The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  Donita swung around to Roy, looking for direction, but he was glued to the television. Her face was frantic as she said to Elsie and Tina, “Kris made me. I only done it because he made me.”

  With disgust written on her face, Elsie said, “I don’t see how someone can make you beat your child.”

  Donita snatched a dirty dish towel and twisted it, so distraught that spittle sprayed from her mouth as she answered, “He said if I didn’t, he do it hisself, and it would go worse on her. A hundred times worse. I knowed he would. So I done it. But I held back.” When the women didn’t respond, she cried, “You’uns don’t know him. You ain’t seen how he can be.”

  Donita spread the dish towel on the counter and smoothed it with her hands. “I ain’t going to no trial. Ain’t none of us going.”

  Elsie said wearily, “You’re under subpoena, Donita.”

  “You can shove that subpoena up your ass.”

  Elsie’s eyes flashed and she spoke in a tone she reserved for cross-­examination. “Are you aware that I’m trying to help you out? Protect you?”

  “You’re trying to help yourself,” Donita spat. “Nobody’s helped me all these years. Putting up with Kris for sixteen years, I got no help from nobody. I finally got someone to stand between me and Kris Taney, and it ain’t you. And he says I’m not going to be at your trial.”

  “The sheriff will get you on the stand. Is that how it’s going to be?”

  It was Donita’s turn to laugh. “Who knows what I’ll say when I get up there? Maybe I won’t be able to remember. Or I could take the Fifth, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right?”

  “Donita, you’ll be under an oath to tell the truth.”

  Donita tossed the dish towel into the sink. “I’m not fucking around anymore. Here’s the real story: it’s all horseshit. A big old lie. Me and the girls made it up because we was mad at Kris. Tired of his meanness. We wanted him out of here, so we cooked up a story for you.”

  Elsie’s heart froze in her chest. She looked at Tina with panic in her eyes. A pernicious seed had been planted in her head. What is the truth here? What really went on in this house?

  Mayfield deserted his television program to watch the altercation in the kitchen. He leaned in the doorway, regarding Elsie with a gap-­toothed smile.

  Tina was nonplussed. “Not so fast, Donita,” she said. “What the hell is up with you? You’ve given sworn statements; we’ve got it under oath that your daughters were raped by your husband under this roof.”

  “I’m wore out with it, that’s what. Wore out with the whole business. Done.”

  Tina grabbed at Donita’s arm but broke off the contact and took a half step back. In a dangerous tone, she said, “You don’t understand the consequence of saying you’re done.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I bet you do. Why do you think we didn’t take custody of your children when the reports were substantiated? You swore to us that you wanted to get your girls away from their abusive father. I believed you.”

  Donita didn’t speak. She looked at Tina with snake eyes, her face stony.

  “So if you refuse to testify at trial, to make good on your promises, I’ll assume I can’t believe anything you say. Including your statements that the girls are your chief concern.” She paused, locked in a staring war. “You’ll lose them. The girls. And the government assistance, the money, the food stamps for them. You understand that.”

  Donita didn’t respond.

  Tina raised her voice. “You understand that?”

  With a slight jerk of her head, Donita nodded.

  Tina’s shoulders relaxed. “So you will participate at trial?”

  Donita looked like she’d swallowed brown iodine. “Yeah. I’ll do the trial.”

  Elsie released a relieved breath, but she was still uncomfortable. She needed to think; she wanted desperately to get out of Donita’s kitchen, out of the house. Her case was falling apart: Charlene was gone, her evidence was destroyed, and Kristy and Donita were wavering. In a week she could kiss the Prosecutor’s Office goodbye.

  “Tina,” she said, “I gotta go.”

  Tina looked at her in surprise. “Sure, of course.”

  Elsie wanted out of the house so badly that it made her skin crawl. She tore out of the apartment and made her exit into the street, Tina following her, and gulped the fresh air as if she had come out of a house afire.

  “Tina,” she said, grabbing her friend’s coat sleeve, “I need to talk to Tiffany.”

