“I want to be correct, Mr. Walker. What other evidence do you have that Congressman Stone may have been involved in the deaths of his daughter and wife?”
“I spoke to the doctor who did the autopsy and got shit-canned for opening his mouth about it, and I spoke to a cop who questioned the investigation and was shipped off to nowhere.”
“You have been doing your own investigation, Mr. Walker?”
“Not on purpose. I just bought a house, that’s all. All this shit just sort of happened.” I explained, as best I could, what the medical examiner had told me about hyoid bones and a hanging that had happened after Mrs. Stone was already dead. I told him how Dr. Greller had been threatened. Then I explained the deal with Arthur McDade.
“Oh, and another thing—and you can check this all out yourself. I went to go talk to Benjamin McComb, the kid who was arrested and put away for the murder of Casey Stone and was also accused of raping her. He said he loved her and she loved him, which is in her diary, and that he would never hurt that girl. I spoke to him in person at Maury Correctional Facility. And right after we spoke, he ended up being beaten to death.”
He was silent for a second. “Please hold.”
I listened to elevator music in my ear as I crept around my house with Ice in my right hand, his strap over my right shoulder, and the phone in my left. It seemed like I was holding on for a long time.
“Mr. Walker, this is a closed case from twenty years ago—a closed case considered solved. One does not just re-open a case because someone calls the FBI and says he has found an old diary.”
That pissed me off. “Well, how about I tell you that since I started looking, Ben was murdered, my house was ransacked, I’ve gotten threatening phone calls, I’m pretty sure my phone is bugged and that someone is watching my house. The reporter I spoke to got pulled over and had her notes and camera stolen from her by a guy who was supposedly a cop. And I just got a phone call with a guy who said he was Mark Rosman from the Inquirer and wanted the diary, except he wasn’t, because Mark called me five minutes later, and I’m standing in my own fucking house with a shotgun. How about that?”
“Mr. Walker, I can’t promise you anything, but tomorrow I myself will drive down to Harkers Island to meet with you.”
“Fine. Come on down. But it’s BYOS. Bring your own shotgun, I’m not sharing.”
“Mr. Walker, you’ll need to secure your firearms before I come down. Do you have a license to carry?”
“Of course I do. And I am in my own house. There are guys out there who want to kill me because their boss is a fucking animal. Ice stays with me! Oh, and Ice is my shotgun…from Afghanistan.”
“Were you in the service, Mr. Walker?”
“First Special Forces Operational Detachment, Delta.”
There was a pause. “I named my rifle ‘Jenny’, but that’s just me.”
I smiled for the first time all day.
“Yeah, well, Ice is a Mossberg 500 tactical. Somehow, a girl’s name just wasn’t working.”
“Sit tight, Mr. Walker. I’ll be there tomorrow morning by ten.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Storm’s a’ Comin’
I hung up with Special Agent George Bauman and decided to try to find Thomas. Why was that cop looking for him? Caleb was trying to warn him before the cop found him? Why was that? Something was up, and I hated being the only guy on the island who didn’t have a clue.
I checked outside. It was pitch black but the rain had let up a bit. Must be between those ‘bands’ that the guy on the weather channel had been talking about so happily. I slid Ice around behind my back and threw a rain poncho on to conceal him.
I put a bar in the sliding glass door, double-checked all the window locks, then re-locked the front door behind me. I shoved a tiny piece of twig between the door and the frame, and if anyone picked my lock again while I was out, I’d know it.
I decided to take the car, in case it started getting nasty out again, and cruise around to see if I could locate Thomas. The island was so tiny. Where could he possibly hide?
I drove very slowly with the windows down, trying to hear anything that sounded like human activity over the roar of the surf and the occasional howling of the wind. The air was wet with ocean mist blowing off the Back Sound, and there wasn’t one star visible.
I drove past the ferry office, which was closed and dark, and noticed the ferry wasn’t docked. They must have docked at the mainland to ride out the storm.
