Looking the tortured man in the eyes, Sheriff Arnold knew he was speaking the truth. Preacher shook his head, then added, “He didn’t kill that girl, Mister Sheriff. He might’ve done some bad things, but he couldn’t kill nobody.”
“I hope you’re right,” the sheriff answered, then flipped the notebook back to his earlier notes on the Barnett accident. “When I talked to you Sunday,” he continued, “you said you didn’t know anything about the Barnett accident. That still correct?”
“Oh, yessir.”
“Even though Nancy Barnett’s purse was found not a hundred yards from your house?”
“That’s right, Mister Sheriff. None of us heard nothin'-”
Preacher broke off as the sheriff suddenly leaned forward to grab the bracelet from the coffee table. He turned the engraved heart over between his fingers, then looked sternly at the colored man. “Who does this belong to?” he asked.
Preacher eyed the trinket. “I ain’t never seen it afore,” he mumbled.
“And you?” the sheriff interjected as he held the jewelry toward Maybelle.
“Me neither,” she answered coldly.
Preacher glanced at the lawman in wonder. “Why do you ask?” he questioned.
Sheriff Arnold turned the engraved heart toward the colored man and pointed to the etched letters. “N.S.B.” he said. “Nancy Sue Barnett.”
Preacher slumped against the back of the sofa, as Maybelle turned enquiringly to each man, still uncertain as to what was happening. Finally, Preacher leaned forward. “But that don’t make sense, Mister Sheriff. Demetrius ain’t been here since Thursday. And that accident happened Friday-”
“I’m not accusing anybody of anything,” the sheriff interrupted. “For all I know, this could belong to someone else. Just a coincidence that the initials match. Stranger things have happened.”
Preacher breathed a sigh of relief.
“But as for Demetrius being away,” the sheriff went on, “nobody was at your house Sunday morning. I know, because I stopped by. Demetrius knew you’d all be at church, too. He could easily have come inside to gather some of his things.”
The sheriff rose to his feet and eased toward the door. “I’ll need to take this with me,” he said, referring to the bracelet. Preacher nodded his approval. “And I want you and your wife to check very carefully to see if any of Demetrius’ things are missing.”
Preacher nodded again, but Maybelle, still reclining on the sofa, shook her head violently from side to side. Sheriff Arnold noted her objection. “Ma’am,” he said to her. “It’s important that we find Demetrius. Now, I doubt that your son’s a killer. But those friends of his most likely are. And they just might decide they’d be better off if your son wasn’t around any longer. Understand?”
Mrs. Mason stared blankly ahead, but the sheriff knew his message had been received and understood. “I’m real sorry about this,” he said. “You folks are fine people.”
Stepping outside to the porch, Sheriff Arnold heard the vicious growl of the dog from a nearby shed. He turned to Preacher and asked, “Do you have any idea where Demetrius might be?”
“No, Mister Sheriff,” Preacher answered. “I done looked everywhere myself.”
Sheriff Arnold flipped his notebook open again to a clean page. “You’d better tell me the boy’s known hangouts anyway,” he said.
13
As darkness settled over the trailer, Wayne hurriedly washed the dinner dishes. Nancy sat upright on the small sofa. The television was on, but at low volume, and Nancy wasn’t watching it. Instead, she was observing Wayne with admiration. He seemed so natural in the kitchen, and he was an excellent cook. He was also mannerly. Intelligent. In a strange way, she felt relieved that it had been him who had rescued her from the river. He’d taken good care of her. And her ordeal had certainly lessened the impact of her own injuries and the loss of her husband. But what exactly did Wayne have in mind for her? He still hadn’t leveled with her. And now that her strength was returning, she felt restless.
Wayne dropped a wet dish towel neatly over a rack beneath the kitchen cabinets and breathed a sigh of relief. “Glad that’s done,” he said with a smile.
“Wayne, we need to talk,” Nancy said.
