Unspeakable

by Sandra Brown

  Laughing, she said, “But it’s not as good as you, honey. Miss you.”

  “Miss you, too. Bye-bye.”

  He hung up and hurried across the room to the window. One of those skinny-assed cyclists in tight shorts and a doofus helmet was whizzing past. A postman was moving along the sidewalk, pushing his cart and stuffing mail into boxes. Cecil saw nothing to cause alarm.

  If the police traced her call to the pay phone, she would be long gone by the time they got there. Cecil had taught her the drill. He had told her that taking these precautions might seem silly and melodramatic, but when you were on parole, you couldn’t be too careful.

  He had been scrupulously careful. He’d done everything he could to be careful, while Carl seemed to be doing everything possible to mess them up. They had agreed on no deviation from the plan. When he saw that little brother of his, he was going to give him hell.

  In the meantime, what he needed to do was send the authorities a false signal. He couldn’t just stay here hopping from window to window and let paranoia have its way with him. He needed to do something that would confuse them, throw them off track, make them question their suspicions of him and hopefully relax their surveillance.

  But in order for the ruse to work, it had to be something daring and unexpected, something so staggering as to convince them that he was not in cahoots with his destructive little brother.

  But what? What could that confounding action be?

  * * *

  Ezzy wasn’t yet accustomed to driving the Lincoln.

  He had bought it new twelve years ago because Cora said they needed a family car. What for, he couldn’t imagine. Until a few weeks ago, his main means of transportation had been a patrol car. The Lincoln had all the bells and whistles available at the time it was manufactured, but he found himself missing the static hiss of the police scanner.

  He had the air conditioner cranked up as high as it would go, a luxury because it could be ninety-five outside and Cora would be cold. Their body thermostats had always been irreconcilable. Not even she could be chilled today, though. The pavement looked hot enough to melt the tires as he sped north on the divided highway.

  Yesterday, while going through the McCorkle file for the umpteenth time, he came across the name of the man who had been tending bar at the Wagon Wheel that night. According to both his notes and his memory, Parker Gee had been recalcitrant and uncooperative with the investigating officers. Ezzy wondered if twenty-two years had improved his disposition. Thing was, he didn’t know where to begin looking for him.

  He decided to start at the tavern. It had gone through several incarnations since that summer. As he pulled into the deserted parking lot, he saw it was now called, simply, Blowhard. Ezzy wouldn’t hazard to guess why.

  The interior was as dark at noon as it was at midnight, but it was much quieter. The present bartender was watching a soap opera on a portable TV while he polished glasses, getting ready for the happy-hour crowd that would descend at four o’clock.

  “Parker Gee?” he said after serving Ezzy a complimentary glass of iced tea. “That goes way back. Last I heard he had left Blewer. But I believe he still has family in town.”

  Ezzy returned home and got out the latest edition of the local telephone directory. He realized he could have started there, but what the hell? Actually driving out to the bar had made it seem more like an official investigation and had given him something to do besides fret over Cora’s African violets in the kitchen window, which weren’t looking too good.

  After a few unsuccessful attempts, he connected with a second cousin. “Parker’s in the chest hospital up at Big Sandy.”

  So today Ezzy was making the trip. He arrived shortly after eleven. The patient he sought had only a portion of his lungs left. Cancer and a desperate operation had taken the rest. If he hadn’t been looking for him, he wouldn’t have recognized the man in the hospital bed as the formerly robust owner of the Wagon Wheel.

  Ezzy reintroduced himself. Unfortunately, pending mortality hadn’t made Gee any friendlier. “Yeah, I remember you. Thought you’d be dead by now.”

  Ezzy was kind enough not to point out that although he had twenty years on the man, it was Gee who had one foot in the grave. “No, just retired.”

  “Then what brings you all the way up here? This goddamn hospital is hardly a tourist attraction.”

  Fearing Gee would croak before he could answer his questions, Ezzy got to the point. “I wanted to talk to you about Patsy McCorkle.”

