Free Gypsy Spirits by Marianne Spitzer Page B

at the back of the sheriff’s station across from the single jail cell. Bulk was told to sit by the front desk and not leave while the sheriff went outside to talk to the chief and the coroner. 
    Dr. Webster had been the county coroner for as long as most people remember and must’ve been close to seventy years old. A short man with a small pot belly, he was smart and analytical. When the sheriff walked out, Dr. Webster held up his index finger. “I believe the missing young man is most likely your dead body.” 
    The sheriff had that figured out, but didn’t say anything. 
    Dr. Webster went on, “I’m having the body taken to the morgue in Oaklin to be sure we have the missing man, but one thing I can tell you is something mighty strange went on up there last night.” 
    The sheriff asked, “Strange?” 
    “Extremely, I believe the young man died outside the cabin. There was a large area of blood on the ground. There are a few traces on the porch. The body was obviously moved inside the cabin after he died. Then it was set afire.” 
    “Okay, maybe he was hit on the head and there wasn’t much blood.” 
    “No,” responded the coroner, “there is evidence there was a lot of blood outside, and possibly it burned, too.”
    “Possibly?” asked the sheriff. 
    “Yes, possibly and possibly the blood was removed before the fire,” quipped Dr. Webster. 
    “Removed?” A shocked Sheriff Richardson almost yelled.  “Just send me a report when you ’re done, please.”
    “Okay,” the coroner nodded as he got in his car and headed out of town. 
    “What the hell is he talking about?” the sheriff asked the chief. 
    “I don’t know. He said this was one of the biggest mysteries the county’s seen in years. He took soil samples, soot samp les and dug a hole where the boy was supposedly killed so he can check for the amount of blood that soaked into the earth. I think he believes in Daniel Logan’s ‘spirits.'” 
    “Spirits or not,” replied the sheriff, “I’m going to find out from those three boys what went on up there and I’m going to start with Garret.” 
    “Good luck,” said the chief as he headed towards his car.     
    Sheriff Richardson simply smiled and waved.  
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven: Madness
    Sheriff Richardson entered the station, and Bulk jumped to his feet.
    “Not so fast, fella,” said the sheriff. He glanced in Bulk’s direction, “I’m talking to Garret first.” 
    The sheriff knew Garret would stick to whatever story the boys had cooked up, and once he had all those details he could change them enough to scare Bulk into telling the truth. He smiled to himself while he walked down the hall to where Garret was waiting. Bulk watched the sheriff walk away, wishing he was anywhere else. He repeated the story Garret forced him to memorize over and over in his mind. Garret told Bulk he was the loose link in their chain, and he better remember everything the way they discussed. Even though they’d been friends for years, Bulk was afraid of Garret. He sat quietly, his panic increased with each breath.
    When the sheriff opened the door, Garret snarled, “It’s about damn time. Where’ve you been?” 
    “Knock it off, Garret, or you’ll spend the night in our cell,” the sheriff snapped back.
    Examining the barren room with its peeling pale green paint and painted black cement floor Garret knew the cell wasn’t much better or worse. He’d spent some time there, and aside from hearing the sheriff snore, Garret figured it wasn’t as bad as some places he’d slept. The cell wasn’t much of a threat, but he had no intention of letting the sheriff know how he felt. Garret sat down. He knew he could beat the sheriff at his own game. 
    “Let’s start at the beginning about last night,” said the sheriff as he sat down with an old wooden table between them. 
    Garret told the sheriff the same story he’d heard from