More painful than the dog bites and other injuries was the fact she would be going to prison, torn away from the two people she loved more than any others in the world. No medication could ease that pain.
Even if she might somehow evade jail, would Clay still want her? There would be scars from the dogs. She thought Clay could overlook those, especially since they’d be in places clothing would cover. But could he accept she’d committed murder? Though he knew it had been to protect them, he’d been shocked when she told him what she’d done to Wozniak.
Another thought occurred to her. What if they prosecuted Clay? She’d told Hetrick Clay wasn’t involved. Would the police believe it? Clay helped her dispose of Jason’s Jeep. He’d understood the necessity of getting rid of it. But had he killed Jason? He hadn’t said. Yet it must have been him.
Jason. Couldn’t he see what he was doing to them? She knew he didn’t give a shit about her or Clay. But, his mother? Didn’t she matter either?
Nan’s thoughts went back to that last evening in the paddock. She’d begged him to stop. Earlier that day he’d left his phone laying on the kitchen table. She’d found it and seen his calls and texts with Wozniak. “I’ll do anything,” she’d told him. “Just don’t do this. Don’t hurt us.”
“Suck my cock.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Jason had coveted her in the past—even after he’d hooked up with Lydia. Much as she hated him now, Nan would have willingly put up with anything he wanted if only he’d agreed to stop this extortion.
The bastard. He’d laughed and turned his back on her.
“Please, Jason. You can fuck me if that’s what you want. You can fuck me every night if that’s what it takes to make you change your mind. Please, don’t blackmail Clay. Don’t hurt your mother and me.”
He’d laughed again. “You’re pathetic. Why would I want to fuck you now when I’ve got Lydia? She’s a much better fuck than you ever were.”
Nan had no choice. She had to tell Clay and Lillian. Clay knew she’d taken the gun from Lydia’s car. Initially she’d planned on threatening Jason with it, then lost her nerve. She didn’t know enough about guns. Clay had taken it away from her. Lillian had told him to lock it away. Of course. She wouldn’t have wanted me to shoot her son. She wouldn’t have forgiven that.
Had Clay been the one to use it, though?
* * * *
Helpless. That’s how Stoneroad felt. On Hetrick’s suggestion, he’d called a lawyer and made arrangements to have the man present when Runyan returned to take Nan’s statement.
He wanted to be there. He needed to assure Nan he loved her and had no intention of abandoning her. But would they let him see her? Would they even allow him in the room? He had to talk to her. He had to let her know he still loved and supported her. What she’d done—as awful as others might consider it—had been for him. For them. How could he not stand by her?
Yet he couldn’t leave Lillian here alone. He glanced at her, still sacked out on the sofa as she’d been for the better part of the day. How many of those damned sleeping pills had she taken? A frightening thought gripped him, and he rushed to her side, laying a finger against her throat. Her pulse beat slowly. But it did beat. No indication of an overdose. He exhaled, stood erect, stared down at her with affection. They’d been through so much, yet she’d always stood by him. Even when he brought Nan home that first time and gave her the ultimatum.
Emotion choked him.
It had been hard for her in the beginning. Difficult for both women. How many women would have been willing to accept such an unconventional arrangement? He and Lillian had already been married ten years when Nan entered his life. He had more to lose than Lillian had she decided to leave. Her money supported them until his books began to sell. Even now it would be a hardship if not for her money. She’d proved how much she loved him. And Nan—how many lovely younger women would agree to such an arrangement?
The thought of Nan’s nubile body, naked and eagerly his in those early days, aroused and embarrassed him, though there was no one to witness it. Yes. He had loved the taste of those sweet lips, the smoothness of her flesh, the erotic touch of her hands on him. He’d always enjoyed the sexual attraction. But he’d soon discovered there was more to this woman than someone it was a joy to fuck.
And now she’d killed for him.
How could he abandon either of his women?
How could he prove to both his women how much they meant to him?
A weak smile twitched at his lips. There’s only one way to save them from more pain. He was the man. He’d show everyone how much he loved them.
He bent and kissed Lillian on the cheek. She doesn’t even know I’m here. With a sigh, he turned away and headed to his office.
Chapter 32
“He did what?”
The news stunned Theophilus Fisher as he entered Hetrick’s office and confronted Sticks who was seated with Aaron Brubaker and Chris Runyan. “What happened?”
