Mary took a sip of wine. “This county is just full of surprises.”
He gave her a half-smile, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. “Oh, yeah? What surprises did you uncover, holed up in your little cubicle?”
“You really want to know?”
“I never ask questions I don’t want the answer to.”
She closed her menu. “Well, after I found out your police department has a funny little bubble in its statistics, I went to see Tiffani Wallace’s brother. He spit tobacco juice at me, then started whacking his hand with a tire iron.”
Galloway’s eyes narrowed. “He what?”
“Oh, I’m exaggerating. He didn’t do anything, but he let me know that police investigations were an unwelcome intrusion on his car-
repair business. I’m sure you’ve run into the same behavior a thousand times.”
“Why did you pay him a visit?” Galloway pressed, angry.
“I wanted to find out if Tiffani might have been gay.”
“And?”
“And if she was, she wisely kept it to herself. Otherwise, I think her brother would have taken that tire iron to her head and buried her behind his grease pit.”
“Not an evolved family, I take it.” Galloway was simmering down, though slowly.
Mary shook her head. “You’ll never see the rainbow flag waving in their front yard.”
Galloway took a sip of wine. “So tell me about this bubble in our statistics.”
“Somebody at the SBI punched the wrong computer key and sent me the crime stats for the past thirteen years, instead of the past three. Crime in Sligo County has remained fairly constant throughout that time. Campbell County started off almost identical to Sligo; then in 2003, things started to change.”
“What do you mean?”
“From 2003 until 2010, your numbers dropped to half of Sligo’s rates.”
“What happened after 2010?”
“In 2011, the numbers began to inch up. By the end of 2013, they matched Sligo again.”
Galloway shrugged. “Maybe we had some super cop on the pay-
roll.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But here’s where it gets even weirder …
the domestic assaults and armed robbery numbers remain constant. But prostitution, soliciting, D&D, larceny, and shoplifting literally drop to zero.”
“Kiddie crimes, for the most part.”
“Right.” Mary looked up to see the waiter reappear, order pad in hand. She ordered the chicken cacciatore while Galloway opted for spaghetti.
“Anyway, had Sligo’s petty crime rate risen while Campbell’s fell, then I would say kids were just heading over to the next county for their mischief. But Sligo’s figures never change.”
“It might be Reverend Trull,” said Galloway. “He does have an unbelievable youth outreach program. His kids play every sport on the planet, plus they camp and hike and run after-school programs at the high school and the grammar school. Campbell County kids might be too tired to get into trouble.”
Mary shrugged. “Possibly. Something sure got the marginal ones off the streets.” She took another sip of wine—it was perfect for a summer evening, mellow and fruity. “Did you find out anything about Honeycutt and the Taylor case?”
“Only that he didn’t do Bryan Taylor.”
“Seriously?”
Galloway nodded. “He wasn’t even in town when Taylor got it.”
“Where was he?”
“Just this side of Raleigh. The landscaping company he works for was doing a new golf course. Honeycutt stayed in the Motel 6 for two weeks.”
“You know this for sure?”
“I’ve got copies of his phone records and his credit card receipts. I talked to the desk clerk who checked him in and out.”
Mary sighed. During her drive she’d fantasized that she might be able to call Ann Chandler tonight and tell her that even though her conspiracy theory was dead, they’d found a single serial killer with a hard-on for homosexuals. That they were, at that moment, gathering evidence to indict him. With Honeycutt’s alibi this tight, that conversation with the governor would probably not occur.
She started to ask Galloway if he had any more suspects up his sleeve when the waiter appeared, placing a steaming dish of chicken cacciatore down in front of her.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at the silent little man. “This looks wonderful.”
Nodding, he left Mary to her chicken and Galloway to his plate of spaghetti.
“So how does my Honeycutt news stack up for you?” asked Galloway, twirling pasta around his fork.
“Not so hot. Since I haven’t found a conspiracy, I was hoping to give Chandler a single homophobic serial killer. Looks like she’s not getting either.”
“And her big company will go somewhere else. No new jobs or tax revenues for North Carolina. No new Campbell County votes for Ann come the next election.”
Mary nodded. “That’s right. She loses the county, the state loses jobs. But by God, you guys won’t have any homosexuals to deal with.”
Wiping his mouth with a red-checkered napkin, Galloway leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can ask,” said Mary. “I might not answer.”
“How do you come down on this, personally?”
“On what, personally?”
“You know—being gay.”
Mary looked at him. “You mean did the governor send me here because I’m a lesbian?”
His face flushed, but he nodded.
“No, I’m not, and no, she didn’t.”
“Then how do you feel about Trull and gay rights?”
“I’m an attorney. I’m sworn to enforce the law. As near as I can figure, Reverend Trull hasn’t broken any.”
“You’re dodging my question.”
“Gay people are citizens. They pay the same taxes, so they are entitled to the same rights and protections as anybody else.”
“So you’re okay with gay marriage?”