“All talk and no action?” he answered jokingly. This afternoon she’d noticed an increasing relaxation in Wayne’s manner. He was obviously feeling more at ease with her and had begun to tease her with good-natured sexual innuendos.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
Wayne sat on the sofa beside her.
“You know this has got to end,” she said.
Wayne frowned and avoided her eyes. “I suppose so,” he mumbled.
Nancy reached out and touched his cheek. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” she said. “Aside from our first night, you’ve been a perfect gentleman, except for—”
Wayne turned to hide the tears in his eyes.
“Don’t feel sorry for yourself—”
“But you don’t understand,” he interrupted. “I’m a grown man, and this is the closest I’ve ever been to a woman.”
“That’s difficult to believe,” she said with a touch of sincerity. “You’re a good catch. You’ve got many good qualities. I would think you’d have lots of girlfriends.”
“Don’t try to con me,” he snapped.
“I’m only being honest,” she countered.
Wayne wiped his eyes and admired her pretty face. “You’re special, Nancy. I feel so good with you. I’ve never felt this way before.”
Nancy blushed and averted his attention.
“I mean it,” he went on. “I’m a different person when I’m with you.” He chuckled to himself and sighed. “All those times I was rejected by the snobby girls at Butler’s Lake would be worthwhile if I could have someone like you.”
Nancy perked up at the last comment. “I used to go to Butler’s Lake when I visited Liz in the summer.”
“No kidding!”
“Sure!” she laughed, her face suddenly red with embarrassment. “Once I went down the slide into the water and my top came off! It was just awful!”
Wayne laughed, then added, “That’s funny! You know, I remember hearing the guys at school talking about a girl’s top coming off at Butler’s Lake during the summer. I must have been thirteen or fourteen years old. I always seemed to miss out on things like that.”
Nancy blushed and turned away from him.
Wayne hung his head. “That’s the story of my life,” he said.
Suddenly Nancy found herself stirred by compassion. Wayne was a kind, gentle man, a truly decent human being.
“I believe in you,” she said softly, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “Let’s end this now, and put our lives back together.”
To cap off an especially good day, Donald Hart shed his uniform and drove to Terrie’s Lounge for a beer. It was one of his favorite off-duty haunts. Even the smoky, stagnant air over the bar failed to bother him as he reflected on the most recent developments.
It seemed that the ever-bumbling Sheriff Arnold had somehow found the missing bracelet inside the nigger’s house. How it got there, Hart had no idea. Nor did it matter that the nigger preacher himself was not the suspect, but instead, the nigger’s son. What was important was that his original hunch had paid off. He’d known all along that those niggers were involved in a crime of some kind. Though a warrant had yet to be issued, the boy was wanted in connection with the Sampson murder, and for questioning in the Barnett case. Even before Sheriff Arnold had taken the bracelet to the Farrell home for identification by the Barnett woman’s parents, Hart had leaked the news anonymously to the press. Before the dust settled on both cases, he would surface as the true force behind their solutions. In the meantime, he’d do his damnedest to find that Mason boy and whip his ass before dragging him to jail.
Funny, Hart thought. This afternoon everything had been a disaster. But somehow the pieces had all fallen into p
lace.
Hart burped and, sliding off the bar stool, flipped a dime to the countertop for a tip. Tonight’s late newscast would be starting soon, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Nancy could feel herself panicking. She was lying in bed beneath the covers, clad in the same flannel pajamas, and Wayne was bashfully undressing. Moonbeams danced through the darkness across the wrinkled bedsheet as Nancy frantically considered what to do.
“Wayne, please,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood—I never meant for this—”
After convincing her of his innocence, Wayne had then misinterpreted her sympathy toward him. It’s no wonder he has problems with women, Nancy realized—he doesn’t know how to read a woman’s signals! Quietly he slipped beneath the blanket beside her.
“Please, Wayne, don’t spoil it now,” she pleaded. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Wayne pulled the blanket below her waist. “I just want to be close to you,” he whispered.
He put his arm around her and hugged her body close. Feeling the change in his body caused by his physical excitement, she tactfully pushed him away.
