My father focused on the carpet, as if searching for what to say first. "This is all so crazy. Mayor B bribing an officer?"
"And maybe killing those women." My mother shook her head.
"But that's just speculation."
"Then why did he have the ring?"
I listened to my parents' reactions—and a stunning thought hit me. My head snapped back. Mayor B had the ring because he was in Erika's house that night. But if Mike killed Erika, why was the mayor in her house at all?
Mike's words echoed in my head. "If Erika was pregnant—which I wouldn't doubt, knowin her . . ."
Was she having an affair with Mayor B too?
My gaze drifted out the window. Erika and Austin Bradmeyer . . .
Then, slam—a second thought. A picture of what could've happened that night.
Breath left me. If that picture was right, Mike didn't do it. He didn't kill Erika. The hope of that idea left me weak.
"Tully?"
Vaguely, I heard Mom call my name.
"Tully."
"Huh?" I blinked at her.
"What are you thinking?" Her voice was tight, so frightened for me.
"N-nothing." I pressed my hands to my temples. "It's just . . . my brain is so full."
The oven timer dinged. Supper was ready. Somehow I made it through the meal, barely tasting it.
"Tully," Mom said at the table, "you know you're welcome here. Come back. We'll help you with the baby. And I know that look in your eyes. You're beating yourself up because you think you've failed. Well, you haven't. You've got lots of years to live yet. It's not too late to start over."
I looked at my plate, forcing back tears. "I know. Thanks."
After supper I fled to my room, saying I had to rest. I lay on my old bed, hoping, praying. Trying to think through it all. My brain dredged up facts from the notes with Deena and Cherrie Mae. I imagined Mike going to Erika's last Tuesday night. The pictures in Mayor B's drawer. Remembered what Stevie said when Deena visited him in jail. I heard Erika sneering how she was coming into "big money." Thought of Ted Arnoldson taking Mayor B's bribe . . .
Wait.
I sat up. Stared at the floor.
Ten days.
DNA.
My mind whirled.
I shoved to my feet, then swayed. Where was my purse with my cell phone? I had to call Deena and Cherrie Mae. Had to see them.
I knew what happened. I knew.
Chapter 35
Cherrie Mae
Halfway between home and Deena's house, I heard a voice shout in my head: "Go see Eva Bradmeyer." I was bout to cross Main, checkin for traffic on the old brick street. My small packed suitcase sat in the backseat.
"What?" I said aloud. My fingers tightened on the steerin wheel.
"Go see Eva B."
"You crazy?"
The command echoed inside me. Guilt came not far behind. I knew that Voice. Had heard it plenty in my lifetime. Now here I was, tellin God he was crazy.
"I'm sorry, Lord." I crossed Main, tryin to fool myself into thinkin sayin sorry was enough. Cause absolutely last thing I wanted to do right now was face Eva B.
But the words beat on: "Go see her."
Shakin my head, I made the next right turn toward the Bradmeyer house.
I pulled up to the curb, thinkin why would Eva B even answer the doh? Her husband sat in jail thanks to me. Plus she'd been sick. She was either in bed with the covers over her head, or she was talkin to a lawyer.
My finger pushed the bell. My arm was shakin.
I fixed my gaze on the little peephole in the doh. Surely if she got as far as seein my face, she wouldn't let me in.
Footsteps sounded.
A long moment passed. Then the doh flung back. Eva B stood there in her robe, hair messy, cheeks and eyes red. Unsteady on her feet.
"I can't believe you're on my porch." Her voice came out high and strangled. "Get out, Cherrie Mae! Get your feet off my property. And don't you ever come back!"
She started to close the doh. Something made me stick my foot in the threshold. "Wait."
The heavy thing hit my foot. Eva B shoved harder. "Get out of the way!"
"No, Mrs. B. I got to talk to you." I did? And jus what was I gon say?
"No. Go away!" She tried to close it again, but she was too weak. I held up my hand against the doh and nudged it back.
"I don't want to talk to you, Cherrie Mae! I don't want to see you ever again!" Tears spilled from her eyes.
My heart liked to turn over. This woman and I'd been friends for years. Now I'd betrayed her.
I forced myself into the house. "You need to hear what I got to say."
She sobbed. "I don't want to hear it. I don't!" Mrs. B swayed. I caught her elbow. She wrenched away and swayed some more. "Get out."
But her words sounded as feeble as a newborn lamb. Poor thing looked like she had no strength left in her. I took her by the arm. "Come on. You need to sit down."
"No. Go." But she stumbled toward the den as I led her, too spent to fight. "I don't . . . I can't . . ."
We reached the couch. I nudged her down. She half fell into it.
Eva B's body folded in half. Her hands covered her face as she cried. "Why, Cherrie Mae. Why did you do it?"
I perched alongside her, searchin for what to say. Hatred and need rolled off her in waves. If I hadn't been the one who told on her husband, she'd be weepin on my shoulder. Now she just wanted to hit me.
"I'm gon get you a tissue." Up I rose and hurried into the kitchen. Came back with a whole box a Kleenex. I pressed one into her hands.
