As I get close to the entryway to the den, I say, “Batman, Iron Man needs your help. Intruders are breaching the perimeter. Come with me. Do not harm Sheriff Jack. We need his help.”
I feel like a prize idiot, but am giving it all I’ve got, not giving in to embarrassment or self-consciousness.
“Batman, did you hear me? I need your help. Why are you doing that to Sheriff Jack, the newest member of the Justice League? We need him.”
“You’re not in the Justice League,” Ralphie says. “You’re an Avenger.”
Oh shit. Think fast.
“But you and Sheriff Jack are. The Avengers need your help. Please Batman. Bring your Batsword and come help me with the . . . the Joker. The Joker is outside. He’s the one who confused your mind with his potion. He’s the one who has you holding a fellow crime fighter like Sheriff Jack.”
“The damn Joker,” Ralphie says, starting to lower the sword. “I should’ve known. Sorry about that, Sheriff Jack.”
“It’s okay. It’s not you. It’s that damn Joker.”
As Ralphie removes the sword and Dad stands up, Verna bursts into tears and collapses onto the floor near the dead body of her husband.
55
While Darlene sits with Ralphie in his bedroom, Verna, Dad, and I talk in the living room.
They are seated on the couch. I’m in a chair across from them. We appear to be the first people to ever actually use the room.
Verna is crying softly.
Through the open doorway to the den I can see Ronnie’s body on the floor.
“We’ve got to call the sheriff’s department,” I say, “but I wanted to give y’all a chance to talk first.”
Verna says, “Thank you.”
Dad looks at me and nods.
Verna looks up and over at Dad. “I’m so sorry Jack. For everything. I . . . I just couldn’t lose . . . both my babies.”
“I know,” Dad says, then looks over at me again. “I know. Nothing we wouldn’t do for our kids. I just wish you could’ve told me.”
“I tried. I really did. More than once. I think I had about worked up my nerve and then you were gone, and . . .”
“I’m so sorry I left the way I did,” he says.
He had done it for his child, had given up on the case and a real chance for happiness with Verna for Nancy.
“I always told myself if anyone was arrested, I’d come forward and . . . I’d like to think I would have, but . . . I can’t be sure. There is nothing in this world worse than losing a child . . . except losing two.”
“I understand what you did and why,” Dad says. “I really do. And I’m gonna help you and Ralphie in every way I can. And your answer won’t change that, so tell me the truth. I really want to know. Did you get involved with me so I wouldn’t arrest you or Ralphie?”
“Oh, Jack, no. Of course not. I genuinely, sincerely fell in love with you. I still am. It was all real. Every . . . everything. You saved me. You . . .”
“How were you able to do it?” I ask.
“Whatta you . . . I don’t understand.”
“How could you even function after it happened? How could you do what you did?”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Several times along the way I didn’t think I was gonna be able to do it. I really didn’t. I probably stopped half a dozen times or more, but . . . something got me through, something . . . I knew he didn’t mean to do it. I knew it was an accident, an unimaginable, horrible, and terrible tragic accident. I knew there was nothing I could do for her. I also knew—and this is what really got me through—she would have done the exact same thing for him. The exact same thing. She adored him and . . . the exact same thing. Still . . . it was so . . . hard to . . . the most difficult thing by far—even more difficult than burying my baby in that cold ground—was . . . getting in that car with her . . . body . . . and . . . driving out to the property. I made it a game with Ralphie. That was hard too. Had him hide in the trunk. He . . . I made sure he never saw her. He hid in the trunk, then dug the hole for me, then hid in the trunk again while I buried her. I protected him and took care of her the best I could. I couldn’t lose them both and . . . there’s no doubt in my mind—not a single bit in all these years—that Janet would have . . . not just approved but insisted on what I did.”
“How many people has Ralphie killed over the years?” I ask.
