Chapter 10
Before Lizzie’s death, Jeff Ireland occasionally visited Flood’s Place to catch up on the gossip. He didn’t believe in the segregationist views of the KKK or the Cobb Club, but after Lizzie’s death, his attitude began to change. The horrible death of Lizzie had a devastating psychological effect on him, and he became very vengeful toward Cyndi specifically, and the Geechee population in general. In his mind, Cyndi was solely responsible for his wife’s death. Oh, lawfully she couldn’t be touched, but Jeff’s law was a different thing. He ordered a Sam Adams. Before Lizzie’s death, he hardly ever drank. But since that disturbing day, this like lots of other things in his life changed. He liked the taste of Sam Adams. It left a refreshing bitter kick in his mouth. Most people sat at the bar and sipped their beer taking up to an hour to empty the 12-ounce bottle. Jeff liked to guzzle it. Usually, three gulps per bottle and it was gone. When Oats sat the bottle in front of him, Jeff looked at it for a few seconds, then tipped it up and downed close to half of it. No one else was in the bar, so he let out a loud belch. Then he leaned sideways off the bar stool and let go with a long thunderous fart.
Jeff confided in Oats Schoenfeld about his desire to do harm to Cyndi. He didn’t have a specific plan at first, but he knew Oats would be sympathetic to his plight. Oats decided right away that, “doing away with her” would not be too extreme of a measure. All that was necessary was to come up with a plan. What Jeff didn’t know, was that there were several members of the KKK that had committed violent crimes, and even murder, based on plans instigated by Oats. His ear was always available to listen to any negative intentions against the black population.
With his tongue loosened up from the beer Jeff said, “Well Oats, I just got to do something for my Lizzie. I think you are right about that bitch. Killing’s too good for her.”
This was music to Oats’ ears as he was always happy when he heard of harm or misfortune coming to a "Jew, black person, or anyone who was not a 100% pure lily-white American." In the privacy of the vacant bar, a serious plan started to take shape between the two men. After commiserating with Jeff for close to an hour, Oats finally said, “Now Jeff we need to be careful. Don’t get carried away ‘cuz I don’t want to see you get caught, but it does need to be done. Just keep your eye on her, and you will get your chance sooner or later. I’ll help when the time is right. I’ll talk with some of the boys to see if they can help us too.” Swallowing the last of the beer, Jeff let out another belch and sat the empty bottle on the counter.
Driving his customary 50 MPH, he would be home shortly. It gave him just enough time to continue thinking about what he and Oats had discussed. His mind was not clear on the details yet, but maybe he should shoot her. Jeff had killed before when he was in Viet Nam. It was not a personal vendetta. The victims were enemies of the country. He wasn’t proud of what he did “over there,” but it was war. In war, you kill, or you be killed. It was an act of self-defense by reflex, not anger. This time it would be different. Yes, he could use his .12 Gauge shotgun for the job. He would feel no more guilt when he did it than he had felt when he shot a ‘gator in the swamp.
About a mile down the road, he saw two people walking toward him. When he approached them, he realized it was Cyndi and a boy named Daryl Crews. His blood pressure went through the roof at sighting the “retch” that he held responsible for his wife’s death. He wasn’t intoxicated yet, but he was feeling pretty good. The beer he drank at Floods Place, and the conversation with Oats, had his mind gyrating. It was hard to do, but recalling what Oats had said about planning and taking his time to do any harm to Cyndi, he stared straight ahead and continued on pass them. He thought about running over them right now and getting it over with. However, his conscious just wouldn’t let him do it.
Cyndi and Daryl continued laughing and holding hands as they walked along. They were just two people in love, no different from many other young people their age. Both had hopes and dreams of a great future. However, the unfolding circumstances held a different fate for them. When they arrived at Flood’s Place, they sat at the picnic table and casually chatted. Cyndi giggled at a simple joke made by Daryl. No other customers were around, so Oats decided to walk outside to smoke a cigarette. When he did, he saw the couple sitting at the table enjoying the warm sunny day. He went back into the store but continued to watch them through the glass in the door. It wasn’t long before Daryl came into the store and bought two Orange Crush sodas. After 30 minutes or so the two people left returning the way they had arrived.
Oats actually intended to encourage Jeff to do the dirty deed, but he knew he would never get a better opportunity to do away with Cindy. Jeff doesn’t have the stuff it takes to do it anyway. Too bad about the boy! At this point, he will just have to be part of the whole thing. Oats gave the couple about 10 minutes, then went outside and started his pickup and drove down the road the way Cyndi and Daryl had gone. Within a few minutes he saw them walking along holding hands. He reached under the seat and slowly eased out the rusty by still reliable 1911 .45 Automatic he used for killing ‘gators when he was out on his boat. As the pickup slowed to a crawl, the couple was so engrossed with each other’s conversation, they were startled when he pulled abreast of them. Both Cyndi and Daryl turned around as the pickup came to a stop. Cyndi recognized Oats right away. She knew that he hated black people. Her Momma told her about his exploits as a KKK and cautioned her to stay clear of him. She didn’t even like to go to the store to buy a soda. He was crazy and no telling what he might do, her mother had told her.
