Gone to Ground (14 page)

"Thank you." My voice croaked.

Head down, I shuffled to the chair. As I settled my heavy body I noticed the Jackson reporter, Trent Williams, on the other side of Deena. He focused on a notebook, scribbling.

Deena glanced at me. She blinked. "Hi, Tully."

"Hi." I wanted to say so much more, but my tongue froze.

Sudden silence fell like a shadow. Clothes rustled as hundreds of heads moved to watch Chief Cotter and his son, John, mount the side steps to the stage. Officers Wade, Arnoldson, and Dedmon fell in behind. The chief stepped to the podium, his big belly forcing him to stand back and lean into the mike. Adam Cotter wasn't a tall man. His age showed—thinning hair and lines down the sides of his mouth. He intimidated me too. The way he walked—like he owned the town. Like he could do anything he wanted.

The four officers took seats lined up behind the chief. A show of unity.

Deena made a disgusted noise.

Chief Cotter tapped the microphone, sending thumps out over the upturned faces.

"All right." His gaze cruised the crowd. Surely he felt Deena's stabbing eyes, but he wouldn't look at her. "Thank y'all for comin. It's unusual for me to call this kind a meetin, but I reckon y'all have a strong need to know what's happened. And frankly our station phone was ringin off the hook. I figured this was the easiest way to stop the rumors and get the truth out. Now, I can't tell you everything, as this is an ongoin investigation. But I'll tell you what I can."

Just tell me enough, please.
Enough evidence against Stevie Ruckland that I could believe my own husband.

"And before the details, let me give a public thanks to our fine officers." The chief half turned toward his men. "They've had many a sleepless night workin on this case. Since Erika Hollinger's death last Tuesday none of us has hardly slept. I know when a crime hasn't been solved it can look like nothin's bein done. That couldn't be further from the truth."

"
Truth
." Deena spat the word under her breath.

"One other thing, on behalf of Erika's mother, Mrs. Lokin. Erika's body has now been released to the family. Mrs. Lokin asked me to inform y'all that her daughter's funeral will be at the Methodist Church this Sunday at two o'clock."

Erika's funeral. Would Mike drag me there to keep up appearances?

"Now for the information I have for you. This afternoon we arrested Steven Jay Ruckland for the murder of Erika Hollinger. We're well aware that's only one of the six murders committed in Amaryllis. We will continue to look at our evidence on each of the other five crimes and press charges accordingly. But for now our main suspect—a man we've been watchin for some time—is off the streets. And that gives us great relief."

"Amen to that," someone behind me whispered. Deena's chin lifted in defiance.

Chief Cotter wiped his forehead. "This mornin we received a tip from an Amaryllis citizen who saw Steven Ruckland runnin home after his shift at Bradmeyer Plastics like he was in a major panic. The time of his comin home was later than usual—twelve-thirty."

Deena's head shook.

"The next day the witness heard about Erika Hollinger's death. Even then this person wasn't sure what he or she may have seen on Stevie's clothes. But by this mornin the witness realized we needed to know. We're glad for that decision. You never know if somethin you've noticed may be crucial information. It's always best to tell the police and let us sort it out."

Trent's pencil scratched against his notebook.

"Based on this information Investigator John Cotter and I paid Steven Ruckland a visit at his trailer this afternoon. We asked if we could talk inside his house. He let us in and allowed us to look around. When we asked him questions about runnin home last Tuesday night he could not—or would not—explain his actions." Chief Cotter pushed out his upper lip. "In a subsequent search through his home we found a dark blue Bradmeyer Plastics uniform on the top of his clothes washer, not yet run through a cycle. There were large stains down the front and on the right sleeve. These stains appeared to be blood."

Air sucked out of my lungs. Gasps rose all around me. I glanced at Deena. She sat like granite, mouth in a hard line. Clearly not surprised.

She
knew
this? And she still didn't think her brother was guilty?

I pictured the blood on my own doorknob. On the swabs.

"When questioned about the stains, Steven Ruckland could not explain their presence. Investigator Cotter and I then confiscated the uniform as evidence. We took Steven Ruckland to the station for further questioning. At the station Investigator Cotter and I took the uniform into a closet where we could block out light. There we sprayed the uniform with a substance called Luminol. This substance causes blood to glow a bluish color under black light. The stains on Steven Ruckland's uniform
did
glow, indicatin they are indeed blood."

Murmurs radiated through the gym. My fingers squeezed into my palms.

Chief Cotter held up a hand. "Now let me make it clear, we don't yet know if that blood is human. And we certainly don't know if it belongs to Erika Hollinger. But the bloody uniform, along with the witness's statement regardin Steven Ruckland's behavior Tuesday night,
and
his apparent lack of veracity under questioning, both at his residence and at the station, gave us enough reason to arrest him for Erika Hollinger's murder.

"As you may know, an initial hearin before the judge must take place within a few days of arrest. Since taking Mr. Ruckland into custody, we've scrambled to do what must be done before Monday, when that hearin will occur. Of high importance is testin the Bradmeyer Plastics uniform to see if it provides a match with the DNA of Erika Hollinger. Our state lab would take weeks to do this. I have instead chosen to take the uniform to a private lab, which has agreed to run the tests immediately. Yes, this will cost us more money. But the safety of Amaryllis is involved. And if you ask me, y'all are worth it."

Mumblings of agreement fluttered around me.

What if the DNA matched? My brain tilted at the possibility. Stevie
would
be guilty—and Mike innocent.

But that wouldn't happen. Even now I could feel Mike's fingers around my neck.
"You hear me good. I came home at the regular time last night. Got that?"

