“That is only conjecture and he also must be given a fair shot, a fair trial to prove his innocence. If those who know him and the situation out on Rotunda Road don’t speak on his behalf, and about the facts of his family’s life there, it is possible an innocent child could go to jail.”
“Innocent.” He crinkled his brow. “That's a nice way of putting it. I asked my son, Chris, about it and he told me he and Susanna were to meet Tommy at the River, but that he never showed up. On their way home, they ran across Old Man Melancon, Tommy’s grandfather, who was on the way to the house. He told the kids to hurry on home or he’d give me a call and let me know that they’d also sneaked out of the house.”
“Will you and your children be willing to meet with Mr. Carroll, Tommy’s attorney, about this?”
“Give me your card, and I’ll give you a call.” I handed him my card and paused.
“Did Old Man Melancon, as you call him, ever speak with you about your children being out and about that night?” I asked.
“No,” he answered. “But, and I know I am not an attorney, but when your own mother identifies you as the shooter, then the case is closed. Mother's usually protect their children. After being shot, I understand why she didn't."
"Do you remember hearing the gunshots?"
“No. I heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights,” he said.
“Thanks for your time, sir.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass, but I know this kid and the news is trying to paint him as a gentle giant. He may sound like a pipsqueak, but he’s already 6’2” and weighs at least 185, and I heard too much coming from that house to know that the family was dysfunctional, and he was no different.”
Guess it’s time to speak to Mr. Melancon about it all. I'd have to dig, dig deeper because no one was going to tell me the truth.
12
The Melancon home sat in a cul-de-sac on a lot filled with tall trees, on the edge of a wooded lot. Old and freshly-shedded pine needles covered the ground. Large gravel rocks rested on the makeshift driveway, and old, rusty trucks in disrepair decorated the landscape.
I sat at the edge of the driveway and listened. The faint sounds of livestock mixed with the chirping of wild birds. Scrutinizing the crime scene pictures before me, I noticed that the outside of the single shotgun-styled house seemed out of place. Usually built in cities, and close to the street, the home could have been larger, considering the land available.
With gusto, I grabbed my camera and exited my car. Focusing my lens, I snapped away, taking multiple shots.
"Hey, what are you doing there?" I heard, and turned to see an older man wearing dirty overalls, as if he'd just recently taken a break from working in the animal stalls.
With determined steps, I walked towards him. "Good morning, Mr. Melancon? I take it your wife told you I was coming," I said and stretched out my hand. "I'm from the law firm--"
"I know who you are, Ms. Jones. Please call me Nate.” He shook my hand limply. "Kids these days don't understand repercussions when someone is always trying to get them out of trouble."
"You don't wish for us to investigate and ascertain if Tommy has a way to walk free?"
It was a loaded question, able to shine a light on the family dynamics, and clarify some of the things not being said.
"I love my grandson just like everyone else, but I reckon the biggest problem is that he stole the lives of those other youngins’ from us. I still haven't figured out how he could do it though, and that's why I let Granny go up there and talk to you all. If he killed them all, in the dead of night like the police said, why didn't any of them wake up first. Almost like they were dead to the world before they were shot, you know what I mean?"
I nodded. Everyone had been found in their beds, resting, except for the surviving and complaining witness, Kristy Melancon—Tommy's mother.
"Do you mind if I take a look around, to get a better feel for the house's floor plan? Has the house been renovated or remodeled within the last few weeks?"
He laughed, causing his large belly to shake. "No, not a bit. You see, we had let Kristy and her family stay here. That child seemed to always be having a new baby or another, and we wanted them to be able to get settled and have a place to call their own, and also help them get on their feet." He turned and pointed down the street. "Do you see that yellow house over yonder?"
Another shotgun house, without the camelback, from what I could see, stood less than 500 feet away.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, that is the house we live in, Gran and me. We own all this land here, and farm what we can. Anyways, on that night, I'd drank some warm raw milk, and it made my stomach upset. Ole' Bessie there, my favorite dairy cow, well, seemed like she'd eaten something she shouldn’t have. But that is what they do when they roam and graze the pastures. Well, I was up that night, and while walking the floor, I know I saw Tommy walking along the street towards the Newton house. They live on the other side of us and have two teenagers about Tommy's age."
"What time are we talking about?"
"I'd say 10:30 or 11:00 o'clock. We usually fall in bed around 8, since we have to do so much work starting at dawn, you know. Anyways, I called over to the house and asked Kristy about it, and she just told me that they'd had an argument and he must have snuck out. I didn't think anything more about it until around midnight when I heard all of those sirens and saw the flashing red and blue lights."
"Do you know what they argued about?" I asked.
"She said that he wished to go on back home to his dad. What he didn't know though, and what I didn't tell him, I don't believe, is that his dad didn't want him to come back. He claimed it was Kristy's turn to raise her mannish kid. He'd had problems in school that year, getting into some trouble up in DC, where his dad lived. So, for a city kid to now live out here in rural Virginia, not close to anything, I'm sure he went a little stir crazy. Maybe he just wanted to go back to the place he thought he was loved."
