by Laurel Dewey
“He’s had eighteen months to think about what happened. Of course, he spent most of that time promoting his book on Rudy Weiss, doing guest spots on TV, and playing the cable news pundit. I strongly doubt that Fredericks has spent much time evaluating his ego-driven need to become the story instead of report it.”
“How does he work?”
“I have no idea.” Jane hesitated slightly. “But I know somebody who does.”
“Who?”
“My cousin, Carl. Carl Perry. His dad and my dad were brothers. We lost touch over fifteen years ago. The last time I saw him, he was a pothead, loved his tequila, and was hammering out stories for whatever underground rag he could get to print his shit.”
“He’s a writer?”
“Yeah. I guess he’s pretty successful now. He writes for Rolling Stone. He’s traveled around with tons of well-known people, usually rock stars. Probably has access to all the free dope he can smoke.”
“How does Carl know Clinton Fredericks?”
“Rolling Stone hired Carl to do a story on him after the Rudy Weiss debacle. It was called ‘Profile of a Profiler.’ It didn’t say much of anything new but I guess it gave Carl some credibility. I see his byline a lot. He left a message on my home phone to congratulate me after he saw me on Larry King. He’d also heard about my dad dying and wanting to send his condolences. I didn’t call him back.”
“How come?”
“I’m not a family-driven person. I don’t have the need to sit around and trade stories of growing up with Cousin Carl.”
“Is that because Cousin Carl’s father reminded you of your own dad?”
“Oh, we’re back to the psychological bullshit again, are we? Well, no. My uncle was the absolute opposite of my dad—passive as they come. Weak willed. Talked so quietly you could hardly hear him. He was also a hapless drunk, just like my father. Must run in the blood, eh? He crinked about ten years ago. Liver cancer.”
“Deep-seated unresolved anger and guilt....” Kit replied.
“Huh?”
“Liver cancer. Your uncle must have buried some very deep and disturbing traumatic memories in his body.”
“Well, he grew up with my father as his younger brother, so anything is possible!” Jane reported to Kit that she’d kept her cousin’s phone number after he called and checked the area code out of curiosity. It turned out he lived thirty miles south of Las Vegas in the remote desert town of Jeffers. “I figure maybe I call him and ask to crash on his couch for the night.”
“Crash on his couch....” Kit repeated with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s been awhile since I ‘crashed’ on anyone’s couch. Look forward to meeting your cousin.”
“Yeah, right. You’re just hoping to score some free pot!” Jane rummaged through her satchel and removed her address book. Finding Carl’s name, she dialed his number.
He answered on the second ring. “This is Carl.”
Jane was a bit uneasy. “Carl. Hi. It’s Jane. Your cousin.” The words staggered from her mouth in an uncomfortable rhythm.
“Well, shit! Jane Perry!” Carl replied, equally surprised. “What the fuck’s up?”
Jane hated it when someone asked her What’s up? “Oh, just life, you know.”
“Yeah, I hear you!”
Jane surmised that given Carl’s happy-go-lucky banter, he was probably tooting on a doobie as they spoke. “Listen, I know this is last minute and somewhat presumptuous on my part—”
“Presumptuous? Fuckin’ big word!”
Yeah. Carl was stoned. Jane was sure of it. “Right. Look, I’m on the road and I’m going to be going through your neck of the woods tonight—”
“Nobody goes through my neck of the woods unless they’re fuckin’ lost! I live in Bum Fuck Egypt, cousin, and I like it that way. You can garden butt-ass naked in my front yard and nobody but a fuckin’ coyote is gonna see you.”
“Okay, you got me, Carl,” Jane said, gritting her teeth. She hated conversing with people who were stoned. “I need to talk to you about somebody you know.” Jane hesitated but then revealed Clinton’s name.
“What the fuck do you want to know about him?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there, which will be probably nine o’ clock tonight—”
“Say 10:30,” Kit quickly interjected.
“Ah, how about 10:30? Is that too late?”
“Too late?” Carl guffawed. “Fuck! I don’t get into my groove until midnight! Sure! Look forward to it!”
