Rivers to Blood by Michael Lister Read Free Book Online

traumatizing.
    In the near silence the shocking scene elicited, the only sounds beside whispers were those of the stretching rope straining against the tree and the torpid, rhythmic creaking of the branch as a breeze slowly swung the body side to side.
    When Dad saw me he walked over.
    “Can you believe this?”
    I shook my head. “It’s as shocking as it’s meant to be.”
    We were standing alone inside the wide circle of deputies, search and rescue, EMTs, and game wardens.
    “We’re waiting on FDLE to process the scene,” he said. “They’re heading over now from the landing.”
    “Any idea who he is?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “No one here recognizes him so far.”
    “You find his clothes?” I asked.
    “Nothing,” he said. “No clothes, no shoes, no boat, no nothing.”
    The body was hanging from a large oak tree in the midst of a hardwood hammock, surrounded by a thick canopy of magnolia, pine, oak, and cypress trees, beneath which grew a dense web of weeds, ferns, grass, and bamboo. Scattered all around were fallen trees, limbs, and leaves, very little light penetrating the full August foliage.
    “Who found him?” I asked.
    “COs from the prison looking for the escaped inmate.”
    “You find anything to indicate it might have been a mob or the Klan?”
    He shook his head. “No markings or symbols on the ground or trees. And not a single footprint.”
    I looked past the body at the seemingly impenetrable woods beyond.
    “How far to the nearest road?” I asked.
    “A few miles,” he said, following my gaze. “No way he brought him through there.”
    “Unless the killer didn’t bring him. They could have walked together.”
    He shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, “but it’s more likely they came by boat.”
    I nodded. “Why do it in such an isolated area?” I said. “He killed him in a way that is meant to be seen––to shock and horrify.”
    He looked to be thinking about it, then said, “That’s what I want you to figure out.”
    FDLE arrived and began to process the scene. As they took pictures and set up their equipment, Dad gathered all the local law enforcement together.
    “What we’ve got here is a murder,” he said, “and that’s what we need to call it. This investigation will require far more sensitivity than most.”
    As Dad spoke, I looked around the group of mostly men listening to him. Between the deputies, the search and rescue team, and the correctional officers, there were three men present who were running for sheriff. Standing next to Todd, Shane, Sandy, and Jake who had just joined us, Fred Goodwin looked bored with what Dad was saying and distracted by the FDLE techs behind him.
    “I realize what this looks like,” Dad was saying, “but for now this is just a murder. Until we’re absolutely certain, I don’t want to hear anything about race or mobs or lynching. Understand?”
    I looked to see the reaction of the handful of African-Americans mixed in among all the white faces. There wasn’t one—beyond drawn faces, hollow eyes, and clenched jaws.
    “And one more thing,” he said. “I realize this is an election year and some of you here want my job. That’s fine. If you win and get it, I’ll shake your hand and help you in any way I can. You can count on that. But until that happens, I’m still the sheriff and I’m in charge. Understand?”
    Only a few within the crowd nodded or gave any indication they were even listening.
    “We’re all professional law enforcement officers first,” he said. “You clear everything through me. You bring everything to me—no matter how small it may seem. And I better not hear of anyone trying to use this or any other case for political purposes. This isn’t political. This is life. This is death. The man hanging up there in that tree is someone’s son, maybe someone’s husband or father. He deserves the best we can give him, not what we can get from him.”
    Fred Goodwin began clapping slowly. “Well said,