by Stuart Woods
“He married Mama Kelly and her brother in the Church,” Scotty said.
“Right,” Howell replied, “and a great many more besides, I suspect. He was a priest for a long time around here, after all. But the Kellys didn’t live in the valley; they didn’t have the protective insularity of the community. Eric Sutherland noticed, and he got involved. He blew the whistle on Father Harry.”
“How did you find out about all this?” Scotty asked.
“Some from Father Harry, some from Eric Sutherland’s will, and, most important, some from Mama Kelly. A piece here and a piece there,” Howell replied, “but Sutherland’s affidavit was the most interesting. He went to some lengths to justify himself.”
“What made him get involved?” Scotty asked. “I mean, if this had been going on for a hundred years or more, why go after the priest?”
“Aha!” Howell exclaimed, raising a forefinger, “now you’re getting at the heart of things. You see, in 1930, Eric Sutherland fell in love. He met a lovely young Irish lass from the valley, and he went head over heels, perhaps more so than she. She was unhappy with the way things were going in the valley, as were some others in the community. Once in a while, a girl would break away and find herself a beau from the outside; at least, long enough to get pregnant.” Howell knew about this from personal experience. He glanced at Bo, who was staring, glassy-eyed, into the middle distance. He still gripped the shotgun, though.
“As you might imagine, a few generations of interbreeding were having their effect on the community. This girl had already borne a retarded child by her brother, and she wanted a healthy baby. Then, as soon as she knew for sure she was pregnant, she broke it off with Sutherland. He was devastated. He didn’t understand what had happened for a long time, but when he finally did, he determined to bring what was going on in the valley to a halt. He was in a position to do it. He started with Father Harry.”
Howell eased his feet onto the sofa and leaned back, apparently to make his sore ribs more comfortable. The move also brought one arm closer to Bo Scully’s shotgun.
“Sutherland was, as we all know, a very straitlaced sort, and the last thing he wanted was a huge scandal in his neck of the woods, getting in the newspapers and all that, especially when he was so personally involved. So, because the Kellys didn’t live in the valley, he used them to discredit the priest. He went to the archbishop, told him that Father Harry had married this couple, brother and sister. The archbishop, horrified, called in Father Harry, who admitted it, but nothing more, I suspect, and in short order, the priest was officially ‘silenced’ – that is, he could no longer say mass or perform weddings – and was quietly pensioned off. That was a blow to the families in the valley, but, of course, Sutherland wasn’t finished. He had a civil engineering degree, and he saw the possibilities for a lake where the valley was. A lake would suit his moral purpose as well as his business ones. He went to work buying up the land. You understand, he didn’t put every word of this into his affidavit; I’m filling in the cracks. How’m I doing, Bo?”
“Not bad,” Bo replied, absently.
Howell continued. “And then Eric Sutherland ran smack up against Donal O’Coineen. O’Coineen was an independent sort, one of the ones in the valley who was horrified by what interbreeding was doing to the community. He had a blind daughter, Joyce, whose affliction was probably related to her ancestry. He wanted to farm his land, dig wells on the side for cash money, and raise his children in the valley like a normal human being. He made a point of sending the girls to the town school instead of the one in the valley. He wanted them both to eventually make marriages with young men who were untainted by the valley’s interbreeding.“
“Wasn’t Joyce the one who was engaged to Bo?” Scotty asked.
“That’s right, and Donal O’Coineen objected violently to the match. Bo was, in O’Coineen’s eyes, tainted. He was from a valley family. That right, Bo?”
Bo nodded. He seemed almost in another place. “He made Joyce break our engagement. He ran me off.”
“And then everything came to a head,” Howell said, slowly. “Sutherland had bought all the land in the valley, except Donal O’Coineen’s. Sutherland had built the dam and closed it; the water was rising – the road past the O’Coineen place was all that was holding it back. O’Coineen had pulled Kathleen out of school, but not because of a siege mentality. He had still been trying to make it work, for his children to have a normal life. No, he had another reason for bringing Kathleen home.”