"You lied to me." Her shoulders drew in. She rocked forward and back, forward and back. "Putting me in bed, acting so worried about me. All the while you just wanted to get me out of the way so you could take pictures. Isn't that right?"
How to deny it? "Yes'm. Fraid I did."
"But Austin didn't do anything."
She rocked and rocked, tryin to comfort herself. Tryin to tell herself her husband was completely innocent—when deep inside she knew it wasn't so. Only then, when I saw the conflict inside her, did I know why I'd come.
"Mrs. B, listen to me—"
"I don't want to listen to you."
But she wasn't tellin me to go. Truth was, she needed to know what I knew. She needed to understand.
I waited till she calmed a little. In time her rockin and cryin slowed. She still wouldn't look at me. "You snooped in my husband's private things."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I thought back to that day. "Can't tell you why, exactly. It's like my hand just went to that drawer. And first thing I saw was the file a those pictures. And the ring."
"You didn't have to look in the file." Her voice was thick. Accusin. "You had to search to find that ring."
Oh, this was hard. "Yes."
"Why?"
This time the question sounded different. Like it wasn't meant for me, but for her husband.
"Austin's given his life for this town." Eva B's hands balled the tissue. "Employs people. Donates to charity. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't do this."
"I know. I cain't quite believe it either."
"But you told the police. You went running right to them!"
I stared at the coffee table. Had I vacuumed round there just this mornin? Seemed like days ago. Suddenly my mind went back to the McAllisters' home last year, cleanin the hardwood floh under Ed and Verna's bed. I saw myself pull out that lacy little thong. Remembered the look on Verna's face . . .
Oh, have mercy. Have mercy. I should a known.
Took some time to pull myself together. I tried to find the right words. "Eva, I had to. Do you realize that ring was planted in a
nother man's house? Mike Phillips could go to jail for the rest a his life. I couldn't let that happen."
Truth was, I hadn't known bout that ring bein planted till I got to the police. But I wasn't bout to get into that now.
Eva B. sat quiet for a long time. Her hands shredded the wet tissue in her lap. I pressed a new one into her fingers.
"Maybe Mike really did it," she finally said. "Maybe he is the killer, and Austin just wanted to catch him. You ever think of that?"
I sighed. She was still not wantin to see. Well, how could she? Hadn't been that long since she heard. She was still in shock.
"Listen, Eva. I got to warn you bout the police. They gon be comin to talk to you."
She gave a bitter laugh. "You warn me?"
"It's bout the ring. See, I know Erika had that ring on her finger when I visited her, up to ten o'clock the night she died. The autopsy says she could a died as soon as eleven o'clock. Somehow in that time that ring got from her house to this one."
Mrs. B took to shreddin the second tissue.
"They gon want to know was your husband home with you that night."
"He's already said he was home."
"I know. But you know he wasn't."
Her fingers stilled. She turned her head to glare at me, eyes puffy. "Yes. He. Was."
"Eva. You cain't lie to the police. They gon find out. And when they do, you'll be in big trouble. Look at Ted Arnoldson, sittin in jail right now."
"He interfered in an investigation!" Too late, she realized what she'd said. She jerked away to face her lap again. The fingers went back to tearin.
"And that's what they'll say bout you if you don't tell 'em the truth."
"He was here. All night."
"No, he wasn't."
"He was."
"Maybe most a the night. But he left for awhile, didn't he? I'd guess it was earlier rather than later. Maybe he told you he needed to check on somethin real quick at the factory. You didn't think nothin bout it."
She shook her head hard.
"Then when he made that statement bout bein home all night, you just kept quiet. Maybe you figured it was a slip on his part. And it didn't matter anyway."
Eva B's hands went into a frenzy. Then all a sudden they dropped into her lap. She slumped even more. Her gaze went to the coffee table and hung there.
A minute drug out.
"How did you know?" She barely whispered it.
I pictured that thong under Ed McAllister's bed. Now I could see why Erika was so much younger than the other women. Mayor B hadn't meant for her to be one a his victims at all, had he? He was simply havin an affair with her—until she did somethin to provoke him. Had he gone over to her house that night knowin he would kill her?
Maybe so. He left no fingerprints. Unless he wiped em away. Or had he made Mike and Stevie clean up that house?
I lifted a shoulder. "Like I said, I know Erika had that ring on when I was with her."
Mrs. B. nodded. She clasped her hands, one thumb rubbin over the other. "I just thought it was like he told me—he needed to do something at the factory before it closed. I still think that. How he got hold of Erika's ring, I don't know. I'll find out when he gets home."
So she still wasn't lettin herself see the whole picture. "It is no use, lyin to one's self."
"How soon will he come home?"
Her jaw firmed. "Soon as I can bail him out."
I started to press her for exactly when that would be but couldn't do it. From the look on her face she wouldn't answer anyway.
I'd made the right choice, sleepin at Deena's tonight.
I patted Mrs. B's arm. "Anything I can do for you before I go?"
"Haven't you done enough?"
Well. Suppose I deserved that.
