Damage

by Mark Feggeler

  Years earlier, Billy caught Jake writing love letters to Amy. Billy had been out of college a year at that point, which meant he was working while the rest of them were still partying off campus during their senior year. Ray had defended Amy back then, telling Billy he had never witnessed any behavior on her part to indicate the attraction was mutual, but in his heart he hadn't been so certain. He didn't doubt Amy's fidelity to Billy, but it didn't seem like the attention she received from Jake bothered her any.

  "So," he said, racking his brain for something to talk about. "April thirtieth?"

  "Mmm hmm," Amy mumbled through her food.

  "And you guys are sure it's a boy?"

  "Mmm hmm."

  He turned the car, heavy with the odors of fry grease and ketchup, onto their street. Amy rubbed her distended belly and threw the crumpled wrapper back in the bag.

  "Have you picked out a name yet?" Ray asked.

  "No," she said, sounding bothered. "Well... I know what I want to call him, but Billy doesn't ever want to talk to me about it."

  "What name do you want?"

  "Clay Walker Merrill," she proudly declared.

  Ray tried not to react. His head nodded and his face became expressionless.

  "Clay," he said. His eyes darted to the glove compartment that held the envelope marked "For Clay" in Jake's handwriting.

  "You don't like it?" Amy asked.

  "No," he said, too quickly. "No, it's a great name. Clay. Clay Walker Merrill. Family names?"

  "They're from our grandfathers," she said. "My momma's daddy was Clay, and Billy's grandfather was Walker. Did you ever know him?"

  "Who?" Ray asked. He was lost in thought. "Oh, old Walker. I vaguely remember him. He passed away when Billy and I were kids. And you've never told Billy about wanting to name the baby Clay?"

  "I've mentioned it to him, but he never has an opinion about it," she complained.

  Ray parked the car and they got out. Maddie let herself out and ran up to the front door of the house while Amy lifted Jordan out of her seat. Ray unbuckled both car seats and laid them in the bed of Billy's pickup. He carried Amy's purse and diaper bag to the porch steps.

  "Did you ever tell Jake about calling the baby Clay?" he asked as they reached the steps.

  Amy looked at him suspiciously. Her reaction told him he had touched on a delicate subject and should proceed cautiously. So much had happened since the week began he didn't fully understand, and here was an opportunity to press for information that could help him clear at least a small part of the fog in which he had been wandering.

  "What has Billy been telling you?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

  "I've never talked to Billy about it, or even Jake, for that matter. But I found something in Jake's house that had the name Clay on it. An envelope with a few hundred dollars in it. Maybe he was saving up money to give you for the baby?"

  "And why would he do that?" Amy asked. It was less of a question than a demand for Ray to explain himself.

  "I don't mean anything by it, Amy," Ray said. "We found the envelope the night we found Jake. I just thought..."

  She grabbed the purse and diaper bag from him and threw them up on the porch, then jabbed a finger in Ray's chest. Tears welled in her eyes.

  "You want me to take a paternity test, too, like your idiot cousin? I'm gonna tell you now what I told Billy last summer when he made a goddam fool of himself. I never had a relationship with Jake Veitch that went beyond friendship. I don't care what you find in his house. I don't care how many letters you find that he wrote to me. This," she pointed to her belly, "is my husband's baby."

  "Amy..." Ray started.

  "Keep away from me!" she hissed and lumbered up the steps, slamming the door behind her.

  Wednesday, Part III

  Ray didn't feel like going home. He'd spent too much of the past two days hiding out there, alternately trying to convince himself Jake was still alive and figure out why he had killed himself.

  He drove through Jake's neighborhood passing Jake's house several times. There was no point going in. Everything worth seeing had been seen, and he had taken for safe keeping the only belonging of Jake's that had any monetary value. The rest was crappy furniture, clothes and old appliances the neighbors would steal or the family would donate to charity when the time came to clear out the house. Driving kept his mind occupied, so he kept at it for a while, cutting through sections of the county he hadn't visited in a long time. Some of the areas were exactly as he remembered, even the trees alongside the country roads hadn't changed much. Every now and then he spotted a new residential development or trailer park where once there had been woodlands or fields. He kept an eye out for Billy, but never spotted him.