  Chapter Thirty-­Eight

  MARK TWAIN ELEMENTARY School was a sturdy Depression-­era structure built of brown brick and granite. Air-­conditioner units jutted out of various windows like warts. The grounds were neglected, and the outdated playground equipment looked utilitarian and forlorn. Still, the old brick schoolhouse conveyed a certain dignity, an ability to weather the passing years.

  Approaching the entryway, Elsie wondered what the hell she was doing chasing down a mute kindergartener and grasping at straws. Her work situation was so snarled, she hadn’t even had time to think about her abusive boyfriend. Ex-­boyfriend, she amended.

  Holding the heavy oak door for her, Tina asked, “Elsie, how are you going to handle the interview?”

  “Been thinking about that. My voice is loud enough to call the hogs; maybe I need to turn my volume down.” Inside the school entryway, she paused to pull off her gloves. “Charlene knows how to communicate with Tiffany. I’ve seen Charlene whisper in her ear before. I ought to try that. Like we’re telling secrets.”

  They identified themselves at the front office and asked for the principal, Ms. Horner. After a hurried consultation with the receptionist, Ms. Horner led them to the nurse’s office. “You won’t be disturbed in here,” she said. “The nurse went home sick today.” She instructed them to wait inside and went to fetch Tiffany.

  The nurse’s office was oppressively bare, even spartan. A metal desk and two chairs sat in the far corner; a small Igloo cooler containing ice rested in a puddle upon the desk. A cot was pushed against the opposite wall.

  As they waited, Tina inspected Elsie’s face with an expert eye. “You look like somebody popped you in the mouth.”

  Elsie shook her head, saying with a sigh, “God, I’m a total klutz. It’s such a stupid story, I’m embarrassed to tell you how it happened.” She stopped without further comment. She would not offer the phony cabinet explanation. She knew Tina had heard that one before.

  Tina said, “Okay,” and fell silent.

  Ms. Horner appeared in the doorway, holding Tiffany by the hand. Tiffany eyed Elsie and Tina with trepidation.

  “You can take Tiffany back to class when you’re done,” the principal told them. She gave Tiffany’s shoulder a pat and left, closing the door behind her. The three stood uncertainly for a moment.

  “Let’s sit down and get comfortable,” Elsie said.

  She settled into one of the chairs and asked Tiffany to take the other. The little girl obeyed, eyes downcast. Tina eased onto the little cot, brushing a Band-­Aid wrapper to the floor as she sat.

  For a minute or two the three sat quietly in the small office. Tina perched on the cot, waiting for Elsie to begin. Tiffany slid back into the adult-­sized chair and hung her head.

  Elsie struggled desperately for an icebreaker. She wished she had a cookie to offer, a doughnut, a dozen doughnuts. She rummaged in her purse, hoping to find a stick of gum. All she managed to uncover was a box of Tic Tacs.

  She set the Tic Tac container on the desktop. Tiffany continued to look down. Elsie shook the little box, rattling the green pellets of candy. Tiffany glanced at the box. Elsie flipped it open and shook out two.

  “Want one?” she asked. “They’re spearmint.”

  Tiffany eyeballed the candy but didn’t reach for it. Elsie popped one in her own mouth and placed the
other in her palm; she offered it to Tiffany. “They’re good. Try it.” She spoke softly, her words almost a whisper.

  Tiffany hesitated, but reached out and took the green candy from Elsie’s palm with her thumb and forefinger. She inspected it for a moment and popped it into her mouth.

  Elsie raised a brow. “Okay?” Tiffany nodded. “Not too strong? Too minty?” Tiffany shook her head.

  Quietly, she scooted her chair closer to Tiffany’s. She leaned in close, so close that their heads were almost touching.

  “We have to talk about your daddy, Tiffany.”

  Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head emphatically. Elsie spoke in a whisper, right next to the child’s ear. “I know it’s hard to talk about. It’ll just take a minute. Like when you got your kindergarten shots. It was scary, but it was over in a second.”

  Tiffany didn’t respond. Elsie shook out another Tic Tac. She placed it in Tiffany’s palm. The girl put it back on the desk.

  Elsie sat back and took a breath. She leaned forward to whisper again. “Can’t you tell me about it?”

