The Rainy Day Killer

by Michael J. McCann

  “Yes,” Darryl said. “It was good news.”

  “That’s good,” Karen said, not convinced.

  Rebecca glanced at Darryl and shut her mouth.

  Del, however, was smiling as he stared at what was left of his drink. “Remember that little trip we all took down to Galveston? When was that, eighty-four?”

  “Nineteen eighty-five,” Darryl said.

  Del nodded. “I think I was fourteen. Poor Daddy, he never had any fun in life, but that summer he was bound and determined we’d go on a little vacation.”

  “I remember,” Karen said. She’d been ten years old at the time.

  “He packed up the car,” Del went on, shifting on the lounger to tell the story to Beatrice, “and drove us all the way down there. Got a cheap motel room for the night, rented a boat, and took us out fishing. Nobody caught a damn thing. Brad and Karen spent the whole time fighting about whether we should keep the fish or throw them back.”

  “I don’t remember,” Brad said.

  “You would’ve only been eight,” Del said, draining his glass. He winked at Beatrice. “He wanted to keep them, and Little Kay wanted to throw them back. Anyway, it was a moot point since we didn’t catch anything. After a while, Daddy just reeled in his line and brought us back to the marina. Darryl took off to go girl-watching on the beach, and Daddy and I threw a football around in the motel parking lot.”

  Karen nodded. She’d spent the time on the beach as well, looking for seashells. She held up her glass and Brad, taking the hint, got up to refill it for her.

  “I can still remember the smell of the Gulf,” she said. “Sometimes when I’m down on the boardwalk and I smell the Chesapeake, I think of that day.”

  “Yeah.” Del leaned back, massaging his temples.

  “It sounds nice,” Beatrice said.

  “Mama spent the whole night crying,” Del said. “We were all sacked out on the floor, me, Darryl, Brad, and Jimmy Bob, and Karen was in the armchair, but I don’t think any of us slept. We just lay there staring at the ceiling all night, listening to Daddy’s voice trying to make her feel better, and her crying. Not loud, not carrying on, just quiet crying. She never stopped, the whole night. The next morning he packed the car up and we went back home to Fort Worth. So much for his weekend holiday.”

  As Brad handed her glass to her, Karen hastily brushed away a tear, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  “Thing was,” Del went on, “we were all helping Daddy put the stuff in the car, and nobody was keeping track of her. When we were ready to go, we looked around and she was nowhere in sight.”

  “You found her,” Darryl said.

  “I did.” He looked up at Brad, who was holding out his hand. “Surely, son, you are a mind reader.” He gave him his empty glass.

  “What happened?” Beatrice asked. “Where was she?”

  “We looked all over the place. Daddy checked the other motel rooms, to see if she’d gone into one that was unlocked. Darryl walked up the road in case she’d started hitch-hiking, which she sometimes did. I went down to the beach, and that’s where she was. I found her swimming a few yards offshore, in all her clothes, just breast-stroking along without a care in the world.”

  “My goodness.” Beatrice patted his knee.

  “I’ll never forget the look on her face, Bea. I kept calling out to her, ‘Mama, you gotta come in now. Mama, Daddy wants to leave.’ She just kept swimming along. So I waded out to get her. By the time I reached her, I realized the water was only just up to my waist. I thought it was deeper. I reached out and caught hold of her, and she stopped swimming. She stood up in the water and looked at me with this incredibly peaceful look on her face and said, ‘Delbert, it’s just so lovely. It’s all so very lovely.’ I’d never seen her look so serene. Before or since.”

  They listened to the rain, which was now falling much harder.

  It was Darryl, though, Karen remembered, who’d gone with their father that day when she was finally institutionalized for good. Bobby had packed a small suitcase for her with a few things, some clothing, photographs, and a few keepsakes, and Darryl carried it as they came downstairs that morning, the three of them. There’d been a lot of fighting the night before, as Mary Beth had been terribly upset about what lay ahead of her—a sudden, last-minute shift from her normal apathy—but in the morning calmness had thankfully returned. Karen watched from the front hallway as they came downstairs, her father in the lead, Mary Beth following docilely, and Darryl bringing up the rear, carrying the suitcase.

