Perdition

by R. Jean Reid

  That was another thing she’d been putting off. “Thanks for not blowing me off, Doug,” Nell said. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  “Soon. Please do it soon. I’d like to get this over with.”

  “Tomorrow, sometime, if I can arrange it,” Nell answered.

  “Good, I’d like that. But before dinner. I don’t want to be doing business when I intend on pleasure.”

  They agreed to seven for dinner and that Nell would call him earlier in the day about the book.

  After putting the phone down, Nell glanced at her watch. She needed to talk to Kate Ryan again. She straightened her desk, then turned out the light.

  Jacko was still at his computer, staring intently at the screen. He didn’t notice Nell until she spoke.

  “You can go home, too,” she said. “You’ve got a busy weekend.”

  “Got a few more things to do. That I want to do. I may have some interesting background on our suspects.”

  “Anything you care to share?”

  “Not just yet. Let me get the whole picture and then I’ll fill you in. Are you going to be around tomorrow?” he asked, then softly added, as if suddenly remembering, “Maybe after the funeral?”

  “One way or another, I’ll be around tomorrow. Call me on my cell phone if we don’t connect otherwise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And, Jacko, don’t work too late,” Nell said as she went out the door.

  The days were getting longer, darkness receding to let the light linger. Right now it was a golden afternoon, with the low sun visible in the sky.

  Nell headed to the bike shop. She could ask Kate if she would be willing to talk to Doug sometime tomorrow.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” was how her son greeted her as Nell entered. “I promised Kate I’d finish putting together this bike and then clean up the workshop.”

  Nell tried not to take it personally that her son preferred the company of another woman. It will only get worse, she reminded herself, so I’d better get used to it. Kate, given both age and sexuality, would be merely amused by Josh’s crush. She also decided that a discussion about her son leaving in a timely fashion could wait until Kate wasn’t listening in.

  “You can finish the bike and clean to your heart’s content,” Nell assured him. “I might even leave you here overnight, just to get that much cleaning out of you.”

  “Ah, Mom.” Josh didn’t want to be teased by his mother, of all people.

  “I’ll leave you be,” Nell told him. “I’m here to talk to Kate.”

  “Oh, yes, about the ads,” Kate said, a sad, ironic quirk of a smile on her face. “Come into the back office. I have something to show you. If you need any help, Josh, just holler.”

  Kate led Nell into a room behind the counter. As many times as Nell had been in the bike shop, she’d never been in the inner sanctum. Some things that had clearly belonged to Toby still remained: the plaques and awards for his community service; pictures of him, some with people Nell didn’t know, one group shot with her and Thom in it, and one with a much-younger Kate. Nell was initially chagrined to notice that Kate had a desk neater than hers, but then she noticed the stacks of catalogues and other paper effluvia of a small business stacked less neatly on a book case in the corner of the office.

  “Guess it’s time to start thinking about end-of-school ads,” Kate said, but her tone was sardonic and the smile even smaller than her first small one.

  “Not yet, please,” Nell said. “I’m of the old school. Let’s get through Easter first.”

  “I guess you’re here about this,” Kate said. She went to the back of the office and unlocked an old file cabinet, one that seemed little used. From that she took out a locked cash box, also old and battered, and then took out the book Nell recognized as the one Marion had shown her.

  “I guess I am,” Nell admitted, adjusting to Kate’s abrupt change of subject. “I’m just conjecturing, but I think Marion went to someone in the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Other than me mentioning she was considering it, is there any other reason why you think that?”

  “That’s just it—I can’t really name a good solid reason. Maybe because I don’t like Sheriff Hickson. I think he allowed Ronald Herbert to be killed. Drove him to suicide. Plus, they cover Tchula County, not just the city of Pelican Bay. Makes it more likely they’d know the bayou route into the park.”

  “Ronald didn’t kill himself,” Kate said fiercely.

  “He might have technically killed himself,” Nell replied, “but if he did, I’d bet it was because he knew he wouldn’t survive for twenty-four hours in jail.”

  “And hanging in his cell was better than …” Kate didn’t finish the sentence. Better than being tortured and raped; neither of them needed to say those words.

  “But I have no proof of that, and no way of knowing whether Sheriff Hickson just turned a blind eye to what he thought was justice or whether he had a direct hand in killing Ronald.”

  “And no proof that Marion was killed for this,” Kate said, throwing the book down on her desk.

  “May I look at it?”

  “Help yourself,” Kate said. “I’ll go check on Josh. He’s probably about ready for me to look at the brakes anyway.” She added softly, “Please find something I missed, find something that will …” She was silent, then left the office.

  Nell sat at the desk and opened the book. She’d only glanced at it when Marion had shown it to her. Now she took a long look at each page. But the pictures were maddeningly inexact. A child with crayons crying for help, but without the words or skill to do more than indicate something that shouldn’t happen to any child was happening to him.

