Gone to Ground (28 page)

"Why?"

This time the question sounded different. Like it wasn't meant for me, but for her husband.

"Austin's given his
life
for this town." Eva B's hands balled the tissue. "Employs people. Donates to charity. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't
do
this."

"I know. I cain't quite believe it either."

"But you told the
police
. You went running right to them!"

I stared at the coffee table. Had I vacuumed round there just this mornin? Seemed like days ago. Suddenly my mind went back to the McAllisters' home last year, cleanin the hardwood floh under Ed and Verna's bed. I saw myself pull out that lacy little thong. Remembered the look on Verna's face . . .

Oh, have mercy.
Have mercy.
I should a known.

Took some time to pull myself together. I tried to find the right words. "Eva, I had to. Do you realize that ring was planted in another man's house? Mike Phillips could go to jail for the rest a his life. I couldn't let that happen."

Truth was, I hadn't known bout that ring bein planted till I got to the
po
lice. But I wasn't bout to get into that now.

Eva B. sat quiet for a long time. Her hands shredded the wet tissue in her lap. I pressed a new one into her fingers.

"Maybe Mike really did it," she finally said. "Maybe he
is
the killer, and Austin just wanted to catch him. You ever think of that?"

I sighed. She was still not wantin to see. Well, how could she? Hadn't been that long since she heard. She was still in shock.

"Listen, Eva. I got to warn you bout the
po
lice. They gon be comin to talk to you."

She gave a bitter laugh. "
You
warn
me
?"

"It's bout the ring. See, I know Erika had that ring on her finger when I visited her, up to ten o'clock the night she died. The autopsy says she could a died as soon as eleven o'clock. Somehow in that time that ring got from her house to this one."

Mrs. B took to shreddin the second tissue.

"They gon want to know was your husband home with you that night."

"He's already
said
he was home."

"I know. But
you
know he wasn't."

Her fingers stilled. She turned her head to glare at me, eyes puffy. "Yes. He. Was."

"Eva. You cain't lie to the
po
lice. They gon find out. And when they do, you'll be in big trouble. Look at Ted Arnoldson, sittin in jail right now."

"He interfered in an investigation!" Too late, she realized what she'd said. She jerked away to face her lap again. The fingers went back to tearin.

"And that's what they'll say bout you if you don't tell 'em the truth."

"He was here. All night."

"No, he wasn't."

"He
was
."

"Maybe most a the night. But he left for awhile, didn't he? I'd guess it was earlier rather than later. Maybe he told you he needed to check on somethin real quick at the factory. You didn't think nothin bout it."

She shook her head hard.

"Then when he made that statement bout bein home all night, you just kept quiet. Maybe you figured it was a slip on his part. And it didn't matter anyway."

Eva B's hands went into a frenzy. Then all a sudden they dropped into her lap. She slumped even more. Her gaze went to the coffee table and hung there.

A minute drug out.

"How did you know?" She barely whispered it.

I pictured that thong under Ed McAllister's bed. Now I could see why Erika was so much younger than the other women. Mayor B hadn't meant for her to be one a his victims at all, had he? He was simply havin an affair with her—until she did somethin to provoke him. Had he gone over to her house that night
knowin
he would kill her?

Maybe so. He left no fingerprints. Unless he wiped em away. Or had he made Mike and Stevie clean up that house?

I lifted a shoulder. "Like I said, I know Erika had that ring on when I was with her."

Mrs. B. nodded. She clasped her hands, one thumb rubbin over the other. "I just thought it was like he told me—he needed to do something at the factory before it closed. I still think that. How he got hold of Erika's ring, I don't know. I'll find out when he gets home."

So she still wasn't lettin herself see the whole picture.
"It is no use, lyin to one's self."

"How soon will he come home?"

Her jaw firmed. "Soon as I can bail him out."

I started to press her for exactly when that would be but couldn't do it. From the look on her face she wouldn't answer anyway.

I'd made the right choice, sleepin at Deena's tonight.

I patted Mrs. B's arm. "Anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Haven't you done enough?"

Well. Suppose I deserved that.

I rose. "You have my cell phone number. Call me if you need me."

"I
won't
need you, Cherrie Mae."

I lowered my chin in a nod. How bad I felt leavin this woman. All alone here and sick. Not knowin what to think bout her husband. And here I stood before her—a friend. But with my mind set on bringin her husband to justice for the murders he done.

Some friend.

Eva Bradmeyer didn't bother to get up as I headed for the doh. She waited till I was bout to step into the hall, then called out. "By the way, Cherrie Mae!"

I turned back, my heart heavy. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You're fired."

http://www.pulitzer.org/works/2010-Feature-Writing

2010 Pulitzer Prize

Feature Writing

The Jackson Bugle

Gone to Ground

What happens to a small, quiet Southern town when evil invades in the form of a serial killer?

By: Trent Williams

October 29, 2010

(Excerpt)

The meager facts about the murders cast paltry light on the kind of person who would commit such crimes. The victims, although all women, were not sexually assaulted. They were killed with knives from their own kitchens and with one quick stab to the carotid artery. No torture here, certainly no overkill as tends to be found in crimes of passion. These murders, in fact, display a decided lack of passion, as if the killer merely wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible. Chief Cotter at one time speculated that the precision of the wounds may point to a perpetrator with some medical background. However, the chief's later pursuit of a suspect (who didn't pan out) proved he had shoved that theory aside—at least for the time being.

