Opening Day: A Matt Davis Mystery
Page 23
Now, the document resides alongside me on the seat, its few well-constructed sentences spelling doom for a fellow law enforcement officer. This is not a happy day. Most in Roscoe will celebrate the arrest, especially Nancy, who has never held Red in very high esteem. But there will be a few—most notably those who know Red the longest—who will blame his wife for breaking the unwritten code of marital honor. Despite being less than two hours from the most sophisticated city in the country, Roscoe is first and foremost a country town. They’ve got cable TV and the Internet, but they’ve also got a tradition of self-preservation dating back to the early 1800s. Red’s roots go way back, too—just far enough to make him immune in some circles. It won’t be easy getting a conviction.
Inside the Buckner house, Claire sits quietly in front of the TV, absent-mindedly staring off into space, a half-knitted sweater on her lap. As usual, Red’s off somewhere. Since it’s a Saturday, Claire figures he’s probably over in Walton at a bar, watching a college football game, and no doubt getting drunk. It’s been three days since she mailed the letter, and she wonders how long it will be before they come to get her husband. She can’t stand the waiting. If they don’t come soon she’ll go out of her mind. She gets up, walks over to the window, and looks out, almost hoping to see a police car coming up the driveway. But, the only thing she sees on the gravel surface is the cat, carrying what appears to be a mouse in its jaws, a present for the lady of the house; it’s not exactly what she had in mind.
Claire sits back down, picks up her knitting project, then, with a sigh, drops it into her lap, and closes her eyes. There’s only one thought in her head. Sweet Jesus, forgive this sinner.
Chapter 65
Rhonda, some time the previous fall – day twelve, mid-morning
The snow has nearly stopped. A few oversized flakes tumble down between the naked branches of the hardwood trees surrounding the Buckner house. Rhonda sits in a wicker rocking chair, and stares idly out the window. The hot cocoa and oatmeal cookies are working their magic, not just warming her, but, combined with the rhythmic rocking, also making her sleepy. Across the room, Red has fallen asleep; his large frame draped loosely over the overstuffed chair, his mouth agape, a victim of his own poison—bourbon. Claire’s gaze wanders from one to the other and back again, finally settling on Red’s slumbering form. It’s safe, she decides. Time to do the right thing. “Ronnie?” she whispers. “Can you hear me, child?”
Rhonda turns to Claire. “Uh huh,” she says.
“Good. It’s time to leave,” says Claire.
“But—”
“Hush, child. Do as I say. We’re gonna get you out of here.” Claire nods her head in the direction of her sleeping husband. “You don’t want to be here when he wakes up. Believe me. Be as quiet as you can, and let’s get your things together. We don’t have much time.” The urgency of her words frightens Rhonda, who is puzzled at first, but allows her instincts to take over. For some reason, she trusts this woman. Besides, it’s time to get going. She quietly rises from the rocker, placing two fingers on the nearest arm to keep it from moving, and then tiptoes across the room to where Claire is waiting. Claire places a finger to her lips, and motions Rhonda toward the pantry area of the kitchen. “Get your coat and your knapsack—and hurry!” she whispers. The more the woman says that word, the more frightened Rhonda becomes. She glances back over her shoulder at Red’s sleeping form, and is reminded of her last night at home with Howie. Suddenly, everything is crystal clear. A snort from Red’s yawning mouth sounds a final alarm. Rhonda grabs her coat, pulling it on quickly, and zips it closed.
“Grab your knapsack!” whispers Claire. “We’ve got to go.”
Throwing the heavy pack over her shoulder, Rhonda indicates she’s ready. Claire opens the back door, and pulls the girl through the opening. Standing on the small back deck, she points across the property. “You just follow the driveway down to the highway. That’s Bear Spring Mountain Road. Go right, and if you’re lucky, someone will give you a lift, and you’ll be in Roscoe in twenty minutes—maybe less. But, if you see Red’s car coming, you best duck into the woods and wait till he’s gone.”
