Chapter 18
Caley had been replaying different scenarios over and over, as to who the skull and bones could have belonged to. Could it be possible that it was an unreported accident? Maybe it was some transients that had been robbed by locals who dumped their bodies in the swamp. The people of the lower part of the county had a reputation for living hard and dying young. They were clannish and suspect of outsiders. The outsider theory might have some validity, she thought to herself.
Most of the people who grew up in the area before the 1960s attended the Henderson High School. Some of them even went on to attend college. Caley, herself went to Warrenton High School that was located about 20 miles up the road. In high school, there were plenty of activities for people of her age. Now that she had grown older and returned to the area as a single woman, it was very different. There were few opportunities for social activities that gave women of her age a chance to make a fashion statement. When she dressed in high heels and her favorite, but seldom worn red chiffon dress, she was as attractive as any model on the fashion runways in New York. The last opportunity she had to show off her feminine side was at the Warrenton 10 year high school reunion. With her beautiful black hair that fell naturally below the shoulders, she and her date Bo Nettles were the center of attention.
Caley had dated several men during her career in the Navy and afterward but never had a serious relationship with anyone. The only man around these parts she had a relationship with was Buford “Bo” Nettles, who she had known since they were in high school. Bo drove a long haul 18-wheeler all over the country. When he was in town, he and Caley occasionally got together on a friendly basis at her home. On the job, Caley presented a professional image. When in uniform she kept her hair tied up in a neat bun that added dignified respectability to the position of deputy sheriff. Yet, her femininity was acutely visible to anyone who cared to notice. Her beauty was as much of a distraction as it often was an asset to her as a law enforcement officer.
Mass communications systems like television and cell phones had gone a long way in changing attitudes and culture in the Deep South. However, the poverty level was still very low in the area, and many of the older residents remained died in the wool, southern rednecks; or worse -- outright bigots. Caley knew that it was not going to be easy to get cooperation in the latest rash of incidents facing them. They would be even less obliged to talk to a woman. She knew that her communications skills would be tested. She was just glad that they had the full resources of SLED to help with the situation, and she was even happier that Bubba Vandi was on the case.
The plan was for Bubba and Caley to meet at the office on Monday. They had intended to go back out to the area where the boy had been run down. By noon, Bubba didn’t show up, and Caley was worried. She had already called his cell number several times but got no answer. Then she called his office in Columbia and spoke with, J.D. Block, Bubba’s supervisor to see if he had heard from Bubba. Caley had met J.D. before and knew he was a competent and energetic person. Everyone called him by his initials, “J.D.” Both of them agreed that Bubba knew the importance of keeping in touch, and if he were out of touch for more than 24 hours, it was because of some calamity or personal injury. J.D. said he would wait another 24 hours and then begin ramping up an agency emergency search plan.
After two days had passed, a helicopter was dispatched to search the area around the lower Salketcher. J.D. arrived at Warrenton on one of the helicopters and set up a search coordination center in the sheriff’s department building where Caley had her office. Since Caley and Bubba had been questioning people on both sides of the river about the skull and bones, she felt sure that this had something to do with Bubba’s disappearance. Proceeding on this assumption, J.D. dispatched two more agents from SLED to Warrenton to begin canvassing the entire southeastern part of Caldwell County. The helicopter search turned out to be fruitless since the pilot didn’t have much information on what he was looking for. After several hours of search, the helicopter was told to set down at the small Warrenton airport and wait for further instructions.
Law enforcement officers from the sheriff’s department and SLED and several volunteers searched the swamp area. They had boats running up and down the rivers, and five members of the Sheriff’s Auxiliary Team with horses searched the swamp where they could get access. With no other leads on which to go, Caley and J.D. decided to work outward from Public Landing. Caley, J.D., and several other SLED agents started canvassing the area asking questions of anyone they could find home or walking the roads.
Staci was tending bar when Caley stopped at Flood’s Place to inquire about Bubba. Staci had heard about the missing special agent through the rumor mill since everyone who stopped in had their own theory as to what might have happened. Staci told Caley several of the more believable stories she had heard about the bar, but none of them seemed plausible to Caley.
“How far does the road beside the store go,” asked Caley?
“Oh, that just goes about a mile up to the old house where the Cobb Club members meet. As far as I know, no one else every goes up there.”
“What’s the Cobb Club,” asked Caley?
“I really don’t know much about it, but I understand it is a bunch of bikers and local rednecks that get together occasionally to drink and carry on. Mr. Oats owns the building, and he takes beer and snacks to the meetings to sell.”
“Thanks, I think I will ride up there to see what I can see.”
When Caley arrived in front of the clubhouse, no one appeared to be around. She got out of her car and walked around the building then went up the steps. As she stepped on the porch, the habitual six-inch opening in the swaying front door beckoned her just as it had to Bubba. She followed the almost identical motions that her fellow officer had followed leading up to his slaughter. With her gun held in front of her, she shoved on the partially ajar door. Her luck was better than Bubba’s. Oats or anyone else was in the room beyond.