  The child shook her head no.

  “Did he tell you not to talk about it?”

  Sliding farther into the chair, Tiffany hung her head.

  Scooting a trifle closer, Elsie whispered, “How about just telling me about your sisters. About what happened to them.” When Tiffany didn’t respond, Elsie pondered for a moment, then added, “If you just talk to me today, I promise I’ll never ask again. You’ll never have to talk to me about it again. Ever.”

  Tiffany stole a glance at Elsie and looked away.

  Elsie pressed on. “Did you ever see your dad doing things with Charlene or Kristy?”

  The child placed her head on the desk and covered it with her arms. Elsie could see that she was breathing hard, her small chest heaving under her sweatshirt.

  “What did you see?”

  The child clutched her hands together at the back of her neck, shaking her head back and forth. With frustration, Elsie shot a look at Tina, but Tina just shrugged.

  Desperate to crack the child’s wall of silence, Elsie forgot to whisper. “Tiffany, did you see how Charlene got that black eye?”

  Scrambling out of the chair, Tiffany slid under the desk, where she huddled with her face on her knees, her back to Elsie.

  Elsie got off the chair and crouched down beside the girl, pressing on: “Tiffany? What did you see?”

  Tina broke in. “Elsie.”

  Elsie ignored her. “Tell me, Tiffany. Tell me so you can help Charlene.”

  Louder, Tina said, “Elsie!”

  Turning on Tina with a flash of anger, Elsie snapped, “What?”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Elsie leaned back on her knees, frustration washing over her. “Okay.”

  “You’re done.”

  “You’re right.” With a groan, Elsie stood. “Any ideas?”

  Ruefully, Tina shook her head.

  Tiffany was still huddled under the desk. Elsie bent down and spoke to her, quietly. “Hey, Tiffany. Want to go back to your class?”

  Lifting her head from her knees, Tiffany nodded emphatically, still refusing to look at her.

  “Come on out of there, hon. Can you show me where it is? The teacher will be missing you,” Elsie coaxed. She extended her hand but Tiffany ignored it.

  Slowly, with tension in every muscle of her small form, the child crawled out of her hiding place under the desk.

  On impulse, Elsie picked up the mints and held them out to Tiffany as a peace offering. Giving the candy an appraising glance, Tiffany put the box in the small pocket of her worn corduroy pants. She then let Elsie take her by the hand, and together they walked down the hall to the kindergarten class.

  Chapter Thirty-­Nine

  ON FRIDAY, ELSIE was waiting in the Taneys’ apartment. .When Donita had let her in, she made little effort to mask her hostility. The women sat on the tattered couch in uncomfortable silence until shortly before three, when Kristy rattled the knob of the front door and came inside, bringing a gust of cold wind with her. They sat down at the kitchen table and Elsie handed Kristy a stapled sheaf of papers. The apartment reeked of pesticide and Elsie’s eyes were watering.

  “Kristy, this is your preliminary hearing testimony. You’ll want to read it over as kind of a review before the trial.”

  Kristy pushed the papers aside, refusing to meet her eyes. Elsie regarded her silently for a moment before pulling out her secret weapon: a bag from the Jiffy Go.

  “I’m parched, absolutely dying of thirst. When I’m working, I always like to have a Diet Coke.” Cold water beaded the sides of the can as she popped the tab.

  Kristy’s eyes cut to the silver can. Reaching into the bag a second time, Elsie said, “Someone told me—­maybe Charlene or Tina—­you like Dr Pepper.”

  The brown can glistened with moisture. “Thirsty?” Elsie asked.

  She could see that Kristy was tempted. Nodding, the girl accepted the can from Elsie, popped the tab and took a healthy swig. A little grin played around her mouth at the unexpected treat.

  Elsie tapped the papers with her pen. “So—­you’ll review your preliminary hearing testimony before you go to court.”

  Finally, Kristy spoke up. “I don’t see why.”

  “Because it’s under oath, sworn testimony. So we need to be careful not to say anything inconsistent, anything that doesn’t match with it. It’s kind of like studying for a quiz. I bet you do that for school. Your mom says you’re a good student.”

