The body lay just inside the church office, face-down, a flashlight in one hand, a set of car keys in the other.
"I knew he was dead the second I saw him," Stella-June said, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I can just tell things like that."
Police Chief Cal Brady nodded thoughtfully. "Seen a lot of dead bodies, have you Stella-June?" he asked in his slow, casual voice.
"Course not," she replied. "At least not this close up. TV mostly, but still, I knew he was dead as yesterday's news."
Stella-June Wyatt ran a janitorial service called The Cleaning Ladies, which was a misnomer as she was the only employee. She was tall and thin as a rail, with short brown hair and nervous hands, which she waved in constant circles when talking. She was sixty-one years old.
"It's Charlie, isn't it?" Stella-June said. "Charlie Young."
Brady kneeled next to the body. "Afraid so," he said as he placed two fingers on the man's neck. No pulse. The skin was also cool to the touch, telling him he'd been dead for several hours.
"Lord, lord, lord," Stella-June said. "Charlie's been a member of the church here for as long as I can recall. For as long as anyone can recall. He must be over eighty. You think it was a heart attack? How'd he get into the office? Why's he carrying a flashlight? What's he doing here at night anyway?"
Brady studied the body a moment longer then surveyed the office. Nothing seemed to be out of place. No sign of a struggle or break-in. Eighty-year-old man lying dead on the floor wasn't out of the ordinary. He'd seen his share of natural deaths to think this one was no different. But the flashlight made him curious.
"Can't answer any of those questions, Stella-June," he said. "Won't either, until the Coroner gets a look at him."
Stella-June's hands took flight again. "Lord, I hope it's not long. I hate having a body just lying there. Gives me the willies, I tell you right now. But look at him, he looks so calm, like he's sleeping almost. You think dying is like that, Chief? Just going to sleep and never waking up? I hope so. I hope when I die, it's like that. One night I just say my prayers, lay down and the next day I'm gone."
Brady put on a pair of latex gloves and carefully searched the dead man's pockets without moving the body. He found a wallet with credit cards (three), cash (eighty-five dollars), a half-stick of gum (Juicy Fruit), a tube of Chapstick (cherry-flavored), and an envelope. Written on the envelope in what appeared to be a woman's handwriting were the words: pick up C's book HCC from Rainy Day. The envelope contained a black and white photo of Charlie crossing a street. He seemed unaware that the snapshot was being taken. Brady flipped the photo over and discovered these words: Hear it not, Charlie; for it is a knell. That summons thee, to heaven or hell.
Stella-June peered over Brady's shoulder. "What's that?"
Brady placed the photo back into the envelope and dropped the contents into a plastic evidence bag. "Sorry, Stella-June, I'm not at liberty to share this. Not yet anyways."
"Pick up C's book HCC from Rainy Day," Stella-June said, reading the envelope through the clear baggie.
Brady quickly stuck the baggie under his arm.
"Why, that's Rainy Day Books," Stella-June declared. "That's my cousin Dani's bookstore. I wonder what HCC stand for? That doesn't look like Charlie's hand-writing. I wonder who wrote it? It couldn't be his wife. Charlie's been a widower for years."
Brady wore a weary but patient expression. "Stella-June, do me a favor and call Pastor James. Let him know what we got here."
"I already called him," Stella-June replied. "Right after I called you He's on his way over now. He couldn't believe it when I told him. He sounded awfully surprised. I guess he should have though. Surprised that is. I mean, what with a dead man lying on the carpet outside his study. Not every day that happens, thank the Lord. Least ways in Holly Springs. Now in Jackson or Memphis, it probably happens all the time, but not around here. Around here folks are more considerate."
Brady pulled out a small notebook, and scribbled in it. "Ten to one it's his heart."
Stella-June nodded approvingly. "That what I was thinking. Or maybe a stroke. Could have been an aneurism though. My cousin Bobbi died of an aneurism. That's a blood clot on the brain. Doctor said she'd probably had it for years, and then one day, it just broke loose and no-more-Bobbi."
Brady pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. "Doc. Chief Brady. Can you get over to Grace Methodist Church? I got a body for you." Brady listened a moment then said, "Charles Young." A half-beat later. "No, appears to be natural causes." Brady hung up then asked, "Stella-June, what time was it you found the body?"
Stella-June cocked her head to one side, thinking. "Six o'clock in the A.M., give or take. Might have been a few minutes earlier on account I sometimes stop by the donut shop, Claire's over on Elm Street, and get coffee, but not this morning. For some reason coffee just didn't sound good. Must be the heat. Supposed to be 100 today. Whew, I'll be glad when fall gets here."
