Sugar in Her Bowl

by India Maslany

  She found herself wishing for someone to rescue her. The first face that surfaced in her mind was that of Mr. Lockhart's. She shocked herself with the notion at first, but then found herself strangely comforted by the idea of Mr. Lockhart at that moment. What would he do? Defend her honor? Or something far, far darker?

  Velma surged forward, putting a few people between her and the police officer. She scrambled off the bus, noticing that the bus driver looked up at her from the rear mirror before looking away again. Once off the bus, she walked quickly, darting in amongst the thick crowd of people walking toward the police station. She glanced back and saw the police officer looking for her. She removed her hat and stuffed it in her purse so he couldn't lock on her with what she was wearing on the bus.

  She turned the corner and the square in front of the police station was a thriving mass of people, all converging on the police station. She hesitated and was nearly knocked off her feet by the people pushing their way to the inquest.

  "You should take my arm," a voice said beside her. It was the police officer. He smiled that yellow smile at her, his eyes squinting into slits. "Out of the way!" he shouted as he grabbed Velma and made his way. "But I'm supposed to meet my nephew," Velma protested, but she was helpless between the police officer and the crowd. He pushed through the men and women with Velma in tow. People moved out of the way at the sight of the officer's uniform.

  "Good thing we met on the bus," he said to Velma. "You'd have gotten trampled. Definitely not a nice crowd, from the looks of it."

  The reached the alleyway beside the police station. It was strangely devoid of people. A couple of police officers stood next to a small door, smoking cigarettes and chatting. One of them noticed the police officer and Velma. "What you got there, Tom?" the older of the two officers asked. "A date?" The other officer chuckled and took a drag off a cigarette.

  The small door opened and out came Carter. He looked at the men, then at Velma. His brow creased. "Velma?" he said, as if not believing what he was seeing.

  "Carter!" she cried, using the opportunity to break free of the officer's grip and run to the young man. She hugged him. "This nice officer escorted me here because I was nearly trampled. I suspect he was trying to get me somewhere to make sure I wasn't hurt."

  Carter eyed the three officers, all senior to him. All white. "Good. Well--"

  "I was just telling the officer," Velma interrupted. "That I was on my way here to see my nephew Carter and lo and behold, here you are!"

  Carter didn't miss a beat. "Officer Woods, thanks for taking good care of my aunt Velma. To think she might have been trampled out there in all that. Here, Aunt Velma, you should come with me. I'll find a quiet corner somewhere here in the station for you to collect yourself."

  With that, Carter took Velma and went back through the small door. The three officers looked at each other. "Looks like you just got outwitted, Tommy Boy," the older officer said. "By a darkie, no less." The officer who had escorted Velma swore and spit on the ground before taking out a cigarette.

  Inside, Carter walked Velma down a narrow corridor. The noise of people in the building sounded like a beehive buzzing with activity.

  "And what was that all about?" Carter asked.

  "You tell me," Velma said. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

  Carter didn't have the heart to tell her. He knew exactly what would have happened. He too had heard stories. He drew his arm around Velma protectively and walked her up a flight of stairs.

  The upper floor was packed. Carter looked at his watch. "They're starting in fifteen minutes," he said. "The inquest on the Hangman." Velma feigned ignorance, but nodded. Carter pointed to a nearby door. "There's the morgue. We can go in there," he said.

  "No!" Velma cried in horror. Carter was taken aback slightly but then he realized the reason for alarm. "No, there's nothing in there right now. Besides, we'd be in the outer room. There's a table and a chair in there. I thought we could sit you down there until the crowd dies down."

  "I thought you weren't planning to attend the inquest?" Velma said.

  "I wasn't, until my superior said we all needed to be on hand for it, everyone that's been directly involved in the investigation, that is."

  "Do you mind if I sit with you then?" she asked. "I don't feel safe by myself here."

  Carter looked at her for a moment, then nodded. He took her up the second flight of stairs and into a side door that ran alongside the inquest room.

  They entered the room and the noise was nearly deafening. "You should sit here," Carter said, motioning Velma to a bench positioned on the opposite side of the public area of the room. "You'll be OK here. I have to go for a minute, but I'll be back. I promise. No one will bother you here, Aunt Velma," he said with a smile.

  Velma shifted down in her seat slightly, for the men seated in front of her were tall, wearing hats and heavy overcoats. She looked around some at the crowd. She didn't recognize anyone.

  It was strange to her that all of these people from all over the city had come together in this room to talk and learn about one thing: the mysterious, murderous Hangman.

