Farraday Road

by Ace Collins

  And who would shoot Kaitlyn? She was about as close to a saint as anyone could be. She was loved and respected by everyone he knew. She brought smiles everywhere she went. People stood in line to hug her. Children hovered around her like moths around a porch light. She was pure, sincere, beautiful, giving, and generous. If love could be banked, her vault would be overflowing. So why?There was simply no way anyone could have a vendetta against her. Yet somewhere in his life—or her life—there had to be at least one misstep that led to the tragedy at Farraday Road. And it must have been a big one. He had to figure out what it was.

  The hours dragged by, each a lifetime. Two o’clock became three, and three became four, and sometime after that, tired of the darkness, he switched on a table lamp, reached to his right, and picked up a framed portrait of the only love he had really ever known. He still couldn’t begin to fathom her incredible beauty. The silky dark hair, the green eyes, and that incredible smile—wherever she went, they set her apart from everyone else in the room.

  Could someone have hated her because of her heritage? Her Asian ancestry? Could there be a racial motive behind all of this?

  Laying the photo in his lap, he thought back over his years in Salem. Yes, there had been some who had questioned their marriage at first. Many did not cotton to the idea of his marrying outside of his race. Yet when they had come to know Kaitlyn, when they had met her spirit, the shape of her eyes no longer mattered, at least not on the surface. But what about simmering underneath the surface? What if there was someone out there who had grown to resent her? Or maybe there was someone who hated her because she was an outsider, an Asian who married into the Evans family’s large bank account. What if this whole tragedy was about race?After all, lots of people had died because of racial hatreds. Could this have been a hate crime? Kaitlyn dying for hate—how ironic would that be?

  With no money taken, ruling out robbery as a motive, and nothing in his background that offered any reason for murder, might someone have seen them that night, maybe even at Jim’s Diner, and been consumed by rage at seeing a happily married couple who happened to have different racial heritages? He remembered some of the comments he had overheard when they were first married. That was so long ago, he had all but forgotten the racial hatred that had spawned the words back then. But now, maybe … He didn’t want to consider that, but for the moment it was about the only thing that made any kind of sense. The thought sparked fury in his soul. As if by a hangman’s noose, he was strangling in the horrible belief that she was dead because she was different and that he should be dead because he dared to love someone who didn’t look like his own kind.

  THERE WAS SIMPLY NO WAY THE FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH could hold all those who showed up for the Kaitlyn Evans funeral. Hundreds were hovering outside the doors as Diana Curtis flashed her badge and was escorted into the building. Walking past three old-timers, she heard one say, “Biggest funeral in the history of the county, no doubt.” News crews were everywhere, catching the mourners, even wrangling interviews with a few publicity-happy visitors. She had read in the local paper that Lije had requested memorials be given to different charities rather than be spent on floral displays, yet it appeared that no one had paid any attention. Every florist within forty miles must have sold out of flowers. For one afternoon even the cleanup of the immense damage caused by the flooding was taking a back seat to this one event. How Kaitlyn Evans must have been loved!

  As Curtis walked into the sanctuary, it seemed those already in the pews did not want to miss the entrance of the next important person and kept looking back toward the door. The eyes that stared at her belonged to every age and demographic sector. The governor and his wife sat in row three beside a man she had seen on a garbage truck the day before. Looked like all the area state representatives were already seated, as were a senator and several members of the state supreme court. This was the place where everyone who was anyone had to be. The murder and the long-standing importance of the Evans family in the area and Kaitlyn’s immeasurable resume of good works made this much more than a memorial service; it was the event of a lifetime.

  Or should that be deathtime? Not a pleasant word, death-time. Probably didn’t exist, but maybe it should be added to the dictionary.