  Her father walked past her, opened the front door, and led the way out to the car, which was waiting in the driveway with the engine running. His face was expressionless, a cop’s face, impassive, but she’d seen the pain in his eyes as he avoided her stare.

  Her mother, wearing her best blouse and ankle-length skirt, also passed Karen without looking at her, then hesitated at the door. She turned back.

  “You look pretty today,” she said.

  Then she was gone.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Darryl shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. “What are we going to do, Kay?”

  Karen remembered how angry the question had made her. “What we’ve always done, Darryl. Do it all ourselves. That’s what we’re gonna do.”

  It was painful to remember how Mary Beth had been abused, mentally and physically, in that first hospital before Bobby had been able to move her to the place where she lived now. If Bobby felt guilty for having signed the papers and taken her there on that morning, closing a door behind them that could never be reopened, Karen felt equally guilty for having been so angry at her mother, for having, in that moment, not given a damn what happened to Mary Beth as long as all the turmoil and heartache ended, right then and there.

  She knew now, in retrospect, that it never ended.

  After a long silence, Rebecca stood up and walked over to the bar to get herself another beer from the mini-fridge. “It’s a good job you guys decided not to have the ceremony outside in the gazebo. It’s raining pretty hard out there right now.”

  “Yeah,” Karen said. “I’d look like a drowned rat.”

  “I went over to see Jimmy Bob,” Darryl said.

  “Oh, God,” Brad said, sitting down again with a fresh bottle of beer.

  Del frowned, rubbing the back of his head.

  Karen said nothing, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

  “He’s all right,” Darryl soldiered on. “As good as you could expect.”

  Jimmy Bob, the youngest of the Stainer children, was serving a life sentence in a maximum-security prison in Abilene for armed robbery. Eleven years ago, when he was twenty-four, he and two buddies robbed a savings and loan in Lubbock, during which act of incredible stupidity one of the others shot a guard. The man survived, but remained paralyzed from the waist down.

  “He’s taking a welding course.”

  “Good for him,” Del said. “As long as he doesn’t try to cut his way out of there, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

  “I say a prayer for him every night,” Darryl said. “I know how lame that sounds, but Daddy asked me to, just before he died. I promised him I would, so I do.”

  “Darryl,” Brad said, “if God listens to anyone on this damned planet, he listens to you. But he isn’t going to listen to a single word about Jimmy Bob. Not a single goddamned word.”

  “That makes two of us,” Karen said. “Can we change the fucking subject?”

  “Good idea,” Del said. “How’s your Firebird driving, Little Kay?”

  “Just lovely,” Karen said. “I’m taking real good care of it, trust me.”

  “Oh, I do. You didn’t go snooping around behind the guest house, did you?”

  “No, of course not. I haven’t been down there.”

  “Good. I’ve got your wedding present stashed back there, so stay away.”

  “Oh, Del. Another car?”

  “What else would it be?” Beatrice laughed. “This man’s got a o
ne-track mind.”

  “Now you know, baby, that ain’t true.” Del winked at her, then pointed at Karen with his glass. “Sandy already saw it, so it’s too late to ask for something else. Anyway, when you see it, it’s going to absofuckinlutely knock you out. You’ll see.”

  “What is it?”

  Del shook his head. “Tomorrow. Darryl’s driving you to the church in it. Right, big boy?”

  “You bet,” Darryl said. “If it starts.”

  “If it starts?” Del sputtered. “If it starts? Do you know how many hours I slaved over that engine? Just the starter motor itself, which had to be replaced, mind you, was a total bitch. Made me late on two other restoration jobs. Man, I had to take off the engine mounts, jack up the engine, take off the carb and the tranny linkages and both exhaust manifolds. Not an easy job, kids. But what a sweet engine. It’s the optional 430 V-8, the bigger one, cranks out 350 HPs at 4400 RPMs, and goes from zero to sixty in nine-point-nine seconds. Nine-point-nine seconds!”

