Garden of Evil (20 page)

“We going, Daddy?” he piped up.

“Not just yet, boy.” He sounded out of breath.

More heavy breathing, some thrashing around, and giggles from Keppie. “No,” she finally purred, and pulled away. “Not here. Way too public. But I know a place, it ain't far.”

“What about them?” He indicated us with a jerk of his head. “Can they wait for us here?”

“No, I don't wanna leave Britt, but she can come along and watch the baby for us.”

He didn't hesitate. I held the child's hand and tried to catch the father's eye in the rearview as he drove like a lamb to the slaughter.

“You got one-a them childproof locks for the back? I don't want nobody fallin' out,” Keppie cautioned.

I heard the metallic click. The rural roadways, bordered by piney woods, all looked the same. I watched for landmarks and tried to count the turns.

“Here,” she said. “Turn right in here.” The ratted dirt road was barely visible. Trees and bushes slapped the car on both sides.

Joey's eyes were wide.

“Hope this don't scratch my paint job,” Jeff said doubtfully.

“Don't you worry, baby.” She touched him, causing him to throw his head back for a moment, eyes closed.

“I don't think we should go down in there,” I ventured. “We might get stuck.”

“Shut
up
, Britt, you are such a worrier.” Her tone was teasing, her glance chilling. “This here's a good spot,” she said.

“We're gonna leave 'em back there?” he murmured.

“Too many snakes and skeeters for them to walk around.” She pulled her midriff top off over her head.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, the rustling of more
disrobing, and the whir and motion of the seat as he adjusted it as far back as it would go.

The fool, I thought, my heart pounding. The stupid crazy fool! Oh, my God. I had hoped we'd have the chance to run. Joey looked around restlessly. “Lean back and sit by me,” I coaxed. “What's your doggy's name?”

“Scottie,” he said, his little brow furrowed.

Up front a muffled exclamation from Keppie. “You rascal! You gotchur jimmy hat all ready. How'd you know you were gonna find me today?” She chuckled. “But we don't need it, ya know.”

“Uhhh, you sure?”

“I'm clean. Ain't you?”

“Sure.”

“Let's take a nap,” I told Joey. “Close your eyes.”

“No,” he murmured, a frown forming as he looked at the shadowy woods closed in around us. “I don't like it here.”

“We'll be going soon. I know where to see some real puppies,” I whispered in his ear. “Maybe we can go play with them.” His hair was sweet-smelling, soft and silky.

The raw sounds and smells of sex came from the front seat.

Keppie's hair and bare shoulders appeared between the head rests astride her victim.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Oh, yeah! oh, yeah!…You're really something,” he murmured weakly.

“Ain't it the truth, baby?”

“Hey, what are you doing!” he demanded suddenly, voice startled.

I closed my eyes and held on to the child.

“Come on, come on, come on!” The unspent urgency in her voice told me what was happening. “Git out, git outa the car!”

“What the hell…?”

“I swear to hell, I'll cap you right here,” she said. “Now, now! Git out! Take your goddamn shirt.”

Eyes big, he picked up his T-shirt and opened his door. “This is a robbery, ain't it?”

“Out! Git out!”

He slowly exited, hands high in front of him.

“Put the shirt on.”

I sat up and leaned forward. “Keppie,” I begged. “Please don't.”

She crept across the front seat, ignoring me, the gun in both hands. She slowly followed him out of the car, chest heaving, eyes narrowed, jaw set, her face ecstatic. Sunlight filtering through overhanging trees cast dappled patterns of light and shadow across her naked skin and his bewildered face.

He pulled the shirt on, still naked from the waist down.

“I shoulda known. This is a robbery, right? You gonna take my car?”

“Technically,” she said softly. “It's more than a robbery. Yeahhh.” The word was a long soft sigh. “I'm taking your car. Down on your knees, you son of a bitch.”

“Daddy!” The boy began to whimper.

“Hush.” I peered frantically over the seat to see if the keys were in the ignition. They were not. I couldn't see them anywhere.

The man knelt. Scared now. Did he know? Did he remember the news stories, the other victims?

“Look,” he pleaded. “Take my wallet, take the car. All I wanna do is raise my boy. He's a good little citizen, and I want him to grow up good and have a good life.”

