Let It Burn

by Steve Hamilton

  “I’ll be right back,” Grayson said, pulling his arm away from Paige. He got up and went into the bathroom. That empty bathroom where there’d be no Darryl King waiting to receive his punishment.

  “It should come as no surprise,” Paige said to me, as soon as his brother-in-law was out of earshot, “that this whole crazy thing was Ryan’s idea. Sitting around and watching for him. I tried to talk him out of it, but I knew he’d do it alone if he had to. So I agreed to come along so I could keep an eye on him.”

  “Arnie said he’s got kids now? Surely he can see that this is a horrible idea.”

  “See, that’s the thing. He was engaged to be married when Elana was killed. I don’t know if you knew that. They went ahead with the wedding, even though maybe they should have waited a little bit. Let everybody heal a little more. But that’s all hindsight, I guess. Anyway, he went right from being a grieving brother to a husband to a father, and it seemed like he was doing okay for a long time. Taking over the business from his father and everything, but then when his second kid went away to college…”

  “It’s been that long?”

  “They had their two kids pretty quickly. Within two or three years of Elana’s death. So yes, it was all kind of a blur to him, I think. Until all of a sudden his kids are gone and he breaks up with his wife and he’s all alone for the first time. It’s like he never really dealt with it until now. Obviously, it hasn’t gone well.”

  “It seems like you’ve dealt with it a lot better.”

  “I had a lot more time to myself to deal with it. But that first year or two, God, I was a mess. In fact, now that I think of it, didn’t you and the detective come to the house?”

  “We did.”

  “So wait a minute,” he said. “I know you already said this, but I still can’t believe it. Arnie Bateman is really dead right now?”

  Ryan Grayson came back to the table then. He had washed his face and put himself back together. I was glad to see him, because I didn’t want to have to explain this part twice.

  “He is,” I said, “and they’re looking for King right now.”

  “He was out of prison one day,” Grayson said. “Not even twenty-four hours and he’s killing again. What the hell were they thinking letting him out?”

  “You have to hear me out,” I said, “but I don’t believe that Darryl King killed the detective.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Furthermore, and here’s the part where I know you’re really going to need some explanation … Because I know this was your sister we’re talking about, Mr. Grayson. And Mr. Paige, I know Elana was your wife. I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t have good reason.”

  They both sat there listening to me. They didn’t move. I don’t think they were even breathing at that point.

  “But I don’t think Darryl King killed her, either.”

  They both just looked at me.

  “What are you talking about?” Grayson said. “Have you seriously lost your mind?”

  “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that,” I said. “But no.”

  “He confessed,” Paige said. “He confessed to the crime and then he signed it and then he went to prison. Where he should have stayed.”

  “I know he confessed,” I said, “but I think there’s something else going on here. I’m still not sure what.”

  They both leaned back in their chairs. The body language was clear. They wanted nothing to do with this. I spent the next solid hour trying to explain it to them. All of my gut instincts coming together, the questions I had asked, the way the story fit together if you could just believe that Darryl King had confessed to a crime he didn’t really commit. How if you were willing to go that far, the next step would be to look at all of the other murders that had been occurring over the years, murders with the exact same characteristics. All of them unsolved.

  “What you’re really saying,” Paige said, when I was finally done, “is that Elana was really murdered by a mass murderer?”

  “By definition, he would be a serial killer,” I said. “Someone who kills one person at a time. From what I can tell, Elana might have been his first victim.”

  “How many others?” Paige said.

  “Maybe seven, that we know of. Four women in the Midwest, three more down south during the winter months. And now Detective Bateman, which is different from his pattern, of course. Although I think Arnie might have been killed for a whole different reason.”

  “Is this supposed to make us feel better?” Grayson asked. “This idea that Elana might have been the first of many? Because if it is, I’d really like to know how.”

  “I don’t imagine it will make you feel better, no. All I’m asking at this point is that you keep an open mind. That you not destroy your life going after someone who may ultimately be an innocent man.”

  “Wow,” Grayson said, shaking his head. “That’s all I can say. Just, wow.”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once.”

  “So why are you here?” Paige said. “Are you trying to prove this wild theory of yours?”

  I raised both hands in surrender. “Look,” I said, “the FBI is already on these other murders. I heard that from an agent myself. If Elana’s case can give them a new angle, then maybe they can all—”

  “Stop,” Paige said. “Just stop. I apologize. This has obviously shaken us both up, but we shouldn’t take it out on you. If there’s something to this idea, then we should both want to learn the truth just as much as you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So okay. Please accept my apology.”

  “Accepted. No problem.”

  We all settled back for a few moments and finished our beers.

  “So,” Grayson finally said, “this is what you do nowadays? Go dig up old cases?”

  “I don’t make a habit of it,” I said. “But I was part of this case, back in the day. And now, especially with Arnie getting killed … Well, I guess I’m just trying to help make things right.”

