“Yeah,” he nodded along to something Levi was saying. “What did Lawson tell you?” More nodding. “You know he’s lying—no, I’ve never lied to you—
“No. He wants you to think Dugan killed her.
“He’s using you. He’s always been using you. Lawson wants you to get rid of Dugan so Dugan can take the blame and not be around to defend himself. Where would that leave you?
“I was trying to protect you. And protect other people from you.
“It’s not bullshit, Levi.
“No.
“Come in and talk to me.
“I’m still your friend.
“Don’t do that, Levi.
“There are always other ways.”
As he talked, I could see the grin on Billy’s face melt into a grim line. I hated to see him realize how far away his friend was from the man he remembered.
There was no goodbye. Billy put the phone down and told me, “We need to get Dugan in here.”
“Do you think Levi knows where he is? Or even who he is?”
“He’s seen him at the crime scene. The fence is like a garden of crepe paper flowers and saint candles.”
“When you said ‘all the pieces we need to squeeze,’ what did you mean?”
“We gave Sissy information. She called and shared it with Lawson. Lawson shared it with Levi. I think we have a conspiracy.”
“With what goal? How did killing Rose serve anyone?”
“I don’t know,” he said, staring again at his phone. “But put it with the paint you lifted and it goes way back.”
* * * *
Billy set to work bringing in Deputy Tom Dugan. I headed back to the hospital. A phone call would have told me how Uncle Orson was doing. It wouldn’t have shown me, and I wanted to see for myself. There was one other thing. What better place to hide? I was tired and sore. The bitter cold of the recent days seemed to have seeped into my body. Every feeling I had was somehow frozen, as if I would shatter at any moment. I wanted nothing more than to sit next to Uncle Orson in a darkened room, maybe put my feet up, steal some sleep, and be there when he woke.
Neither life nor duty takes time out for the things we want. My phone rang before I even got out of Forsyth. It was Hosea Fisher.
“You know about cuckoo birds?” he asked.
“How did you get this number, Mr. Fisher?”
“You gave it to me. That mornin’. You gave me your card and said to call you if I had more to say.”
It had only been a couple of days since Rose Sharon was found dead. It seemed like a long lifetime. “I guess I did. So you have more to say?”
“Don’t you listen?”
“Pardon?”
“Cuckoos and cuckolds, drunkards and fools. It’s like we’re all soiling the same nest and no one wants to talk about it.”
My tired brain was reeling trying to make sense of the conversation. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Girl, I’ve found sense is what you make of it. Not hopin’ or believing, but twisting it up and putting it in your pocket. Tangles.”
Cops and crazies are like race car drivers on the same track at the same time, running two different races. We’re bound to keep running into each other and trading paint. Whenever I have contact with the drug-addled and the mentally ill, I turn to two thoughts that help me make sense of the situation. First, I say to myself, But for the grace of God… And second, I ask myself the riddle from Alice in Wonderland: Why is a raven like a writing desk? One gives me patience; the other reminds me how I must have sounded more than once.
“Can we try again, Mr. Fisher? I think neither of us is speaking the other’s language.”
“What language are you talkin’? Because I’m telling you straight, and it ain’t an easy thing to say someone else was warmin’ your bed.”
“Are you saying your wife had an affair?”
“Talkin’ to you is about as easy as a chipped-tooth blow job, lady. Had. Is having. I’m the bird fooled by the cuckoo, raising chicks that ain’t my own.”
“You’re not talking about the Sharon kids.”
“I ain’t.”
“You’re talking about Donny. He’s Lawson’s son.”
“An’ I’ve been feathering the nest all this time.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“I ain’t no kind of monster. You don’t live so close to someone without gaining some affection. That girl was a good one. Even Donny was okay. The fact he was a queer burned his momma. I only wonder what it did to his real daddy.” Hosea laughed. It sounded like a choking donkey. “I’m goin’ to get me that lawyer like I said. Sissy’s on her own.”
He disconnected.
I didn’t call back.
Chapter 17
At the hospital I went straight to Donny Fisher’s room. He still had the tube in his throat but he looked stronger. The pad by his bed was tattered and well scribbled. At first he smiled, seeming glad to see me. Something passed over his face as I said hello.
“Your mother told you not to talk to me,” I said.
Donny half smiled. At the same time he reached for the pad.
I stepped forward and handed it over.
He wrote, And lawyer.
“I understand.”
He put his head down and wrote more. When he was finished Donny looked up and hesitated.
“You have a question?” I asked.
He held up the pad and it said, You hit my mother. She has stitches.
“Yes. It was wrong.”
You don’t sound sorry!
I couldn’t hold my gaze on his face. I looked down and thought about what I wanted to say. He was right; I didn’t sound sorry. “I’m not sure I am,” I said, then lifted my eyes back to his.
Donny’s head bobbed. He pursed his lips as if he was about to speak. He wrote, She can be hard to get along with. Hard to like.