“But, why do I—”
“Never you mind, child. I should have done this for all the others. But, it’s not too late for you. Now go…before he wakes up. And bless you, child. Bless you.”
The cold air causes Rhonda to shiver in spite of her heavy jacket, and she can feel her senses sharpening. She walks slowly at first, but then breaks into a trot, an unnatural sense of urgency driving her onward. Every once in a while, she pauses to glance back over her shoulder. In less than five minutes, she has reached the main road. The snow there has been packed down by passing vehicles, making walking somewhat easier. Occasionally, the mid-morning sun breaks through the cloud cover, and Rhonda’s mood brightens along with the day. Before long, she has nearly forgotten all about Claire’s ominous warning.
There isn’t much traffic moving, and the few cars and pickup trucks that pass by do so without succumbing to Rhonda’s extended thumb. The day is warming, and now there is more sun than clouds; it’s a good sign, she decides. Her mind wanders back to Binghamton, and she wonders what Glenda is doing. I should never have left, she thinks. Hell, it’s not too late. I could go back. She pictures the two of them, snuggled up next to one another in the movie theatre that night. Who am I kidding? No, the best thing is to follow through with her plan. Get down to North Carolina with her grandparents. Then she can call her mother and…
A loud, roaring sound behind Rhonda breaks the reverie, and she swivels around just in time to see Red’s black and white police cruiser speeding up behind her. The car comes to a halt, sliding on the hard-packed snow, and barely stopping just short of the startled girl, who jumps out of the way at the last second. In an instant, Red is out of the car, and running toward her. Heart pumping wildly, Rhonda drops her knapsack, and runs frantically into the woods. At first, she is confident that she can outrun the older man, figuring he’ll give up once he runs out of steam. But, the ex-chief is in better shape than she can imagine, and before long, he has closed the gap between them to less than a few yards. “Leave me alone!” screams Rhonda. “Leave me alone!”
“I’ll leave you alone when I’m good and ready!” shouts Red. He lunges for the girl, but comes up just short, and falls on the snow-covered ground. For a few seconds Rhonda’s hopes of escape are renewed, and she sprints ahead, putting a little distance between herself and the older man. But, in no time at all, Red is back up and running again, and closing fast. Rhonda is getting tired. Oh God; please make him stop!
“Atta girl,” he screams. “You run, Ronnie!” says Red. “I like a good chase. Gets me in the mood.”
Oh God, what does that mean? Rhonda’s heart is pounding inside her chest. Please don’t let him catch me. Please!
But it’s too late. With a burst of speed, Red closes the final few feet between them, and reaches out for Rhonda’s coat, grabbing it and spinning her around to meet his wildly swinging other hand, which catches her flush on the side of her face. Whack! The blow is ferocious in its power, and sends the unprepared girl reeling. She just manages to keep her footing, and continues running. Her face throbs from the impact of Red’s oversized hand, and a slight trickle of blood flows from her quickly swelling nose. “Why?” she screams. “Why? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do nothin’!” shouts Red. “That’s the problem. I just wanted a little lovin’, that’s all. A little foolin’ around. I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”
I’ll bet. That’s what Howie always said.
They are out of sight of the road now, and she and Red have slowed to a manageable trot, with just enough distance between them to give Rhonda a false sense of security. But, she knows she can’t keep it up forever. God. Won’t he ever quit? A noise behind her causes her to turn her head. Something is running through the woods ahead of her; darting back and forth erratically. Oh, it’s just a rabbit. Suddenly, a han
d grips her arm in a vice-like grip. It’s Red, and he’s finally caught her. “Gotcha!” he shouts.
“Ow!” Rhonda screams. “Let me go!”