Carl gave Jane directions to his remote desert house that included notations such as “Turn off the paved road” and “When you see the rusty weather vane, you’re about a mile from the house.” It appeared that “BFE” described his abode to a tee.
Jane said good-bye and clicked off her phone. “This should be tedious,” she remarked, musing over what to expect that evening. “But I gotta do it.”
Kit turned pensive. “We need to make one quick stop before going to Carl’s.”
“Where’s that?”
“Henderson, Nevada.”
“Your daughter?”
Kit nodded. “It won’t take long. I just need....” Kit took a deep, meaningful breath. “I just need to do it. It’s been over fourteen years since I’ve seen her. I’ve talked to her on the phone maybe five times. But the last call was a while back and it wasn’t a good one. She’s just never forgiven me for what happened.” Jane handed Kit her cell phone and told her to call Barbara, but Kit pushed it away. “No calls. If she knows we’re coming, she’ll leave. Trust me.”
The two drove in contemplative silence for miles until Kit squashed her buckwheat pillow against the side of the window and drifted off to sleep. As they sped into Utah, the scenery drastically altered. It reminded Jane of what Mars might look like if one could survive on that desolate planet. One monochromatic landscape blended into another, only interrupted by patches of snow that collected under the sagebrush. Fifty miles later, the terrain turned magical as the ochre rocks rose like cathedrals intermingled with dustings of naturally-forming salt that powdered the territory as far the eye could see. Jane spotted the occasional crow perched on the highway guardrails, standing at attention like a sentinel. Ten miles later, another army of crows stood along the highway. Kit stirred just in time to see the gathering of black birds.
“Crows....” Kit muttered, half-asleep. “An omen of change,” she whispered, shifting in the seat. “Forgive.... Don’t fall into the darkness,” she quietly said before drifting off to sleep again.
Jane regarded Kit with a questionable look. It was very odd. For the next sixty miles, there seemed to be a steady number of crows dotting the highway.
They passed Green River, Utah, and quickly rose in elevation, traveling across expansive mesas of striking red rock. There were more than 100 miles of nothing between Green River and Salina; a blur of high desert rock formations and the occasional Ranch Exit. After leaving Salina, Jane sped south on I-15 toward Richfield, and then fifty miles later ascended again in elevation toward Cove Fort, entering the land of pointy-tipped pines buried in three feet of snow. Jane and Kit ate a late lunch in Beaver, Utah, before powering on to St. George. Night fell too soon across the Utah landscape, with the accompanying glare of headlights as Jane tempted fate and topped speeds of over ninety-five miles per hour. The high speed allowed an arrival in Henderson, Nevada, thirty minutes earlier than expected. The bedroom community of Henderson had become a booming area to build mid-to-highend development tracks so families could raise their children away from the steady din and bright lights of Sin City. But to Jane, it just seemed like another cluttered bastion of suburbia.
“It’s changed a lot since I was here,” Kit quietly said with an anxious edge.
“I thought you said you hadn’t seen Barbara and Paul in over fourteen years.”
“I haven’t. But I came out here about seven years ago with a group of friends from Boulder who decided to fly out to Vegas for a long weekend. I rented a car and drove arou
nd Henderson by myself. I wanted to see where Paul worked and where they lived so I could have a better picture in my mind when I visualized them together. Do you mind if we go past Paul’s automotive shop before going to the house?”
Jane agreed, turning the Mustang down a bustling street. They pulled up in the front lot of Automotive Specialists and parked the Mustang in the shadows, about thirty feet from the well-lit, glasssided office that sat adjacent to the large vehicle facility. Jane and Kit could easily see Paul seated at his desk going over paperwork. Jane eyed the digital clock on the bank across the street. “Nine o’ clock,” Jane offered. “He keeps late hours.”
Kit stared at Paul. “Yeah. Like I told you, Paul is a good provider. Always has been. But the late hours...I think it’s worse than it used to be.”
Jane took a gander at Paul. She figured he had to be in his early fifties, but the stark patches of gray that overtook his brown hair and swept across his weathered face made him look ten years older. Paul removed his eyeglasses and leaned back in his chair. After a moment, he fumbled under his desk and withdrew a bottle with an amber liquid inside. He poured a healthy quantity of the liquid into his coffee cup and took a meaningful sip. Jane was familiar with the MO. “That ain’t apple juice.”
