Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller

by Lynn Hightower

  ‘Four months to the day after all charges against the Hermans were dropped, they were found dead in their living room, both of them shot in the throat.’

  I pick up the picture of Cletus Purcell. He looks about twelve, skinny and tall, stooping slightly at the shoulders, head canted to one side, a matchstick in the side of his mouth. Even then his eyes are black and malevolent. Impossible to stare down. The next is a regulation mug shot, and this is the man who lurks in my subconscious. He stares straight into the lens of the camera with a look of deadness and menace that I have seen up close.

  ‘Do you know what the statistics are, for sociopaths in the general population?’ Goodwin asks.

  I nod. ‘One in a hundred, roughly one percent. Fairly accurate, I think, though there are some who think that statistic is overly conservative, and put it higher.’

  He nods, and I see a glint of surprise. People never seem to realize that in my line of work the good is always balanced with the bad.

  Goodwin runs a hand through his hair. ‘Now we take our second ingredient, a simple one but a standard. Take one budding young sociopath and add some variation of the following three ingredients – abuse, brain damage and mental illness.

  ‘We know Purcell was abused by the Hermans. There’s no telling what happened to him in the initial series of early foster homes. But we know that he was riding on the back of a friend’s ATV at the age of fourteen and that they crashed it into a tree. The hospital records mention a broken rib and a head injury, to the prefrontal lobe of his brain, resulting in unconsciousness and severe concussion. Mental illness? That’s anyone’s guess. His foster care records describe a colicky infant who cried continuously and could not be comforted. By the time he was eighteen months old he had frequent temper tantrums, and by age nine was labeled sullen and withdrawn.

  ‘End result? A boy grows into a man looking for empowerment and ways to get even. All that’s needed is a trigger, and a serial killer is born.’

  ‘And the trigger?’ I ask. ‘Do you have that in your files and records?’

  ‘I imagine his years with the Hermans gave him all the triggers he’d need. And even under their care he didn’t become any kind of a discipline problem until he was twelve. At that point it was only minor stuff – small time episodes, immature, juvenile delinquent kinds of things, nothing hardcore. According to early foster care records he was attached to and loving with animals. In fact, in one of his early placements, the couple reported that the only thing that would calm him down, when he was upset, was curling up with the family cat.’

  ‘Too bad that one didn’t keep him.’

  ‘The wife died suddenly, and the husband couldn’t take care of a toddler and work his job.’

  Purcell’s childhood history twists like a bad bedtime story. Is it a good sign that Purcell didn’t hurt Caro’s dog, Ruby? It was to Purcell’s advantage to leave Ruby alive, but there were other ways to get his message across.

  I notice that Goodwin stares off in the distance as if he is watching a movie only he can see. His eyes seem different, then he seems to come back to himself, and the moment reminds me of something – the nictitating membrane in the eyes of a snake. I see it in Dr Jonathan Goodwin, the same thing I see in people I’ve counseled and what I see, just a little, in myself. The dark side of the world infects you. Takes your innocence and files it away.

  ‘Purcell’s first conviction was for felony assault. Somebody rear-ended his van at a stop sign. It was nothing more than a fender bender, but he nearly beat the man to death. After that, he went into the business of murder for hire. Nothing personal – just a sociopath making a living doing a job he enjoys.’ Goodwin purses his lips. ‘I can’t say definitively that he’s been inactive, but he’s either slowed way down over the last few years or has been flying under the radar. Some of them do wind down as they age, some stop killing altogether.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’

  ‘Less testosterone.’

  ‘Testosterone seems like a hell of a burden, the more I understand about men.’

  Goodwin narrows his eyes at me in a way that makes me feel like a particularly bright student. ‘Let’s say it’s powerful, and like anything powerful it’s got its good and bad sides. Evidently, Purcell isn’t suffering from a loss of testosterone. In the last eighteen months he’s been active again, but he’s gone from murder for hire to this new religious quest. Which makes him unpredictable and even more dangerous. And it’s also where you come in.’