  “Ain’t you given up on that yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Gee coughed into a handkerchief. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything.”

  “I ain’t got much time. Why should I waste what little breath I’ve got left on ancient history?”

  Ezzy just stared at him, calmly threading the brim of his straw hat through his fingers. Finally Gee cursed beneath his breath and took a sip of water. “She was a slut.”

  “That much I know.”

  “There ain’t nothing else to tell. I had me a piece of her a few times. Want to hear about what a good fuck she was?” He laughed until a fit of coughing overtook the laughter.

  Ezzy would have felt badly about causing this much distress to a dying man, and probably would have desisted if it were anyone else. But Gee was such an unlikable individual that it was difficult to work up any compassion for him. When his coughs subsided, Ezzy continued. “What do you recall of the Herbolds?”

  “Just that they were wild. Good-looking boys, but meaner than sin. Every time they came into my place they left drunk, but then so did most of my clientele. Roughnecks, Loggers. Truckers. The real blue-collar crowd was who I catered to.”

  He exchanged the handkerchief for a heavier towel and held it to his mouth as he hawked up some awful-looking gunk. Ezzy gave him a modicum of privacy by gazing out the window at the heat waves shimmering off the parking lot.

  His next words came out as a gasp. “What’re you thinking? That Carl’s gonna come looking for you, get revenge for a crime you tried to pin on him?”

  “So you heard about his escape?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Gee barely had enough breath to speak. He was in bad shape and seemed to be getting worse by the minute. If he were about to die, Ezzy needed to get as much information as he could from him.

  “Strange that you should say I tried to pin a crime on them. Don’t you think the Herbolds had anything to do with Patsy’s demise?”

  “They could’ve. But maybe they didn’t. How the hell should I know?”

  “I’m only asking for an opinion,” Ezzy replied, refusing to be goaded by the man’s querulousness.

  “Look, I already said that Patsy was a flirt.”

  “You said she was a slut.”

  “Same damn thing, ain’t it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Staring hard at Ezzy, he took several labored breaths. “She liked men, okay? The more men, the better. She got passed around and she liked it. But some guys might not cotton to sharing. You see what I’m getting at?”

  “Jealousy.”

  Gee staved off a coughing fit by taking another sip of water. “If a man was the jealous sort, he wouldn’t have liked what he saw that night.”

  “Did you?”

  “What?”

  “Dislike what you saw?”

  Gee’s laugh was a horrible sound. It prompted another cough, which turned into retching, which required him to reach for the small plastic basin on the bed table. After spitting into it several times, he cackled. “You coming to arrest me, Hardge?”

  “No, I know you never left the bar that night.”

  “You asked?”

  “Sure did. But if you put your mind to it, you might remember one of Patsy’s jealous lovers who was there that night.”

  “She’d had just about every man in the place at one time or another. Any one of them might’ve been upset by the way she was carrying on with
Carl and Cecil.”

  “Nobody in particular stands out in your mind?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nobody she had spurned in favor of the Herbolds?”

  Holding the towel to his mouth again, he shook his head no.

  “Nobody she had a conversation or argument with?”

  He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head impatiently. “No. Look, like everybody told you before, she was with the Herbolds. She left with them. They must’ve did her. Now, will you leave and let me die in peace?”

  Ezzy came to his feet. “Thanks for your time. I didn’t count on anything from you, but it was worth a try. The slightest little thing might’ve helped.”

  “Helped with what?”

  “My peace of mind.”

  “What’s the matter, Hardge? ’Fraid you’ve been barking up the wrong tree for the last twenty years?” He started coughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and, although it was awfully uncharitable of him, Ezzy thought his discomfort served him right.

  He backed toward the door. “If you think of anything, I’m in the Blewer phone book. Good luck to you.”

