Desert Remains

by Steven Cooper

  Gus is scrolling down and reading with her. “‘Theodore Smith Fakes Archeology Credentials,’ ‘Symbolism of a Raving Lunatic.’ That must have hurt,” Gus says. “Reviewers then were meaner than they are today.”

  “These aren’t just reviews,” Beatrice tells him. “I think they’re articles about the book. Like there was some kind of investigation to expose him as a fraud.”

  “Right up your alley.”

  She nods, then continues to read. “I sure wish I could get my hands on a copy.”

  “Unlikely,” Gus tells her. “It’s out of print. No surprise there.”

  After another click, Gus lunges his head forward, as if he needs a closer look. “Jesus,” he whispers.

  “What?”

  “Jesus Christy Christ!”

  Beatrice pulls him softly back.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Maybe another reason his book is out of print.”

  Beatrice reads.

  LOCAL MAN KILLED IN BEACH HOUSE TRAGEDY

  Theodore Smith, 40, perished in a house fire late last night at his summer home in Cape Cod, Massachusetts, authorities said. Smith, a 1955 graduate of Arizona State University, was a lifelong resident of Phoenix.

  The Massachusetts State Police told the Arizona Republic that there are few details of Smith’s death at this time. Smith’s wife, Priscilla, survived the blaze. The couple’s seven-year-old son, Theodore Jr., has not been accounted for.

  Smith was the author of the recently self-published and controversial book, A History of Symbolism, which claims to interpret cultural symbols through the ages. Of particular interest to those here in Arizona are his statements about desert artifacts and petroglyphs, which are widely regarded as erroneous if not outright falsehoods. His work was disputed by archeologists, historians, members of the Native American community, and even journalists here at the Republic. Smith had no known occupation at the time of his death, but sources say he was mainly an artist and his work had sold well at area art festivals.

  “I knew it!”

  “The fire?”

  “Not just the fire, Beatrice! The house, Cape Cod, the seashore. All things I saw at the first crime scene.”

  Her hands are on his shoulders. She squeezes. “And you had the audacity to doubt yourself.”

  He allows himself a laugh, but he is braced with intensity. “I’ve been seeing the fire ever since. It’s a persistent image. A relentless vision. Whether I’m at a crime scene or just holding that necklace, it’s all around me.”

  “A seven-year-old boy,” Beatrice recites. “Your screaming child?”

  “I know. I know. I know. I don’t know,” Gus sputters. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Too many convulsions.”

  “Convulsions?”

  “I’m describing my brain.”

  “Are you conjuring anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, then,” she says, “let’s just study this. The article was written in 1973. That means Smith died the year his book was published.”

  “Humiliated to death?”

  “Not funny,” Beatrice says.

  “But it could be a suicide.”

  “Could be,” she concedes.

  “There must be some other reports about his death. I’m sure the Arizona Republic followed this very closely. And obviously the press in Massachusetts, too.”

  “Unless it was something benign like a kitchen fire.”

  “A missing kid, Beatrice. A missing kid is not a kitchen fire.”

  “Right,” she says. “Let’s Google ‘Theodore Smith’ and ‘death,’” she tells Gus.

  There are 330,000 results in .22 seconds.

  “Shit,” Gus says. “It was a kitchen fire, all right. Mr. Smith was toasted like a sesame seed bagel.”

  “By his wife, apparently,” Beatrice utters softly.

  SMITH DEATH WAS LIKELY MURDER, POLICE REPORT

  Massachusetts Authorities Say Fatal Fire

  May Be the Result of Spousal Issues

  Priscilla Smith, 27, is being questioned about the death of her husband Theodore, 40, after their summer home was engulfed in flames four days ago, according to investigators. The couple and their seven-year-old son were on their yearly break from Arizona’s desert heat when tragedy struck in the small Cape Cod town of Chatham. Their son is believed to have perished in the blaze along with Theodore Sr., according to State Fire Marshal Patrick O’Leary. “Right now this looks like a case of arson,” O’Leary told reporters. “We, of course, are looking for a suspect.”

