by Webb, Debra
In that moment, standing in the kitchen of my early childhood, and watching my oldest and dearest friend, I suddenly realize that I’ve stopped having those nightmares about Iraq and the bus crash the past couple of nights. I haven’t had an anxiety attack or anything other than a passing desire for a drink in days. With all that’s happened I have more reason than ever to have suffered a double whammy of both.
“That was Mr. Wallace’s wife.”
The coroner. “Did he…?”
As soon as I ask the question I feel guilty about hoping he hasn’t died because as long as he’s alive there’s hope he’ll tell the truth about the dog tags. How sad is that?
“No,” Letty says. “He wants to see us.”
No matter that I’m fully aware this may not be information that will help our investigation, my hopes rise anyway.
* * *
Glenn Wallace’s wife greets us at the front door. Before inviting us into the house, she steps onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind her.
“He’s very weak. Don’t stay too long and don’t say anything to upset him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Letty says.
I nod. “Of course.”
The older woman stares at each of us in turn. “I don’t know why he wants to see you. I can only assume it’s about the old case since your momma,” she glares at me, “paid him a visit last night. He never got over that case, refused to talk about it even to me. All of a sudden after Helen left last night he’s wanting to talk to the two of you.” She shakes her head. “I guess he’s got something to get off his chest.”
We follow her inside though she doesn’t officially invite us. As we trail behind her through the house, my mind is turning over the idea that Helen visited Mr. Wallace after last night’s dinner and entertainment. At least now I know where she went when she claimed to be going to Howard’s.
The bedroom smells of death. A hospital bed stands to the right of the full size bed that matches the other furniture in the room. The night table between the two is loaded with bottles of medication. A small lamp stands amid the sea of bottles, its dim bulb the only source of light in the room. Blinds are closed tightly over the windows.
“May Ellen, close the door behind you,” Wallace says.
His wife looks less than happy but she does as he asks.
“Come on over here,” he says, his voice frail and thin. “I can’t talk very loud and I need to be sure you hear what I have to say.”
We move closer to the bed; Letty goes right, I go left. We stand on either side of him. His skin is so pale and translucent, whether from the disease or the treatment, it’s difficult to assess. Faint blue veins trace paths under the paper thin skin that lies against bone, making his face and every other visible part of him gaunt and skeletal looking. The rise of his chest is shallow, the fall a jerky tremble.
He looks to Letty first. “I have no idea what your daddy did or didn’t do but if those dog tags are the only evidence they have of his presence in that cave, then they have no evidence because he was wearing those dog tags when he shot himself.”
My knees go weak and my breath stalls in my lungs. I hear the sharp catch in Letty’s respiration.
“But you—”
“I did what I was told to do,” he cuts her off.
“Tell us what happened, Mr. Wallace.” I speak quietly, not wanting to upset him no matter that my entire being is vibrating with emotions. The numbness I first felt this morning is long gone.
He swallows, the movement jerky along the frail column of his throat.
“Do you need a drink of water?” Letty asks, her voice oddly calm as well.
“I’d love a drink,” he says with a rusty laugh, “but not water.”
I smile, my face feeling like glass about to shatter.
“Claiborne was desperate.” He clears his throat, the sound like rotting tissue ripping. “The girls had been missing for over a week and they had nothing. Everybody on the investigation wanted it to be James Cotton. He was an easy mark. He had opportunity.” He pauses to catch his breath. “He fit the profile the FBI provided.”
My heart is pounding. I want to scream but I keep my feelings inside. This part is harder on Letty than me. I need to stay calm for her.
“With his history of violent outbursts, Claiborne was determined to nail him and make the community happy. My part was cut and dry. I examined the body and certified the cause of death as a single gunshot to the head and the manner of death as suicide. I found no reason whatsoever to believe otherwise and that was that on my end.” Another shaky breath escapes his mouth. “Then you two found his dog tags in that cave. The very next morning the chief and Lorraine showed up at the hospital with a statement for me to sign saying Cotton wasn’t wearing the dog tags when I examined his body.” He clears his throat. “Like I said, I did what I was told.”
Letty and I look at each other over his failing body.
“Why would you lie for them?” Letty asks.
I want to move to her side and put an arm around her shoulder. She has lived with the lies about her father for nearly her whole life.
“Everyone lies for Lorraine,” he says and coughs. “Claiborne, anyone who has any influence. She makes it a point to learn our weaknesses. She knows what will levy the most pain and she holds it over our heads.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Mr. Wallace?” Letty asks, her words frigid, stiff.
“I’m dying. I have maybe a week or two to live. I don’t have a lot to leave my family, save my reputation in the community. Most folks have respected me. My sons have both grown up to be doctors and I’m very proud of them. I’ve tried hard to be a man of my word and never to break a promise. I eased my conscience about the dog tags with the idea that everyone believed James Cotton was guilty anyway, what difference did it make? But it was wrong. I knew this and I couldn’t fix it. Then Helen came to see me and I was no longer bound by a promise I made twenty-five years ago.”
