Pitch

by William Ollie

  “Good God,” Slaney said. “The fuck kind of animal would do something like this?”

  “Go on, Billy.”

  “After all that, he ripped open her throat, ripped open her stomach and gutted her.”

  “You mean after all that, she was still alive?” Pops asked him.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Just this,” Grady said, and then handed Pops a driver’s license.

  “How about prints, Danny?” Slaney shouted into the bathroom.

  “I’ve got multiples and a whole slew of identicals. And two bloody sets right dead in the middle of the mirror.”

  Pops lifted the driver’s license by its edges.

  “Oh, shit,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Her name’s Marcia Lowrey, and she lives up the Hill.”

  Slaney shook his head. “What a fucking mess,” he said.

  “Okay, what do we know, Johnny?”

  “Room’s registered to a John Smith about ten o’clock last night. Picked her up in the bar and… that’s about it. He was seen by the desk clerk, by the waitress and the bartender, and poor old Marcia, of course.”

  “Who found the body?”

  “Housekeeper by the name of Jenny Childress, and the manager… Uh, Wallace Ames.”

  “How’s the maid?”

  “Totally fucked up.”

  “She gonna be any help?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You ever seen anything like this, Pops?” Grady said.

  “Never.”

  “He liked it,” Slaney said. “He tortured the hell out of her, and killed her when he got tired of it.”

  “And what does all that mean, Johnny?”

  “You tell me, Pops. You’re the expert.”

  “If he likes it, he’ll probably do it again.”

  Sunday Afternoon

  Lester Hayes laid a half-eaten drumstick in a corner of his plate, beside a neat pile of chicken bones. After polishing off three pieces of chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, along with a couple of biscuits and some green beans, Lester could hold no more.

  God, that was good, he thought as he stood up, one hand on his belly, the other holding his plate.

  “Lester, where’re you going with that?” his wife asked him.

  “Thought I’d run it into the kitchen, Myrtle.”

  “Oh, sit back down,” Sharon Hayes told him. We’ll take care of that. Won’t we, girls?”

  “That’s okay. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

  When Lester Hayes made up his mind, that was all there was to it, so the women let him round up some dishes without saying anything more. They knew it wouldn’t last long, and before they knew it he’d be back at the table with his son.

  Donnie, jumping at the opportunity to tease him, said, “Here you go, Aunt Lester. You can have mine, too.”

  “Hey Daddy,” Nathan said. “How about getting me and Donnie some more tea, or should I say, Mrs. Daddy?”

  “Coming right up, boys,” Lester said, scraping Donnie’s leftovers onto his plate, stacking the plates and picking up their glasses before heading for the kitchen, where, once inside, he wiped the plates clean, rinsed them and dropped them into the sink.

  “Hurry up in there, Grandma!” Donnie hollered. “Us men’re gettin’ thirsty out here!”

  “Yeah, hurry up!” Nathan Jr. hollered as well.

  “Coming boys… coming!”

  Lester poured tea over two ice-filled glasses, and then searched through the kitchen cabinets until he found a full bottle of Cajun Style Louisiana Red Hot Sauce, pouring a generous amount of that into both glasses as well. Then he poured himself a glass of tea, placed a spoon in his glass, and went back outside.

  When he set the glasses down, and took a seat at the picnic table, Nathan said, “Thanks, sweet thang.”

  “Oh, you’re more than welcome, stud,” Lester said, smiling as he picked up the glass with the spoon in it. “A toast, if you will.”

  “We will!” the families shouted, raising their glasses.

  “To my fine family and friends…”

  Nathan and Donnie gulped down a mouthful of Cajun Style Louisiana Red Hot Tea, and Lester finished his toast, “May they have an equally fine sense of humor.”

  Donnie and Nathan spewed the hot concoction all over each other, screaming and yelling as they ran for the water hose, Nathan reaching for the spigot while Donnie pushed him and grabbed it himself; Nathan not even slowing down as he veered to the right and bounded up the back porch steps two at a time.

  While Donnie stuck the gushing nozzle into his mouth, Nathan ran to the refrigerator, flung the door open and grabbed a jug of water, turned it up and gulped some down.