"Did he not get along with the other children?"
"I'm not going to say no, but I can't say yes either," he said.
“Can you show me where exactly you and your wife live up the road? I just want to piece it all together,” I asked.
We walked for less than five minutes, and the manicured gardens was an obvious contrast of where the murders occurred. As the other plot needed tending, here, not even a daffodil’s petal was wilting.
“You’re a farmer and a gardener. Love the land, huh?” I asked.
“No, that is all Mary Alice. She’s been tending these flowers for years... since, well, since my heart attack a couple of years ago. Up until then, we’d taken care of Glenda, Pauline, Joy, and Gary — a couple of Kristy’s children. “
“Where was Kristy then?”
“In drug rehab. I said life got away from her. I hate to talk about my own grandkids this way, but the bunch was practically feral. We tried everything we could to reign them in, until one day, Mary Alice buckled under the weight of it all.”
“And Kristy, how did she bounce back after rehab?”
“She didn’t. A couple of days afterwards, we found her doing drugs in front of the kids, and that no good boyfriend — God bless his soul — he was a no good lout. If Kristy wanted something, he went and got it.”
I studied the gardens filled with bright yellow bulbs. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Melancon.” I turned to go and then stopped, noticing Rhododendron and Oleander shrubs. In their near, I stared at what appeared at first glance to be sprigs of baby’s breath. Squinting my eyes, I moved closer. The white flowers, in an umbrella-like shape, I recognized as Water Hemlock, a deadly poison.
“Before the shooting, were any of the children sick or complaining of any types of belly aches or what not?”
He rubbed his chin. “Well, the whole house had the stomach flu a couple of days before. We had grilled in the backyard. Each of the kids had their own hotdog on a homemade stick. Tommy was away with friends,
I believe. Afterwards, they were vomiting a lot, and bedridden. We even had the doctor make a house call to check in on them. Dr. Carla Chance should have some information about that there.”
“Can you show me from where you saw Tommy that night?”
“Sure can.”
I followed him into the small house. Therein the walls were lined with mounted hunting trophies.
“I was in the living room, here,” she said.
I smiled contritely and looked out the window which overlooked the front of the garden.
Most would reach for a weapon before using something so underhanded like water hemlock, I knew. When I was 13, the last thing I thought about was what a poisonous plant could do.
”Thank you for your time, sir.” I shook Mr. Melancon’s hand. "I have just one last question. Do you know if Tommy ever belonged to the Boys Scouts, 4-H or any sort of agricultural club?"
Mr. Melancon shook his head. "That boy doesn't know the difference between poison ivy and poison oak."
Mulling over the answers, the questions gnawed at me. I returned to my car and from my position, I studied the surrounding landscape. What 13-year-old thinks of poisoning his family with Hemlock sticks?
There was more to this story than just a teenage boy getting upset with his family. The best place to begin to discover the truth would be with the medical examiner’s office.
13
“Thanks for seeing me Dr. Reynolds,” I stuttered, and tried not to think of all of the crime drama TV, which had become my nightly homework. After a little more than seven months on the job, my medical knowledge was even less than my understanding of the law. Yet, I hoped that the pathologist could give me insight.
"I hope you don't mind me stopping by, but I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions."
His bushy eyebrows rose. "Are you a cop, a vigilante or someone who thinks they can solve crimes the professionals might miss?" He shuffled his papers, preparing to push them into an aged briefcase.
"Neither, sir." I took a deep breath. "I'm a paralegal with Harry Carroll's office, and he asked me to stop by to get your opinion on a case."
"The best way to work on a case is to honor the dead. You have to hear the language they are speaking,” he said.
His briefcase packed, he set it down on the edge of the podium in front of the large lecture hall, and began to snack on a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil.
I tried not to think of the pictures I’d seen of people lying on slabs in their different states of autopsying.
“I’ve been looking over the medical and lab reports for the Melancon case.” I shuffled through my paperwork.
“Now, you know I can’t comment on that. I work for the other side,” he joked and took a bite of his sandwich. “Don’t worry. Harry told me you’d stop by. I couldn’t help but mess with you some.”
Animosity between parties rarely existed. It was the thing of fiction and made for entertaining television but not so much in real life, I’d learned. Usually, the state’s employees weren’t as jaded as Hollywood would want one to think. At the end of the day, most wanted the innocent to go free, and justice to be served.
“I was wondering if the remains had been tested for any sort of poisoning.” I passed the papers to his outstretched hands. “Follow my thoughts,” I continued, “I believe that they may have been drugged prior to the shooting. I can’t see how five people would stay in bed, fast asleep, with what the police reports have suggested was a double barrel shotgun going off, unless there was more than one shooter.”
I tried to keep my emotions cinched tight to my chest. The last thing I needed to do was think about it too much.
I watched Dr. Reynolds peruse the lab reports.
“When I was reviewing the lab report with the values from the samples taken, I noted that of the deceased, all of them had a spike in liver enzymes,” I said.
