‘Do you think this could be about race? With the story of Lincoln’s Indian-hating uncle and the Todd’s owning slaves? Are they trying to demonstrate to the world that Lincoln might not have been the equal opportunity man which history has presented to us for centuries?’
‘Well why steal a body? Why not just vandalise a few sites? Or write a book?’
‘It wouldn’t have the same impact,’ Vanessa said, biting her nails, a habit she had grown up with whenever she was in deep thought. ‘It would’ve just been some petty vandalism. It wouldn’t have even made the local paper.’
‘And what has it got to do with me? Why is the culprit targeting me directly?’
‘Well we’ll know more when we see what this Michael Yarn has to offer us.’
As they passed the gift shop, Vanessa stepped in and collected a couple of books on Mary Todd, Thomas Lincoln and Abraham’s life before he moved to Illinois. Much had been written about Lincoln’s life after he moved to Springfield, but even Vanessa with her multiple degrees on the subject, struggled to find much information on the legend during those formative years.
They stepped back into the car and she began to read up on the nation’s hero, ready to dig up all the details on him. No matter how grizzly.
Chapter 8
A car accident on the I-64 forced Vanessa and Darnell to take an alternative route home through Indiana. It was a long and tiresome drive, added to only by the uncomfortable silence which nestled between them. Jackson only wanted to talk about the case, despite being clearly unsettled by something back home. The topic of conversation was rather short-lived with their limited leads. Instead, Vanessa entertained herself with the books which she’d picked up earlier in the day.
‘I’m glad we’re coming back via Indiana.’ Vanessa broke the silence. ‘It’s like we’re going on Lincoln’s own journey. Except he travelled via a flatboat, of course. Up the Ohio River in fact.’
Vanessa looked towards east where the river sat. It wasn’t visible from the highway but she still felt an element of excitement that she was following in the former President’s footsteps. Lincoln was the Elvis of the presidents and she was now stepping on her own Route 66, a road which the King of Rock N’ Roll had supposedly taken if you believed the diners along its path.
‘Wasn’t much of a successful journey though,’ Darnell smugly chipped in. ‘All of Lincoln’s belongings and barrels of whisky fell into the water. He lost near enough everything.’
‘Why did he have so much whisky? Were they running a distillery or something?’ asked Vanessa, glancing across to the driver with a curious eye like she was the host of Jeopardy.
‘Well that was how they traded back then. Whisky was as good as cash. Better if anything, as whisky got better with age, while cash lost its value pretty quickly with the change in economy. Did they not teach this in any of your degrees?’
‘They must have skipped that part while they focused on the emancipation of the slaves and the complexities of the Civil War. They certainly didn’t teach us any of the stuff our dear body snatcher is trying to show us though.’
Darnell turned the radio up; it was Willie Nelson who offered a somewhat authentic soundtrack to the country roads they now embarked upon. Mile after mile of flat green prairies and an occasional water tower with the local town’s name stamped across the belly made up their only points of interest.
Vanessa continued to read her books. By the age of nineteen, Lincoln had taken multiple voyages along the river, transporting people between Ohio and Mississippi in exchange for cash or whisky. It was his very first business and he turned quite a profit from the venture. But Vanessa’s eyes widened as she caught on to a story which had been overlooked in the American education system; certainly in her own anyway.
‘It says here that in Baton Rouge, a group of Africans boarded Lincoln’s boat in the middle of the night. Presuming they were there to loot, Lincoln picked up a handspike and attacked them. He then followed them into the woods before returning. Did you know about this?’
Darnell shook his head.
‘What do you suppose he did to them in the woods? Because he said that he just followed them but those Africans weren’t ever seen again according to this book.’
‘I don’t know but it sounds like he was defending his ship. Maybe he was just checking they got away. And as for them not being seen again, I mean how many Africans were actually documented back then? If they were free at all, certainly very unlikely.’
‘Exactly,’ Vanessa replied. ‘Wouldn’t it be so easy to get rid of a group of Africans in those days, no one would have missed them.’
‘Someone would have missed them,’ Darnell snapped. ‘There is always somebody.’
Vanessa gulped, reminding herself that there was someone far more invested in the results of this investigation than herself, for reasons more personal than she could ever imagine.
‘Well it also says it was during these trips that he soon caught a glimpse into the horrors of slavery, which turned his stomach,’ Vanessa reassured her colleague, who smiled and nodded. ‘It was in Louisiana that he declared that, should he ever get the chance, he’d end slavery.’
‘I don’t see our suspect highlighting that on these landmarks,’ Darnell said with a smile on his face. He pulled his sunglasses out of the glove box and drove off down the country roads, taking him home, humming the words of the song which reflected his journey