  Everyone was laughing. The women, who had been startled at first, were now howling with laughter, tears running down their cheeks as Lester said, “How about you boys, can Aunt Lester get you anything?”

  “No sir, Mr. Hayes,” Davey Belcher said.

  Donnie wanted to turn the hose on Lester and give him a good soaking, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned the water off and returned to the picnic table, while Nathan stepped onto the porch with a fresh, clean shirt, a bottle of beer and a glass of tea, and a t-shirt for Donnie to change into.

  “You could’ve at least soaked him with the hose,” he said.

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it.”

  “What stopped you then?”

  “Aw, hell, I love the old coot,” Donnie said, laughing along with everyone else.

  “Here you go,” Nathan said, as he tossed him the shirt.

  After changing into the oversized t-shirt, Donnie regarded the glass of tea Nathan had sat in front of him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, it’s all right. I made that.”

  Donnie, hesitating a moment, said, “I don’t think so.”

  Nathan picked up the glass and placed it in front of his wife. “Show him it’s not spiked, baby.”

  “Afraid not, Sheriff.”

  “Karen?”

  “Huh uh.”

  “Mama?”

  “In a pig’s eye.”

  “Boys?”

  “No way, José!”

  “Aw hell,” Nathan said, laughing as he drank from the glass. “There you go, Chicken Little.”

  Donnie grabbed the glass and took a long drink. “We owe him, big time, don’t we, Cuz?”

  “You’d better believe we do.”

  “Hey boys, how about some cherry pie and ice cream,” Myrtle Hayes said to the children.

  Newton Cole shook his head. “We’re too full now, Mamaw.”

  “We’re goin’ up the mountain,” Nathan Jr. added.

  “Can we?” Billy asked his father.

  “Yeah, just be back before dark.”

  The boys took off across the yard, heading for the path that would lead them into the mountain, leaving the three men alone at the picnic table.

  “How’s the sheriff business, Cuz?”

  “Not much to it, Donnie, mostly paperwork.”

  “How about you, Donnie, still happy with the tavern?” Lester asked him.

  “Yeah, I’m happy. Beats the hell out of crawling around them dadgum coal mines.”

  “Yeah, but are you making any money?” Nathan asked him.

  “A lot more than you, Cuz.”

  “Hell, the garbage man makes more than I do.”

  “What Donnie and I want to know, Daddy, is how you and Mama are holding up.”

  Lester thought about the son he’d lost so many years ago, and answered as best he could. “So far so good, I guess. But to be totally honest, I’m a little worried.”

  “About what?” Donnie asked, even though both he and Nathan knew perfectly well what was troubling Lester Hayes.

  “Well, it’s that time of year again, and I’m sure you boys know another thirteenth anniversary is comin’ up.”

  Lester looked anxious.

 
“You don’t think it’s gonna happen again, do you?” Donnie asked him. “Most people feel like it’s over and done with. What do you think, Nathan?”

  Nathan took a drink of beer, and looked at his father. “I think most people do believe it’s over. Me? I hope to hell it is, but I have to admit, I’ve been feeling a little hinky lately.”

  “You think that might be your nerves acting up because of what happened to Newton? I know I get kind of emotional around this time of year, myself.”

  “Something just feels different, Donnie. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there. I can feel it,” Lester said, nervously drumming his fingers on the picnic table.

  “C’mon, you two, think about it,” Donnie said. “This shit started in twenty-nine. Hell, that’s thirty-nine years ago. Whoever took those kids would have to be dead by now, or almost dead. At the very least, he’d be too old to get away with it again.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Lester said. “I tell myself that damn near every day.”

  “But?” Donnie said.

  “But that’s what Earl kept saying, all the way up to the day Bobby Turner got snatched.”

  Donnie, weighing in with another round of logic, said, “It won’t do us any good to sit around and worry about this bullshit. It’s either gonna happen or it ain’t.”

  “Sure as hell didn’t help Earl none,” Nathan said.

  “Look. It’s not like we can do anything, one way or another. I say we sit back, be aware and hope for the best.”

