by BJ Bourg
“Foster, if you pushed Kimberly, you need to tell me, and you need to apologize, so I can let Matthew know I’m taking care of things. Once he thinks justice is being served and that you’ve apologized, he might lay down his sword. It might convince him to confess to what he did.”
“You mean, if I tell you I pushed Kimberly and say I’m sorry, you think it might make Matthew admit to killing Mitch and then trying to kill me?”
“It’s worth a try. After all, he was trying to get you to do that while he was beating on you.”
Foster nodded his head slowly. “Okay, you can tell him I admitted to pushing Kimberly, but only if it’ll help clear this up.”
“It has to be believable, so you need to give me some details that’ll ring true with him.”
“Um, you can tell him that he spilled paint all over my truck and I was fussing him when Kimberly ran up to attack me.” Foster paused and swallowed. “You can tell him…you can say that I pushed Kimberly off of me without realizing it and she fell backward and hit her head.”
“Should I tell him you were angry when you pushed her?”
“If you think it’ll help.”
“Should I also tell him you apologized for peeing on him?”
Foster hesitated. “I…I guess so.”
“What should I say was the reason you peed on him? You know, to convince him you’re sincere?”
“You can just say it was because he refused to apologize for trying to escape.”
“Escape?” I echoed. “From where?”
Foster clamped his mouth shut. It appeared he knew he’d said too much.
I crossed my arms and shook my head. “It’s no wonder this kid wants you dead. It sounds like you were a real asshole.”
CHAPTER 42
It was two more hours before I wrapped up Foster’s statement. As bad as I wanted to arrest him for injuring Kimberly Bernard, the incident had occurred outside of my jurisdiction and eighteen years ago, so the best I could do was forward the information to the appropriate police department in Kentucky.
Susan and I dropped Foster off at the Corner Pub and then we followed him to the motel. Once he was safely inside, we left and were heading to speak with Matthew when Melvin called.
“Preach to me,” I said. “I need some good news.”
“The spent casings from the shooting last night matched the casings from the murder,” he said, “and Jack and Brandy’s hands came back clean—there was no gunshot residue on either of them.”
I wasn’t surprised. “We’ve got a new suspect. Where are you?”
He told me he was ten minutes from town, so I gave him Pearly Blake’s address and told him what we’d learned. “I’m going to need you out at the house in case things get ugly. I don’t think he knows we’re looking at him, so there shouldn’t be any trouble, but you never know.”
Melvin said he’d be there in a few minutes and we waited for him at the beginning of Lacy Court. When I saw his truck approaching, I turned in front of him and led the way down the street. I slowed when we arrived at Pearly’s house. There weren’t as many cars in the driveway as the first time I’d visited, and I wondered if Matthew was there.
Melvin slipped out of his truck and made his way around to the back of the two-story, barn-style home. I glanced at Susan and she eased out of the Tahoe and stood in the open doorway. She nodded toward the AR-15 that was in the back seat. “I know my mobility’s an issue, but I can cover you from here with the rifle,” she offered. “I’ll keep it low unless a threat presents itself.”
I nodded and waited until Melvin’s voice came over the radio to let me know he was in position. I then strode across the front yard and rapped on the door. Pearly answered my knock and cocked her head to the side as she stared at me through the glass of the storm door. She was wearing tights and a tank top—as though she thought she was twenty years younger—and she asked if there was something wrong.
I glanced past her and saw a wheelchair parked at the end of a long sofa. A girl was sitting in it. On the sofa next to her was the elderly man who had answered the door the last time I’d been here. His name was Desmond. When I had earlier asked Foster to name everyone in the house, he had mentioned that the man’s last name was Lemon and Foster said he was Kimberly’s grandfather.
“Can I help you?” Pearly asked when I didn’t answer her first question.
“I’d like to speak with Matthew,” I said. “Is he home?”
“I’m afraid not. He went to the store, but he should be back later. I think he might be doing some early Christmas shopping.”
I stole another glance at Kimberly and frowned. “How’s she doing?”
Pearly turned to view her daughter, and then opened the storm door to slip outside. When she spoke, her voice was low. “She’s never been the same since the incident.”
“I noticed you didn’t call it an accident.”
“That’s because it wasn’t an accident.”
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t know until Matthew confronted Foster about it when they arrived here Friday night.” Pearly lowered her sickly eyes. “He tried telling me when he was younger, but I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to believe Foster was capable of hurting Kimberly.”
I detected movement behind Pearly and noticed Desmond Lemon had moved from where he was sitting and now stood just on the other side of the glass listening intently to our conversation. Pearly hadn’t seen him and I kept my eyes off of him so as not to alert her. If the man wanted to hear what she said, who was I to deny him?
CHAPTER 43
“Didn’t Foster beat Matthew?” I asked Pearly. “Back when he was a little boy?”
“He disciplined him, but he never beat him. I mean, I wouldn’t call it a beating.”
“We’ll just agree to disagree on that point. If Foster was capable of beating Matthew, then you had to know he was capable of harming Kimberly.”