  He left the hospital and pulled the Lincoln back onto the highway for the drive home. It had been a long, depressing, and fruitless trip. He hadn’t expected a miracle. But just once he would like to experience a breakthrough in this case.

  Doors had been shut on it from the morning the body was discovered. Blewer police had given the case over entirely to him because it had taken place outside city limits. He had received only temporary and lackluster cooperation from the FBI because Patsy’s death wasn’t officially classified as a murder and there was no evidence of a kidnapping. Other law enforcement agencies from which he had asked assistance really went soft on him when the Herbolds were indicted in Arkansas for armed robbery and murder.

  The prime suspects were behind bars and on their way to long prison terms. So what did it matter? Where was the urgency? Other girls were being assaulted, raped, and killed every day, and their assailants were still at large. His perps were in custody. Society was safe from them. Forget about it.

  In fact, that was the last thing the Arkansas prosecutor had said to him as he ushered him from his office. “We caught your boys for you and we’ll take care of them. Consider yourself lucky and forget about it.”

  That barrel-bellied, beet-faced prosecutor had probably succumbed to a heart attack years ago, but Ezzy’s case was still unclosed and he hadn’t forgotten about it. The file on it was residing in the rolltop desk once belonging to his daddy. Because of it his wife had left him, predicting that it would kill him.

  Nevertheless he returned to it with the resignation of a hopeless addict. Some men had a weakness for liquor. Others couldn’t resist gambling. Even more liked women too well.

  This was what Ezzy couldn’t resist. This was what seduced him. This was his passion.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Scrambled okay?”

  “Sure, Jack. I didn’t know you could cook.” David was setting the breakfast table.

  “I wanted to eat so I had to learn.”

  “Didn’t you have a mom to cook for you?”

  “She died a long time ago. While I was still a boy.” Jack cracked several eggs into a mixing bowl and opened a drawer in search of a whisk.

  “Do you have a dad?”

  “No.”

  “Did he die like my dad?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Is Grandpa gonna die, Jack?”

  He turned, giving the boy the attention his question deserved. “I don’t know, David. I hope not. But he’s very sick.”

  David furrowed his brow and mulled it over. “I wish people didn’t have to die.”

  “Yeah, so do I.”

  “Guess what, Mom?” The boy’s face brightened as he looked beyond Jack toward the doorway. “Jack can cook. He’s making me eggs.”

  Anna was fresh from a shower. Her hair was still damp, but she was dressed in a casual blouse and skirt. She had napped on and off throughout the night, but the rest hadn’t been adequate. There were faint circles beneath her eyes.

  When the day shift of nurses came on at seven that morning, they ran a check of Delray’s vital signs and reported to them in the waiting room that his condition was unchanged.

  After his rounds, the doctor updated them. “He didn’t get any worse during the night. That’s good. This morning we’ll be putting him through several tests, and for some of them he’ll be slightly sedated. Now would be a good time for you to go home and catch some Z’s, because the earliest you’ll be able to see him is after lunch.”

  Even then, Anna was reluctant to leave the hospital. She agreed to go home only after getting the CCU nurse’s pledge that she would be called if Delray’s condition changed. She looked refreshed by her shower, but her face still showed signs of emotional and physical strain. She also seemed not a little put out that her kitchen had been invaded.

  “David was hungry,” Jack said by way of explanation. “He was ready for his breakfast, so we started without you. The coffee is ready.”

  The promise of hot, fresh coffee disarmed her. She poured herself a cup while Jack added a couple more eggs to the bowl and then poured them into a hot skillet. A few minutes later he served them to Anna and David. David shoved a forkful into his mouth and sputtered through the food, “These are the best eggs I’ve ever ate.”

  Anna tried to look insulted, but David knew she was pretending and they all laughed.

  “Can I join the party?”

  Startled, Jack wheeled about. Standing in the utility room doorway was a man in his midforties. Medium height. Nice looking. Hesitant, apologetic smile. “No one answered the front doorbell, so I came on around and let myself in through the back door.”