I rose. "You have my cell phone number. Call me if you need me."
"I won't need you, Cherrie Mae."
I lowered my chin in a nod. How bad I felt leavin this woman. All alone here and sick. Not knowin what to think bout her husband. And here I stood before her—a friend. But with my mind set on bringin her husband to justice for the murders he done.
Some friend.
Eva Bradmeyer didn't bother to get up as I headed for the doh. She waited till I was bout to step into the hall, then called out. "By the way, Cherrie Mae!"
I turned back, my heart heavy. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're fired."
http://www.pulitzer.org/works/2010-Feature-Writing
2010 Pulitzer Prize
Feature Writing
The Jackson Bugle
Gone to Ground
What happens to a small, quiet Southern town when evil invades in the form of a serial killer?
By: Trent Williams
October 29, 2010
(Excerpt)
The meager facts about the murders cast paltry light on the kind of person who would commit such crimes. The victims, although all women, were not sexually assaulted. They were killed with knives from their own kitchens and with one quick stab to the carotid artery. No torture here, certainly no overkill as tends to be found in crimes of passion. These murders, in fact, display a decided lack of passion, as if the killer merely wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible. Chief Cotter at one time speculated that the precision of the wounds may point to a perpetrator with some medical background. However, the chief's later pursuit of a suspect (who didn't pan out) proved he had shoved that theory aside—at least for the time being.
If one follows the legends of Hollywood and TV talking heads, the culprit will prove to be a white male, a loner, and psychotic. But according to the FBI, these general "profiles" of serial killers are myths. History has shown they are not all social misfits. Some of the most well known modern-day serial killers in our nation have been husbands, even fathers, employed and sometimes active in church. Neither are multiple murderers always white males. Sex is not their sole motivation—as clearly shown in the Closet Killings. And, contrary to belief, some serial killers can and do cease their activity for myriad reasons.
Theodore Stets's wish that "five is enough" is not beyond the realm of possibility. The town can only hope.
Chapter 36
Deena
As I waited for Cherrie Mae to arrive, of all people who should I see on my street? Letty June. Walkin down the sidewalk in front of my house like she owned the place. If I hadn't been starin out my front window, I'd have missed her. Now I glowered at her like she was a wild animal skulkin by. What on earth was she doin here? Her house was a good four blocks away.
She'd come to gloat, that's what.
I scanned the parked cars on the street. They were always lined up out there at night, but I didn't see any I couldn't recognize. Had she walked here?
Before I knew it, I'd flung open my front door and stalked out to the porch. "What're you doin in front of my house, Letty June?"
She spun toward me like she'd been stung. Her mouse brown hair stuck out in its outdated curls, and her fat face scowled. "I'm out for a walk. It's a free country."
"You come to gawk at my brother's trailer, is that it? Wanted to see if the cops left anything standin?"
"What are you talking about, Deena Ruckland?"
I stomped down my two front steps. "I know you went runnin straight to the cops the other day. Just had to tell them how mad Stevie was at work the night Erika was killed."
"He was mad. And they needed to know."
"What difference does it make?"
"What difference? He was mad enough to kill somebody."
"How would you know what it takes to kill somebody?"
She stuck her hands on her bulgy hips. "You can't be blamin me for what your brother did."
"And you're just so sure he did it, a
ren't you." My legs shook. This woman represented every person in town who wanted to pin the murders on my brother. Who wouldn't think to give him any benefit of the doubt. "You've never given Stevie any slack since the day you first set eyes on him. That make you feel strong, Letty June, pickin on the weak? That make you feel big?"
Cuss words rolled out of her mouth. "I don't have to take this from you." She turned around and started hoofin it down the street.
"You're gonna look as stupid as you are when Stevie's acquitted!"
Letty June whirled back. "He deserves everything he gets, Deena! You know what he did to me Tuesday night? Hmm? He took a five-gallon drum of slippery cleanin fluid and dumped it near the women's bathroom, then said he would tell Mayor B I did it. Then he dumped more in my personal locker."
My head snapped back. Stevie did that?
Well, so what? What had she done to provoke him? Besides, what did that have to do with provin he's a murderer?
Vaguely, I registered the sound of a car comin down the road. "I'm sure you deserved it, Letty June."
She flung her head about. "He deserves to be sittin in jail. For the rest of his life."
I raged two steps toward her. "Get away from my house right now before I run you down."
Letty June smirked. "Oh, great. Two killers in one family." She pivoted and strutted away.
Fury shot through me. I started after her.
Cherrie Mae pulled up to the one empty spot at the curb. Letty June passed by the car as the engine turned off.
I slowed, still seein red.
Cherrie Mae got out of her car, head turnin from Letty June's hunched back to me. Letty June glanced around, then kept on walkin, nose in the air.
Cherrie Mae shut the car door. "Deena?"
I had to look stompin mad. My cheeks were hot, my breath comin like a mad bull's. I shot Letty June one last witherin look. She wasn't worth it. Wouldn't she love to go runnin to the police if I so much as touched her.
"It's nothin." My teeth still clenched. "She's nothin."
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