My Name Is River Blue (53 page)

"Okay,
River. I just wanted to get out and call the cops anyway. At first, I played
the pitiful punk for you, but then I saw you don't have it in you to shoot me. I'm
going to tell the cops that I confessed because you threatened me with a gun. Fuck
Uncle Bill, if he believes what I said. Dad's lawyer will get me off, and
you'll go to prison for killing Carlee. You worthless half-breed bastard. People
like
you
don't decide what happens to people like
me
. The only
chance you got is to run away from here while you can."

Max held his defiant
face only inches from mine, and stared at me with the same fierce hatred I had
seen in his eyes when I beat him for QB1 of our junior high team. For years,
our friendship had been a lie that was always going to end with our confrontation
in Big Bill's restaurant where we both played out a script written long ago on
a green field in Harper Park. We had come too far and at that moment,
attempting to change our destinies would have been as futile as trying to stop
a bullet that had already left the barrel of a gun.

I thought about
what Max called me.
A worthless half-breed bastard.
I remembered where I
saw it twice before. I was drained, but my resolve was firm. I looked directly
into Max's eyes. "You're right. Your father's money would probably buy you
out of trouble, or at least get you a good deal. But you're wrong about what I
got inside me, Max. Dead wrong."

I fired one
round from the Luger into Max's heart.

I caught Max in
my arms and watched his blue eyes widen briefly before his light flickered and
faded away, leaving only a lifeless stare under heavy lids. I slowly eased Max's
body to the floor. He was dead.

In addition to
the sharp echo of the gunshot, I had been aware of other sudden noises in the
room when the men scrambled low in their chairs, some of them squatting beneath
the table.

"Mr. Mayor,
you got a cell phone?"

Mayor Addison
peeked over the table. "Yes, but I haven't tried to use it."

"Use it and
call the cops. Tell them that I shot someone, and I want to turn myself
in."

People have asked
me how I acted so calmly before and after I shot Max Summers. It was like
asking me why I showed little emotion when I told Sergeant Cox that Ant was
dead. Why my mind took a hike for days after I saw Carlee's dead body. The
answer is I don't know except that each case was so surreal that I felt like I
was acting in a play.

It took less
than ten minutes for every cop on duty to surround the parking lot of Big
Bill's Barbeque and Wings. I think that they were sad that it was not their
very first hostage situation because they appeared disappointed when I quietly surrendered
as soon as they arrived.

On a Tuesday
night in March of 2007, sirens wailed through the streets and marked the end of
an era when Harper Springs was only a sleepy little town where Hawks' football
was the biggest news. The county business leaders were less than happy that I
became their most famous citizen, not by playing football, but by committing a
crime that led the national news media to cover a sensational story that would
be forever associated with the community.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

Of all the cops who
could have searched and cuffed me at the restaurant, I was glad that it was Sergeant
Cox. He told me how awkward it was to take me into custody, and he was glad
that I was cooperative. I guess he would have had a hard time explaining to
little Stevie why he had to shoot me. As it was, it must have been very hard for
him to answer his son's questions, and I regretted how my actions affected Stevie
and the other kids who once idolized me.

A couple of
weeks later, Sergeant Cox told me that he was glad that I was cleared of
causing Carlee's death, and that he never did believe that I was guilty. He
also said that while he understood how anyone could have temporarily lost it
and shot Max, he wished I could have controlled my emotions and took time to
think before acting. I didn't tell him that I
did
think, and I simply couldn't
allow the slimmest possibility that Max could go unpunished for his crimes.

Since I skipped
town the last time, I wasn't surprised that Judge Folk decided to make the
Bergeron County Jail my new home until my fate could be decided. A person
charged with a crime in our small town usually didn't have to wait as long for
a trial as someone might in a larger city, but because of budget cuts, there
was a backlog of cases. Justice was slow enough that I lived in the county jail
for almost a year.

The solicitor
toyed with the idea of charging me with several crimes, but he kept it simple,
charging me with first-degree murder. Mr. Lee, my attorney, argued that the
shooting was a crime of passion and that the charge should be voluntary
manslaughter. He pleaded for the judge to give the jury that additional choice
to deliberate and Judge Folk ruled in our favor.

In our state, a conviction
of first-degree murder meant life in prison and in some cases, even the death
penalty, while the sentence for voluntary manslaughter could be from two to
thirty years in prison. To me, the sentencing guideline of two to thirty years
was insane, in that it gave a judge a ridiculously large amount of discretion
in his sentencing. Mr. Lee advised me to be very respectful because it was a
bad idea to piss off a judge who had so much leeway.