  Billy had done an excellent job covering his emotions when Ray showed him the envelope with "For Clay" written on it the night they found Jake asphyxiated in the garage. Amy said she'd told Billy she wanted to name the baby Clay, and here was the man Billy suspected of having an affair with his wife saving up what little money he had for someone of the same name. Assuming Billy must have made the connection, his reaction to seeing the envelope would have required a degree of emotional restraint Ray couldn't imagine his cousin mustering. After all, he was the same man who had just punched out one of his own fraternity brothers in front of a crowd of mourners at a funeral. Not exactly a bastion of reserve.

  The afternoon was half over by the time Ray cut back through town on his way home. Only three cars sat in the Citizen-Gazette parking lot. He thought fleetingly about stopping in to visit with Becky. The lights were on in her office and he could see her moving around. Trouble was he simply didn't feel like talking to anyone. His last two conversations hadn't ended well, so why risk another one?

  It was close to four o'clock when he pulled into his driveway. As he got to his feet, he heard the sound of a car engine stopping nearby. He turned to look over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. After a few seconds he noticed the black Camry sitting halfway down the block facing him. He couldn't swear to it, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been there a minute earlier when he had driven up the lane. Shadows from the tall magnolias above the car made it difficult to see if the driver was still inside. Before he had time to concern himself further with the Camry, he heard another vehicle pulling up from the other direction. A patrol car belonging to the Sheriff's Department stopped at the end of his driveway. The driver side window lowered to reveal a stupidly smiling Deputy Greevey, the same deputy who had shuttled him to work Monday morning from the Wallace's farm. Ray walked slowly over to the vehicle.

  "You ever finish that story you was writing?" Greevey's toothy smile widened, as though he had made a splendidly funny joke at Ray's expense.

  "I did," Ray said. "You come to give me back my camera?"

  "Not exactly," Greevey said. "Sheriff would like to have a heart to heart with you, if you have a minute."

  "It's not exactly the most convenient time for me."

  "He's gonna insist," Greevey said in a friendly warning tone. "Might as well get it over with."

  Ray didn't like the sound of that. The only things he and the sheriff could have to discuss were lingering questions about his time at the Wallace's on Monday, or Jake's possible involvement with what occurred at their farm. Perhaps after leaving the funeral home Billy had finally spoken to Redmond about Jake, and now Redmond wanted to get Ray's take on the situation. Whatever the reason for meeting, Greevey was right about one thing: he might as well get it over with. With a quick glance down the lane before walking back to his car, Ray noticed the black Camry had vanished.

  He made good time driving to Whitlock with Greevey tailing him the entire way. By the time he veered onto Main Street and pulled into the parking lot of the Tramway County Sheriff's Department, it occurred to him he should have let someone know where was going. He thought about tapping out a quick text to Becky on his phone, but Greevey had opened his door for him before he had the chance.

  Built
in the last few years with funds from a hotly contested bond referendum, the three-story brick building seemed out of place among the mostly historic offices and store fronts of downtown Whitlock. Even the county courthouse across the street was old enough to be on the National Historic Registry. This new law enforcement complex, with it's polished metal and modern design, simply didn't belong.

  Gleaming fluorescent light reflected off the white walls, floors, and polished chrome accents of the lobby, momentarily blinding Ray. Greevey led him through the lobby, along sterile white corridors into the heart of the building. They stopped outside a small room with a long wooden table and three folding chairs. Greevey pointed his thumb at the room and told Ray he would be right back. The chairs were frigidly cold to the touch. The table was solid and heavy. Ray picked up a chair and placed it at the far end of the table and sat facing the door. The narrow room had high ceilings and no windows. It gave him the sensation he was sitting at the bottom of a deep, sterile pit.

