“Well, I’m not going to prison, so I don’t have to worry about that.”
“It can be especially terrible if you’ve done things to children,” Rein continued. “The men in prison might be criminals. Killers, drug addicts, gang members. But even they have children. They tend to take out their frustrations on child predators. The guards, of course, look the other way. The only thing they’ll do is put you on suicide watch. Keep you from ending the pain. Making sure it goes on as long as you’re there.”
Eubanks felt his legs trembling with a rage that ran all the way up into his throat. “I told you to get out! Stop talking about that shit!”
“To be honest, Fred,” Rein said, “by the time you get that far, it won’t mean anything. By then, you’ll have already endured the worst human misery possible. You’ll have been exposed. Not just in front of the public, but in front of your family. Your daughter. All your lies and bravado will be cut down by irrefutable forensic evidence. Lab reports that say your DNA matches the semen found at the crime scene and the fingerprint on the knife you left behind. Your little girl will spend the rest of her life knowing her father raped a twelve-year-old, right before he strangled her to death.”
Rein stood up. “By the time you finally wind up in prison, you’ll be so hollowed out inside you won’t even care what the inmates are doing to you. Everything about your life, even this conversation, will seem like a distant dream. So keep telling yourself you have this under control, that there’s a way out. But we both know the truth. You are caught in the jaws of the beast, and it’s just getting started on you.”
He leaned closer, speaking into Eubanks’s ear. “Do you know why I never came after you myself when I was a detective? I was afraid. I knew I’d kill you before I got the chance to watch you suffer.” Rein stepped back, grinning. “Then again,” he said, eyes shining with cruelty, “I still might.”
Rein pushed the door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking a deep breath of the fresh night air. Inside the office, Fred Eubanks slammed his fists on his desk and thrust himself into his chair, sending stacks of paper flying. Rein stood there long enough to listen to the cries of anguish erupt from inside the office. They were like sweet music. He smiled, and then he walked away.
CHAPTER 29
Cameras and news vans were setting up around the cemetery hours before the burial. One of the cameramen saw Steve Auburn’s police car approaching and turned to film it. A few of them tried flagging him down, wanting him to give a few comments, but he kept driving. He went past the church, and there were news crews there too. At least they were leaving the Pughs alone. Auburn was paying a few of his officers overtime to take shifts sitting in front of their house, making sure nobody bothered them.
The speaker on his dashboard crackled, followed by, “Chief, you on radio?”
Auburn picked up his microphone. “Affirmative, Paul. You need something?”
“Meet me at Eubanks Insurance, sir. Step it up, please.”
Auburn snapped the microphone back in its holder and groaned. What could possibly be happening now? Somebody had probably vandalized the place, he figured. The townsfolk were pretty pissed off and someone probably threw a brick through the office windows. He aimed his Crown Vic toward the cemetery’s exit and drove.
By the time he pulled up behind Paul’s police car, he realized nothing was wrong with the office. The windows were intact. Nothing was smashed or broken. It hadn’t even been egged.
“Steve, come on,” Paul urged, looking up and down the street. Passing cars were slowing down to look at what the cops were doing. Paul waved and smiled at them, calling out, “Hey, Bob,” and “Morning, Mrs. Kline,” as they passed, but he looked pale and sweaty despite the cold November chill. Whatever it was that happened, it had been too important for the idiot to remember to put on his hat, Auburn thought.
“What the hell’s going on?” Auburn said, shutting the car door.
“I got a call from Fred’s wife this morning,” Paul said. “She said she went home to get some things, and the bedroom was all smashed up. When she couldn’t get him on the phone she called dispatch and asked us to check on him here.” He cocked his head at the insurance office’s window, pointing at what was inside. “So I did.”
Auburn pressed himself against the smoked glass and cupped his hands to the sides of his face, trying to see in. Fred Eubanks was splayed across his desk, his pistol still gripped by his rigid fingers. His eyes were permanently wide and vacant. Chunks of his skull and brain matter were splattered across the wall next to him. Thick, gelatinous blood pooled beneath his head and spilled over the desk’s sides, forming dark puddles on the carpet below.
“Son of a motherfucking whore,” Auburn said.
“I figured you’d want to know right away, before any of them news people show up,” Paul said.
Auburn reached to pull the door open, finding it was locked. “Get the crowbar out of my trunk and bring the camera. We need to take photographs and get that body out of sight before the press shows up.”
“Yes, sir,” Paul said, hurrying for the police car.
“And, Paul?” Auburn said, halting the man in his tracks. “Put on your damn hat.”
* * *
Inside Ruby’s Diner, video footage of Pastor Richard Eubanks appeared on the TV set over the cashier’s counter. “God will ensure justice is done in this matter, as in all things. I have faith that my brother’s name will be cleared, and the true murderer will be revealed,” Little Ritchie said, waving a Bible at the camera.
“Turn off that horseshit!” shouted one of the truckers seated next to Carrie.
“Frederick was never a violent person. He is a loving father and husband and founding member of this congregation,” the pastor continued. “The people looking to tear him down are doing so for political reasons, I believe.”