  “There’s no way she did it,” said Margaret Shanley, a Chatham neighbor. “She was the nicest person in the world. She was so quiet, so unassuming.”

  John Lafferty, another neighbor, disagreed. “I always heard lots of fighting coming from that house. Like clockwork. Every summer. You see, we’re year-round people. Summer officially starts when the Smiths start screaming.”

  Authorities said they were following leads about spousal problems. “We have some leads and mounting evidence that this was not a happy marriage,” said Lieutenant Detective Paul Kalowich of the Massachusetts State Police. “If the fire marshal tells us he’s thinking arson, we start talking to the wife. Perfectly routine,” he added.

  No one in official capacity would speak to the Republic about the whereabouts of the son.

  Gus and Beatrice keep searching and reading and scrolling and searching.

  Beatrice excuses herself to pee, and when she returns Gus gets a whiff of something spicy and rich. “Did you light up incense on your way back?”

  “Nag Champa.”

  “Oh.”

  “Gus, you haven’t had sex lately.”

  He says nothing.

  “Gus?”

  “What?”

  “Sex. What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not interested?”

  “Look, Beatrice, I’m over forty. My libido has matured.”

  “I know you don’t think the way most straight guys think, but you do need to get laid.”

  “Are you having a vision?”

  “You’re still haunted by your marriage, but there’s a woman out there who wants you.”

  He smiles. “Anyone specific?”

  “Not yet,” she says. “I’ll keep you posted. But you should know that plenty of women want you, Gus. You just have to be at the right place at the right time.”

  “Sounds like I’m looking for a job.”

  “No,” she says. “You’re doing a wonderful job right now. Look there,” she tells him, pointing to the computer screen, “the wife was arrested.”

  PRISCILLA SMITH CHARGED IN HUSBAND’S DEATH

  Prosecutors Say Wife of Eccentric Artist

  Started Fire That Killed Him

  Authorities in Massachusetts have arrested and charged Priscilla Smith, 27, with the murder of her 40-year-old husband, Theodore. The arrest comes two weeks after the Smiths’ summer home in Chatham was destroyed by fire. Mrs. Smith has also been charged with arson in the case.

  “Traces of an accelerant were found on Mrs. Smith’s fingernails and dress,” explained Lieutenant Detective Paul Kalowich of the Massachusetts State Police. Kalowich said the wife had waited for her husband to go to sleep for the night before she torched the home. No motive is known at this time.

  The Smiths were parents to seven-year-old Theodore Jr. His body has not been recovered from the scene, and his whereabouts are unknown. “We believe his body may have been burned beyond recognition,” Kalowich said. “This house was incinerated. We were able to identify Mr. Smith because when the fire woke him up, he apparently tried to escape through an upper-story window and fell to his death on the lawn below.”

  Lawyers assigned to defend Mrs. Smith had no comment.

  Theodore Smith and his family lived mostly in Phoenix, Arizona, where he was known as a local artist and author of the recently self-published book, A History of Symbols.

  “You�
��d think they’d have some forensic evidence from the little boy,” Gus says.

  “You would think,” Beatrice concurs, “but you’d be assuming that investigators had the same kind of forensic technology that they do today.”

  “Even so, there should still be some trace of him,” Gus says. “I just don’t get this.”

  “I know,” Beatrice whispers, as though they’re working a top secret case. “Why would a woman let her child die in a house fire?”

  “That too.”

  “What else?”

  “I can’t figure out the connection to the serial killings,” he replies. “And who’s to say if there even is one?”

  “You need to look deeper.”

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  “Well, let’s see,” she says, and Gus senses a patronizing inflection in her voice. “You saw a fire. We found a fire. A fire that killed the author of A History of Symbols. The family lived in Phoenix. Theodore Smith had an interest in petroglyphs, for whatever reason. Of course, there’s a connection. It may not be connected specifically to the killer. But it may be connected to more evidence, a true lead. Remember, as I always say—”

  “No coincidences.”