“I’ll let you go when I’m good and ready,” says Red, who starts pulling her after him, back through the woods, toward the road and his car. Rhonda digs her heels into the snow, in an effort to resist, but she is no match for Red, who uses his strength to drag her against her will. She reluctantly stumbles along in his grip, helpless to stop him. The ends of branches whipping by catch her in the face, stinging like needles, and cutting her delicate skin. She begins to cry, as she is pulled roughly along by the now furious Red, who has ceased all pretense of being nice. There is no doubt as to his intentions.
She can see his car up ahead, and the thought of going back to that house, and what he might do to her, fills her with a renewed sense of desperation. With one great burst of energy, she yanks with all her might and pulls free of his grip. Screaming “help!” at the top of her lungs, she sprints to the road, and starts running in the direction of Roscoe. Please God. Please send somebody to help me. Please.
Red is laughing now, his loud voice calling out, “Go on. Run. You’ll never get away. I’ll catch you. And when I do…” Rhonda hears the car door slam, and the sound of the engine turning over. The big cruiser’s wheels spin briefly in the snow, before catching hold. Instantly, the car is behind her. Oh God. Dear God. Help me, please!
Up ahead is an opening in the woods—a road. It’s her last chance. Gasping for breath, Rhonda increases her speed, and heads for the opening. But, before she can veer off the road, Red has slammed the car in park, and has caught her. He takes a wild swing and catches her on the back of her head with his fist, dazing her. Little circles of light fill her vision, and she fears she might faint. She turns and grabs Red’s arm, biting down hard on the flesh of his wrist, causing him to scream like a wounded animal. He grabs her hair with his free hand, and pulls her backwards hard. They struggle briefly, and then Red takes a full swing, and hits her flush on the jaw with all his might, sending her careening to the ground. Her head hits a rock with a sickening thud, and just like that, it’s over.
For the next few minutes, Red just stands there, bent over at the waist, gasping for air. He couldn’t take another step, even if he wanted to. He looks down at the motionless girl, waiting for her to make a move. But, nothing happens. “Hey,” he says. “You can quit playin’ possum, girl. I didn’t hit you that hard.” Shit, maybe I did. “Get up Ronnie. I won’t do nothin’. I promise.” Now what the hell have I done? He reaches down and places two fingers on the girl’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Shit! Red drops to his knees, moving his fingers to the girl’s wrist. Nothing there either. He begins to panic. “Oh Lord, Dear God!” he cries. Tears are streaming down his face, not in sympathy for the fallen girl, but out of fear for what will happen to him, if he’s discovered. He looks up at the sky and screams at the top of his lungs, “Why? Why me?” He wipes away the hot tears on his face with is sleeve.
Beneath him, Rhonda’s lifeless body is already growing as cold as the ground, upon which it rests.
Chapter 66
It’s not every day that you’re called upon to arrest a fellow police officer. I suppose if you’re in Internal Affairs, it might become routine, but this is a first for me. And, I’m not looking forward to it. I rehearse what I’ll say, over and over, in my head. No matter how I phrase it, I can’t seem to find the right words. Look, Red. There’s a little something we need to discuss. Do you mind coming to the office with us? That won’t work. We got a tip that you might have had something to do with the disappearance of that girl. We’re gonna need you to come in with us. No way. I guess I’ll find the words when I get there.
Up ahead, in the distance, I can just make out the silhouette of Red’s house. This is the house he’s lived in since he was a boy. When he and Claire married, they had moved in with Red’s parents, who have both long since passed away. I pull the Jeep up the gravel drive, and the first thing I notice is the absence of Red’s cruiser. Oh great. Now what? I motion to Bobcat and Rick to pull their vehicles off to the side, out of the way. I exit the Jeep, and stand quietly while they each park. The whole thing kind of reminds me of a Western movie, and we’re the posse, sneaking up on the bad guys. Except, this is the twenty-first century, and we don’t have horses, and the bad guy is the ex Chief of Police. Not so much similarity, after all, I think.
Claire hears the crunch of tires on the gravel, and looks out the window, this time expecting to see Red’s cruiser. Instead, the vision she has waited for has finally appeared. She watches as the three police vehicles quietly roll to a stop out back, and smiles sadly, as she watches first Matt, then the other two officers exit their vehicles. Thank God, she thinks. It’s almost over.
