Winward shook his head in awe. “Do you ever have regrets?”
“Regrets!” She eased herself into a chair between the two men. “What’n heavens fer? I raised nine children within these walls, young fella. Ain’t got time fer regrets with that many babies pullin’ yer apron strings. Course, they’re all grown now. Two’s even passed on. But regrets?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve had nary a one.”
“What about Betsy Shear?” Hayes asked. “Do you think she had regrets?”
“Betsy? Oh, sure. Lots of ’em. The only things Betsy ever had in her grown life to be proud of was her son, Tom, and that garden of hers over there.”
“I saw the garden,” Winward replied. “I bet it’s beautiful in full bloom.”
“Yep. That Betsy sure was blessed with a green thumb. She loved perdy things. Couldn’t afford to buy ’em, so she just up an grew ’em herself.” She stared into her cup as a sad smile curved her wrinkled lips. “It filled her last days with peace ta look out her winder an see all the beauty she’d created. Lord knows she deserved it. She passed of cancer, you know.”
“Yes. Mrs. Francis next door mentioned it.”
Winward settled himself more comfortably in his chair. If there was one thing he’d learned during his years as a detective, it was when to keep his mouth shut and let a responsive person talk. A gold mine of information could be obtained by just listening. All that was needed was a few coaxing questions in the right direction.
“What did you mean by ‘she deserved it’?” he asked.
“The peace and beauty, a course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lord knows she had precious little of either in her life. That sorry, good-fer-nothin’ husban’ a hers made sure a that.”
“Was Mr. Shear abusive?”
“Abusive! Son, he was the devil himself.”
Winward’s pulse began to race as he exchanged a quick glance with Hayes.
“Treated her and that little boy like trash,” she continued. “I seen her many a day out in her garden all black and blue. Course, she tried to hide it. But I could tell. Tom, too. An him no more’n a mite. Poor child. If his granddaddy hadn’t a come by that awful day, that boy wouldn’t a lasted much longer.”
“How do you know that?”
“Cause I seen him carry the child out in a blanket an put him real gentle like in his car. Poor thing was limp as a dishrag. An bloody, too. He’d took a beatin’, that’s fer sure.”
“What about Mrs. Shear?”
“Her daddy went back in an pulled her out too. Same condition as the boy. Course, hers was mainly due to the bottle. She’d suffered so over the years that it drove her to drink. No help to the child, a course, but it’s the only way she had to cope.”
“Why didn’t she take the boy and leave?” Hayes asked.
“Son, things were differ’nt back then here in the country than they are now days with the cities growin’ like they are. Places to go was scarce. Specially when ye didn’t have money and a way ta git there. Don’t get me wrong. Betsy weren’t no weaklin’. She tried to leave. More ’n once, in fact. But he’d just find ’em an drag ’em back.”
“What about Betsy’s father? Didn’t he know what was going on?”
“The Abernathys lived down south somewhere. Savannah, I think it was. Anyway, they didn’t get up this way much. It was only blind luck that brought her daddy out this way in the first place. He was a farmer, ye see. Couldn’t get away much. He’d only come up to check on some equipment that was bein’ sold at auction.
“Lord, that man was fit ta be tied when he found out what’d been goin’ on all those years. Run that devil son-in-law a his plumb out of town. Least-wise that was the story bein’ told. People around these parts tended to believe the other version, and because I witnessed the raw emotion a that day, I tended to believe it, too. Ain’t seen hide ner hair a the man since. Good riddance, if yer askin’ me.”
She shook her silver head in disgust and took a cautious sip from the hot mug in her arthritic hands.
“After a while, Betsy came home,” she continued, easing the steaming mug back onto the table. “She’d left Tom with her daddy so’s he could be raised proper like. Course, Tom made regular visits. Even after he was grown, he never missed a visit with his mama. He was there at the end too. She didn’t pass alone, and I was mighty grateful fer that. Nobody should have ta face the dark shada a death without a carin’ soul ta hold their hand. Yep. He was always a good boy, that Tom. Strong, too. And I’m not meanin’ with no muscles, either, even though he had more ’n his fair share after he was grown. I mean in spirit. He never let his daddy break ’im, and that says an awful lot about a man.”
