South River Incident (27 page)

“If he has a sheriff on his
payroll, I’m sure he probably has others of influence on it, too. Perhaps he
has a few members on the Board of Supervisors or some City Council members in
Charlottesville
on his side. Who knows how far his power stretches?”

“We can’t fight them all.
We have to nab the top man. We have to get him, before he gets us.” A far-off
look appeared on Billy’s face as he studied something in the back of his mind.
He turned, walked toward the bedroom door, and then mumbled to himself as he
started to walk out.

“
A-yo-hu-hi-s-di
u-we-ji-a-ska-’ya!
”

I didn’t even try to
decipher what he said. Instead, I ran up to him and tugged on his shirt. “Hold
on, Tonto. Exactly what have you got up your sleeve? I want you to tell me what
you’re going to do, before you do it. I don’t want any surprises. I’ve had enough
of those recently to last me a lifetime.”

His cold stare threw me for
a loop when he uttered, “He’s a dead man.”

“Whoa, pal,” I said. I
shuddered at the thought. “I don’t think I like what you’re saying. You aren’t
really thinking of killing Clayton Tyler, are you? Please tell me that’s not
what you just said. I’m serious, Billy. I have to know the truth.”

Billy came back down to
earth and realized he was scaring me with his words. He tried to ease my fear.

“I’m not going to kill the
creep, Jesse. Do you think I’d do something like that? I’m not crazy. First of
all, I would never kill anybody unless it was in self-defense. I surely
wouldn’t risk going to jail over dirt like
Tyler
. I’m talking about putting him out of
commission—sending him to jail where he belongs.”

“I sure hope that’s what
you meant,” I said, relieved. “I’d hate to think you’d even consider the idea
of murder.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” he
said. He kissed my cheek, trying to calm me. “I just want that man behind bars.
I want us to feel safe again.”

“I’m
with you!”

T
he weather outside was bitter cold
as frigid winds propelled me down the
front steps. I buttoned my coat and held on tightly to the porch hand rails,
praying I wouldn’t slip and hurt myself. My poor body had had enough bumps and
bruises. The gray sky only added to my anxiety, as I followed Jake, the SWAT
man to the Humvee that was parked bumper-deep in the snow.

“I was surprised when
Officer Lewis said she was sending a SWAT team member to pick me up,” I said to
him. “I thought you guys were reserved for more important things, like hostage
situations.”

“Well,” he responded,
opening the car door, “if we were so engaged, I’m afraid you’d be on your own.”
He held out his hand to help me climb in. “We do errands on occasions that are
not in our job description. Out here you have to be flexible. Someone’s life
might depend upon it.”

“I appreciate that,” I
said, closing the Humvee door and waiting for him to get in on the other side
before I continued. “This is a pretty neat piece of machinery. I’m impressed.”

“The ride’s a little
bumpy,” he replied, starting up the engine. “But it gets you where you want to
go and it can go anywhere.”

“Can we wait a minute?
Billy wants to follow us in his truck.” I looked at him and rolled my eyes. “He
wants to make sure I have a ride home.”

The truth was that there
was no way of talking Billy out of going—and I wouldn’t have tried. I wanted
him to be there with me during the interrogation. I also was a little concerned
that the police would try to keep me at the station on the premise that they
didn’t have a car available.

“I don’t know if that’s
such a good idea,” Jake, the SWAT man replied. “The roads are pretty bad. I had
a rough time getting here myself, and look at what I’m driving. There are trees
down and limbs scattered all over. Half the time you can hardly tell where the
road starts and stops. I ran into a ditch a couple of times. If he’s worried
about you getting home, I can assure you we’ll see to it that you have a ride.”

I made a flimsy remark
about men being men, and giggled as the man next to me showed a humorous
distaste in my display of stereotypical behavior.

He laughed and added, “And
women will be women.”

“No doubt,” I agreed.

Our small talk ended when I
saw Billy come out of the house. “Ah, there he is. Okay, I’m ready to go.”

Earlier, while we were
waiting for Jake, the SWAT man to show up, Billy had gone outside and cleared
the snow off the windshield. It took him fifteen minutes to get the door lock
unfrozen, but he wanted to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. He didn’t trust
the police and wasn’t about to let them get one step ahead of us. “Always be
prepared.”
That was one motto I’d heard him say many times. That, along
with, “Don’t get caught with your pants down.” Those two credos might just
pertain to this situation. The police have a way of making your life miserable.

