Eyewitness
Synopsis:
Eyewitness is an enthralling mystery centered around a man who is shot to death by a shadowy figure rising from the smoldering bushes lining the walkway to Beulah Baptist Church in a quiet, Southern town. When police get information linking the fire at the church to other recent arsons, they begin searching for the serial arsonist and murderer. After receiving two contradictory descriptions of the shooter from eyewitnesses; one witness describing a white perpetrator and one a black, the town and the investigation are divided along the color line.
Book Excerpt:
His heart raced like a thoroughbred's while he jogged back towards his two-story, Tudor home in Emerson Woods. To monitor his pacing, he periodically bent his neck to check his watch and the summer sun steamed the perspiration off his brow. The sun's rays stung the crown of his balding scalp while he ran down the smooth, black, tar-covered streets.
Sweat streaked down his long, lean limbs when he rounded the corner onto Peachtree Street. He obliviously forged forward, causing a shiny black Mercedes to screech to a halt at his heels. Politely, he nodded at the driver and then continued running. Now, frightfully aware of the danger of running in the street while work bound motorists peel out of his neighborhood, he moved closer to the side of the road. When he reached the edge of the street that meets the curb, his new, navy blue and orange Saucony sneakers dipped through a freshly formed puddle. He shook his foot vigorously, like a wet dog trying to dry himself and then he cringed when his soggy foot struck the ground.
His sneaker made a fart-like squishing noise when he turned onto Peachtree Lane, which is perpendicular to his own street. He ran straight ahead, ducking his head, swinging it from side to side, trying to evade the pestering sound of a bee that was following him. Frustrated by his inability to escape his harasser, he quickened his pace.
Ever conscious of the time, he checked his Tag Heuer again and realized he was falling off his morning timetable. In a hurry to get home, he cut across a neighbor's manicured lawn and tried to avoid being noticed. Carefully, he tried to evade the automatic sprinklers. He could feel the spray of cool water on his calves and could hear the sprawling, green grass crunch beneath his slippery feet.
He began to fill with anticipation with every step. His zeal for a hearty morning breakfast became so great he could taste the western omelet, bacon, and oatmeal bread with hazelnut coffee his wife and daughter prepared for him every morning. Then, as if in line with his breakfast fantasy, a faint cloud of smoke floated towards him and stimulated his sense of smell.
The stench of burning paper and wood blocked out his fantasy and sent him jogging curiously forward. He slowed his pace down to that of someone looking for a house address and tried to make out the cloud's direction. Appearing to rise from over the top of the bushes in front of him, he jogged closer and checked for the source of the smoke.
He stopped in front of the last house on the street and began to jog in place, attempting to reduce his heart rate while continuing his workout. Using his watch to time his pulse again, he inched ahead and approached the pathway to Beulah Baptist Church.
The increasingly thick, dark clouds of smoke hovered in the air above him and began to choke him. Panicked by his difficulty breathing, he turned in a washing machine like motion, searching for someone to assist him. With no one in his line of sight, he stared ahead at the ash-covered bushes and contemplated whether he should try to find help or simply continue his morning jog. Stalemated by his dilemma, he covered his mouth with his hand and peered helplessly at the hedges in front of him.
Stretching for about 1/8 of a mile in two parallel lines meticulously maintained bushes lined the walkway to Beulah Baptist Church, a recently constructed, predominantly black church on the border of Emerson Woods. Standing six feet tall and six inches thick, the hedges, planted so the residents of Emerson Woods wouldn't be able to see the congregation unless they went out of their way, blended into the suburban neighborhood as if they marked the entrance to a grand mansion. The church, which lay diagonally down the path and away from the last house on the street, served as the only connection between Emerson Woods and Potter's Field, which fell on the backside of the church.
Randolph McGee advanced closer to the bushes and wondered if it would be best for both Emerson Woods and Potter's Field residents if the church burned to the ground. Ever since Beulah Baptist Church was built the two neighborhoods had been in turmoil, he thought.
