Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 9

A Killer’s Tale story continued.

It was early morning, and Jimmy drove his new Galaxie down Route 123.

He was three miles from Boldger and sang along to the “Country Girl” song by Faron Young.

He stopped glancing in his rearview mirror an hour ago, figuring he was in the clear.

A little while later, Jimmy drove down his street, pulled his new Ford Galaxie into the driveway, and turned off the engine.

He stared at his home briefly, then tooted the horn to let Betty know he was back home.

A few seconds later, Betty walked out of the front door and saw the new car in the driveway. It took her a few seconds to see Jimmy behind the wheel. She looked bewildered.

Jimmy got out of the car and stood back with admiration for his car.

Betty walked up and looked at the beautiful new car. Then she saw the grin on Jimmy’s face and got upset. “We can’t afford this on a Sheriff ’s paycheck!”

“Don’t worry. Daddy said he’d give me a new car yearly since I didn’t want to join the family business. It’s part of my inherence he’s giving me early.”

She looked at him, unsure if she had heard correctly. “Did you say he’s giving you a free car every year?”

“Yep, now sit inside, take a whiff of that new car smell.”

Betty sat in the driver’s seat and looked around the inside. She took a whiff, and the aroma of a new car was sweet to her nostrils.

She looked at Jimmy’s right bicep and saw a skull tattoo with the “A” letter below the right side of the jawbone. “Why did you get a tattoo?” she said with a frown.

Jimmy rubbed his bicep and looked at his tattoo with admiration. “Army guys gotta have tattoos.”

“You’re in the reserves.”

“I know, but I’m still a soldier.”

“What does the A mean?” she asked.

He thought for a few seconds to come up with a viable answer. “Ah, Army.”

She discreetly rolled her eyes and accepted his foolishness.

She took the key out of the ignition and got out.

Jimmy looked concerned when she walked to the rear of the car.

Betty stuck the key in the lock, and Jimmy’s heart raced in a panic. She opened the trunk.

He quickly slammed it shut and almost slammed it on her hand. She jumped back, shaken by his behavior. “What’s your problem? I just wanted to see how big the trunk was!”

Jimmy glared at her. “I have secret Army Reserve criminal files you’re not authorized to see,” he lied through his teeth.

Betty looked at Jimmy’s standard serious look and got intimidated. She discreetly rolled her eyes while she walked away from the car. “Bring me your clothes, and I’ll do load in the washer,” she said when she got to the front door.

Jimmy stared at the trunk while Betty went inside the house. When he felt the coast was clear, he rushed over and opened the garage door.

Jimmy rushed back to the car’s rear and opened the trunk. He reached inside, grabbed his folded tent, and rushed it into the garage, dropping it to the floor.

Jimmy rushed back to his trunk and removed that old wooden chest he bought at the Pawn Shop.

He rushed back inside his garage, placing the chest on his workbench.

Jimmy rushed back to the trunk, removed the camera and tripod, closed the trunk, and rushed it into his garage.

After he turned on the light inside the garage, he closed the garage door.

Jimmy took his camera, tripod, folded tent, and wooden chest into his new dark room.

He turned on the red light, locked the door, and went to work on developing the film.

In a while, Jimmy developed the pictures he took of Ricky and himself in his fishing boat. “Pretty good,” he said while he had the two pictures clipped to a line to dry.

Jimmy returned to developing the rest of the pictures.

Twenty minutes passed, and the pictures taken of Annette developed as proof of that horrible crime.

Jimmy reached under the developing table, removed a small locked box, and opened it, removing the twelve pictures he had previously taken of the naked colored girls he had raped.

He opened the wooden box and emptied the pictures of Annette, the twelve-colored girls, Annette’s clothes, her Corvair car key, and her driver’s license into the wooden chest.

Jimmy left his dark room and went into the garage, opening an access panel in the ceiling. That attic space would be the perfect hiding place, as Betty got the creeps going into the attic after she saw a mouse and spiders up there two years ago.

A small jar with a screw-on lid filled with nuts and bolts

was the perfect hiding place for Annette’s teeth. He had her teeth mixed with those nuts and bolts.

Jimmy rushed back into the dark room and stashed that jar in the wooden chest.

His next move was to cut a power saw into pieces. Except for the bat’s bloody tip, the cut pieces were dumped in the trash can. That bloody tip was stashed in the wooden chest.

While Jimmy recalled his time with Annette, he decided to quit raping young colored girls. Killing white girls would now satisfy his sick desires.