  And somewhere, the Hangman was out there, hiding, keeping the city at bay, while he undoubtedly plotted his next crime.

  Even Velma, sitting there unnoticed and unrecognized, understood the irony of her presence in the room.

  Chapter 19

  Velma had sat on the bench for what seemed a very long time and yet the inquest had not begun. By her guess, nearly a half hour had gone by before Carter returned.

  "It's about to start," he said. "I can take you out through the backdoor."

  "I think I'll stay," Velma said. Carter found this strange, coming from Velma Barnes.

  "Are you sure? What were you doing in town any way?"

  "I have a doctor's appointment later and I needed to do some shopping. I'd rather stay and hear this, at least until it's time for me to leave. But Carter, please don't say anything to Lamont about this. He'll worry that something terrible could have happened to me."

  "Something terrible would have happened, Velma. But I won't say anything."

  "Thank you, Carter."

  "Follow me, I can get you a seat closer to the action."

  Velma followed Carter out into the passage and up a small flight of stairs. From there, he ushered her to a small balcony. A few people sat in the front, looking back at Carter and Velma. One of them, an obese man dressed in an ill-fitting suit, nodded to Carter.

  "Carter," the obese man said.

  "Lieutenant Salzano," Carter said. He gestured to Velma. "My Aunt Velma." Salzano nodded to Velma and turned away before she could respond.

  Carter motioned for Velma to sit at the end of the back row.

  The courtroom was large. It resembled a church. On the opposite side of the balcony, a long gallery ran above the courtroom. It was packed with the general public.

  Velma looked at the faces in the gallery. Had it not been for Carter (or that lecherous police officer), there would have been no chance for her to witness the inquest. Those people stormed the police station the moment the doors opened, pushing, shoving and fighting their way to a seat. It would have been impossible for her.

  There were only a few females in the bunch and they appeared to be the type that would hit a man and make him think twice about retaliating. Their love of drama and the lurid gave them the will to push their way into this spectacle.

  But the men made the majority of those in the gallery. Men of every walk of life.

  The court below resembled an arena. The floor was recessed. There were benches on opposite sides. On those benches, law enforcement officials and lawyers, from the look of it.

  Between these officers of the law and court were six people who did not seem to belong on the benches: four men and two women.

  "Are those the witnesses?" Velma asked Carter. He nodded.

  A platform at the end of the room featured a high desk and armcha
ir where the judge usually presided. To the left of the platform was the witness stand.

  This setting was a far cry from the country inn inquest Velma attended all those years ago.

  Velma thought she would drop dead on the spot if she had to stand in the witness box here, being stared at by every pair of eyes in the room. She felt pity for the men and women who would have to sit there and give their testimonies.

  But as the inquest was clearly gearing up, whatever pity she felt she soon realized was a waste of time. The witnesses looked all too pleased to be the center of attention. They had an eager, excited look.

  They were, for all intents and purposes, part of an epic drama that had enthralled Charleston and quite possibly the entire country.

  The two women had been questioned over and over by the police, as well as every newspaper reporter in a 100-mile radius. It was from the testimony of these two women that the closest description of the Hangman had been established: good looking, respectable looking man in his late 20s, carrying a newspaper.

  The male witnesses had claimed to have seen the Hangman after he had committed his foul deeds, but only from a distance.

  Velma turned her attention from the witnesses and looked around the rest of the room. She noticed a table on the opposite side of the room from her where two men sat with large pads of paper and various pens about them. They were sketching the inquest setting. Further down that table were a cluster of reporters with notebooks, scribbling notes as quickly as their hands would allow them.

  "Reporters," Carter said to her, noticing where she was looking. "They don't show up until the very last minute, but they're the last to go. From the looks of it, every paper in the state is here, although only a few can get a pass to that reporter's table there. And then there's the sketch artists too."

  A door off to the side of the lower floor opened and the bailiff appeared. "All rise," he barked. Everyone in the room who was seated rose to attention.

  "The Honorable James Harcourt, presiding," the bailiff announced as Judge Harcourt, the appointed inquest judge, entered the room. He was middle-aged, tall and possessed a regal air as he took to his seat. "Be seated," he spoke as he spread out a file in front of him.

  Everyone in the room sat, the overwhelming silence filling the space.

  Judge Harcourt took a few moments to pore over the file contents. He spoke to the bailiff, but it was hard to hear their exchange from where Velma sat.