I wondered if Mike Jackson was still on the island or if he had gone out with the boat. Lots of houses I passed were dark and a few were boarded up, the owners having headed off the island. I felt sort of trapped. One way out, and the enemy held the bridge. Where was the Air Force when I needed them? I could call in an air-strike, clear the far side of the bridge and send the light armor over it. Oh well. A different lifetime…
I passed Tuckers, which was still open and looked busy. If all else failed, one could always find a drink on Harkers Island. The blackboard sign on the porch read ‘Hurricane Specials’. At least they kept their sense of humor. I guessed it wasn’t their first hurricane party.
Driving slowly, I passed a few small bungalows and decided I was probably wasting my time. That was when I spotted that old fishing boat that Caleb, Thomas and that other guy had been working on the day I’d met them. It was anchored just offshore, which seemed completely ridiculous, seeing as how there was a hurricane rolling this way and the boat belonged in the dock. Who would want to sit out there rocking back and forth all night? Or maybe it was safer out there? The waves were crashing against the boat like the TV show The Deadliest Catch.
I pulled over and walked to the pier. It was maybe a thirty-yard swim, but the water was black and the current was insane. There was no way I was leaving Ice and trying to swim to the boat. Hell, I didn’t even know if Thomas or Caleb were out there, although I could see lights on in the wheelhouse and below deck.
I spotted a small rowboat bobbing up and down, tied to the pier. I wasn’t actually stealing it, just borrowing it. I climbed down, untied the lines and grabbed the oars. The current was much stronger than I anticipated. I’d figured it would take me two minutes to row over to the fishing boat. Holy crap. The tiny rowboat was full of water and rocked back and forth so badly that I thought I’d drown for sure.
After what seemed like fifteen minutes of killing myself against the current, I finally worked my way over to the fishing boat. Combat could be terrifying, and this was every bit as bad. Mother Nature was not to be trifled with, and she was pissed. It took every ounce of energy, backed up by terror-driven adrenaline, to get the dinghy alongside the boat.
There was no one on deck, so I just grabbed the side of their boat and tied my line to it as best I could. One quick grunt and I was on the deck. I slipped Ice around in front of me but kept him under my raincoat. The wheelhouse was empty, but there was definitely noise from below deck. I strained my ears against the whistling wind. It was that God-awful country music again. I worked my way over to the door that led below decks and stood out there in the blowing mist trying to explain my presence on their boat in my head. I really had no idea what I would say, so I just said fuck it, and opened the door.
I stepped inside into the warm, dry cabin to find Thomas plastered at the galley table all by himself. He had a mason jar of moonshine in front of him and there were several empty beer bottles on the table. He was so hammered that he just looked at me with a blank expression. His blue coveralls were stained with black grease, and the T-shirt under it might have been white at some time in the past.
“Hi, Thomas,” I said, like I just happened to be passing through the neighborhood. “Pretty nasty night out there.”
He handed me the moonshine, which I accepted and faked taking a sip. “Whatcha’ doin’ out here all by yourself?”
“Wal-kah?” he slurred, trying to remember who the hell I was. He ran his calloused fingers through his long salt and pepp
er hair.
“Yeah, Thomas, Cory Walker. You had beers with Amanda and me the other night at Tuckers. Remember?”
He smiled, I guessed remembering Amanda, and said her name out loud. “How’s that girl of yours?”
“Really pissed off at me at the moment.”
For some reason, that was quite hilarious to him, and he took another slug of the shine. He offered it to me, but I asked if he had any beer left. He pointed to the old fridge on board, and I dug out two Buds.
“There’s a hurricane coming, Thomas. What are you doing out here by yourself?” He made a noise that sounded something like, “Phhhfffft…” and threw his hands out, to show me he didn’t think much of the hurricane. After a slug of beer, he mumbled, “I been through plenty of storms out here. This ain’t nothin’.”
“Why was that cop looking for you, Thomas?” I asked.
“Caleb tell you?” he asked.
God, he was hammered. “Yeah,” I lied. “He said you’d tell me the whole story.”
