“I’m sorry …” he mumbled, trying to disguise his disappointment, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she blurted, turning her head quickly away. “You’ll get what you deserve.”
Her vicious tone made Wayne feel tense, once again. How could she speak to him in such a way? Had he completely misjudged the subtle changes in her attitude he thought he had perceived?
Closing her eyes and massaging her temples, Nancy then took a deep breath, and apologized. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt. But if you want me to understand you—why not put yourself in my position for awhile? I’ve been hurt, I’ve lost my husband, and I’m a prisoner. Can you even begin to imagine how I feel?”
“You don’t deserve this, I know,” he said soothingly. “And I promise I’ll take you home soon.”
For the first time she perceived his insecurity and lack of confidence, and again, she could have sworn he was being sincere.
“I’d give anything to change those few moments before you woke up and first saw me. That was the biggest mistake of my life,” he said. The darkness hid his blushing cheeks. “I know it must have been awful for you, but I really didn’t do anything—honest.”
“It’s all right,” she interrupted. “As crazy as this all seems, at times I feel half-way convinced that you’re telling the truth.”
Wayne’s face brightened. “Please try—to understand, I mean. It’s important that you know what I’m like. Not only to keep me out of trouble, but because I care about you. I’ve enjoyed having you here.”
Noticing the glitter in her eyes, he felt uneasy. Was she lying to him again? There was too much at stake to trust her just yet.
“They said on TV you were from Georgia. Were you just passing through?” he asked.
Relaxing, Nancy settled her head into the pillow. “I was coming to visit my cousin Liz—”
“Lizzie Farrell?” Wayne interrupted. “God, I’ve known her for years!”
“Really?”
“Sure! I even dated her once, a couple of years ago. She’s nice.”
Nancy turned to face him again. “Wayne?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you going … to tie me up … tonight?”
Wayne frowned and hung his head. “I really wish I didn’t have to,” he said. “But I think it would be best if I did. Besides, you’re not able to walk, and if you tried to get up, you could hurt yourself.”
Nancy huffed in exasperation. “But it’s so uncomfortable,” she said. “I promise I won’t leave the bed.”
For a moment he seriously considered her request. But then a vision came to mind, of a police car sliding to a stop in front of the trailer.
“No!” he said sternly. “Don’t ask. I’ll leave off the gag, if you promise not to scream. But, for now, you’ll have to be tied, for both our sakes.”
As Nancy sulked, Wayne silently admired her. He wondered if perhaps she liked it when he exerted his control, and thought it was masculine. Finally he reached for the nylon strips on the nearby dresser. “I know it’s early,” he said, “but you need all the rest you can get.”
Nancy shrugged. “All right, I won’t complain,” she said. “But would you help me to the bathroom first?”
“Sure,” he said. He leaned forward to brush aside a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
“And Wayne -?”
“Yes?”
“Would you play that Beatles record again while I fall asleep?”
Stars littered the heavens in such numbers that the sky looked like a fake backdrop for a cheap motion picture. From nearby Kelley Creek, croaking frogs joined in an off-beat chorus with crickets by the thousands. Dark and forbidding, the Mason house stood amidst these cheerful night sounds, eerily silent except for the snarling growl of an unseen dog.
Parked in front of the house, in his squad car Deputy Hart sat fumbling nervously with a flashlight. He swallowed hard, pausing to listen. As he’d expected, no lights were on inside, because the family was away at evening church services. But the dog was an unforeseen complication.
As the steady tick of the cooling engine died, Hart pulled the door handle with just enough force to disengage the latch. The slight click of the handle brought with it a vicious increase in pitch from the dog. Where is the hairy bastard? Hart wondered. His eyes were only now adjusting to the darkness. Finally the moon wandered from behind a cloud and spread a dim but even glow over the landscape.
Hart rolled down the window. As far as he could determine, the growl seemed to originate from the front porch. He snapped on the flashlight and aimed its beam—the dog lay crouched at the top step, its white teeth glistening in the light. “Shit!” Hart cursed, feeling for the bracelet in his shirt pocket. He needed to get inside the house, to put the jewelry in a place that would be easily seen when he came back the next day.