  “I know, Donnie. I just don’t want Nathan ending up like Earl Peters. Every time it happened he got a little worse off. After fifty-five, I fully expected Earl would end up killing himself.”

  “But,” Donnie pointed out. “He didn’t.”

  “Probably would’ve been better off if he had,” Lester said, slowly shaking his head. “Smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. What kind of a life was that for a man like Earl Peters? Shit, Earl was really something in his prime, John-Wayne-tough, larger than life lawman with a capital L. People still talk about how he faced down those bank robbers when he first came to town. Hell, you saw all those troopers at his funeral. They didn’t know him. They knew of him.”

  “Hell of a thing, wasn’t it, Daddy? Man living in absolute misery most of his adult life. All of a sudden he stops drinkin’ and smokin’, seems to have finally turned his life around. Finally seems to be happy. And just like that he up and drops dead. Seems kind of strange, doesn’t it?”

  “This whole town seems strange.”

  Donnie laughed. “Better watch out, fellas. We’re starting to sound like Jerry Mays.”

  “God, I hope not,” Nathan said. “I ever told ol’ Jerry about that note, he’d crawl under his bed and never come out.”

  “What note?”

  “I’ve never told anybody but Daddy about this. So you’ve got to swear you won’t tell anyone, not even Karen.”

  “I swear.”

  “You remember when Bobby Turner disappeared?”

  Donnie nodded his head.

  “A couple of days later, Larry Dale’s cruising through town about four o’clock in the morning, and right there in front of The Dime Store, where it’s lit up bigger than shit, he finds Bobby Turner’s bicycle, the loaf of bread he bought the night he disappeared, and a note.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Donnie said.

  “Yeah, I’ve still got all that shit: the bike, the note, even the wrapper the bread came in.” Nathan sighed. “We never told anyone. Not even Bobby’s parents. Far as I know, only Earl and Larry Dale knew about it. I’ve been waitin’ thirteen years for some son of a bitch to slip up and mention that note to me.”

  “Tell him what it said, Nathan.”

  “I’ll never forget it as long as I live: For Nate. Bobby is dead, Baby Charlie’s turned blue. Who will be next? I know, do you?”

  “For Nate? Hell, only me and Newton and your parents ever called you that.”

  “Yeah, when I told Earl, he had Larry Dale follow you around for two weeks. Later on I found out he had Daddy followed, too. Poor ol’ Earl. He was desperate as hell by then. Later on that afternoon, Jessie Dean was gone, along with Earl’s peace of mind, and mine.”

  “Hey, you guys,” Karen Belcher called from the back porch. “How about some of this delicious cherry pie Aunt Myrtle made for us.”

  “Bring it on,” Nathan told her.

  “You bring your big butts in here and get it. We’re wives, not waitresses.”

  “Donnie, you gonna let her talk to me like that?”

  “Afraid so, Cuz.”

  “It’s in here if y’all want it,” Karen said, then, “We will fix you something to drink… if you ask nice.”

  “C’mon, boys,” Lester said. “Let’s get some of that pie.”

  Monday

  Pops Burgess and Detective John Slaney walked up the steps of the Kanawha County Courthouse. They’d spent the whole morning tracking down the waitress who had served him, the bartender who’d sold him the bottle of champagne, and finally, the night manager who’d rented out room #232 to John Smith. All three had given very similar descriptions: Smith was a trim and well-muscled man who stood about six-foot-two, his brown hair neat and well kempt. John Smith had been wearing an expensive-looking navy blue suit, and he was extremely handsome, even the men had said so.

  All three had also agreed that Smith had not looked like the kind of person who would do such a thing. And yes, they would recognize him if they ever saw him again.

  After weighing the evidence, and the testimony of the eyewitnesses, Pops and John Slaney added it all up:

  “We ain’t got shit, Pops, not a goddamn thing. Good lookin’ stud breezes into the Diplomat, every woman in the joint gets the friggin’ hots for his ass, and what does he do? Takes probably the most innocent and vulnerable woman in the place, fucks her every which way but loose and butchers her ass.”