“Hello is anyone here?” she said.
Receiving no answer, she put her gun back in her holster, reached to her left, and flipped the light switch. Then she walked around the room but saw nothing that would help her with her search. Anxious to search elsewhere, she started to walk out the door when she bent down to pick up a billiard ball that was on the floor beside the couch behind the door. As she did, she saw what appeared to be blood spatter on the couch and the back of the door, which had resumed its position six inches from the jam as though it was controlled by an invisible force. Being a forensic specialist, the apparent bloodstains were quick to arouse her suspicions. She carefully examined the spots. To a casual observer the stains probably would have meant nothing, but to Caley, she was certain they were blood residue that someone had ineptly tried to clean up. Furthermore, the pattern of the blood told her that whoever it came from could have been severely wounded. Maybe it had nothing to do with Bubba, but she couldn’t ignore it.
Caley called J.D. on her cell and told him what she had found. They agreed to question Oats about the situation. In the meantime, J.D. would post a person at the house to ensure that no one entered or left the premises. Within a few hours, they had picked up Oats and had him at the interrogation room at the jail complex in Warrenton.
J.D. led the questioning and started by trying to make Oats comfortable, offering him a Coke. “No thank you, but you can tell me what the hell you want and why have you brought me here,” said Oats.
After some small talk that had little to do with the case, J.D. finally got to the gist of the interrogation.
“We would like to ask you some questions about your clubhouse, Oats,” said J.D.
“What about my clubhouse? Nobody lives in it. Me and some of my friends get together there now and then for a few beers and to play some pool.”
“Have you ever seen Bubba Vandi, SLED Special Agent around there?”
“I never saw any SLED a
gent in this area before.”
This line of questioning continued. J. D. didn’t get any useful information, and he didn’t expect to do so. Since Caley had entered the clubhouse without a warrant, what he wanted to do now was to cajole Oats into giving him permission to search the house.
“Oats we heard from some of the people we have been questioning, that Bubba was at the last Cobb Club meeting you had. Is that right?”
“You gotta be shitting me. A SLED Agent at one of our meetings! Not likely.”
“Then you won’t mind if we look around in the house and the grounds will you Oats? We need to see for ourselves.”
“What are you looking for around there?”
“Oats you don’t get the point. If you’ve got nothing to hide, you shouldn’t have any objection to us looking around the place.”
“I don’t like the law, and I don’t like you poking around my place either. If I let you go in there, can I get out of here, now?”
“Why certainly Oats, you know how it is. We have to cover all the bases. Looking around your place is just one more item to check off our list.”
“OK, go on and look around. In the meantime, I will be leaving here if you don’t mind.”
Caley and J.D. had gotten what they wanted without having to get a search warrant. Both of them were still doubtful if the search would be worthwhile but they had to give it a try anyway since they had no other leads.
It was early in the morning when the two-person SLED forensic team arrived at the clubhouse. Using a blood illumination light, blood splotches showed up all over the area. Then the area where Bubba had been laying was covered with signs of blood that could be seen even though Oats and Tee had tried to clean it up. After only a few minutes of observation, the team told J.D. that it was highly likely that someone had been seriously injured in the room. Furthermore, the pattern of blood spots was consistent with wounding by gunshot. Outside the agent that had been, watching the house detected numerous tire tracks in the sandy parking lot. When he informed Caley and J.D. of his discovery, they took pictures and ordered that plaster impressions be made of all the tracks.
The investigative team had been working several hours when Oats rolled up in his green pickup. He stopped and got out. He didn’t go into the house. He just sat down on the tailgate of the truck and swung his feet. He had brought along a Miller and occasionally took a drink. Shortly Big Al arrived on his motorcycle and joined him.
“You got another Miller Oats,” asked Al.
“Yep in the truck.”
“I’d druther have a Bud, but a Miller will do.”
“You ungrateful bastard. I wouldn’t drink Miller if my favorite was Bud.”
Al ignored the insult and sat down on the tailgate beside Oats and said, “What the hell are they doing Oats?”
“I don’t know what they are doing. But I guess it has something to do with that missing SLED agent.”
“They won’t find anything,” then after a long pause he added, “I hope!”
Unfortunately, enough evidence had already been collected to do a lot of damage to the members of the Cobb Club. Oats and Al were taunting the investigators by watching, drinking and making jokes. This got to Caley, so she walked over to them and started a conversation.
“Oats, why don’t you introduce me to your friend here,” she said.
“This is Al, they call him Big Al for obvious reasons,” said Oats.
“Al, you have any information that would help us find Special Agent Vandi?”
“Nope! Why the hell don’t you leave us law abiding citizens alone and get out of here?”
