by Rich Foster
They stopped for hot chocolate at a cafe overlooking the lake. Excitement bubbled from the children. They begged to go to the toy store in case there was some toy they forgot to add to their Christmas list.
The children rollicked through the aisles. People bustled past, burdened down with armfuls of future gifts. Calley seemed relaxed and enjoying herself more than ever when Grace noticed her stiffen, her eyes opened wide and she sucked in a short breath. Grace followed her eyes. Even she noticed the striking similarity between the young girl, who held up a Barbie doll for her mother to see, and Ruthie Haskell.
An instant later, the surprise passed from Calley’s face. It was replaced by grief. Bursting into tears, she fled the store. Grace gave her a moment before following her. Outside, Calley leaned against the brick wall gulping down great breaths of air. Grace merely hugged her. There were no words for such moments.
Calley struggled to pull it together before Lucas and the children came out of the store. They caravaned back to Red Lake. Lucas dropped the large tree at the church and came back with the Haskell’s tree. He mounted it in the stand as Caleb and Jacob howled to help.
While the women decorated inside, he got a ladder from the garage and put the exterior lights up across the front porch eaves. Soon the house appeared as festive as any other home on the block.
The snow that had drifted steadily down throughout the afternoon was now beginning to accumulate. Calley walked Grace and Lucas out to his Bronco. Darkness had fallen. They climbed in and drove off as Calley waved.
Going to the end of her drive, she opened her mailbox, which contained a small cluster of Christmas cards, advertisements for things she could not afford, a couple bills and a letter from the State Penitentiary.
Inside the house, she dropped the other mail on the table and with some trepidation tore open the envelope. Inside was a hand written note.
Why blame me?
Your God let it happen didn’t he?
You and I have a lot I common, we both hate!
Calley crushed the paper in her hand, thinking sourly, “I am nothing like him!”
*
Robert had adapted to life on death row, in fact he found the fixed routine, free from the need to make decisions, refreshing. He no longer struggled with being a failure; he had made his mark. No one would soon forget him in the Forks!
Forcibly deterred from his endless intake of alcohol he became less belligerent. He read books to pass the time. Mostly he read murder mysteries. Cheering for the killer, he was obviously always disappointed.
He observed that death row did strange things to men. One man exercised compulsively doing thousands of sit-ups and push-ups. He would die healthy. Several men found religion while facing pending death, two Catholics and one protestant. These men made small Christmas decorations for their cells. Another inmate spent his days shouting obscenities, cursing the guards, other inmates, society, God and existence in general.
To Robert, the holidays meant nothing. He grew up poor and abused. Christmas was just a day his father did not have to go to work, but the bars were closed which made him mean. He stayed home to drink and took it out on his kids. The only thing Robert recalled his father giving him for Christmas was a whipping.
The exceptions to his bitter memories were from when Lisa and May were alive. The children were small, but old enough to believe in Santa. Excitement glistened in their eyes. Lisa prepared for Christmas. The memories of those few years made him nostalgic for the past. He wrote Lucas, “As June’s guardian you may say no, but I would like a picture of my daughter and to know how she is. R. Goodman.”
*
Kevin Daniels tried to cope. The saying “time heals all wounds” was patently false. Inevitably it might dull the edges, memories might fade and passions become tepid, but muted anger was a far cry from healing.
Calley fed her anger by writing hate letters to Goodman. Kevin reacted with passivity, which buried his rage rather than ameliorating it.
Sub-consciously, Kevin hated the God who did not exist. That hatred was abstract, remote, and difficult to maintain in the face infinity’s silence. He could hate Goodman, who was flesh and blood, but Goodman was just another victim in the cosmic theater of the absurd. So after leaving the hospital, a vague frustration kept him restless.
Corbet Mills hired him as a night watchman. He found solace driving the logging roads at night. In cutting areas he would turn off the engine and listen to the sounds of the night, like the hoot of a displaced owl whose nesting tree was felled by loggers. In the cold night air he identified with the bird. The solitude was a balm. By day he slept, keeping to himself.
When he went to town, the holiday spirit agitated him. Jenny adored Christmas. She had collected and made dozens of tree ornaments. Being reminded of this left him loathing the decorations and the carols. He despised cloying cherubic children begging for gifts. Every red silken, garbed Santa repulsed him. Manger scenes on snow covered yards stirred him to anger.
“Fools,” he would mutter to himself. “Poor deluded fools!”
That was when he found new purpose in life and began to develop his ideas for GO!
GO or God Out was organized around getting God out of Christmas, December, and the whole year. He was determined that the school, the courthouse, and anything public should have nothing to do with the myth of God and eternal life. What you see is what you get.
Kevin wrote letters to the editor. He picketed the manger scene in the local park. He filed complaints with the ACLU demanding action. Unfortunately, Red Lake was too removed to be a viable platform for a test case, so they were non-responsive. Undeterred, Kevin plunged into his work with missionary fervor. He put up posters and created a web site.
If love and hate are two sides of the same coin. So are faith and atheism. Both sides call for action, both demand loyalty and service. And so rebelling against the slavery to a God he no longer believed in, Kevin became a slave to the “antithesis” of that god anyway.