  Nell moved the chair next to the window to look again. The gun and badge were always there, but sometimes they changed sides, always facing out whether the figure was in left or right profile. She was hoping for something like an indication that the figure was left-handed. There was no crude drawing of the kind of stomach that Sheriff Hickson had, although that may have just been beyond Rayburn’s ability to figure out how to draw. The penis was quite evident, but it was just a long blob, no indication of any special characteristics or, for that matter, even pubic hair or testicles. Maybe that was a clue, but again, Nell couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just something Rayburn couldn’t draw.

  One thing she did notice in the daylight that she hadn’t caught in the desk lamp was that a yellow crayon had been used to outline around the shoulder. Maybe to indicate a shirt? The tan of the sheriff’s office? Sometimes the child stick figure was close in size to the book drawing; other times there was a difference. But again, that could be due to Rayburn’s artistic skill more than any real size difference.

  Nell looked through the book a third time, but she couldn’t see anything more than what she already had seen.

  What do I have, she thought as she closed the book. The person who molested Rayburn might be short, might be wearing a tan or yellowish uniform, and might have light pubic hair or none all together, and might have no testicles or small ones.

  Nell had a brief vision of walking over to the sheriff’s office and telling them “drop your pants, boys, I want to see them all.” But she could summon no mirth at the thought. I’m tired, and I want this over, I want my children safe again, and I want … what do I want for Ronald and Marion? she wondered. Justice? It didn’t seem enough.

  “Any interesting reading?” Kate appeared in the doorway.

  “I wish I could say I cracked the case,” Nell answered with a sigh. “I noticed a few things, but whether they’re clues or bad art, I can’t be sure.” She ran down the list for Kate.

  “Not much, really.” Kate agreed with Nell’s assessment of her meager findings.

  “It might be better to bring in someone who knows what they’re doing,” Nell said. “Nei
ther you nor I are forensic experts. Would you be willing to talk to Chief Shaun about what you know?”

  Kate didn’t immediately answer. When she did, it was with a question. “Why him? What makes you think he’s safe?”

  “I guess the same things that make me think the sheriff is guilty. Instinct. Nothing I can put my hand on as a sensible reason. Josh had to tell him about the bayou leading into the park. That had to be the way the killer snuck in and out. At least Doug seems interested in doing his job. I’ve also talked to Harold Reed in the DA’s office, and he’s arranged for the FBI to come in, but nothing is going to happen there until Monday.”

  “How do we know that the FBI is safe?” Kate asked, but she clearly didn’t expect an answer as she quickly added, “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Okay, but call me as soon as you can,” Nell said.

  “Tomorrow,” was Kate’s answer. “I’ll call by then.”

  For a moment they were silent, in the office with the fading afternoon light, and then Kate said, “Thanks for your … for helping, for being here.”

  “Of course,” was the only reply Nell made before Josh interrupted with a question about where a certain tool was.

  “Time to go home, Josh my boy,” Kate answered. “We can finish the bike tomorrow.”

  “Can we?” he asked, his question mostly directed at Nell.

  “We’ll see,” she answered, not wanting to burden Kate with watching her son.

  “It’s fine if he comes by,” Kate said, understanding Nell’s hedge. “I’ll be closed in the morning for … the funeral, but he can come by around 2 or 3.” Very softly she added, “Josh’s a … good distraction. I like his company.”

  And you’ll need distractions after going to Marion’s funeral, Nell thought. But she didn’t mention that, just made the necessary arrangements, including that Josh could stay as late as Kate wanted him and then that she could take him over to Mrs. Thomas, Sr.’s, while Nell went out to dinner.

  Josh down, Lizzie to go, Nell thought as they left the bike shop.

  Lizzie, miraculously enough, offered her own solution by asking to go to a slumber party, one that would start in the afternoon and stretch until sometime Sunday-ish. Nell managed to extract from Lizzie a promise that she would do all her homework that night, plus do all the dishes in exchange for Nell’s letting her be gone for so long.

  She didn’t exactly tell her children she was going out to eat with a man; she wasn’t sure how they would take it. As a betrayal, Nell suspected, although they might not call it that. One dinner wasn’t enough to venture onto that treacherous ground. So Nell only mentioned some vague plans and for once was thankful for the self-absorption of youth, as they asked no questions.

  Lizzie did do the dishes and even stayed on the computer long enough to do several weeks worth of homework. Nell caught a glimpse of an email to Janet, so she knew her daughter wasn’t as studious as she was making out to be. But as long as her rebellion was confined to illicit emails masquerading as homework and not porn sites, Nell was content to let it pass.

  twenty-nine

  The phone rang. Nell struggled out of sleep to answer it. The foreboding came back; a few nights with no calls and she’d hoped it might be over, her nights no longer disturbed by the jar of the phone.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Silence answered her.

  “Who is this?” she demanded sharply, to keep her fear at bay.

  The silence stretched and then a voice answered, “Who do you think this is?”

  Nell sat bolt upright. It was the voice that had woken her the other times. “What do you want?”

  “What do I always want? The pleasure of your company.”

  “You sick bastard …” But Nell caught herself. He wants me angry and off guard.

  “Most reporters would die for a story like this, Nell. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Where do I find the body this time, you sick piece of shit?”

  “There is no body. I’ve decided to mend my ways, Nell, dear.”