  “Nobody knows what all that means, hon,” Beatrice said.

  Del nodded at Karen. “She does. Don’t you, Little Kay?”

  “Are we talking about a T-bird, Del? What year? A ’59?”

  “I’m not saying,” Del said. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Not any more,” Brad said. “Blabbermouth.”

  “What color? Black? Red?”

  “You just never mind.”

  “Convertible?”

  “Never mind.”

  Brad stood up. “Come on, Karen, let’s go find a flashlight and check it out.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Del held out his hand, palm down. “It’s a surprise. She’ll see it tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Del,” Karen said, letting him off the hook. “I’ll wait.”

  “You’re gonna love it,” he grinned at her. “You’re gonna be so happy.”

  40

  Saturday, June 1: late morning

  The next morning, Karen broke another of Lane’s little rules by meeting with her husband-to-be on their wedding day. Earlier, the two women had trooped into town for their hair and nail appointments, and as they pulled into the long driveway at the Alexander ranch at fifteen minutes before noon, freshly coiffed and manicured, Karen was bravely trying to keep up her end of the conversation, which had gravitated to Lane’s ongoing interest in fashion. She had a mental list of suggestions she wanted to make to Karen for improving her wardrobe and look, and she was only halfway through it when they reached the ranch. With a sense of relief, Karen saw that Sandy was waiting for them at the front door of the house. One look at the expression on his face, however, told her something was wrong.

  “Sandy, what are you doing?” Lane demanded as she got out of the car. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?”

  “I thought that was just the wedding dress,” Sandy replied lightly, gesturing with his head that Karen should step aside so he could speak with her.

  “Nonsense, dear. The groom shouldn’t see the bride at all until she and her escort walk down the aisle.”

  “Karen and I need to talk, Mom. Business.”

  Lane stopped in the doorway and turned around to look at him. “Business? What kind of business could you possibly have today, of all days?”

  “Police business, Mom. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I see.” Lane looked at Karen. “Please remember that Mary Lou will be here at noon to do our makeup. She can start with me, but you mustn’t be late.”

  “Okey doke.” She watched Lane sail off into the house and turned to Sandy. “What’s up?”

  “Not here. We’re in the barn.”

  “We?”

  The caterer’s staff had begun setting up the tables inside the barn for lunch for the groom and his party, but at a word from Hank, they quietly slipped outside to give them privacy. Karen looked around at Ed Griffin, Darryl, and Marie-Louise Roubidoux.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Karen asked.

  “I got a call on my cell an hour ago,” Hank said. “From him.”

  In her defense, Karen had been struggling for several days to make the mental transition from law enforcement officer to bride-to-be. It was the morning of her wedding, and she’d just about convinced herself that today, for one day, she could be someone normal, someone who did something normal such as marry the man she loved, like any other normal, ordinary woman. The fact that it took her a moment, then, to realize what Hank was talking about was understandable.

  “He’s here,” Hank went on, when he saw in her eyes that the penny had dropped. “He said he was watching you, in town. Saw you go into May’s Salon with Lane and took photos of you through the front window.” Hank held out his phone. “He sent me one.”

  Karen took the phone and looked at a shot of herself, taken through the big picture window of the beauty salon, smiling at someone. As though she had a right to smile and laugh and be happy.

  “The fucking goddamned son of a bitch. I’ll kill him.”

  “I notified the SAC in Richmond,” Roubidoux said, “and spoke to Special Agent Hudson Barnett in the Roanoke office. He’s on his way, and he’ll coordinate with Sheriff Crull. We’ll get people at the church, in town, and here at the ranch. Everyone’s on high alert. He won’t bother you, Karen. If he tries, we’ll get him.”

  “Let him through,” Karen said, handing back Hank’s phone.

  “I don’t think—” Hank began.

  “No, I’m serious. Let him through. Let him try. I swear to God, I’ll take that smug, vicious, lowlife piece of shit—”

  “Karen,” Sandy said quietly, “let them handle it. Take a step back.”