  “Know what I think, Johnny? I think John Smith flew into Charleston International sometime during the last week. He either rented a car or bought one, and now he’s using Charleston as his own personal hunting ground.”

  “Why?” Slaney asked.

  “Why Charleston?”

  “Why do you think he flew in recently?”

  “‘Cause if he’d been here awhile, I think we’d have more Marcia Lowreys popping up.”

  “Or, he could’ve lived here his whole life and all of a sudden snapped. Or, he could actually have known Marcia Lowrey and killed her for A: personal reasons, or B: for money. Dan Lowrey was paying a small fortune to keep his ex living on the Hill. Maybe he decided to cut his losses and get custody of his kids. You know, two birds with one stone?”

  “I don’t think so, Johnny. It just doesn’t add up. Dan Lowrey could support ten ex-wives and not even feel it. Smith purposely left his prints on that bathroom mirror. Nah, this isn’t his first, and it won’t be his last. I’d just like to know why here.”

  Pops followed Slaney into Wayne Deavers’ office, where their weary-looking lieutenant glanced up at them, his deep-set brown eyes rimmed red from an obvious lack of sleep. He wore a drab gray jacket over his broad frame, a light-red tie around his neck, and a frown on his face.

  “Sit down, boys,” he said, pointing to a couple of chairs.

  After the two detectives were seated, Deavers said, “At ten-thirty this morning, Marcia Lowrey’s mother walked into the downtown offices of Lowrey, Crane and Crane, where she found Dan Lowrey standing in the hallway talking to the receptionist. Lowrey’s mother-in-law then proceeded to pull a forty-five out of her purse and shoot him point blank in the face.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Slaney said.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Locked away downstairs, hasn’t said a word since we took her into custody. Hell of a mess. Pops, you got anything for me?”

  “Couple of angles I want to work. Will they amount to much? I doubt it.”

  “Like what?”

  “I figure
the guy’s probably just come to town. Could be a businessman, or maybe he’s visiting family. I’m gonna get passenger lists from the airlines going back seven days, and I’ll need a few uniforms to see if they can run these people down. I’m also gonna check out the car rental agencies, see if anything turns up.”

  “While you’re at it, check the classifieds. Maybe the creep bought a car,” Deavers said. “I can’t believe the guy’d be stupid enough to rent one.”

  The telephone rang and Deavers picked it up. “Yeah,” he said. “What’re you, shitting me?... Bullshit!... What?... Bring those print cards and the rest, and get your ass up here. Right now!”

  Deavers dropped the headset into its cradle. “You remember that maid from the Diplomat?”

  “Jenny Childress,” Slaney said.

  “This morning she found an envelope pinned to her front door with a severed tongue inside it. Written on the envelope? Be seeing you soon, John Smith.”

  “How’d he find her?” Pops said. “How could he?”

  Slaney looked at his partner. “Jesus, Pops, this is crazy.”

  “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” Deavers told them. “He also left a complete set of bloody fingerprints on the window, and they matched the ones we found at the Diplomat.”

  Pops’ face turned pale.

  “What?” Deavers asked.

  “Marcia Lowrey still had her tongue.”

  “Good God,” Deavers said.

  “The fuck did this one come from?” Slaney said.

  “Exactly,” Pops said. “Somewhere out there, another mutilated body is missing its tongue. Two murders in two days.”

  “Now what?” Slaney again.

  “We’ve got a uniform babysitting her apartment. Let’s listen to what Ed Chambers has to say, then you two get over there and see what you can find out.”

  Five minutes later, Ed Chambers walked into the room and related the facts his preliminary investigation had turned up: “Jenny Childress went out drinking last night at Mabel’s Place—a bar over on the north side of town—where she got herself snockered and picked up by one… uh… Jerry Markham. While he was getting ready to leave her apartment, Jenny found the… uh, envelope—fucker was probably out there dying to go in, but couldn’t chance it because Markham was there. Markham found her passed out by the front door and called the police. Danny Boggs matched the prints against the set we got at the Diplomat, and it’s no mistake. They definitely came from the same person.”