Chapter 28
Jeff hadn’t been watching much TV lately it being deer season and all, but when he went down to Flood’s Place, he heard the news. Patrick, who had taken over the operation of the business as Oats had asked him to do, sat a Sam Adams in front of Jeff without asking him what he wanted.
“Mr. Jeff, you can’t believe what happened to Mr. Oats. The sheriff came two days ago and arrested him. They took him off in handcuffs,” said Patrick.
“What in the world for?” asked Jeff.
“They said he killed some people way back in the ‘60s and they also said he shot that special agent that was found in the swamp.”
“Was that all they charged him with?”
“Yea, as far as I know. That was enough I’d say, wouldn’t you?”
Jeff wasn’t surprised that they had caught up to Oats for shooting Bubba, but the news about the 1968 killings was a surprise. Jeff and everybody else around the area over 50 years old knew about the disappearance of several civil rights workers. It had been common knowledge that the KKK was responsible for it. Everybody around these parts also knew that Oats was the head of the local chapter. If he wasn’t involved with the missing boys, he certainly knew who was. After recently joining the Cobbs, he heard several people bragging that Oats had done away with Bubba. Although he never heard Oats admit anything about it, he knew that it was true.
What Jeff was most concerned about was whether Oats had been charged with the disappearance of Cyndi and Daryl. If so, he knew that he would be the next to be arrested for helping dispose of the bodies. Not only was he concerned, but he was downright scared shitless that the truth would come out. He drank the rest of the beer and walked out the door. As the door slammed shut behind him, he walked over to the dispensing machine and bought a daily paper. He took a quick look at the headlines that read, “68 Civil Rights Arrest.” Back at home, Jeff and Jake sat on the front porch and read the account. A separate article in the newspaper had the details on the shooting of Bubba, how he was dumped in the swamp and narrowly escaped with his life. Different stories described the history and disappearance of the civil rights workers, and the finding of a skull and bones in the Salketcher. Throughout the articles, it referred to Otis Schoenfeld as the “alleged” perpetrator of the crimes.
Jeff was now worried. He had no part in the other crimes Oats was involved with, but the murder and disposal of the remains of Cyndi and Daryl were another thing altogether. Not only did he not kill them, but also he was now convinced that he would never have harmed them even though he felt like doing so. But he knew he was now part of the affair since he was the impetus that set Oats off on the killing spree. Then he complicated the whole thing by helping dispose of the bodies. Guilt mixed with fear now consumed him.
I’m just an average law abiding citizen. I pay my taxes, I work hard every day. I never disobeyed the law. In fact, I have never received a ticket for a traffic violation. Life was so great when Lizzy was alive. She always helped me keep things together. Now everything in my life is upside down.
Jeff was so despondent that he was entertaining the idea of going to the authorities and telling them the whole story.
I honestly wanted to kill Cyndi. I discussed it with Oats. When Oats wanted me to help dispose of the bodies, I readily assisted. I’ll show them where the bodies were thrown in the swamp. I don’t expect to be forgiven for my evil actions, but my life without Lizzy isn’t much anyway. But before I go to the law, I want to let Cyndi’s Momma know what happened. If something had happened to one of my love ones, I know that I would want to have closure.
Confess! Yes, that is exactly what I’m gonna do. First, to Hattie Cooper, Cyndi’s Momma then lay it all out to the sheriff. I can’t live with this hanging over my head. I know I’m a weak man, but maybe I can be forgiven by the all mighty. I expect to be with my Lizzy in heaven soon anyway.
Jeff wasn’t thinking rationally. But his thought of turning himself in was probably not a bad idea under the circumstances. He decided to carry out his plan tomorrow, but right now, he needed to let Shorty know that he would be away from the place for a while. He would look out for Boo and check in on the house occasionally. Shorty would want to know where was going but Jeff decided not to let him know. He would find out about it in the newspapers.
Hattie Cooper was out in her yard hanging clothes on a line when Jeff arrived. He walked over to her holding his hat with both hands in from of him. His solemn demeanor said it all. Hattie realized right away that something was wrong. She suspected that Jeff had bad news but wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say.