She hesitates a moment. “Two. Well, three now, counting Ronnie. But he was protecting me. And he thought he was protecting me with all three. He didn’t intentionally or willfully murder anybody. Not his sister. He adored her. He . . . I don’t even think he knows he did it. He may. I can’t be certain. But I think he stuck that sword in that dark car . . . never realizing it was . . . her. He’s only mentioned that night a few times over the years . . . and he’s never mentioned Janet. He’s . . . he only talks about protecting the family and the adventure he had in the trunk. I don’t think he’s ever associated her disappearance with what happened that night. And not the transient girl who came up on us when we were burying Janet in the memorial garden. It happened so fast. She was on something. Jumped out of the bushes yelling something. Ralphie pulled out his sword as he was turning. He struck her before he even knew who it was or what she was doing. I told him she would be fine. He slept in the car while I . . . did what I did . . . to make it look like a hit and run. He’s never mentioned it again. I don’t think he knows he . . . killed either one of them. My crime was covering it up. Just like I had with Janet. If I hadn’t done it when he killed Janet, that poor girl would still be alive, but . . . after he had already done it, after she was dead, I . . . just . . . There was nothing I could do for her. I . . . I used the . . . tractor I had stolen to move Janet . . . to make it look like a hit-and-run. It’s so . . . monstrous. I’m such a . . . horrible person, but Ralphie’s all I have in the world.”
Dad and I both nod.
“What do you think will happen to him?” she says.
“We’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Dad says. “Get him in a good, safe place that specializes in . . . this sort of thing. You’ll be able to visit.”
“I’ll be in prison,” she says.
I try to process everything Verna has said, trying to suss out the truth, trying to empathize and understand.
“Do you believe her?” I ask.
Dad nods. “I do.”
We are standing out in front of the house so we can talk in private.
Dad looks far older and far more frail than I ever thought I’d see. He looks conflicted too, his demeanor a complex mixture of relief and sadness.
“I get it,” he adds. “I really do. I’d do the same for any of you.”
I knew he meant me, Jake, and Nancy.
I nod. “But . . . what she did with the tractor to the poor girl at the monument,” I say.
He nods. “I know. But she did that to a corpse, a . . . to someone it was too late for. I know Verna, know her . . . heart. Two times in her life she’s covered up what were tragic accidents for her only living child—an impaired child she has to do everything for. Think about how much easier her life would’ve been if she’d’ve let him be arrested.”
I think about it.
“I love her,” he says. “Never stopped. Love her even more now. I want to be with her. Plan to be . . . for whatever time either of us has left—even if it’s just a few hours each weekend during visitation in whatever prison she’s in, but . . . I . . . wish it wouldn’t come to that. Can you think of a way it doesn’t have to?”
I think about it.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask. “You have no reservations? No—”
“None. I’m sure. Please help her, please help us. Can you think of a way we can . . .”
I think I have an idea, and though I’m less certain about everything than he is, I trust him, his judgement, his integrity. And even if I didn’t, or even if I question the clarity of his thinking on this, how can I not do all I can for the
man who has done so much for me, for the woman he loves, and for the short future they have together after too many decades of lives far less fulfilled and happy than they might have been?
Eventually, Glenn, his lead investigator, his crime scene officer, and other deputies arrive.
I pull him aside and explain everything to him.
“I’ve got a favor to ask and a deal to make,” I say.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“First, there’s no way Ralphie is competent to stand trial.”
“True.”
“I’m assuming your facility can’t accommodate someone in his condition and that he’ll be sent to Florida State Hospital in Chattahoochee for a period of evaluation.”
He nods.
“Would you recommend probation to the state’s attorney’s office for Verna? Since Ralphie can’t stand trial, I don’t want to see her treated more harshly than she should. She’s lost so much, suffered so much. All she did was try to protect her son, to keep him with her.”
“She committed at least three felonies, John.”
“Sure. Accessory after the fact. Perjury. Aiding and abetting. Probably others, but . . . given the circumstances . . . given her motivations.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “We’re talking a lot of wasted law enforcement time and taxpayer money. Think about the other cases we might have solved, the other services we could have provided. I have to think about all sides of . . . everything.”
Everything, I wondered, or mainly just what voters will think?