His work on Go, brought a sense of driven purpose to his life, but it was questionable if that was the same as meaning. Proving something did not exist was, as Quixotic as proving something you cannot see, touch or hear does exist. His work required faith, for him to believe he was right.
But, even if Kevin could prove absolutely there was no God, wherein was the joy? Wherein was the delight in debunking Santa Claus to a group of gullible children? His thoughts did not move so far a field; instead he worked at developing GO. He attracted others, the dissatisfied and the alienated, people who became true non-believers.
Those who were indifferent to faith were not so foolish as to waste their time fighting for or against God.
Christmas came and went. New Years passed with many hoping that the coming year would be less violent, less murderous, and less divisive. People made resolutions to be kinder, gentler, and more loving. Most of these were broken before New Year’s Day was over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Once again, the bleak days of January settled on Mason Forks, the sun being too low in the sky to be seen in town. The long shadow of Desolation Peak lay on the village. Months of cold, snow, mud and bleakness loomed ahead. Even the respite of the holidays was unable to dispel the gloom.
Lucas drove up to the State Penitentiary. It was a long process of waiting. He was accustomed to following procedures in the military, and so suffered the bureaucratic delays without complaint. On the application form he listed his relationship to the prisoner, as pastor.
The guard walked alongside him to the visitor’s room.
“He’s a twisted one, Reverend. I wouldn’t waste much time on his soul if I were you’”
“We all need forgiveness friend.”
“I got a six year old girl at home of my own sir. That son-of-a-bitch isn’t getting any sympathy out of me.”
The guard led Lucas into a barren room. An inch thick glass divided him from Goodman. Lucas nodded and picked up the phone. He held a pho
to of June standing beside a Christmas tree, the leg braces barely visible below her long skirt.
“She’s walking now. The brace is smaller. As she grows, the doctors think she will be able to walk without the it.”
“I didn’t think the State would do shit for her. I thought she would never walk again.”
“She probably wouldn’t have. The State facilities are mediocre at best. My uncle paid for her care.”
“Elijah James? That old man?”
Lucas nodded. “Why the hell would he pay for my daughter? Why the fuck did he let me shoot him?”
“I guess because he believed she deserved a better chance than either you or I had.”
Lucas held up other photos, one at a time. I’ll give these to the guards to inspect when I leave, you should have them later.
“Who’s that?” Robert asked pointing with the tip of a finger against the glass.”
Lucas turned the picture over it was of June with another girl.
“That’s Sarah Haskell. You murdered her sister.” He said the words matter-of-factually without judgment.
Goodman looked down for a bit. “I deserved that.”
Neither spoke. Lucas thought it was an amazing statement, which seemed to imply Goodman felt some small degree of regret.
“I’ve decided to have June come and live with me. She’s ready to leave re-hab.”
“What’s in it for you? You had nothing to do with her accident?” Robert asked perplexed.
Lucas shrugged. “Perhaps because it’s what my uncle would have wanted. Perhaps to give her a better chance than she would get from the state.” Finally he said, “Because, it seems the right thing to do.”
The idea that someone would take on such a burden was foreign to Goodman. In his world it was dog eat dog.
Lucas looked at the man behind the glass. “You were wronged by the church Robert, but I thought you should know, there are good and decent people there too.”
He stood up and with a slight wave of the hand, said good-bye.
*
The results came back from the crime lab; Elizabeth Mannering was in the boat, in the Kellner’s house, and in Judge Kellner’s bed. The DNA matched across the board. Pat Egan was delighted, he wanted to pick her up immediately. The sheriff was reluctant.
“This needs to be iron tight, Pat. Motive, opportunity, and means.”
“Well, we can place her at the scene for opportunity. The gun gives her means. As for motive they were obviously lovers, how about a lover’s quarrel?”
“The gun tied to Kellner is circumstantial. Find their maid and see if you can confirm a gun in the bedroom, or anywhere in the house for that matter. We need a witness. I’m going to try Robert Goodman. The window of opportunity on the killings is so tight I think there is a chance he may have seen or heard something.”
The next day Gaines followed the routine that Lucas went through a few days before. He took the same seat opposite Goodman.
“Did you kill Kellner?” he asked straight to the point. “You were there, we have your thumb print.”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
“I don’t think you did it.”
“I wish I had.”
“Do you know who did shoot them?”
Robert rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What’s in it for me if I help you?”
“Not a damn thing. Just your civic duty.”
Goodman laughed derisively. After a moments reflection he said, “What the hell. I won’t mind seeing the bitch go down. Maybe the State will let us share the needle.”
Gaines waited. He was accustomed to letting people talk at the pace they chose. By itself, Goodman’s testimony was worthless, nothing more than a felon doing payback. But with the forensic evidence and the fact Goodman got nothing for testifying, it was what he needed to bring Mannering in.
“I rang the bell. I figured he’d open the door and I’d pop him. But nobody answered.”
“The bell was broken.”