Chapter 67
Rhonda, some time the previous fall – day twelve, mid-morning
The sense of panic Red feels is overwhelming. He paces back and forth in front of the lifeless body. In spite of the cold, his skin is clammy with the nervous perspiration that just won’t stop. He can’t stand the smell of his own sweat. It’s the smell of fear, and who is better able to recognize its pungent odor than he? How many times has he smelled it on the petty criminals he has apprehended, over the years? Now, it’s his turn to be afraid. He should just run, he thinks. Maybe just disappear. He’s always wanted to go out west. They say the hunting and fishing is too good to be believed. But, Red is too smart, and way too cunning to give in to these foolish thoughts.
Who am I kidding? Claire is bound to talk. That woman never had a lick of sense. Get rid of the body cries his inner voice. Just get rid of the body, and nobody will ever know. He looks down at the unmoving girl. Got to move fast. If he takes off all her clothes, and burns them, along with the damn knapsack, no one will ever find them. Luckily, there isn’t any blood on him. He can burn his clothes too, just to be sure. He kneels down, and roughly yanks the jacket from Rhonda’s lifeless body, then her blouse and bra. Nice hooters. He can’t help but laugh. He tries to pull her jeans over her boots, but can’t, and has to fumble with the laces, before finally untying them and removing the footwear. The jeans slide easily over the girl’s teenaged hips, and he feels a faint arousal at the sight of the skimpy thong she wears for underpants. No time for that, you dumbass! He strips off the girl’s socks and the remaining undergarment, and stuffs them, along with the bra, jeans, and blouse into the knapsack. There, he thinks, nice and tidy. He doesn’t notice the small MIA bracelet that has come off the girl’s wrist when he pulled the jacket roughly over her limp left arm. It lies there innocently, just beneath the thin covering of snow, waiting for a little girl to discover it, six months later, when her daddy changes a flat tire.
Rhonda’s graying body is completely naked now, and Red lifts it easily, and begins carrying it toward the stream, nearly a quarter of a mile in from the main highway. After a while, the weight becomes a burden, and he drags the lifeless body the rest of the way by one arm, much like he might with a deer he has shot. It’s all the same to him.
After submerging Rhonda’s form beneath the water, and weighting it down with several large stones, Red washes his hands in the stream, completely eliminating all traces of the girl from both his body and his conscience. It’s unlikely that anyone will ever discover it, and if they do, they’ll never be able to identify it. On the way back to the road, Red drags a pine bough behind him to roughen up the snow, eliminating most of his boot prints—but not all. By the time he reaches the car, he is actually whistling. And, why not? No one will ever miss this one, he thinks. They never do.
When Red arrives at the house, Claire is waiting anxiously, her eyes filled with questions—and fear. Red doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. The knapsack carried loosely in his oversized hand provides the answer to the only real question Claire has. He stares hard at his cowering wife, menacing her with his body language, then shakes his head, and disappears out the back door.
Back at the house, Red fills a small tumbler with bourbon, and after downing half of it in a single gulp, corners Claire in the kitchen. Drawing her close, he whispers in her ear, “You say one goddamn word, and I’ll kill you—just like her. And I’ll bury you right alongside her sorry ass. You got that, woman?” Claire nods, and Red shoves her aside like a dog. “Now, get me something to eat. I’m hungry.”
In a month or so, Red has completely forgotten about “Ronnie.” What kind of name is that, anyway, for a girl? he had thought at the time.
Unlike her husband, Claire will never forget.
Chapter 68
The sound of footsteps on the wooden porch is a comforting one to Claire. Ironically, after all these years of fearing the same sound, and what it had almost always come to portend, it’s with a sad sense of joy that she virtually welcomes it today. She opens the door wide, and surprises me by saying, “Come on in, Chief. I’ve been waiting for you.”