BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  Deirdre tugged on her husband's arm. He batted her hand away, but stormed to the table and grabbed one of the chairs. Sitting down heavily, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at the detective. “Did he rape her or not?”

  “They both deny there was any sex.”

  “Thank God,” Deirdre sobbed, burying her face in her hand.

  The detective pushed a lock of ginger-colored hair behind her left ear. “We are concerned about your daughter.”

  Deirdre wiped at her tears and looked at the thin woman across from her. “Why? You said she was all right.”

  “She is, but your husband is very angry right now and...”

  “Damned right I am angry! I'm furious! If I could get my hands on that little peckerwood I'd...”

  “Be quiet, Dermot!” Deirdre yelled at him, though she kept searching the detective's eyes. “She's afraid you might hurt our daughter.”

  “What?” Dermot shot to his feet. “I've never laid a hand on my daughter!”

  “There's always a first time,” VanLandingham suggested, her blue eyes steady on him.

  “No, there isn't!”

  “She's never disappointed you in this way, though, has she? Made you this angry before?”

  Dermot opened his mouth, then obviously thought better of what he had been about to say. He clamped his lips shut, sat down, and seemed to be making a conscious effort to control his emotions. When he rubbed at his right temple, Deirdre assuemd he was fighting a horrible headache.

  “We've never spanked our daughter,” Deirdre said, “if that's what concerns you. We don't believe in corporal punishment. We won't start now.”

  “This sort of thing is hard on a parent,” VanLandingham said. “Especially when the child involved is an only child.”

  “We love our daughter,” Deirdre said.

  “I'm sure you do, but in a situation like this, it is difficult for a parent not to overreact.”

  Dermot sat forward, squinting. “I'm not angry at my daughter,” he said forcefully. “I'm mad at the man who damned well could have defiled her.”

  “That is understandable, Doctor. It's my job to make sure that anger doesn't spill over to Bronwyn.”

  “As I said, it won't,” he said, locking gazes with her.

  The detective studied him for a long moment, then nodded, apparently convinced of his sincerity. She sat back in her chair. “We have another problem you need to be aware of.”

  “You think they're lying?” Dermot demanded.

  “We've no reason to believe so. When we found them, they were sitting in the front seat of her car, kissing. Both were fully clothed.”

  Deirdre let out a long, shuddery breath. “I'd like to think Bronwyn's upbringing prevented her from doing something she'd regret.”

  “So what's the problem?” Dermot snapped.

  “I haven't told the young man this yet, but the Sumter County police have his mother in custody up in Americus.”

  Dermot frowned. “His mother? What does that have to...”

  “She was observed throwing a trash bag into the dumpster behind the high school.”

  “So?”

  “The track coach who saw her became suspicious. Considering she seemed to be having a tough time lifting the bag into the dumpster, combined with a license tag from two counties away, the situation sent up a red flag for him. He copied down her tag number, then went to see what she had thrown into the dumpster.”

  “What was it?” Deirdre asked.

  “A body. Or, at least, a portion of one.”

  Dermot snorted. “Of an animal from their butcher shop, no doubt.”

  Of her husband.”

  Deirdre gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.

  Dermot slumped in his chair, obviously stunned. “She murdered her—?”

  “Right after breakfast this morning. She admits she sliced him into several pieces with a chain saw in the bathtub.”

  “Holy Mary, mother of God!” Dermot whispered. “Did they...were they able to...”

  “When she was pulled over by the State Trooper, he found seven more bags of body parts in her trunk. We've found everything except the head. She won't tell us where she put it.”

  Deirdre squeezed her eyes tightly closed, as though, by doing so, she could shut out the ugly picture her mind had formed.

  Dermot drew in a long breath, then slowly released it. His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Well, the man used to beat her. Everybody knew it.”

  “His son, too,” Deirdre added.

  “I'm sure her attorney will plead temporary insanity,” Dermot suggested.

  “Most likely,” VanLandingham agreed.