  Everything appeared to be in order. The judge nodded and continued looking over his paperwork.

  The silence was so precise the slightest shuffle of feet could be hear. There were a few coughs in the gallery.

  The judge finally began with a brief history of the Hangman murders. He spoke clearly, providing just enough detail without being excessive.

  He then spoke of the victims and their families. "I've come to the conclusion that the reason for this inquest is one of the most horrific and heartbreaking series of murders I've ever known. It is truly a tragic day, one of the most ever held here in my court."

  The judge went on like this for several minutes, leaving Velma and undoubtedly many others in the courtroom that he had really very little to say.

  Velma heard the lieutenant Carter addressed earlier whisper to one of his colleagues, "Milking it for all its worth. You'd think this was the performance of a lifetime."

  The man sitting beside the lieutenant, no doubt another police official, whispered back, "He's a decent fellow. Our fathers went to school together. He takes his job seriously. Maybe too seriously?"

  Velma listened carefully, hoping some secret would be unearthed that would either relieve her fear or confirm it. Such a secret never came.

  Yet, at the end of the lengthy opening statement by the judge, he did offer a hint that could have meant something -- or nothing.

  "I'm pleased to inform this room that our hope is to obtain evidence today that will lead to the arrest of the fiend who has committed, and still commits, these horrific crimes," the judge said.

  Velma wondered what he meant. Was there new evidence? Something that even Carter didn't know?

  Before she realized it, a giant bear of a man took his place on the witness stand. He was a policeman, not one of the witnesses sitting on the bench she had spied earlier.

  It was the officer who found the first body. Almost by rote, the officer described what he encountered on that cold morning nearly two weeks ago. One of the attorneys brought out an easel with a map of the city on it. He asked the officer in the witness stand to point to where he'd found the Hangman's first recorded victim.

  The officer poked at the map with his thick index finger, then corrected himself. He had pointed at where the second body had been found. He moved his finger up slightly and tapped the spot on the map for emphasis.

  He apologized for his error, explaining that he had gotten confused between the first two murders, those of Junie Corbett and Sophia Hyland.

  The attorney who had brought out the map said to the judge, and the rest of the room, "For the purposes of this gathering, Your Honor, I think we should consider these first two killings together." The judge nodded sagely and said, "I'll allow it."

  From there, the witness resumed his narrative, bringing eyewitnesses details so lurid and full of horror that Velma feared she'd fall sick from fear and remorse.

  Until now, she'd thought very little of the Hangman's victims, those loose women, drunkards and drug addicts. She had been consumed with the one who had dispatched those poor, lost souls. Him and those who tried to capture him.

  She regretted ever coming to this dreadful event. She knew that she might never be able to shake the images the police officer's testimony had painted in her mind.

  There came a rustling of excitement throughout the court as the police officer stepped down from the witness stand and one of the female witnesses was ushered to go next.

  Velma watched the woman with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy, remembering when she had to give testimony at that long-ago inquest. She trembled just as this poor, disheveled and ordinary looking woman was now.

  Until a moment ago, she looked thrilled to be a part of the proceedings. Now, she went pale and looked like a trapped animal.

  The attorney who escorted the woman to the witness stand was kind and gentle in his manner. He spoke to the woman with a soothing tone and after a few moments, she seemed visibly more relieved.

  The witness was sworn in, repeating the solemn oath in a very dull tone. The attorney began by asking her to tell her story. He stopped her after a few words and asked specific questions, which she answered, before proceeding with her account.

  Velma realized this woman was the one who claimed to have seen the Hangman from her bedroom window. The witness was feeling more at ease and her story began to provide more detail. She had been sleeping when she heard a terrible scream that was quickly stifled. It awoke her in an instant and she ran to the window.

  The attorney looked down at some papers on his desk. "Let's see... the house where you live faces the alley where the two murders were committed, is that correct?"

  "No, sir," the witness said. "The house doesn't face the alley."

  There were looks exchanged between the men on the courtroom floor.

  "Then how were you--" the attorney began.

  "Oh, what I meant to say is, the house doesn't face the alley, but my bedroom window does," the witness explained.

  "Tell the court as clearly as you can what you saw when you looked out from your bedroom window after hearing that scream." The attorney seemed eager to get this witness off the stand.

  The witness took a breath, considering her words. Dead silence filled the crowded courtroom. The woman opened her mouth and spoke far more firmly and loudly than she had previously.

  "I saw him!" she bellowed. "I'll never forget him, not until the day I die!" She looked around the room in defiance.