“Here’s the deal I’ll offer,” I say. “If you recommend probation for Verna, she will cooperate, give a full statement—without that you have nothing. You can’t get anything from Ralphie. She’s all you have. She’ll give you a full confession and Dad and I will not say anything to anyone. Not the media. Not FDLE. Not the state’s attorney. Our involvement will be invisible. You and your department will get all the credit for closing a very old cold case. I’ll say it again. Verna will cooperate fully, make it easy on you, on everybody. Otherwise you have no case. And we won’t press charges or make public your brother’s two assaults on Dad.”
The other parts of the deal may or may not have been swaying him, but this last one gets him. His expression and posture and entire demeanor change.
“You worry too much, John,” he says. “I got this. Leave it with me. I’ll take care of everything. We’re talkin’ an old lady and a retard after all. I’ve got to arrest them and take them into custody tonight. He’ll be sent to Florida State Hospital. She’ll spend one night in jail and have First Appearance in the morning at nine and bond out shortly after that. My guess is she’ll get ten years of probation, but she can ask to have it dropped after five if she has no violations. She’ll be able to visit Ralphie in Chattahoochee. It’s all gonna be okay.”
56
Days pass. Then a few more.
It takes a few weeks for everything to settle down and get worked out, but nearly everything worked out as we hoped it would.
The sun is setting on the backside of the cypress and pines across Lake Julia, afternoon receding, evening expanding.
The smell of charcoal and smoked food fills the air.
Dad and Verna sit on one side of our back porch, Anna and I on the other. Johanna is asleep in Dad’s lap, Taylor in Verna’s.
“We can put them down,” Anna offers again. “Are you sure they’re not too much—”
“Just a little longer,” Verna says. “Please.”
Dad smiles and nods.
He looks tired and weak but as happy as I’ve seen him since . . . I can’t ever remember seeing him this happy before.
He is undergoing treatment for leukemia and it’s going well. His chances are good for a complete recovery—a safe bet given the way Verna takes care of him.
The state’s attorney’s office agreed to probation, but she only got five years, and it will probably drop off in two. She moved out of Marianna, leaving behind all the bad memories and ghosts there, and now lives with Dad in Pottersville. They visit Ralphie twice a week and Janet’s grave at least that many, and life for both of them is better than it has been in many decades.
“This is so nice,” Verna says. “Thanks for having us over as often as y’all do. Nothing in the world beats holding these little girls.”
“Our pleasure,” Anna says. “We love having you.”
When Anna sips her drink or talks with her hands, her new engagement ring catches the light, its glinting presence a source of utter happiness and a reminder that we need to set a date.
“It’s ironic,” Verna adds, looking out over the lake. “But I feel exonerated. I feel like y’all’s investigation and my guilt that it uncovered actually released me from a prison I had been in for a very long time.”
“I know the feeling well,” Dad says.
“We all do in one way or another,” Anna says, reaching over and taking my hand.
As I take her hand I rub her ring, as I often do these days, touching the unending circle, the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
As good as things are in this moment, and they are very, very good, they’re about to get better. In a few minutes the food will be ready and Merrill and his new girlfriend, who to Anna’s disappointment is not Zadie Smith, will arrive with his mom’s special banana pudding for desert, and we will break bread and fellowship and share far more than just a meal. We will participate in a sacred, ancient ritual that is nothing less than a celebration of life itself. For even in all its complexities and difficulties, its small triumphs and devastating tragedies, its scarcity and brevity, life remains worthy of appreciating and celebrating.
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On Thursday, January 20, 2005, the day of George W. Bush’s second inauguration, Randa Raffield, a twenty-one year old student at the University of West Florida, crashed her car on a secluded stretch of Highway 98 near the Gulf of Mexico.
The location of the wreck was hundreds of miles from where she was thought to be.
A witness who came upon the scene moments after the accident, testified that Randa was fine and not in need of assistance.
Seven minutes later when the first Gulf County Sheriff’s Deputy arrived at the car, Randa was gone, vanished without a trace.
She has never been seen again.
Can John Jordan solve this most mysterious of cold cases?
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