Brady was patient with his questions. "You just opened the door and there he was."
"No," Stella-June said as she walked into the hallway in order to re-enact her discovery. "The door was already open. I saw Paul lying there, just like he is right now."
"And you didn't touch him or anything else?"
Her eyes went wide. "What, touch a man laying face-down where he shouldn't be laying at all? No, sir. Not me. Not in a million years."
Brady examined the office door. "Would this have been locked at night?"
"Oh, my, yes," Stella-June said. "They never leave the door to the office open. Pastor James would never allow it. He's very careful about letting people in and out of the church. Me, I think a church should be open 24-hours-a-day. I mean, isn't that what the church is for? Having folks come in when they need to, not just when they can? Of course, I know these days you can't just go around leaving the doors open, but – "
Brady interrupted. "Did Charlie have a set of keys to the office?"
Stella-June thought for a moment, twisting her mouth side to side. "I doubt it. Pastor James hardly allowed me to have a key, and I'm here three, four times a week. Can't imagine that anybody had a key other than him, me and Bernie."
"Bernie?"
"Bernice Atwater. Church Secretary."
"What time does she come in?"
Stella-June shook her head. "Hard to say. Sometimes about nine. Maybe a little earlier if she's folding bulletins for Sunday Worship. She's not here yet, if that's what you're asking."
Brady looked back to the corpse. "Any idea how he got in then?"
"No. Can't say that I do."
Brady glanced down the hallway and saw a pear-shaped man hurrying toward him. Pastor C.T. James had arrived. He shook hands with Brady. "Oh, dear, Lord," James said without looking at the body. "I can't believe this. I simply can't believe this has happened. In of all places, the Church! Who could have done this?"
Brady continued making notes in his notebook. "What makes you think something was done?"
James hesitated. He looked to Stella-June then back to Brady. "Well, a man is lying…lying in the office…and he's…well, he's dead…I just assumed…"
Brady nodded. "Probably a heart attack. Any idea what Paul was doing here last night?"
James ran a white handkerchief across his forehead. "No. None. He wasn't here when I left."
"And what time was that?"
"Midnight. I was working on my sermon for this weekend."
Brady made a few notes in his notebook. "Did you see Charlie at all yesterday?"
"No," James said without hesitation.
Pastor James was short, heavily-jowled with a pasty-white complexion. Even though it was seventy degrees in the church office, he was sweating profusely.
"Morning, gentlemen" came a voice from the doorway. "I believe this is where I take over." It was Coroner Dr. Lisbeth Groves.
"That was quick," Brady said.
Grove slipped on a pair of latex gloves. "You caught me on my way to work. So what do we have here?"
Brady said, "Stella-June found the body about an hour ago. She called me and I called you. That's about all I know for sure."
Groves got down on her hands and knees to examine first the deceased hands then the sides of the face. "Give me a hand, would you, Chief?" she said. "Let's turn him over."
Brady grabbed one arm, the Coroner the other, and together they gently moved the body onto its back.
"Funny how things like this happen," Stella-June offered matter-of-factly, "Take my Great-Aunt Siney for instance. A year ago, she went to her grandson's baseball game and got hit in the head by a foul ball. Well, she seemed all right until the next day at the Baptist pot-luck she keeled over in her three-bean-salad. Dead-as-a doorknob. Now, that got the ladies talking, let me tell you."
It didn't surprise Stella-June that no one in the room was listening to her. That happened quite often. What did surprise her however was why they weren't listening. Everyone was too occupied with the body of Charlie Young, or rather staring mutely at the bloody knife wound centered directly over his heart.
Stella-June followed their gaze. "Oh, my goodness," she said, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she spoke.
Chief Brady moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "Then again maybe it wasn't his heart, huh, Doc."
CHAPTER TWO
The news of Charlie Young's murder spread like wildfire across town. Within hours it was on the tip of every wagging tongue in Holly Springs.
"I heard he was stabbed."
"I heard he was shot."
"I heard he was shot and stabbed!"
"Where?"
"In the heart!"
"No, in the head!"
"Was he robbed?"
"Oh, absolutely! Charlie always carried lots of cash!"
"Where was he killed at the church?"
"In the office."
"In the parking lot."
"At the altar!"
"Altar? I bet he was praying! Probably begging for his life, poor man."
On and on and on flew the whispers, rumors and gossip. Most details of the affair were exaggerated or at least misinformed, but that didn't deter the speculation. Facts seldom get in the way of a good story. Especially when the story involves murder. The one thing they got right however was this: someone killed Charlie Young. Which meant this: a killer was walking the streets of Holly Springs; and quite likely a killer everyone knew.
