this down while AJ thanked him and gave him a card with his cellular phone number on it. “Call us if you remember anything else.” He told the groundskeeper, “And thanks.” The two shook hands as if a major treaty had just been signed. I rolled my eyes and evoked smiles with a comment on male bonding.

We had just closed the car doors and started the engine when Zeke ran to the driver’s side window. I lowered it. “He had a tattoo.” Zeke said, “It was on his shoulder. He had it covered up with his T-shirt most of the time but I saw it when he scratched.”

“What was the tattoo Zeke?” I asked, “Do you remember?”

“Oh, yes Ma’am.” He replied, “I remember. Strangest tattoo I ever did see. Was a crow holding rosary beads.”

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“Double tall non fat.” I told the teenager with wiry hair in the drive through coffee booth before turning to Agent Jefferson in the passenger seat, “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

AJ shook his head then let out a defeated sigh. “He’s dead.” He said before turning the computer in his lap to face me.

I mimicked his sigh and glanced at the young man’s photo on the screen. He looked exactly as the cemetery groundskeeper had described. I began to read over the details of his obituary when a steaming cup of java was thrust in my direction. I looked up just in time to watch as, “Two fifty.” fell from a face framed in wiry red hair. I handed her a fifty. “You got anything smaller?” She then asked, smacking her chewing gum. I shook my head to rolling eyes.

“When did he die,” I asked, settling to be read to instead, “And how?”

“Uh…” Came AJ’s articulate reply as he skimmed the article, “October seventeenth, of ninety five.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, turning away from Miss Attitude.

“That’s what the obit says.”

“Do you have a last known address?”

AJ scanned the screen. “Yeah,” he said finally, “Burien.” I cursed under my breath and put the car in gear.

“Lady?” Miss Attitude spat with raised eyebrows. She took her time counting money from the apparently limited funds in her cash register. She grinned until I rudely snatched my change from her hand. The car accelerated well beyond my expectations.

If you have enjoyed Tara Chen's "The Ross/Fletcher Case, Chapter Three", then please be certain to e-mail her at  tara[at]dementedkitty.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here to continue on to "The Ross/Fletcher Case, Chapter Four"

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