“Wayne!” she scolded him. “If you don’t leave me alone, you’ll blow everything!”
He stopped and Nancy could see the hurt-puppy look in his eyes. And although she couldn’t understand why, a rush of compassion washed over her. Tears streamed from her eyes; her body trembled. She knew she was strong enough now to jam her knee between his legs and run. But in a mysterious, and unexplainable way, she wanted him. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to bask in the warmth of human concern and affection, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give in.
Wayne leaned over to kiss her, but she forced him away again. He swallowed hard, and then stroked her hair. “It’s all right,” he said.
“No,” she moaned. “I’m not—I shouldn’t—”
“Yes,” he “urged her on. “We depend on each other. And you know how I feel about you.”
Silently, Nancy turned away. Wayne reached around her shoulder and began to unbutton her flannel top. She lifted her hand to stop him, resting her palm over his fingers but finally allowed him to continue. His hand reached inside to squeeze her left breast, its nipple pointed and erect. Both reveled in the pleasure of his touch, and Nancy’s head began to roll softly from side to side against her pillow as Wayne licked and caressed her nipples.
Her body tingling with excitement, Nancy began to gasp for air, relaxing her weight against the mattress, then tensing again as his hand slid beneath the elastic band of her pajama bottom.
She looked into his eyes, barely visible in the darkened room. “I want to,” she panted, “but I can’t.”
His fingers traced circles through her pubic hair, moving further down to the moistness of her vaginal lips. As he touched her ever so tenderly, her body trembled with intense arousal. She recalled the discomfort of Charlie’s crude initial touch. He had forced his hand inside her pants and groped for self-pleasure, with no regard to her feelings. But here was a sensitive man of little experience whose every movement elicited waves of sexual pleasure. And she suddenly realized it was because Wayne honestly cared for her, no matter what her feelings were toward him. His fingers were not merely exploring—they were making love.
Wayne pushed the pajama bottom past her hips and over her knees. Filled with confused emotions, Nancy squirmed. She was hot and wet and no longer able to control herself.
Wayne, however, was beyond the point of no return. Slowly he mounted her and directed his penis between her legs, the tickle of pubic hair wildly exciting against his rigid shaft.
“Wayne,” she moaned. “Can’t we wait?”
The sticky warmth of her vaginal lips teased his erection. Awkwardly he tried to enter her, but found himself tensing with sexual release. His back arched, and his legs stiffened, as semen poured across her stomach. He gasped and collapsed on top of her. “I’m sorry,” he panted, suddenly ashamed. “Please forgive me.”
Nancy sniffled in the dark, her body limp and unfulfilled, but thankful that by the grace of God, the act had not been consummated. Wayne stumbled to the bathroom for toilet tissue to clean up the mess, and when he returned, she was crying softly. Wiping her dry, he begged for forgiveness. “Please don’t think badly of me,” he pleaded.
She rolled away, still crying softly into her pillow.
Carefully, he spread a blanket and quilt over her heaving form. “Nancy,” he whispered softly. “I … love … you.”
Scooping up his clothes from the floor, he left the room and closed the door. After he had washed in the bathroom, Wayne dressed and then stepped into the living room. The television was playing at low volume, and as he reached to turn off the set, a news anchorman’s words caught his attention: “Steve Willard has more about that dramatic breakthrough in the investigations of three Shelby County deaths.”
His eyes glued to the dim screen, Wayne leaned closer to the set and turned up the volume.
WILLARD: Although the Shelby County Sheriffs Office refuses to comment, an unidentified source told wbrc News late tonight that at least four suspects are wanted in connection with the death of young Bertha Mae Sampson, a Negro teenager whose body was discovered during the recent search for Nancy Sue Barnett, the victim of last Friday night’s freak automobile accident. But now the question arises, was it, indeed, an accident? Our source assures us that one of the suspects is also wanted for questioning in regard to the Barnett accident. Evidence has supposedly been uncovered that, at least circumstantially, links the suspect to the accident victim. Again, the Sheriffs Office refuses to either confirm or deny these allegations. Regardless, this latest development has no bearing on the district attorney’s pending negligence charge against Arbor Construction Company.
