“What are you talking about, Molly?” I asked.
She tried to speak, but nothing came. She cleared her throat. “I’m talking about calling the superintendent and telling him that you were involved in the thing in the chapel.” Her voice was weak and sounded hoarse. “I didn’t tell him you did it or anything. I just told him that you were involved. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to protect Tony. I was so scared they were going to kill him.”
When she said “kill him,” she looked as if she had just revealed the most horrible secret. The shocked expression on her face turned to rage and then pain in seconds. She cried for two minutes, her red eyes unable to produce enough tears for more, and then talked the rest of the time through sobs and gasps for breath.
I looked over at Laura. She looked relieved. Her small smile said that her trust in me had been validated. She seemed as proud of herself for trusting in the right man as she was happy for me actually being innocent.
“Skipper said if I accused you,” Molly continued, “he would let Tony out of confinement and take care of him. I just didn’t know what else to do. I was so scared and so alone.” She lifted the wad of tissues to her eyes, her hands trembling like those of an elderly woman. “You were the only one who had ever helped me or even treated me with any decency, and I stabbed you in the back.”
I wondered if she knew how Tony was killed. Judging by her composure when she said “stabbed you in the back,” she didn’t know. I was glad. I wished I didn’t.
“I killed him,” she continued. “If I had not done what I did, he might still be alive.”
I thought the same thing, but I said, “You did not kill your husband. It was probably just a matter of time. He had fallen in with some very bad people.”
“He wasn’t bad when he went to prison. I mean, he had broken the law. He was no angel, but he was no devil either-but that’s what he was the last time I saw him.”
“When you called the superintendent, did you accuse anyone else of being involved?”
“No, not to him, but he had me speak with some sort of inspector. I told him that Captain Skipper was involved, too. But, he only wanted to know about you. He acted as if you were the only one involved. I was making it up, but I didn’t know what else to say, so some of the things that Skipper did, I told him you did.”
“Did you tell him that Anthony was there?” I asked.
“Yes, but that he was made to be. I thought that might make them sympathetic to him. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, but I was just trying to help Tony. He was so powerless, you know. They could do anything they wanted to him, and there was nothing he could do.”
“I understand,” I said. What I didn’t say was that he was still responsible for the wrong he did and that he probably got hooked up with Skipper to begin with because he was looking for a way to beat the system.
“I’m going to make it right,” she said, nodding her head rapidly. “I’m going to the press and to the superintendent tomorrow and tell the truth. I will clear your name. I’ve wronged you like no other person in my entire life, and I’m sorry. Just please believe that it was all for Tony.”
“I do, Molly,” I said, waiting for her to look into my eyes. “He was very lucky to have someone who loved him so much.”
Suddenly and unbidden, a jolt of enlightenment surged through my mind like lightning running down a tree.
When Molly left, Laura said, “That’s good news, isn’t it? Won’t she clear your name?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” I said, not realizing how right I was. “It’s already so public, and most people probably will not see her real story, and of those who do, most will not believe it.”
“Come on now,” she said. Her eyes were wide, searching for strength in mine. “Don’t give up… . I’m not going to.”
“I just think that the damage has already been done. Words are something that can never be taken back. Never. I just wonder what my inmates are thinking. How can they ever trust me again?”
“From what I’ve heard, they know what’s going on. They probably all know about Skipper, and it sounds like most of them are discovering what a wonderful man you are. They’re probably a lot more forgiving and believing than someone on the street.”
“The vast majority of them are guilty and have no difficulty believing that everybody is guilty. They probably aren’t surprised by what they’ve heard about me, but they probably do believe it.”
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I am going to testify tomorrow in Skipper’s probable-cause hearing and see what happens, but I can’t imagine ever going back to Potter Correctional Institution.”
“Well, you obviously don’t have much of an imagination,” she said and then smiled warmly enough to melt some of the ice of my isolation.
Chapter 41
There were really only two questions that Skipper’s lawyer had for me. They had already established an alibi for Skipper during the time in which Johnson was killed. Skipper’s lawyer, Gilbert Hamilton, was a short, round man from Alabama with a Southern gentleman’s exterior and a predator’s interior.
He was overweight by at least a hundred pounds, and he carried it all at the center of his body. His hair, what little of it there was, he wore closely shaven in a partial crew cut. He was wearing a light blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt roughly the size of a two-man tent, a burgundy tie with navy blue stripes, and matching suspenders. He reminded me of Boss Hog.
“Now, Mr. Jordan, I have only two questions for you, which if answered honestly will prove that the state does not have a case against my client, Captain Matthew Skipper.”
He pronounced it “Skippa.”
“First, in the matter of attempted murder, did Captain Skipper, at any time … Let me rephrase the question. Has Captain Skipper at any time ever laid a hand on you?”
I started to answer, but he continued to talk.
