by Glenn Trust
Clyde managed to live ten years longer than his wife, dying at the ripe old age of forty-eight. His ending was not unanticipated, although the exact day was unforeseen by his sons.
Drinking beer at a bar called Pete’s Place, Clyde picked a fight with a biker who was smaller in stature, but had a .32 caliber pistol concealed in the cuff of his leather jacket.
Clyde lay bleeding and dying on the floor while the biker and his buddies headed south on the interstate. They were almost out of Georgia by the time someone decided he was cluttering up the floor and called the deputies out.
There was a brief investigation. A lookout was placed on the police radio for a medium built, white male riding a Harley…and his friends. Needless to say, the description did not narrow the suspect list down very much, and while a few were questioned, the biker who had actually fired a round into Clyde Stinson’s spleen was never found. A good many people around the county would have bought him a beer if he had revealed himself and admitted to the murder.
Having learned the economy of funerals from their father, his sons waited until the county took over funeral arrangements. Things had changed since JoLyn died. The county no longer buried paupers and the unclaimed deceased. Cremation had become the new method of disposal.
Consequently, Clyde Stinson vanished absolutely from the earth, his few dusty remains scattered in the backwoods by the county coroner. As it turned out, what was left of Clyde would spend eternity, moldering into the ground not far from the undiscovered bones of one Will Tandy who had gone missing fifteen years earlier.
The boys were grown when their father met his end. Albert twenty-seven, Carl twenty-five and young Bain twenty-one.
Locals thought it was peculiar the way they acted about their daddy’s passing, or didn’t act. There were formalities to be observed. It was only right.
The Stinson boys handled things their own way. They went to Pete’s Place and bought a round for the house in celebration of Clyde’s passing. Considering the homicidal maniac that their father was, it was amazing that his sons functioned in society with any semblance of normality.
After that, the monster that had been Clyde Stinson was forgotten. The monsters he had created remained.
19. The Only Way To Survive
U.S. 17 east from I-95 became Ocean Highway as it passed the Jekyll Island entrance and causeway. George continued around the curve north towards Brunswick.
Riding with the pickup’s windows down, warm air blew through the truck’s cab fragrant with the smell of the salt marshes surrounding the barrier islands. From the heights of the Sydney Lanier Bridge over Turtle River, George looked to the east where the low profile of the islands disappeared into the Atlantic. Farther off, the hazy blue sky and ocean blended together making it difficult to see the horizon, where one ended and the other began.
In no hurry, in fact, having serious doubts about what he was doing there at all, he drove slowly through the city. Except for the port of Brunswick, and a few manufacturing enterprises located near the port for convenience, the city’s economy was based on tourism. Sea Island…Saint Simon’s Island…Jekyll Island…the coastal barrier islands provided year round resort facilities.
It wasn’t Maui, but prominent eastern bankers and industrial magnates and their families had been coming south for the weather for more than a century. Most of the tycoons were gone now, but their departure had opened the area to others. Those others might have been of lower means but were far greater in numbers. The dollars they brought made Brunswick and its environs a prosperous community and pleasant place to pass your days.
He worked his way north through the city’s historic and business districts into a quarter where the streets were lined with live oaks. Broad lawns surrounded large upscale homes. After several minutes, he pulled into the driveway of one. He had passed it twice, not sure if he should stop, then threw caution to the wind and pulled up to the garage.
He had been sitting there for nearly five minutes with the engine off when the front door opened. Darlene walked out onto the wide porch, folded her arms across her chest and watched him, waiting.
The decision was made. George pushed the pickup’s door open, stood in the shade of a towering oak and looked around. Darlene’s husband was doing well from the look of things.
He turned to the porch where she stood immobile, staring at him. Whether the look on her face was aggravation, surprise or disgust, he was uncertain…a combination of all three maybe. He was reasonably sure that she was not about to throw her arms open and welcome him.
His presence had never resulted in much good for either of them. Except for the girls, George reminded himself.
“Hello, Darlene.”
“What do you want, George?” Her expression remained unchanged.
He stepped around the truck and approached the porch. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“About what?”
“Things.” He shrugged and looked around the yard, avoiding the ice in her eyes. “How’s…Granger…right?”
“Yes, Granger is my husband’s name. You know that perfectly well, and he is doing fine.”
“Yeah, it looks like it.” George nodded. “Nice place. Never been here. Used to come to the old place on the west side when I would see the girls.”
“That was a long time ago. He was promoted. Senior Vice President of Production at the paper mill. He has an office in town.”
“I must have driven right by it then.”
“So?”
“Nothing. Just making polite conversation.” He couldn’t resist the temptation and added, “Something we never quite got the hang of when we were…together.”
“Married, George. We were married. Wasted years.”
“Except for the girls.”