“Like I said, he only disciplined Matthew.”
“I see. Did he ever urinate on Matthew and dunk his head in a toilet?”
That got Pearly’s attention. “Where’d you hear that?”
“From Foster.”
“He admitted doing that?”
“If I heard it from him, I guess he did admit it, right?”
She sighed. “He only did it because Matthew refused to apologize. He was trying to teach Matthew a lesson.”
“Why was Matthew supposed to apologize?”
“He tried to run away from home.”
“Run away or escape?” I asked, remembering what Foster had said. “I have reason to believe Foster was keeping Matthew locked up against his will.”
“Only for his own good.”
I leaned back and studied Pearly’s face. I’d heard that love was blind, but how on earth could this woman have been so utterly and completely blind? What type of woman would take the side of her “man” over her own child?
“Where was Matthew being locked up?” I asked. “Was he locked in his room or a closet or what?”
“In the, um, he was living in the basement.”
“Was he free to come and go as he pleased?”
“He was a child—of course he couldn’t come and go as he pleased. There were rules and he had to abide by them.”
“Was the door to the basement locked?”
She hesitated. “Only after he tried to escape.”
“When was that?”
“Before the toilet incident.”
“If the door was kept locked, how’d Matthew eat or use the bathroom?”
“There was a bathroom area down there.”
“And how did he eat?”
“We would bring him food.”
“What about school?”
“Oh, Foster enrolled him in a home-school program. He thought it would be easier for him to stay on the right track that way. You know, so we could keep an eye on him.”
“How’d he graduate?”
“I
…I don’t really know if he did. He escaped—um, ran away—from home when he turned eighteen and I haven’t seen him until he came back to visit.” Her eyes misted over. “I missed him and Kimberly so much. It killed me not to have them home every day and not to be able to watch them grow up.”
“It seems you have Foster to blame for your kids not being with you. First, he injures Kimberly and she goes off to live with your father-in-law, and then Matthew leaves because of the way Foster treated him.” I nodded. “That’s reason enough for any respectable woman to want him dead.”
“I don’t want Foster dead. I might get mad at him from time to time and we might argue, but we do love each other.”
I wanted to ask her how Foster could cheat on her if he loved her, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked if she had tried to shoot him Friday night and then again last night.
“Dear Lord, no. I could never kill a person. I’ve gotten so mad that I wanted to divorce him before, but I never contemplated killing him—or anyone else, for that matter.” She grunted. “I can’t even kill a roach—and I hate the little bastards.”
“What about Matthew? He’s obviously been harboring ill feelings toward Foster. Do you think he attempted to kill Foster?”
She didn’t answer immediately. I could tell she was thinking, and I knew she believed her son was capable of killing Foster.
“Has Matthew ever threatened to kill Foster?” I pressed.
She finally nodded her head in slow motion, as though hating to admit it. “But that was back when he was younger. He’s been through the military since then and he’s a different kind of person now.”
“Well, he did beat the tar out of Foster and then urinated on him, so I’m willing to bet there’s at least some residual animus still present.” When she again remained silent, I asked about her kidney. “Is it true you need a kidney transplant?”
“No…who told you that?”
“Matthew mentioned it on the swamp tour.”
“Oh, yeah, they did go do the swamp tour after Foster left.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I might need one eventually, but my doctors believe it won’t be for many years.”
“Then why’d you tell Matthew you needed one?”
She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “It was the only way I could get them to come down and see me. I knew how much they hated Foster and I didn’t think they’d come, so I told them I was sicker than I am.” She lifted her head and I could see her face light up. “Something good did come out of it, though, because we now know the truth about what happened to Kimberly.”
“How’s that a good thing?”
“It helped to clear the air and get everything out in the open. We can move on now and—”
“Ma’am, I don’t know if you fully understand the gravity of the situation, but Matthew’s a suspect in one murder and two attempted murders. If he’s arrested and then later convicted, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. He’ll never be a free man again.”
“I really don’t believe he did what you’re saying he—”
A car rumbled down the street and Pearly stopped to look toward the sound. I turned and saw a vehicle roll by my Tahoe and park in the driveway. Foster was driving and he didn’t waste any time getting out of the car. He looked from me to Pearly as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you were staying at the motel until Matthew and all left.”
“I asked him to come back home,” Pearly said. “He apologized on the phone earlier and I forgave him. I just want us all to be a family again—to let bygones be bygones.”
Foster nodded. “I’m ready to be the father my kids never had. Last night made me realize what’s important in life. I’m going to give Matthew what he wants—I’m going to apologize to him and he’ll forgive me.”
I couldn’t hide the contempt I felt. “Are you serious right now, Pearly? You’re really going to let this asshole near your daughter?” When she lowered her head and remained silent, I turned to Foster. “And how do you know Matthew will forgive you? For all you know, he’ll shoot you on sight.”
Before he could answer, another car turned into the driveway. It was Matthew and he pulled up aggressively. I suddenly wondered if he’d been following Foster. His eyes were locked on his stepdad and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I eased my hand next to my pistol. It looked like things were about to turn ugly.