By noon, Chief Brady had moved the body of Charlie Young to the morgue, searched the church office for additional clues, and notified the next-of-kin. There was only one investigative task remaining.
"Afternoon, Dani," Brady said as he entered Rainy Day Books.
Dani Birch sat behind the counter, glasses perched on the end of her nose, reading. She was in her late-forties, with auburn hair and intelligent hazel-flecked eyes. "Chief," she said with a warm smile. "I'll bet you've had quite a day so far, haven't you?"
Brady returned the smile. "Heard something, have you?"
"A little bit." she replied then shook her head with sadness. "Hard to believe though. Why would anyone want to kill Charlie Young?"
"Sixty-four dollar question," Brady answered. "You talked to your cousin Stella-June yet?"
Dani nodded. "You know Stella."
"She tell you about the envelope?"
Again the nod. "She said something about a book for Charlie?"
Brady retrieved the evidence bag, arranged the envelope so that it could be read then showed it to Dani. "What do you make of this?"
She read the words aloud. "Pick up C's book HCC at Rainy Day." She thought a moment. "Well, I'm sure this is a reference to my bookstore. I presume C stands for Charlie, but HCC?" She paused another moment, thinking. "I have no clue what that means."
"So, you weren't holding a book for Charlie?"
"No. In fact, I can't recall the last time he was here. Was there anything in the envelope that might help?"
Brady stared at the evidence bag for a moment, considering his options. How much could he share with someone outside law enforcement? Was it ethical? Was it legal? More importantly was it necessary? On the other hand, what harm could it do? Dani Birch was one of the smartest women Brady knew. Actually, all it came down to was trust. Could he trust Dani with information no one but he and the Coroner possessed?
Dani saw Brady's wheels turning. "If it's something you're not comfortable sharing," she said, "then don't."
Which was all Brady really needed to hear. A rule he'd learned in thirty years of law enforcement was never trust someone who is too anxious to get involved. The person who respects confidentiality is typically trustworthy.
Brady carefully removed the photo, showed it to Dani for a moment then flipped it over. She read the inscription aloud. "Hear it not, Charlie; for it is a knell. That summons thee to heaven or to hell"
"Any idea what that means?" Brady asked.
"It's a famous line from Shakespeare's MacBeth," Dani said. "Except the original words were Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell."
"What's it mean?"
Dani paused a moment as she recalled the story line. "In the play, immediately after MacBeth murders his brother Duncan, a midnight bell rings. MacBeth tells the reader his brother won't hear it because he's dead."
Brady shook his head with amazement. "Why would you remember something like that? You got Shakespeare memorized?"
Dani made a sweeping gesture across the store. "Books," she said modestly. "It's what I do. I read a lot of books."
Brady nodded. "So how does MacBeth kill this Duncan?"
"He stabbed him with a knife."
Dani and Brady stared at each other for a moment before the other shoe fell.
"Oh, my goodness," Dani said. "That's how Charlie Young died, wasn't it? With a knife."
Brady said nothing, he merely nodded.
"Do you think the killer sent the photo as a warning?" Dani asked.
Brady shook his head. "I think the killer sent it as an announcement. Here's what's going to happen."
Dani looked back to the photo. "Do you know of anyone else who's received one of these?"
"No, not that I'm aware of. Why?"
A worry line creased her brow. "I don't know, it's just that it seems familiar. A killer sending his victims their own photos before he murders them. I've heard of someone doing this before. I just can't remember where."
"Newspaper?" Brady suggested. "Internet? Movie?"
She shook her head. "No, in a book. A book I read years ago."
And then it clicked!
"Got it," Dani said as she spun on her heel and hurried to the book shelf labeled Literature. She scanned the shelves a moment then removed a thin hardbound volume entitled Music for Chameleons. "The C on the envelope doesn't stand for Charlie," she said as she flipped through several pages. "It stands for Capote. It was Truman Capote's book Charlie intended to pick up."
Brady watched with growing interest.
Dani quickly ran her finger down the Contents page of the book, stopped then flipped the book over so that Brady could read it. Part II listed an essay entitled: Handcarved Coffins, with the subtitle A Nonfiction Account of an American Crime.
Brady made a small clucking sound in the back of his throat. "Well, I'll be darned. That's what the HCC stands for: Handcarved Coffins. So what's it about?"
Dani explained, "It's the true story of a serial killer who sent his victims a handcarved coffin with their photo in it before he murdered them."
Brady looked back to inscription written on Charlie Young's photo. "Kind of like an announcement, huh? Here's what's going to happen."
"It's just a theory," Dani offered. "But it helps explain the writing on the photo and why Charlie wanted a copy of the book."