“Miss Hattie, can we set down on the steps. I have something important to tell you.”
“Of course Mr. Jeff,” and they sat side by side on the steps of the house.
He put his arm around the old woman, drew her close and said, “Miss Hattie, I want us to pray together. Can we do that?”
Hattie further perplexed not only about Jeff’s visit, but now she was even more surprised that he wanted to share a prayer with her.
“Of course, Mr. Jeff.”
With both heads bent, Jeff started out reciting a long prayer, asking the God to forgive him for all his sins, asking for protection of his wife in heaven and many other godly things symbolic of a preacher in the pulpit. After several minutes, his rambling began bringing Cyndi into the prayer, then Daryl.
Then he said, “God, please forgive me for the things I have done to this woman’s daughter Cyndi and her friend Daryl.”
At that comment, Hattie jerked away from him and said, “What are you talking about Mr. Jeff?”
Jeff stopped praying and in a normal tone told the whole story. He started with his desire for revenge on Cyndi after his wife’s death, and went on for several minutes about his state of mind, joining the Cobbs, and his relationship with Oats. Then he went into detail about what happened the day that he and Oats disposed of the two young people. Hattie fell to the ground and started screaming. At first, Jeff just let her cry. Then he tried to help her up. Hysterical, she beat her fists against his chest and calling him a murder. Finally, she regained her composure enough to scream at him, “what the hell you gonna do now? You are a murderer. You have to pay for your actions. My Cyndi is dead. You have to do something.”
“Yes, I know. When I leave here, I am going to Warrenton and turn myself into the sheriff. I want to pay. Whatever they do to me it, don’t matter. I deserve it.”
At this point, Hattie was so distressed that she didn’t even ask about where the bodies were. Jeff had left out the part about dumping them in the swamp, and she didn’t think to ask. When Jeff left and turned onto the main road, Hattie was still screaming and crying.
I should have stayed and comforted her more. But what the hell, I haven’t done anything right lately, so why worry about my soul now.
Jeff walked into the jail complex where the sheriff’s office was located. A guard at the outer door inquired as to his business, and Jeff said he had some business with the sheriff.
The guard persisted, “what kind of business?”
“I want to report a murder,” said Jeff without hesitation.
“Who’s murder?”
“Just tell the sheriff I want to report a crime.”
The guard made a call to the sheriff’s secretary who asked the same questions, then said the sheriff would be out shortly.
Sheriff Thad Wilson, a 300-pound body on a 5-foot 6-inch frame, came out to meet Jeff. He stretched his hand out to Jeff as he approached.
The sheriff laboring from his heavy body, wheezed, “I understand you want to report a murder. Come into my office, and we can talk about it.”
Jeff shook the sheriff’s hand and followed the fat man through the security turn-style, past the secretary sitting at her desk and into his office. The sheriff sat behind a large desk and in front of a wall with several pictures of h
im within posed scenes receiving awards. Jeff sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“Tell me about the murder,” said the sheriff.
“I was part of the killing of Cyndi Cooper and Daryl Crews, and I am here to confess my part in the whole mess.”
“I haven’t heard about the two people you speak of, but I am listening so go on.”
Then Jeff started by telling about how he blamed Cyndi for the death of his wife, how he had thought about killing her for a long time, and how he confided in Oats Schoenfeld and the subsequent events leading up to dumping the bodies in the swamp. After listening to the story and asking several questions, the sheriff got up, went to the desk, and told Jeff he was under arrest. He realized that Jeff was not an irrational bonehead seeking publicity or sympathy. Sheriff Wilson had just hit a home run on publicity surrounding Oats’ 1968 civil rights crime. Now he saw another opportunity for taking credit for solving a second major crime. He placed handcuffs on Jeff and gave him the Miranda rights.
“Let’s go, Jeff. You need to tell your story to some more people. Are you willing to do that?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Sheriff Wilson called the deputy of the watch and told him to get over to his office right away and take custody of a man who had been arrested for murder. Within an hour, Jeff had been incarcerated and was placed in a cell by himself.