Jimmy locked the chest with a padlock he had previously bought at a hardware store. Then, using a stepladder, he took the wooden chest into the attic, placing the wooden box ten feet away from the access hole.

After climbing down from the attic and reinstalling the access panel, he secured the ladder in the garage. Then, he stashed the folded tent under a wooden bench.

After securing his darkroom, Jimmy went into the house and showed Betty the pictures of Ricky and him on their fishing trip. Betty pretended to show an interest.

Later that night, Jimmy talked more about his annual trip with Billy during dinner. Betty knew better than to ask why he spent all that time in the garage.

Two days passed.

In the woods outside Oak Hill, Alabama, two young hunters stumbled upon Annette’s naked, dead body still tied to the tree. They had killed lots of animals, but seeing a naked dead woman sickened them.

They returned to their pickup truck immediately, raced back into town, and contacted the Sheriff.

Twenty minutes passed.

FBI Agent Robert Fillert sat behind his desk, drinking coffee while reading a case file.

“Fillert,” said Agent Johnny Moore, his superior, walking up to Robert’s desk.

“Yeah, boss,” replied Robert.

“The Sheriff down in Oak Hill, Alabama, wants help. Some hunters found a dead naked girl tied to a tree out in the woods.”

“Dead naked girl. They’re a dime a dozen,” said Robert, not excited about this news.

“Whatever. Take Meyers with you, go down there, and see how we can help,” said Agent Moore, who turned around and walked away.

“I’ll have this case solved and the killer behind bars in no time,” bragged Robert while he placed his case file on the desk.

Four hours passed.

Out in the woods outside Oak Hill, Alabama, sixty-year-old Sheriff Jay Rollins had the area roped off, and two of his deputies guarded her body. He contacted the FBI for assistance because he knew Annette from the bar.

One of the deputies who guarded the area was named Ernest Booker. Ernest had been a member of the KKK for the past twenty years. He loved to spill his guts about police activities, as it was the only way he could feel important.

Then, a few minutes later, a black 1962 Chevrolet Bel Air government car drove down the dirt road and stopped behind the Sheriff ’s 1960 Chevrolet squad car.

Robert Fillert and a younger FBI agent, Carl Meyers, left the Bel Air.

They walked over to Sheriff Rollins, who flashed their FBI identification cards.

“I’m agent Robert Fillert, and this is agent Carl Meyers,” Robert said.

“Sheriff Rollins,” he said while he shook hands with Robert and Carl.

“Well, Sheriff, you did the right thing by calling the FBI. Watch and learn, as I’m the best,” Robert said in an arrogant tone that did not impress the Sheriff.

The two deputies who guarded the crime scene also rolled their eyes, not impressed with the government agent.

“The scene was spotless. No tire tracks. No footprints and no clothes. But we know her as a barmaid at a local bar outside town. Her name is Annette Boyer,” Sheriff Rollins said.

Robert and Carl walked up to Annette’s naked body, where flies now buzzed around her dead flesh.

“Who found her?” Robert asked while he looked her over for any clues.

“Two hunters.”

“I want to talk to them,” Robert requested.

“That can be arranged,” Rollins replied.

“The killer sure beat the hell out of her with some blunt object. But what’s with the black mark on her stomach?” Robert said while he moved in closer to examine it.

“It smells like axle grease,” Rollins replied.

Robert looked at Rollins and noticed his eyes welled up. “You okay, Sheriff?”

“I’ve known Annette ever since she was born,” Rollins said while he tried to fight from crying.

“Well, fear not, Sheriff, I’m like a Canadian Mountie. I always get my man,” Robert replied with a cocky tone.

Carl rolled his eyes, as he’s heard this cocky attitude too many times.

Ernst noticed Carl rolling his eyes and lightly chuckled, as he was not impressed with Robert.

“Go get our camera. I want tons of pictures,” Robert ordered Carl.

Carl nodded in agreement, rushed toward their car, returned, and snapped fifteen good pictures of Annette and the area.

After taking the pictures, Robert and Carl headed out to Sheriff Rollins.

Robert and Carl followed the Sheriff into Oak Hill so the two hunters could be interviewed.

After the interviews, Robert and Carl headed back to Atlanta. Robert knew he would have this case solved within months.

Three days later, Buster’s Bar in Oak Hill was packed with patrons who came to pay tribute to Annette.

Ernst was the center of attention while he told the story of the arrogant and cocky FBI agent who swore he would catch Annette’s killer.