  The organ music announced the beginning of the service. Curtis clung to her professional demeanor with less success than usual. She might have been tough and proud of it, but she simply couldn’t help getting emotionally involved in the drama unfolding in front of her. The masses of flowers and the sincere verbal and musical tributes focused the spotlight for a brief time on the ideals of Kaitlyn Evans. As the pastor spoke, recounting the victim’s character and deeds, those around the agent could no longer keep from crying. When Lije rose to share a few of his special memories and to read Kaitlyn’s favorite scripture, First Corinthians chapter thirteen, his eyes were among the few that remained dry. The crowd rose to sing “Sweet, Sweet Spirit,” and Curtis noticed that Heather Jameson remained seated, sobbing so hard she had to fight just to grab a breath. Even after the song ended, Jameson continued wiping her eyes with a tissue. This Kaitlyn, Curtis decided, had been something very special. Yet how could anyone really be that good?

  It took almost two hours for the funeral and burial. Curtis took in each moment as both a curiosity and a chance to study the faces in the crowd. One of them might well be the killer.

  The grief created by this final farewell seemed impenetrable; not even faith could dent it. Curtis couldn’t fathom the gloom that surrounded her like a dark cloud, and even the preacher seemed unsure and unsteady despite speaking words of comfort and peace and heaven as home.

  Silently, the crowd made its way from the graveside back to their vehicles. It was as if a mute button had silenced everything in town.

  Curtis had ridden to the cemetery with the local newspaper editor. They hadn’t spoken about the case; in fact they hadn’t spoken at all. He had just offered, and because she didn’t know her way around, she had accepted. She was set to ride back with him, but as she took a final look at the departing throng, Heather Jameson approached.

  “Do you want a ride back to the church?”

  Curtis nodded and followed Jameson back to her beat-up old Toyota. It was hard to believe Jameson still owed money on the car and was behind in her payments to the bank. Curtis slid in and buckled her seatbelt and waited to see what Jameson’s plan was for this car ride. She hoped to exploit a moment of vulnerability, gain some more understanding of Jameson’s relationship with her boss, Lije Evans.

  But that moment never came. They rode in silence back to the church, and Jameson dropped Curtis off at her car without a word.

  BARTON HILLMAN HAD JUST FINISHED HIS PHONE conversation with Diana Curtis when one of his lab techs walked through his office door.

  “Mr. Hillman? ” the techie asked, his voice wavering.

  “Yeah, what is it?”

  The lab tech held out a report. Hillman took it and glanced at the top page.

  “The Evans car?”

  “Yes, the Explorer and the coat.”

  “Anything I need to know?”

  “The white paint was from a GM vehicle. The car, truck, or SUV could have been manufactured anytime in the past decade. So we put out an APB on a white General Motors vehicle with damage on the passenger side.”

  “Well, that narrows it down to several thousand cars in Arkansas and Missouri alone.”

  “We had more luck with the bullet.”

  “What bullet? ” Hillman barked.

  “We found a slug in the driver’s side door. It wasn’t obvious because that area was caked with mud.”

  “And?”

  “It came from a .32.”

  “Hardly unusual.”

  “True, but it’s a match for a previous homicide.”

  “Oh? ” This was not the news he wanted to hear. It muddied the waters. He wanted this case to be clean, neat, and short. If this turned out to be complicated, the investigati
on could drag on for months. “Well, now we seem to be getting somewhere. We might just wrap up two cases at once here.”

  “Maybe not, chief. The other murder happened a couple of years ago. A man’s already been tried and convicted. He’s in prison. The same gun was used to murder a Stone County man, Micah Dean.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Hillman said, feigning ignorance. He knew the case well. He looked away and pretended to go page by page though a mental file of cases. Just enough time for the techie to be awed by his recall. “I remember now. We did some lab work for the local sheriff on that one, but we weren’t involved in the investigation. As I recall, Dean was shot over a piece of river property. A real estate man who was deep in debt was nailed for the crime. He still maintains he didn’t do it. I met him on death row last year. He seemed as crazy as a loon to me. He fired his lawyers and is fast-tracking his execution. A strange tactic for an innocent man. Especially when it was an open-and-shut case.”