“Cut this off!” another trucker yelled. “They should fry that lying son of a bitch in the electric chair with his damn brother.”
Carrie ate the last of her eggs and wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, then took a sip of her coffee, careful not to spill any on her new blouse. The people inside the diner that morning were all dressed better than usual. The truckers had their hair combed. The waitresses were wearing their church shoes and skirts under their aprons. A handwritten sign on the door read, CLOSED FROM 10–3 TODAY FOR FUNERAL.
The door opened behind her and she heard someone say, “Morning, Chief.”
“Morning,” Steve Auburn replied. Carrie glanced over her shoulder to see Auburn dressed in his uniform, his cowboy hat fixed atop his head. “You got a minute?” he said, coming up alongside her.
Carrie tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter, then waved good-bye and followed Auburn out the door. The wind was soft and calm. It was an unusually warm day for that time of year. Auburn’s face wrinkled behind his sunglasses. “Fred Eubanks is dead,” Auburn said.
“You’re shitting me.”
“He shot himself in his office last night. We just found him a little while ago.”
Carrie rummaged in her purse for her keys. “I need to see the body. Where is it?”
“Coroner already took him,” Auburn said.
“Were there any signs of forced entry?”
“No, the door was locked from inside,” Auburn said. “What, you think someone killed him and staged it? There were notes spread out all over the desk for his wife, his daughter, his brother. I can’t give you any of them yet because there’s blood all over the damn things. With the funeral today, and all the press, I guess he just couldn’t take it.”
Carrie stomped her foot in frustration. “Son of a bitch!” she shouted.
“It looks like he took the easy way out,” Auburn said. “I say good riddance.”
“Not the right way,” Carrie shot back. “I wanted to see him dragged through the courts and sent off to rot in prison.”
“If it all went through, sure,” Auburn said. “If the court let
us try him as an adult, and if his confession held up, and as long as there weren’t any other loopholes or technicalities, maybe we’d get a conviction. That’s a lot of ifs, Carrie. This way, it’s nice and clean. Case closed.”
Carrie looked at him, searching for his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Did anybody go with you to that crime scene, Steve?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You asking me if there was anyone else who can corroborate me saying what I saw?”
“Is there?”
“Paul was the first one on scene. He could see Eubanks slumped over on his desk and he waited for me to get there before we busted the door open together. Any other questions, Detective?”
Carrie laughed, trying to pass it off. “Hey, lighten up, Steve. I was just kidding around with you.”
“No, I don’t think you were,” he said. “I think you’re doing the same thing to me you did to Eubanks the other night. You smile at people but that’s just a mask, right? What’s behind it lies some pretty dark shit.”
“Well, I’ve seen some pretty dark shit,” Carrie said.
“I don’t doubt it,” Auburn said. “You ought to come up for air every once in a while before it keeps you there permanently.” He tipped his cowboy hat at her. “It’s been quite an experience working with you. Don’t mind me saying I hope we never do it again.”
She watched him walk off, another cowboy heading off into the dust, and was brushed aside by several people coming out of the diner all at once. “Funeral’s about to start,” one of them said. “Hurry up or there won’t be any parking spots left.”
* * *
The crowd at the cemetery was too large to see who all was there. Carrie had searched faces at the church and left her seat early and stood on the steps as the door opened and the people flooded outside. A dozen cameras flashed, fodder for the news sites covering the funeral, and she realized the person she was looking for wasn’t there. Not with all that press. Never in a million years.
She found herself at the front of the crowd, near the casket, before they lowered it into the ground. People she knew from around town were nearby, but they were too far away to talk to. Across from her, Adam Kraussen was dressed in a black suit and tie, his leg free of its cast, but he was still using crutches. Carrie held up her finger to him, trying to get his attention, to tell him she needed him to wait for her after the ceremony. He lowered his face into a handkerchief in his hands, balancing himself on his crutches as he blew, wiped his sleeves on his eyes, and never looked back up.
Mrs. Pugh let out a cry of despair, clutching her husband and burying her face in his chest. She moaned, “No,” over and over. No tears streamed down Mr. Pugh’s weathered face, but he did not look away once from his daughter’s casket.
A handsome woman with frosted blond hair stood to Carrie’s side, sobbing. She stumbled on the uneven ground and was forced to reach for Carrie’s arm to keep from falling. Carrie held her steady, keeping her right hand wrapped around the woman’s bony fingers, telling her it was fine as the woman apologized. “Did you know Hope?” Carrie asked.
“No,” the woman said, wiping her face and seeing her hands were soaked with tears. “I’m afraid I didn’t. I was the dispatcher who took the call when her parents reported her missing. I was always hoping they’d find her. When I heard about the funeral, I just had to come.” She looked around. “I’ve probably spoken on the phone to most of the people here. Heard them fighting with their loved ones, talked to them when they wanted to hurt themselves. I could tell you more about their lives than anyone else, and yet, I don’t know any of them, and they don’t know me.”
“I’m Carrie,” Carrie said, patting her on the arm.
“I’m Gloria,” the older woman said.
“Do you want me to walk you to your car?”