  “I bet this case is legend in Massachusetts,” Beatrice says. “I think you should ask Detective Mills to investigate further. In the meantime Google ‘Priscilla Smith trial.’”

  Gus complies.

  “Yikes,” he says. There are 299,000 results in .18 seconds.

  He clicks on an article from the Boston Globe. It’s dated June 27, 1974.

  PRISCILLA SMITH TRIAL BEGINS

  Smith Says She Murdered Husband in Self-Defense

  Priscilla Smith, 28, went on trial yesterday for the murder of her husband, Theodore. In opening statements, Smith’s attorney, Kelvin Kennedy, told the jury that his client was a battered wife who was desperate to do something to stop the abuse. “Theodore Smith had physically and emotionally abused Mrs. Smith since she was a bride at the age of seventeen,” Kennedy told the jury. “With a full heart, she tried everything she could to save the marriage.”

  According to Kennedy, Theodore Smith had also been abusing the couple’s only child, Theodore Jr. “Theodore was a vicious man, hiding behind his affinity for art. But that affinity was really part of his pathology as we will show in this case. You will see graphic, horrific examples of the wounds sustained by his wife.”

  Prosecutors, however, called Smith a cold-blooded killer, who was embarrassed by her husband’s eccentricity and public humiliations. “She wanted to be rid of him. She wanted to deny any association. She did not believe in divorce. But she believed in murder,” District Attorney Stephen Pastorelli told the jury of six men and six women.

  Pastorelli hammered on about the humiliation the family suffered after the publication of Theodore Smith’s controversial book, A History of Symbols. “Priscilla Smith couldn’t handle it. She was shunned by neighbors, by family. Even her little boy tried to run away. She thought murder was the solution to their problem.”

  For a moment yesterday afternoon, the courtroom was rocked by the bombshell statement that Priscilla Smith would be on trial for double homicide if only the body of her son had been recovered. Kennedy leapt to his feet with objection. Judge Marcus St. George quickly sustained the objection.

  The first witness, likely State Fire Marshal Patrick O’Leary, will be called to the stand today.

  “This certainly adds a whole new spin to the case,” Gus says.

  “It does. I’ve sensed domestic abuse all along,” Beatrice says softly. “But, you know what? None of these search results says anything about a verdict. Keep scrolling, honey. Looks like we have several more pages to go through.”

  Gus sighs a huge, canyon-sized sigh, stretches his arms over his head, and says, “I’d love to, but I’m exhausted. It’s getting late. I need to get home.”

  Then Beatrice whips her face into his and says, “How could you not want to know how this thing turns out?”

  “I can wait,” he assures her. “I like a good cliffhanger.”

  “I don’t,” she says. “We’re probably only one click away from finding out.”

  “But I’m stumped,” he retorts. “Frankly, I don’t want to go any deeper with this until I get a sense of context. Where it all fits.”

  “I know what context means, Gus.”

  Admonished, he shrugs and scrolls. He goes to the next page. Scrolls there, too.

  “This is better than searching through microfiche,” Beatrice says. “Remember that?”

  “No.”

  She tugs his ear. “Of course you do. I’m not that old.”

  “Yes you are,” he tells her. “I’m just amazed all this stuff has been digitized.”

  He clicks on a Boston Globe article dated July 18, 1974. He reads the headline aloud: “‘Smith Found Guilty in Husband’s Death, Life in Jail.’”

  He and Beatrice soak in the article.

  “Wow,” Beatrice says. “First-degree murder with malice aforethought. Automatic life sentence without possibility of parole.”

  “So, I guess we know where to find Priscilla Smith.”

  “If she’s still alive. I don’t see how anyone could survive that long behind bars. She has to be in her sixties or seventies.”

  Gus Googles “Priscilla Smith jail.”

  “Now you’re just humoring me,” Beatrice says.

  “It’s working,” he retorts.