  The sound of footsteps in the hallway immediately preceded the entrance of Sheriff Redmond. Greevey followed him into the room and closed the door. Redmond turned to look at his Deputy.

  "Thank you, Dean," Redmond said. "You can wait outside."

  Crestfallen, Greevey exited the room. Redmond took the seat opposite Ray. He held a large brown grocery bag that he set on the floor. He plucked a small spiral notepad from his back pocket and flipped through several pages before placing it on the table. The sheriff studied Ray for a moment before reaching into the bag and lifting out the camera he had ordered Detective Pritchard to confiscate from Ray two days earlier. He slid the camera across the table. Ray caught it and checked for signs of damage. When he turned it on, he found all photographs on the memory card had been deleted.

  "There were at least fifty pictures on here when you took it," Ray said.

  Redmond's head bounced in a slow nod. "Judging by the cover of your Monday morning paper, it would seem you must have made copies before turning the camera over to me."

  "Not of all of them," Ray griped. "I even had a nice shot of you and your daughter from the groundbreaking at Lonesome Pines on this thing."

  Redmond straightened up and fixed his eyes on Ray. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Only that I had a picture of you and your daughter," Ray said, confused by the question. "And that other lady she works with. You're the one who brought me over to your table to take the picture."

  One corner of Redmond's mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "We'll let that pass for the moment."

  Ray wondered exactly what the sheriff intended to let pass. So much for conversation number three of the day. This one was getting off to a rocky start, although Ray figured it couldn't get as uncomfortable as his confrontation with Amy. He took a long look at Redmond's face in the glaring light of the small white room. The man appeared to have aged ten years since he had last seen him, and he already looked pretty rough to begin with. Redmond again reached into the paper bag and tossed a copy of Monday's Citizen-Gazette at Ray.

  "You wrote that article about the Wallaces," he said. "In it, you say Mrs. Wallace was pushed or thrown from the window. You site a source from within my agency but you don't give a name. Who was your source?"

  "I was at their house with the rest of you," Ray said, spreading the paper out on the table. "Everything and everyone that morning was a potential source of information."

  "You talk in there about the possibility of an assailant. I don't recall making any such statement. I want to know who put that idea in your head."

  Thinking back to Monday, it took Ray a few seconds to recall his conversation on the front porch with Pritchard when the detective made the comment about jumpers opening windows before they jump. His natural reaction was to protect his anonymous source, even though Pritchard never asked him to.

  "I don't remember exactly who mentioned it," Ray said. "Maybe it was something Billy and I talked about before the rest of you got there."

  "Are you telling me Deputy Merrill is your source?" Redmond sat perfectly still when he spoke. His voice was a low monotone that cut cleanly through the room.

  "No," Ray answered. "I'm just saying it's possible."

  "Was it Pritchard?"

  "You mean Detective Pritchard?"

  The wisecrack passed his lips before he could stop it. Redmond shifted forward in his seat. One of his meaty hands came to rest on the edge of the table. "Was it?"

  "It's possible," Ray said. "Like I said, I don't recall exactly who might have mentioned it."

  Redmond flipped his notepad back a page and read over some notes. The cold room went deathly quiet as Ray waited for him to restart the conversation.

  "Tell me about Jacob Veitch," the sheriff asked.

  Ray decided not to bother correcting him. He wondered if Billy had informed Redmond about their suspicions regarding Jake's involvement with the murder of Evan Wallace, or maybe some other evidence was found to place Jake at the scene. Either way, if the sheriff was expecting Ray to implicate his friend, Ray didn't feel like making it easy on him.

  "What about him?" he asked.

  "You know him well?"

  "Yes. We grew up together."

  "Did Deputy Merrill know him well?"

  "Yes. They pledged the same fraternity at college."

  Redmond read from his notepad. "Jacob Robert Veitch. Arrested twice for DUI, once for assault, several warnings for public intoxication, and one arrest for breaking and entering."