“What?” Scotty demanded. “What reason?”
Howell ignored her. “The screws were tightening on everybody; on Sutherland, on O’Coineen, and…” He paused. “On Deputy Sheriff Christopher Francis Scully, known to one and all as Bo.”
Howell was flying by the seat of his pants, now. He had played nearly all his cards, told nearly all he knew, and, if he was to learn any more, he would have to get Bo Scully into the game.
“Here was a young man who was deeply ashamed of his family history: an ambitious young man who had come back from serving his country in Korea and was, with the help of Eric Sutherland, working his way out of the valley into the sunlight of a normal, respectable life. And now, the valley, with its dying gasp, had come back to haunt him. He couldn’t have the girl he loved, because he was tainted with the valley’s sin.” Howell looked at Bo expectantly. He was laying it on thick, now; he had to get Bo to play.
“And then,” Howell said, “a few weeks after Donal O’Coineen had denied him the marriage he wanted, at the very height of all the tension surrounding the building of the lake, young Bo Scully went out to the O’Coineen place, the place he had been driven from.” Howell made his voice soft and as gentle as he could. “You know what day it is, Bo?” Howell asked. “It’s September 10, 1976; it’s twenty-five years to the day since you went out there to get Donal O’Coineen’s signature on a deed of transfer.”
Howell held his breath. Bo either played now, or it was all over. Not Howell nor anyone else would ever know what had happened at the O’Coineen place, and, before dawn, both he and Scotty would be under the lake.
Bo turned and looked at Howell for the first time since he had begun his story. “How did you know I went out there? Eric always told everybody he went.”
“Because you witnessed the deed of transfer,” Howell said, still softly. “I saw it at the courthouse. I double-checked the date this afternoon. How did you get Donal O’Coineen to sign it, Bo?”
Bo was staring into the middle distance again, lost.
Howell tried again. “You killed them, didn’t you, Bo? You forged Donal O’Coineen’s signature, and then you killed them all, the whole family.” He held his breath again.
Bo turned and focused on Howell again. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t. You don’t understand how it was.”
Howell let his breath out slowly. “Tell me,” he said. And then he knew Bo Scully was going to play.
37
When I got back from Korea, Joyce and I got engaged. We knew Donal objected to us getting married, but I was doing all right and expected to do even better. Eric Sutherland had taken an interest in me when I was in high school, and when I got out of the Marines, he fixed up the deputy sheriff’s job and told me that one of these days I’d be sheriff. But Uncle Martin had shot Mama by this time, and that reminded Donal that I was valley and always would be. Still, he let me see Joyce, and just about every night we were out on the front porch swing necking, but necking was all she’d do, and I was about to go crazy. I was engaged to a girl who wasn’t going to do anything until we were married, and her papa didn’t want her to marry me. That’s when Kathleen came into it.
When I left for Korea, she was just a skinny little girl, but when I got back, it had all happened. God, she was something! She was a tiny thing, but even at twelve, she had a shape. She’d sit in my lap and move around and, believe me, she knew what she was doing. I’ve never known anybody so… completely sexual. She couldn’t turn her hea
d without it being a come-on. She’d come riding with me in the patrol car when I was making rounds, and she’d have her hand in my lap. Pretty soon, we were spending more time in the back seat than in the front. Nobody ever made me feel the way she did… nobody. She could look at me and I’d be on fire, and she knew it. She could pull my string, and I’d jump.
I wanted the thing with Kathleen to be over, but I couldn’t stop; Kathleen wouldn’t let me. Oh, hell, I guess I didn’t want it to stop all that bad, but I reckoned when Joyce and I were married, Kathleen would find a boyfriend to drive crazy and let me alone.
Then, Donal pulled her out of school, and when I came out to the house, Kathleen wouldn’t be there. She’d be sick upstairs or something, always something. This went on for a long time, and I thought Donal had found out about us and was trying to keep her away from me.