  ‘Those evangelists who died, and all the pictures I got in the mail. Has the FBI confirmed the killings were done by Purcell?’

  ‘They knew it all along, they’ve got DNA evidence. What they had to confirm was if it was actually Purcell who kidnapped your granddaughter and daughter-in-law. One of the many theories about you was the possibility you were using the deaths of the evangelists as a cover for your revenge. Can’t you see, Mrs Miller, how everything always comes down to you? Purcell has killed three evangelists who were classmates of yours in seminary, and there’s no coincidence there. Now he’s kidnapped two members of your family. There’s been no ransom note, though he’s gone to great pains to establish that both Caroline and Andee are still alive. He wants something. Something only you can give him. We can’t solve this case unless you tell us why he is fixated on you.’

  I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘Let’s say for argument’s sake you’re right. Consider the following scenario. I tell you everything, Agent Woods gets the connection he needs to have me arrested. Once in custody, I’m not in a position to give Purcell what he wants, and Andee and Caro get killed.’

  ‘So that’s it.’ Goodwin stands up and paces to the kitchen and back. He stops abruptly, puts his hands in his pockets and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘Why would you assume that Woods would arrest you?’

  ‘Because Woods has wanted to put me under arrest since the first time I was questioned. He’s convinced I hired Purcell to take revenge on my daughter-in-law.’

  ‘That theory doesn’t hold. Even Woods should be able to see that. Purcell doesn’t just have Caroline, he’s got Andee. And why would you have them kidnapped? Why not just have your daughter-in-law killed? And what about those pictures you got in the mail? The other evangelists? How does that connect?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’

  ‘The only reason Woods won’t let go of that theory is he knows you’re not telling him everything. And he can’t think of any other reason for your refusal to tell him the truth. I don’t see a choice for you here. You want this guy caught, don’t you, Joy? You want your family back safe? Do you honestly believe you can pull that off by yourself?’

  ‘I might think exactly that.’

  ‘You’d be wrong. And it’s not like Purcell doesn’t know you’ve gone to the Feds,’ Goodwin says dryly. ‘You might as well make use of us.’

  He walks close to me and Leo springs to his feet. There is an invisible line that only Leo sees but it’s one he won’t allow Goodwin to cross.

  ‘What’s it going to be, Mrs Miller? You going to talk, or let your dog snack on me for lunch? Keep in mind, please, that Caroline and Andee have been gone for five days already, and the trail is going cold. But by all means take whatever time you need to think.’

  ‘I need a bathroom break.’

  Goodwin opens his mouth, then closes it. He shrugs. ‘Truthfully, I could use one myself.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Johnny Goodwin sits quietly, both hands in his lap. He watches me as if I’m a wild animal and can easily be scared away.

  I take myself back fourteen years, almost to the day.

  ‘I’ve always called him the Dark Man.’ I give Goodwin a sideways smile. ‘The first time I saw him was in the produce section at Wal-Mart, fourteen years ago. I was picking out strawberries. I couldn’t find any I liked the looks of, so I moved on and found a box of clementines. Joey and I had discovered clementines the year before and we
were crazy about them.’

  ‘I don’t even know what they are,’ Goodwin says.

  ‘Small, sweet, like tangerines but seedless. They’re grown in Spain.’ I close my eyes, thinking. Finding my way back. ‘So there I was in my own little world, completely occupied with the grocery budget, the cost of fruit and how much produce I can buy. I wasn’t even aware of the Dark Man standing beside me until he tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if clementines were the same as tangerines.

  ‘It startled me. And I didn’t like it that he touched me, even if it was just a tap on the shoulder. There was something repellent about him, something hard. He was a tall man, really skinny and greasy. His face looked mean. His eyes were black and the way he looked at you … it was kind of flat, but creepy. He had black eyebrows and oily black hair, long and combed back. He was dressed kind of rough. An old flannel shirt, cheap trousers. Scuffed up work shoes, a dirty painter’s cap. There were smudges of different paint colors all over his pants.