"No shit,
Mr. Lee. Really? I'm not that stupid," I said.

"Well,
River, I have to cover all bases when my client is dumb enough to shoot someone
in front of twelve leaders of the community where he will be tried."

I hate it when
I'm out smart-assed.

Everyone called
my case "high profile." In the past, I had received tremendous media
attention as the state kid turned star football player who lost his best friend
and his future in a tragic accident. There was my arrest and trial for causing
my girlfriend's death, and my subsequent flight from the law, followed by the
whole movie-of-the-week drama of my return to Harper Springs for justice or
vengeance, depending on how someone wanted to view it. It was big news that I
was arrested for killing my friend and teammate, who was also a member of a
prominent local family. It was much bigger news that I shot him after his
startling admissions of three homicides. The story rapidly spread and drew
national attention.

The media
swarmed over Harper Springs like killer locusts in a lame science fiction movie.
Reporters interviewed anyone with any knowledge, opinions, or comments about my
life and my case, no matter how contrived and full of crap the people were. The
only person's mouth I could control was my own, and I refused to speak to the
media. The one exception was Howie Spearman, who visited me every week. He
promised to keep our conversations confidential until he talked me into writing
a book.

During my time
in the county jail, my Uncle Manny and Tyler saw me each Wednesday and
Saturday, the two days that the jail allowed approved friends and family to
visit. I had to provide the names of people I wanted to visit me and give them
to the jail staff for approval. Only a prisoner's attorney and minister could
visit any time that they wanted.

When Uncle Manny
and Tyler first saw me, they looked so sad and were surprised that I was not as
depressed as they thought I would be. I was dealing with my situation much
better than when I was falsely accused of causing Carlee's death, or when I was
a scapegoat sentenced to Stockwell because of a lie. I knew before I walked
into Big Bill's restaurant that I would most likely go to prison for murder. I
had already made peace with the fact that, at the very least, there would be
consequences for leaving the safety of my anonymity. However, I never expected
that Max would be the one I shot.

I think it
helped Uncle Manny and Tyler to understand my attitude when I explained that,
while I didn't want to go to prison, I had broken the law, and I was reconciled
to the fact that I would have to pay for what I did. Instead of them wasting
time feeling sorry for me, I wanted an update on all the things I had missed
while I was gone. They tried and at least
pretended
to be more cheerful.
We discussed the farm and fitness center businesses, Tyler's school and sports
activities, and my paternal grandparents from Mexico.

My grandparents
were strong people, but I knew they took it hard when my uncle explained where
I was. When I visited them in Mexico, they accepted me as their grandson and
treated me as if they had known me all my life. After my arrest for shooting
Max, I was afraid that they would disown me, but Uncle Manny said that they insisted
on seeing me on their next visit to Harper Springs. I had my doubts, but about
three months later, during the early summer, my grandparents came to see me.

During their
stay with Uncle Manny at Deer Lake Farm, they visited me several times. My
grandmother always brought Mexican food that she had prepared from her own recipes,
and oh my god, it was all so good. I told her that the jail staff had treated
me really well, and on her last visit to see me, she brought enough food for all
of them. They made a big fuss over her cooking, and I grin every time I
remember how pleased she was.

My grandfather
had suffered a stroke right before I met him in Mexico, and while he always
gave me his lopsided smile, it was difficult for him to speak. I called him
"Pops" as Manny did. My grandmother's name was Maria, but I called
her Grammy, and while my grandfather spoke very little, Grammy was a talker and
a good storyteller.

At the end of
Grammy's first visit, she asked me to pray with her, and while I did as she
asked, I had to be honest with her that I had never gone to church much, and I
had never seen prayer as very useful. I could see the disappointment in her
eyes, as she told me that had my father lived, he would have raised me in the
Catholic Church. I didn't tell her that I never once heard Uncle Manny mention
church.

"A child
needs to be in church from the beginning. It's not your fault that you don't
know our religion, River," said Grammy. She spoke English very well, but
she had a thick accent that I loved to hear. She pronounced my name,
"REEver."

"The boys
home offered us rides to church but never forced us to go," I explained.
"I only went a few times with my foster families." I told Grammy
about going to River Baptist with the Abernathy family and about going to hear
my maternal grandfather preach. Even Grammy had heard of my grandfather.

Grammy
hesitated, considering something she wanted to say. She twirled the rosary beads
around her neck and then reached across the small table to clasp my right hand
in both of hers. "River, would you do something for me?"

"Yes,
ma'am, if I can."

"Would you
visit with a priest, if I send him here?"

I thought about
her request. It wasn't as if my schedule was too busy. "Sure, Grammy, if
you want."