Carefully, he eased from the car, hoping the dog would back down. But as he approached the house, the animal seemed all the more determined to attack. I could kill the fucker, he considered, and slowly reached for his holster. His hand dropped to the butt of his revolver, but rested there. The bullet could be traced to his weapon—that would be too risky. Quickly he scanned the area for a board or a club. Nothing was within easy reach. “Shit!” he cursed again. The dog responded by inching forward, with a show of teeth even more threatening than ever.
Pulling the bracelet from his pocket, Hart held it tightly in his right hand, as if to give himself motivation, for he knew another opportunity to find the Mason home empty might come too late. Cautiously he eased forward, slowly closing in on the dog. I’ll kick his balls if he attacks, he thought, keeping a wary eye glued to the animal at all times.
“Nice doggie,” he crooned, but to no avail—the growling intensified.
Shifting the bracelet to his left hand, Hart drew his service revolver with his right. A hard rap with the gun barrel would convince the dog to keep his distance, Hart decided, taking a deep breath and quickening his pace.
Suddenly the dog sprang from the porch, sailing through the air and colliding with the surprised deputy. Hart sprawled to the ground, screaming and kicking in self-defense as he tried to avoid the animal’s fangs. Somehow he managed to grab the loose skin on the dog’s back and succeeded in keeping its gaping jaws from his face. But, wrenching its head around, the dog sank its teeth twice into Hart’s arm. Despite the pain shooting through his damaged arm the lawman managed to aim a glancing blow of the gun at the animal’s skull, stunning him long enough so he could escape.
Abandoning his mission, Hart jumped to his feet and raced for the car, barely making it inside before the dog attacked once more. Safe at last, wheezing to catch his breath, Hart holstered his weapon. Then he remembered—the bracelet] He aimed the flashlight, its beam reflecting from the shiny metal chain near the base of the front steps. The glimmer of jewelry promptly caught the dog’s attention. Diverted, the animal padded forward, tongue lapping, and grasped the bracelet in its mouth, then scampered back to the front porch.
“Well, I’ll just be goddamned,” Hart muttered, wincing at the pain in his arm. The wound would need treatment against rabies, he realized, angrily twisting the ignition key and throwing the transmission into reverse. First, he’d go home and change his clothes. Then he’d drive his own car to an out-of-town hospital for emergency treatment. The bracelet was in place on the premises, and that’s all that mattered. Tomorrow he’d return in an official capacity and find the damn thing.
Lying awake on the sofa, Wayne watched the trees swaying in the moonlight. Nancy had behaved herself in the bathroom and hadn’t complained when he tied her to the mattress. Now, hours later, Wayne was still unable to sleep. He’d made up his mind—he wouldn’t report to work tomorrow. He’d call in sick until this situation was resolved. Perhaps he could still find a respectable way out.
Wayne yawned. Although his eyes were heavy, his mind was so alive with thoughts and visions that s
leep evaded him. Nancy’s so pretty, he thought. Now that much of his fear of her had finally disappeared, he enjoyed having her around, and he knew she’d realize soon that he hadn’t made any real moves on her. Then they could go their separate ways.
A cold wind slammed against the trailer while Nancy slept soundly in the bedroom. And as morning approached, over a hundred miles away in Columbus, Georgia, a crisp, white frost blanketed the fresh gravesite of Charles Barnett.
11
Monday
Day Four
Awakening at sunrise to the crow of a rooster, Preacher Mason readied himself for a busy day. Seated at the breakfast table, he sipped cautiously at a steaming cup of coffee, as Maybelle, leaning against the kitchen sink, stared at her husband through bloodshot eyes.
“You ought to get out there and find him, or we’ll never get no sleep,” she scolded her husband through a stifled yawn.
Preacher hung his head, repeating for the third time, “I’ve got to work today. I’ll look for him after I get off.”