“Mrs. Padgett, have you told anyone else about this? Has anyone been around asking questions?”
“Ain’t nobody’s business if they did. Only told you ‘cause of them fancy badges you was wavin’ around. But if it’ll help put that no-account away for good, if he’s still livin’ and that’s what yer here fer, then I’m glad to do it. He deserves to be punished, even though it ain’t near enough justice for what he did to those two.”
Winward left Mrs. Padgett’s house with mixed emotions. “Why am I not thrilled?” he asked Hayes as they returned to the car. “This is the break I’ve been praying for. A good prosecutor, hell, even a bad one would have a field day with what we’ve heard today.”
“Yeah, but everything we have so far is circumstantial.”
“Don, you know as well as I do that people are convicted everyday with less than what we have on Shear. If a shrewd prosecutor used the supposition that Shear was acting out his revenge on innocent little girls to get back at his mother for not protecting him from his father’s abuse, he would have no problem building a case.” He turned the key and the Impala rumbled as he pulled away from the curb.
“And what if it’s true?” Hayes asked. “What if Shear really is our man, and what you just laid out is his actual motive? You have to admit it fits.”
As Winward steered toward the highway, his nagging doubts persisted. “It fits all right,” he said in disgust. “If you ask me, it fits a little too well. I’ve got this menacing little voice in the back of my head that keeps reminding me that not everyone who was a victim of abuse turns out to be a serial killer.”
He shook his head in consternation. “Someone wanted us to find out about Shear’s abuse. It’s like that confession found on the scene of Chandler’s suicide. Crucial evidence was dropped into our laps, wrapping everything up like a Christmas present for us.” He pulled onto the highway and pressed the accelerator.
“I think the first thing we need to do is find out who sent that telegram this morning and why. Hopefully, the lab will find someone else’s prints besides mine. After that, maybe we’ll have something to celebrate.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ella Fitzgerald, accompanied by Louis Armstrong, played low from the stereo in Kelly’s apartment. The lamps were dimmed, their merlot shades glowing softly. Vanilla and peach candles were lit and sat in decorative holders throughout the den and on the table in the dining area where Tom and Kelly sat.
Tom frowned as he watched Kelly push her barely touched dinner plate away. There were circles beneath her eyes, and her shoulders slumped under the weight of her depression. Feeling his watchful gaze, her eyes lifted over the rim of her iced tea glass and his heart wrenched at the forced smile he received.
“Come on,” he said, pushing away from the table. “You need to relax. Go on into the den. I’ll clean up.”
“That’s sweet, but unnecessary. I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are.” He pulled her to her feet and steered her toward the sofa. “You look beat, Kelly. Now, get in there and lie down.” He kissed her on the lips and her arms came up to wrap around his neck. As her body molded to his, swaying to the slow beat of the music, Tom groaned deep in his throat and lifted his head. “You need rest, baby,” he said, matching her steps.
“I�
�m not that tired,” she replied, pulling his head back down. “Besides, if I let you have your way with me, all I have to do is lay there and revel in the delicious way you make me feel.”
His chuckle was deep and throaty as he tasted her lips and took the lead in their slow dance. His hands slid around her back and pulled her close. Goose flesh rose on his skin as she raked her nails down his back before slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
Deepening the kiss, his fingers traced a tantalizing trail down her spine. No bra. He molded her hips in the palms of his hands and pressed her against him. Her white flannel pajamas were soft against his inquisitive fingers and told him she wore no panties underneath. The summons of the doorbell stilled their rising passion and Tom reluctantly released his hold.
“Saved by the bell,” he said, voice husky.
“Who needed saving?”
“We both did,” he answered, giving her a gentle swat on her shapely, flannelled behind. “Go lie down. I’ll see who it is.”