Soot, ash and smoldering flakes of wood and paper covered the shoulders of his white T-shirt like dandruff. Noticing the residue, he brushed the stray pieces of debris off his back and inhaled the sickening scent of burning bushes.
His stomach churned from the smell and caused him to spit repeatedly into the brush. A beam of sunlight reflected off his watch and alerted him to check the time. Realizing several minutes had elapsed, he began to think that too much time had passed to save the church from totally being destroyed.
Randolph turned his head, looked up and down both sides of the block, and then decided to resume his morning jog and not seek assistance. But, before he could turn away from the blaze, he heard movement coming from the bushes in front of him. He squinted his eyes at the rustling shrub and was confronted by a shadowy figure.
Brandishing a 9mm Luger handgun, the faint figure sprung forth from the foliage and began to walk forward. Fleetingly, the metal object reflected a line of sunlight on to Randolph's pale face. As the daylight provided glimpses of the male's face, Randolph strained to see while he walked down the path in the direction of the man. In a flash, a glimmering beam of sunlight struck the barrel of the gun, illuminating it just enough for Randolph to determine the object was a weapon. Timidly, he began to back away from the figure.
Cognizant of Randolph's sudden attempt to flee, the male figure nervously began to speak.
"Hello."
"Good morning," responded Randolph.
"I saw the fire burning so I thought I'd come over and see if I could help."
"I see," said Randolph, "that's the same reason I'm here. I was finishing my morning jog when I saw smoke. Where are you coming from?"
"I was just passing through on my way to work."
"So, you live around here?" asked Randolph, attempting to get a peek of the shadowy figure's face.
Getting no response from the unidentified man, Randolph looked down at his watch and continued to back away from the male walking towards him.
"Well, I have a full schedule today, so I should get going," said Randolph.
"Stop, Randolph!"
"What?" Randolph asked, while his voice began to quake.
Silence hung over the pathway as Randolph's question echoed in the air.
"Unfortunately, I can't let you leave," said the male, who was now holding the gun in plain sight.
"Why? I certainly can't see you from here. The shade from the bushes is hiding your face and I've never been good at guessing games… Besides, it's not as if you have anything to do with the fire."
"Don't patronize me. I've wasted too much time talking to you already. I have to go before anyone else comes," said the unidentified man, as he stepped fully into the daylight.
The sun's heat beat down upon the male's back while sweat beads danced on his forehead. He extended the gun nervously in front of him and said, "I'm sorry, but I have too much at stake. Please forgive me."
Fear mounted in Randolph while he watched the man release the safety on the weapon. He stared in horror when the male drew his finger back on the trigger. In a half second, he saw a cloud of gas spray forth from the barrel of the gun. Then, as the cloud dissipated in the air, it was followed by a small burst of flame. Red and orange, the flame twinkled as an oblong bullet flew at him.
Unable to move fast enough to avoid the bullet, Randolph could only shutter while the shell ripped through the air. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, soothing breath, he flinched as he felt the sting of the bullet piercing his skin. The bullet tore through Randolph's chest cavity and lodged in his lung. He gasped for air while he fell forward onto the freshly stained grass. Clawing his nails through the earth, he inhaled the scent of summertime while his eyes rolled back into his head.
Mustering up enough strength to turn his body over, he could now see the serene sky. The shadowy male figure briefly eclipsed his view when he stepped scrupulously over him and strolled towards the exit to the pathway. He watched the man adjust his navy jogging suit to conceal the 9mm and look both ways down the street before he left the walkway to the church.
Randolph then dragged the lower portion of his body off the concrete pathway, which was now hot as burning coals. He settled into the grass, which was still moist from the morning dew. Resting his head flat against the soil, he prayed for absolution and then muttered a goodbye to his wife, Gloria and daughter, Alexia. As the sun pierced his retina, he began to tear. He sucked in a few quick breaths and then died.
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Original Publish Date:
November 1, 2002
Formats and associated ISBNs:
13: 9780972293259
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