If one follows the legends of Hollywood and TV talking heads, the culprit will prove to be a white male, a loner, and psychotic. But according to the FBI, these general "profiles" of serial killers are myths. History has shown they are not all social misfits. Some of the most well known modern-day serial killers in our nation have been husbands, even fathers, employed and sometimes active in church. Neither are multiple murderers always white males. Sex is not their sole motivation—as clearly shown in the Closet Killings. And, contrary to belief, some serial killers can and do cease their activity for myriad reasons.

Theodore Stets's wish that "five is enough" is not beyond the realm of possibility. The town can only hope.

As I waited for Cherrie Mae to arrive, of all people
who should I see on my street? Letty June. Walkin down the sidewalk in front of my house like she owned the place. If I hadn't been starin out my front window, I'd have missed her. Now I glowered at her like she was a wild animal skulkin by. What on earth was she doin here? Her house was a good four blocks away.

She'd come to gloat, that's what.

I scanned the parked cars on the street. They were always lined up out there at night, but I didn't see any I couldn't recognize. Had she walked here?

Before I knew it, I'd flung open my front door and stalked out to the porch. "What're you doin in front of my house, Letty June?"

She spun toward me like she'd been stung. Her mouse brown hair stuck out in its outdated curls, and her fat face scowled. "I'm out for a walk. It's a free country."

"You come to gawk at my brother's trailer, is that it? Wanted to see if the cops left anything standin?"

"What are you
talking
about, Deena Ruckland?"

I stomped down my two front steps. "I know you went runnin straight to the cops the other day. Just had to tell them how mad Stevie was at work the night Erika was killed."

"He
was
mad. And they needed to know."

"What difference does it make?"

"What difference? He was mad enough to kill somebody."

"How would you know what it takes to kill somebody?"

She stuck her hands on her bulgy hips. "You can't be blamin me for what your brother did."

"And you're just so sure he did it, aren't you." My legs shook. This woman represented every person in town who wanted to pin the murders on my brother. Who wouldn't
think
to give him any benefit of the doubt. "You've never given Stevie any slack since the day you first set eyes on him. That make you feel strong, Letty June, pickin on the weak? That make you feel
big
?"

Cuss words rolled out of her mouth. "I don't have to take this from you." She turned around and started hoofin it down the street.

"You're gonna look as stupid as you are when Stevie's acquitted!"

Letty June whirled back. "He deserves everything he gets, Deena! You know what he did to me Tuesday night? Hmm? He took a five-gallon drum of slippery cleanin fluid and dumped it near the women's bathroom, then said he would tell Mayor B
I
did it.
Then
he dumped more in my personal locker."

My head snapped back. Stevie did
that
?

Well, so what? What had she done to provoke
him
? Besides, what did that have to do with provin he's a murderer?

Vaguely, I registered the sound of a car comin down the road. "I'm sure you deserved it, Letty June."

She flung her head about. "
He
deserves to be sittin in jail. For the rest of his life."

I raged two steps toward her. "Get away from my house right now before I run you down."

Letty June smirked. "Oh, great.
Two
killers in one family." She pivoted and strutted away.

Fury shot through me. I started after her.

Cherrie Mae pulled up to the one empty spot at the curb. Letty June passed by the car as the engine turned off.

I slowed, still seein red.

Cherrie Mae got out of her car, head turnin from Letty June's hunched back to me. Letty June glanced around, then kept on walkin, nose in the air.

Cherrie Mae shut the car door. "Deena?"

I had to look stompin mad. My cheeks were hot, my breath comin like a mad bull's. I shot Letty June one last witherin look. She wasn't worth it. Wouldn't she love to go runnin to the police if I so much as touched her.

"It's nothin." My teeth still clenched.
"She's
nothin."

Cherrie Mae threw Letty June another look. "Let's get you in the house." She pulled a suitcase and her purse from the backseat of her car and hurried toward me. "And let's lock the doh."

A faint smile pinched my lips.

Inside—with the door locked—I showed Cherrie Mae to my guest bedroom, where she put down her things. "Thank you." She looked around at the light blue walls and quilt on the bed. "It's pretty."

Settled in the den, each of us with a Coke, she told me about seein Eva Bradmeyer. Now
that
was a story. Cherrie Mae had way more courage than I did. Made my fight with Letty June seem petty. I told her about it anyway.

Cherrie Mae made a sound in her throat. "Stevie's not the only person who's had run-ins with that girl. Why she got to be so mean?"

"In league with the devil, for sure."

My thoughts went spinnin back to my visit with Stevie at the jail.

"It was her fault."

"Who?"

"She was mean to me."

I blinked at Cherrie Mae. "What if he was talkin about Letty June?"

"Huh?"

"Stevie." I focused on my lap, strugglin to reason through it. "In jail he kept sayin 'she was mean to me, she made me do it.' What if he wasn't talkin about Erika at all? He could've been thinkin about what happened at the factory."

Cherrie Mae worked her mouth. "Maybe. I'd a had to hear y'all's conversation."

I played it again in my head. "It fits. I mean, you had to be there. It's the way he said it. Stevie wouldn't answer my questions directly. He'd go off in a tangent."

"But why would he even be thinkin bout Letty June when he's sittin in jail for murderin Erika?"

I shook my head. "My brother's mind . . . But really, it
does
fit. When the cops questioned him, they probably told him people at work had seen how mad he was. And how did he explain that? He'd have known it was Letty June who told them. He'd have blamed his bein in jail on
her
."