And he did.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
True Story
Thomas leaned against the hull and let his head fall back against the worn wooden bench seat. He closed his eyes. At first, I thought he was going to fall asleep, but he wasn’t sleeping. He was thinking back twenty years to a night he had tried to forget by drinking hard every night since then. He didn’t move for a while, and I didn’t say a word. The boat creaked and groaned in the storm. The sky lit up outside the portholes for a second, followed by a crack of thunder that made me jump.
Then he told me a story.
“It was a nice night. Warm. The stars were out. Lucy and me were still married, before she passed…God bless her. I had been out on Caleb’s boat working that day. We had a good catch. I’d gone home and seen the missus, then headed back to the boat to finish offloading. I’m telling you, the hold was so full of fish.” He was smiling, his eyes scanning back through a sea of time, probably picturing the boat so full of fish that it was low in the water.
Outside our boat, the wind howled and rocked us.
“I worked late that night. Then I cleaned up the boat and went topside to have a smoke and a beer. I fell asleep. When I got up, it was late. I secured the boat and walked home along the beach. It was such a pretty night. First thing that happened was I passed a group of kids. They looked upset, and I remember them talking about how they were going to be in big trouble. They had beers on the beach and a fire going, but they were Islanders, good kids. Mike was there—Caleb’s boy. He’s like my nephew. I don’t know why they thought anyone would bother them. I just let them be and kept walking. That’s when I saw Casey and her mother.”
He looked at me, his gray eyes so tired and sad.
“She didn’t mean to do it.”
“Who? Casey? She didn’t mean to do what?”
Something crashed up on deck, blown by the wind.
“Mrs. Stone. She and Casey had a terrible fight. Terrible. Casey was on her knees. At first, I was so far away that I didn’t get it right in my head. I couldn’t make sense out of what I was seeing. Then I heard Casey and her mother screaming awful things at each other.”
“What were they saying Thomas? Think! It’s important.”
“Casey, she kept screaming, ‘How could you let him do that to me? You knew!’ and her mom kept screaming, ‘Shut up!’ Casey was still screaming about her mom knowing and not helping her. She screamed, ‘You let him!’ over and over and finally Mrs. Stone lost it. It was terrible. She had Casey by the throat and was screaming ‘Shut up!’ I think she was just trying to get Casey to stop talking and she squeezed too hard and too long. That poor girl fell into the sand and her mom ran off. I ran over and found Casey…dead.”
“Thomas, what are you saying?”
Thomas looked at me again, this time with tears running down his cheeks. “I saw Mrs. Stone choking that girl. Casey’s eyes were wide. Her mouth was open like she was trying to scream.” He stared right through me. “She looked so dead.” He wiped his face and took a long drink of the moonshine.
“I shook her. I tried to give her mouth to mouth. I tried everything I knew to save that little girl. She was so young…” He was crying now, twenty years of guilt pouring out of his soul.
My head was spinning. “I don’t understand. Anne Stone killed Casey? You saw it? How did Ben get blamed for that? And how did Casey end up in the water? She wasn’t found on the beach. Thomas, what the fuck happened?”
Thomas composed himself. “I sat on the beach for a long time with that girl. I’d watched her grow up, summers on this island, every summer for sixteen years. She was such a beautiful kid. I just held her in my lap, rocking her. I couldn’t help her. After a long time, I left her and went to find Judge Stone. He had always been real generous with us, always made sure the bank loaned us money when things were bad. I trusted him. I ran to his house and banged on his front door so hard. When he opened it, he was a worse mess than me. I started screaming about what I saw. I told him to call an ambulance, call the police, somebody. He said he knew what had happened. Ben had raped Casey, and Casey and her mom had had a terrible fight. He knew she’d killed her daughter. It was an accident, he said. Then Mrs. Stone hanged herself. It was too much for her.”
“Wait. Earl Stone said that Ben had raped Casey that night?”
