“Have you met him?”
“Briefly.”
“That should be time enough,” Royce said. “But, since you asked, allow me to elucidate. He was hired, as I said, to provide general maintenance and upkeep for my properties. I had only three buildings back then, I believe. One two-unit apartment building, one four-unit, and the church, of course, which I did not own but was responsible for as per my contract. I hired Burl when I first came to Aberdeen. Before I knew the man well enough to avoid him at all costs.”
“You found him unreliable?” DeMarco asked.
“Oh, he did the work. The quality of his work was, in fact, exceptional. His sycophantic harassment is what soured the relationship. Constantly attempting to insinuate himself into my business interests. Wanting to buy in with what he referred to as his ‘sweat equity.’ As if I would ever be associated with a man of his ilk.”
Jayme said, “And by ‘his ilk,’ you mean what?”
“I began to hear, from my parishioners, certain rumors. First, that the man is a pathological liar. To be trusted at one’s own peril. Second, that he was known on occasion to—excuse my use of the vernacular—pimp out his wife.”
“Really?” Jayme said. “She hardly looks the type.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Royce replied. “And so I engaged him in conversation one day. Gave the appearance I was actually considering a partnership. In short, I encouraged him to run his mouth so as to see exactly where it would run. And oh, how it ran.”
“Care to share the specifics?” Jayme asked.
“He claimed, among other things, to have been a Navy SEAL. To have an IQ of 140. To have a degree in economics from Drew University. To have made a fortune investing in commodities—all of which he gave away. Out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Any of it true?” DeMarco asked.
“As far as I could determine, not a shred.”
“And that’s why you fired him?”
Royce sucked a long breath in through his nose. “He offered me his wife,” he said.
“As in?” DeMarco asked.
“Imagine that if you can. A man so paranoid and insecure that he will scarcely allow his spouse out in public alone, yet offers her to another man in hopes of forging a business partnership.”
“Are you saying you refused his offer?”
Royce lowered his voice but increased his adamancy. “No part of me would ever touch what that man has soiled.”
“And that was the final straw for you?”
Royce nodded. “And yet, more was to come. I questioned a handful of parishioners, those who had occasion to know him fairly well, and they confirmed my suspicions. I was not the only man to whom he had made such an offer. A thoroughly contemptible human being.”
Jayme asked, “Are you saying that he was prostituting his wife?”
“According to my information, regularly.”
DeMarco’s eyebrows lifted. He asked, “When you fired him, did you tell him why?”
Royce nodded. “I was having breakfast one morning with a couple of colleagues, that little place across from the hardware store. When in he comes. Walks up to me, lays a hand on my shoulder, addresses me as ‘brother,’ and in general makes a show of our acquaintance, as if we are somehow the closest of friends. I reacted poorly. Lost my temper. Enumerated his sins for all to hear. And told him precisely what a vile human being he is.
“In hindsight,” Royce said, “I should not have confronted him so publicly. It wasn’t the Christian thing to do.”
DeMarco gazed up at the suspended cameras, a dozen microphones strategically placed.
Jayme asked, “Did you convey all this to the sheriff’s department back when the investigation got started?”
“To every thing there is a season,” Royce answered, “and a time for every purpose under heaven.”
“Why is that season now?” DeMarco asked.
“Because I am sick and tired of being tarred by the same brush as a bunch of reprobates.”
DeMarco smiled. “And how did you come to replace Burl with Chad McGintey?”
“He appeared at my home the same afternoon I confronted Burl. Said he had heard I might be looking to hire a new maintenance man. It was obvious he was down on his luck, unable to make ends meet. So I gave him a chance. Another unfortunate error in my judgment.”
“How about Virgil Helm?” DeMarco said.
“Him as well. I only hired him because the man was a veteran. And obviously not in the best of health. Yet eager enough for the job. I am still astounded by the depths of his heinous nature.”
Jayme said, “So you’re convinced he’s the one responsible?”
“You and Vicente’s misguided group seem to be the only individuals unwilling to accept the obvious. I telephoned Helm to alert him to the termite situation, and next morning, he is gone.”
“Could be,” DeMarco said. “Could be.”
Royce now moved toward the door, wrapped his fingers around the gold-plated handle. “I trust I won’t be seeing you again?”
“Who knows?” DeMarco said. “You guys still do full submersion for baptisms?”
“I will gladly submerge you,” Royce told him with a grin. Then he pulled open the door. One of his bodyguards stepped up to hold the door.
“By the way,” Jayme told the pastor, “Antoinette is a lovely young woman. I bet your daughter is beautiful.”
Royce turned, eyes narrowing. “I should have guessed,” he said. “Do you have any idea what that lawyer is demanding from me?”
“I can only hope,” Jayme said, and walked away grinning.
ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE
On their drive back to Aberdeen, after picking up a box of crispy chicken wraps and two chilled bottles of water at the nearest fast food drive-up, Jayme and DeMarco discussed the morning’s information in relation to what was already known or believed to be true.
“Let’s work backward from Virgil Helm,” DeMarco suggested. “Emery. I wish you had met him. Unfortunately we have only my impression to go with.”