Goodman nodded. “Well I slid around the side and looked in the garage window. A car was gone. Lousy luck, I thought, because I wanted to get over to the church.”
Silently, Gaines thought, “Great a killer with a schedule to keep.”
“Anyway a car pulled in the drive, but stopped by the road. I ducked into the bushes. About the same time I hear the judge yelling at someone.”
“Could you hear what he said?” This was better than Gaines had hoped.
“Yea, he was loud. He said, just get the hell out of my house. It’s over! Can’t you understand that you aging bitch?”
A twitch passed over Goodman’s cheek.
“A moment later I heard three shots. The lady coming up the drive must have heard them because she hustled up the drive and onto the patio. Me, I’m stuck in the bushes by the garage with no place to go. The woman goes into the kitchen. Another broad comes into the kitchen and puts two into the first lady.”
“Where?”
“One straight in the face, the other looked like the chest.”
Gaines knew he had a witness. They had never released the details of where Katherine Kellner was hit.
“Anyway, the shooter comes out the door down to the dock and dives in. She’s wearing a swimsuit and carrying the piece. She swims out to a boat anchored off shore. When she climbs out she’d dumped the gun.”
“Then what?”
“Then, I got the hell out of there. I went across the back lawn and into the trees. My truck was down the road.”
“Did you recognize the shooter?”
“Never saw her before in my life.”
Gaines was disappointed. He was sure Goodman could ID the killer.
“Of course, first time I walked into court I recognized her, not that anyone would have believed me.”
Bingo! Gaines thought. “If I get this typed up will you sign it?”
“Sure. Why should I have all the fun in here.” Gaines thumbed the off switch on his tape recorder. He was about to leave when Goodman gestured Gaines back. The Sheriff picked up the phone again, “Tell Mannering hello, for me. Let her know I said she’s no goddamn better than me.” Gaines nodded.
Lou Harding’s column was moved to the front page.
“Judge Elizabeth Mannering was escorted out of the County Courthouse in handcuffs today, arrested on suspicion of murdering her co-worker Judge Adam Kellner and his wife Katherine. At one time, authorities had concluded that Robert Goodman was the shooter, a killer who is now on death row for the New Life Redemption Church murder spree.
The recent drought lowered lake levels leading to the recovery of the murder weapon. As yet undisclosed forensic evidence has allegedly tied Judge Mannering to the crime.
In an ironic twist, Robert Goodman, who was recently sentenced by Judge Mannering was a witness to the crime. Strangely, if Kellner’s alleged killer had waited, Mr. Goodman said he was intending to kill Judge Kellner himself.
Judge Huffman has signed an emergency stay of Goodman’s execution until after Elizabeth Mannering’s arraignment.
What validity his testimony will carry in court is debatable, but it seems certain that this will provide grounds for an appeal of Mr. Goodman’s convictions. On the other hand, Ms. Mannering’s defense team might use his gaining an appeal as a means to impugn his testimony.
Needless to say our community has been overrun by too much violence. One can only wonder what has happened to our moral fiber when the gun seems to be the answer to one’s problems. Robert Goodman and Elizabeth Mannering could not be more different, neither in their station in life nor in their life experience. One was poor and abused; the other a child of privilege; yet both seem to have come to the same tragic end.
One must ask how does a person descend to such despicable acts of violence. Is there a propensity for killing in some? Is it hereditary by blood? Or is it what occurs in life that forces some to acts of violence and murder? Ultimately, is it how we choose to react to what life hands us that count
s. Some choices lead to this ignoble end while other paths allow one to rise above life’s adversities.”
Lucas cut the article out, highlighting the last paragraph. He jotted a note and dropped it into the mail. Calley received it the next day.
“It’s how we chose to react that is the heart of the matter. We can chose to hate or we can forgive. One leads to destruction and the other to freedom.
If you want to be free, love your enemy.”
When she next saw him, Calley put it to Lucas, “How do I love my enemy? I hate him.”
“Perhaps you should do something for him. Commit a kindness.”
He said nothing else on the subject.
Calley reflected on Lucas’s words and also on what Robert wrote. Why not blame her God? Wasn’t doubt the problem everyone faced that horrible night in the church? How to love her enemy when she felt no love seemed impossible. She talked to Grace about this problem. Her advice was almost identical as Lucas’s.
“Why not do something for him?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Bake him cookies, I doubt one can do that and hate at the same time.”
Calley’s problem was, she still wished Goodman dead.
Robert Goodman was perplexed. Who would send him anything? The package had been x-rayed and checked before being dropped at his cell. He looked at the postmark on the brown paper that the guards had loosely re-wrapped around the box. Red Lake? Who in Red Lake would send him anything? June? Unlikely. He dawdled in opening the gift; it added a moment of suspense to his predictable day.
Curiosity finally prevailed. Inside he found a carton of Marlboro cigarettes. He experienced a wave of pleasure that only a smoker would understand. He lit one from the heating element provided in the cell wall. Robert enjoyed a smoke for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes and savored the experience. Feeling flush, possessing a whole carton, he lit another. He noticed a folded paper tucked into the carton. The neat handwriting was familiar.