Blindsighted (13 page)

Lena's voice was still light, though Jeffrey knew she must have wanted to climb over the table and kill him. She said, "That's right."

"She got killed," he said. "Everybody on campus knew she was a dyke."

"She certainly was."

Gordon licked his lips. "Fucking dyke."

"Yep." Lena turned the page, looking as if she was bored.

"Dyke," he repeated. "Fucking clit licker." He paused, waiting for a reaction, obviously irritated that there was none. He said, "Gash grinder."

Lena gave a bored sigh. "Bushwhacker, eats at the Y, dials O on her friend's little pink telephone." She paused, looking at him over the paper, asking, "Leaving any out?"

While Jeffrey felt an appreciation for Lena's technique, he said a small prayer of thanks that she had not chosen a life of crime.

Gordon said, "That's what you've got me in here for, right? You think I raped her?"

Lena kept the paper up, but Jeffrey knew her heartbeat was probably going as fast as his. Gordon could be guessing, or he could be looking for a way to confess.

Lena asked, "Did you rape her?"

"Maybe," Gordon said. He started rocking the chair back and forth, like a little boy craving attention. "Maybe I fucked her. You wanna know about it?"

"Sure," Lena said. She put the paper down, crossing her arms. "Why don't you tell me all about it?"

Gordon leaned toward her. "She was in the bathroom, right?"

"You tell me."

"She was washing her hands, and I went in and fucked her up the ass. She liked it so much she died on the spot."

Lena gave a heavy sigh. "That's the best you can do?"

He seemed insulted. "No."

"Why don't you tell me what you did to Julia Matthews?"

He sat back in the chair, leaning on his hands. "I didn't do anything to her."

"Where is she then?"

He shrugged. "Probably dead."

"Why do you say that?"

He leaned forward, his chest pressed into the table. "She's tried to kill herself before."

Lena did not skip a beat. "Yeah, I know. Slit her wrists."

"That's right." Gordon nodded, though Jeffrey could see the surprise in his face. Jeffrey was surprised, too, though it made perfect sense. Women were far more likely to choose slitting their wrists over the many other methods of suicide. Lena had made a calculated guess.

Lena summarized, "She slit her wrists last month."

He cocked his head, giving her a strange look. "How'd you know that?"

Lena sighed again, picking the paper back up. She opened it with a snap, then started to read.

Gordon started rocking his chair back and forth again.

Lena did not look up from the paper. "Where is she, Ryan?"

"I don't know."

"Did you rape her?"

"I didn't have to rape her. She was a damn lapdog."

"You let her go down on you?"

"That's right."

"That the only way you could get it up, Ryan?"

"Shit." He dropped the chair. "You're not supposed to be talking to me anyway."

"Why?"

" 'Cause this is off-the-record. I can say anything I want and it doesn't matter."

"What do you want to say?"

His lips twitched. He leaned over farther. From Jeffrey's perspective, he thought that with Gordon's hands cuffed behind him, the kid almost looked hog-tied.

Gordon whispered, "Maybe I want to talk about your sister some more."

Lena ignored him.

"Maybe I wanna talk about how I beat her to death."

"You don't look like the type of guy who knows how to use a hammer."

He seemed taken aback by this. "I am," he assured her. "I beat her in the head, then I fucked her with the hammer."

Lena folded the paper to a new page. "Where'd you leave the hammer?"

He looked smug. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"What was Julia up to, Ryan?" Lena asked casually. "She screwing around on you? Maybe she found a real man."

"Fuck that, bitch," Gordon snapped. "I am a real man."

"Right."

"Take off these cuffs and I'll show you."

"I bet you will," Lena said, her tone indicating she was not in the least bit threatened. "Why did she run around on you?"

"She didn't," he said. "That bitch Jenny Price tell you that? She doesn't know anything about it."

"About how Julia wanted to leave you? About how you followed her around all the time, wouldn't leave her alone?"

"Is that what this is about?" Gordon asked. "That why you got me freaking chained up?"

"We've got you chained up for the coke in your pocket."

He snorted. "It wasn't mine."

"Not your pants, right?"