“And you tend to believe him,” she said.
“I can’t see anything he has to gain by lying. Plus I’d probably be dead, or locked up in a cage, or still wandering around in those woods if it weren’t for him. He says he never had the key to access the false wall, and I believe him.”
“So then, moving backward to McGintey… Do you believe he never had the key?”
“You first.”
Driving with her left hand, she took a bite of the chicken wrap, chewed slowly, swallowed, carefully laid the wrap on the napkin spread over her thigh, reached for the bottle of water in the cup holder, took a sip. “Yeah, I do. He’s got some issues, no doubt about it. But I don’t see him as a serial killer. You think he’ll get the deal he’s asking for?”
“Some variation of it. Char will walk. Brother too probably. Minimum sentence for Chad himself.”
“You okay with that?”
DeMarco shrugged. “It’s the sheriff’s county, not mine. He’ll probably figure, get Chad now, get the brother later. Clean up one mess at a time.”
“Okay then,” she said. “Virgil had no key, no opportunity, no discernible motive. McGintey no key, no opportunity, motive fairly murky. Eli Royce, plenty of opportunity. However…”
“Lots of howevers.”
“Two big ones for me,” she said. “He aced the polygraph. Plus, the man might be contemptible for a number of reasons, but he isn’t stupid. Fill a church with skeletons? A church over which he presides? And then schedule an inspection that will almost surely uncover them? If he put them there, why would he not remove them before the inspection?”
DeMarco was silent for a moment. Then said, “Here’s the thing. According to McGintey, he just happened to hear about the caretaker job, and applied for it. Acco
rding to Royce, McGintey showed up at his house within hours of the position opening up. Somebody told him the job was available. I can’t picture a guy like Todd Burl broadcasting the news about getting fired.”
“Didn’t Virgil tell you Burl and McGintey were partners?”
“Virgil didn’t, but Cat did. Said that’s what he’d told her. Unless we’re chasing the wrong Toad.”
“We already know that Chad McGintey lies.”
“Everybody lies.”
She took another drink of water. Then, “So which liar do you want to talk to first?”
DeMarco thought for a moment. “What was your read on that older girl when you talked to her?”
Jayme smiled. “Poonchkey,” she said.
DeMarco laughed. “Well then, pull a huey,” he said, “and let’s see which way the jelly runs.”
ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO
The girl, Charlene, seemed older to DeMarco than her nineteen years. Hardened, ready to fight. She came into the room scowling, contempt clearly written on the hard line of her mouth and in the veiled boredom of her eyes. “If this is all you people have to do with your time,” she said, “it’s pretty pathetic.”
She went straight to the window overlooking the parking lot, but not before picking up the cigarette and book of matches placed for her on the coffee table. The women’s conference room, unlike the men’s, was well-lit and more cheerfully painted, with blue walls and four padded chairs of orange or green vinyl, two of which DeMarco and Jayme currently occupied.
“This is Sergeant Ryan DeMarco,” Jayme told her. “Ryan, this is Charlene.”
He smiled but said nothing. Charlene did not turn from the window, but blew a cloud of smoke against the pane. “If you think I’m going to say a word against him, you’re wasting your time.”
DeMarco told her, “Things just got a whole lot more serious, Charlene.”
She turned her head slightly, not enough to meet his gaze.
“You should know,” he continued, “that we’ve been gathering information not only about Chad but also about his former employer, Reverend Royce, and also about his affiliation with Todd Burl and Virgil Helm. We know Chad told you about all that. We know he told you about the false wall in the church and what it was used for. That makes you a coconspirator. The charge will be felony murder, seven counts. You might never be able to look out a window again.”
They sat very still then, watching the side of her face, her body. Her hand trembled as she raised the cigarette to her lips for another drag, her inhalation shallow, staccato. The fingers of her free hand twitched.
Jayme’s voice was softer. “We know you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to those girls, Charlene. Unfortunately, you can still be charged if you withhold what you know. That’s the way the law works.”
“That’s messed up,” she said to the window.
“It can be,” Jayme said. “But if you choose to be honest with us, and confirm what we already know, there’s a decent chance you can be out of here soon. Free and clear.”
And now Charlene turned from the window. “Chad too?”
DeMarco said, “He’ll still have to face the sexual contact charge. But that’s all.”
Jayme said, “We already talked to him this morning. He’s agreed. Now it’s up to you.”
She looked to the closed door, then back to Jayme. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You can certainly have one if you want,” Jayme said. “Or you can just sit and be honest with us. We have no authority in this state. We’re not here to trap you or to hurt you in any way. We just want the truth so that we can pass it on to the sheriff. He’s the one who will take an official statement.”
Charlene kept staring at Jayme, but her eyes were blank with fear.
Jayme said, “You have a whole life ahead of you, Charlene. I would like very much for you to live it outside of a Kentucky state prison.”
And eventually the young woman moved away from the window, sat beside Jayme on an orange vinyl chair. She asked for something to drink, so DeMarco fetched a can of soda from the vending machine in the hallway. Jayme turned her knees toward Charlene, closed the distance between them, leaned closer when they talked. DeMarco kept his face expressionless, did his best to show no surprise, did not frighten her with eye contact. He sat with hands clasped between his knees, eyes down, head slightly cocked as he listened and remembered.