  Darryl’s own words, from our brief conversation on the phone. It was my own version of making things right, while I had the chance.

  “Does that mean you’re going to go look for this serial killer?”

  “Hell, no,” I said. “I’ll let the FBI do that, thank you. If I can just help out Mrs. King, I’ll be happy.”

  “But what if that means you run into the killer?”

  “Then I’ll probably wish I had brought my gun with me.”

  “I think you’re probably crazy,” he said. “Where are you staying, anyway? Is it someplace safe, at least?”

  “I’m in a motel down on Michigan Avenue. I’m fine.”

  “I’ve still got the house in Southfield. You were there, you know how big it is. Now that it’s empty…”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine, really.”

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind. You’d have a whole room to yourself. Hell, half the house.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  I was glad we left that bar on good terms, at least. I promised them both that I would call them immediately if I found out anything concrete. They both promised me that they would stop watching the house. I guess that’s all any of us could have hoped for.

  *

  Grayson got in his minivan and drove home. Tanner Paige gave me a ride back to Mrs. King’s house. He looked tired and more than a little shell-shocked. Not that I could blame him.

  When he pulled up in front of the house, he looked out at the sagging porch. “You’re seriously telling me that the man who lived here is maybe not the same man who killed my Elana.”

  “I’m going to try to find that out,” I said. “By the way, I never got the chance to tell you this before. Back when I was a cop trying to solve that case. But I was married then, too, and my wife was taking classes at Wayne State.”

  “Really? Did she know Elana?”

  “No, she didn’t. I’m just saying
, I realized it just as easily could have been my wife and not yours. If it had been, I’m not even sure what I would have done. But I know I can’t blame you or your brother-in-law for whatever crazy things you might have come up with over the years, even sitting down there at the end of the street like a couple of undercover cops.”

  He shook his head.

  “If the sun’s in front of you,” I said, “make sure you don’t flash your binoculars. A little tip for next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” he said. “But hey, thanks for everything you told us today. Even if it didn’t seem like we wanted to hear it. Please be careful.”

  “You, too. Keep an eye on that brother-in-law of yours.”

  He said he would. I watched him drive away, wondering what other surprises this day would have in store for me. When I went back into the house, Mrs. King took one look at me, sat me down at the kitchen table, then went to get the first aid supplies.

  “What in heaven’s name did you ever do to your arms?” she said as she pulled her chair up to mine and started dabbing me with disinfectant. This close to her I could see how hard the years had been on her. She wore it on her face, around her eyes that had seen too much. She wore it in her hands, that had worked too hard for her to be sitting every night in an empty house.

  “What were you doing running around in that back field, anyway?”

  “I thought there might be somebody watching your house,” I said. “So I wanted to see who.”

  “Did you catch them?”

  “I did, but they won’t be coming around anymore. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “They were looking for Darryl,” she said. Not a question.

  I looked out the back window, toward the back edge of the property, where I had just recently gone stumbling through the weeds. There was something missing.

  The big tree.

  I could see the stump. I flashed back to that day, when I spotted the gray shirt on the clothesline and came wandering back here to talk to Mrs. King. The tree gave shade to the whole backyard. A makeshift swing hung from the low branch.

  There was a girl who came out the back door to stand by her mother.

  There was a boy on the swing.

  There was a boy on the swing.

  My God, I said to myself, if you are not the biggest idiot who ever lived on this earth. It was just like Ryan Grayson said …

  Being a good brother is the most important job in the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Mrs. King,” I said, trying to stay cool and even. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” she said. She kept finding new cuts on my arms. She’d shake her head in disapproval as she squeezed out more disinfectant on her cotton ball.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  She looked up at me for a moment, then went back to her work. “What do you want to know about them?”

  “I know you had two other children. I saw them that first day I was here, when I was a police officer. They were in the backyard with you.”

  “I remember, yes.”

  “When I came back here the other day, the day we had the chocolate cake…”

  I paused for a moment, like a man taking a deep breath before going underwater.

  “You told me a couple of very sad things,” I said. “You said that your daughter was gone, first of all…”

  “The drugs, yes. The drugs took my Naima from me.”

  “I’m very sorry. But as far as your other son goes, I think you said he was homeless?”

  “He’s been away for a long time, yes. It wasn’t long after Darryl went to prison. With him gone and no other man in the house … Tremont didn’t have anybody to look up to.”

  “Tremont,” I said. “That’s right. That was his name. I think my partner asked him if he liked being on summer vacation. Then he went over and sat on the swing you had hanging from that tree…”

  “Darryl was always hard on his little brother. But I know he loved him. He looked after him, because all the other kids would tease him. He was a little different.”

  “How was he different?”

  “He was just more sensitive than other children. He didn’t talk a whole lot. Whenever he’d get picked on, Darryl would be there to make things right.”

  To make things right. Those same words yet again.

  “How did he make things right?” I said.