“Hello, Mr. Oats. How you doing?”
“Just fine you bitch, now you gonna pay for what you did to Miss Lizzy,” said Oats as he pointed the gun at her.
She immediately knew what was in store. She squatted down on the ground with her hands over her ears and screamed, “Oh no Mr. Oats. I couldn’t help what happened to Miss. Lizzie. Don’t do this, don’t do it.” Recognizing what was happening Daryl lurched forward in defense, but he barely made two steps when the bullet from the .45 hit him square in the chest. The gun made a pop familiar to Oats. Cyndi jumped on top of Daryl’s fallen body and did her best to shield him, but the effort was at most, an anemic gesture against the power of the automatic. As she lay on top of the prone lifeless body, Oats shot her twice. Both bullets slammed into her head. Pop, Pop! Blood was spurting from the wounds. Jeff showed the first sign of nervousness as he looked up and down the road to see if anyone was coming. It was uncharacteristic for the usually careful man, but he was so anxious to commit the crime that he hadn’t even bothered to check for witnesses. Remembering his warning to Jeff to go slow and plan, he now realized that he had done just the opposite himself. He had not taken his time, and he definitely had not made a plan. For the first time panic replaced rage in the experienced criminal.
All he could think was to shove the bodies into the ditch. He grabbed Cyndi’s lifeless body by one arm, pulled her to the edge of the steep incline and shoved her. Then he did the same with Daryl. When Daryl’s body rolled to the bottom of the four-foot ditch, it came to rest on top of Cyndi. He got back in his pickup and drove to Flood’s Place. He sat in front of the building for several minutes thinking about what he had just done. He had the same feeling of relief as when helped hang black people in the 1950s. He was relieved, and somehow it felt good.
As Oats entered the joint, Charlie Griffin, who was minding the bar said, “You just left Oats. You want a beer or something.”
“Nope, I just came back to have a Coke and a pickled sausage. I got some business to take care of and wanted to clear my mind and think about it for a spell.”
Charlie sat a Coke in from of Oats and then put the sausage jar with a commonly used fork on its top for him to get the sausage out with. Oats took a drink of the Coke and bit into the sausage. Then he paused and pensively stared at the Coke bottle.
Oats was now nervous and had thoughts of getting away.
“Charlie, I been thinking about taking a vacation. What would you think about handling things by yourself if I went on a vacation for a while?”
“No problem Oats. I don’t have anything else to do, and you have been very good to me. When you going?”
“Don’t know yet. It’s just a thought, but I will let you know. Just keep doing what you been doing, and we will talk about it later.”
Then he got back in his pickup and drove to Jeff’s house. As he pulled up in the front yard, Jake let out his welcome howl. Jeff heard the noise and came out to the porch and saw that it was Oats.
Sitting down in one of the rockers, Jeff said, “Come on up here and have a seat. What you doing over here Oats?”
“I just solved your problem with Cyndi, but on the other hand, I have created a bigger problem for both of us. A little while ago, I popped Cyndi and her boyfriend with my .45 just up the road. I put her in the ditch until we can go back over there and do away with the evidence.”
It was ironic that Oats referred to the human remains as evidence. He just couldn’t bear to call them “bodies” or “dead bodies”; just evidence.
“What the hell you talking about,” said Jeff.
“I did ‘em in. They are both dead, but you need to help me get rid of the evidence.”
“I don’t believe you Oats.”
It’s no bullshit. I put a bullet in both of them and rolled ‘em in the ditch up around the curve.”
By this time, Jeff knew that it was no joke. Panicky himself, he said, “Man I was just letting off some steam when we talked earlier. I would never have gone through with murdering her, and I never would have harmed that boy she calls her boyfriend. I kinda liked him. His daddy done some work for me around the place here, and he was a good man. You sure they’re dead? Maybe we can go back up there and check to see if they are alive. Man, I didn’t think you would do such a thing, Oats. We gonna both wind up in jail for sure.”
Oats was settling down by now and becoming his old self. He was also getting pissed off at Jeff’s sudden change of attitude. Oats said, “You wanted her out of the picture, god-damn-it, I told you I’d help you. We talked about it for a long time and agreed that it had to be done. So now it’s done, and that’s it, you gonna get off your ass help me or not?”
