“No, the money. Friends of Joshua. I mean, money’s been coming in since this story broke, but that’s a chunk, right? And weird that it’s the same odd amount. Sixty-eight thousand? Why not fifty, or seventy-five? It’s like a message.”
“It could be a coincidence.”
“It could, but it’s not. It never is. It always comes down to love or money, Salem.” She fiddled with her earrings. “You’re the PI, you ought to know that.”
“So what are you saying? That Friends of Joshua was behind this? Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying except it’s a clue. It’s a big clue. It fits in somehow.” She rose and pulled her jacket back on. “I need to talk to a couple of people before the six o’clock.”
I rose and shifted Stump against my side. “Thanks for showing me the video.”
She smiled and gave me a quick one-armed hug. “I would like for the entire world to see it, but I have to talk the station manager into it first.”
I drove toward Trailertopia, but my mind was whirling and I just couldn’t face going home yet. Everything that Les had said in that interview spun through my mind. Was he right? It had been very disturbing to see him portrayed as the close-minded homophobe, but for some reason hearing him express his thoughts in such a reasonable way was even more unsettling. Because he could be right.
I drove past my turnoff and kept driving, thinking about Marky and CJ and Les, thinking about all the awful things I’d read and heard over the past week. Les said that God gave us this life and told us the best way to live it, but that it was up to us to follow that way, to be obedient. Thinking about obedience made me think of Tony. I’d teased him about being an obedient son, but the truth was, he was an obedient son of God. He seemed content, and he’d certainly been successful. But he’d also been saddled with an AWOL wife for most of his adult life, and was missing out on fatherhood and a family of his own. For a man who’d grown up with family being the first priority and driving force, coming home to an empty house every night could not be easy. That’s what obedience had gotten him.
And Les could say all he wanted about the wages of sin being death, CJ hadn’t died because he sinned. He’d died because someone had hit him hard enough to kill him. All those torture stories I’d read – those people had not been hurt because they sinned. They’d been hurt because people chose to hurt them.
They desecrated his body.
Marky had said that, when we went to his apartment. I’d never heard that word used outside of a religious context. But one of the comments on the Friends of Joshua Your Torture Stories page used the same word. That story had been particularly hard to read, because it wasn’t just about humiliation and physical pain, but betrayal from someone he’d trusted.
I was lonely and I missed him. So I met him...held me down and scratched PERV over and over on my stomach until it scratched so deep it left a scar...completely desecrated my body.
I drove until a dim light bulb began to flicker over my head, and I looked down at Stump, riding contentedly in my lap. “Do you believe in coincidence, Stump?”
I pulled into a Walgreen’s parking lot, thinking. I might believe in coincidence if they came one at a time, but two coincidences seemed a bit much. I wasn’t sure what to believe at the moment, though. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone, but hesitated, my thumb hovering over the button to call Viv. She and Dale were undoubtedly together, and I didn’t want to catch anymore grief from them about following a false lead. I dropped the phone back into my bag. I could handle this one on my own...
I carried Stump through the small living room of the Friends of Joshua house, into the combination dining room and kitchen. Marky stood beside the counter, holding a thick metal rod with a notch in one end. I had seen Tony use that to scrape up old linoleum yesterday. Marky stood staring at it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
He smiled when he saw me. “Hey,” he said. “I hope you’re here to help.” He indicated the pile of boards and cabinet doors piled against each other on the floor.
“You mean after yesterday, you’re still willing to let me near this place?”
“We’re still in demo,” he said with a grin.
“I heard about the donations to Friends of Joshua.” I put my purse on an old metal filing cabinet that was apparently filling in as a table. “That’s wonderful.”
“I know, isn’t it? One of those great moments of poetic justice.” He put the rod down and bent to study the boards lying on the floor. “The haters work so hard to stop something, but in the end they just make it come faster. You can’t stop progress.”
“I heard one donation alone was around $68,000. That’s almost exactly what was stolen from CJ.”
He was silent for a moment, picking up one board, setting it down. “I heard that, too. Something really great is going to come out of this tragedy.” He put a hand on his hip, still staring at the boards. “CJ would have been happy about that.”
From everything I had heard about CJ, he was right. He would have been happy to know that something good was coming out of his death.
“How did you know about the words carved on CJ’s torso?”
Marky gave me a perplexed look. “Everyone knows about that. It was on the news.”
“It was on the news yesterday. But you knew about it when we talked to you on Tuesday. You already knew.”
Marky shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Are you kidding? The police won’t tell me anything. I’m not family. I hear about it on the news like everyone else. Like I’m a stranger. Like you.”
“You knew about it on Tuesday,” I insisted. “You used the word desecrated.”
He looked dumbfounded, and shook his head slightly. “Of course I did. Those animals bashed his head in and left him naked in a dumpster. What better words would there be for something like that?”
I had actually planned to remain calm, to ease into the topic carefully. The raw pain from the message board still rang in my mind. But in the moment, it just came out.