“Let’s start with you telling me how Chad got involved with Todd Burl,” Jayme said. “What was that all about?”
“I wasn’t around him then,” Charlene said. “I only know what he told me.”
“That’s what we need to hear.”
“It was Chad’s brother knew him first. They met in some bar, got high together. I guess Burl took him home that first night, let him do his wife.”
“Todd Burl took Lucas back to his house and let him have sex with his wife?”
“That’s what he said. Burl gets off on watching. And I guess that’s when Burl started buying his product from Lucas.”
“His product being what?”
“Weed. Burl was getting it in Tennessee before that, bringing it up here and selling it to Royce’s tenants and a few other people. But he found out he could get it cheaper and closer from Lucas.”
“So Burl was working for Royce back then?”
“Yeah. And selling on the side. Both the weed and his wife from what I was told.”
“Was Royce involved in this?”
“In the dope? Hell no.”
“And this continued for…”
“Well, after Lucas got busted and sent away, it was Burl and Chad then for a while. Until Royce got pissed about something and fired him.”
“Fired Burl.”
“Yeah. So Burl calls up Chad right away, and they cook up this plan for Chad to get Burl’s job doing the mowing and stuff. Because Burl has a set of extra keys for the church. And what better place to sell their stuff with nobody seeing, right? I mean Royce hardly went near the place except on Sundays, too busy with whatever else he was into. Mostly pussy, from what I was told.”
“Prostitution?”
“Naw, just screwing everybody he could. Plus there was shit going on in Chicago or somewhere. Black Power stuff, you know? And Royce was trying to get in good with those people.”
“Okay,” Jayme said. “So Burl is buying weed from Chad and selling it out of the church?”
“They were getting into some meth then too. Anything they could sell. The funny part was, Royce had his office all decked out in expensive furniture and paintings and stuff, including this big black leather couch he supposedly used to lay on while composing his sermons. Getting his inspiration from God, you know? Really it was where he banged half the black women in town, Burl said. So Burl got this brilliant idea of having his wife screw guys on that couch too. A couple times a week. Just to spite Royce is why he did it. Ever since he’d got fired, Burl was out to mess things up for Royce any way he could.”
“And you’re sure about Burl liking to watch? His wife with other men?”
“Absolutely. He watched Chad do me lots of times. Or me and his wife at the same time. He made this little crack in the wall, you know, so he could stand behind it and watch us go at it. That’s his thing, watching and beating off. Me, I prefer the real McCoy. But whatever floats your boat.”
“Okay,” Jayme said, “let me get this straight. Burl has another job by this time, but he’s still using the church as a place to sell dope. Does he store it there too?”
“We figured he must have. I mean, why cart it around with him? Nobody but him was ever allowed in behind that wall. One time Chad tried to pick the lock down in the basement, up on the basement ceiling, you know? Underneath one of the ceiling panels or something. But then he quit ’cause he was afraid Burl would notice somehow. And I do
n’t know if you know this or not, but Burl’s a batshit little fucker. Holds a grudge like nobody you ever seen. He was always talking about getting back at Royce someday. Messing him up good, you know? That’s half the reason Chad quit that mowing job, ’cause he didn’t want Burl sucking him into some craziness he cooked up.”
“What’s the other half?”
“Well, Lucas got out of prison and he wanted Chad back on the property full-time. Getting ready for the revolution, you know?”
“So then Chad quits working for Royce. And recommends Virgil Helm to replace him?”
“Right. Virgil had come into town and moved into the apartment above the bar and was looking for some work. Thing is, the guy was sort of a mess. Kind of reminded me of a starved cat he was so scrawny. Something wrong with his lungs apparently. But how hard is it to drive a lawn tractor around?”
“What about the day Virgil disappeared? Did he know what was hidden between those walls?”
“Nobody knew,” Charlene said. “I mean somebody did, but it wasn’t Chad or Virgil. Then the day Virgil found out there was going to be that termite inspection, he was having a beer downstairs with Chad, and Chad told him right away Burl’s stash was probably behind those walls, and if it was found, Virgil would sure as shootin’ be the one to get blamed for it.”
“So Virgil took off?”
“Wouldn’t you? Packed up his motorcycle and was gone. Next day the termite guy pulls off a couple boards, and that’s when all hell broke loose.”
Twenty minutes after their conversation began, Charlene returned to her cell, softly crying but hopeful. Jayme and DeMarco remained in their chairs, Jayme typing into her laptop, DeMarco scrawling notes in a small spiral notebook, writing fast in his typical shorthand absent of nonessential words.
When both finished, DeMarco said, “One of us needs to thank the deputy on duty. The other one can give the sheriff the call.”
Jayme closed up her laptop and stood. “I’ll take the deputy.”
DeMarco smiled. “You just know the sheriff is going to hit on you.”
“Yes I do,” she said. “And I don’t want you arrested for assaulting an officer.”
Walking the Bones Page 32
