That feeling disappeared pretty fast once we were in Chief Montgomery’s office. Truth was, I never even got to say a single word.
“You’re not listenin’ to me, Ethan,” my mother said after trying to set up the point of our little meeting twice. “I’m telling you, I made a mistake. Bob Garner didn’t kill anyone.”
Above our heads, a very slow wooden fan turned. To our right was a wall of law books that reached all the way from the floor to the ceiling. I’d been in this office before, but always alone with my attention centered on the television hanging from the ceiling opposite Chief Montgomery’s desk. This was the first time I actually took the time to notice the rest of the room. Then I noticed Chief Montgomery as he gave me yet another look I couldn’t read before putting all his attention on my mother.
“No, Leah,” Chief Montgomery said, “that’s where you’re wrong. I’m listenin’ to you just fine. I’m just havin’ a real hard time findin’ any sort of actual evidence to back up this little change of heart you’ve suddenly had.” He looked over and pointed his thumb at me. “And why in God’s name is he in here?”
“Because it’s . . . it’s something Abe said that made me realize we’ve got the wrong man in custody, Ethan. Ever since Ruby Mae’s death, Bob Garner holds that willow tree nearly in reverence. Her death affected him so deeply it was as though he found his own daughter lying dead that day. He told my son whoever was responsible for takin’ that girl’s life was a cougar. He—” I couldn’t believe my mother was tellin’ the chief of police that I was the one who changed her mind.
Apparently, neither could Chief Montgomery.
“Leah,” he said, cutting her off. “Do you have even the slightest inkling of how crazy you’re soundin’ right now?” Chief Montgomery looked at me, his lips forming a thin line. “I’m sorry, Abe, but I’m gonna have to ask you to step outside my office while me and your ma finish this little conversation. I mean absolutely no offense to you. Is that okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I walked out into the main room, hearing Chief Montgomery’s chair squeak as he got up and closed the door firmly behind me before they continued talking. Luckily, neither of them kept their voices down and, without Dewey banging binders or gurgling water coolers, I was able to pretty much hear the whole thing, especially since I discreetly stayed just outside the door.
“Leah,” he said, “listen to yourself.” I heard him get back into that big ol’ chair of his. “You’re putting something your eleven-year-old son told you above the results of an entire team of professional forensic experts in Mobile. Think about that a minute.” I reckoned he did have a point.
“No, Ethan, I’m putting his feelings above them.”
There was another squeak and a pause before Chief Montgomery spoke again. “I reckon that’s even worse. Leah, more than ever, you’re showing me that you’ve gotten way too close to this damn thing. It’s become so personal your family’s now part of your investigation process. You’re coming to me and telling me we’ve got to let our prime suspect go because your eleven-year-old boy is ‘pretty sure he didn’t do it.’ ”
I wasn’t too certain I liked how that sounded.
“He didn’t do it, Ethan. It’s not just Abe. I know it. I’ve known it all along, I’ve just been afraid to admit it. Hank knows it, too. He’s been saying so since the beginning. Christ, I think even you know it. Just nobody wants to stand up and take responsibility for putting an innocent man behind bars.”
“Funny thing is, Leah, we’ve got them experts who say he did do it. And they ain’t never met the man before, so their opinion is completely unbiased, which takes it right out of your hands and frees you from all that responsibility. This time it actually isn’t you, Leah. Even if we do have the wrong man, you can rest easy. You had nothing to do with him going to jail.”
After another hesitation, I worried they were going to open the door and find me listening, but then my mother spoke up.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I arrested him.”
Chief Montgomery must have sat way back in his chair and probably put his hands behind his head the way he does sometimes, because I heard a really loud squeak this time before he responded. When he did, there was almost a laugh in his voice. “No, actually you got Jackson to do it, which was probably one of the smarter moves you’ve made on this case because this way it really is completely out of your hands.”
My mother’s voice went quiet. I took a chance and moved closer to Chief Montgomery’s office door. “How can I get him free?” I heard her ask.