Although Preacher had been the janitor of Selton High School for almost fifteen years, he still earned only slightly above the minimum wage. But for an uneducated Negro in the rural South, he felt it was the best he could do. Besides, it provided a steady income that he couldn’t afford to jeopardize.
“Those boys in Leeds—they’re bound to know where Demetrius is—“ Maybelle began.
“Those boys in Leeds probably ain’t in Leeds no more,” Preacher interrupted. “They’re hidin’ out, just like he is.”
“But we don’t even know for sure what they did.”
“No, we don’t,” Preacher mumbled. “We don’t know nothin'. But I’m not about to lose my job over it. The rest of us has got to eat. And if the boy is guilty, he’s got to pay the price. It ain’t for us to judge—that’s the Lord’s job.”
Unable to withstand the anguish, Maybelle flung herself around her husband, holding him tightly as a reservoir of tears unleashed. Lovingly, he patted his wife on the back.
“He’ll come home on his own,” he soothed her. “And that’ll be best for all of us.”
But at the back of his mind, guilt nagged at his conscience. The proper thing for you to do under the eyes of the Lord, Preacher, is to tell Sheriff Arnold what you suspect.
Already Sheriff Arnold felt relieved. At the meeting in his office that had broken up only minutes before, Deputy Granger, as he’d expected, had quickly grasped the urgency of the two investigations. Hart, however, had sat, sullen and unresponsive, and after the sheriff had dismissed Granger, he’d taken the young lawman aside, and had given him notice that his job was on the line. The sheriff sat, savouring the return of his control. He knew Granger would be busy talking to Nancy Barnett’s parents who were still staying with the Farrells in Selton. He was hopeful that they’d be able to tell Granger how much money Mrs. Barnett had been carrying, and whether or not her husband was inclined to pick up hitchhikers. Hart, on the other hand, would be at the accident site, directing the search efforts further downstream. And while all this was taking place, the sheriff planned a short drive to Leeds, in Jefferson County, to talk with Bertha Mae Sampson’s parents. It would be a busy day, but at least the wheels of justice were turning again.
Hart’s attitude seemed to be worsening. This morning the deputy had complained of a bruised arm and requested time off until the swelling went down. Sheriff Arnold had merely laughed at the notion, attacking his subordinate for his lack of dedication to his job. It seemed that Donald Hart had not yet learned that there were few people who could put things over on Sheriff Chester Arnold.
Taking a ruled pad from the center drawer of his desk, the sheriff carefully noted Hart’s recent acts of carelessness. When the facts were substantial enough to document Hart’s dereliction of duty, he intended to take it to the county personnel board.
The sheriff grinned as he put the notes away. Soon, Hart’s tour of duty would be re-routed—from Kelley Creek, without a paddle, to Shit Creek, without a boat.
After sleeping almost twelve hours, Nancy awoke calm and refreshed. She lay in silence, her mind blank. Not once did memories of her deceased husband enter her thoughts. Nor did she recall the accident or her first frightening encounter with Wayne. Instead she felt as if she were living in a dream world and had been reborn as a completely new being. Realizing with pleasant surprise that Wayne had already untied her, she concentrated her energy into her right leg. Moving the leg from side to side, she was encouraged when she managed to raise it slightly before surrendering to the pain. Next she tested her shoulder, but found it too sore and swollen to work with. Instead, she ran her fingertips across the bump on her forehead and discovered that it, too, had diminished.
As the aroma of breakfast drifted from the kitchen, Nancy took a fresh look at her situation. Her injuries were not as serious as she had once feared, but the resulting soreness still impaired her movement. Instinctively, though, she knew that she could walk, or at least stagger, if she had to. And that fact must be kept secret from Wayne. If there was to be another chance to escape, she’d have to catch him off guard, and that would be easier to do if he perceived her as bedridden.
More and more Nancy wanted to believe that Wayne was harmless, although chances were good that he was suffering from some type of mental disorder. For now, she would simply play him along, gain his confidence, then escape at the first opportunity. And if a relatively risk-free chance didn’t materialize soon, she supposed she would have to force one.