“Actually, I have to visit someone buried here first. Someone I should have visited a long time ago.”
Carrie stayed with her, helping her search. They knew the number of the plot, somewhere toward the rear of the cemetery, but it wasn’t until they came upon it that Carrie realized what she was looking at. Oliver Rein, buried February 1981. Vietnam Veteran, US Army. Police Chief of Patterson Borough. “Were you Ollie’s dispatcher too?” she asked.
Gloria nodded. “I was the last person to speak with him before he went into the woods. I’ve thought about that conversation a million times. What else I could have said, or what made him decide to do that.” She bent down to touch the headstone, laying her hand flat on its cold, rough texture. “It wasn’t until after he died that I saw his picture. They had it in the paper,” she said. “He really was a handsome man. At least I got that part right.”
She stood up and clasped Carrie’s hand in hers, patting it before saying good-bye. Carrie watched her walk around the other graves, taking the long way, so as not to step on any of them. Carrie bent down to look at the grave marker. She placed her hand on it and said, “We did it, Ollie. We got the guy. Me and you. Rest easy, now.”
“You two would have gotten along,” a familiar voice behind her said.
Carrie spun around so fast she almost toppled over. She cocked back her fist and punched him in the arm. “Rein! You son of a bitch! Don’t sneak up on me like that. Where the hell have you been?”
He was clean shaven, wearing black sunglasses and an oversized black coat with the collar flipped up, something he could lower his head into. His hair was cut shaggy and short, like he’d done it himself. He looked past her, down at his uncle’s grave site. “I never visited his grave,” he said. “I was gone by the time they buried him.”
She put her hand in his, and he let her. She rubbed his forearm with her thumb, feeling the soft skin there. She touched the hard ridge of the scar that wrapped around his wrist and raised his hand to look at it in the light. “The scar is fading,” she said, squeezing his fingers and feeling him squeeze them back. “How does it feel?”
“Like anything else that’s been cut off and reattached. Sometimes all right. Sometimes like it doesn’t belong there. But never the same.”
Carrie laid her head against his chest, feeling his warmth. Rein stroked her hair and said, “If you’re going to arrest my father, you’d better do it soon. He won’t be alive much longer.”
“Arrest him for what?” Carrie said. “All I heard were the ramblings of a dying old man.”
They walked across the cemetery toward the gated entrance at the end of a curving brick path. “I heard you met Adam,” Rein said. “He was shocked you figured out I was there so fast.”
“Were you shocked too?” she said.
“Only that it took you so long,” he said, smirking. She cocked back her fist like she wanted to hit him again and he put his arm around her. They exited through the gate onto the sidewalk, walking along Auburn Street toward the center of town. The factory’s old abandoned smokestacks loomed over the trees, the skeletal remains of the past when the town was still alive.
“Is this your first time back here?” Carrie asked. When Jacob told her it was, she said, “And you haven’t seen your dad in all these years?”
“We didn’t part on good terms,” he said. “I realized a long time ago that he thought he was doing me a favor sending me away, but he didn’t have to do it like that. The truth is, by the time I ran away we were better off apart.”
“He told me he tried to make amends, but you refused,” Carrie said.
“A few years ago, he called me up out of the blue to tell me I should come see him. I offered to meet him for dinner somewhere. I didn’t want to sit in his house and watch him get drunk. He told me he’d get back to me. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“You should go to him,” she said. “Before it’s too late. He loves you. He misses you, so stop being so damn stubborn about it.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Rein said.
They kept walking. “Did you know it was Fred Eubanks all these years?”
“Of course,” Rein said.
“Fred would never have let me interview him. We have too much history. I couldn’t have done a proper job and couldn’t bear to see anyone else do an improper job, either, so I let it sit. What the case needed was a real detective. And then one came along,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Some detective. I almost set my hotel room on fire with a bug zapper trying to use it as an alternate light source,” Carrie said. She reached up and rubbed her hand along his smooth chin. “I like you without the beard.”
“It was time for a change,” he said.
* * *
That evening, Adam cooked dinner and opened a bottle of wine that he retrieved from the cellar. “Germans aren’t known for their wines,” he said, setting the bottle on the table. “But the Riesling is well respected. My father got into collecting wine at one point, but he never drank any of it. I’ve got a few cases downstairs that I’ve been saving.” He looked at both of them and said, “Well, I figured this qualifies as a special occasion.”
He poured three glasses and passed the first one to Carrie. She raised it to her nose and inhaled, smelling its jasmine and honeysuckle fragrance.
“Dinner smells wonderful,” Carrie said.
“I hope you like it. I’ve gotten into cooking over the past few years, but never get to do it for anyone else.” He finished his glass and moved to refill Carrie’s before pouring more for himself.
She stopped him and said, “No more for me. I have to drive back tonight so I can file my report in the morning.”
“Just you and me tonight, then, old friend,” Adam said to Jacob. “I have a surprise for you. I got the Betamax player working, and thought we could watch Excalibur, for old time’s sake.” He clasped his hands together as if holding a sword and intoned, “In the name of God, Saint Michael, and Saint John, I give you the power to bear arms and dispense justice.”
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