  “I’m not going to take a step back, Sandy. I’m going to give that fucking bastard a taste of his own fucking medicine.”

  “Take a step back, Karen,” Sandy repeated. “Marie-Louise just said the Roanoke office is sending an agent. He and the sheriff’s office will take care of it. That’s what they’re paid to do. You and I are going to be busy, remember? With something we’ve planned for a long time. Let these other people do their thing so we can do ours. Okay?”

  “All I’m saying is, if I get the shot, I’m taking it.”

  “Please, Karen?”

  “If I get the shot, I’m taking it.”

  Sandy stared at her for a long moment, then looked at Darryl and shook his head. “Was she always this intense?”

  “Oh yeah,” Darryl said.

  “The sheriff got a poster out with the composite,” Griffin said, “although it took some convincing. It seems,” he looked at Sandy, “he doesn’t like your father very much.”

  “I’m aware,” Sandy said.

  “It’s circulating around town as we speak,” Griffin went on, “and his deputies have a copy with them on their patrols. If he makes any mistakes at all, they’ll grab him and this will all blow over like a puff of smoke from a bad cigar. You two need to concentrate on your families and friends. Do you think you can do that?”

  Karen fixed him with a laser-beam stare. “Sure enough. And if I get the shot, I’m taking it.”

  “We just thought you should be aware, Karen,” Hank said. “That’s all.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t let it spoil the day.”

  She bared her teeth at him, but said nothing. She picked up a linen napkin from the table next to her and wadded it into a tight ball.

  “Do you think this guy’s serious enough to try something?” Darryl asked Griffin.

  The analyst shrugged. “We can’t be 100 percent certain, but why take a chance on being wrong? You saw the weather. Overcast sky, those scudding, low-hanging clouds making it all smoky and misty, the intermittent drizzle. It’s perfect for him.”

  “Maybe it’s a bluff,” Roubidoux said. “Just trying to get under everyone’s skin. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be in Kentucky or Tennessee.”

  “We have to be sure.”

  “Of course. I agree. I just
don’t think he’ll be able to get close. I think it’s all talk. Playing games. Then he’ll move on.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Griffin said.

  “I don’t,” Karen said. “I hope he shows.”

  “Go,” Sandy said, “back to the house. Lane will never shut up if you keep the makeup girl waiting.”

  “Like hell. I want a piece of this.” She fired the wadded napkin across the barn.

  “Not a chance. Go get your makeup done with Lane. Come on, Karen. Please?”

  “While you get to stay out here? How’s that fair? It’s me he wants. I should be the one taking point.”

  “Shut up and beat it.”

  As they watched her storm out of the barn, Roubidoux folded her arms and rocked back on a heel. “Feisty girl.”

  Sandy sighed. “She is that.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Roubidoux said, “from where I’m standing, I kind of hope she gets the shot. The son of a bitch would never know what hit him. But don’t quote me on that. I’ll deny the words ever came out of my mouth.”

  Sandy’s eyes creased at the corners, but he merely shrugged.

  41

  Saturday, June 1: early afternoon

  While Sandy had lunch in the barn with his father, Hank, Horvath, and Darryl, Karen was stuck in the main dining room of the ranch house with Lane and the other women, forced to smile politely and grind her teeth while listening to prattle about flowers, booze, and chocolate.

  What made it worse, the photographer had shown up, much to Lane’s delight, and was snapping pictures of them forking salad into their mouths and nipping at the single glass of white wine Lane had begrudgingly allowed them to have with the meal. He was a sharp-eyed, rat-faced twerp with an effete, phony-looking Vandyke beard and an annoying habit of giving them directions on how to pose by pointing without speaking. Karen watched grumpily as he gestured to Molly, seated on Lane’s left, to lean over so that he could shoot the two of them together. Lane smiled grimly and Molly, thank God, gave the creep a decent smile to get it over with.

  He snapped a couple of shots of Karen, then lowered his camera, put a hand on his hip, and raised an eyebrow at her.