Chief Montgomery spoke very matter-of-factly, almost like he was placing an order at the drive-through window at Aunt Bella’s Burger Hut. “Find me another child murderer,” he said. “Preferably one with Tiffany Michelle Yates still alive and well along for the ride.” There was a window framed in the door leading into Chief Montgomery’s office. The glass was gold and beveled, making it impossible to see any details through it, but through that smoked glass, I saw the blurred shadow of Chief Montgomery lean forward, bringing his big arms onto the top of his desk.
“And, Leah,” he said, “if there is any truth to what you’re tellin’ me, there’s only one way you’re ever gonna do that, and that’s to finally figure out this ain’t about you. And that really shouldn’t be too hard, because this time? It really isn’t.”
My mother’s tone changed completely. She almost sounded like a wounded dog. “I see I’ve worn my welcome when it comes to your sensitivity.” She was hurt, and I could tell she was trying hard to hide the fact from Chief Montgomery. I’m pretty sure though that if I could tell, most likely he could, too.
“You want sensitivity?” he asked. “Then earn it. Go do your goddamn job.”
I heard her footsteps coming loudly toward the door and I barely managed to take a couple big steps back before she opened it and marched out of Chief Montgomery’s office. I don’t think she actually noticed me at all, she was so upset. She stomped straight past me, through the rest of the office, and out onto the street, letting the station door slam closed behind her. I was just about to follow when I felt Chief Montgomery in the doorway of his office right behind me. I turned around and, in the brief second our eyes met, I could tell he had just done one of the most painful things he’d ever had to do in his life.
“Go take care of her,” he said, and gave me a partial smile.
“I always do,” I said.
He winked at me. “I know,” he said, and patted my back.
My mother didn’t talk as we drove away. I didn’t even question when she took a wrong turn, leading us in the complete opposite direction of my school. I just sat there watching the pines and oaks slowly break to oaks and cypress trees until we were almost completely surrounded on both sides of the street by cypress. Their eerie, twisted branches reached up into the sky like gnarled fingers as we sped past.
Then I figured out where we were going.
We were traveling just south of Skeeter Swamp, headed to Mr. Garner’s ranch. My mother pulled to a stop on the gravel road barely a block away from where Mary Ann Dailey’s body had been left strewn under that tree on the south side of the Anikawa. Without a word or even a glance my way, she got out of the car, closed her door, and headed toward the willow tree. Since she never said otherwise, I cautiously tagged along behind her.
Yellow police tape marked off the area. My mother ducked beneath it, and I did the same. There were markers where the body had been, indicating its exact position. Other items, like Mr. Garner’s shovel, had also been marked off. “Touch nothin’,” she said to me, without even a glance back to where I stood watching.
I had no intention of doing any such thing. It felt weird just being here again. I stood a good ten feet back from where that small hill began to rise, where the golden wild grass still grew long, bending in the morning wind. As the hill rose, the grass shortened until it finally broke to dirt at the top. That was, except for the one area that someone h
ad recently dug out, revealing the willow’s thick wooded roots beneath. In my head, I once again saw Mary Ann Dailey strewn in that patch of dirt, partially clothed. It was a horrible picture.
My mother squatted beside where the body was marked, intently studying something in the dirt. “What’re you looking at?” I asked.
“The indentations in the ground from where those daises had been,” she said.
After a few minutes she got up and walked carefully around the base of the hill, calling me over when she found some old dried-up daffodils that had been blown into the thrush and wild grass on the south side. “What’re these, do you think?” she asked me.
“Old flowers Mr. Garner had placed for Ruby Mae,” I said. “He didn’t always tie ’em. That day we were all searchin’ for Mary Ann Dailey, he’d tossed roses over the whole hill, scattering them around the bottom of the willow. Least I think they was roses. I don’t know my flowers that good.”
My mother once again squatted down, this time in the long grass a few feet away from where she discovered the dried-up daffodils. “What color were they?”