“Is it true?” Matthew asked as he stepped from his car and stormed toward Pearly and Foster. I relaxed a little when I saw his empty hands. “Jill called and said you were letting him back in the house. Is it true? After everything he did to Kimberly and me you’re going to let him back in the house?”
“He apologized,” Pearly said weakly. “He apologized for what he did to Kimberly—just like you wanted him to.”
“I don’t give a shit about his lame apology. It’s too little, too late. He has to pay for what he did to my sister and he has to pay for what he did to—”
The storm door suddenly burst open behind me. Before I could turn around, gunshots exploded in my ears.
CHAPTER 44
“Get down!” I hollered, dropping low and jerking my pistol from my holster while pulling Pearly toward me and onto the ground. Several more gunshots erupted. Although they were loud enough to make my ears ring, I could tell they were from a handgun. Almost immediately after the initial shots, I heard the report of an AR-15 in the distance that was followed by exploding glass. Susan was returning fire!
I turned toward the initial gunshots and broken glass, but I was too late to the party—Desmond Lemon was already on the ground and he was bleeding from several wounds, the most serious of which was to his right shoulder. I quickly moved in on him and stepped on his outstretched hand. A semi-automatic pistol—a black Glock that was chambered in nine millimeter—was still clutched firmly in his grasp and he was trying to bring it up.
Aiming my own pistol at Desmond’s face, I ordered him to release his grip on the weapon.
With a sigh, he opened his hand and I bent over to recover the Glock. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Did I get the bastard?”
I glanced toward where Foster had been standing a few seconds earlier, but he was no longer there. He was now crouched behind a small sapling that grew in the front yard and—other than being pale and trembling—he appeared to be unscathed.
“Are you okay?” I asked, not really caring.
Foster just nodded, and I could read from his expression that he was tired of being shot at. My chest fell when I scanned the front yard and saw Matthew lying on his face a few feet from his car. He had turned to run for cover and it appeared he’d been hit at least a couple of times in the back. Melvin materialized from the back yard with his gun in his hand and I directed him toward Matthew.
“Can you check on him?” I tossed Desmond’s Glock a few feet away in the grass and dropped to my knees to handcuff him. Once he was secure, I began rendering aid to the old man. “You have the right to remain silent,” I cited as I worked, ripping the front of his shirt off and bundling it to place against his shoulder wound. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
Desmond just groaned in pain as I finished reading his rights, but he was in no danger of dying. I looked up and my eyes locked on Melvin’s. “Well?” I asked. “How is he?”
“He’s hit bad.”
“Who’s hit bad?” Desmond asked, trying to sit up but failing. “Did I get the bastard?”
“No,” I said sternly. “You shot Matthew. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Desmond groaned and I didn’t know if it was because he was in pain or because he was angry at himself for not killing Foster. He stared wildly at the sky above, a look of despair spreading across his face.
I shook my head as I examined his other wounds and wondered why I hadn’t considered him a suspect before today. The gunshot that killed Mitch had been an easy one to make. The shooter h
ad only been a few feet away and Mitch was sitting still. Hell, a blind man could’ve hit him. But the distance from the doorway to Foster was too great for Desmond’s trembling hands. Anyone who knows anything about marksmanship knows it takes a steady hand to shoot accurately.
“Don’t bother trying to save me,” Desmond said through the pain. Tears filled the man’s eyes and spilled down the sides of his face. “I don’t deserve to live for what I’ve done. Just go tend to Matthew. Please make sure he recovers. For the love of God, please help him!”
I glanced to where Susan was standing over Matthew and Melvin, balancing on one crutch. She was on the police radio and I could hear her relaying information to our dispatcher. In the distance I heard sirens and I knew an ambulance was en route.
Melvin had retrieved his first aid kit from his truck and was applying pressure to one of the wounds in Matthew’s lower back. I heard shoes crunching on broken glass to my left and turned to see Jill Bernard ducking under the frame of the busted out storm door. She wore a loose-fitting shirt and tights and it looked as though she’d been napping.
“Matthew!” she cried, breaking into a run. “Matthew! What’s wrong?”
Melvin peeled away from Matthew and caught Jill before she could reach her husband. She tried to wrestle herself away from Melvin, but his thick arms had a death grip on her and he wasn’t letting go. He began speaking softly to her, trying to calm her down, but it was no use.
“Medics are on the way,” he said. “If you want to be helpful, just stand to the side and give us some room to work.”
“Why isn’t he getting up? Is he going to be okay?” She fired off at least a dozen more questions and Melvin continued speaking softly to her. Susan had finished reporting the shooting and she limped closer to Jill.
“I’m fine,” Matthew mumbled, turning his head to see his wife. “Just do what they say.”
“Yeah, why don’t you wait over here by me?” Susan offered. She had locked the AR-15 in my Tahoe and was leaning into her crutches a few feet away from where Matthew lay injured on the ground. “We’ll be out of the way, but close enough where you can see what’s going on.”