Caley didn’t mind Al’s attitude since she wanted to arrest him anyway and take him in for questioning. She saw a small splotch of what looked like blood on his faded blue pants. It was just enough to give her a reason to arrest him if he refused to come in voluntarily. J.D. was outside of the house, saw Caley talking with the two men, and walked over. Caley was glad to see him, as she realized she needed his backup if she was going to apprehend Al. J.D. was somewhat surprised to hear Caley say, “Al I want you to come down to the station and talk with us.”
“What for?” Al asked.
“We need to ask you a few questions that’s all.”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“Then we will arrest you and take you in any way.”
Then Oats chimed-in, “Go on with ‘em Al. We don’t have anything to hide. As soon as they see that they’ll turn your loose.”
J.D. not understanding yet what Caley had in mind, said to Al, “come on over here and get in the car, we’ll have you back here in a couple of hours.”
While Al was waiting in the police SUV, Caley explained to J.D. what she observed and told him that as soon as they got to the station, they needed to get a sample of the spot on Al’s pants to see if it matched the blood in the house.
Al walked into the station interrogation room with J.D. following him. By this time, J.D. had also observed the spot on Al’s pants. No sooner than Al sat down at the table in the room, a technician walked in with a pair of red jail coveralls and told Al to change into them. Surprised, Al thought this was the signal that he was going to be incarcerated. He blurted out several comments in succession.
“I’m not about to put them things on. I’m not under arrest, and I’m not planning to wear no jailhouse clothes.”
“If you don’t do as I say, sir, we will arrest you and take ‘em off,” said the technician.
Reluctantly Al got the message and complied. He didn’t realize the officials needed his clothes to check for blood. As the tech walked out with the ragged old blue pants and dirty plaid shirt, Al mumbled, “I never seen such bullshit.”
Back in the laboratory, Caley watched the technician perform a Luminal test on the clothing. As she had suspected, the spot she had observed was blood. Not only that, but there were several other places on the pants and shirt indicating blood. The technician said he would package the clothes and samples collected at the clubhouse and send them to SLED Headquarters for a detailed analysis. J.D. followed up with a phone call requesting priority analysis on the items.
Caley and J.D. questioned Al until well into the night. As it turned out, he seemed to be very cooperative, hoping they would eventually let him go back home. Al still didn’t know they had found blood on his pants and shirt. During the interrogation, he revealed the names of most of the members of the Cobb Club. With this information, J.D. started running criminal background checks on all of them. He even did checks on Patrick and Staci.
The checks only took a few hours. About half of the 15 names Al provided had records. The predominant violation was for assault as a result of fighting. Other violations were for DUIs, breaking and entering, drug-related violations and minor crimes, most of which led to jail time. Oats had several reports related to civil disturbances and offenses related to his tenure as the head of the local KKK in the ’60s and ‘70s.
Patrick Alejandro’s record came back indicating that he had worked with the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) in Arizona as an informant. Caley made a particular note of this. Her thoughts were that if Patrick had cooperated with the DEA, maybe he would be more cooperative than the other people they had questioned. She filed the thought away in the back of her mind for now.
Caley, J.D., and one other agent questioned Al for eight hours. Finally, Caley changed the line of questioning by revealing to Al that they had found blood on his clothes.
His first defense was that he did a lot of hunting and the blood was probably from a deer he had butchered recently.
“Sorry Al, that won’t wash. The blood is human blood,” Caley said, even though she hadn’t yet received a complete report on the blood type.
“Well, I been in several fights lately. It must have been from one of the bastards I had a rumble with.”
“Who Al? Give us names.”
&nb
sp; “I don’t remember. Let me think.”
“Take all the time you need Al. We got all night.”
“Fuck we do, I wanna go home.”
“OK. Then give us the names of the people you had fights with, Al.”
Then Al said, “do I need a lawyer or somin’ here?”
“I don’t know Al. You are not under arrest yet. Do you think you need a lawyer?”
As is customary, Al had been read his Miranda Rights before he was questioned. This is the first time he mentioned legal representation but still didn’t request a lawyer. Caley continued the questioning and planned to do so until Al specifically requested a lawyer.
“I just wanna go home. Why don’t you go out and bother that old Fuzzy Headed Geechee? He is all over the swamp every time I go anyplace.”
“Who is the Fuzzy Headed Geechee Al? Tell us about him.”
Al suddenly realized that he had revealed his imaginary nemesis and didn’t want to let anyone know about his apparitions.
“Nobody!”
After several more hours of interrogation, Al was so tired that he was beginning to have illusions. Caley and J.D. could see this but didn’t let up on the questioning.
“Who is the Fuzzy Headed Geechee Al?”
Al didn’t reply.
“Me and Tee had a fight a few nights ago at the clubhouse, that’s where the blood came from.”
Finally, Caley put Al in a holding cell, hoping for some evidence to be reported on the clothes soon. She knew they couldn’t hold Al much longer without charging him with something.