Letty and I exchange another look. The man has lost us.
“You see,” he explained, his voice growing thinner, audibly wearier, “it wasn’t my honor on the line. But Helen urged me to do the right thing no matter what Lorraine said or did so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Are you saying you were willing to lie about the dog tags to somehow protect my mother?” It hit me then. “You had an affair.”
“You’ll have to talk to your mother about that.” He looked to Letty. “Sheriff Cotton, I’ve made an official statement and signed it. You’ll find it in the folder lying on the dresser over there. My secretary typed it up and brought it in. She witnessed it and Reba from over at the bank notarized it. Your father was wearing his dog tags at the time of his death. I allowed your mother to take them from his body before we carried him away. The dog tags were splattered with his blood. I witnessed her wiping it off the best she could with the hem of her dress.”
I watch tears slip down Letty’s cheeks.
Wallace exhales a burst of air that sounds more like a death rattle than a breath.
“However,” he says, his words too soft, too thin, “those dog tags got into that cave, your daddy did not put them there or lose them there.”
34
I wait for Letty to meet my gaze and then I ask, “You think they’ll go for it?”
“We didn’t give them a lot of choice.”
This is true. Letty called Lorraine and I called Heather. We each said basically the same thing: I have evidence your husband/father was involved in Natalie’s and Stacy’s deaths. I’ll be waiting for you on Indian Creek Road.”
We tossed around the idea of going to Claiborne but Letty worried he would give Lorraine a heads up. In the end we decided on the ABI. Special Agent Jimmy Watwood and his partner were standing by.
“We should call the mothers,” I suggest.
“And say what? That we’re doing exactly what you asked us not to do? Rattling the lion’s cage?”
Also tru
e. I stare out the window of Letty’s Jeep to the extravagant estate perched on the hillside on the opposite side of the road. I wonder if this was the last view Natalie and Stacy saw before they closed their eyes for the final time? I know they must have been terrified. Having a teacher—a man they trusted—take their lives was almost as bad as a family member doing so. I think about Ginny’s story and how Beaumont cried and claimed to have loved Natalie.
How could he have believed Natalie would be happy starting a life with him? I can’t disprove the suggestion that she was flirting with the man. It’s possible. Natalie was a blossoming young woman accustomed to being lavished with attention. Of course it’s possible that she found herself caught up in the titillating trap of flirting with an older, married man.
I cannot see her agreeing to run away with him under any circumstances.
The sound of a car coming carries through the open windows. I crane my neck to see. A black SUV comes into view.
“That’s Heather’s Tahoe,” Letty says.
As the vehicle draws closer I see Lorraine in the passenger seat. The women glance at us before turning down the long drive that leads to the Jackson home place. Letty starts her Jeep and follows.
Lorraine and Heather emerge from the Tahoe as Letty brakes to a stop. A tall man dressed in a suit steps out of the back seat.
“Who the hell is that?” I don’t recognize the man. Sixtyish, distinguished looking.
“The family attorney.” Letty blows out a burst of air.
My belly cramps. We should have expected as much.
“Son of a bitch.”
I turn to Letty and she’s staring at the rearview mirror. I turn around and spot another SUV, this one belonging to the Jackson Falls Police Department. My throat goes bone dry.
“It’s Claiborne,” Letty says.
“Send Watwood the signal.” Why beat around the bush? Obviously we need backup.
Letty sends the text and reaches for her door. We climb out and move to the front of her Jeep. Heather and her mother remain near the Tahoe.
Claiborne gets out and storms up to where we stand.
“What the hell is going on here, Letty?” Claiborne demands.
“Chief, this is a private matter.” She glances at Lorraine. “Unless, Mrs. Beaumont and Mrs. Turner want to make it police business.”
Letty clutches the file folder in her hand. My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly hear myself think.
Claiborne glares at her for ten full seconds before Lorraine says, “Give us a moment, Chief.”
Claiborne backs off. Letty waits until he’s leaning against the driver’s side door of his SUV before she speaks. “I have a number of official statements.” She lifts the manila folder for all to see.
“Sheriff Cotton,” the attorney says, “my name is—”
“I know who you are,” Letty says with enough of a sneer for him to know what she thinks of him.
“Good. To be clear, I have advised my clients not to answer any questions you may have. Whatever you have in that folder you should discuss it with me.”
“Here are your choices,” Letty says, looking from Lorraine to Heather and back, “you hear Emma and me out—just the four of us; or, we leave now and take what we have to the media.”
The attorney laughs. “I suggest you—”
“Go wait with the chief,” Lorraine says.
The attorney opens his bought and paid for mouth but she stops him cold with a single look. Like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, he strides off to wait with Claiborne.
“There’s no reason for my daughter to be a part of this,” Lorraine says.
“Mother,” Heather protests. “I want to be a part of it.”
Letty shakes her head. “You both stay or we leave.”
“Talk,” Lorraine snaps.