  “His name is Jonathon Jennings,” the tech said. “You probably know the gun in the case was never found.”

  Was that sarcasm? Hillman wondered. “Yeah, it’s all coming back now. I read a newspaper story on the trial where he claimed he didn’t even own a gun. Never had. The jury didn’t buy it. He probably ditched it somewhere after he shot Dean. I think his courtappointed attorney even made that statement after the verdict.”

  “If he did toss the gun, then someone found it,” the techie said. He paused a moment before continuing, “Sir, what are the odds of two murders being committed with the same gun and the two shooters and the victims having no connection to each other?”

  “Long,” Hillman replied. “So long that I wouldn’t want to try to compute it. Anything else?”

  “Nothing on or in the coat that offers us any direction. The deputy’s still missing—no trace of her—and the search has been expanded statewide and into Missouri. In fact, about all we have is the bullet.”

  Hillman nodded. He knew that if the deputy hadn’t been found by now, she likely was dead. He didn’t dwell on it; it was simply part of being a cop.

  “Sir, with the bullet matching an earlier case and that man on death row, do you think there’s a chance he is telling the truth?And he’s innocent?”

  The director shrugged. “Not my call. He was convicted by a jury of his peers and he has now chosen to get to the death chamberas quickly as possible. So it seems that everyone got it right on that case.” Hillman paused, studied the report briefly, and without looking up said, “Who found the bullet?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Anyone else know about it?”

  “No, sir. I did all the work on it.”

  Tossing the report on his desk, the director walked over to the lab tech, put his hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “This is good work, son—the kind of thing that gets you promoted around here. Now, to keep things in the proper context on the case and protect the evidence, I need for you to do a couple of things for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “First, gather all the information you have on the bullet—photos, lab reports, everything. Box it up and bring it all back to me.”

  The techie nodded.

  “Then take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it. Have some fun. But until I give the word, this is between you and me. I need to check something out on this. It’s urgent. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the lab tech left, Hillman hoped the tech was grateful for the time off and intimidated by his authority. His linking the bullet in the Explorer with the gun from two years ago was good work but now created a puzzle, an unknown. And Hillman didn’t like unknowns. That gun might just confuse the issue and give a defense attorney a wedge to keep the guilty party out of prison.

  But Hillman’s real concern was the gun’s use in that previous case. What if Jennings was innocent after all? Police never did find the gun. Just the bullet. At the time, Hillman had been concerned that the prosecutor was working with weak evidence. With the same gun now used in another shooting, that previous conviction could be overturned. And that just wouldn’t do. That case was prosecuted by Stone County District Attorney Martin Gooch—Hillman’s brother-in-law and possibly the next governor of the state.

  THE HOUSE WAS BUILT OF LOG AND NATIVE STONE, two stories high, and sat on top of Shell Hill overlooking Salem. It had been built in 1910 by Lije Evans’ great-grandfather Grover Evans. Grover’s son, John, had made a small fortune in East Coast real estate in the 1930s and, after living on Park Avenue, returned to Salem upon his father’s death. At that time most thought of him as a city slicker, so they were shocked when he stayed in town, built a law practice, and doubled the size of the family home.

  Like his father, John’s son Thomas pursued a career in New York, making his own modest fortune and surprising everyone by returning to the Ozarks as a bachelor. He married and the union produced one son, Lije. The youngest member of the Evans legacy was still in high school when his father passed away and had just finished his undergrad work when his mother suffered a fatal stroke. The old place sat vacant for several years until he returned to reopen his grandfather’s law practice and move his wife, Kaitlyn, into the family home.