Keppie laughed, a bubble of infectious mirth. “Shoulda thought-a that,” she crooned. She wore the rosy glow of a woman in a state of arousal.

“Take it. I'll just tell the cops it got stolen from the rest stop. I won't—”

I clasped the child to me, burying his face against my chest. He struggled at the sound of the shot, but I held him tight. Closing my eyes, I clamped my hands over his ears before the second shot.

It echoed, resounding through the silent woods. The brief thrashing and labored breathing that followed were not unlike those heard minutes earlier. They ended quickly.

Somewhere birds soared through shining skies, stars rose, and planets whirled. Somewhere, gentle souls dreamed of peace. But not here.

“H
E JUST DIDN'T GET IT
.”

Shrugging bare shoulders, she leaned back against the car seat, breathing deeply, the gun still in her hand.

“That was good,” she murmured. “Real good.” She looked numb, in a fugue state, and remained that way for a good ten or fifteen minutes, with only the woodland sounds around us, while I tried to keep Joey calm. “Shit,” she finally said, disturbing the quiet. “I need a drink, and the bottle's in the other car.” She lit a cigarette and smoked in silence. I feared her moods. There was nothing to stop her from killing us both.

I prayed that someone heard the shots and called for help, but gunfire in this remote area would probably be attributed to hunters or target shooters.

Eventually, she raised her head, eyes clearing. “Git out,” she said dully, “and take him with you.” She pulled on her thong panties and released the backseat lock.

“I don't want him to see—”

“Oh, shit, Britt,” she said wearily. “Don't start playin' goddamn Mother Teresa. He's old enough to see his daddy screw a stranger, he's old enough for this.”

I held the boy's hand tightly. His father lay crumpled
about twenty feet from the car, bleeding into the roots of summer's thirsty green growing things.

Tears blurred my vision. “Oh my God! Look what you've done.”

“Daddy, Daddy!” The boy tried to run to his father, but I held on to him. He tried to fight me but he was too small.

“What's done is done,” Keppie drawled, buttoning her shorts, cigarette dangling from her lips. “I can't call bullets back, now, can I?” She glanced at me. “I just needed some love,” she crooned. She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back, laughing. “Now you got to help me with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don't want him found right away.”

“Why? You didn't care about the others.”

“I got good reasons.” Then she focused on Joey. “He ain't comin' with us.”

“We can't leave him here. We've got this child now.” My voice sounded shrill. “He's too little. He's only four.”

She sighed. “You're right. Step away from him, Britt.” She raised the gun.

“No! No! You can't!” Instinctively, I pulled him to me. “He's just a little kid. He didn't do anything!”

She paused and lowered the gun, her eyes changing. “Why, Britt, I do believe you are absolutely right.”

Could I trust her? I swept him up in my arms, watching her fearfully.

“Guess you're his mama now,” she said cheerfully, “so protect your baby. Go sit him down in the car while we take care of his daddy.”

He kicked and protested, calling for his father, as I strapped him into his car seat. “Please,” I whispered. “Please be good. Don't upset her, sweetheart. It'll be all right.” I left him whimpering in the car.

Keppie, gun in hand, was exploring the nearby woods. “We're in luck,” she said. “1 thought it was up in here.”

She had found a jagged fissure, an open wound in the ground. The sinkhole, there for some time, had already swallowed several trees and undermined the roots of a live oak that lay toppled nearby. Vines and weeds had tangled and merged across its gaping mouth. Push them aside and it was impossible to see bottom. Step too close and the sides crumbled, like my life collapsing in on me. In times of drought, water levels drop in underground rivers and streams, causing the soil above to cave into the void. In populated areas, sinkholes swallow cars, buildings, and sections of highway. This one would swallow a man.

“Come on, Britt.”

Insects had already discovered the body, busily buzzing around it. She twisted a college ring with a blue stone off his finger.

“Grab his arms!”

I swallowed and tried hard not to look at his face. His skin still felt warm to the touch, his blood sticky on my hands. I thought of home, my life, the people I loved. I thought of the child whose muffled cries came from behind the closed doors of the SUV and did what I had to do.

“Hurry up!” Keppie panted, swatting mosquitoes. “Nobody in their right mind'll come back in here till the weather cools,” she gasped, dragging him by the ankles.

We slid him into the sinkhole feet first.