He slammed his chest into the table, his face a mask of anger. "Listen, bitch-"

Lena stood in front of him, leaning over the table, her face in his. "Where is she?"

Spit came from his mouth. "Fuck you."

In one quick motion, Lena grabbed the ring hanging down from his nose.

"Ow, shit," Gordon screamed as he leaned over, his chest slamming into the table, his arms sticking up behind his back. "Help!" he screamed. The glass in front of Jeffrey shook from the noise.

Lena whispered, "Where is she?"

"I saw her a couple of days ago," he managed through gritted teeth. "Jesus, please let go."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know," he yelled. "Please, I don't know! You're gonna pull it out."

Lena released the ring, wiping her hand on her pants. "You stupid little twit."

Ryan wiggled his nose, probably making sure it was still there. "You hurt me," he whined. "That hurt."

"You want me to hurt you some more?" Lena offered, resting her hand on her gun.

Gordon tucked his head into his chest, mumbling, "She tried to kill herself because I left her. She loved me that much."

"I think she didn't have a clue," Lena countered. "I think she was pretty much fresh off the truck and you took advantage of her." She stood up, leaning halfway over the table. "What's more, I don't think you have the balls to kill a fly, let alone a living person, and if I ever"-Lena slammed her hands into the table, her anger bursting like a grenade-"if I ever hear you say anything else about my sister, Ryan, anything at all, I will kill you. Trust me on this, I know I have it in me. I don't doubt that for a second."

Gordon's mouth moved wordlessly.

Jeffrey was so engrossed in the interview that he didn't notice the knock at the door.

"Jeffrey?" Maria said, poking her head into the observation room. "We got a situation at Will Harris's place."

"Will Harris?" Jeffrey asked, thinking that was the last name he had expected to hear today. "What happened?"

Maria stepped into the room, lowering her voice. "Somebody threw a rock in the front window of his house."

Frank Wallace and Matt Hogan were standing on Will Harris's front lawn when Jeffrey pulled up. He wondered how long they had been there. Wondered, too, if they knew who had done this. Matt Hogan did not have qualms about hiding his prejudices. Frank, on the other hand, Jeffrey was not sure about. What he did know was Frank had been in on the interview of Pete Wayne yesterday. Jeffrey felt his tension build as he parked the car. He did not like being in a position where he could not trust his own men.

"What the hell happened?" Jeffrey asked, getting out of the car. "Who did this?"

Frank said, "He got home about half an hour ago. Said he was working at old Miss Betty's house, aerating her yard. Came home and saw this."

"It was a rock?"

"Brick, actually," Frank said. "Same kind you see everywhere. Had a note around it."

"What'd it say?"

Frank looked down at the ground, then back up. "Will's got it."

Jeffrey looked at the picture window, which had a large hole in it. The two windows on either side were untouched, but the glass in the center would cost a small fortune to replace. "Where is he?" Jeffrey asked.

Matt nodded toward the front door. He had the same smug look Jeffrey had seen on Ryan Gordon a few minutes ago.

Matt said, "In the house."

Jeffrey started toward the door, then stopped himself. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty. "Go buy some plywood," he said. "Bring it back here as soon as possible."

Matt's jaw set, but Jeffrey leveled him with a hard stare. "You got something you want to say to me, Matt?"

Frank interjected, "We'll see if we can get some glass on order while we're there."

"Yeah," Matt grumbled, walking toward the car.

Frank started to follow, but Jeffrey stopped him. He asked, "You got any idea who might have done this?"

Frank stared down at his feet for a few seconds. "Matt was with me all morning, if that's what you're getting at."

"It was."

Frank looked back up. "I'll tell you what, Chief, I find out who did, I'll take care of it."

He did not wait around for Jeffrey's opinion on this. He turned, walking back toward Matt's car. Jeffrey waited for them to drive off before walking up the drive to Will Harris's house.

Jeffrey gave the screen door a gentle knock before letting himself in. Will Harris was sitting in his chair, a glass of iced tea beside him. He stood when Jeffrey entered the room.

"I didn't mean to bring you out here," Will said. "I was just reporting it. My neighbor got me kind of scared."

"Which one?" Jeffrey asked.