Jeff was shocked at the whole incident. He knew he had provided the motivation for the crime. He blamed himself for the situation since he knew he was responsible for Oats’ violence. Actually, he was scared stiff. Not only was he concerned about landing in jail, but he suddenly felt sorry for the dead girl and had empathy for her parents. He talked about killing her himself and at times might have had the backbone to do it. But now that it had actually been done, he felt different.
In fact, he probably never would have gone through with the act in spite of his desire to make her pay for her negligence. He knew Oats had experience in such matters, yet Jeff was surprised at how casually he apparently had killed the two people.
Pulling his baseball cap off his head and scratching his head, Jeff said, “OK, if you did shoot em, I guess we need to go back up there and load up the bodies and get rid of them. Is that what you are thinking?”
“Yes exactly! I was thinking we could put ‘em in your boat and take ‘em up the swamp and sink ‘em where they never will be found.”
“You go back up there, put the bodies in your truck and bring ‘em back to the landing where my boat is located. I will help you take ‘em as far as we can into the swamp and dump ‘em. In my shed, I have an old anvil and some scrap iron. I’ll take it to the boat so we can use it to weigh the bodies down, so they won’t float. The ‘Gators will take care of the rest. Now, let’s get moving. I’ll see you at the boat in about 30 minutes.”
Having made a plan, all-be-it, and after-thought, the two men went out on their mission. As he approached the murder site this time, Oats was careful to make sure no other witnesses were in sight before he stopped. He got out of his pickup to retrieve the remains of Cyndi and Daryl. Mud had almost covered them. First Oats grabbed Cyndi’s arm and pulled her up to the road. Her still bleeding body left a trail of blood on the ground and the pavement. Then he lifted the small body and threw it into the back of the pickup. As he did, he had a brief recall of loading bags of potatoes on a neighboring farm when he was a young boy himself. Next, he walked over to the ditch where Daryl’s body was laying with his face down in the mud, pulled up to the back of the pickup and lifted the somewhat heavier body, shoving it into the bed of the truck beside its dead companion.
The boat moved along at high speed. The aluminum 20-foot flat bottom boat had seen better days, but it was still sturdy and took the smooth black waters with ease. The ancient 150 HP Mercury outboard had no cover on it. Jeff accidentally backed into an overhanging limb and pulled it off many years earlier. Still, it purred without missing a beat as its propeller left a roster tail streaming behind. Jeff sat behind the console steering a course deep into the arteries of the swamp he knew like the back of his hand. Oats sat in front and watched as the boat sliced through the calm waters. Jeff knew a place seldom visited. Only an occasionally fisherman looking to set out a catfish line ever went into the place he had in mind. The water was more than 20 feet deep in the remote cove. He was confident that the remains of the two people would never be found.
First, he tied the anvil to one of Cyndi's slender brown legs and shoved her small body over the side. Then he drove the boat another 25 yards and Oats helped dump Daryl's body overboard, with the pieces of iron attached to it. Jeff had mixed feelings about the mission. On the one hand he was happy to see that Cyndi was dead. On the other, he was thinking about how much the two people meant to their parents, and how much they would be missed; probably, as much as he missed Lizzy. He actually felt guilty. It was a feeling he had not recognized since the death of his wife.
As he piloted the boat back along the river, the beauty of the swamp was all around him. In his now relaxed state, he briefly noticed things he used to enjoy: the tall gum and cedar trees reaching for the sky, a bass slowly roiling the water in front of the boat, the smell of the jasmine vines moving in the breeze, all brought back memories of happier days in the placid surroundings. The undergrowth covered both sides of the river blocking any view beyond the foliage that hung down to the calm surface. The black water was calm in the day’s hot Sun. As Jeff drove the boat along slowly, it left a swirling wake that made lazy splashes when they hit the riverbanks. This was his river, and he was at peace here, where he was familiar with every cove, twist and turn both north and south, all the way to the Combahee River and beyond.
When Jeff and Oats arrived at the landing, which was only about a mile from his house, Jake, his red hound was anxiously waiting. When he saw the boat coming down the canal, he let out a deep-throated howl. As the boat slid up the muddy bank and stopped, Jake jumped in and started sniffing his master’s leg. Jeff gave Jake a few gentle tugs on his ears, rubbed his fur and said, “Well Boo, today we took care of Lizzie’s killer.” Boo nuzzled Jeff’s hand, as though he understood and supported the crime. Jeff and Oats got out of the boat and walked eastward toward the house with Jake walking between them, as the Westerly Sun cast a peaceful shadow on the narrow road in front of the three moving figures. Back in the swamp, two huge alligators pulled and shook their heads back and forth ferociously fighting over one of Cyndi’s slender brown legs.