Vaguely, she remembered earlier attempts to disable her captor. She had struck him in the head once, and later, tried to cut him with a razor. But she had been weak then. Now her strength was slowly returning, and along with the element of surprise, she should be able to escape when the next occasion arose.
Nancy leaned over the side of the bed and craned her neck to see down the hallway.
“Wayne?” she called, then heard the metal clatter of a spatula dropped into the sink, followed by quick footsteps to her door.
“Yes?” he answered with a look of concern.
“Would you help me to the bathroom, please?”
Wayne smiled and jumped to her assistance. “Certainly. Do you feel like lying on the sofa while I finish breakfast?”
Nancy returned his smile. “That might be nice.”
Yielding to her desire for privacy in the bathroom, Wayne returned to the stove to check the scrambled eggs. The brightness of his face revealed all—she had smiled, with no sign of fear!
“I’m finished,” she yelled and he bounded to her side. Even though her hair was tangled and her breath was foul—she was still dazzling to him. Today there was a previously unseen sparkle in her big brown eyes. Seated on the toilet, but still clothed in the flannel pajamas, she looked up to him again.
“Wayne …” she began, obviously reluctant and embarrassed, “I need some … personal things … from a drug store.”
“Yes?”
She looked away. “Nothing much. Just a toothbrush and some makeup … and … and … sanitary napkins.”
“Sanitary napkins?” he questioned.
“You know,” she hesitated, and then, after a hard swallow, whispered, “Kotex!”
Wayne’s face flushed. He wiped his forehead, then stuttered, “Uh … y-y-yes. I’ll go into town 1-1-later this morning.”
Nancy was blushing, too. She avoided his eyes and muttered, “I really would … appreciate it.”
Still hot around the collar, Wayne took a deep breath. Jesus! Buying Kotex would be absolutely mortifying. But somehow he would manage.
Regaining her composure, Nancy looked up at Wayne. “Smells like the eggs are burning,” she grinned.
“Oh, no!” Wayne raced back to the kitchen to find a crusty mass of lumpy black eggs in the skillet. Turning off the burner, he opened a nearby window to ventilate the smoke, while from the bathroom, Nancy laughed, soon to be joined by Wayne as he marveled at the marked change in her attitude.
When the smoke cleared, he hurried back to her side. She smiled and Wayne could feel his eyes filling.
But this time they were tears of joy.
Willpower, Liz Farrell reminded herself as she scanned the kitchen table which was spread from end to end with food offerings from sympathetic neighbors. Deliriously fragrant cakes and pies of all varieties also lined the adjacent countertop. Nancy’s parents, Ralph and Helen Anderson, were staying with the Farrells, and many of the local residents fondly remembered the Georgia couple from when they had lived in the area years before. But what a painful homecoming the two had faced, Liz thought, watching them through the doorway as they sat on the living room sofa. Martha Farrell sat at Helen’s side, trying to comfort her sister for the loss of her only child. Resisting temptation, Liz turned away from the table, and whispering “Mom?” motioned for her mother to come to the kitchen.
Martha looked up, and concerned by her daughter’s harried look, excused herself and came into the kitchen. Sympathetic about the many misfortunes her daughter had suffered through in recent weeks, she extended a loving hand to Liz.
“Mom, something has got to happen soon,” Liz said, taking the proffered hand. “None of us can stand this kind of tension much longer.”
“I know,” Martha answered. “I wish Tom hadn’t gone to work today. I told him we needed him at home, but you know how he is about—”
“Mom,” Liz interrupted. “I just called the Rob-bins Mortuary in Columbiana.” She wiped away a tear, and then continued. “I asked what kind of funeral arrangements are usually made when a body is missing. And they said none! I can’t believe it, Mother. That means this agony goes on and on until they find Nancy. If they find her. Does Aunt Helen know that?”
“No, honey, I’m sure she doesn’t,” said Martha, tenderly squeezing her daughter’s palm. “I didn’t know it myself.”
“We need to talk to her then.”
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