  “I don’t want to read it. Because I don’t want to go. To the court.”

  “Well, that just means you’re normal. Nobody likes it. Nobody wants to go to court, Kristy—­and not just kids, but grown men and women, too.”

  “Then why do I have to?”

  “It’s the only way we can see to it that your dad goes to prison.”

  Kristy slumped in her seat, her chin touching her chest. Elsie wished she’d brought a candy bar along, and a big bag of chips.

  Reaching out and giving Kristy’s shoulder a gentle shake, she said, “It’s just one of those things. You don’t have a choice. You have to do this.”

  Kristy’s nose turned pink and she started to cry. Elsie watched anxiously for a minute before asking, “What are you thinking, hon?”

  “I ain’t never had a choice.” Her voice wavered. “Nobody never lets me pick what to do. You was gonna make things better, but it ain’t. It just goes on and on.”

  “What we need to do to make it better is go to court and tell the judge and jury what your father did. So he can go to prison, and you won’t have to be scared anymore.”

  In a forlorn voice, Kristy said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

  Elsie took her hand. “Look at me.” When Kristy looked away, Elsie repeated it, her voice insistent. “Look at me.”

  Finally Kristy turned to face her, her nose and eyes wet.

  “You are not alone. You won’t be alone in that courtroom. I’ve got your back. I’m doing this for you.”

  Kristy snuffled, sucking snot back into her nose. Elsie dug a paper napkin from the Jiffy Go bag and handed it to her.

  While Kristy wiped her nose, Elsie pressed on. “This is about you, Kristy. You were done wrong, and he’s going to have to pay. The state will make him pay. But for that to happen, you have to show up and tell your story in court.” Elsie pressed her hand hard, trying to communicate the urgency of their mission. “Do you understand?”

  Kristy blinked. Drops of water clung to her eyelashes.

  Elsie took it as a yes. She nudged the Dr Pepper can toward her. “Take a drink to clear your throat, and we’ll run through your direct exam. Just like we’ll be doing it in court.”

  A cockroach climbed up the table
leg and scampered across the table. Elsie jumped up, nearly knocking over the soda cans.

  With a nervous laugh, she said, “Guess that one survived the bug killer.”

  Kristy snorted. “Fool landlord. The spraying just riles them up. They’ll settle down in a day or so.”

  AN HOUR LATER Elsie pulled into the visitor parking lot directly in front of a sign announcing: BARTON HIGH—­HOME OF THE MOUNTAINEERS! She was relieved to see Ashlock’s car several spots down; she was afraid she had missed the interview.

  Walking with shoulders hunched against the cold, she made her way to the front door. It had been thirteen years since she’d walked the halls as a student, but she didn’t need to ask directions. She went straight to the front office and began filling out a visitor name tag, noticing that a new secretary manned the desk.

  “You need to put a time of arrival on that name tag.” The woman was brusque, all business.

  “Oh, okay. I’m here from the Prosecutor’s Office, to meet with Detective Ashlock. Is he in the counselor’s office?”

  “I’ll see if you can come on back.” The woman picked up a phone. Swiveling her chair, she turned her back to Elsie.

  Elsie’s eyes narrowed. “Ma’am?” When the secretary didn’t turn around, Elsie checked her name plate and raised her voice. “Ms. Rice, this is my rodeo.” She walked around the counter and flashed her badge. “Just tell me where Ashlock is and I’ll get out of your hair. Please,” she added with a tight smile.

  The secretary made a show of inspecting the badge. Elsie would have found it funny if it wasn’t so maddening. “They’re in Room 102,” she said, handing the badge back to Elsie.

  When she reached 102, the door was shut; she rapped before she entered. Ashlock and a teenage girl were seated at the back of the room, which looked to be an English classroom, judging from the posters of Mark Twain and Harper Lee on the walls. Battered copies of To Kill a Mockingbird lined a small bookcase near the desk where Ashlock sat, facing the girl.

  They looked up at the interruption. Elsie whispered, “Hey, Ashlock.” Beginning to unbutton her coat, she turned a smile on the interview witness.