She gazed into her glass of wine and thought of Jonathan. Somewhere, far away, was the man she wanted, the man she should be married to. She thought of his smile, the way he made her laugh, how good she always felt with him. If she’d found that in a woman instead of Jonathan, would she want it any less? She looked up at Galloway and tried to smile. “I think if you’re lucky enough to find someone to love, then you ought to get them to a church or a judge and marry them as fast as you can. And then work like hell to make it last.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess it does.”
After that they moved on to broader subjects—the traffic in Atlanta, Galloway’s efforts to teach Crump a little Spanish, how he’d like to visit Asheville if he ever got the time. They ended their dinner with a glass of brandy, then walked out into the parking lot together. As Mary unlocked her car, Galloway touched her arm. “I know you’ve just pretended to be my girlfriend,” he said, a sheepish look on his face. “But do you think we might take a step in that direction for real?”
She considered his question. Years ago she’d resolved never to date cops, but something about Victor Galloway was different. He was funny and smart and wasn’t caught up in interdepartmental pissing contests the way most cops were. She smiled. “I’d be willing to consider it.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her. His shoulders were broad, his back muscular. His smelled of shaving cream and laundry starch—oddly sexy aromas she had not known in months. He finally broke their kissing with another question. “Would you like to have dinner again tomorrow night?”
Mary laughed. “Don’t you have to go to church?”
“Wow, I guess I do. I’d forgotten all about that. How about I call you tomorrow? We c
an meet after church.”
“You’ve got my number. I’ll be in Gastonia all day, writing my report to the governor.” He held the door open as she got in her car. “Thanks, Galloway. I had fun.”
He leaned down and kissed her once more. “You do realize you’re going to drive down la carretera del dolor tonight, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t scare me,” she replied. “I’m not gay and I never stop for strangers.”
“Then watch out for the cops. I hear Gaston County speed traps are cash cows.”
“Funny you should say that,” Mary replied. “That’s exactly what Eddie Wallace said about his sister and the Campbell County cops.”
She headed back to Gaston County, the little town of Manley dribbling away in a small flurry of gas stations and convenience stores, a roller skating rink that had pink flamingoes skating on a neon sign. The four lanes narrowed to two, with a wide gravel shoulder on each side of the road. She came up fast on a kid doing thirty on a liquor-cycle; he wisely pulled to the shoulder of the road as she passed him.
“Must be hurrying to get into trouble in Gaston County,” she whispered, now wishing she had the crime stats for it as well. She drove on, the tiny scooter vanishing behind her. The houses that sat back from the road disappeared altogether, replaced by the tall pine forests that covered this part of North Carolina. The air smelled faintly of turpentine, and above her she could see the twinkling of stars. As her thoughts returned to Galloway, she shifted into Overdrive, lowering the pitch of the engine, cruising along at seventy—too fast, really, but the road was mostly straight, and if she ran into a cop she would flash her governor’s staff ID card. Surely that would get her out of a Gaston County speeding ticket. She flew by a sign advertising some kind of creek chapel church, then she saw an odd-looking shape by the side of the road. Squinting as she passed it, it appeared to be a plastic box of some kind, then seconds later she realized it wasn’t a box at all. It looked exactly like a child’s car seat, upright, as if someone had dropped a baby off on the side of the road. “Oh, come on,” she said, checking her rearview mirror. “Nobody would do that.”
But what if it somebody had? This was la carretera del dolor. What if some desperate Latina had abandoned her child? Given her up to the kindness of passing strangers? Mary put on her brakes and screeched to a stop. Though she knew it was crazy, she also knew she’d spend one long, sleepless night if she didn’t go back. She made a U-turn in the middle of the road and roared back in the opposite direction. When her headlights flashed across the car seat, she pulled to the shoulder of the road. She blinked, unbelieving. The car seat was wiggling slightly—somebody had actually left a child in the dark, on a highway with traffic flying by at seventy miles an hour! She pulled up her handbrake, then ran across the road. She could see something squirming in the car seat, heard whimpering, as if some child cried in a blanket.
“Honey?” she said. “Sweetheart?”
She pulled the blanket back. In the darkness she saw a chubby leg, a head with only peach fuzz for hair. She reached to touch the child’s arm, but instead of feeling tender flesh, she grasped some kind of cold plastic thing.
“Ugh!” she cried, recoiling from the strange, alien appendage. She didn’t want to touch the repulsive thing again, but she was curious about how it worked and why someone had put it out here. Steeling herself, she again stepped forward, this time digging deeper into the blanket. Ignoring the creepy feel of the ersatz flesh, she pulled out an incredibly realistic-looking doll wired up to a small battery. When Mary held the thing by its neck, its legs twitched in a bizarre imitation of human movement while making an odd kind of mewing squeak.
“Whoa,” whispered Mary. “This is way too weird. I’m going to call Galloway.”
She dropped the doll back in its car seat. She turned to hurry back across the road to her car when she felt a hot stab of pain in the back of her right thigh. She gasped, wondering if she’d gotten a sudden cramp, but the strange heat spread up and down her leg, crumpling her knee, turning her hip to jelly. She tried to walk, but her leg was useless, unable to support her. As she spread her arms to catch her balance, she felt rough hands grabbing her, forcing her to the ground. Suddenly she was staring up into an obsidian sky, listening to that strange, manufactured baby crying its mechanical plaint to anyone foolish enough to listen.