Billy gave the thumbs-up
sign as he walked past us and jumped into his truck. The look on his face was
reassuring. He was not going to let anyone mess with me. He was going to take
care of me.

Jake, the SWAT man led the
way, paving a path for Billy’s truck as he drove. A harrowing thirty minutes
later, I was deposited on the doorsteps of the Charlottesville Police
Department, with a pain in my chest, and a shortness of breath. I was on my way
to a full-blown panic attack—a condition that hadn’t plagued me for a long
time. But some things never really go away... they just lie dormant.

Some people think that
anxiety attacks are usually brought on by stressful situations that you allow
to take control. In other words, you bring it on yourself. But that’s a load of
crap. They just don’t know anything about this condition. If they did, they
would be more compassionate. Instead, they give you a stupid look and tell you
to calm down; you should have more control over yourself. I’m sorry, but I
didn’t allow this to happen. I had nothing to say in the matter. Yet, here I
was, my heart beating out of my chest, sitting in one of those gray, wooden
chairs lined up against the wall in the police waiting area, and breathing into
a brown paper bag. I had carried the bag in my purse for so long that it was
now wrinkled and split at the top. I felt like a total dork. This was one of
those times I had told Billy about, but he had never seen the full effect.

“She gets like this
sometimes,” I heard Billy tell Captain Waverly as if this was a normal
occurrence. “I’ve never seen it this bad before, but I’m sure everything will
be fine in a few minutes. She needs to sit back and catch her breath.”

“I understand completely,”
the captain responded. “I have a sister who suffers from the same condition.
She has it so bad that she carries a folded paper bag in her purse with her
everywhere she goes. It’s really quite awful when she has one of those attacks.
Sometimes my brother-in-law has to rush her to the hospital. She says each
episode feels like she’s having a heart attack. I can imagine how scary that
must be. She says you just never know if it’s the real thing or not. Just to play
it safe, they make the trip to the hospital.”

“I don’t understand too
much about her condition,” Billy whispered. “I just know she freaks out and
can’t breathe. I guess when we get married, I’ll find out all there is to know
about it. For the time being, I just sit back and wait for it to pass.”

“You don’t have to whisper
behind my back,” I huffed, taking the bag down from my face and folding it up.
“I think I’m going to live this time. You two sound like mourners at a funeral.
You’re depressing.”

“Ah, she’s better,” Billy
smiled.

Captain Waverly took his
cue from Billy to proceed and started barking orders to his people.

Men in blue hustled to his
commands as Officer Lewis, the bimbo I had talked to on the phone earlier, led
me arm-in-arm to his office. Billy and I were served hot, bitter coffee in a
paper cup and told that the captain would be with us shortly. She left the room
and closed the door.

From past perceptions, I
thought all rooms at the police station would be grimy, tiny holes-in-the-wall
with a large watt bulb hanging down from the ceiling. That was not the case
here. All the rooms I had passed were spacious, clean and uncluttered, reeking
of efficiency and control, which said something for the way Captain Waverly ran
his ship. His office was even better. It was set up like a conference room with
a large, mahogany table and eight chairs situated in the middle of the room.
Overstuffed comfortable chairs sat along two walls. Metal file cabinets and a
bookcase, overflowing with books, lined a third wall, and a desk the size of a
picnic table sat in front of the remaining wall. This was an impressive room.

“Nice office,” I whispered
to Billy as we sat down at the conference table and waited for what was sure to
be a complete and thorough interrogation. “Do you think they rough up suspects
in this room?”

“I don’t see any blood on
the walls,” he replied, causing me to scan for signs of leftover brain matter.
“I was just kidding, Jesse. They wouldn’t do that in here... they have a
special room down the hall.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help
feeling a little bit intimidated. I have no idea what they might have in store
for me. You know how they are. One minute you’re their best friend, and the
next minute they’re locking you up.”

“After what happened last
night, Jesse, if they were going to lock you up, you’d be in jail right now.
Relax. All you have to do is cooperate and tell the truth. However,” he said as
he leaned closer to me, “I don’t think I’d mention anything about our visit to
Brad and Laura’s house. They might not understand.” He winked at me.

“I get your drift,” I said,
glaring back at him. “They’d throw both of us in jail. See, that’s what I was
talking about. You try to do what’s right, and then they catch you in something
a little iffy, and boom, you’re sitting in the slammer. Sneaky little...”

“That’s why I’m here—to
make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Captain Waverly entered the
room, followed by two men wearing suits and sporting FBI badges. A
scraggly-looking homeless man came in behind them and closed the door.