Letty passes the file to Heather. “You’ll find a statement from Mr. Niles Brewer about an incident he witnessed between Natalie and your father. You’ll also find statements from both Kellie Pike and Clare Tubbs about the time of your father’s accident and the subsequent request by Chief Claiborne for the time on the report to be changed.”
“This is ludicrous,” Lorraine rants.
Heather opens the folder and reviews the contents.
“Finally,” Letty says, “you’ll find a statement from Glenn Wallace, the county coroner, stating that James Cotton was wearing his dog tags when he took his life. Mr. Wallace witnessed my mother removing those dog tags. There is no way they ended up in that cave by his hand.”
“Do you realize how desperate you sound?” Lorraine laughs. “Obviously,” she turns her haughty glare on me, “you don’t know your mother very well, Emma. Glenn Wallace would do anything for her. And you,” she turns back to Letty, “your behavior is pathetic and utterly unprofessional. You should have come to terms with what your father did long ago.”
I want to punch the woman. I realize I would likely be charged with elder abuse but I want it bad.
“What’s this?” Heather holds up a photo of Natalie and my fury dies an instant death.
“That’s the photo Natalie’s parents gave the police during the original investigation,” Letty explains. “That photo ran on all the media outlets and in the newspapers.”
Heather studies the photo as if she is still confused.
“The necklace,” I say. “That’s the necklace she wore every day. She was wearing it the day she went missing.”
Lorraine stops her grumbling and stares at the photo.
“You see,” Letty says to Heather, “you father made a mistake when he disposed of the bodies—”
“Stop right there,” Lorraine demands.
Letty doesn’t stop. She recounts the story her mom told us last night, down to the last, grisly detail.
“That’s not possible,” Heather says and yet her tone belies her words almost as if she remembers something that causes her to doubt her conviction.
Letty nods. “What I just told you happened. Whether it was your father who killed Natalie and Stacy, I can’t be sure, but if it wasn’t him, then it was Mark, or maybe it was your mother.”
“Leave my son out of this.” Lorraine goes toe to toe with Letty. “I will not allow you to drag my children into this twisted fantasy your mothers have concocted.”
A silent standoff lasts a pulse pounding half a minute.
Lorraine breaks first. “What do you want?” she growls.
“Your consent to an official search of your entire property—“
“Lorraine!” The attorney storms forward. “This has gone far enough.”
“And you’ll what?” Lorraine demands, her gaze locked with Letty’s.
“If we find nothing, we let this go.”
My jaw drops. We did not discuss letting it go. “Jesus, Letty.”
“I have your word on that,” Lorraine says, the gleam in her eyes indicative of her confidence that she has already won this battle.
“You have my word, but,” Letty counters, “I select the search team.”
The Beaumont matriarch hesitates, but only for a moment. “All right.”
The chief joins the huddle and both men rant at Lorraine and Letty. Heather and I stand on the outside, staring at them and then at each other. She looks away first. In that instant I understand that my gut instinct was right.
She knows something.
* * *
It takes an hour to assemble the search team. Letty has set aside her personal time off for the day and directs the troops. The team consists of Agent Watwood and his partner, Letty’s three most trusted deputies, including O’Neal, two forensic techs from the lab in Huntsville, as well as the county’s K-9 Unit.
And me.
Once again, to keep things official, Letty deputizes me.
“How long do you expect me to put up with this?” Lorraine demands.
“As long as it takes.” Letty walks away from her.
The attorney just shakes his head. Clai
borne and three of his men stay near the house. Lorraine and the attorney join them.
Heather sits on the front porch. She has called Brad and told him to keep the kids away from grandma’s house. Mark and Marshall haven’t shown. I surmise that mommy dearest called and ordered the two to steer clear as well.
Letty motions for me to join her in the backyard.
“I want you to think ‘underground’,” she says. “Call my Mom and ask her if there are any specific places you should look. Helen is on the way with the pajama’s Natalie slept in the night before she disappeared. She’s had them packed away but it’s been twenty-five years. Who knows if the dogs can get the scent, but we have to try.”
I think of how Natalie’s closet still smells like her. “It might just work.” I hesitate. “What if we don’t find anything?”
She nods. “We will. Beaumont was obsessed. I’m betting the farm on the idea that the necklace isn’t the only thing he kept and that Natalie wasn’t the only object of his obsession.” She shrugs. “Worst case scenario, we don’t find anything here, I’ll interview every student Matthew Beaumont ever had. I’ll find someone who’ll talk.”
Letty hustles off to coordinate the team while I make the call to Ginny. We talk about the well house, the cellar under the house and the storm cellar built into the hillside at the tree line where the driveway ends.
I start with the old storm cellar. It’s a fair distance from the house and judging by how difficult it is to force the door inward it hasn’t been used in a while. This is where Beaumont claimed to have left Natalie and Stacy. Old wooden ladder-back chairs hang from the walls. Cobwebs and boxes of junk. With gloves protecting my hands as well as any evidence I stumble upon, I pick through the junk a piece at a time. It sickens me to think that this place may be where Natalie and Stacy took their last breaths. I force the thought away and keep looking.
Nothing.