“Apparently an overdose of his wife’s sleeping pills,” Sticks told him.
“Mrs. Stoneroad...”
“Doc had to give her another sedative,” Brubaker said. “She found him and called my office.”
“What in God’s name made him do a thing like that?” Fisher asked.
“He left a note,” Sticks told him. “Three notes in fact—one for us and one for each of his wives. Claims he did the killing.”
Fisher sat on the edge of Hetrick’s desk. “That’s nonsense. All the evidence points to the girl in the hospital. What did he have to gain by making such a ridiculous claim and then killing himself?”
“Calder absolved him,” Brubaker said. “Now he absolves her. I guess that’s what you call true love.”
“Weird love,” Runyan added. “What’s your take of it, Sticks?”
Hetrick was lost in thought and didn’t reply right away.
“Sticks?” Runyan prodded again.
The repetition caught his attention. “Sorry. I was mulling over what we know and what we don’t.”
“And?”
“Nothing a person does is as simple as it might appear. Even what seems an impulsive act has precedent in the past actions of an individual. We believe Calder killed Miss Wozniak because Vickie Walker confirmed she was the one driving the Jeep. We also know Stoneroad conspired with Nan Calder to eliminate the vehicle from our examination. Though he had to know she committed murder, he was willing to overlook the crime because of his deep affection for her and because she did it out of a desire to protect their secret.”
“Yeah. That makes sense. What of it?”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this, Dan,” Fisher added, a look of puzzlement on his face.
Sticks raised a hand. “Let me continue.”
Fisher nodded, and their companions indicated their compliance.
“You’re all familiar with correlation analysis. That’s where one looks at things that happen close together in time and try to find the possibility of their being connected. For instance, Nan Calder admits she took Lydia’s gun from the glove box. She claims her initial intent was to use it to put a scare in Jason. She now says she lost her nerve and revealed her plan to the Stoneroads. According to her, Stoneroad took it and put it away—supposedly in his desk.”
“Do we believe her?” Runyan asked.
“No reason not to. All three of them had access to the weapon. When we did our search of the premises I had a look at the desk. It’s an old piece of furniture and there are no locks on the drawers. Any one of them could have taken and used the gun. Remember—just as did Lydia—they all passed the GSR test. Gunshot residue will remain on flesh for a maximum of eight hours, less time if a person washes his hands or showers. Plenty of time elapsed between the shooting and our arrival at the farm.”
“So you’re saying Stoneroad could have killed the boy?” Brubaker asked.
“He or Calder could have done it. I’m not convinced either did.”
>
“What? That’s nonsense, Sticks. Who else could have done it?”
“A person we haven’t paid enough attention,” Hetrick told him.
“You can’t be serious,” Runyan said, a look of perplexity on his face. “You think Mrs. Stoneroad killed her own son?”
“I’m willing to consider the possibility.”
“That’s nuts. Why would she do such a thing?”
“These three were united in an uncommon bond. Calder killed to protect their secret. Stoneroad lied to protect her. Both assumed the other had killed Jason. But suppose for a moment they were both wrong and it was Mrs. Stoneroad who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect the others? We’re all aware of cases where parents murdered their young children. Cases involving the murder of adult children aren’t as common, but they do exist. Nearly one in five filicides involve adult children.
“A study I looked at said a father was the most likely offender in the killing of an adult son in nearly thirty percent of such cases. In the case of a mother killing an adult son, the percentage was twenty-two point one. So, it does happen.”
“Yeah, but--”
“It’s unthinkable,” Runyan cut in. “Besides, you saw Mrs. Stoneroad. She’s been beside herself ever since it happened. Why she couldn’t even get out of bed most of the time. The woman is grieving, Sticks.”
“I don’t deny it. No matter what the possible motive, it would have to be a traumatic, probably devastating, experience. Jason Russell’s murder doesn’t fit the usual motives for filicide. That doesn’t exclude it from the realm of possibility."
Theo Fisher wagged a finger at him. “If you intend to follow up on this—as it appears you are—you better be damned careful.”
Sticks nodded. The other two officers stared at him. He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose. “I’m going to go have a talk with the woman. Either of you want to go with me?”
* * * *
“I’ve been expecting you,” Lillian Stoneroad said as she opened the door to Hetrick and Runyan.