Tom opened the door and was staggered when he saw Detectives Winward and Hayes standing on the threshold.
“Mr. Shear. We thought we might find you here.” Winward smiled. “Mind if we come in?”
“Actually, I do,” Tom said, blocking the doorway. “Kelly’s resting and I don’t want her disturbed.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Stafford. Now that’s one lady I’d like to meet. Feeling a bit under the weather, is she?”
“You could say that.”
“Oh, well. It’s really you we came to see, anyway.”
“Tom? Who is it?” Kelly asked, coming up behind him.
Tom stiffened at her appearance. “This is Detective Winward and Detective Hayes, Kelly. They’re from the Cobb County Police Department. Gentlemen, Miss Kelly Stafford.”
“We’re sorry to intrude, Miss Stafford. Mr. Shear mentioned you weren’t feeling well. I hope it’s nothing serious?”
Kelly’s smile was hesitant as she shook Winward’s hand. “Just fatigue, detective. What can we do for you?”
“Well, ma’am,” Hayes responded. “We were wondering if we might be able to talk to you and Mr. Shear a moment.”
“About?”
A complaisant smile curved Winward’s lips. “May we come in? It’s a bit chilly out here. Besides, we’re letting all of your heat out.”
Kelly looked at Tom as his eyes narrowed at the detective. Taking his hand, she stepped away from the door.
“Certainly.”
“Detective Winward,” Tom said, stepping into the man’s path, “this is neither the time nor the place. I’ll be happy to talk to you, but I’d prefer not to have Kelly involved. She has nothing to do with what we have to discuss.”
“Is that right?”
“Tom, what are you talking about?” Kelly questioned. Her hold on his hand tightened.
“Kelly, please. I’ll explain later.”
“No. Not later. Now.”
Tom’s dread deepened with her stubborn response. He looked into her eyes and his heart thumped with remorse before his expression turned hard and unreadable.
“Please, Tom,” she pleaded, keeping her voice soft. “Whatever it is, don’t shut me out.”
Tom released a sigh of resignation. Stepping from the doorway, he followed the two detectives and Kelly inside.
Winward surveyed the dinner dishes on the table. He took in the candles and soft music as well. “It looks like we disturbed your dinner,” he stated without apology.
“We’d just finished,” Kelly replied. “Can I offer you anything? Coffee perhaps?”
“No, thanks,” Winward declined. He focused his gaze back on Tom. “We made a most profound discovery today, Mr. Shear.”
Tom went to the stereo and turned off the music, severing Louis’s trumpet solo. “And I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me all about it.”
The detective gave Tom a tolerant smile as he walked to the den window, parted the sheer curtains, and peered out.
“We took a drive up to Kingston this morning. We had a very enlightening visit with an old acquaintance of yours, Mrs. Emogene Padgett. I believe she used to be your next door neighbor.”
Tom felt his chest constrict with fear. He had anticipated Winward discovering the truth. He had also expected a confrontation, just not this quickly, and certainly not in front of Kelly.
“Yes, she was,” he acknowledged. “I’ve known Mrs. Padgett for a long time.”
“It would seem she knows you pretty well also.”
The hair stood up on the back of Tom’s neck. “I’m sure. She lived next door to my mother for thirty years.
“Yes. She mentioned something to that effect. In fact, we had quite an interesting chat. We learned all kinds of things about you today, Mr. Shear.”
Tom ran his fingers through his hair and let out a disconcerted sigh. “Detective, let’s end the cat and mouse game, shall we?”
“Fine with me.”
“Tom?”
Tom was alarmed to see that Kelly’s pale face had grown chalky. He watched her sink to the edge of the sofa and clamp her hands between her knees.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
“Tell me what’s going on, Tom.” Her voice was small and beseeching, her eyes wide with bewildered fear. “I need to know what’s happening.”
Tom held her cold, clenched hands in his palms and lowered his head in defeat. “Damn you for this, Winward,” he said, before raising his eyes to hold Kelly’s apprehensive gaze. “I was going to tell you. But in my own time. In my own way. Please, believe that.”