“Shit,” Kit whispered under her breath. “He was a teetotaler for as long as I knew him.” Kit was desperate to reach out to Paul. “He’s in such pain—”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Jane urged, but Kit already had her door open and one foot on the asphalt. The action caught Paul’s attention. He stood up and strode his wiry frame to the door, opening it and squinting into the darkness.
“Who’s there?” Paul yelled.
“It’s me, Paul,” Kit said tentatively. “Katherine.”
Paul tightened his jaw just enough to produce a quick flex of muscle on his skin. “What in the hell are you doin’ here?” The words were weak and slightly slow falling out of his mouth. But there was no mistaking the seething undercurrent of boiling anger in his voice. This was a weak-willed man, Jane surmised, but he was fueled right now by a tide of deep resentment.
“I....” Kit was uncharacteristically timid. “I’m just passing through town—”
“Then pass through!” Paul said, slurring his words a bit.
Jane put her hand on Kit’s shoulder in a protective gesture. “Come on,” she quietly instructed. “Close the door. Let’s go.”
Kit turned to Jane. Her face was etched with both shame and profound sadness. “I wanted to make amends,” she whispered.
“Do I have to call the cops?” Paul yelled.
Kit turned back to Paul, heartbroken. She closed the door and Jane quickly backed the Mustang out of the lot. They drove to Barbara’s house in silence until Jane spoke up. “Don’t take what he said too much to heart.”
“It’s what he still feels that I heard back there.”
They rounded the block and drove until they found the house, parking in front of it. Kit fussed in her purse in search of something. “By the way,” she said, her attention focused on her purse, “they don’t know about my cancer. And they’re not going to. Understood?”
Jane was bewildered. “Okay.”
Kit seemed satisfied with her search and carefully zipped up her purse. A wave of courage washed over her. “You stay here. I won’t be long.”
Jane directed Kit’s attention toward the house. A portly, late fortyish woman, dressed in a sloppy pair of stained sweatpants, tennis shoes, and a heavy purple down jacket exited the house, slamming the front door behind her. Squinting toward the car and verifying the occupant in the passenger seat, the woman strode with angry purpose down the brick walkway. Kit got out of the car and met her just at the edge of the brown-tinged lawn as Jane emerged from the Mustang.
“I just got a call from Paul! He figured your next stop was here!”
“Barbara—”
“You got some nerve showing up like this!”
Kit appeared desperate. “Barbara, I know this is ill timed—”
“God, I thought after all these years, you’d get the message when I return your letters to you unopened and with ‘Return to Sender. Will not accept’ written across the envelope in red ink!” Even though it was dark, Jane could see waves of heat flushing Barbara’s cheeks. “What does it take for you to understand that I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to deal with you?”
Kit bowed her head in defeat. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”
Barbara moved closer to her mother, a look of pent-up rage spitting from her eyes. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. In my mind, you are dead.”
Kit looked Barbara in the eye. “Yes. I’m sure it makes it easier that way. I’m sorry you are so full of anger. Please...get help.” Kit reached out to touch Barbara’s shoulder, but Barbara backed away from her mother’s touch.
“I don’t need help! I need you to get the hell out of here and never come back!”
Kit nodded. “All right...but I need to use your bathroom before we go.”
“There’s a bathroom seven blocks down at the McDonald’s,” Barbara replied, her voice like burning vitriol.
“I really need to use your bathroom now,” Kit said urgently.
Barbara stood back and shook her head. “This is the last time you will ever manipulate me! Go down the hallway to the left of the front door. It’s the first door on the left. And make it quick!”
Kit quickly walked to the front door and went into the house.
Barbara looked over at Jane. “You a friend of hers?”
Jane took the question to mean, “Any friend of Kit’s is an enemy of mine.” Jane lit up a cigarette, took a long drag, and blew a plume of smoke into the air, never once taking her eyes off Barbara. “Yeah.” Jane couldn’t help but see that the bathroom light had never been turned on inside the house. Barbara kept her back to the house, but Jane’s ever-observant eye didn’t miss a beat. Jane casually turned to the side and then serendipitously caught sight of Kit’s silhouette walking across the living room and then disappearing into a far corner.