Wayne snapped off the set when the newscaster shifted to another story, then extinguished the light and reclined on the sofa in deep thought, his hands behind his head. Their informant was obviously wrong, he knew.
Carefully he got up and tip-toed down the hall to peek into the bedroom. She appeared to be asleep. Groping his way back to the sofa, he relaxed again. Although Nancy had been upset by his lack of control, he knew she’d get over it, just as she had before. At first it hadn’t seemed possible that she would ever express any feelings for him. But she hadn’t resisted. And never had he been more surprised and pleased.
As he reviewed their physical interlude, Wayne’s penis grew erect again. Nancy was everything to him. And in time she would feel the same. But that would be difficult. Sooner or later she’d be discovered. A trailer was no place to hold someone captive.
Of course, they could run away … The more he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed. He could withdraw what little money was left in his bank account and simply vanish. He’d always wanted to see the Smoky Mountains. They could live deep in the backcountry until Nancy was ready to accept him as her husband. And considering her improved state of mind, it shouldn’t take long.
The thought of having her forever brightened Wayne’s thoughts. He tried to sleep, but found himself wide awake with excitement.
Not far away, huddling alone in thick, inky darkness, Demetrius Mason also tried to sleep—anything to keep his mind from his own misery. He could hear an occasional bat flutter by, but in the total absence of light inside the cave, he could see nothing. The steady drip of water was maddening, but at least the temperature remained constant, protecting him from the winter outside. Wounded and starving, he waited, his energy ebbing fast. He had yelled for help until his voice had grown hoarse, and had finally given up. His stomach ached with waves of pain, and countless times he licked seeping water from cracks in the rock walls around him. The blood that flowed from his side had long since dried to a crusty paste.
They had left him for dead, he knew. And although he had lived longer already than they had expected, he realized he was quickly running out of time.
14
Tuesday
>
Day Five
By early morning an APB had been issued across the state of Alabama for the following persons:
Terrell “Jason” Thomas—Negro male, age 19, 6'2,” 190 lbs., prior arrests including assault and battery, and breaking and entering
Henry Lee Carny—Negro male, age 18, 5’10,” 175 lbs., only prior charge being child molestation which was subsequently withdrawn for reasons unknown
Demetrius Louis Mason—Negro male, age 19, 5’11,” 160 lbs., no prior record
Rufus Rayburn—Negro male, origin and prior record, if any, unknown
All units were alerted for a faded red 1957 Chevy pickup, license 1A-22601, one headlight and front grill smashed, and a missing tailgate. Law enforcement officials in both Jefferson and Shelby Counties expressed confidence that, as the fugitives were rank amateurs, they would be apprehended soon.
A red-eyed Sheriff Arnold reported to work at sunrise following only three hours of sleep. Two journalists were waiting outside the courthouse, only to be rudely pushed aside by the angry lawman as he stormed inside. Feeling reasonably certain that the leak to the press had originated from Hart, he snatched the private notebook from his desk and poised himself to write. Unfortunately, the script flowed slowly, as there was little in the way of concrete testimony to record. The sheriff slammed the desktop in disgust, sending a corner metal ashtray clanging to the floor. Wearily, he ran a nervous hand across his receding hairline.
Hart was getting to him, there was no doubt. In an effort to calm himself, he relaxed his weight against the back of his chair. Was he being entirely objective about Hart? The sheriff felt a growing dislike for the man and feared he might have let his personal feelings influence his professional judgment. But he knew Hart was not to be trusted, and vowed, once again, to rid the county of Hart’s inept service. He would have to be patient, until the facts were substantial enough to speak for themselves. Then he would ask the personnel board for Hart’s removal. Until then, he would assign Hart only routine drudgery so that the bored deputy would decide to leave voluntarily.
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