“Tell me what?”
“My father. He was an abuser. He abused my mother and . . . me.”
Tom watched shocked pity flash in Kelly’s eyes before her expression calmed.
“For how long?” she asked. Her voice was strong and steady.
He released her hands, rose to his feet, and turned away.
“The verbal abuse was always there,” he stated in a flat, detached voice. “The beatings started when I was five. The sexual abuse started a few years later. It continued until I was twelve.”
Winward and Hayes had remained silent throughout the exchange. At the mention of sexual abuse, however, they exchanged a quick glance. Winward let out a quiet breath.
Kelly was thoughtful as she watched Tom’s back. “So that’s why you feel so strongly about the Rage collection. You were able to bring them to such revealing life because you know their pain.”
“I believe so, yes,” he said, turning back to face her. Their gazes held until Winward spoke.
“You know, Mr. Shear, painting those portraits was your undoing. I can’t for the life of me think of why you would do such a thing. Unless, of course, you wanted to be caught. You knew word of them would spread. It was only a matter of time.”
“What are you talking about?” Kelly demanded. Her eyes darted from Tom to Winward. “What are you accusing Tom of doing?”
“He thinks I’m responsible for the deaths of those little girls, Kelly,” Tom explained. Her eyes grew wide with shock. “He’s been suspicious of me ever since the opening.”
“But that’s absurd!”
“Is it?” he asked, taking on the countenance of a counselor facing a jury, or a teacher lecturing his class. “First, I’ve created portraits of seven missing and presumed murdered little girls. Second, there seems to be incriminating evidence in one of the paintings concerning a unique weapon, a mace with a spiked ball and chain that no one could possibly have known about except the murderer. Third, I was abused as a child to which could only mean that I became an abuser myself and committed the same brutal act on innocents of about the same age. A good psychologist could undoubtedly come up with the reason why I chose to perform my revenge on little girls, but that’s beside the point at the moment. Fourth, and here’s the kicker, I’m now residing in the house where the crimes took place.”
“I hope you realize, Mr. Shear, that
you’ve just added another nail to your coffin,” Hayes stated.
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked, piercing him with her gaze.
“Well, Miss Stafford, I have to ask myself how Mr. Shear could possibly know where the crimes took place. Only the one responsible would know that.”
The corner of Tom’s mouth came up in a derisive smile. “That, Detective, is a long story.”
Hayes returned Tom’s stare with an indulgent grin. “Mr. Shear, we have all the time in the world.”
Kelly stood and placed her hand on Tom’s arm. “I don’t think you should say any more without a lawyer, Tom. Call Jonathan and tell him what’s happening. Maybe he can help.”
“Jonathan already knows. So does Russ Carson,” Tom replied.
“Russ Carson?” Winward’s brow rose in surprise. “You’ve made a good choice, Mr. Shear. Carson’s one of the best criminal lawyers this side of the Mason-Dixon.”
“So I’ve heard,” Tom said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
“How long have they known about this, Tom?” Kelly asked. “How much does Carson know?”
“After Detective Winward and Hayes’s visit last week, I knew I was in trouble. I called Jonathan who made contact with Carson. They know everything.”
She looked at Tom. “Everything?”
“Everything,” he stated. He watched her face and saw her eyes narrow in thought as she met his gaze.
“Then why didn’t you call him? You obviously knew why these men came here tonight.”
“I’m not sure. I guess I wanted to see what they would do.” He turned to face Winward. “Out of curiosity, Detective, considering everything you know, why haven’t you placed me under arrest?”
Winward hesitated before answering. “We still have a few questions that need to be answered. It’s totally within your rights to have a lawyer present, so if you feel the need to call Carson before this interview goes any further, please do so.”
Tom guffawed. “You don’t mean that. He’d only tell me to keep my mouth shut.”
Winward allowed a small smile. “It was my duty to inform you of your right for representation as a citizen of our great nation.” He shrugged. “Part of the job.”
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