  Jack knew he was lying. Even if they hadn’t heard the bell, they would have seen Anna’s light flashing. Ungraciously, he asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Is Delray Corbett here? Does he still live here? His name’s on the gate.”

  “He lives here. He’s not at home.”

  “He’s in the hospital.” That from David, who had left his chair to stare curiously at the visitor, who in turn was looking curiously at him.

  Jack wished he could think of a way to shush David without its being obvious.

  “Hospital?” The man made a pained expression. “Jeez. I hope it’s not serious.”

  “He might die—”

  “Not too serious.”

  Jack and David spoke at the same time, contradicting one another.

  The man looked at Jack with a mix of reproach and inquisitiveness.

  Jack looked back.

  Jack won. The man relented first and said, “My name’s Cecil Herbold. I’m Mr. Corbett’s stepson.”

  Anna had moved into place behind David, settling her hands on his shoulders with instinctual maternal protectiveness. Jack felt similarly protective toward her and the boy. He stepped partially in front of her, separating her and David from the elder Herbold.

  “What do you want?”

  “To see my stepdaddy.”

  “He’s not allowed visitors. In any case, I’m not sure he would want to see you.”

  Jack could practically see the chip rising on Herbold’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you to say?”

  “It’s not for me to say. Why don’t you ask Anna?”

  “Anna?” Herbold looked her over.

  “Dean Corbett’s widow.”

  Jack thought Herbold’s shock was genuine. “Widow? You’re telling me Dean is dead?”

  “For six years.”

  “You don’t say? What happened to him?”

  Jack gave him a brief explanation.

  “Bet that nearly killed Delray. He set such store by that boy. More than he did Carl and me, that’s for sure. ’Course we gave him hell.” Looking at Anna, he said, “Sure am sorry to hear about Dean, ma’am. That’s a damn shame.”

  Anna ack
nowledged the condolence with a curt nod.

  “So who’s this?” Herbold asked, smiling down at David. “This Dean’s kid?” He squatted down in front of the boy. “How are you, son? I’m your… Hell, what am I?” he chuckled. “Step-uncle I guess.”

  No longer garrulous, David must have sensed that Cecil Herbold was nobody he wanted to know. Saying nothing, he shrank back against Anna’s legs. Herbold rose and addressed Anna with a wide smile. “He’s a cute kid. I can see Dean in him.”

  She hesitated, then signed a thank-you.

  Cecil went slack-jawed. He looked at Jack. “She’s…”

  “Deaf.”

  Herbold’s eyes moved back to her. “Huh. Imagine that. But she knew what I was saying.”

  “She read your lips.”

  “Well, I’ll swan. Isn’t that something? She reads lips. I admire a person like you, Anna. Truly I do.”

  Jack wasn’t buying one word of this polite bullshit Cecil was trying to sell them. He wanted the ex-con out of the house and away from Anna and David. “We’ll tell Delray you stopped by.”

  Smiling at Jack easily, he said, “I thought you said I should ask Anna if Delray wanted to see me.”

  Jack angled his head back toward her. “Be my guest.”

  Cecil raised his eyebrows in query. “What do you think, ma’am?”

  She shook her head no.

  Easy smile still in place, he said, “Well, I haven’t got anything else to do, so I think I’ll take my chances and go to the hospital, try and see him.”

  “He won’t welcome you,” Jack told him.

  Herbold looked him up and down. “Thanks for the word of warning, uh… What was your name?”

  “Jack Sawyer.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No.”

  “Huh. You married to her, to, uh, Anna now?”

  “I’m the hired hand.”

  “Oh, the hired hand,” he repeated, dragging the words out and letting his inflection imply that Jack didn’t have a vote regarding who went where when. He took a stroll around the kitchen, taking in every aspect of it, from the bordered wallpaper to the dishes neatly stacked in the glass-paneled cabinets. “Looks different than when I lived here. Did you know I used to live here, David?”