Twenty-Four
Chase lay on the floor of his room, his ear pressed against his locked door. He’d lain there for hours, listening to the drama transpiring outside his room. For a long time he’d heard only Gudger, talking on a phone. His first call had been pleading—he’d walked up and down the hall, asking some medical person what to do for his hand. For the second call he’d stationed himself right outside Chase’s door, speaking loudly to someone named Smiley about “some boy meat that would make a sweet little piece of ass for the right person.” They’d gone back and forth, then there was a long beat of silence, after which Gudger said that tomorrow would work just fine. “And tell them not to worry,” Gudger added. “The kid’s too scrawny to put up much of a fight.” At first Chase couldn’t believe what he’d heard, but then Gudger rapped hard on his door. “You hear that, you little sneak? They’re coming for you tomorrow, just like they came for your sister. Your poor mama’s heart will be broken all over again.”
A numbing frost went through Chase as Gudger’s laughter echoed down the hall. Was Gudger serious? Was he the boy meat they’d talked about? Had Gudger just set up a deal for him? His mother had warned him to be careful in restrooms, that there were men who liked little boys in the way that most men liked women. Was he now going to be sold to one of them? The cold inside him turned into a hot panic. He needed to get out of here, and get out fast. He leapt to his feet and hurried over to the window beside his bed. Gudger had nailed iron bars to the outside of the thing, but if he could pull the top part of the window down, maybe he could climb out over the iron grid. He pushed aside the plaid curtains his mother had made and raised the shade. His heart sank. Gudger’s burglar-stopping grid went all the way to the top of the window frame. He could knock out every pane of glass and still not get through those iron bars.
Suddenly, he heard a new noise. The back door slammed—his mother was home! She would get him free! She would make Gudger let him out of his room, if only to eat supper. Then he could sneak out the back door and run, for as long and as fast as he could. He’d go to Mrs. Carver’s house and beg her to let him use his phone. Then he could call the cops and tell them what Gudger was planning to do. He listened as his mother came in the house.
“Gudge?” she called. “Chase?” Her voice always carried a small note of hope, as if Sam might be back, just waiting to pop out and surprise her.
Gudger yelled something from the den, over the blare of the TV news. Chase heard her muffled reply, then the TV went off as Gudger started to yell. A moment later, Chase heard urgent footsteps coming down the hall, stopping just outside his room.
“Chase?” His mother pounded on the door. “Are you in there? Are you all right?”
He raced to the door. This was his chance to get out, to tell her what was really going on. “He locked me in here, Mama! Tomorrow they’re coming for me, just like they came for Sam!”
“See?” came Gudger’s voice. “I told you he’s gone crazy. He came at me with a knife, then he poured drain cleaner all over my hand. Look at my fingers!”
“That’s not true, Mama!” Chase cried. “I didn’t do anything to him. Two Russian guys came up in a big car and took him away!”
“Listen to that nonsense!” said Gudger. “Russians on Kedron Road! Next he’s going to say there are aliens in my tomato patch!”
His mother said something he couldn’t understand, then he heard their footsteps going away, both voices growing louder in the den, then faster, urgent footsteps returning to his door.
“Mama?” he cried. “Is that you?”
“Stop it, Gudger!” she said. “He’s my son! You can’t lock him up like an animal!”
“He’s crazy as a shit house rat!” Gudger yelled back. “He thinks I sold Sam and now I’m going to sell him. If you let him out, he’ll probably kill us both in our sleep!”
“That’s not true!” Chase pounded on the door with his fists, tearing a big hole his poster of Peyton Manning as a Denver Bronco. “Mama, he’s lying!”
“See what I mean?” said Gudger. “He’s about to break down the door, calling me a liar! You’ve got one sick little ticket on your hands, Amy.”
“I don’t care,” said his mother. “I’m going to let him out!”
He heard more fumbling with the key, then a thud, as if one of them had pushed the other against the wall. After that, slaps—hard ones—one, two, three. Then his mother began to cry. He leapt forward, screaming through the door. “Leave her alone, Gudger! I’ll kill you if you hit her again!”
But their battle did not stop. It gathered heat like a hurricane and whirled past his room, moving down the hall and into the kitchen. He heard a pots-and-pan clattering that sounded like the refrigerator toppling over, then a scream. For a long moment he heard nothing, then the baseball game came on, turned up so loud he thought the windows would break.
“Mama?” he called. “Mama? Are you out there?’
This time, no one answered. Sinking down against the door, he started to cry. What had Gudger done to his mother? Was she lying in the kitchen, unconscious, while Gudger watched a stupid baseball game? Hot tears stung his eyes as his throat grew thick. If Gudger had touched a hair of his mother’s head, he would kill him. Even if he got sold to those men tomorrow, he would come back someday and throw Gudger in a whole pit of acid, all by himself.
Deadliest of Sins Page 17