  ‘“Clementines are sweeter,” I told him. “And they don’t have seeds. They’re better than tangerines, when you can find them.”

  ‘I remember how he just stared at me, like he was watching my lips move but not paying attention to the words. And he didn’t buy any clementines. That’s when I noticed that he didn’t have any groceries, or a basket.

  ‘At this point my internal creep-o-meter hits the high red end of panic. I couldn’t tell if he was hitting on me or just weird, but it didn’t really matter. It was one of those times where the ingrained habit of being polite is a serious handicap. That’s something I had to learn when the cable show started up. I shoved my basket in the other direction and headed to go check out.

  ‘He followed me and it was blatant. I picked up speed, kind of walk-running, and he stayed right behind me. I could just picture him breathing down my neck in the checkout line, and following me to the parking lot and my car. So I turned around and faced him.

  ‘“Go away,” I told him. “Stop following me. Leave right this minute or I will go straight to that counter over there and ask them to call store security.”’

  ‘No doubt he was terrorized,’ Goodwin said dryly.

  ‘The look he gave me – I can’t even describe it. The way it was so intent, the way he lowered his head. And then he grabbed on to my basket.’

  ‘That must have scared you.’

  ‘Oh, believe me. I was shaking. But it’s not like I was attached to the fruit. I took off, and I was spooked enough that I was going to make sure the store manager called the police. But right when I was turning, I could see that he was reaching into the pocket of his shirt and unfolding a piece of paper. And he gets something else out of his pocket – a photograph.

  ‘“This is your schedule for the next four days,” he says. “I can read it to you if you want.”

  ‘I just stood there, so he kind of squints at the paper and starts reading.

  ‘“Tonight you’re a guest speaker at New Hope Chapel. Tomorrow night you have the revival in Berea. Sunday you’re the guest preacher at a church in Midway.” Then he stops reading and looks at me. “You work hard at this, don’t you? Here, take a look at these pictures I got. This is you, and this is your son.”

  ‘And sure enough, he’s got a copy of my week’s itinerary exactly like the copy in my briefcase. Only mine is still crisp and neat, and his is brown-stained with coffee and smells like cigarettes. And the pictures are wrinkled and dirty, like he’s pulled them out and looked at them a lot. All of his stuff has paper clip marks in the upper left hand corner, like somebody put it together for him.

  ‘“Where did you get these?” I honestly didn’t think he’d tell me. I remember my heart beating so hard and I was panicky because of the picture he had of my son.

  ‘“Your husband gave them to me, Mrs Miller.”

  ‘I stood there and stared at him. And he points to the McDonald’s in the front of the store.

  ‘“Let’s go over there and get us a cup of coffee. It’s full of people, I can’t do nothing to you there. You’re going to want to listen to what I got to say.”

  ‘He had Joey’s picture, so I couldn’t just let it go. We got coffee and sat down. The table was sticky. Catsup smears.

  ‘“Your husband’s name is Carl,” he says. “Two months ago he hired me to kill you.”’

  Goodwin cocks his head to one side. ‘Did you believe him?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Not at first. I thought he was some pervert trying to extort money. There were some pretty hardcore people who crawled out from under the rocks when I started the cable show. It was early days, but I was starting to get wary.

  ‘I decided the best thing to do was to play him. Listen to everything he had to say, then call the police. This would be a new one for the stalker file. I knew if he actually made a threat there would be a better chance of prosecuting him, and this one I wanted locked away.

  ‘“You don’t believe me?” he says. I guess my attitude was pretty clear. So he pulls a pack of Camel cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He’s pretty casual, in no kind of hurry. Takes his time lighting the cigarette and starts to smoke. “Your husband paid me eight thousand seven hundred dollars as a cash down payment. That sum of money ring a bell with you?”

  ‘He starts drinking his coffee then, completely relaxed. I can still see it. The steam rising up from the Styrofoam cup and me wondering how he could drink it so hot.