One day Donal sat me down and told me he didn’t want me to marry Joyce. Said he’d always liked me, but I was valley, and that was that. I asked Joyce straight out, and she said that was the way she wanted it. Donal had finally gotten to her.
I left there, and I’ve never been so wrecked, before or since. My life was ruined – I couldn’t marry Joyce, and she was valley; if she wouldn’t have me, then nobody would. In school, the kids had shunned us, and now the only valley girl I wanted wouldn’t have me. I didn’t know what to do. And then I started getting phone calls from Kathleen.
She’d talk about the things we’d done to each other in the back of that patrol car. She said she loved me, and she wanted me to take her away. We’d go to California, or someplace where nobody knew us. She looked older than her age, she said; we could do it. She really was getting to me. I began to think that if I couldn’t have one O’Coineen girl, I might have the other one. I began to think about leaving everything – my job and the idea of being sheriff, Eric Sutherland’s help – everything. I was tempted, but I knew it was a crazy idea. I liked hearing from Kathleen, though, so I never told her I wouldn’t take her away.
The thing between Eric Sutherland and Donal O’Coineen had heated up pretty good by then. Donal wouldn’t budge, and the water was rising. I knew Eric wouldn’t flood him out, but Donal didn’t know that. They were at an absolute stalemate, and I knew that before long, something had to give.
Then one night Kathleen called me.
“Hey, Bo.”
It was the way she knew how to say that. Bo’s guts turned to water.
“Listen,” he whispered, already breathing hard, “I can’t talk right now, the sheriff ”ll hear me. I’m fixing to go out on patrol, anyway.“
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “Just listen. I talked Daddy into selling.”
This was some sort of trick, Bo thought immediately. She just wanted to get him out there.
“No,” she said, anticipating his thoughts, “Daddy really said he would sell. He’s already signed that paper Mr. Sutherland sent out here. He says for you to come out here and get the paper and take it to Mr. Sutherland. He wants Mr. Sutherland to put the money in his bank account in the morning.”
“Let me talk to Donal,” Bo said.
“He doesn’t want to talk,” Kathleen replied. “He’s already packing everything up. He means to leave here tonight and take us all somewhere else.”
Bo hesitated, trying to think.
“You better come out here quick, Bo, before he changes his mind. Mr. Sutherland would be awful mad if you gave Daddy a chance to change his mind.”
“All right,” Bo said, at last. “All right. I’ll be out there in about half an hour.” He hung up, told the dispatcher he was going on patrol, and left the station. In the car, though, he had second thoughts. Instead of heading for the valley, he made a U-turn and started toward Eric Sutherland’s house.
“You mean it?” Sutherland asked, pacing his study. “You think he’s finally decided to sell?”
“That’s what Kathleen said on the phone,” Bo replied. “I think you ought to go out there.”
“No, no,” Sutherland said quickly, “Donal hates the sight of me by now, and, anyway, he said for you to come. We’ll do as he says. You go out there, get the paper, and tell him I’ll deposit the money in his account in the morning, just as he wants.”
“But Eric, I’m on patrol tonight,” Bo pleaded. “I can’t go running out there in a patrol car; the sheriff’ll have my skin.”
Sutherland dug into a pocket. “Here,” he said, tossing Bo some keys, “take my car. Don’t worry, I’ll fix any problems with the sheriff that might come up. Just get out there and get those papers.” He kept pacing. “I can’t believe it; Donal’s finally caved in. We can start filling the lake again tomorrow!”He stopped and looked at Bo. “Well, don’t sit there, boy, get going!”
Bo left the house and got into Sutherland’s old Lincoln Continental convertible. He put the top up so nobody would see him in his uniform in the car, then started for the north valley road. He turned left at the crossroads and started down into the valley. It was a glorious night. Ahead of him, down the road, the house was lit up like a Christmas tree. The moon flooded the valley, casting a glow over the surface fog that covered the lake, right up to the roadway that held the water from Donal O’Coineen’s farm. Bo thought it looked like the floor of Heaven.