“Do you know what happened?” Barbara asked, the words dripping like acid from her tongue.
Jane considered her answer carefully. “I know you lost your daughter—”
“Lost? No, we didn’t lose her? She was killed. And it didn’t have to happen!”
Another furtive glance to the living room and Jane noticed quick movement on Kit’s part. Jane inhaled deeply on her cigarette.
Barbara took another few steps toward the Mustang. “You see, somebody fucked up badly. Somebody who was a fuckup her entire life. Somebody who chose to ‘go with the flow’ instead of paying attention and using common sense. Somebody who didn’t understand that when you’re put in charge of a child, it means you never let her out of your sight. It means you are on her ass from morning ’til night. Just like when she’s home. That’s the only way you can keep them safe from the sick fucks that roam the streets looking for their next conquest. I’m just telling you this because I think it’s important to know about your ‘friend’ and all of her dark little secrets.” Jane’s ears perked up on the words dark little secrets. Barbara seemed to be baiting Jane and, oddly, Jane was intrigued. “Irresponsible doesn’t even come close to describing her,” Barbara added. “Her history should prove that!”
“For what it’s worth, Barbara, not a day goes by that she doesn’t blame herself for what happened to Ashlee.”
“Oh, spare me!” Barbara’s eyes were two piercing orbs of fire. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me that shit! You remind me of the high and mighty minister at the funeral. He stood up there and said in his most self-righteous voice, ‘If Christ could forgive those who killed Him, we could eventually forgive the man who sinned against Ashlee.’ What a sanctimonious asshole! I wanted to choke the son of a bitch. Maybe if he lost his child...his only child, he’d feel differently. All he’d want is revenge. All he’d want
to do is destroy the people who took the most precious thing from him.” Barbara angrily wiped a tear from her face. She straightened her spine as rigidly as she could muster. “The monster who did this to my daughter got out last year on a technicality. He’s going to get himself a new trial. And you know what? He’ll probably walk!”
“That’s not written in stone,” Jane interjected.
“Oh, pull your head out of the sand! He will walk! That’s the way it works! You do everything you can in this world to live right and treat others like you want to be treated and then you get fucked over!” Barbara shrugged her shoulders. “That asshole didn’t just kill my daughter. He killed the whole family.” She choked on the words, fighting back her ragged emotions. “Speaking of which, where in the hell is she, anyway?” Barbara turned to the house just as Kit opened the front door and crossed down the brick path toward the car.
Kit started to get into the Mustang when she turned back to Barbara. “Please take care of yourself, darling. I love you.”
“Fuck you,” Barbara said in an offhand, discarding manner before she turned and walked into the house, slamming the door with emphasis behind her.
Kit got into the Mustang. Jane squashed her cigarette into the asphalt before taking her seat. They sat in quiet contemplation before Jane broke the silence.
“You okay?”
“It hurts.”
“Of course it hurts. To hear—”
“No. I don’t care what she says to me. You can’t hurt somebody unless they allow it. It hurts me to see her so torn up by her own hatred and grief. It’s going to kill her. Mark my words, it’s going to kill her.” Kit stole a glance toward the house. “You know, Jane, I would have given my life to save Ashlee. It’s my one regret. There’s nothing original about death. People do it every day. But a death of purpose...of sacrifice...that would have made everything good in the end.” She looked at Jane. “Carl’s waiting for us. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 15
Interstate 95 was clear sailing as Jane headed south for fifteen miles before connecting to Junction 165. The farther they drove, the more it became apparent that Cousin Carl lived in an extremely remote locale. The possibility that Carl liked the seclusion because he could grow pot with no intrusion from authorities crossed Jane’s mind. Checking her low gas gauge, Jane took solace when she found a lonely Texaco gas station and the Black Crow Liquor Store in what appeared to be the dusty, forgotten town of Jeffers. Under the neon glow of the Black Crow sign, Jane pulled her jacket tightly around her chest and braced herself against the sudden icy wind. She removed the gas pump just as Kit exited the car and headed for the store.