Her face softened for the first time. “Yes, except for the girls.”
“Does he…does Granger treat them all right?”
“You know he does. I wouldn’t tolerate otherwise.”
“No, I don’t expect you would.”
“Is that some sort of jab at me.”
“No, no.” George shook his head. “Always comes out wrong doesn’t it…between us. You’re a good mother is all I was saying.”
“And Granger is a good father.” She saw the twitch on George’s face and added, “He loves them like they were his own, which they are as far as I am concerned.”
George was silent. His eyes moved, looking at the ground, the painted boards on the porch, Darlene’s sandals, anywhere but in her eyes. Finally, he said, “I’m glad he takes care of them. He’s a good man.”
“He is.” Darlene unfolded her arms, letting them drop to her sides. “What do you want, George? Why are you here?”
“Actually, I’m not sure. I thought…” He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe, I could come in and we could talk…like a family.”
“The girls aren’t here. They’re with Granger’s parents.”
“Oh. Well, then maybe we could talk. You and me.”
“We can talk right here on the veranda.”
“Veranda.” George said the word slowly and smiled. “Hell, I thought it was just a porch.”
The scowl deepened on Darlene’s face. Determined not to show him any acceptance, her eyes narrowed in a way that he knew all too well.
He had to give her credit. When she was determined to be pissed off there was no changing it until she was damned good and ready. As far he could recall, he had waited for her not to be pissed off at him most of the few years they had managed to last as a married couple.
“Say whatever it is you have to say, George.” The arms were folded across her chest again.
“I just wanted to talk about maybe…I thought maybe I could…”
“What?”
“Maybe I could see the girls some. You know, be part of things…more than I have.”
Darlene’s posture stiffened and her hand closed around the veranda railing, gripping it, choking it as if it were a
substitute for his neck. “That’s it? Everything is so simple to you. Just show up and start being part of their lives again.”
“They’re my children too.”
“Yes, they are, but I have custody, and I have to see to their best interests.”
“You think being around their father would not be in their best interests?”
“They have a father…Granger.”
“Damn it, Darlene. I’m glad Granger cares for them…loves them…but that doesn’t take away what I am.”
“What are you, George? A cop…a man they hardly ever saw…haven’t seen for more than two years now, and scarcely ever saw him before that.”
“I was away.”
“Right. You were away…in prison. We followed the trial. Heard about it in the news every day. Tried to keep the girls clear of it, but they hear things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Look, forget that you were only a father in the most remote and marginal way. The fact is that you killed a man…executed him. You said so yourself in the trial. It was in all the papers. Some say you’re a hero…some think you’re a murderer.”
The stern look in her eyes softened for a moment. “I don’t believe that, George. You’re no killer. I know that.” She shook her head. “But now, you’re an ex-convict, a convicted felon. I’m not sure I want you…that influence...that baggage around my daughters.” Her face turned cold, her eyes full of reproof. “You shouldn’t either…if you really are their father…if you have any feelings for them.”
There was nothing more to say. All of the words he thought he might say evaporated. “Okay.” George nodded, turned and walked quickly to the pickup.
Angry now, the suppressed emotions finally boiling to the surface, she followed him to the driveway. “They don’t know you. They don’t need you!”
He got into the pickup, expressionless and mute, and placed his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. Darlene caught up and stood by the window of the truck, releasing her torrent of emotion…purging herself into his face.
“They need a stable home here with me. Granger gives them that. You were always so damned caught up in being a deputy you never gave them anything…never gave me anything. I won’t let you disrupt their lives. Now go and don’t come back!”
George put the truck in gear and pulled away from the big house in the upscale neighborhood. He drove in a daze, winding through the streets, getting lost once, finally finding his way back to the interstate.
There was nothing more to do. The sting of Darlene’s words did not fade with the miles back to Pickham County.
He pushed them down deep inside, burying them where they sat, dark and leaden in his heart. When they bubbled up and he heard them again, replaying in his head, he found it hard to breathe. He pushed them back down, deeper. It was the only way to survive.
20. Damn It, George
“He’s not at home?”
“No.”
“Any idea where he went?”
“Yes.”
“When will he be home?”
“I …” Sharon’s voice broke into a sob. “I don’t know…soon maybe…I think…hope…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Sharon...” Sandy Davies and Mike Darlington stood uncomfortably in her basement office at the courthouse. They had only wanted to visit George and give him some encouragement. They had not expected Sharon, the stoic one, to break down. “Uh…can you tell us what’s happening.”
“I don’t know.” She sobbed again. “I think I may have made a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“He’s lost.”
“Lost? Like he can’t find his way home lost?” Mike asked trying to find a way, albeit a clumsy way, to ease the tension, and their discomfort, at her tears.
“Not funny. You know what I mean.”
“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a little.”