  Deirdre opened her purse and took out a handkerchief. She blotted her forehead and neck, then used the cloth to fan her heated face. “Surely they won't send her to the electric chair. After all, he did abuse her. The poor woman probably couldn't take any more and just snapped.”

  “We don't execute prisoners, Mrs. McGregor,” the detective said. “Not anymore.”

  “I imagine I'll be seeing her at my clinic,” Dermot said.

  VanLandingham nodded. “I'm sure you will.”

  “Where is the poor thing now?” Deirdre asked, tears misting her eyes.

  “In Americus. We'll be sending up a deputy to get her.” The detective clasped her hands on the tabletop. “My concern is how to tell her son.”

  “At this point, I could care less about—”

  “You are a physician, Dermot!” Deirdre snapped. “You swore an oath, or did you forget?”

  “What is it you think I should do, DeeDee? Give aid and comfort to a hooligan who might well have molested our daughter?”

  VanLandingham laughed softly. When Dermot's glower slid to her, she shook her head. “Sean seems like a nice, respectful young man. I would imagine the two of them let their emotions carry them away for a moment or two, but since neither of them went inside the motel room, one or both of them thought better of doing what they went there to do.”

  “That doesn't excuse the fact that he took my daughter to that roach-infested, disease-ridden—”

  “How do you know what those rooms are like, Dermot?” Deirdre interrupted. When his head snapped toward him, she narrowed her eyes.

  “Everyone in a five county radius knows about that no-tell motel, DeeDee.”

  “I'd appreciate you going in with me when I speak to Sean, Dr. McGregor,” VanLandingham said. “In your capacity as a psychologist and not an irate father. If you can't do that, then would you suggest someone else better suited?”

  Deirdre held her husband's angry stare. She lifted her chin. “Neal Hesar is one of the finest—”

  Dermot pushed up from the chair. “Where's the Cullen boy?”

  VanLandingham smiled and stood. “Thank you for your help, Doctor.”

  “Don't thank me,” Dermot grumbled, looking away from Deirdre's smug grin. He started around the table, but Deirdre took his arm in a light restraint.

  “Remember—our daughter cares deeply for this boy. It doesn't matter how you feel about him. Treat him as you would any other patient.”

  Dermot pursed his lips, but made no comment.

  * * * *

  As Dermot and the detective walked down the hall, he spied his daughter in one of the rooms. He stopped at the doorway, meeting Bronwyn's worried look. He smiled faintly. “You okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” She was seated in a chair, twisting a tissue in her hands. Her eyes were red and her lips were quivering.

  Dermot looked at the detective and lifted a brow in question. When VanLandingham shook her head, he understood his daughter did not know about the senior Cullen's ghastly demise.

  “I'll be back in a minute, Bronnie,” Dermot said. “Everything will be all right.”

  “We didn't do anything, Daddy!” she insisted, coming to her feet. “I swear we didn't.”

  He nodded. “I believe you. I'm just going to talk to your friend.”


  “I love him, Daddy,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Don't—”

  Dermot held up a hand. “Just calm down. We'll talk later. Right now, Detective VanLandingham needs to talk to Sean.”

  “He didn't do any thing!”

  VanLandingham looked to an officer standing nearby. “Would you get Mrs. McGregor? I'm sure she'd like to see her daughter.”

  “Your mother will explain things to you,” Dermot said.

  “Explain what?” Bronwyn demanded. When he turned away, she ran to the door. “I know what you had Bobby do!”

  Dermot looked around. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you told Bobby Thompson to have some of his friends jump on Sean,” Bronwyn spat. “Did you think just ‘cause they beat him up he'd stop loving me?”

  VanLandingham's brows shot up. “Is that true?” she asked Dermot.

  “Certainly not!” He looked at his daughter. “I didn't tell your cousin to do anything of the sort. If he and his friends went after Cullen, it was something between them. Is he the one who put them in the hospital?”