Wearing an ivory turtleneck sweater, caramel-colored corduroys, and brown chukka-style boots, she ushered them into the living room. Lillian seemed more alert and energetic than she had on their previous visits to the farm. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the arm chairs as she sat on the sofa. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Runyan told her. “We’re sorry to intrude on you.”
“It’s kind of you to say, officer. But I know you have questions and it won’t take but a few moments for me to pour us some coffee. It’s already brewed.”
The sky had been darkening as they drove out to the farm and now a wind gusted rain drops against the windows. A dampness pervaded the old house. Lillian flicked on a light on the end table.
She rose and left the two of them staring at one another. Despite her assumed liveliness, Hetrick had noted her red eyes and pallor, a haunted look. He’d detected a hint of alcohol on her breath. Lillian returned shortly bearing a tray with a silver coffee pot, cups, sugar and creamer and a packet of store-bought cookies. “Help yourselves,” she told them.
Hetrick poured, then handed a cup to their suspect. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked.
The woman gave him a thin smile. “It won’t get any easier later. My husband is dead, and my best friend is going to jail.” She took a sip of the coffee.
“And your son.”
“Yes. My son. The cause of it all.” Bitterness was evident in the comment.
“You blame him?” The words slipped off Runyan’s tongue before he could stop them.
Lillian sighed. “I loved him. He was my flesh and blood. He was also a trial—even as a child.”
“Yet mothers do what they can for even the unruliest of children,” Hetrick said.
“Yes. And I did. So did Clay. We both loved him and supported him no matter what damage he did to us. He was always a difficult child.”
There came a click as Runyan sat down his cup, from which he hadn’t yet drunk. Lillian Stoneroad turned her gaze on him. “We never asked if you’d seen your son that night,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine...”
“That I would have killed him?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled and sat down her own cup. Her hand shook. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just wanted to talk to him, to make him stop what he was doing. I asked that he meet me in the stable after the others had gone to bed.”
“The three of you couldn’t have talked to him together?”
“We’d already tried that. He had this stubborn grudge against Clay and Nan. I thought if I could get him alone I could convince him. He laughed at me.”
“Why did you take Lydia’s gun with you if you just wanted to talk?” Hetrick asked. “Did you think he might harm you?”
She gave a little gasp and shook her head. “Of course not,” she told him. Her eyes glistened wetly in the light. “I took the gun hoping it might impress him of my seriousness. He tried to take it away from me and I shot him. It wasn’t planned—just a—a reflex action.”
“You didn’t intend on shooting him?”
She pinched her lips together and lowered her gaze. “No.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she said it.
“We learned a while back you were the one most experienced with guns,” Runyan said. “I dismissed it. I couldn’t believe you were a viable suspect—that you could put Stoneroad and Calder above the life of your son. How do you sleep at night?”
She gave him a bleak look and her voice shook as she whispered, “Not very well.”
“I don’t understand you, woman. I think the three of you were nuts.”
The rain drummed harder against the windows.
Lillian fixed him with a steady gaze now. “Yes. Perhaps we were. That day when Clay came home with Lillian and said I had the choice of staying or going, I thought it the worst day of my life. But I couldn’t think of giving him up. I loved him so much. I’m sure you can’t understand that unless you’ve loved someone in the same way.
“That day I hated Nan as only a jilted person can. Strange as it may seem to you, we came to love one another as much as we loved him. Are you familiar with Blake, officer? Look up ‘The Clod and the Pebble.’ The first stanza. It might help you to understand."
* * * *
Before returning to his office, Hetrick stopped off at his house on Plum street. He entered and went straight back to his den. There he quickly located a copy of The Poems of William Blake. Sarah had been fond of Blake’s poetry. He looked at the index, found the poem Mrs. Stoneroad had referenced and read the stanza:
Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.
He shook his head, closed the book, and put it back on the shelf. The lines gave him no ease and he was certain Runyan wouldn’t have understood. It never failed to amaze him the lengths people would go to justify their actions.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.R. Lindermuth
The author of 16 novels, including eight in the Sticks Hetrick series, J. R. Lindermuth is a retired newspaper editor who now serves as librarian for his county historical society, assisting patrons with genealogy and research. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and a past vice president of the Short Mystery Fiction Society.
To learn more about the author, you are invited to visit his website at http://www.jrlindermuth.net
For your reading pleasure, we invite you to visit our web bookstore
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
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