“I know about what happened to you, Marky,” I said softly. “Behind the bleachers, in high school. I know what those guys did to you.”
It had been a shot – not into the dark, exactly, but into very low light. But the light came on as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Marky’s entire body went rigid. My stomach dropped when I realized I’d hit pay dirt.
Marky looked stunned, but only for a second. He nodded once, his jaw set. “What about it?”
“Well...I know what they did to you. I know about the beating, and about the word they carved into your torso.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was breathing fast now, his eyes hard.
“Look. That was a very difficult time in my life and I’ve worked really hard to move on –”
I felt awful for bringing up an obviously painful experience. I set Stump to the floor and took a step toward him, my hands out. “I don’t want to make things more difficult for you, Marky. But it’s too much coincidence to be coincidence. CJ beaten and perv carved into his stomach. You, beaten and the same thing carved into yours. The anonymous donation to Friends of Joshua exactly matching the amount stolen from CJ. I’m not saying you did it, but I think you know more than you’re telling. I want to know what you’re hiding.”
“You think I want CJ’s killer to go free? You think I want to watch the cops sit around and not lift a finger?”
That phrase reverberated. He’d said that in his post on the FOJ board. Both times I’d heard it, a tiny red flag had gone up in my brain, because usually when someone said, “lift a finger” it was followed my something else. Like, “to help.” Not lift a finger to help. Not lift a finger to solve the case. Something.
The anguished look in his eyes had me reaching out to him.
“I know you want justice for CJ,” I said. “That’s very clear.”
“And I’m getting justice for CJ. I‘m getting justice for every pe
rson who was ever bullied and harassed.”
And suddenly I saw things from a different perspective – a bigger perspective. This wasn’t just about justice for CJ. For Marky, this was much bigger than the death of one man. This was a crusade.
And crusades came with casualties. Martyrs.
I had made one shot into the dark and it paid off. I decided to take another one, hoping desperately that it missed the mark.
“You know who did it.”
Marky just met me with a blank stare.
“You know who did it and you’re covering because this case going unsolved suits your purpose. It gets more attention for your cause. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe CJ’s death wasn’t even a murder, but an accident. But Friends of Joshua is getting publicity out of the deal, so it’s worth it to keep the story going.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why else would you sit on information that could help the police catch the killer? You need to tell them the same thing happened to you. Why wouldn’t you? Why would you protect anyone, Marky? Why, if you loved CJ, would you let his killer go free?”
He shook his head, backing away, his hands up. “Okay, it’s official. You’re crazy.”
“Then help me understand. Help me see how you both ended up with the same thing carved on your torsos. How the money stolen from CJ made its way to Friends of Joshua. It’s not just the same amount, it’s the same money. Isn’t it? That money was stolen from CJ and went straight to Friends. Why?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” He sneered. “Hope for Home was willing to sacrifice Friends to keep in the good graces of the public. Why not sacrifice the rest of the group and let Friends get the money? Let the rest do without for a change? If it’s okay for them, it’s okay for us.”
“But they weren’t going to sacrifice...” I trailed off, my mind whirling. “Were they? Was Hope for Home going to cut Friends of Joshua off? Was it making too much trouble for them?”
I hadn’t read anything about problems with the national Hope for Home organization – I thought all the controversy was concentrated here in Lubbock.
“Of course not,” Marky said with a sneer. “Luckily the national board has some people with vision, with courage.”
It was clear from his tone that he wouldn’t say the same thing about the local board. The board which was, basically, CJ. The local board that did whatever he suggested.
CJ had wanted to sacrifice Friends for the rest of Hope for Home. Judging by the look on Marky’s face, whatever love he had for CJ had ended then.
“You didn’t kill CJ because he was going to cut Friends out of the pie?” The words came out not as a statement, but as a desperate question. Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t murder the guy who was crazy about you, who destroyed the life he’d built for your sake.
“Of course not.” Again with the sneer. I had the sudden very uncomfortable feeling that I was seeing the real Marky. That he’d presented a very good front to me, but that his emotions were high, and his act was slipping, and this sneering, hate-filled face in front of me was the truth.
I knew about being able to maintain composure when things were going okay, but when emotions got out of control, it all came out. I couldn’t help it. That’s when I picked up a bottle.
If Marky’s emotions were high, that meant what I was saying was hitting very near the mark.
“But you did kill him,” I whispered. Even now, with the truth hovering like a solid thing between us, I couldn’t believe it. “Was it an accident?”
“Of course it was an accident!” Marky tossed the bar on the counter, veins standing out against his neck. “I would not have done that to –” His voice broke, and he raised his hands. “He was supposed to do it to me!”
What? I froze, stunned.
He grabbed the top of his head with both hands, pacing back and forth suddenly in the small kitchen.
“I would never have done that to him. Ever. I knew how he felt about me and no way would I do that to another human being. I wouldn’t. The plan was, he was supposed to hit me, knock me out. I would be the one robbed.” He gripped his head, as if trying to keep himself from flying apart. “But when it came down to it, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t hit me. I sat there for, like, ten freaking minutes, saying, just do it, CJ, just do it, it’ll be okay, I’ve had worse. But he couldn’t.”