  “Five on one, Daddy. Two of them held him while the others beat him. Do you blame him for getting back at them?”

  VanLandingham whistled. “Tough kid.”

  “Like father, like son,” Dermot snapped. When Bronwyn started to say something, he waved her away. “We'll talk later.”

  Bronwyn met the policewoman's gaze with pleading eyes.

  “Don't worry,” VanLandingham said. She patted Bronwyn's shoulder, then motioned Dermot to follow her.

  “Don't you threaten him again, Daddy!” Bronwyn called after them. “I mean it. If you do, I'll never forgive you!”

  Dermot clenched his jaw as he walked alongside VanLandingham. His hands were fisted, his shoulders rigid.

  “Have you threatened the boy in the past?” the detective queried.

  “I told him to keep away from my daughter or I'd have him arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

  VanLandingham chuckled. “You don't know much about the law, do you, Doc?” She stopped in front of a closed door. “Or young love.”

  Before he could respond, she opened the door, indicating he was to precede her.

  * * * *

  Sean was staring out the window, his fingers hooked in the wire mesh that covered the panes. When the door opened, he looked around, then stiffened.

  “I think you know Dr. McGregor,” VanLandingham said.

  Sean nodded cautiously. His eyes were locked with the physician's, and neither man made a move to greet the other.

  “I want you to sit down, Sean,” the detective said quietly.

  With his gaze glued to Dermot McGregor's, Sean asked how Bronwyn was.

  “She's fine,” VanLandingham replied. “She's just down the hall.”

  “Did he hurt her?”

  The doctor lifted his chin, a muscle in his jaw working, but he did not speak.

  “No, Sean,” VanLandingham answered.

  “Did he make her cry?”

  “Sean,” she said, trying to gain his attention. “We have some matters that need to be discussed.”

  Sean ignored her. He moved away from the window, his eyes hard on Bronwyn's father's face. “I don't care what you do to me. You can lock me up and throw away the key, but if you lay one hand on Bronwyn—”

  “I am not Tymothy Cullen!” the doctor spat, taking a step toward Sean. “I don't hit women!”

  “Sit down, Doctor,” VanLandingham said. When he made no move to follow her command, she told him again, her voice raised a notch in volume.

  “If you ever hurt her,” Sean declared “I swear before God and man, I will come after you, McGregor, and I will make you sorry.”

  “You gonna break my jaw, too, like you did Bobby's?”

  “That's enough!” VanLandingham shouted. She took Dermot's arm and propelled him into one of the chairs, then stepped up to Sean. “Sit your ass down. Now!”

  Sean stared into the angry woman's face, then shrugged. He pulled out a chair and sat, his attention latched on Bronwyn's father, who glared back.

  “Sean,” VanLandingham said. “Sean, look at me.”

  Reluctantly, he tore his stare from the doctor.

  “Something has happened to your father.”

  For a moment, Sean did not respond. Then he slowly closed his eyes. “He's dead?”

  “Yes. I'm sorry, Sean.”

  “Don't be. I'm not.”

  “Even so, he was your father,” Dermot McGregor stated.

  “Why is he here?” Sean demanded.

  “Dr. McGregor is a psychologist and—”

  “I know what he is. I want to know why you brought him in here?” For a moment, Sean stared into VanLandingham's face, then the blood drained from his face. He stood so suddenly his chair fell, crashing to the floor. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No!”

  * * * *

  Dermot walked beside the detective, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. He was subdued, quiet. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  VanLandingham sighed. “You should. I'm sure he hasn't had an easy life.”

  “Doesn't excuse what he tried to do to my daughter.”

  She put out a hand and stopped him. “What is it you think he meant to do, Doc? Something different than what other teenage boys have been doing since Adam and Eve left the Garden? Wake up and smell the coffee. My gut tells me your daughter loves that boy and I know damned well he loves her. Keeping them apart isn't going to get you anything but a rebellious daughter and a more determined future son-in-law!”