“Has he,” he continued, enjoying listening to the sound of his voice reverberate off the wooden walls of the small courtroom, “ever so much as laid a finger on you?” He pronounced it “finga.”
I looked at him to see if he was through.
“You may answer the question, son,” he said.
“No, sir. He has never laid so much as one finger on me,” I said, being careful to enunciate properly. I did not wish to sound anything like the man questioning me.
“Thank you, sir, for your candor and honesty. I have always found it to be the best policy, haven’t you?”
I started to respond, but he continued talking.
“Now,” he said, “think long and hard about this next question before you answer, and I remind you that you, sir, are still under oath. On Saturday night a week ago, were you following Captain Skipper between the hours of twelve thirty and one thirty A.M.?”
I started to answer, but he continued. “All I am looking for here is a yes or no answer. Were you following him during the time that the county medical examiner says Russ Maddox was murdered?”
“Yes, sir, I was,” I said, followed by an audible gasp from the courtroom.
“So you are saying that you are his alibi then, sir?”
“Yes, sir, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Hamilton said, and it sounded like “Nuthin’ futha, ya hona.”
I was Skipper’s alibi. That was the kicker. I looked over at Skipper, seated with Hamilton at the defendant’s table. When he caught my eye, he winked and smiled widely, showing me all of his yellow tobacco stains. He looked happier than I had ever seen him look. He was now more convinced than ever of the myth of his invulnerability. But I knew better.
My entire appearance in court had taken less than fifteen minutes. I was exhausted. I went home to rest-but not for long. I had to figure out whodunit, so I went in search of clues. The only problem was I couldn’t find them because of the vigor with which Laura and Anna had cleaned my trailer.
I looked high
and low. I searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, and every nook and cranny. Still I couldn’t find them. I called Anna at the institution.
“How did your day in court go?” she asked immediately. I told her, but she knew already. After all, this was Pottersville.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I said, “but I’m feeling felinely and trying not to get killed.”
She thought for a minute, “So, what are you so curious about?”
“Very good. I didn’t think you were going to get that.”
“Scary, isn’t it? So, how can I help with your feline pursuits?”
“You can tell me where you put the videos that were on top of my TV.”
“The Disney tapes?” she asked immediately.
“Yes.”
“I took them to watch. I’ve heard how good Aladdin and The Lion King are. I wanted to watch them. You don’t mind, do you?”
I laughed. “Those are the tapes from Maddox’s private collection.”
“What? He hid them in Disney cases? That’s sacrilege! You don’t think there could be children on them do you?”
“I hadn’t considered that, but considering what he hid them in, it is a possibility. I need to watch them.”
“I’ll bring them over this afternoon. I want to watch them too. Does that make me a pervert?” she asked sincerely.
“No, a voyeur or very curious.”
“Either one of those sins?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But like most things, they can be. It all has to do with the circumstances and what’s going on in your heart.”
“So what you’re saying is that as long as I don’t lust after Russ Maddox’s fat, hairy ass, I’m probably safe.”
“In which case, you’re very safe,” I said.
“Very,” she said and then hung up the phone.
When Anna arrived, she found me asleep on the couch. When I opened my eyes, she was standing over me saying, “Ricky. Ricky. Wake up.”
“Ricky?” I asked. “Who’s Ricky?”
“Ricky Raccoon,” she said and started laughing.
“Cute,” I said. “Very cute. Did you bring the tapes?”
“You mean the wonderful world of Maddox’s Magic Kingdom?”
“The very same.”
I put the tapes in a stack on top of the television, which was an old, thirteen-inch number on an old-fashioned TV stand with a VCR on the uneven shelf below it.
The first tape was the one I had already seen. It showed Maddox and Johnson together again. We didn’t watch very much of it-I had seen it, and Anna wanted to see as little as possible of it. I couldn’t blame her. We watched roughly two minutes of it. They were the last two minutes though, and when I ejected the tape, I noticed that there was at least three quarters of the tape unused.
I put the tape back in and began to fast forward it. The snow on the screen looked no different in the fast forward mode than it did in the normal play mode, with the exception of the lines at the top and bottom of the screen that looked like wrinkles. After about five minutes or so, I ejected the tape, concluding that there was nothing else on it.
The second tape was of Maddox alone. When the first image flickered on the screen, it was of Maddox’s bare chest. It was roughly the color of cotton and covered with white hair, which added to that comparison. He was obviously leaning over the camera to it on. He then backed up, bent down, and looked right into the lens. His fat, out-of-focus face filled the screen. I could see the reflection of the red recording light flashing on his left cheek. He turned and headed toward the bed, and the light could then be seen flashing on his other left cheek.
Waiting on the bed for him were a remote control and a jar of Vaseline. He pointed the remote in the direction of the camera, and the TV began to play. The sounds of sex began to fill the speakers. They sounded as if they were coming from his TV, and because the video camera was so close to the TV the sound was distorted, but it was still unmistakable. It sounded like the tape we had just watched. Russ was watching himself with Johnson.
