Where Southern Cross the Dog Read Free

the oak, the air began to thicken with the acrid stench of melted flesh and gasoline. When he was about five yards from the tree, Collins could see a half-burned, mutilated body lying on the newly charred dirt. He took a step back, looked away, and gagged into his handkerchief. He spit to get the taste out of his mouth.
    He walked back to the car and radioed the office.
    Barely fifteen minutes later, Bill Montgomery, the county coroner, was standing next to the sheriff, looking down at the horrific sight.
    â€œKind of warm out for a suit,” Collins said.
    â€œA little,” Montgomery agreed, removing his brown coat and placing it neatly on the grass. “How’d you hear about it?”
    â€œSame as before. Edna told Betty, and Betty told me at breakfast.”
    â€œEdna say how she found out?”
    â€œNot really.” Collins shook his head. “Always a phone call from somebody who passed by or heard some noises or something like that. You know Edna. She’s getting old. Sometimes she gets things mixed up. Heck, we’re lucky she remembers anything at all.”
    â€œSo this makes four,” Montgomery said.
    â€œIn six weeks. You ain’t tired of autopsies yet, are you?”
    Montgomery stood motionless, Collins to his right, and looked down at the corpse. He wished he had stayed home, chatted with Travis, and had a leisurely breakfast. Instead, here he was, staring at another body that offered few clues as to what might have happened or what he should do next.
    â€œSomebody said they saw Travis get back late last night,” Collins said, not taking his eyes off the body.
    â€œYeah, when I left the house this morning, he was still in bed,” Montgomery said, looking up at Collins who stood a couple of inches taller.
    â€œWhat’s he going to do this fall?”
    â€œWhat everybody else does: pray for the price of cotton to go up.”
    â€œWhat about after that?”
    Montgomery shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I don’t know, but he better be making money or making progress. One of the two.”
    The coroner moved away from the sheriff and began to circle the body. They had done this so often lately it was routine.
    â€œWell, we know it wasn’t an act of passion over a card game or a woman,” Montgomery said, not bothering to look at Collins. “Of course, neither were the other ones. Looks like our killer spent some time making the victim pay for whatever he did. The mutilation is extensive, a real mess.”
    â€œAnd nobody called me about coming out to watch a lynching,” Collins said, only somewhat kiddingly.
    â€œFrank, if this had been a lynching, you know the perpetrators would still have been standing around patting each other on the back when I got here,” Montgomery said. They both smiled uneasily because it was true.
    Montgomery leaned over and opened the coroner’s bag he had brought with him. He took out a pencil, a notebook, and two sample jars. He continued to study the body and look for any clues while Collins leaned back against the tree and puffed away at anotherunfiltered cigarette. He’d need the final report for Sam Tackett, the district attorney, as soon as Ruth could have it typed up. Eventually, the sheriff, the coroner, and the district attorney would meet to discuss the findings and develop a course of action for this and the three previous homicides.
    â€œRecognize him?” Collins said.
    â€œNo,” Montgomery said. He assumed that, like the other victims, this one had drifted into Clarksdale looking for day work in the fields. If someone wanted to work, this was the time to do it in the Delta. This victim may or may not have found work, but he certainly found the fastest way out of the Delta. Some would say he found salvation and freedom from the chains of a dirt field. That what God hadn’t given him in this life, he was sure to get in the next.
    Montgomery bent over the body and