  “Like hell!” Dermot roared. “Over my dead body will I allow that hoodlum to marry my little girl!”

  VanLandingham rolled her eyes. “She'll probably dance at your funeral, then, If you force her to chose between you and Sean, I can tell you who the winner is gonna be.”

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a click. He walked purposefully to the room where Bronwyn and his wife were. “Let's go,” he told them.

  “How is Sean?” Bronwyn asked.

  “I said let's go! We'll discuss this on the way home.”

  Bronwyn looked to VanLandingham. “Is he okay?”

  “He will be. He's a strong young man.”

  “He's a good man,” Bronwyn said, her eyes on Dermot.

  “Is there anything you want me to tell him?” the detective inquired.

  “No!” Dermot took Bronwyn's arm and pushed past VanLandingham. “Come along, Bronnie.”

  Bronwyn tried to break free of his grip, but he held on tight. She turned as he pulled her toward the exit. “Tell Sean I love him!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Even though it was close to eleven in the evening, people continued milling about on the sidewalks on both sides of the street. They pointed at Sean as he got out of VanLandingham's car. “Vultures,” he said.

  “You got that right,” VanLandingham said. “Just ignore them.”

  They had come to the house to pick up a few things for Sean and his mother. He would not be allowed to stay in the house until the forensics team was through, and that might not be for several days. After slipping under the crime scene tape and nodding to the policeman on duty at the front door, VanLandingham ushered Sean inside.

  “Where are the suitcases?” she inquired.

  Sean led her out of the living room and to the coat closet in the hall. He took a large suitcase from the shelf. “There are two other bags inside this one.” He put the suitcase on the floor, hunkered down, and opened it. He pulled out the first of the two inner bags and handed it to VanLandingham.

  “Which room is your mom's?”

  He pointed to the adjacent room.

  “Let's get her stuff first.”

  When VanLandingham had gathered some underwear and a few clean dresses, she asked Sean to show her to his room.

  The smell of blood still hung in the air and sickened Sean. He studiously avoided looking
at the bathroom door as he passed. Besides making him ill, the stench caused an odd sensation in his chest. He found it difficult to breathe normally. His hands trembling violently, he threw some of his clothes into the suitcase as VanLandingham looked about his room.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded, but left the room as soon as he shut the suitcase. Not bothering to wait for his escort, he rushed outside and onto the front lawn. He dropped the suitcase, bent over, clasped his knees, and drew in long, shuddery breaths. He barely felt the gentle hand patting his back and rubbing slowly up and down his spine.

  “It's rough, I know,” she said, “but things could be worse.”

  “How?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “He could have killed her instead of the other way around.”

  * * * *

  They had reserved a room for him at the Albany Motor Inn. VanLandingham stopped the car before the building and asked if he needed any money for food.

  “I've got some of my paycheck left,” he said, taking the key she held out to him.

  “If you need anything, here's my card.” She handed that to him as well.

  “Thanks.”

  “Those boys won't admit it was you who beat the shit outta them,” VanLandingham said with a grin.

  He stared at her.

  Her smile faded. “I don't want any trouble brewing between you and her father, though. You understand?”

  “Not unless he starts it.”

  “Sex between a man your age and a girl her age is a misdemeanor, but it can still get your ass into a whole pile of doggie do, son.”

  He opened the car door. “Thank you for the ride, Detective,” he said as he climbed out.

  “He's going to protect her, Sean. If you get in his way, bad things could happen.”

  He bent down to look at her. “Yes, Ma'am, I understand that.”

  She sighed. “Be careful, okay?”

  He smiled for the first time since she'd met him. “I'll do my best.” He straightened and shut the car door.

  She waved and left him standing outside his room. In the rearview mirror, she saw him staring across the courtyard at the dumpster. An old saying came unbidden to her mind—good riddance to bad rubbish.

  She smiled grimly. What a fitting end to a bastard like Tymothy Cullen.