  ‘I remember closing my eyes, kind of deflating. Eight thousand seven hundred dollars was the exact figure missing from the ministry accounts. Marsha had been trying to track it down all week.

  ‘He finishes about a third of his coffee and then he starts flicking cigarette ashes into his cup.

  ‘“I get another eleven thousand three hundred when you’re dead,” he tells me. “Which is supposed to happen tonight, by the way, after you preach. You’ll be driving a black Trans Am.”

  ‘“That’s my husband’s car.”

  ‘“He’s going to switch before you go. He’ll take the Jeep Cherokee and leave you the Trans Am. I’m supposed to make it look like a car jacking. Tomorrow he and I are meeting at Natural Bridge State Park, on the bridge itself, at seven p.m. That’s where he’ll give me the rest of the money.”

  ‘“And what about Joey? He’s supposed to be with me tonight. Am I supposed to believe that Carl paid you to kill our son?”

  ‘“The way your husband put it to me, Mrs Miller, was he preferred me not to hurt your son. Joey, right? Saw him score that goal at the soccer game Saturday. He’s a pretty good player, goes all out.” He lights up another cigarette. “I told your husband I don’t leave witnesses. He said he’d try to make some excuse to keep the boy home. Either way, though, I’m supposed to go on and do the job.”

  ‘“Why are you telling me this? You want money from me? You want me to pay you? Because I’m not going to give you a cent.”

  ‘He nodded at me, like I was saying just what he thought I’d say, like I was repeating the dialog he’d already written and rehearsed in his mind.

  ‘“Thing is,” he says, “I’ve been going to a lot of your shows. You know. Where you preach. I was there just to get a bead on you, but I admit you got me thinking.”

  ‘“Thinking about what?”

  ‘“About good and evil. I’ve got a lot of bad inside me.”

  ‘The way he said that. Like it was everyday chit chat. Even now it gives me a chill. And I knew I should say something encouraging, something about how he had good in him too. But I just didn’t see any good in those flat, black eyes.

  ‘“I’m not telling you everything I done in my life,” he said. “You don’t want to know. Most of it’s stuff you’d have a hard time even thinking about, much less knowing in detail. But since I started really listening to you, I can’t sleep anymore. I’m trained as a house painter, it’s what I do when I’m short of cash. I’m thinking I’ll try and stick to that. I just wanted you to know that you’re the one started t
he ball rolling. The rest is up to me.”

  ‘“And that’s all?”

  ‘He gave me a little sideways glance. “Thought you might want to keep an eye on that husband of yours.”’

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘What happened next?’ Goodwin asks.

  ‘That’s it. That’s the last time I saw Purcell. That’s my big connection to this case.’

  ‘It puts an interesting light on things.’ Goodwin rubs his chin. ‘Do you think it was sincere? This big religious epiphany?’

  ‘These guys are beyond manipulative, you know that. But still. I can’t get my head around it. Why did he call it off? Why did he warn me?’

  ‘So he kept his word.’

  ‘I’m sitting here, aren’t I?’

  Goodwin reaches for a doughnut. ‘For what it’s worth, Mrs Miller, I’m convinced. I think he’s serious about looking for a way out of who he is, to who he can be.’ He takes a napkin and wipes chocolate off his mouth. ‘According to the police report that Woods dug up, your husband, Carl Miller, committed suicide by jumping off Natural Bridge. You think Purcell had anything to do with that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the police? I take it you didn’t?’

  ‘No. I didn’t. When I got home it all happened like Purcell said it would. Carl tried to switch cars with me. He tried to keep Joey home. So I took my son and stayed with a friend, trying to think what to do. The next thing I know the police are on the doorstep telling me Carl is dead.

  ‘Maybe if I’d gone right to the police, Carl would still be alive. But I needed to think. I wasn’t sure they’d believe me. And there was that money missing from the business accounts. It was going to turn into a big fat mess. I was worried about what would happen with the ministry. How it would affect Joey, if it all came out.