“Yes.”
I think everyone has thought about hitting her.
“Has anyone ever done it?”
Hit my mother?
“Yes.”
Why?
“For any reason.”
Donny shook his head and wrote in large letters, Why are you asking?!
“You mother is involved with some dangerous people.”
Lawyer.
I stepped back with my hands up in surrender. “Okay. I understand. But you should know one of those dangerous people is your father.”
Hosea has never hurt anyone.
“But he’s not your father, is he?” I asked.
Billy wasn’t the only one who could stir a pot. I expected a big reaction. Questions. Curses.
Donny Fisher laid the pad and pen in his lap and pointed to the door. He didn’t look angry at all, simply despondent.
I paused, looking around the door at Donny, and said, “One other thing.”
He looked at his lap and waved me away.
“Do you have moccasins?”
He looked up and raised his hand. That time when he pointed it was with his middle finger.
I got the message.
Walking to Orson’s room, I called Billy.
“Are you getting a warrant for the Fishers’ house?” I asked him.
“I’m taking what we have to the judge this afternoon,” he said. “Why?”
“Amend the request on the moccasins. We don’t want to limit it to Sissy’s footwear. Add Donny’s name and clothing to the warrant.”
“You know something for sure?”
“No. But this is one seriously screwed-up family.”
“We’ve got another problem,” he said. The tension in his voice extended into the silence afterward.
“I’m listening.”
“Tom Dugan went AWOL.”
> “What happened?”
“I talked to Calvin. He blew it.”
“Calvin? How?”
I heard Billy’s boots hitting his desk and the big chair squeak. He was still learning how to be comfortable in the office. “It’s as much my fault. I got on the radio to call Dugan in.”
“Nothing more suspicious than the sheriff calling you in personally.”
“Dugan and Calvin were working an injury accident in Rockaway Beach. A car slid down that big hill on Larkspur and hit a mail truck. I guess it wasn’t bad enough I called Dugan myself. Calvin had to tell him it was about time he got dealt with. I guess it escalated from there.”
“Where’s Dugan now?” I asked.
“He left the scene in his cruiser and hasn’t been seen since.” Billy sounded as tired as I felt.
“Where’s Bobbi Rantz?”
“She’s here at the SO. And I’m keeping her here.”
“Okay. I’m going to check on Uncle Orson and Chuck. I’ll come back in after that.”
“Copy that,” Billy said, then broke the line.
* * * *
Uncle Orson’s room was dark and cool. The sounds of the hospital were muted and distant. It reminded me of a time I had been in a cave with Billy. That was another bad point in my life. He had taken me into the darkness to show me a little light.
I didn’t say anything. Without talking to the nurses, I couldn’t be sure if he was sleeping or unconscious. Not knowing was easier than facing hard realities at the moment. Instead of dragging the chair, I lifted it and brought it closer to the bed before sitting.
Orson’s breathing was deep and steady. His face was slack, but still lined. His silvered hair still had tones of reddish brown. I noticed for the first time how thin it was getting on top. It was kind of shaggy. I stood to brush it back.
He didn’t react at all.
I sat back down and instantly fell asleep.
When I woke it was because Clare Bolin was shaking my shoulder.
“I’m awake,” I said, making sure he knew how bothered I was.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said.
I was slumping in the chair. I stretched and straightened my spine. “Where have you been? I thought you would be around here too.”
“I was for a while this morning.”
“How’s he doing?” I looked at Orson.
“You haven’t talked to the doctors?”
“I’ve been putting it off.”
“You should have that talk. They won’t share with me. Not family. But one of the nurses is an old student.”
“And what did she say?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound annoyed that time but I did.
“He’s doing well. The swelling is going down and easing the pressure.”
“He looks like he’s sleeping off a drunk.”
“She said sleep’s the best thing. He just needs time before we can see the truth of what will happen.”
“Thanks, Clare. And thank her.”
“I did.” His smile was soft and inward looking.
“You have something to say?”
“E. Lawson did this?”
“Not directly,” I said. “He hit you and Chuck in Moonshines. He used a guy named Levi Sharon to attack Orson.”
“I’ve done some asking around.”
I looked at Clare, trying to keep the anticipation off my face. “Yeah? Asking who, about what?”
“Asking people who would never talk to you about Lawson.”
“Go on.”
“Some folks say he’s sometimes set up in a trailer deep in the woods off 160.”
I sat up straighter. “Where on 160?”
“Between 176 and Silver Creek Road.”
“The land owned by Hosea Fisher,” I said, sure of myself.
“That’s something that there’s a little scandalous talk about.”
“What?”
“Some people say Hosea owns the north side acreage. Some say his wife owns the land to the south.”
“And the trailer Lawson likes to hole up in is parked south of Highway 160.”
“You got it.”
I pulled out my phone. Billy needed to know about that trailer and the land it sat on. It could be added to the warrant request.