“It’s one of those uppity colored boys if you ask me,” one guy furiously yelled.

“Let that sissy FBI agent identify him, then we’ll take care of justice ourselves,” another guy yelled out who was a KKK member with ties to KKK chapters in Mississippi.

One of the other KKK members simulated a black man being hung. Half of the patrons in the bar, including Bruno, nodded in agreement.

A week later, the news Ernst told at the bar had migrated to Boldger through the KKK gossip channels.

Jimmy sat in Hank’s Bar, having his daily Bourbon and Cokes while discreetly listening to Ernst’s story. “What ya think of that FBI agent?” the barmaid asked Jimmy while she brought him a fresh drink.

“Well, I can imagine he’s just doing his job, and he’ll probably catch that scumbag killer before too long,” Jimmy said, then sipped his new drink. But his thoughts were going in another direction. He wanted to make this a game since he hated FBI agents. “Lawmen should never wear suits!” he thought while sipping his drink. This was an annual event, and I swore this FBI agent would never catch him.

Thanksgiving arrived, and it was another loving family moment at Jimmy’s home. Betty slaved all morning in the kitchen, cooking a turkey with all the fixings.

Later that night, Melvin, Ricky, and Emily arrived for their traditional Nalla Thanksgiving dinner.

After Melvin said grace at the dining room table, he showed a sign that he was getting mellow in his old age. He told Jimmy and Ricky he was proud of his two boys. Jimmy and Ricky glanced at each other and smiled, knowing what happened in October.

It was early December.

In the Atlanta office, Robert sat behind his desk, drinking coffee and reviewing Annette’s case file.

Agent Homer Maris walked up to Robert’s desk.

“Hey, Robert. How’s that case down in Alabama going? Find the killer yet?”

Robert glanced up from his case file at Homer. “Not yet,” he said, then looked back at the file and the pictures of Annette tied naked to that tree.

Homer walked away and walked by Carl Meyer’s desk.

Carl had seen Homer talking with Robert. “He doesn’t have a single lead,” he told Homer.

“Ah, I see,” replied Homer, then he walked away. Carl glanced over at Robert, who appeared frustrated he was going nowhere with this case. Carl got a bit of a chuckle out of Robert’s frustration.

Homer walked away with a smirk, as he never liked Robert’s cocky and arrogant attitude.

Weeks passed, and Christmas 1962 was right around the corner.

Jimmy heard through the grapevine that Homer was coming home to spend Christmas with his folks.

It was Christmas Eve, and Jimmy invited Homer to the house for Christmas cheer.

They just sat down on Jimmy’s sofa in the living room.

A Christmas tree was decorated and lit up with lights by the window. All decorated by Betty without Jimmy’s assistance.

Jimmy and Homer opened up their cans of Black Label beer.

Jimmy looked at Homer while he drank his beer. “Well, Homer, nothing much has happened with me here in Boldger. Crime has been quiet. Even my MP reserve duty has been quiet. Not like that dead private down at Fort Benning earlier in the year,” he said to get the dialogue going.

Homer took a drink of beer. As usual, he was itching to tell what was going on with his office. “Well, did you hear about that dead girl found in Alabama?” asked Homer while he set his beer can down on the coffee table.

Jimmy pretended to be searching for his memory. “Nah, can’t say I heard about that one. What’s the story?” he said, taking another drink of beer while looking at Homer.

“She was found tied naked to a tree in the woods outside Oak Hill, Alabama,” said Homer, then took another drink of beer.

“Shot?”

“No, someone beat her with a blunt object.”

“That’s terrible,” replied Jimmy, pretending to be concerned.

“Yeah, beat her pretty good and even left a mark,” stated Homer.

“What kind of mark?”

“The number one with axle grease on her stomach. Strange.”

“That is strange. So, are you working on the case?” asked Jimmy and took another drink of his beer. He hoped Homer was on the case, as he knew Homer was never the sharpest kid in school.

“Not me. They have Agent Robert Fillert working the case,” said Homer, then he took a drink of his beer. He’s one of those agents who thinks he’s the best. He’s arrogant.”

“I see,” said Jimmy, and he started to get a little nervous about that FBI Agent being on the case.

“But, at the moment, he doesn’t have a single lead,” said Homer, then chuckled. “That’s great for that arrogant asshole. Not a single piece of evidence. The scene was wiped clean,” he added, taking another beer drink.

Jimmy took a drink of his beer and felt better and had a gut feeling he got away with killing Annette. “You’ll have to keep me up to speed with this case. After all, I’m also in law enforcement and can learn from this to protect Boldger.”