Pieces of the puzzle fell into place as Brady asked, "Why was the guy in the book killing people?"
"Revenge," Dani replied. "Revenge for something each victim had done."
Brady leafed through the pages of the story. "How many people did he kill?
"Several. Four I think."
"How'd they catch him?"
The room was silent for a long moment then Dani said, "They didn't. It's an unsolved case."
Those words hung in the air for a moment.
"Think I can get this book from the library?" Brady asked. "I'd like to read it."
"Take that one, Chief. It's on the house."
Brady nodded his thanks then turned to leave. Midway out the door, he turned. "Listen, this information. This clue we came up with. You mind if we just keep it between the two of us? For now anyway?"
"Of course," Dani replied. "Good luck, Chief."
Brady attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks. Something tells me I'm going to need it with this one."
CHAPTER THREE
In 1826 a Mississippi gambler named Eli Holly won a tract of land in a poker game. Upon visiting it for the first time he found the soil and easy access to water ideal for a new venture he was contemplating: cotton farming. He built his home near a fresh-water spring and proudly named his promising enterprise Holly Springs Plantation.
Holly was right about the soil. Cotton flourished. More farmers moved in. Soon a half-dozen plantations sprang from the ground, followed by two churches, a livery stable and a general store. In 1836, a petition for township was sent to Mississippi Governor Charles Lynch, who approved it the same day it was received. They named it Holly Springs.
The "Springs" as many locals referred to it, was a pleasant and quiet little town; ideal for raising a family. Neighbors looked after one another, grew their crops and enjoyed the serenity of their little out-of-the-way hamlet. 175 years later, it was still the same. The population was now over five-thousand, but the neighbors were still as kind and gentle as ever. Crime was almost non-existent.
Which is why Peyton Saunders thought nothing of the letter she received in the mail that Saturday afternoon. In fact, she opened it without noticing it had no return address. Inside the envelope was a black and white photo of her, sitting with a group of others on a row of wooden bleachers. She immediately knew where and when it was taken: at her grandson's baseball game one week ago. She was certain of the date and location because she was wearing the hat her grandson had given her as a good luck charm.
"What in the world?" she said aloud then turned the photo over. On the back, written in red ink, were the words:
Good evening, Peyton. I have brought you something.
But we had better come into the light…
Peyton checked the front of the envelope. No return address. Again she peered into the envelope itself. Surely there was a note, explaining the photo and the odd message, but the envelope was empty.
"Jim," she called to her husband. "What do you make of this?" She handed him the photo.
Jim Saunders looked it over for a moment, checked the outside of the envelope then handed it back. "Any idea who took it?'
Peyton shook her head. "Strange, isn't it? You think whoever sent it meant to include a letter?"
Jim shrugged. "Could be. I wouldn't worry about it. Probably your Aunt Judy. I bet she'll call in a couple days to explain."
Peyton smiled. "You're right. Judy would do something like this." She placed the photo under a magnet on the refrigerator door, and went about her errands for the afternoon, confident that the mysterious message would soon be explained.
Three days later, Chief Brady got the phone call.
"Chief, we got the body of a deceased female at the Cider Mill Bridge."
Brady rose from his desk, grabbed his hat and headed out the door. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
Ten minutes later Brady pulled up to the bridge and parked behind two patrol cars. He carefully made his way down the steep embankment to join the other officers. Lying partially hidden in the thick weeds was the body of a woman in her mid-thirties, fully clothed, but with a savage wound to the side of her head. Next to her was a blood-tipped axe. It was the body of Peyton Saunders.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chief Brady stood in the Saunders' living room, talking with Peyton Saunders' grieving husband Jim. It had been a long and difficult conversation. One however that was necessary, as Brady was trying to both investigate a homicide and console a grief-stricken spouse. All the obligatory questions had been asked. Do you know of anyone who might want to harm your wife? Did she have any enemies? Any threatening phone calls? etc., etc., etc. Saunders was never a suspect. His alibi was air-tight. Brady then asked the question that should been asked first.
"Jim, did your wife say anything about a picture being sent to her, with a message written on the back?"
Saunders was still reeling with shock. He stared at Brady for a moment as if he didn't hear the question, then without saying a word turned and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an envelope in hand. He pulled out the photo of Peyton and handed it to Brady. "This came in the mail a couple days ago."
Brady looked at the black and white image of Peyton Saunders sitting on the bleachers. On the back he read the words:
Good evening, Peyton. I have brought you something.
But we had better come into the light…
Brady tried not to visibly wince. "Any idea who took the picture?"
Saunders shook his head.
"Does this writing mean anything to you?" Brady asked.