Bo swung the car through the gate and drew up next to the front porch. Donal’s truck must be behind the house; he was loading it there, Bo thought. She met him at the door, slipping her arms around his waist, moving against him. He plucked at her arms, moved her away. “Are you crazy?” he whispered.
“It’s all right,” she said. “They’re all upstairs, packing.” She led him toward the table in the front hall. “Here,” she said, handing him a pen and leading him toward the paper there. “Daddy wants you to witness it. There’s a place there for a witness to sign.”
Bo looked at the paper. Donal O’Coineen’s name was written at the bottom. Bo signed it. Kathleen hugged him again.
“Now it’s done,” she said. “Take it back to Mr. Sutherland, and then we can go anywhere we like, you and me.”
He held her back. Something was wrong. It was dead quiet in the house, not a sound. There was always some sound, he remembered, Joyce playing the piano or Donal and Mary listening to the radio, but it was strangely quiet. “Where’s your folks?” he asked. “Where’s Joyce?”
“They’re all upstairs packing,” Kathleen said, taking his hand and leading him toward the front door. “Now you take the paper to Mr. Sutherland, then come back for me. I’ll be all ready to go.”
Bo held her by the shoulders and looked at her. “Don’t talk crazy, Kathleen,” he said. “Something’s wrong here.” He was beginning to be frightened. He started toward the stairs. “Donal!” he called out.
Kathleen grabbed at his sleeve and pulled, but Bo swept on down the hallway toward the stairs. “No, Bo, don’t go up. He doesn’t want to see you, I told you.”
“Donal!” he called again as he put a foot on the stairs.“
“Bo, let’s go now,” Kathleen cajoled, climbing the steps beside him, tugging at him.
He shook her off. “Joyce!” he yelled, louder, now. He turned at the landing and continued upward, Kathleen begging still.
“Joyce!” he said once more as he reached the top of the stairs, and the name died in his throat. Halfway down the upstairs hallway, at the door to her room, Joyce lay, sprawled in an unnatural position, her legs crossed oddly. Her chest was a mass of blood, and most of her face was gone. She had been shot at least twice with a shotgun, up close, a part of Bo registered, the deputy part. The dark glasses she always wore lay twisted near her head. Her golden hair was scarlet, how, spilling over a pool of her own blood.
Bo’s mouth worked, but nothing would come out. He made himself continue down the hallway, toward Donal and Mary’s room. Kathleen was quiet, now. She had stopped begging. Bo came to the door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it and it swung freely with a loud squeak. Donal and Mary were in
bed, sitting up, or, at least, they had been. Donal was twisted sideways, both his arms flung to the same side of his body. Mary’s head, what was left of it, lay across his leg, and a great deal of her blood had soaked his trousers. The wall behind the bed held gobs of red and gray matter; bits of hair was stuck to it.
There was a pump shotgun on the floor beside the bed. Bo picked it up and worked the action. Empty.
Kathleen spoke for the first time since they had reached the top of the stairs. “I took the plug out,” she said, matter-of-factly.
The gun would have held eight shells without the plug, the deputy part of Bo thought. That part tried to reconstruct what had happened.
“Daddy and Mama were in bed listening to the radio,” Kathleen said, in the same calm voice. “I shot them first, twice each. I heard Joyce call out, and I went into the hall and shot her twice when she came out of her room. Then I came back in here and shot the rest of the times at them.” She paused. “Then I turned off the radio,” she said, finally.
Bo dropped the shotgun, walked back down the hallway past Joyce’s body, and sat down on the top step. He was very tired, it seemed; he felt numb, almost drowsy, and the feeling didn’t square with the beating of his heart, which was rapid and hard.
Kathleen sat down beside him and put her head in his lap. “You see,” she said, “It’s all right, now.” She stroked his thigh the way she had done in the car so many times. “I practiced Daddy’s signature from his cancelled checks for a long time, then I signed the paper.” Her voice was soothing. “Nobody in the world would think it wasn’t his signature, believe me.”
