Snow was flurrying and falling, the world outside undergoing a sea change.
I took a step into her apartment and she had no choice but to back in.
I closed the door behind me.
“This is where he came when he was upset,” I said. “This is where he was running to that night.”
“Sure wouldn’t be to his sorry no-good mama,” she said.
“But he still calls her,” I said. “After all this time, he still calls her. Why is that?”
She shrugged her bony shoulders and gave me an expression like she wouldn’t care to hazard a guess.
“He calls her from McDonough,” I said. “Where your daughter the pharmacist who makes good money but can’t have kids lives. Where you yourself will soon be living.”
She didn’t say anything.
Her small head looked shrunken atop her slumping shoulders, her eyes even more hooded behind her big glasses.
“He was upset and he came here.”
“’Cause his mama was out turnin’ a trick for one of the mens who’d touched little Cedric—right out in them there woods like animals. It a wonder Cedric didn’t see them as he ran by.”
“He’s upset—maybe even more than usual, but more, less, the same, you’ve had enough. No more. Your daughter can take him. She can be a good mama to him, and you a good grandma.”
“Nobody else linin’ up to do it,” she said. “Tell you that.”
“You kidnapped a child,” I said.
She shook her head. “No. He wanted to go. Wanted to be away from all the . . . said would it be all right if he call her sometime. But that all he want with her, just to let her know he okay.”
“You stayed behind to make sure no one suspected you, but you needn’t have bothered. Cops didn’t do much lookin’ at all.”
“I gots to sit down,” she said.
She eased her way over to the sofa and bent a little ways but seemed to be stuck. I stepped over and helped her down.
She was even thinner and bonier than I realized, and couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds.
“Much ’bliged,” she said.
I sat down across from her.
“Why’d you stay so long?”
“I stay with them lots. Not here much. Just enough. Her old place was small. Wasn’t sure I wanted to move. I got to see him plenty. Still get to be here close to my friends, my gentlemen callers.”
I smiled. I wanted to do more. Merely smiling showed enormous restraint.
“Did y’all take all the boys or just Cedric?”
“What all boys?” she said.
“Did Laney Mitchell come over here that night?”
“Who?”
“Laney Mitchell, co-owner of Scarlett’s, the little bar on the other side of—”
“Oh, her. No. Why?”
“She ran after Cedric when she saw him running back here.”
“Nobody but him. I looked all around. Made sure he wasn’t followed.”
“Why’re you being so forthcoming?” I asked. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I am surprised.”
“Your questions were different,” she said. “And the stuff those other womens was sayin’ you said about . . . all that other . . . Knew it just a matter of time ’til you be comin’ back.”
I waited but she didn’t say anything else.
“And?”
“And what? Oh. You can’t prove anything, can’t prove I did anything.”
I was puzzled.
“Mickey Davis, a reporter who’s helping me, is in McDonough right now waiting for me to call with your daughter’s address. You can give it to me and he can go get Cedric, or I can call the police and they can go.”
“Go where?” she said.
“I just told you.”
“And I tol’ you we seen you comin’, boy. They long gone—gone and you nor nobody else ain’t never gonna find ’em.”
“She ran with him?” I said. “Mind giving me the address so Mickey can check it out?”
“Help yo-self,” she said, and gave me the address.
“May I borrow your phone?”
“Be my guest, but you shouldn’t have that poor boy traipsing around down there on a fool’s errand when it about to snow.”
“Shit, John, I thought I was coming down here to find Cedric and Kenny and the others, and instead I got nothin’ and now I’m stranded down here. I need to be with Camille, need to be helpin’ find Kenny and I’m . . . fuckin’ stuck down here.”
“No one’s there?”
“No.”
“Is it an empty house?”
“No, it’s a fully furnished home. Got pictures of Ms. Dozier and a woman I’m guessing is her daughter, but no boys. And there’s a note addressed to you on the table.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Can’t make shit like this up.”
“Do you mind reading it?”
“Got shit else to do, do I?”
He opened the letter and began to read.
“Dear Mr. Jordan. If you’re reading this it means Mom was right. She’s a wily old goat. I’ll give her that. We have vanished and will be extremely difficult if not impossible to find. But I’m asking you not to look. Not to report us to the authorities and not to look yourself. I’m asking this not for me or my mother, but for Cedric. He’s been through so much. Abuse like you can’t imagine. He’s just now beginning to trust and heal and begin to see what he might be able to be. Don’t take that away from him. Please. Think of the pitiful little child, consider the young man he’s becoming. Please pray about it and do the right thing.”
That was it. A completely unexpected thing.
“So,” Mickey said, “she only has Cedric. Where is Kenny? Who has Kenny?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m stranded way the fuck down here,” he said. “You’ve got to find him. Please.”
We ended the call and I looked at Annie Mae Dozier again, this time with a new and greater appreciation.