Saunders seemed to focus for a brief second. "Do you think it has something to do with Peyton's murder?"
Brady wasn't about to venture a public guess. Not yet anyway. "Don't know for sure. Mind if I take this with me?" he asked, holding up the photo. "I'd like to show it to someone."
Again Saunders eyes went vacant, lost. He nodded then sat down heavily in a living room chair, staring blankly at a distant thing only he could see.
A half-hour later Brady walked into Rainy Day Books. Several people strolled the aisles. One of them, Glenna Ezell, looked up.
"Any idea who killed Peyton?" she asked loudly.
Brady tipped his hat. "Good to see you, too, Glenna."
Glenna poked a bony finger in Brady's direction. "I tell you who did it," she said. "It was that preacher fella."
Brady glanced around the store, looking for Dani. "Preacher? You mean Pastor James?"
Glenna adjusted her hearing aid. "What's that?"
Brady walked closer. "Glenna, now I want you to keep your voice down. No use starting any rumors."
Glenna dismissed Brady with a wave of her hand. "I saw them arguing," she said defiantly. "The day before she turned up dead."
That got Brady's attention.
"You saw Pastor James and Peyton Saunders arguing?"
"Plain as I see you talking to me. They were in front of the Wal-Mart, right there in the parking lot."
The other people shopping for books had quietly drifted closer to the conversation. Brady noticed, and pulled Glenna aside. He leaned in close. "You're sure about that?"
"Why, of course I'm sure," she sniffed. "I know an argument when I see one."
Brady handed his card to Glenna. "Would you mind coming down to my office tomorrow morning, and tell me what you saw?"
Glenna inspected the card for a moment then stuck it in her purse. "Ten o'clock be all right?"
Brady tipped his hat again. "That'd be fine. I appreciate it."
Glenna exited the store, head held high. She could hardly wait to tell someone the news of her involvement.
"Afternoon, Chief," came a friendly voice. It was Dani Birch.
"Can I talk to you a minute?" Brady asked. "Privately?"
His words were casual but the tone was urgent. Dani led Brady to her office and closed the door. Brady pulled out the photo of Peyton Saunders. Dani glanced at it briefly then turned it over. A worry line creased her forehead. "Was this sent to Peyton?"
"A couple days before she was killed. Does the inscription mean anything to you?"
Dani read the words aloud.
Good evening, Peyton. I have brought you something.
But we had better come into the light…
"Yes," she said after a moment. "It's a line from Dostoyevsky's novel Crime and Punishment. It's the most famous passage in the entire book."
Brady knew the answer but asked the question any way. "Does it have something to do with a killing?"
Dani handed the photo back. "These are the words spoken by the main character just before he commits a murder."
"And the murder weapon?"
"An axe. He killed a woman with an axe."
Brady groaned audibly. He'd been able to contain the details surrounding Peyton Saunders death. Only he, the two officers who discovered the body and the coroner knew that an axe was found at the scene
"How was Peyton killed?" Dani asked.
Brady said nothing.
A half-beat later, Dani said, "Oh, my lord."
"Yeah," Brady grimaced. "Oh, my lord."
The stood in silence a long moment before Dani spoke. "Have you been able to establish a connection between the two deaths?"
Brady shook his head. "It's early yet, but so far I can't find one. They might have known each other casually. Holly Springs is small but it's not that small."
"Chief, are you going to go public with this? As a precaution?"
A knot formed in Brady's stomach. "Looks like I have to," he conceded. "If the killer sends these photos out a few days ahead of time, I have to make it public. People got the right to know."
"It's going to cause panic."
"Panic I can deal with. It's the killing that's got to stop."
Those words hung in the air for a moment. Finally Brady attempted a smile. "Appreciate your help," he said as he left the office.
Dani walked out with him. They were half-way across the store when a thought occurred to Brady. He stopped. "Do you know Pastor James?" he asked. "Over at the Methodist Church."
"Sure, I know him. Everyone does."
"Any idea if Peyton Saunders went to church there?"
"I have no idea. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just curious."
Dani sensed Brady's question was more than mere curiosity. Suddenly the dominoes fell. "Charlie Young was found at the Methodist Church. If Peyton Saunders attended there also, that might be the connection you're looking for."
Brady pushed back his hat and smiled. "You're pretty good at this," he said. "Putting pieces together."
"It doesn't take much of a sleuth to do that. It makes perfect sense."
Brady opened the door then turned. "No, Dani. Nothing about this thing makes any sense at all." Again the tip of his hat. "Appreciate your help though. It would have taken me a long while to figure out what those messages on the photos meant."
"Wish there was something I could do before another shows up?"
"Me too," Brady sighed. "Me too."