"Mrs. Barr across the way." He pointed out the window. "She's an older woman, scares real easy. She said she didn't see anything. Your people already asked her." He walked back to his chair and picked up a piece of white paper, which he offered to Jeffrey. "I got kind of scared, too, when I saw this."

Jeffrey took the paper, tasting bile in the back of his throat as he read the threatening words typed onto the white sheet of paper. The note said: "Watch your back, nigger."

Jeffrey folded the paper, tucking it into his pocket. He put his hands on his hips, looking around the room. "Nice place you got here."

"Thank you," Will returned.

Jeffrey turned toward the front windows. He did not have a good feeling about this. Will Harris's life was in danger simply because Jeffrey had talked to him the other day. He asked, "You mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?"

Will seemed surprised. "You think that's necessary?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, don't you think?"

Chapter Twelve

LENA sat at the kitchen table in her house, staring at the salt and pepper shakers. She tried to get her head around what had happened today. She was certain that Ryan Gordons only crime was being an asshole. If Julia Matthews was smart, she had headed back home or was lying low for a while, probably trying to get away from her boyfriend. This left the reason Jeffrey and Lena had gone to the college wide open. There were still no suspects for her sister's murder.

With each minute that passed, with each hour that went by with no solid lead toward finding the man who had killed her sister, Lena felt herself getting more and more angry. Sibyl had always warned Lena that anger was a dangerous thing, that she should allow other emotions to come through. Right now, Lena could not imagine herself ever being happy again, or even sad. She was numbed by the loss, and anger was the only thing that made her feel like she was still alive. She was embracing her anger, letting it grow inside of her like a cancer, so that she would not break down into a powerless child. She needed her anger to get her through this. After Sibyl's killer was caught, after Julia Matthews was found, Lena would let herself grieve.

"Sibby." Lena sighed, putting her hands over her eyes. Even during the interview with Gordon, images of Sibyl had started to seep into Lena 's mind. The harder she fought them off, the stronger they were.

They came in flashes, these memories. One minute, she was sitting across from Gordon, listening to his pathetic posturing, the next she was twelve years old, at the beach, leading Sibyl down to the ocean so they could play in the water. Early on after the accident that had blinded Sibyl, Lena had become her sister's eyes; through Lena, Sibyl was sighted again. To this day, Lena thought this trick was what made her a good detective. She paid attention to detail. She listened to her gut instinct. Right now, her gut was telling her any more time focusing on Gordon was wasted.

"Hey there," Hank said, taking a Coke out of the refrigerator. He held up a bottle for Lena, but she shook her head.

Lena asked, "Where did those come from?"

"I went to the store," he said. "How'd it go today?"

Lena didn't answer his question. "Why did you go to the store?"

"You didn't have anything to eat," he said. "I'm surprised you haven't wasted away."

"I don't need you to go to the store for me," Lena countered. "When are you going back to Reece?"

He seemed pained by her question. "In a couple of days, I guess. I can stay with Nan if you don't want me here."

"You can stay here."

"It's no trouble, Lee. She's already offered her sofa."

"You don't need to stay with her," Lena snapped. "Okay? Just drop it. If it's only a few days, that's fine."

"I could stay in a hotel."

"Hank," Lena said, aware her voice was louder than it needed to be. "Just drop it, okay? I've had a really hard day."

Hank fiddled with his bottle of Coke. "Wanna talk about it?"

Lena bit back the "Not with you" that was on the tip of her tongue. "No," she said.

He took a swig of Coke, staring somewhere over her shoulder.

"There are no leads," Lena said. "Other than the list." Hank look puzzled, and she explained, "We've got this list of everybody who moved to Grant in the last six years who's a sexual predator."

"They keep a list of that?"

"Thank God they do," Lena said, heading off any civil liberties arguments he wanted to start. As an ex-addict, Hank tended to side with personal privacy over common sense. Lena was in no mood for a discussion about how ex-cons had paid their dues.

"So," Hank said, "you've got this list?"

"We've all got lists," Lena clarified. "We're knocking on doors, trying to see if anybody matches up."

"To?"