I tried to remember. “Red, pink, and yellow, I think. It was a while ago, remember. And it was rainin’ somethin’ fierce.”
She reached into the tall weeds and pulled out a dead yellow rose. Only two or three petals were left, and they looked ready to fall off at any time.
My mother’s hand not holding the dead flower came up to her mouth.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head, biting her lip in a way that made it look like she was holding back crying. “I really did arrest an innocent man. Not only that, he was one of your grandpa’s best friends.”
Tears really did come then, so I approached her, being careful not to disrupt anything that had been marked off by the police. I wrapped my arms around her. “It’s okay, Mom. Everyone makes mistakes. You told me that.”
She kept shaking her head. “I don’t. I can’t.”
“Yeah, you can. You just gotta fix ’em once you realized what you done. You told me that, too.”
Her hand came off my shoulder and wiped her cheek. “I have no idea if I can fix this.”
I didn’t bother telling her that everything’s fixable. She already knew, because she’d told me that, too.
CHAPTER 24
We managed to make it to church the following Sunday.
Immediately afterward, in what I considered a very unchristian-like fashion, my mother started suspecting all sorts of people that I considered she probably should not be suspecting anything about. Mainly, I noticed, she was targeting farmers. When they inquired as to why they were being asked so many questions, she actually told them she wasn’t suspecting nobody of nothing, she was just looking for information. But I knew different. I’d known her my whole life. Of course, I think the farmers knew different too, since they all seemed to take offense at her asking them anything at all.
The first vehicle she approached in the church parking lot belonged to Glen Nelson. “Do you mind if I take a quick look?” she asked him.
“Now, why would you wanna be lookin’ in my truck?” asked Mr. Nelson. “If this is about that Dailey girl, I heard you caught your man. If this is ’bout anythin’ else, I think you better tell me what, before I say whether or not it’s all right to be searchin’ my stuff.”
“We still have one missin’ girl, Mr. Nelson,” my mother said. “And just because we have Mr. Garner in custody don’t necessarily mean he’s the one who did it. We’re keepin’ our options open.” She walked around his big white pickup, looking at the tires and glancing in the truck bed.
“What you think you’re gonna find?” Glen Nelson asked. “Bunch of little girl’s blood all over my vehicle?”
“Dunno what exactly it is I’m lookin’ for,” my mother clarified. “I’m just lookin’. Don’t worry, it’s not just you. I’ll be checkin’ out lots of trucks over the next few days.”
They started arguing, but I knew my mother would get her way. I had seen her work like this before, so I left them in the parking lot and walked around the back of the churchyard, following the stone path that led through the gardens and graves. Dewey followed right behind me. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.
“You mean ’sides gettin’ away from my mom?”
Dewey laughed. “She sure likes confrontation.”
I stopped and wheeled around on him. “What do you know about confrontation?” I asked.
With a shrug, Dewey answered, “Not much, only that your mom seems to like gettin’ her nose where some people don’t think it belongs.”
I scrunched up my own nose. “Who told you that?”
Dewey crossed his arms. “Thought of it myself.”
“You most certainly did not.” I laughed. “You don’t even know what that all means.”
After some consideration, Dewey kinda agreed with me. “Okay, maybe I just heard rumors, is all. Anyway, you never answered me. Whatcha doin’? Why’re we going over to the gravesites? They give me the willies.”
“Just wanna see somethin’, is all.” I actually wasn’t sure why I wanted to see it, but for some reason, a part of me did. That part had kept tugging my pant legs toward the small cemetery tucked in behind the parish even during Reverend Matthew’s service.
Me and Dewey both walked straight over to the new headstone marking the grave of Mary Ann Dailey. A few other folks were already standing around looking at it. One of them was Mrs. Dailey. She was dressed all in black, wearing a veil, and sobbing into a tissue. When her husband saw me and Dewey, he gave us a not-so-nice look and led his wife back toward the parking lot and, I assume, their car.