She smiled
widely. "Thank you. Please give him a chance for a few visits. Let him
teach you about our faith."

"If it
makes you feel better, I will take his visits, as much as he wants to
come."

"That's my
good boy. I also want you to talk to him about giving you the name of a priest for
the next place you have to go."

"Yes,
ma'am." The word "prison" didn't roll off her tongue easily, but
she was not naive about my future residence or the kind of life I might have.

"River, the
place you go will be very hard with evil men, and you are still only a boy. The
priest can help you find your faith, and your faith will always be a comfort to
you in bad times when you hurt and feel all alone. It may be all you have to
keep you strong until you can have your life again."

There were not
many Catholics in Bergeron County and only one Catholic Church, but Grammy
found Fr. John Baxter, who began visiting me on a regular basis. He was only
thirty-years old, so he was not the old man I had expected to bore me to tears.
He was actually very interesting, and we got along well. In addition to our
discussions, he brought literature to acquaint me with Catholicism. For my
grandmother's sake, I listened, read, and learned.

Besides my Deer
Lake family and my grandparents, I had other regular visitors at the county jail,
including Hal and Jenny, Coach Haney, Coach Riddle, Miss Martin, and Howie
Spearman. A few others came once or twice.

I was surprised
when I received a request from Beth Summers to place her on my approved
visitors list, but I understood when I spoke with her. She missed Carlee
terribly, and she wanted to know how Carlee spent her time before she died. I
told her how much Carlee enjoyed hiking, camping, and trail rides. She told me
cute stories of Carlee when she was a little girl. We smiled when we reminisced,
but there was so much sadness inside both of us.

Mrs. Summers
told me how much I resembled my father and how it drove her nuts that first day
when she met me at her house. She had seen my father working with his shirt
off, and when she saw the same birthmark on me, she was shocked. She believed
that I had to be related to him. Mrs. Summers didn't miss the irony that Carlee
was obsessed with me for a long time during which I rejected her, just as my
father had rejected Mrs. Summers in favor of my mother.

Mrs. Summers
shared stories about my father, and it was interesting to hear about him from
her point of view. She was definitely in love with him and had nothing but good
things to say about him. She cried when she told me about hearing the news of
his death, and I had no doubt that she took it very hard. It was obvious to me
that she never lost her crush on my father.

***

One of the
guards was named Duncan, but everyone called him Dunc. I came to know him well
during my stay in the Bergeron County Jail. The first time I saw Dunc, he came
to my cell one day and told me to back up to the bars to "cuff up,"
which meant that I had to turn my back to the bars and push my hands through a
rectangular opening for him to handcuff my wrists. He then opened my cell,
applied shackles to my ankles, and ran a chain around my waist to which both
the handcuffs and ankle shackles were attached. It was the normal procedure
when they took an inmate out of the cellblock, which contained our cells, the
day room, the cafeteria, and the showers. I assumed I was going to one of the
offices because I wasn't expecting any visitors at the time.

I didn't
question Dunc, but I was confused when he led me to the visitation room to talk
to one of the last people I ever expected to visit me. Bill Summers was not on
my list of approved visitors, and he had made no request of me as Mrs. Summers
had. I immediately wondered if Big Bill had paid to beat me while I was
shackled and defenseless.

Dunc pushed me
down in the chair across the small table from Big Bill and spoke to my visitor
before leaving the room. "Mr. Summers, I'll be watching from behind the
glass. Just raise your hand if you need me."

"How are they
treating you here?" Big Bill's voice was casual, almost friendly, almost
as if I had invited him.

"I won't
bother asking what you did to get a visit with me."

"I hope
you're not upset, but I wasn't sure that you would speak to me otherwise."

"Mr. Summers,
you know I can't discuss the case, so what else do you want?"

The man
surprised me. "Well, for one thing, I wanted to apologize for my part in
having you arrested and prosecuted for Carlee's death. It never crossed my mind
that it could have been Max, and I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't heard
it from his own mouth. I realize now that he was a very sick young man, and I
blame my brother for most of that. Hell, maybe I'm to blame too."

"Mr.
Summers, Max made his own decisions. I still don't know how he could have
killed Ant and injured me, and then acted as if he had done nothing wrong. He
sat with me for hours in the hospital. He read to me, cleaned me up, and helped
me with meals. I never once suspected that he was the one who put me in that bed."

"River, I
wish you didn't have to serve any time, but they can't just excuse what you did.
I want you to know that his family won't pressure the solicitor for a long
sentence, and there's a group of us who will ask for leniency on your
behalf."

"Thanks,
Mr. Summers." The idea of Bill Summers helping me was a strange one.