“Tell us,” Sandy said, taking a seat across from her desk.
“He wanders around the farm, sits in Fel’s old barn drinking beer all day. Doesn’t talk to me. It’s like he’s lost his reason for living.”
“He’s having a hard time adjusting, Sharon. Ex-cop just out of prison…can’t be a cop anymore. It’s all he has ever done. Understandable that he feels disoriented. George is solid. He’ll snap out of it.”
“That’s what I thought too…at first. Now, I’m not so sure.” She took a deep breath. “I think I made a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?” Mike asked.
“He’s disoriented. It’s like…” She paused trying to put it all together. “It’s like everything he was is gone…more than that…he believes that everything he was is gone…that he failed.”
“He didn’t fail,” Sandy said considering her words.
“I know. You and I, and a lot of others think he is a hero. He stood up, told the truth, did the honorable thing.” She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “To him it means he is no longer George Mackey…at least not the same George Mackey. He is…someone else. The longer he is like this, the more I think he might be gone forever.”
Her lip trembled as the tears threatened to flood down her face again. Sandy and Mike looked at each other. Sharon was no delicate rose. Seeing her in tears was an uncommon and uncomfortable sight. Always strong and determined, she was the one who bolstered others when needed.
George Mackey was a superior law enforcement officer, an extraordinary investigator, a true hunter when on a case. Teamed with Sharon and the governor’s Office of Special Investigations, he was unstoppable. The OSI had been effective, in large part, due to George’s work.
Maybe better than anyone, even better than Sharon, Sandy knew that George was flawed. Everyone was; there were no exceptions. In George’s case, the flaw could be self-destructive.
George lived by a rigid, self-imposed, code that made him accountable for everything he touched. It was one of the traits that others respected in him whether they liked him or not.
But, law enforcement and investigation were not a perfect science. There were always failures. There always would be.
Most investigators switched the failures off and moved to the next case. George did not have that internal switch. Failures were never switched off. They were filed away…owned by him…kept somewhere deep inside.
Sandy wondered if George’s insatiable drive when working an investigation was partly his need to atone for the failures, the one most investigators turned off, moving to the next case. Now, the ability to atone was denied to him. His world had come undone.
“He’s not someone else, Sharon…he’s George.”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to get through to him anymore.”
“Not like you to give up.”
“I’m not giving up.” Her voice took on the accustomed hard edge they knew so well. Then it softened again, uncertain. “I think I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I thought that if I could help him see something else besides not being part of OSI anymore, he could focus on that.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I found some pictures of his children. Encouraged him to see them…focus on them.”
“Oh.” Sandy and Mike exchanged looks of concern. Sharon was not a parent. They were. Being reminded of children might be a good thing, but it might not. Parents in George’s situation hid a lot of pain away. In George’s case, the memory might just be another reminder…another failure.
“He’s gone now. I’m not sure where. I’ve been calling him all day. There’s no message…no call…nothing. That’s not like him.” She looked up at Sandy. “I guess maybe I do know where he went.” She shook her head. “And I put him up to it. What have I done? I had no right.”
“You were doing what you could to help him. He’ll be back.”
She was quiet. So were they. Uncomfortable as they were, sitting, watching her…waiting for her to speak, neither fe
lt comfortable about standing up and leaving. Sharon was their friend. They would stay as long as she needed their company.
Finally, after several minutes, she spoke abruptly, like a person snapping herself out of a hypnotic trance. “I have work to do now.” She smiled, the last of her tears gone…buried. “Get out of my office.”
“All right.” They rose from the chairs and turned for the door. “We’re here if you need us, Sharon.”
As their footsteps receded down the tiled hallway, she looked at the picture of him on her desk.
“Damn it, George. Where are you?”
21. When Would It End?
Twilight had come on by the time Ruby Stinson made it by Generett’s to pick up her daughter. Usually, Lyn closed up as she left the small office. Tonight, Donnie Generett waited with her and then followed her out, scanned the wide gravel lot and locked the door behind him.
Lyn got into the car, pulled the seat belt around her and settled back looking out the window. With a wave to Donnie, Ruby backed away from the office.
Quiet as always, Lyn looked at the small town passing by outside the car as if it were another world. Ruby waited until they were coming into the Everett square before she asked her usual question.
“How was your day, hon?” She did not expect any more than the one-word answer she usually received from her daughter.
”Daddy came by.” Lyn huddled further back in the seat, her eyes staring out at the neatly kept houses and yards of Everett. Lawns mowed, sidewalks clean, children playing in the grass. Judges Creek was just on the other side of the county but a vast gulf seemed to separate it from the townfolk.
Ruby pulled the car to an abrupt halt at the curb. “What? Your father came by? Where? At Generett’s?”
Lyn nodded and looked at her mother.