“This is Agent Andy
Turner,” the captain said as he pointed to each one respectfully. “This is
Agent Pete Brackens, from the FBI. Sheriff Hudson of
Greene
County
called
them in as soon as the Mary Keen kidnapping was reported.” He then pointed to
the ragged guy dressed in a tatty jacket and torn jeans, “And last, but not
least, Mike Cortez—Vice.”

“Obviously undercover, I
presume,” I remarked, and stood, eyeing his attire. “You do look a little
rough.”

“Let’s get right to the
point,” Agent Turner blurted out, taking a seat at the table as the rest
followed suit. “I want to hear your side of the story, starting with your first
contact with Mary Keen.”

They weren’t wasting any
time getting to the heart of the matter so I launched into a monologue explaining
the events that had taken place since that fateful day Thor had dragged home
the hand. Thirty minutes later, I finished my story, offering up my suspicions
of Clayton Tyler’s involvement in the murders, and suggesting a relationship
between him and Sheriff Hudson. “
Tyler
’s the one you should be after. He orchestrated this
whole mess. I firmly believe he has the sheriff under his thumb. I’m convinced
he has others we don’t know about. There might even be some men on your force
who are on his payroll.”

“Do you have any proof of
this accusation or are you just rendering an opinion, Miss Watson?” The captain
demanded an answer, his face red with anger at my suggestion that one of his
men had gone bad. “If you’re going to slam one of my guys, I want to see your
evidence.”

Billy pulled out the photo
from his coat pocket and handed it to Captain Waverly, thus causing a furor
among the two FBI agents the minute they saw it. They looked back and forth at
each other.

“Why didn’t you turn this
photo over to the police earlier?” Agent Turner asked, accusingly. “Do you
realize the penalty for withholding evidence? We could throw your...”

“Shut up, Turner,” Captain
Waverly said.

Obviously shaken from what
he saw in the picture, the captain rattled off the names of everyone, including
the three men standing by the sliding glass doors in the background.

“Here’s Clayton Tyler, Wake
Hudson and Chicky Sterling! I don’t believe it! Where did you get this photo?”

“We found...” I started to
say, but was immediately interrupted.

“We want complete immunity
before we answer that question,” Billy said to Captain Waverly. “You know that
we were just pawns in
Tyler
’s little cat-and-mouse game. We had nothing to do
with the deaths of Mary or Roy Keen. The shooting deaths of Brad and Laura were
in self-defense. You even said that yourself. I think you know more than you’re
telling and I’d like to know just what it is. Why were you following Brad and
Laura when they showed up at my place?”

I cringed when Billy made
reference to Brad and Laura’s death. The only way I’d been able to deal with
what had happened was by not thinking about them. I made myself shut out their
faces, along with the horror of what I had done. My focus drifted back to last
night and that terrible scene, replaying the anguish I felt when seeing their
blood pooled on my floor. I had the sudden urge to wretch. Between the many
cups of coffee and the lone piece of dry toast I had for breakfast, my stomach
churned and threatened to rebel. No longer being able to control my nausea, I
jumped up from the chair, covered my mouth with my hand, and mumbled, “Where’s
your ladies’ room?”

Chairs scraped the polished
wooden floor as everybody in the room jumped back as if they were expecting a
volcano to erupt any second.  Hobo Cortez was the first to come to my aid,
ushering me out of the room and down the hall. The door had a picture of a man
and a woman on it. I hesitated at first, but Cortez explained that it was for
the general public.

“The door locks from the
inside,” he said.

I barely made it to the
toilet in time to empty my stomach of its acid liquid. The first thing that
popped up in my mind was the chief’s prediction of my future status as a
soon-to-be-mother. “No, it just
ain’t so! It can’t be.” If there was the
slightest chance the chief might be right, I was in for a real ordeal. If being
pregnant started out this bad,
I could just imagine what the next nine
months were going to be like. “Stop it!” I told myself. I brushed that
ridiculous thought aside in an effort to convince myself that it couldn’t
possibly be true. I haven’t even missed a period. So take that, chief! After
washing my face with a wet paper towel, I pulled myself together and tried to
regain any pretense of dignity I had left. 

“Are you going to be all
right?” Billy asked as I came out of the restroom. “I was beginning to worry
about you.”

“I’ve had better days,” I
mumbled in a low voice as we walked back to Captain Waverly’s office. “I’m
sorry,” I apologized to the men in the room. “After last night, my stomach
hasn’t been the same.”