He removed the lid from the Vaseline jar, scooped out a heaping amount, and began to masturbate. He thrust hard up and down and moaned with pleasure. It was a sick, contrived moan, like he needed to hear himself make it. It made me feel sick.
I suddenly became very uncomfortable. I looked over at Anna. She seemed fine, but if we were watching a tape of her funeral, she would probably look the same way.
“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked.
“Slightly,” I said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. This just seems so personal, even more personal than watching two people have sex.”
“There’s more to it than that,” she said. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Do I what?”
“Do you, you know …” she said and nodded toward the TV.
“We are not having this conversation,” I said. I then added with a smile, “It really is the safest form of sex, you know.”
“Just one question,” she said.
“What?”
“Do you ever think about me when you do it?”
I choked and stuttered as I tried to speak, which was admission enough for her. She smiled.
I smiled.
“I think that’s enough of that one,” I said and stopped the tape. I pushed the fast forward button. This time it fast forwarded the tape without previewing what was on the screen. I pushed play again. There was nothing, just snow.
“You know, you are a very attractive guy; single, smart, sensitive, and to top it all off, you are very spiritual. I know you find me attractive, and we are alone in your trailer. Why don’t you seize the opportunity?”
“Besides the fact that you’re married and I look like Ricky Raccoon?”
“Yeah, besides that,” she said.
“I would never …”
“That’s precisely my point. You’re different from Maddox. In fact, you’re different from any man I know. I would never do this with any other man. I would never talk this way with any other man, but you, I can trust.”
“Don’t trust me too much. It might get you in trouble.”
“I’m not saying you don’t have a healthy libido. It’s just that you are to be trusted.”
“Don’t believe that,” I said.
“I do. I’m not saying you don’t have your struggles like everyone else, but I can tell things about people, especially men. I know you. I trust you.”
“Do you trust Merrill like that?”
“I trust Merrill, but for different reasons.”
We turned our attention back to the tapes. The third tape was Maddox and Johnson again. It was shot in black and white, which, because of the contrast between the two men, took on an artistic look.
The last tape, or what I thought was the last tape, was the kicker. It was Maddox in the starring role again, but this time his co-star was Anthony Thomas. Thomas was not as willing a participant as Johnson and seemed to be drugged.
When we finished watching the tapes, I felt like I needed a shower. The world looked like an ugly, dirty place, and I didn’t like seeing it that way.
“What do you think?” Anna asked when I had stopped the last tape.
“I think what you think, that everybody on these tapes is now dead. I thought there were five cases?”
“There were, but one of them had a smaller tape. Audiotape, I guess.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in my purse. Let me get it,” she said.
“Anna,” I said chastisingly, “it could be very important.”
“I know. I brought it with me. I just forgot to get it out of my purse. But it might just be music or at best just sounds. How is that going to help?”
“I need to hear it to know.”
She retrieved the tape and brought it over to me. It was not an audiotape, but an eight millimeter
videotape.
“Anna, this is a videotape.”
“But, it’s so small.”
“It’s eight millimeter.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s from a different camera than the one in Maddox’s bedroom. It’s not standard VHS, like these other tapes. It means that it was shot by somebody else.”
“Let’s watch it and see,” she said.
“You girls are so untechnical. We can’t watch it. I don’t have an eight-millimeter VCR.”
“Well, who does?”
“Susan still has ours.”
“Great, let’s drive up to Atlanta and see if she’ll loan it to us.”
Just then the phone rang, and I knew it was bad news again. I was almost to the point of not answering my phone anymore.
It was Dad.
Molly Thomas was dead.
Chapter 42
Under shade of massive live oak trees dispersed among the bald cypresses that lined the banks, a small hill-the highest point in Pottersville-sloped down into the muddy waters of the Apalachicola River. The crooked cypresses, both in and out of the water, were silhouettes against the neon orange and pink of the setting sun. The natural slope down to where the swirling water patted the red clay of the bank was most often used as a boat launch. It was in this picturesque spot, where I had learned to water-ski and later had been baptized, that the car of Molly Thomas was being pulled from the devouring mouth of the powerful watery snake.
Apparently, Molly Thomas’s car had raced down the hill at high speed and crashed into the river below. When I arrived, two deputy sheriffs’ cars, one city police car, one highway patrol car, one game warden’s Bronco, an ambulance, and a tow truck, and Dad’s Explorer, which had the windows rolled down because Wallace was inside of it, were all parked at odd angles around the scene.
The yellow crime-scene tape, stretched between two cypress trees near the water, rippled in the small breeze coming off of the water, making a small and lonely whipping sound.
Molly’s car could just be seen breaking the surface of the water. A cable attached to her back bumper was spinning around the winch of the tow truck pulling the two vehicles ever closer to one another. At certain points along the way, the steady hum of the winch was interrupted by the grinding of metal on metal as the river begrudgingly released the car.
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