Nothing that could identify him went into the hole with him. She kicked leaves and pine needles around the bloody scene, then went through his things.

“Hoo-ha! Lookit all this plastic, includin' American Express, all with his initials instead of a first name. Knew I liked that man.”

She erupted in another happy exclamation when she found his PIN number on a scrap of paper in his wallet.

“Glory be, we hit a mother lode.” She also took a large folding knife from the glove box and slipped it into her pocket.

Her arm draped casually over the seat, she smiled, as if discussing the weather.

“I'm makin' it clear to you now, Britt, that the first time you defy me, or try to leave 'fore I'm ready for you to go, I will kill you—after I off young Joey here. Anytime, anyplace, I'll slit his little throat like he was a chicken. Count on it, and if you wanna be responsible, try me.”

She meant it.

“When I go back to write the story,” I said, “can he go with me?”

“Sure. Think I want 'im? If I'd wanted a kid, I'da had one.”

 

The SUV bounced off the dirt road back onto the highway. As Keppie floored it, picking up speed, hundreds of great southern white butterflies swarmed across the road ahead. I remembered the nine-mile cloud that had fluttered across St. Lucie County in June of '86. But before I could speak, she accelerated, leaving the road behind us littered with dead and dying butterflies.

Back at the rest stop we transferred our things into the SUV and took the turnpike north, beneath dusty rolling skies pressed like lead against the dull terrain.

Joey sat quietly, eyes wide, strapped in his car seat in the back, clutching his Beanie Baby.

“Where'd you git that?” Keppie asked him.

“Grandma,” he muttered, lips pursed, trying not to cry. “Where's my daddy?” he demanded.

“He's gone to be with Elvis,” Keppie said jauntily, and took a hit from the bottle. “Now, where were we?” She turned to me as though after a brief interruption. “Let's see. Write this down. First, I want you to say that I am always in control of my mind to an extent, as everyone is—to an extent….”

Hands shaking, I opened the notebook to a clean page. I felt no reportorial instincts. I glanced back at Joey, his
eyes closed, as though dozing, and saw dead children. The girl, age five, was walking home from kindergarten; the boy, age seven and holding his big brother's hand, was crossing Biscayne Boulevard on the way to buy ice cream. Stray bullets found them both. But that was Miami, where streetlights are bullet-proofed, entire families dodge fusillades
and know when to hit the floor, and mothers pray to God to bullet-proof their babies. Joey did not reside in a shooting gallery like so many inner-city kids. How had he come into harm's way? Was I to blame?

“You paying attention, Britt?” Keppie sounded irritated. “I mean you're like the only person who understands all this, who knows what I've been put through.”

“We both lost our fathers at a young age,” I said quietly, pen in hand. “How do you feel about what you've done to Joey?”

She raised a casual eyebrow, then gave a quick nod, as though acknowledging the question as legitimate. “I guess I've changed his fate in some way. Don't know if I've hurt him or helped him. But I do believe I've prevented him from livin' through a lot more pain with the father he did have. You know”—she reached for her cigarettes—“it's easier to know your father is dead than knowin' he is in a living hell and havin' to live through it with him.”

“I don't understand. Why do you—”

“Who said you had to?” Her tone was sharp. “Just write that down like I tell you. That's why you're here.”

After dark we bought more chicken and found another bungalow-style motel.

Keppie made sure the manager saw Joey when we registered. Nobody was looking for two women with a child.

I examined my face in the mirror of the small windowless bathroom. My nose and cheekbone were bruised and swollen, my hair tangled and matted. My eyes were the worst. Would they ever see the world the same way again? My mind was beginning to misfire. Stay calm and rational, I thought, fighting for control. It's the only way
to get us out of this alive. Hysteria is highly contagious. If Keppie caught it, we were dead. I forced myself to eat something and coaxed Joey. He ate some chicken, and drank milk, but then threw up. Keppie watched in disgust as I quickly cleaned up the mess.

“You see? 'Nother lesson learned. Be careful what you ask for, Britt, you may get it.”

“He'll be all right.” I wiped his face. “He's got a little heat rash on his chest. Probably because it was so hot back there in the car.”

“Jesus, Britt.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste at both of us, hands on her hips. “You look like the wrath of God. I don't even wanna be seen with you. Take a goddamn shower and wash your hair. I'd be too embarrassed to send you back to Miami looking like that. Wash up the kid, too, and leave the door open.”