“Yeah. Said Casey told her mom before they had their fight. Mrs. Stone blamed Casey for it somehow, and they got out of control. She would never have killed her own child. It was a terrible accident. Judge Stone said that there was no reason to ruin his wife’s reputation. The poor woman was dead. She’d killed herself in her grief, you see.”
He took a huge slug of moonshine. The boat rocked back and forth hard as a big roller must have broadsided us. “Why tell anyone what happened, when it was an accident?”
“Because Ben didn’t kill her, Thomas! Why would you let him take the blame for killing her?” I didn’t mean to scream at him.
“He raped her. Earl Stone told me. He deserved to go to jail, and Mrs. Stone didn’t mean to kill Casey. He said that after a few years, he’d see that Ben was released, after he paid for what he’d done.” Thomas was crying silently.
“He didn’t do anything, Thomas!” God, I wanted to start screaming and never stop. “Did you see Anne Stone that night after she killed Casey on the beach?”
“No. Judge Stone said he found her. She hanged herself.”
“But you didn’t see her body, did you? And what about Casey? The paper said you found her in the water? You told me you left her on the beach?”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Judge Stone… He said he’d take care of Casey himself. I brought him down to where I’d left her on the beach, and he sat down there and started crying. He told me to leave and not say a word to anyone about anything. I didn’t know what to do. I went back to the boat that night, got blind drunk and passed out. When I got up the next morning, Judge Stone was still sitting on the dock right near my boat. He’d been up all night.”
“And where was Casey’s body?”
“In the water. Judge Stone had carried her down to the water and laid her in the ocean. I think he sat with her down by the water’s edge most of the night. Then he walked up the dock and waited for me to wake up. When I saw him, he was a wreck. His wife and daughter were both dead the same night. I mean, can you imagine?”
I shook my head, trying to get my mind around all the lies.
“He asked me to go along with his version of what had happened. I don’t know why he wanted it that way, but I felt so terrible for him. I just said yes. He made me say it over and over again, like a hundred times. Casey was missing. Me and him and Mrs. Stone went looking for her. Mrs. Stone said, ‘Don’t worry. Don’t make a scene. Don’t call the police. She’s with one of her friends, and she’ll come back in the morning.’ That’s the story I told the police next day.”
“That you fou
nd her body by your boat?”
“In the morning, I found her by my boat and called him, Judge Stone, then I called the police. That part is true. I’m the one who called the police. Judge Stone later told the police that while we were all waiting for them to come, Mrs. Stone went back to the house. Judge Stone found her dead later on.”
I was shaking my head in disbelief. Thomas didn’t seem like a bad guy, but could he be that naïve? Rain drummed against the windows, louder. The wind howled like an angry animal.
“He said he didn’t want his wife called a murderer. That’s all. I felt so bad for him. What’s the difference? They were both dead. Why drag her name through the mud? It was an accident, and she paid for it with her life…”
“No, Thomas! Ben McComb paid for it with his life!”
“He raped that girl…”
“No he didn’t! Earl Stone did!”
Thomas stared at me blankly.
“That’s right, Thomas. Earl Stone was molesting his own stepdaughter and beating his wife. He killed Anne. She didn’t hang herself!”
“What?” Thomas was drunk, but beyond that, he was totally shocked. His face was twisted as he tried to get his head around what I’d just said. “But…he couldn’t… He wouldn’t…not his own stepdaughter. His wife?” Thomas’ face showed more than confusion. It showed horror.
“Thomas, why was that cop looking for you? Does Caleb know what happened that night? Did you tell him?”
“Caleb? No. No one knows…except you now. Caleb knew something happened that night but I told him never to ask me about it, never to speak of it. Earl Stone got us this boat after all that happened. Told us it was a government program for Harkers Island fishermen, but I knew it was just payback for keeping my mouth shut. No one else on the island got a new boat.”
He stared at the floor, like he’d been hit by a bus. He started crying again. “I didn’t know, I swear.”
“I know, Thomas. But the time has come to make amends.”
Chapter Forty
Blood from a Stone Page 16