He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just seems to contemplate what she’s said.
“I want my old life back,” he says. “Want what we had.”
My phone continues to vibrate next to Chris but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Anna seems like she might be getting through to him. He’s at least listening. I decide not to say anything, just let her talk to him and see what happens.
“You have to take responsibility for all you’ve done,” she says. “That’s where it starts. Then you have to work hard to rebuild, and there’s no going back. There’s nothing to go back to—and that’s not just true of you or us, that’s true of everything. Whatever was back there is long gone. There is no going back. But you can move forward. Accept responsibility. Make amends. Work on your character defects.”
“How can I make amends with you?”
“It would start by putting down the gun and not holding us hostage,” she says.
“I want to make everything up to you,” he says. “Show you how sorry I am and how it’ll be different this time. Win you back.”
“That’s not something you can do with a gun,” she says. “Not something you can do by breaking into our home and threatening us.”
“You sayin’ I have a shot?” he says. “I mean with you. Could we be together again?”
“That’s not a conversation we can have in this situation,” she says. “You have a gun to the back of Johanna’s head.”
“Just to keep y’all from doing anything stupid.”
“You’ve got me tied up.”
“Just to protect you. I don’t want anybody getting hurt. I don’t. And I know how you are over these two. I just wanted some time with my little girl. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“Of course not,” she says, “but this isn’t the way to do it.”
“How else was I gonna do it?”
“By getting a job. By paying your back child support. By not stalking us. By seeing a therapist. By showing the judge you’re taking the extraordinary and undeserved second chance you got and doing something positive with it. Not like this.”
“I just wanted to talk. You would’t talk to me if I didn’t do it this way. See how you’re talking to me now. That’s all I wanted. That’s all. You wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. I just wanted to hold my kid. For her to know I’m her daddy. She’s growing up so fast—and without me in her life. She needs her real father, not some fake one.”
“I understand what you want,” Anna says. “I truly do. But this is not the way to go about it. Period. It’s the exact opposite way.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
“Put down the gun. Untie me. Let us go.”
“I do that, your new husband’s gonna put a bullet in my brain.”
“No he’s not.”
He looks at me.
I shake my head. “I’m not going to shoot you.”
“But you’re going to arrest me. Just for wanting to spend a little time with my daughter. You’re gonna arrest me for that and you claim to be a kind and caring person. I don’t want to go back to prison.”
“One step at a time,” Anna says. “Put down the gun. Let the girls go. Untie me.”
He seems to think about it. “Tell you what,” he says, “we’re gonna skip that first step, okay? But the girls can come over there with you. Give daddy a hug, Taylor.”
He tries to hug her but she’s trying to squirm away.
“Y’all go sit with mommy,” he says.
When he lets go of Taylor, she starts to crawl toward Anna, but Johanna doesn’t move.
“You can go,” he says. “Go ahead. Go to . . . . Anna.”
Removing the gun from the back of her head and pointing it toward me, he says, “See? The gun isn’t pointed at you anymore. It’s okay. You can go. Go to Anna.”
She looks at me.
I nod. “It’s okay,” I say. “Go sit with Anna.”
She shakes her head.
“What is it baby?” I ask.
She shakes her little head again and begins to cry.
“What is it sweetie?” I ask.
“I . . . I . . . wet . . . myself.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I did too. It’s what we do in situations like this. Everybody does it.”
“I did it too,” Anna says. “It’s okay, little darlin’. I promise it is.”
She’s mortified, my shy, modest girl, too embarrassed to move, and it makes me want to kill Chris Taunton with my bare hands. Slowly.
“I’m sorry,” Chris says. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Tell you what, I’ll move. Okay? I’ll move and Anna can come to you. You don’t have to move.”
He picks up my phone and gun and stands, still keeping his gun pointed at me.
“Come on over here with her,” he says to Anna.
“Come on,” Anna says to Taylor. “Let’s go sit with your sissy.”
Anna tries to scoot and slide over to where Johanna is in the middle of the room, but has a difficult time doing it with her ankles and wrists bound.
“Here,” Chris says, and steps over, withdraws a pocket knife from his jeans and cuts the zip ties, then takes a step back so she and Taylor can get to Johanna.
Anna pulls Johanna to her, wrapping both girls in her arms and trying not to cry.
“John, let’s you and me take a little walk,” Chris says.
I nod. “Okay.”
“Stand up slowly,” he says, motioning with the gun.
I stand very slowly.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” I say to Johanna. “I love you. I’m so proud of you. You’re such a big girl. You did so good.”
She tries to smile. “Love you, Daddy. Hurry back.”
“I will.”
I look at Anna and our eyes lock, but neither of us says anything, and I’m sure she’s thinking what I’m thinking—Don’t do anything that might set Chris off.
“Okay,” Chris says, “clasp your hands behind your head and walk down the hallway and out the back door. “Don’t get too far ahead of me and don’t try anything.”