She stared at him, trying to decide whether or not to go on. "Someone with a violent sexual assault in their background. Someone who's white, between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five. Someone who thinks of himself as a religious person. Someone who might have seen Sibyl around. Whoever attacked her knew her routines, so this person had to be someone who knew her by sight or in passing."

"That sounds like a pretty narrow margin."

"There are nearly a hundred people on the list."

He gave a low whistle. "In Grant?" He shook his head side to side, not quite buying this.

"That's just the last six years, Hank. I guess if we go through these without finding anyone, we'll go back even further. Maybe ten or fifteen years."

Hank pushed his hair back off his forehead, giving Lena a good look at his forearms. She pointed to his bare arms. "I want you to keep your coat on tonight."

Hank looked down at the old track marks. "If you want me to, okay."

"Cops will be there. Friends of mine. People I work with. They see those tracks and they're gonna know."

He looked down at his arms. "I don't think you'd have to be a cop to know what these are."

"Don't embarrass me, Hank. It's bad enough I had to tell my boss you're a junkie."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, well," Lena said, not knowing what else to offer. She was tempted to look him over, to pick at him until he exploded and she got a good fight out of him.

Instead, she turned in her chair, looking away from him. "I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Hank said, but he did not get up. "We need to talk about what to do with your sister's ashes."

Lena held her hand up to stop him. "I can't do that right now."

"I've been talking to Nan -"

She interrupted him. "I don't care what Nan has to say about this."

"She was her lover, Lee. They had a life together."

"So did we," Lena snapped. "She was my sister, Hank. For God's sake, I'm not going to let Nan Thomas have her."

" Nan seems like a real nice person."

"I'm sure she is."

Hank fiddled with the bottle. "We can't leave her out of this just because you're uncomfortable with it, Lee." He paused, then, "They were in love with each other. I don't know why you have a problem accepting that."

"Accepting it?" Lena laughed. "How could I not accept it? They lived together. They took vacations together." She remembered Gordon's earlier comment. "Evidently the whole fucking college knew about it," she said. "It's not like I had a choice."

Hank sat back with a sigh. "I don't know, baby. Were you jealous of her?"

Lena cocked her head. "Of who?"

" Nan."

She laughed. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say." She added, "And we both know I've heard you say some really stupid shit."

Hank shrugged. "You had Sibby to yourself for a long time. I can see where her meeting somebody, getting involved with someone, might make it difficult for her to be there for you."

Lena felt her mouth open in shock. The fight she was hoping for seconds ago was now blowing up in her face. "You think I was jealous of Nan Thomas because she was fucking my sister?"

He flinched at her words. "You think that's all they were about?"

"I don't know what they were about, Hank," Lena said. "We didn't talk about that part of her life, okay?"

"I know that."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

He did not answer. "You're not the only one who lost her."

"When did you hear me say that I was?" Lena snapped, standing.

"It just seems that way," Hank said. "Listen, Lee, maybe you need to talk to somebody about this."

"I'm talking to you about it right now."

"Not me." Hank frowned. "What about that boy you were seeing? Is he still around?"

She laughed. "Greg and I split up a year ago, and even if we hadn't, I don't think I'd be crying on his shoulder."

"I didn't say you would be."

"Good."

"I know you better than that."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me," she snapped. Lena left the room, her fists clenching as she took the steps upstairs two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Her closet was filled mostly with suits and slacks, but Lena found a black dress tucked in the back. She pulled out the ironing board, stepping back, but not in time to miss the iron slipping off the shelf and smashing into her toe.

"Damnit," Lena hissed, grabbing her foot. She sat down on the bed, rubbing her toes. This was Hank's fault, getting her worked up this way. He was always doing this kind of thing, always pushing his damn AA philosophies about closure and sharing onto Lena. If he wanted to live his life that way, if he needed to live his life that way so that he did not end up shooting himself full of dope or drinking himself to death, that was fine, but he had no right to try to push that onto Lena.

As for his armchair diagnosis of Lena being jealous of Nan, that was just ridiculous. Her entire life, Lena had worked to help Sibyl become independent. It was Lena who had read reports aloud so that Sibyl did not have to wait for Braille translations. It was Lena who listened to Sibyl practice her oral exams and Lena who helped Sibyl with experiments. All that had been for Sibyl, to help her go out on her own, to get a job, to make a life for herself.