“That killer must be pretty smart to clean his tracks and not leave any evidence behind,” replied Homer, motioning to Jimmy that his beer can was empty.

“Yes, he must be pretty smart,” said Jimmy while he got off the sofa and headed into the kitchen for more beer.

In the kitchen, he saw Betty eating some cookies and drinking tea while she read her recent Woman’s Day magazine issue.

He got two more Black Label beers from the fridge and returned to the living room.

“So Homer, tell me more about this Agent Robert Fillert. I would like to learn from his mistakes,” said Jimmy while he handed Homer a can of beer.

“Well, like I said, he’s cocky and arrogant and always believes he’ll catch the crook,” said Homer while Jimmy sat down on the sofa.

Christmas day arrived and passed.

Betty decided to spend the rest of the Christmas week with her sister Maggie in Montgomery. She left early Wednesday morning and drove the new Galaxie.

Jimmy used his squad car to return from work that week.

With Betty gone, Jimmy had time to revisit his chest of souvenirs.

So that Thursday afternoon, Jimmy bought the latest issue of the True Detective magazine. This one was of interest since it had an article about Annette’s killing. It also mentioned how the hunters found her dead body and that the FBI agent in charge was Robert Fillert. Jimmy was proud and felt like a celebrity but couldn’t tell anyone.

Jimmy immediately drove to the dealership and had to show off that article to Ricky, and his brother was impressed.

On the way back to the police station, Jimmy drove his squad car through the colored section of town.

He drove down that dirt road, stopped by Melissa’s home, and noticed Melissa sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch with her daughter.

Jimmy drove off down the dirt road.

Later that night, Jimmy went into his garage’s attic. He brought down that wooden chest, carried it into the living room, and opened it.

He left the room and returned a few seconds later with a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. He opened the bottle and took a healthy swig of whiskey.

Jimmy stripped naked, reached inside the chest, removed the pictures of Annette and the colored girls, and began masturbating while glancing at the pictures and articles about Annette.

It didn’t take Jimmy long, and he ejaculated on the page about Annette, closed the magazine, and the pages he ejaculated on stuck together.

He dropped it, locked his pictures into the chest, and lit a Lucky Strike. A satisfied smile grew on his face.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Jimmy locked and returned the chest to its hiding place in his attic above the garage.

It was New Year’s Eve.

Jimmy met with Ricky at Hank’s Bar for some drinks to ring in 1963.

Jimmy arrived at Hank’s Bar, which was half-full with the local Boldger residents and sat at a booth.

“Hey, Sheriff, what’s your pleasure?” asked Nancy, the fifty-four-year-old barmaid who strived to look like she was in her thirties. She was short and caked on the makeup, thinking it made her look young. But it didn’t, as it made her look like a hooker.

“Hey, Nancy, usual,” replied Jimmy.

“Bourbon and Coke coming right up, darling,” she said, winking at Jimmy.

Jimmy glanced up when he saw the front door to the bar open, then smiled at the sight of Ricky entering.

“Hey, big brother,” said Ricky while he walked up to the booth.

Nancy brought Jimmy his drink. “Hey, Ricky, want the usual?” asked Nancy while she set Jimmy’s drink down in front of him.

“Yes, seven and seven.”

Nancy winked at Ricky and then walked away. Ricky suddenly looked bothered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, Emily and I had another fight. I got pissed and hit her a few times. She locked herself in her bedroom and cried.”

“Don’t worry about her. You can sleep at my house. She’ll forget it by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Ricky said, noticing Nancy walking over to their table.

Nancy set Rick’s drink down on the table. She winked at him, then walked away.

“I told her that if she ever left me, you would arrest her,” Ricky said, then took a drink.

“I could find some charge,” Jimmy said, then he took a drink. “Actually, I don’t think she likes me.”

Ricky looked at Jimmy and hesitated. “You’re right. She said, in the past, that you give her the creeps. Then, I slapped her afterward. She’s never stated that again.”

“Thanks for looking after my little brother.”

Jimmy and Ricky smiled as they knew they could trust each other until the day they died.

It was finally midnight, and Jimmy and Ricky welcomed 1963 by being drunk.

They left Hank’s bar and drove home, swerving all over the streets of Boldger.

They both fell fast asleep the second they arrived at Jimmy’s home.

Back to reality.

Sam jotted down some more notes.

Marty was still engrossed in the story.

Billy was still fuming mad.