I do exactly as he instructs.
When we round the corner from the hallway into the living room, Dad is hiding against the wall with his nightstick, which he brings down hard on Chris’s hand holding the gun.
Before the gun hits the floor, Dad brings the stick back up and strikes Chris beneath the chin, the blow snapping his head back and knocking him to the floor, my phone and backup gun skittering out of his outstretched hand and down the hallway.
I spin around and lunge onto Chris, rolling him over and cuffing him.
Still dazed, he’s extremely compliant.
“Glad he finally brought you out,” Dad says. “I’ve been waiting out here for the past twenty minutes trying to figure out how the hell to get in that room.”
253
“Hate I missed the excitement,” Merrill says.
We are sitting at our kitchen table, and though it’s later that night, Johanna is still sitting in my lap—where she’s been since we got her cleaned up after the ordeal.
Anna is next to me, Taylor sleeping on her shoulder.
Merrill is across from me and Reggie is next to him.
I have a hand on Anna’s leg and the other around Johanna.
I kiss Johanna’s head, as I often have over the past few hours, her soft, still-damp hair smelling of baby shampoo.
“But sounds like ol’ Jack didn’t need no help,” he adds.
I smile. “If Chris’s arm isn’t broken or if he isn’t missing a couple of teeth I’ll be very surprised.”
“Deserves much worse,” Reggie says.
“Nightstick Jack,” Merrill says. “Think the sheriff’s got a new name.”
“Will he be in a while?” Anna asks Reggie. “What all can you charge him with?”
“Burglary for breaking into your home. Assault for the threat—aggravated assault since he had a weapon.
False imprisonment for holding y’all hostage. He could get a good bit of time—especially after the judge hears about his pattern of criminal behavior and past charges.”
“Will he stay in jail until his trial?” she asks.
Reggie shrugs. “It’s doubtful. Most don’t. Bail isn’t punitive. But a condition of bail will be absolutely no contact with y’all. And who knows . . . maybe he won’t be able to make bail. He’s broke, right? Does he have anyone who will post it for him?”
She shrugs. “Can’t imagine anyone would. His mom is dead. His dad is nearly as indigent as he is and they don’t speak.” She looks at me. “Can you think of anyone?”
I shrug and shake my head. “No, but . . . I just don’t know him or his connections that well.”
Johanna stops drawing and cranes her little neck to look up at me. “Daddy, is that bad man gonna get out of jail?”
“We’re working on keeping inside for a long, long time,” I say, “but we’ll all protect you no matter what. Do you know that? I’m not gonna let him ever get near you again. I promise.”
“I know that, Daddy.”
“I mean it,” I say, and hug and kiss her head again.
I’m overcome with anger when I think of the barrel of Chris’s gun anywhere near this precious little head.
“I know, Daddy.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when he first came. I wish I had been. I’m so, so, so sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
“No it’s not, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”
“It was my fault,” Anna says. “I let my guard down for a moment and—I should’ve been better prepared. It won’t happen again. I promise too.”
“More I think about this,” Merrill says to Reggie, “the more I might need you to arrest me and throw me in a cell with ol’ Christopher.”
Reggie looks at Johanna. “We’re all going to be looking out for you. Not gonna let anything like that ever happen again.”
Johanna nods. “Thank you, Sheriff Reggie.”
I’ve been worried about Reggie. The media coverage of this case has taken a toll—both on her and her relationship with Merrick. She’s joked a few times about their relationship possibly not surviving this case and I want to make sure they were only jokes. But so far I’ve not been able to. I make a mental note to do it the next time we’re alone.
“It’s my fault in more ways than one,” Anna says. “I can’t believe I was ever married to him—and for as long as I was . . .”
“It’s not your fault in any ways,” I say. “I mean it.”
“It’s not your fault, Anna,” Johanna says.
“Don’t blame yourself for bad men,” Reggie says. “Life’s too short. We’re not responsible for . . . the actions of the sick and twisted, controlling and demented . . . Don’t put that on yourself.”
“She’s right,” I say. “Listen to her. Please. You are not to blame for anything that happened.”
“Even if he does make bail,” Reggie says, “which sounds doubtful, we’ll be watching him like it’s the only thing we have to do. If he even thinks about looking in this direction, we’ll lock him up for violation of bail and he’ll stay inside until trial—and then a long, long time after he’s convicted.”
“How about a change of subject?” Anna says.
“Sounds good,” Reggie says. “Merrill, the hell you doin’ home?”
“Ol’ Trace pink-slipped my ass. Said my services were no longer needed, but he’ll hit me up if he ever needs a body guard or PI in Florida again. Gig went longer than it was supposed to anyway. And I think he’s runnin’ out of money. He’s overextended like a mofo, losing income right and left, and from what I gather ol’ Irvin Hunter, who pulled a Houdini, has been skimming from him for years.”
254
The next morning, Sam and I interview Caden Stevens.