“Why’d he do that?” Dewey asked. I ignored him.
Mary Ann Dailey’s grave felt almost peaceful, especially compared to the last way I had seen her. The plot was obviously fresh, with brown dirt still marking the dug-out rectangle. I wondered how long it would take before that got hidden by grass. The dirt was compensated by bouquets of beautiful flowers and balloons and teddy bears. In some ways, it looked like a hospital room the day a new baby was born. In other ways it seemed desperately sad.
The headstone was a simple stone arc. I read the words carved into it, accidentally saying them aloud but, luckily, only so loud that Dewey heard. “ ‘Mary Ann Dailey,’ ” I read. “ ‘Beloved daughter taken too soon from this life, dream with little angels.’ ”
“I can’t begin to understand why you wanna be lookin’ at that for,” Dewey said.
“I dunno,” I said. “It just feels like I should. You reckon she’s really with the angels now?”
“I reckon so,” Dewey said. “Reverend Matthew told us children are safe in the arms of God until they’re old enough to understand ’bout acceptin’ Jesus an’ all that.”
“I hope she’s someplace nice,” I said.
“I bet no matter where she is,” Dewey said, “it’s most likely nicer than the swamp. And if you ask me, that willow tree she was under is much too close to Skeeter Swamp for comfort. At least here, there’s no gators.”
I agreed. We walked back around to the front of the church. Most folks had already left, and I noticed Uncle Henry had taken my mother aside and was talking quietly to her as we came up. “So what’re you gonna do tomorrow, Leah?” Uncle Henry asked her. “Track down every farmer in Alvin and go through his truck lookin’ for God only knows what you might find that could possibly turn out to support your case?”
“I have to, Hank,” my mother said.
He patted her shoulder. “I know. I’m through with all my chidin’—for now. You do what you gotta do.”
She smiled sadly. It was nice to see her smile for a change, even if it did have that element of sadness to it.
Dewey and me had rode our bicycles to church the way we did sometimes and now we asked my mother if it’d be okay if we didn’t go straight home, but rode around town a bit instead. She thought this over a long time until Uncle Henry took up the initiative. “It
’ll be fine, boys. Just don’t be longer than an hour or so. You still got that watch, right, Abe?”
I said I sure did and showed him the back of my wrist to prove it.
“Good boy.” Then, putting his arm around my mother, he led her back to her car. “Come on, Leah. Let’s get you home. I think you need a stomach full o’ comfort food for lunch.”
“Let’s go,” I said to Dewey, pulling my front tire up over the small curb and onto the sidewalk.
“Where’re we going? Thought we was going into town?”
“Nah, I wanna go talk to Reverend Starks at the Full Gospel. I reckon it’s time we figured out the difference ’tween a white girl missin’ and a black girl missin’, because it seems to me there shouldn’t be no difference. But if you listen to folk round here, there certainly tends to be.”
We rode our bikes along Thompson Drive, which more or less followed the Anikawa, only on the town side of it instead of Mr. Garner’s ranch side. We weren’t nearly close enough to the river to even hear the water, but that made little matter, for I still sensed that place of death gnawing at me, despite it being probably a mile from where we were. I thought of the way Mary Ann’s body had been left, just tossed there like somebody’s discarded sack of trash.
Services at the Full Gospel always ran longer than they did at Clover Creek on account of all the singing and stuff they did. We set our bikes against the worn white siding of the church and tiptoed up the steps, quietly slipping inside through the open doors. We stood in the very back, behind everyone else. The whole congregation was standing and singing as loud as they could, so at first I thought nobody was going to see us until, barely a second later, Reverend Starks’s eyes locked on mine. Even though he didn’t miss a single note, I suddenly felt a mite conspicuous and wished maybe we hadn’t come after all.
But, in spite of that, we continued standing there, awkwardly watching and listening, until five songs later, Reverend Starks said some final words about both girls.
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