adults.
The little door that had been fixed into the stove was closed this time and a brown dog with a white spot on its nose lay in front of it. Since there was no heat, I assumed his lying there was out of habit. The dog saw us, got up, and wandered over to me with its head down. When it walked it limped. I noticed that part of its right front foot had been cut off in some kind of accident. I patted it and it lay its head in my lap for more attention. I stroked its nose.
Grandma gave a little background on Daddy to Doc Tinn, who listened intently, nodding his head now and then. I found it embarrassing, and wouldn’t have told about how lost Daddy was these days, but no one asked me. Grandma had her own methods.
When she was finished, Doc Tinn shook his head. “That’s a real shame. I like Jacob. I really do.”
“That’s one reason we’ve come to you. We’re trying to get a handle on who done these murders.”
“Ma’am, I knew, I’d have told somebody.”
“We know that,” Grandma said. “What we want to know is if you know what kind of person done these murders.”
“I heard you talkin’ to Daddy,” I said. “I was on the roof of the icehouse. Things you told him, seems to me you know a lot about this kind of thing.”
“I knew you was up there. So did your Daddy. Not right away. But we come to know it.”
“You should have called those boys down,” Mrs. Tinn said.
“They done seen what they seen,” Doc Tinn said. “Wasn’t any undoing that. As for these murders, nobody knows a lot about this kind of thing. You mind hearin’ all this, dear?”
“My heart and stomach is a little too delicate for it, but my curiosity is strong as steel. I’ll stay.”
“Well now,” Doc Tinn continued, “I don’t know anything at all. Not really. But I do some reading, and I’ve given it some thought. This kind of killer, he don’t kill ’cause he don’t want to pay his john bill, you know what I mean?”
Grandma nodded.
I thought on it. John Bill? I had no idea what he was talking about.
“He enjoys hurting people. Like that de Sade. The idea of them sufferin’ makes him happy.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” Grandma said. “Surely he can’t want to do this kind of thing. He’s got be driven to do it.”
“You’re right. He is driven. But he wants to do it. He likes doing it.”
“You don’t know that,” Grandma said.
“Ma’am, you asked me my opinion. That’s all I can give.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor. Please continue.”
“I have a book in my house called Psychopathia Sexualis, by a fella named Richard Krafft-Ebing. It’s a morbid curiosity, I suppose, but it interests me. It tells a lot about people who enjoy being hurt-”
“They want pain?” Grandma asked.
“Yes. De Sade discussed it in his books.”
“I haven’t read them,” Grandma said. “I don’t know that I would want to.”
“You’re probably right, ma’am. And there are those who enjoy giving pain. It gives them control over people they might not normally have control over. Or, maybe they just like the idea of power.”
“These women,” Grandma asked. “They’re prostitutes?”
“Seems that way.”
“Isn’t that control enough?”
“That’s control by permission. He wants complete control. It’s also possible he experienced something bad in his life, saw something affected him. Got him so he feels he’s got to do this. Someone else might not be affected by this thing happened to him, but for some reason, his basic nature, the intensity of the event, he has been changed. And, in the case of our man, not for the better. There’s another thing mentioned in the book. Fetishism.”
“What?” Grandma asked.
“Obsession with certain things.”
“I’m obsessed with peppermints, but I don’t kill people.”
Dr. Tinn smiled. “Fetishes like, say… an obsession with shoes. He might only pick victims that wear a certain kind of shoe. Or they’re of a certain type. Or maybe he likes to have relations with a woman while she wears a certain kind of shoe.”
“Like prostitutes?” Grandma asked.
Doc Tinn nodded. “That could be it. Could be he likes to leave a little somethin’ that means somethin’ to him. Say when he was young, he got all confused on sex and hurtin’. It happens. Could be he keeps some of their clothes or shoes after he does his murders. Could be because they’re colored. Prostitution may just make them available and it hadn’t got a thing to do with their color or their way of makin’ money.”
“But one of the victims was white,” I said.
“That’s the one got Mose hung,” Doc Tinn said. “I knew Mose. He didn’t have anything to do with any of this business. Lot of things make him look good for it. Mose was on the river. Had a boat. Went up and down the river all the time. Purse was found on his table. Also the fact his wife and son ain’t around no more and no one knows where they are. And there hasn’t been another murder. But Mose was too old and not strong enough.
“Whoever this is, they might be doin’ this ’cause they don’t like the way some women carry themselves. Maybe thinks any woman he can have, or has had, isn’t worthy to live. Wants to enjoy the woman’s favors, but soon as he does, she’s no longer on a pedestal. She isn’t the Virgin Mary any longer. Or in the case of the prostitutes, he already hates them for what they are.”
“Way he ties them up,” Grandma asked. “Anything in that book on that? Could it tell us somethin’?”
“We’re back to fetish. Bondage. Control. Humiliation. He likes all them things, I figure. He could be someone knows ropes and how to tie them. You know your Dad brought that dead white woman over for me to look at? He didn’t know she was white at the time. You know that?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Knots tied on her was like loggers use when they don’t have chains. Have to use ropes. Small operations. But that don’t tell you much. Darn near every man in the county and bunches outside have worked logs some. I’ve seen men use them same kind of ties for trussin’ up a dead hog to be carried. And on a smaller scale I’ve seen similar ties used to fasten on hooks to fishin’ line. I’ve used them myself. Used to be everyone knew how to tie a good knot.”
“If Mose didn’t do it, you think since there hasn’t been a murder, fella’s moved on?” Grandma asked.
“Possible. But I doubt he’s quit murderin’. He’ll do it again, wherever he goes, and there’s a chance he was doin’ it somewhere else before he come here.”
“But he could just work it out of his system?”
“Who am I to say. I doubt it. Unless they get too old. Or they’re in jail or a nut house or somethin’.”
“Any guess about the color of this man?” Grandma asked. “Any guess about anything?”
“Outside of what I told you, I can’t say. Maybe someday someone will make a science of this. I’ve tried to learn what I can out of curiosity, but what I know ain’t much.”
“There was a warning about Mose being lynched,” Grandma said, and she gave Doc Tinn some of the details. “Figure whoever’s been doin’ this didn’t want an innocent man to die for what he done. His conscience got the best of him.”
“You’re a credit to Christian thinking,” Doc Tinn said. “But I think he didn’t want someone else to take credit for what he done. He’s right proud. Kind of signs all his work, so to speak. Same kind of ties and cuts. Does it all along the river, or takes them to the river. He feels comfortable there.”
I thought: Like the Goat Man.
“I don’t think this fella’s got a conscience. Least not the way we think of one. But he ain’t no monster in his ever-day life. He’s normal like. Not someone you’d expect.”
“Unless it’s Mr. Nation,” I said. “Or one of his boys. They’re monsters.”
Doc Tinn rubbed his chin, then nodded. “I know them. That young one, Joshua, he likes to set fires. And Esau, the older one, he’s hired couple of colored boys to take him out boat fishin’, and they say he’s took the fish he’s caught and thrown ’em out on the bank and just stomped them. Had a real delight in it. So, you could be right. It could be any one of them Nations, and I wouldn’t be surprised. People got that much hatred and meanness in