  Nell fumbled with her cell phone; maybe she could call Doug and when he heard her end of the conversation, he would know to trace the line.

  “And turn yourself over to the police?” she asked.

  “I’m not that mended. But I do want to give you one piece of advice. Stay away from Doug Shaun. I don’t like him, and I don’t like you with him.”

  The line went dead.

  Nell sat for a moment, holding both phones in her hands, then put the bedside phone down but still held the cell phone, debating whether or not to call Doug.

  Exhaustion made the decision. The caller was gone; he had undoubtedly called from an untraceable cell phone and that’s where they’d track the call to. She could stay up all night waiting while they went through that process, or she could do it in the morning. What difference will it make, she thought as she lay back down.

  But before she could try to sleep, Nell got up and glanced into Josh’s room and Lizzie’s room. They were both asleep, snuggled under the covers. She also checked the locks on the front and kitchen doors before going back to bed. It was a long while before sleep returned.

  thirty

  He put the phone down. Sleep would come easily tonight. His decision was made. He liked Nell, hoped that she’d heed his warning, but he doubted it. People made their choices and she would have to live with hers.

  It was, he had to admit, a challenge, different from the others. They had seemed so straightforward and simple compared to what he would have to accomplish here. The timing would be difficult, but he could manage that. He was almost relishing the task.

  He would have to get that book, of course. He’d told the boy not to tell anyone, but he hadn’t thought to admonish him not to take crayon to paper. Too bad he hadn’t paid attention to what the child was drawing. At the time, he’d just thought it cute, defacing library books. It was part of the game. Let the kid get away with the forbidden, from candy bars to defacing books. That was how he got what he wanted—giving them something they wanted. But he should have taken the book. It would have been simple; the boy brought it sometimes to the woods. In the future he’d have to warn them not only not to tell, but also not to draw pictures.

  Now on to the problem of Nell McGraw. She was wrong, of course, but she’d come closer than anyone else. He liked that about her. Given time, she might even put the pieces together. But time was one thing she didn’t have.

  He had no more use for Nell McGraw as a witness. It was time for her to become a victim.

  thirty-one

  The service was at eleven. Lizzie and Josh seemed shy about going, so Nell left it at that. The last funeral they’d been at had been Thom’s. They hadn’t known Marion well—she was just the woman at the library—and she saw no reason to reawaken memories.

  She left them squabbling about who needed the computer more. Nell thought of suggesting they work together, but knew it would only be seen as an un-understanding mother interfering. She did tell them she’d be back in about two hours, and she expected Josh to fold the clothes and Lizzie to prune the holly bush in the back yard. They would probably trade chores, but as least it wouldn’t be Mom assigning tasks along traditional boy/girl lines. And it would assure that neither of them could hog the computer the whole time.

  As she drove to the church, Nell wondered whether Marion’s killer would be there. Would he dare? She answered her question—of course he would. Calling her in the night was a demand for attention. He would be there to view his handiwork.

  With that uneasy thought, she pulled into the parking lot. It was already full. Marion was young, her death sudden and brutal; it was an emotional jolt that brought people out in a way that the lingering illness of the end of life didn’t. None of us should be going to this funeral, Nell thought. And that’s why we’re all here.

 
She nodded and murmured greetings to the people she knew. She saw Mrs. Thomas, Sr. up at the front of the church, next to Erma Nash, who was in a wheelchair and bundled up as if against both cold and grief. The family resemblance told her that the two men standing with them were Erma’s sons, come into town for the funeral.

  Sheriff Hickson was also with them, old Pelican Bay families that seemed to know one another. Would he dare, Nell wondered, kill the daughter and console the mother? For the first time she found herself wavering in her belief that he was the murderer. Even at this distance, the sorrow on his face seemed genuine.

  She would talk to her mother-in-law after the funeral, Nell decided. Plus, she preferred to find a seat in the back, not only because she didn’t feel she was a longtime family friend of the Nashes’—not the way Thom would have been—but also she wanted to observe people. Glancing around, Nell was relieved to see Jacko in one of the back pews. He was in the far corner, as if trying to make himself unobtrusive. One group of people started to enter that pew, but then noticed him and moved on.

  Christian charity, Nell thought, might mask some of the greatest sins of all. She nodded a greeting at Jacko, then slid in beside him.

  “Careful,” Jacko whispered to her. “You might get a reputation sitting next to me.”

  “Not one I’m worried about.”

  Then Jacko half stood and said, “Kate, over here.”

  Nell turned to look at Kate. She was barely recognizable as the woman from the bike shop, instead dressed in a sober dark blue dress, her only jewelry a strand of black pearls. With her was the woman that Nell recognized as the Unitarian minister, and during their introductions, Nell learned that the man with the minister was her husband.

  She and Kate managed the idle talk that seemed necessary, about the weather, her church, Nell’s paper. Since Thom’s death, Nell had learned the importance of these moments of no consequence—they kept you going, they passed the time, made small connections, offered a sort of padding that allowed you to move through the shocks and losses. Kate answered a few questions when asked, but otherwise was silent.