“That was impressive,” I said.
“We been protectin’ that boy for some time now. Learned a thing or two ’bout it.”
“They’ve gone without you,” I said.
She shrugged her bony shoulders again, and this time scrunched her face up in a way that seemed to multiply the dark freckles on her face.
“Too old and slow to run.”
“You’re giving him up—him and your daughter,” I said.
“‘Greater love hath no man known than to lay down his life for another,’” she said.
I had always thought of that Bible verse in terms of dying for someone, but she was right. Laying down her life—what was left of it anyway—was exactly what she was doing, and it was astounding.
“And you didn’t take the other boys?” I said. “Don’t know what happened to them?”
“Know nothin’ ’bout no other boys.”
“Last question,” I said, “and I’ll leave you alone. What was Cedric running from? What was he so upset about?”
“Didn’t say. Never has said. I got no idea. Maybe he did see his moms out in the woods rutting like an animal. I just know it was bad. Final straw for him and us.”
Chapter Forty-seven
I walked back to my apartment in the falling snow, humbled, perhaps even a little humiliated.
The night air was thin and cold and easy to breathe, the swirling white snow magical somehow.
Was Kenny, lifeless or otherwise, out in it?
Where was he? Who had him?
It was all that mattered right now, and I couldn’t figure it out.
When I entered my apartment I found a note from Rick saying he had gone to spend his snow day at his girlfriend’s place.
In my room, I ripped everything off my second wall, scattered it on the floor, and sat in the middle of it.
Rather than focusing narrowly, I intentionally kept my mind broad and open, flittering randomly from thing to thing like a butterfly drunk o
n spring.
This time, don’t just think about the cases. Think about everything you’ve encountered since stepping into this little community.
As I continued to think, continued to feel the pressure of the clock pounding its time in my head, my mind sped up.
My butterfly became a bee and I buzzed around from item to item trying to mentally cross-pollinate seemingly disparate bits of information to see what they might produce.
Nothing came of it.
It was all too much.
Kenny was going to die and I couldn’t stop it.
He’s dead already. So’s Frank.
I could feel myself beginning to panic, and I wanted a drink in the worst kind of way.
Stop. Stop it. Breathe. Work yourself up into a frenzy, and you won’t be any good to Kenny or anyone else.
I’m no good now.
I took a deep breath and then another and another.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the—”
My mind hit on something, some connection, then it was gone—too quick for me to grasp.
What was it?
It was no good. I couldn’t get it back.
Get out of your head, back into the moment. Start over.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
You can’t change the circumstances. Stop trying. You can’t control the world. Let go.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
What can you do? You can breathe. You can think. You can do what you can. Nothing more. Nothing else. And it’s enough.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Cedric was the anomaly. He was different. Why?
Think about everything. Take it all in. Let go of preconceived notions of what things mean. See them for only what they are. Remove contexts. Remove juxtapositions.
I thought again about where the bodies could be, then back to what Wayne Williams had said about John Wayne Gacy.
And then I had it.
I didn’t like it, but I had it. Or thought I did.
I rushed outside.
Raised in Florida, I didn’t have a winter wardrobe, and what I had on now—a button-down over a T-shirt—was inadequate in the extreme. I didn’t care.
I ran toward the woods. Just like Cedric had.
Blanketed in white, the silent city was serene.
I thought about how I just used the Serenity Prayer to calm myself, as a kind of self-talk that would help me deal with the bad patterns in my thinking. I had done the same thing at the hospital while experiencing the guilt over Frank.
The wooded area separating Memorial Manor from the shops on Memorial Drive looked like an isolated mountain forest, each limb and leaf snow-dusted and picturesque.
Continuing past the woods, I ran up behind the shops and around the corner of Scarlett’s to the front.
Eerie. Abandoned. Everything closed. No traffic on Memorial.
It was as if I were the sole survivor of a cold, harsh apocalyptic nuclear winter.
The pinkish-orange lighted letters of Peachtree Pizza’s sign shone brightly in the hazy night. I thought about the guy who now called himself Rand Nola and what he said he saw the night Cedric vanished.
Had the other little boys been among his customers? Did they collect cans, scrape up their money to buy a pie together? Did they come here for pizza while their mothers drank at Scarlett’s the way Cedric’s had? Had Vaughn Smith’s busy working mom stopped here for pizza on her way home? She probably let him rent a video too—something Lonnie would have a record of.
I had to get in to check. But how?
I walked over and pulled on the door, trying to figure some way to break in without breaking the glass and letting snow in.
The door rattled but didn’t give.
“Whatta you doin’?” Rand Nola asked.
He had just come out of his pizza place and was locking the door.
Think fast.
“You saw how Lonnie was drinking earlier,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Wanted to feed his cats,” I said. “Maybe even take ’em home with me in case it gets too cold. What’re you still doin’ here?”