  “He’d go after any of those kids who picked on Tremont. Didn’t matter how big they were. Darryl wasn’t that big himself, but he was strong. He worked out all the time.”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering that weight bench in the backyard. “But what else would he do to make things right?”

  “Tremont was always running off somewhere. I’d be worried sick because he’d be out at all hours of the night, even though he was only fourteen years old, understand. But Darryl’d always say, ‘I got him, Mama. I’ll go find him.’ He always would. He might whip his ass a little bit on the way home, but he’d always find him.”

  “Where would Tremont go when he ran away?”

  “Oh, just about anywhere. Darryl would have to go all over the place to find him. But he’d always bring him home in the end.”

  That’s when the question came to me. The one question I should have asked a lot sooner.

  “Mrs. King, did Darryl ever go looking for Tremont at the train station?”

  “No, Tremont knew he wasn’t allowed to go there.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s way down by the river,” she said. “That’s too far away for a fourteen-year-old boy to be going all by himself. And besides…”

  I took her hands then. I made her stop her work and I sat there holding her hands and looking into her eyes.

  “Besides what?” I said. “Why was he not allowed to go to the train station?”

  “Because it was a bad place, Alex. People sold drugs in that park in front of the station, and men would go down there if they were looking for young boys.”

  “If he was there…”

  “He loved his trains, Tremont did. Ever since he was little. But he knew he wasn’t supposed to go to that place.”

  “I’ll ask you again,” I said, holding her hands tighter. “The things that went on at that station … If Tremont was there, is it possible that’s why?”

  She looked away.

  “Mrs. King, please answer me, no matter how painful this might be. It’s important.”

  “If he was,” she said, “then I wasn’t able to see it. I’m ashamed to say that now, but it’s true. I just couldn’t imagine my boy doing something like that.”

  “What about Darryl? Did he know?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe that’s why he was so hard on him.”

  “As far as I know, Darryl never said anything about this to the police. Not when the detective was questioning him.”

  “I don’t suppose that’s surprising,” she said. “I don’t suppose he’d be real proud to tell people why he was down at the station, if he was looking for his brother, and thought that he was…”

  “Is it possible,” I said, thinking here was where I had to choose my words carefully, “that Darryl may have thought he was protecting Tremont when he confessed to that crime?”

  “If he really confessed, then yes, I’d say that’s the most likely reason he’d do something so foolish. If he came back home and got his hands on Tremont, and asked him if he was down at that station on the same day that woman was murdered, and Tremont said yes, he was … Then by the time those police showed up to arrest Darryl, I can see him having it in his head that they were going to send somebody away, no matter what, so it should be him instead of his brother. I can see that all day, yes.”

  No mention of taking the diamond bracelet while he happened to be there, I thought. No mention of the possibility that Tremont may have been involved in the murder of Elana Paige.

  But no, I can’t even ask her this. I can’t
say the words out loud, not in this kitchen.

  “I’ll tell you this,” she said. “When Darryl got taken away to prison, sometime I’d think to myself, there’s a reason for this, Jamilah. In your darkest hour, this is a small blessing, that it’s Darryl in that prison instead of Tremont. Because Darryl’s a strong boy. Real strong. While Tremont wouldn’t last a day in that place. Not one single day. I know that sounds like a bad way to see it.”

  “You never said anything about this before,” I said. “When you told me that you knew Darryl was innocent…”

  “I didn’t say anything about Darryl saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, no. Or why he might have said it. Because I don’t care about that. I only care about the fact that neither of my two boys would kill anybody.”

  “Okay, I understand. But tell me more about what happened to Tremont after Darryl went to prison. You said he ran away for good?”

  “Yes, because Darryl wasn’t here anymore to go fetch him. Tremont just ran away and he never came back.”

  “You never heard from him?”

  “Oh, he’d call me sometimes. Those first few years, anyway. I’d wire him some money sometimes, but he always said he was fine. He said he was riding the rails, like he always wanted to. He got hooked up with some people who would hitch rides on freight trains, go all over the place, do some work if they could find it, or else just panhandle. Then hitch another freight train and do it all over again. I guess they’ve got this whole way of life.”

  “Like hobos, you mean. Like modern-day hobos.”

  “Doesn’t sound like any kind of life to me. But he said he was finally happy, riding the freight trains and never knowing where he’d end up next.”

  She stopped. She finally took her hands from mine. She smoothed her dress over her knees and raised her head high.

  “It was something else I just had to accept, Alex. One boy in prison, the other a homeless wanderer out on a freight train somewhere. My daughter in a grave. None of them going to school. None of them sleeping in their room at night.”

  “When’s the last time you heard from Tremont?”

  “It’s been a long time. I couldn’t even tell you if he’s alive or dead right now. I know a mother’s supposed to know such things. I’m supposed to feel if he’s still out there somewhere, but I guess I’m not feeling much of anything anymore.”