Lena opened the ironing board and placed the dress on it. She smoothed the material, remembering the last time she had worn this dress. Sibyl had asked Lena to take her to a faculty party at the college. Lena was surprised but had agreed to go. There was a clear line between college people and town folks, and she had felt uncomfortable in that crowd, surrounded by people who had completed not only college but also gone on to get higher degrees. Lena was not a country bumpkin, but she remembered feeling like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sibyl, on the other hand, had been in her element. Lena could remember seeing her at the center of a crowd, talking to a group of professors who seemed to be really interested in what she was saying. No one was staring at her the way people did when the girls were growing up. No one was making fun of her or making snide comments about the fact that she could not see. For the first time in her life, Lena had realized that Sibyl did not need her.

Nan Thomas had nothing to do with this revelation. Hank was wrong about that. Sibyl had been independent from day one. She knew how to take care of herself. She knew how to get around. She may have been blind, but in some ways she was sighted. In some ways, Sibyl could read people better than someone who could see because she listened to what they were saying. She heard the change of cadence in their voices when they were lying or the tremor when they were upset. She had understood Lena like no one else in her life.

Hank knocked at the door. "Lee?"

Lena wiped her nose, realizing that she had been crying. She did not open the door. "What?"

His voice was muffled, but she could hear him loud and clear. He said, "I'm sorry I said that, honey."

Lena took a deep breath, then let it go. "It's okay."

"I'm just worried about you."

"I'm okay," Lena said, turning on the iron. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go."

She watched the door, saw the doorknob turn slightly, then turn back as it was released. She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

The Brock Funeral Home was packed to the gills with Sibyl's friends and colleagues. After ten minutes of shaking hands and accepting condolences from people she had never met in her life, Lena had a tight knot developing in her stomach. She felt like she might explode from standing still for too long. She did not want to be here, sharing her grief with strangers. The room seemed to be closing in on her, and though the air-conditioning was low enough to keep some people in their coats, Lena was sweating.

"Hey," Frank said, cupping her elbow in his hand.

Lena was surprised at the gesture but did not pull away. She felt overwhelmed with relief to talk to someone familiar.

"You hear what happened?" Frank asked, shooting Hank a sideways look. Lena felt a blush of embarrassment at the look, knowing that Frank had pegged her uncle for a punk. Cops could smell it from a mile away.

"No," Lena said, escorting Frank to the side of the room.

"Will Harris," he began in a low tone. "Somebody threw a rock through his front window."

"Why?" Lena asked, already guessing the answer.

Frank shrugged. "I don't know." He looked over his shoulder. "I mean, Matt." Again the shrug came. "He was with me all day. I don't know."

Lena pulled him into the hallway so they would not have to whisper. "You think Matt did something?"

"Matt or Pete Wayne," he said. "I mean, they're the only two I can think of."

"Maybe somebody in the lodge?"

Frank bristled, like she knew he would. She might as well have accused the pope of fiddling with a ten-year-old.

Lena asked, "What about Brad?"

Frank gave her a look.

"Yeah," Lena said. "I know what you mean." She could not say without a shadow of a doubt that Brad Stephens might not like Will Harris, but she knew that Brad would cut off his own arm before he broke the law. Once Brad had backtracked three miles just to pick up some trash that had accidentally blown out of his car window.

"I was thinking of talking to Pete later on," Frank said.

Without thinking, Lena checked the time. It was a little after five-thirty. Pete would probably be home.

"Can we take your car?" she asked, thinking she could leave hers for Hank to take home.

Frank looked back into the parlor. "You wanna leave your sister's wake?" he asked, not hiding his shock.

Lena stared at the floor, knowing she should feel ashamed at the very least. The fact was, she had to get out of this room with these strangers before grief took hold and she became too paralyzed to do anything but sit in her room crying.

Frank said, "Meet me around the side in ten minutes."

Lena walked back into the room, looking for Hank. He was standing by Nan Thomas, his arm around her shoulder. She felt herself bristle, seeing them together like that. He certainly had no problem comforting a complete stranger, no matter that his own flesh and blood was not ten feet away from him, alone.