  "Simple assault," Ray clarified. "And that got dismissed, as did the breaking and entering."

  "History of violence and a proclivity for entering dwellings that don't belong to him," Redmond said, raising his baggy eyes to meet Ray's. "Sounds like a man of interest to me. Did you see him Sunday night?"

  "No," Ray said.

  "He slept at your apartment," Redmond said. "Your neighbor said he broke in through a window."

  "He did, but not until Monday morning, after I left to come here to go on rounds with Billy. I mean, Deputy Merrill."

  "You haven't asked me why I'm asking you about your friend Jake," Redmond said. "That tells me you think maybe he did something to warrant my attention. What might that something be?"

  Struck by the sheriff's sensible reasoning, Ray decided to stop drawing out the inevitable.

  "Okay, look," Ray started. "For starters, a lot has happened since we found Evan Wallace and his wife. I just told Billy today we should have talked to you already, but he's taken Jake's suicide pretty hard. He wasn't exactly in a mood to listen to reason. But I'm telling you, whatever Jake did, he wasn't in his right mind when he did it. He'd been drinking round the clock for five straight days..."

  "And there was heroine in his system the night he died," Redmond added.

  Ray's head dropped and he groaned. "Well, that's a first, even for him. You clearly suspect Jake had something to do with murdering Evan Wallace and trying to kill his wife. I hate to think of him being involved in anything so brutal, but I happen to agree with you. His hands were cut up from broken glass, just like mine, from that shattered window at their estate. And Billy said he found Jake's old pocket knife under a piece of furniture in the living room. I guess you'll want to search my apartment for evidence he might have left there, too?"

  "In good time," Redmond said.

  "Billy told me Jake had been ranting about getting back at Evan Wallace for..." He stopped when the sheriff raised his hand.

  "I know why your friend Jake went to the Wallace's house," Redmond said. "What I want to know is why you were there."

  "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking," Ray said. "It was a ride along. We've done them plenty of times."

  Redmond's hound dog head wagged slowly from side to side.

  Ray laughed nervously. "What are you shaking your head for? It was a ride along."

  "Not one I approved," Redmond said. "And they all require my approval. So, if you didn't have my approval, then you had no business being
in that squad car with Deputy Merrill, and you certainly had no business traipsing around that crime scene. I have to wonder what your purpose was in being there that day. What arrangement did you have with Deputy Merrill?"

  "I was riding along with him to write a feature article for the Citizen-Gazette about a day in the life of a sheriff's deputy. That's the only arrangement we had. I even told you about it at the groundbreaking."

  Redmond shook his head again.

  "You can shake your head all you want," Ray said, getting heated. "I don't make a habit of jumping into police cars at six in the morning for shits and giggles. Billy called me late last week to set it up. I assumed you knew about it."

  "Bad assumption," Redmond growled. "Why did he want you there?"

  "To write... a story... for the paper," Ray said haltingly.

  "How well do you know Deputy Merrill?" Redmond asked.

  "That's a stupid question," Ray said. "We're cousins! We grew up a couple miles apart from each other."

  "You trust him?"

  "What kind of..."

  "If he needed help, you'd help him?"

  "Of course I would," Ray said. Redmond had him flustered.

  "Then tell me where he is," Redmond demanded.

  Ray cocked his head and struggled to comprehend the question. Why was he suddenly asking all these questions about Billy? What did he mean, tell me where he is? This wasn't supposed to be about Billy. It was supposed to be about Jake, and Evan Wallace, and Correen Wallace. How could Billy possible figure into the scenario other than as the first man on the scene?

  "What are you talking about?" Ray said.

  "Deputy Merrill should have been here two hours ago for the start of his shift," Redmond said, leaning forward. "Where is he?"

  "He was at the funeral, then he left," Ray offered. "I have no idea where he is now."

  "Why did he bring you with him on Monday?"

  "I... I told you already! To write a story for..."

  "Where is he?"

  Ray let out a nervous laugh in his exasperation. "I don't know what you want from me."