“A spike in liver enzymes can come from several things,” Dr. Reynolds said, “including caffeine and over-the-counter medication. You’re going to need more than just elevated liver enzymes to prove something happened--and then you’re going to have to figure out a way to connect it to the crime.”
“Damn it!” I muttered. The file’s images of the younger kids on the autopsy table still burned my eyes, even when the scene was long gone.
"I'm sure Harry knows this, but he can always submit to the court to have the bodies exhumed and retested based on this hypothesis. I'm guessing you're trying to say that the initial cause of death was poisoning and not the gunshot wounds?"
Hearing it come from him, a noted pathologist, a professor who trained others, and a known expert witness, it sounded ludicrous, but my conscience squeezed. My belly flip-flopped. I may not have been an expert as to the ins and outs of criminal law, but I knew how to do proper research. You follow the clue, follow the bouncing bunny. If someone poisoned the family beforehand, and it didn't take, what's to make it that the real killer didn't come back to finish it off?
14
"So, what do you have maverick?" Harry stretched out behind his desk, his head resting on his hands.
Maybe it was a term of respect, a belief that I could accomplish the impossible. Maybe he was telling me that he saw something in me, a talent that could help our client. I hoped so.
"What the Commonwealth has given us, and what I'm finding out is not matching up. I think more is behind this, and not just a disgruntled teenager who wanted to get back to his father."
I tried not to sway as I stood in front of him like I was presenting an oral report, with notes in hand, and conviction in my straightened spine.
"Don't you remember what it was like to be a teenager?" he asked.
"I do, but I also know that for everyone to stay in bed after hearing a loud shotgun going off throughout the house, something had to make them stay there."
"You think they were drugged and not that the shooter moved from room to room that quickly as to accomplish his task as the Commonwealth claims?" He stared at me now as if contemplating what I had to say.
"I think that it makes sense to check and see if there is a history of social service's involvement."
"Why?"
I tried to draw from those internships in local churches, of underprivileged youth, who lacked good parenting, and often lived in squalor, infestation and complete filth. They were also often forgotten by downtown, until it was too late.
"Because, if a mother is constantly in and out of trouble, and particularly rehab, then it would only be logical for there to be a paper trail, and potentially a clue of what was really going on behind the scenes. The grandparents are only telling us partial truths, I fear."
"That's like every client," balling up a piece of paper, he tossed it into the recycling basket. Missing. "You only get minutia of the truth until you catch them in a lie. We've got nothing but your speculation."
"For now. I think we need to find out what the mother received once the children passed away. They’re the only two to walk away, and one is scot-free. That means from experience that she might have had something to do with it. People kill for several reasons, Harry, and the human condition is quick to give a motive of money or hate. The most common one is money, sure; and the second reason is hate."
"What do you think we should do then?" Harry asked.
"Let's see if there is a money trail that we can follow. It could lead us to an even more viable suspect, burying the motive the Commonwealth is trying to pin on Tommy."
Harry cracked a smile. "I see that true crime television is paying off."
He paused and rubbed his bearded chin. "You know, another reason murder is so prevalent is because of all of this giving trophies to kids who've earned nothing. We coddle them too much, but let's say you're correct. I'm intrigued enough to continue looking at this. I need you to set up a legal visit to see Tommy. Go over everything that night, about what he recalls and then match it up to what the incident report in the file is saying. Find the holes, and then
we turn the light on them."
15
Confessions have the tendency of coming about after many hours of back and forth. I had watched enough of the taped sessions to know the game played by detectives to often tie it all up. I knew that not all cops were bad—hell, I’d been married to a wonderful one—I also knew that 99% on the force were upstanding. But it only took that one bad percent to change the citizen's perspective of their actual service — from to protect and serve to cow and convict.
Today’s task required me to be in the car. Between running down to the courts to pick up documents, as well as the occasional office supply run, lunch was the perfect time to not be disturbed. In the safety and confines of my car, on the side of the road, I retrieved my brown bag lunch and sipped on my half-and-half tea. The world continued around me, but the voices on the CD had my undivided attention.
"Tell me what happened that night?" I recognized the voice as belonging to Det. Peter Lazarus, Eddie’s partner. I frowned at that thought. I’d always known Pete, or Lazarus as we all called him, to be honorable.
"I don't remember." The adolescent voice squeaked, caught somewhere between child and adulthood. "From what you've told me, I went to my friend's house and then came home and shot my family."
"It was that simple?" Lazarus asked.
"Yes, sir?"
I flipped through the transcribed interview, fast forwarding.
"Do you get high? Kids your age don't know your limits yet. Maybe the reason your memory is so shaky is because you thought to bring your fast ways to a slower part of town."
Tommy remained quiet, breathing. The heavy silence made me wish for video of the interrogation.
"Why? Why'd you do it?" Lazarus asked.
"Why? Um...yeah...um...I wanted them to take me serious. They didn't accept me as part of the family, so I..." Those words should have been thunderous, but instead, Tommy uttered them as meek as a church mouse.
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