“Same thing,” he said.
“Really?”
“Not literally,” he said. “When it snows or gets real cold I let Reuben Jefferson Jackson sleep in the back room.”
“He’s in there now?” I asked. “Not in back, not in the woods?”
“Yeah. I was just checking on him. I live within walkin’ distance. I’ve got a key to Lonnie’s shop for emergencies. I can let you in.”
“That would be great,” I said. “But I hate for you to wait. Can I borrow the key and give it back to you tomorrow?”
“I know what you’re doin’,” he said.
“You do?”
“You’re gonna pick out some movies to ride out the storm with,” he said. “I did the same thing earlier. Sure man. No worries.”
“Thanks.”
“I just hope Lonnie won’t be off the wagon for long.”
“Me too.”
He removed the key from his ring, asked me to make sure it was the right one, then crossed the street and disappeared into the darkness on the other side.
Chapter Forty-eight
The shop was warm and dim. The only illumination came from a single nightlight behind the counter.
From some unseen place in the semidarkness, Shaft and Foxy Brown purred contentedly.
Quickly making my way over to the counter, I grabbed the small metal index card box, moved closer to the nightlight, and began flipping through the cards with the membership information on them.
It didn’t take long.
All the victims and their moms were members.
Another confirmation. How many do you need before you get truly bold?
I think that was it.
I returned the box to its spot beneath the counter and started to walk out when a still-drunk Lonnie pressed the barrel of a revolver to the back of my head and cocked the trigger.
“Son a bitch think you gonna loot me . . . not during this or any other storm.”
“Lonnie,” I said. “It’s me.”
“John? John, what’re you doin’ here?” he said, stumbling across the words and pulling back the gun.
“Came to check on your cats,” I said. “Thought you were passed out somewhere sleeping it off.”
“You’re not here to rob me?”
“I’m not,” I said. “I may take a movie, but I’ll bring it back. And I’ll pay for it.”
“You don’t have to pay me anything for it, buddy, no sirree.”
“Thanks man.”
“What were you doin’ in my membership box?”
“Huh?”
“What were you doin’ in my membership box?”
I drew a blank.
“Ah, oh . . . seein’ if you had an address for Margaret’s niece Susan,” I said.
“Shouldn’t you be lookin’ for little Kenny Pollard instead of tryin’ to dip your wick?”
“You’re right,” I said. “I should.”
“’Less that’s what you’re really doing here,” he said, suddenly sober. “How’d you know?”
“Know what?”
“Playtime’s over, John. Tell me what you know. It’s just us. The whole city’s shut down. And I’ve got a gun. How’d you figure it out.”
“Sobriety,” I said.
“Sobriety?”
“Yeah. I’ve used the principles of AA and the Serenity Prayer a few times recently to help with things other than alcohol.”
“Yeah?”
“Made me realize someo
ne could use them to quit something other than drinking—like compulsive killing, say. I remembered your sobriety happened around the time Cedric disappeared—which was the time the killings stopped. What happened to Cedric sobered you up, changed you. It was your moment of clarity that led to sobriety. You were able to stay sober, to stop killing by using AA.”
“Was until you started stirring all this shit up again. Compulsive is right. I’m not a bad man. I’m not some kind of monster. I’m a man—a man like every other man, with two wolves inside him. You’ve heard the old Cherokee legend of the wolves, haven’t you?”
Everybody has, I thought, but if it keeps you talking, if it gives me time to figure out what to do . . .
“One evening an old Cherokee man told his grandson about the war that wages inside all souls. The battle is between two wolves, he told him. One wolf is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, ego, even evil. The other is goodness, joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, faith, even God.”
He paused but I only nodded encouragingly.
“The boy thought about it for a while, then asked, What determines which wolf wins? The old man simply replied, The one you feed. I’ve been feeding the good wolf since Cedric disappeared. I have a compulsion, but I’ve been controlling it with the Twelve Steps.”
“Tonight I remembered you drinking this afternoon and how that coincided with Kenny’s disappearance. At first I had thought the killer might have gone to prison for another crime or moved and was committing the murders somewhere else, then it occurred to me you might be using AA in the way I was.”
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you AA doesn’t work,” he said. “It works.” He then added with a demented smile, “If you work it. Or until you stop working it. Think about what I did. I stopped. I used AA to stop killing. Has anyone else ever done that? Ever? And I couldn’t tell anybody. I knew something that could change the world, but had to keep it to myself.”
“I kept asking who or where Cedric was running to,” I said. “But when I turned it around and asked who or what he could be running from, I had to go back to where he was going in the first place. Here. To you. He was running from what he saw you doing.”
BLOOD CRIES: a John Jordan Mystery (Book 10) (John Jordan Mysteries) Page 18