  While Lije remodeled and updated the old law offices on the first floor of what was once the Salem Hotel, Kaitlyn resurrected the old home place. With her touch, the once dark walls gave way to open rooms filled with light. Hitting antique malls and garage sales, she added period pieces as well as fun items, such as a nickel Coke machine, a jukebox, and a soda fountain. Rather than the solitary and somewhat mysterious retreat it had been, the house became, according to Southern Living magazine, a relaxed, inviting home that hosted everything from church socials to charity bazaars. Those who cozied up next to the native-stone fireplace that dominated the two-story great room claimed this had to be the warmest spot in the country.

  The home had always been a refuge to Lije, especially in the days after his father’s passing, but now it seemed like a prison. If he could choose anywhere to be at this moment, it would be anywhere else. High above the town on the hill, the family home had always been on display. The site had been chosen by his great-grandfather. That was the nature of the family. They didn’t do anything in a small way. So tonight, besides the guests who were wandering around the old place, there were scores in town below, looking up at the hill, wondering what he was doing and how he was coping. He could feel their eyes and almost hear their thoughts, as if he were haunted by ghosts.

  The doorbell rang again and Lije answered it.

  “Miss Curtis … it’s so good of you to come.”

  He knew it was the right thing to say, the proper words for this occasion, but he didn’t want anyone in his home, especially not an ABI agent assigned to follow him around for “protection.” He was sure the vibes he was sending clearly said he just wanted to pull a Garbo, but she was missing the signal.

  “It’s a beautiful home,” Curtis said as Lije ushered her through the foyer and into the great room.

  “That would be Kaitlyn’s touch,” he explained. “Before she came here, it was always dark and cold. My family didn’t actually live here, we hid here.”

  Even as he spoke, he realized the irony of his words. Hiding was what he wanted to do now. He wanted to close out the world and keep it out. He would even love to return the home to its dark days. Yet he couldn’t, at least not at the moment. So he forged ahead with hollow words to describe what the home had been under Kaitlyn’s influence.

  “Until fifteen years ago, few in this area had ever seen the inside of this house. It might be hard to believe, but this place once seemed an imposing fortress sitting over the town, a place that generated stories of ghosts and goblins. After Kaitlyn and I arrived, we put the lights back on and the welcome mat out. Seems like everyone in town has been here several times. Kaitlyn opened things up. She saw the potential in everyone and in everything, including this ancient wooden palace
.”

  This was a tour he didn’t want to give, but he continued nonetheless. “And she didn’t waste any of her gifts or her time. I guess for that I can be grateful.” He paused, staring at a photograph of Kaitlyn that sat on the mantel atop the six-foot-wide fireplace. Suddenly, not wanting to remember or speak of Kaitlyn, he skirted the few remaining guests and led his uninvited guest into a sitting area at the back of the house. When he spoke, his voice contained none of the warmth it had just a few moments before.

  “I KNOW YOU’RE HERE TO GUARD ME,” LIJE TOLD Curtis. “Still, I think I’ll be safe in my own home. So I believe you’re wasting your time. And mine too. It’s pretty easy to see anyone approach as they come up the hill. Besides, all thirty acres up here are mine. I own Shell Hill.”

  Curtis smiled. “I won’t get in your way. I know you still have some guests here. You do what you need to do with them, and I’ll kind of look around. And I agree, my job would seem to be pretty easy up here on top of the world. I’m sure I can all but disappear.”

  Lije decided she sounded sincere. It seemed she didn’t want to be here any more than he did. He almost felt a moment of camaraderie with her. “All right, but I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t show you a few more things.” Maybe being with someone who didn’t know Kaitlyn was better than being around those who couldn’t wait to bring up another anecdote or memory.

  “Let me take you over to what we called ‘the road show.’” Leading her to a far wall, he pointed out scores of photos, most of them taken on their many trips. In each of the snapshots, their happiness didn’t just show, it exploded from inside the frames. From the snow-capped Rockies to the beaches of Hawaii to the streets of Boston, Lije and Kaitlyn knew how to have fun while sharing the wonders of the world with each other.