  The results are fast but inaccurate. They see stories about jails in Smith County, Arkansas. Stories about jails in Smithfield, Virginia. And a clip from a bondage movie called Priscilla’s Jail.

  “Well of all things,” Beatrice says. “There’s a movie for everyone.”

  “I think I know what the problem is,” Gus tells her. “She was probably sentenced to state prison, not jail. There is a difference.”

  “Oh, please,” she begs. “Do you think Google would really know the difference?”

  “I do. And it does.”

  He types in “Priscilla Smith prison.”

  There are 249,000 results in .20 seconds.

  They stare. Scan the screen. Gus swallows hard.

  He points to a headline. “This was written just a month ago!”

  “I see it. I see it, Gus.”

  PRISCILLA SMITH GRANTED CLEMENCY, LEAVES PRISON

  (Framingham)—Priscilla Smith, 67, convicted of first-degree murder in the death of her husband nearly 40 years ago, left MCI-Framingham last night to rousing applause of supporters outside.

  Smith’s release follows in the footsteps of the famous “Framingham Eight” case of the early 1990s when the state first recognized battered woman syndrome as a murder defense and commuted the sentences of seven of the women who had argued that they should have been allowed to present evidence of battered woman syndrome during their trials. Smith originally petitioned for clemency in 1991 and was denied. She had brought her case before the board several times since. “We applaud the State and welcome the release of Priscilla Smith with open arms,” said Lila Jackson of the Battered Women’s Clemency Project.

  Smith was found guilty in 1974 in the arson-related death of her husband, Theodore Smith, after she burned down their Cape Cod summer home. Mr. Smith died trying to escape. Their son vanished at the time of the crime and was first thought to have perished in the fire. Due to a lack of evidence, however, the State declined to prosecute Smith in connection with her son’s disappearance. His whereabouts remain a mystery today. Smith did not have much to say to the media outside the prison last night. “I cannot and will not discuss my son. Let me just state that I am grateful to be free, grateful to all the women who supported me. My freedom is overdue.”

  “No current member of the parole board was a member back in 1991,” said attorney Martha Higgins. “So I can’t say that we know why her original petition was denied. We do know subsequent petitions were denied because there was no evidence that Mrs. Smith actually acted in sel
f-defense at the time the fire was started. Various members of the board had a hard time connecting the dots over the years. Had it not been for the advocacy of several women’s rights groups, the board might not have truly understood the motivation and impetus of Mrs. Smith’s crimes. The State has become, over the years, duly enlightened to the plight of battered women.”

  The District Attorney’s Office was not available for comment.

  Smith told reporters that her immediate plans were not clear. “I would like to work on behalf of battered women. But I’m headed back to Arizona. That is my true home.”

  Gus sits back and studies the screen. He sees Beatrice scanning the article again. His intuition is all over the place. He feels its pulse quickening. He clicks back to the search results, and there it is: a one-paragraph story in the Daily Courier, reporting that Priscilla Smith, paroled murderer and arsonist, had been spotted in Prescott. A few townspeople quoted in the article said she’s come back to Arizona to be with her sister who lives in Yavapai County.

  Beatrice waves her hands in front of the computer. She’s deep in ritual.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she says. “I feel a connection. I really do.”

  Gus nods.

  “And you?” she asks.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Do you see it though? Do you see the connection?”

  “No,” Gus replies. “I don’t see it. But I don’t think it’s that complicated. In purely detective terms, if the story of Theodore Smith is linked somehow to these murders, then the timing is no accident. You don’t need to be a psychic to figure that out.”

  “Her release from jail practically coincides with a string of murders that are begging for symbolism.”

  “Something like that,” Gus says.

  He hits Print, and all the articles start surfing out of the machine.

  “You do have to share this with the detectives.”

  Gus gets up. He backs into the kitchen, grabs his cell phone from the counter, and dials Alex Mills.

  Voice mail. He leaves a message. “You have to hear about this. Call me.”