I wasn’t following. “He was going to kill you?”
“No,” Marky said, like I was an idiot. “He was going to rough me up a little, make it look like I’d been attacked. Knock me unconscious. But...he was just too soft, I guess.”
“He cared about you.”
“Yeah, well, I cared about him, too. But things have been a little tougher for me than they have for him, and I’m...harder, I guess. He’s been living in this little corner of the world, adored by everyone, part of a family. Once you get out in the world you see how things really work. You see that sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. If that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.”
“So you were going to stage a robbery, and then...what? Take the money?”
He gave me a look, and then realization dawned on me.
“All the money was going to Friends of Joshua anyway. That was the plan from the beginning.” I had to admit, it was a plan with some flair.
“All these hypocrites around here, they would have liked nothing better than to put Friends out of commission forever. We knew that if we worked it right, everyone would end up benefitting. Friends would get a bigger cut, and when people found out that places like New Hope and Habitat weren’t getting their share this year, they would step up. And they have, haven’t they? I was right.”
“So, what went wrong?”
Marky shrugged. He paced a bit, slower now, dragging. “He had a soft head, too, I guess. I didn’t think I’d hit him that hard. I mean, I needed to make it look legit, right? He had to have something to show in the ER. So I gave him a solid whack, but I really didn’t think it was that hard. It wasn’t that hard. But he went down, and he never got back up.” He looked at me, his eyes wild. “I did try to save him. I did. His pulse got weaker and weaker, and I tried to bring him around. I thought about calling 911, but I knew if I did, the whole thing was out the window. And then he was dead and I couldn’t do anything about it.” He shrugged again. “I couldn’t do anything about it.”
He slumped against the frame of the kitchen counter, looking beaten himself. I remembered what Reed had said about the wounds. Post-mortem.
“You cut him after he died?”
Marky didn’t answer, just turned his head to stare at me like a robot. “I knew that if anything was going to come from it, I had to make it look real. And CJ would have wanted me to do that. You know he would. He wouldn’t have wanted to die in vain.”
I had my doubts about that, but I didn’t say anything. Even if he was dead and couldn’t feel it, I had a hard time believing anyone would want obscenities carved into their body.
But clearly, this was what Marky had told himself.
“Look, you only have to watch the news for thirty seconds to see that we were right. This thing is getting a ton of publicity for Friends of Joshua. It’s everywhere. There are pledges to start homes in 37 cities right now. Thirty-seven! Think how many kids are going to be saved now, because of this. It all went south, but still. Something good is coming from it.”
I nodded. Then I said, “You have to tell, you know. They could arrest someone else for this. I know you don’t want that.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I don’t want that. But I’m willing to let the chips fall where they may.”
“Marky,” I said.
He came away from the counter, shaking his head. “Look, you know what’s going to happen if I tell the truth here. The bottom is going to fall out of Friends of Joshua. The whole organization will look like a bunch of desperate, delusional lunatics. And you know it’s not like that.”
I
nodded again. “Yes, I know that.”
“Think of all those kids who are getting kicked out of their families right now because of who they are. Think of them, Salem. Kids. Fourteen, fifteen years old, on the streets. Low-hanging fruit for the psychos and sickos. Hungry, scared, desperate. If I turn myself in, they’re going to end up as bad as CJ. You know that’s what’s going to happen.”
The thing was, I did know he was right. I did. As soon as the story came out, the credibility of the entire organization would be sucked down the drain. The swell of support they’d experience during the last week would vanish instantly. People would turn away in droves. And he was right. Scared, unsafe kids would suffer.
“Still,” I said. “Marky, you can’t – you can’t say the end justifies the means. Even if it is one wrongly convicted guy’s life against a thousand homeless kids’ lives. Right is right and wrong is wrong.”
“Salem.” Marky gave me a patronizing look. “You know that’s not going to happen. They’ll probably never even make an arrest. I seriously doubt they’re even looking.”
He’d said that before, too – at the rehab event yesterday. I realized now just how a person gets so far gone they can actually kill a dear friend. All you have to do is lie to yourself, and keep lying and keep lying until you are safely cocooned in your own make- believe world.
“And even if they do make an arrest, they can’t get a conviction,” Marky was going on. “They’ll have nothing but hearsay. Whoever they arrest will have to go through a trial and that will be hard, but that’s just the way it is. But he would get off. A jury wouldn’t be able to convict on the evidence they would have. No way.”
Not that long ago, Viv and I had sat in a basement storeroom, hearing almost exactly the same justification from another delusional killer. I felt a little pang when I thought of Viv; for a moment I wished she was with me, sharing the satisfaction of solving another crime.
But right on the heels of that was the thought of son-of-a-frigging Dale. Viv and Dale were probably getting matching pedicures right about now, and I would just solve this case on my own, thank you very much. First on the list was convincing Marky to turn himself in.
Unsightly Bulges Page 27