I had to fight to use Sam, but I’m not involving her just because I think it will be good for her. I know she will be an asset. She’s a great investigator and she’s been studying the case, and I believe her current condition will put both Caden and his mom at ease.
We are in the interview room of the investigative division of our department. I’ve removed all the normal furniture and replaced it with two small comfortable couches and some age-appropriate toys.
Though Chris is still in jail, Merrill is at our house with Anna and the girls—the only way I can be here right now.
Marybeth Stevens, Caden’s mom, is a small, pretty and perky young mother with shoulder length brown hair and big brown eyes. She’s wearing a brightly colored summer dress and has a ribbon in her hair that matches it.
“Caden,” I say, “this is Sam. Sam is a detective like me and a good friend. She’s a very, very good person. She’s spent her life catching bad guys and while she was doing that a couple of years back, one of them shot her. That’s why she walks and talks the way she does.”
He nods, darting his eyes over to glance at Sam.
“It’s . . . nice . . . to meet . . . you . . . Caden,” she says.
He gives her a little hesitant wave.
“The only reason we’re here is because we’re trying to figure out what happened to Mariah and who did it. Sam is my good friend. Mariah was one of your good friends, wasn’t she?”
He nods.
“Are you sad that she’s gone?”
He nods.
“Poor thing hasn’t slept or eaten well since,” Marybeth says. “Have you, baby?”
He shakes his head.
“The only thing that will help us find out exactly what happened and why and who did it,” I say, “is the absolute truth. That’s what we’re asking you to tell us today. Just the truth. All the truth. Tell us everything you can and don’t hold anything back.”
“Just like we talked about,” Marybeth says to him. “We always tell the truth. Always. And when we can help a friend we do, right?”
Caden nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Those . . . are . . . great . . . to live . . . by,” Sam says.
“What kinds of things did you and Mariah do together?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Watched . . . movies. Played games. Hung out.”
I nod. “That’s good. What kinds of things would you talk about when you were hanging out?”
He shrugs again. “Just stuff. I don’t know. We watched her video. She sang for me.”
“A private concert. That’s cool.”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of stuff did you talk about?”
He shrugs.
“Tell him everything,” Marybeth says.
“About music . . . and movies . . . and things we like to do.”
“What kinds of things did Mariah like to do?”
“Sing and listen to music and skate and dance and shop and hang out with friends.”
“Did Mariah have a boyfriend?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond at first. Eventually, he shakes his head. “No, sir. Not . . . until . . . me.”
I nod. “So y’all were boyfriend and girlfriend, not just friends?” I ask.
He nods.
“That’s great. Y’all make a great couple. I’m so sorry for what happened to her.”
He nods. “Me too.”
“What kind of boyfriend and girlfriend stuff did you and Mariah do?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Hold hands. Talk. Text. Take pictures. Kiss. Just hang out.”
I nod. “That’s really great,” I say.
“It was so sweet,” Marybeth says. “Should’ve seen them. So cute. Just can’t . . . Still can’t believe what happened. It’s devastated us all.”
“Caden, did Mariah ever tell you any secrets?” I ask.
He sort of shrugs and nods at the same time.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Just stuff. She said Brett was mean to her and his mother always took up for him.”
“Did Brett play with y’
all?”
“He tried a few times, but she made him leave.”
“Did she say anything else about Brett or his mom, Ashley?”
“He tried to do stuff to her and his mom wouldn’t stop him.”
“What kind of stuff?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Boyfriend stuff.”
“Do you know like what?”
He shakes his head, but says, “Like kiss her and touch her and stuff. Make her sit there and watch him play his dumb video games. Stuff like that.”
“Where would he touch her?”
Again the shrug. “I don’t know. Private places.”
“Did he hurt her?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so. Think he just mainly annoyed her.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“Told him to leave her alone, that I was her boyfriend and he was her brother.”
“What’d he say?”
“That he wasn’t her brother. That he was her boyfriend first. And would be again when we all left vacation. Might as well play Minecraft with him instead of hang out with her.”
“Did you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did she say anyone else touched her like a boyfriend?”
He shrugs. “No, sir.”
“Did you?”
“Just a little. She wanted me to more. But Miss Nadine kept coming in.”
“What did she want you to do?”
He shrugs.
Marybeth says, “I told him he didn’t do anything wrong. That it’s normal kid curiosity, playin’ doctor and stuff like we all did. Nothin’ to be ashamed of or embarrassed about.”
“That’s . . . exactly . . . right,” Sam says.
“What did she want you to do?” I ask.
“Down there . . . stuff. Touch . . . rub.”
“Had you ever done that before?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“Before this vacation all his friends have been boys,” Marybeth says.
“Had she?”
He nods. “That’s how she knew she liked it.”
“Liked what?”
“Bein’ touched. Having . . . something put inside her.”
“What sorts of things?”
He shrugs and glances at his mom.
True Crime Fiction Page 99