Chief Cotter placed his hands on his wide hips and looked over the crowd. He still wouldn't even glance at Deena. "Of course I will also be meetin with the district attorney to go over what we have."

What did he have, really? Blood—who knew from where? And suspicious behavior on the night Erika was killed. The same two things I had on Mike. Except Mike had
told
me he'd kill Erika. And he had good reason. Why would Stevie? Was he even capable of murdering someone?

The chief rubbed his jaw. "That's all I can tell you at this point. I'm not takin questions, and none of my men can answer your questions either. We'll continue to work on this case. Meanwhile if any of y'all have information you think is important, please contact the station. That's it, and I thank y'all for comin out."

Chief Cotter turned away from the podium. The gym buzzed to life, chairs scraping and voices humming. Those voices held hope for the first time in years.

Deena didn't move, her head hung. Trent patted her arm, but she didn't respond. He hesitated, then got up, mumbling something about getting quotes.

I stayed rooted to my chair. The noise level rose, but all I could hear was the grief moaning like wind around Deena's shoulders. Where were all her friends? No one came up to give her a hug, say they knew Stevie couldn't be guilty. But then, why should they think that? Listening to Chief Cotter, it sounded like he was.

Maybe Deena even thought Stevie had done it. And the idea was killing her.

My chest burned. I wanted to get up, walk away without looking at Deena. Go back to my life and my house, my marriage. Let Stevie take this rap. He didn't have a wife. He didn't have a son ready to be born.

Get up, Tully. Go.

The burning increased until I thought my veins would burst. The whole rest of my life swam before me—and still I couldn't move.

Seconds ticked . . .

Tocked . . .

Time stopped.

"Deena"—I heard myself blurt out the words—"Stevie didn't do it."

At first Tully Phillips's words didn't register. My
mind had gone to some other plane. I couldn't think. Couldn't feel. Even my rage at Chief Cotter had faded. I only knew one thing: I was utterly alone.

I should go to New York with Trent. If Stevie was convicted I'd have to leave this town.

"Deena." Tully's voice again.

Her words hit home. I jerked around and stared at her. "
What
did you say?"

Tully's face paled. No rosy cheeks from her pregnancy. And no life in her gaze. Tully was a pretty girl, with those milk chocolate eyes and generous mouth. She'd just never known it. I'd seen her glow in the past few months, but now her shoulders drooped and anxiety wrinkled her forehead.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"Did you say Stevie didn't do it?"

She swallowed hard.

The way she'd said it. And the way she was lookin at me now, cringin like a kitten. As if she knew who
did.
I leaned in close. "You know who killed Erika?"

Tully glanced left and right, hands twistin in her lap. Her head shook.

She knew somethin. She did.

Energy rolled through me. I grasped her elbow. "Come on, let's get outta here."

Tully allowed herself to be led. I propelled her toward a side door, ignorin the snatches of conversation around us. Tully waddled more than walked and couldn't move very fast.
Come on, come on!
A woman behind us called my name, but I didn't slow. Somewhere along the way my anger at John and the chief came back, and it felt
good
. Got my heart beatin.

Outside I aimed Tully toward my car. If I let her go, she might change her mind and melt away. "We need to talk."

"No."

I'd take her to my house. Pin her down until she
told
me—

Tully pulled out of my grip. "I need to get home. My feet should be up, and my ankles are swelling—" She let out a sudden sob.

"But you said—"

"I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did."

"Deena!" The woman called again.

"Tully." I leaned forward to look her in the eye. My heart kicked against my ribs. Whatever this was, I couldn't lose it. "You know somethin. You can't back down on me."

Her face crumpled. She buried her face in her hands.

Footsteps pattered toward us. I tried to move Tully aside, turn our backs to the person.
Not now!

"Deena, wait." The woman behind us puffed for breath. "It's Cherrie Mae."

Cherrie Mae. I swung around to see one of the most beloved people in Amaryllis. A generous Christian woman. Cherrie Mae barely topped five feet, but she bristled with life. And you never quite knew when she'd come out with some crazy quote.

But right now I couldn't be interrupted, not even by Cherrie Mae. "Hi. I was just tryin to talk to Tully—"

Cherrie Mae waved a hand. "That can wait."

"No, it can't."

"Yes, it can."

Tully ogled us both.

Cherrie Mae's tone sharpened. "Deena, I
got
to talk to you. Trust me, you want to hear what I got to say."

Tully moved back. "I'll go."

I caught her arm. "No, wait!"

"Stop!" Tully jerked away.

I stepped in front of her.

Cherrie Mae peered at Tully. "Baby, you all right?"

"I'm fine. Deena, get out of my way."

Oh no you don't.
"You're not goin till you tell me what you know."

"I don't know
anything.
"

"Yes, you
do
."

"Who, you, Tully?" Cherrie Mae edged closer. "What do
you
know?"

"What?" Tully looked at Cherrie Mae in a daze.

"You know somethin?"

Tully shrank away.

"Cherrie Mae, please." My throat tightened. "We were tryin to have a conversation—"

"Look to me like she leavin."

"She's not leavin." My eyes pled with Tully. "Please don't go."

"Wait a minute." Cherrie Mae raised her tiny hands. "This bout Stevie?"

In the parkin lot car doors slammed. Somebody's engine started. Tully wiped her cheeks.

Cherrie Mae pulled her head back. "Let's all slow down a minute. Seem like something . . ." She looked from me to Tully, her eyebrows risin.

I frowned at Cherrie Mae. For the first time I studied her face—and my lungs ballooned. She wore the same guarded yet wide-eyed expression as Tully.

"You want to hear what I got to say."

I glanced at Tully. She was starin at the woman too.

"What, Cherrie Mae?" I touched her arm. "What do you have to say?"