Keppie tuned in the TV while we bathed. I looked deep into Joey's bewildered brown eyes and held his hands as the water ran into the tub. “What's your mama's name?” I asked urgently.

“Mommy,” he said.

I checked the water temperature, helped him undress, bathed him, then wrapped him in a soft bath towel. “Be brave, sweetheart,” I whispered in his ear. “We'll get out of this. You and me, together.” His little arms slid up around my neck in a tentative hug. I held him so close I felt our hearts beating.

He sat on the closed toilet seat, his face serious, while I showered. It was good to be clean. My eyes were closed in the stream of warm water when Keppie screamed, a startled, high-pitched cry. I cut off the water, snatched a towel, and held it around me, heart pounding. Had the police arrived at last?

“Britt, Britt! Come quick!” She burst, breathless, into the doorway. She had undressed. I wished she would keep some clothes on in front of Joey. “Come on! Come on!
Get on out here!” she squealed. “You ready for this? We're on
America's Most Wanted!”

A bad composite of the Kiss-Me Killer, eyes, chin, and hairline all wrong, shared a split screen with my mug shot, filed at police headquarters for my current set of press credentials.

“Montero is a Miami newspaper reporter who apparently set out in an attempt to interview the killer,” the voice was saying. “These unlikely companions are believed to be traveling together in a white late-model American-made sedan, possibly a Monte Carlo or Ford Galaxy. It is unknown whether Montero is being held hostage by the killer or is a willing participant in her flight to avoid justice. But police do want to question her in the case. In what is believed to be an authentic sighting, the two were spotted laughing and talking in a Denny's restaurant in central Florida twenty-four hours ago.”

“Hadda be them goddamn truckers!” Keppie muttered bitterly. “I knew it! Sonsa bitches. I shoulda shot their fat asses! They were askin' for it.”

“The public is warned to make no attempt to approach them, as the Kiss-Me Killer is believed to be armed, violent, and extremely dangerous.”

“Violent!” she howled indignandy, hands on her naked hips. “They call
me
violent? This whole damn country is violent!” She paced the room angrily, hair and bare breasts bouncing. “The world is violent. Mother Nature is violent. And they call
me
violent!”

“The reward for arrest and conviction in this case has reached the two-hundred-thousand-dollar mark.”

Her right eye closed, left eyebrow raised, she punched the air like a cheerleader. “Awwww right!”

“Anyone with information is asked to call local law enforcement or
America's Most Wanted.
Help us take down this dangerous serial killer, believed responsible for at least seven brutal murders, before any more lives are lost.”

Her growing notoriety seemed to thrill her, as though the exposure had elevated her to star status.

“I didn't look so good,” I said dismally. “They think I'm an accomplice, because we were talking and laughing.”

“Ain't that a hoot? You gonna have a lotta 'splainin' to do, Britt. Can't deny, you did help me git ridda that dead body.” She admired the blue stone in Jeff's college ring, now adorning her right index finger.

Patty Hearst went to prison, I thought, for crimes committed with her kidnappers.

“We're okay here,” Keppie was saying. “That woman never even looked at you when we checked in. She was busy making goo-goo eyes at little Joey here. That's my good boy!” She scooped him up and twirled him around the room.

He began to cry and she handed him to me. “What a piss-poor little crybaby,” she said in disgust.

I rocked him until his sobs stopped. His soft curly hair was still damp from his bath and his skin felt warm. Too warm? Did he have a fever? What would I do if he did?

Giddy at her new fame, Keppie celebrated with tequila, even used a glass. She wanted to sit out on the small screened-in porch wrapped around our tiny cabin and insisted on leaving Joey in the closet.

“Just so we know where he's at,” she said as though it were perfectly logical.

I reluctantly bedded him down on the closet floor with a pillow, blanket, and his Beanie Baby. “What if he starts screaming?” I asked her.

“Then we shove a sock in his mouth,” she said matter-of-factly.

I left the door ajar, a chair pushed against it so he couldn't crawl out without knocking it over.

We were surrounded by woods and a dark sea of sky that glittered with far more stars than are visible over
Miami's city lights. A sliver of young moon hugged the horizon as Venus blazed to its right.