“Something else you should know,” Clare said.
I looked up from the phone. It was already ringing.
“I’m not the only one who’s been asking around. A deputy named Dugan has been making noise.”
The call connected and I filled Billy in. Clare slipped out while we were talking. After hanging up, I was alone with Uncle Orson and now wide awake. It was nice but seemed unproductive. On TV you always see people reading to unconscious patients. I didn’t know if it helped. It couldn’t hurt.
I wandered out to the nurses’ station to look for something to read. The girl who had been a student of Clare’s offered me a book from her purse. She also offered the disclaimer that it might not be my kind of book.
The next few hours were spent reading a sexy romance by Sierra Cartwright to Uncle Orson. It may not have been his kind of book. It was definitely mine. I probably would have kept reading until the happily ever after if not for the return of the nurse. She brought in a tray for me and a fresh saline bag for Orson.
I stared at the bland-looking plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans, trying to remember the last time I had eaten. It didn’t matter how bland it was. I ate without tasting. I may have eaten the whole meal without chewing.
After eating my uncle’s dinner, I took the dishes and the book out to the nurses’ station. The tray I stacked on the cart. The book I handed over to the grinning nurse.
“You liked it?” she asked.
“I hope you have it here tomorrow,” I answered, echoing the smile. “My uncle really wants to know how it ends.”
“I bet he does.” She laughed.
My mood was much better leaving the hospital than it had been arriving. Uncle Orson would be okay. I was feeling sure of it. That’s the thing about me and optimism. We have a gambler’s relationship. The odds are always against a payout. Still, I always feel like this time is the one.
I lost again.
The midwinter sun was already down when I reached the exit. The sliding doors opened and let in a blast of air so strong and cold it brought tears to my eyes then froze them. I zipped my coat up tight and put my face down. From under the covered drop-off zone I heard a woman shouting. The wind covered the words, but not the fear.
Sissy Fisher was beside an idling truck, trying to pull her arm away from the grip of E. Lawson. The cheek wound and bruising I had given her was matched on the other side by a fresh swelling that promised a new black eye.
She shouted again. It turned into a scream as he twisted her arm in an effortless one-handed grip.
Lawson yelled back at her. The sound was wrong. Not simply taken by the wind, it was an incoherent babble of anger. When I remembered he was still dealing with a truncated and stitched tongue I felt gratified.
There wasn’t any time to bask in the feeling. I went for my weapon.
He saw me. The evil delight in his face was colder than the weather.
To get to my gun I had to open my coat and reach my holster. I wasn’t fast enough. Lawson pulled Sissy along as he strode forward. He was still ten feet away when I cleared my weapon. He threw Sissy like a sidearm pitcher.
She hit me hard. I heard the breath go out of both our lungs. Then I heard my pistol clattering on the walkway. I expected him to kick me while I was down or to pull me up for a crushing punch. I prepared for that by pulling my knee to my chest. I was planning on putting my foot in his crotch. He surprised me and Sissy both by dragging her off me, keeping her dangling between us. I rolled and reached blindly for
my gun. Then, for the second time, he used her for his weapon. He dropped her on my back.
I couldn’t tell the next time if Sissy got herself out of the way or if Lawson did it. Her weight disappeared from me. The next moment he was pulling me up into a bear hug. His huge arms circled my torso. The ribs that were already damaged and painful literally crunched inside my body. The screaming I heard was my own.
“Stop,” Sissy shouted from the ground. “You’ll kill her.”
Lawson grinned at the thought, only an inch from my face.
I reared back and slammed my head forward.
He saw me coming and lowered his own head. It was skull against skull, and his was much tougher than mine. I tried to slap my palms against his ears. I pulled his hair and I gouged at his eye.
Lawson laughed at me like I was nothing. His milky white eye was shimmering like quicksilver as my vision became fluid. I was afraid that the last sight of my life was going to be his crooked yellow teeth guarding the black hole of his mouth.
“Ust annoter itch,” he said then laughed, squeezing tighter.
It was his attempt at calling me a bitch that saved me. His speech reminded me of the damaged tongue. While he laughed I shot my hand forward, shoving it as deep as I could into his mouth. I grabbed the nub of his tongue between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed with all the strength I could muster.
It was his turn to scream. When his grip loosened I fell. I kept hold of the tongue as long as I could. My gun was in sight when I hit the ground. It was only a few feet away. The crawl to reach it seemed endless. Each instant I expected to be lifted again.
I got the weapon in my hand and rolled over with it at the ready. I didn’t plan on a warning or threat. If he had still been standing there I would have shot him.
I was alone.
Lawson was gone. His truck was already rolling away.
Sissy was also gone. With Lawson or into the hospital, I didn’t know. At that moment I didn’t care. The only thing I really cared about was getting to my feet. The trail of fresh blood leading to where Lawson’s truck had been was a bonus.
A Killing Secret Page 18