by J. Conrad
“Nope, but I’m supposed to be. Some real bad stuff went down this morning. I’m getting a new back window put on the truck.”
“Oh man, what happened? Were you in an accident?”
“Not exactly. Well, I’m not injured. But uh... a lot has happened. You want to get a beer or something?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Kyle said. “I’ve got a showing at 11:00, but I could probably meet you at 1:00 or 1:30 for lunch.”
“That would be great,” I said.
With no job to go back to, I met Kyle on 6th street to have a drink at one o’clock on Monday afternoon. I told him everything, even though that might not have been the best idea. Reyes had been pretty clear about keeping things to myself if possible. Anyone else with information could become a target themselves.
A Corona dangled limply from Kyle’s fingers, like he no longer knew it was there. Inertia must have been the only thing that kept it from falling.
“Geez, Trent. Shit.” Now he threw back the Corona, draining about three fourths of it. He didn’t much know what to say, which was unusual for him. “You can probably stay with Laney and me for a while if you want. I could talk to her.”
Another thing about Kyle is that he’s married. Married and successful, with his profession in real estate. Laney is expecting their first child in a few months and from what I’ve seen of her, she’s Elizabeth’s polar opposite. Blonde, bubbly, and happy-go-lucky – well, like Kyle’s soul incarnated into a woman’s body, that’s what Laney was. His perfect mate.
“Thanks man, but there’s no way I can do that to you. There’s no sense in bringing you two into this. He had a gun with a silencer. This guy was serious.”
“So why do you think someone would want you dead? You’re the one who called the cops, but you don’t know anything.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know why. But we don’t even know if the guy who shot at me was the guy who committed that crime – did that to those women.”
“And you really think Tim had nothing to do with any of this? If they arrested him, they had to have evidence. They can’t just take him in for no reason, right?” Kyle asked.
“I can’t see how he could have. You should have seen him talking to the cops, looking like a scared rabbit. And he was the one who asked me to check on the house. Why they arrested him, I don’t know, but as far as his involvement, I just can’t see it,” I said.
“I’ve seen crime shows about something like this. Often when someone murders someone, like a family member, they get another person involved and pretend to ‘discover’ the crime together. And that’s the way they act, shocked and terrified,” Kyle said.
“But what about the guy shooting at me today? Tim is still in custody. You think he prearranged a hitman to come after me? I don’t see the point. If I served my purpose, and in addition think he’s innocent – which I do – having me killed would only make him look guilty.”
Kyle laughed and set his beer on the table. “Well, thank you, Detective Lemend. That’s a suitable argument. Maybe you should tell that to Tim’s attorney.”
“Eh,” I shrugged. “I’ve been dragged into it too much as it is.”
“You need to get a concealed carry permit,” Kyle said. “Keep your piece on you all the time. Maybe they’ll catch the guy and you won’t need to leave town, but if he does come after you, you’ll be ready.”
Again, a brilliantly simple piece of logic if you’re not the one marked for murder. It’s easy.
* * * * *
That afternoon I got a concealed carry permit and I put my 9mm Browning in its holster under my jacket. It actually made me feel pretty good. I didn’t have anything fancy with a silencer as though I was undergoing sniper training, but I had a gun that would do the job in a pinch. It was easy to use and could be fired at close range.
I didn’t have any formal training in weaponry. Shooting has been a hobby for me, something I picked up from friends as a teenager. I enjoyed it and wasn’t a terrible shot, but I had never used weapons in a real-life survival situation.
I admitted to myself that I had been afraid to go home, but now that I was standing in my living room with a weapon it didn’t feel too bad. I didn’t want to sleep here tonight, but I made up my mind that I wasn’t running either. I’d give myself a couple nights in a hotel, then I’d come back prepared. I packed a suitcase with two days worth of clothes and necessities, including my other two guns (a .35 caliber Remington rifle and a .22 caliber revolver) and several boxes of ammo. The Remington was a decent gun; the revolver not so much. It was more like a toy for a game of Wild West for adults, but it was small and light.
Driving away from the small house I rented, I checked the rear view constantly like a hunted animal. Every white car screamed at my subconscious. I heard noises like bullets clanging into water troughs, which were only creaky suspensions on fifth-wheel trailers or someone’s squealing breaks.
My cell phone rang and I hastily answered it, putting Kyle on speaker and setting the phone on my leg.
“Hey,” I yelled.
“Hey! How’d it go? You get your permit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ‘carrying my piece.’” We both laughed. Humor wouldn’t fix this mess, but it sure helped.
Kyle could tell I was driving by all the road noise. “You headed back home?”
I had this paranoid feeling like my phone was bugged. There was no reason to think it was, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d make sure not to reveal too much in my mobile conversations until this whole thing was over.
“No, just left. I’m on 35. I’m just getting some air,” I said.
“Good deal,” Kyle said. “Keep me posted.”
CHAPTER SIX
Twelve Years Earlier
The year proceeding high school graduation was arguably one of the worst times of my life. I was eighteen and so was Mary Durham. In October she told me she was pregnant. We had always used protection, but there it was anyway. Now she was about four months along. Both our parents were in a state of distress over the whole thing, but no one was pushing us in any particular direction. Mary and I had been discussing what to do and hadn’t formed up any concrete plans either. Life seemed surreal. I couldn’t face the shared responsibility of the situation we’d created.
Mary was in my room on a Saturday morning, pulling her thick blonde hair into a messy bun. She was starting to show a little. We were going to meet some friends at noon for a barbecue and I hoped that no one would notice.
“Have you decided what to do about school?” she asked. Her face looked a little puffier than usual, and I wondered if that was from the pregnancy or due to some other reason.
I hadn’t decided. My parents couldn’t afford the University of Texas, but in August they had enrolled me at Austin Community College and I was grateful for it. Besides, I couldn’t say that I was interested in a four-year degree from a big university. At ACC I was working toward an Associate of Applied Science Degree because I wanted to be an auto mechanic after school. I might work for a local shop for a while, then go freelance. I knew a few guys who were self-employed or “mobile mechanics,” and it wasn’t unusual for them to make hundreds of dollars per day. That wouldn’t be bad for doing work I enjoyed, and having the degree would be beneficial if I ever wanted to change jobs or expand on what I was already doing.
“No. But I don’t think I should quit,” I said.
“Would it be better if you were closer to the campus?” she asked. Her parents lived not half a mile from there.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
She was fishing around for my full commitment in the matter. She always was, ever since she told me about the pregnancy. She was also insinuating that I needed to either start working full time or get a job outside of school. I understood, and I was aware of those options, but I hadn’t started looking yet.
“So,” she said, pushing her lips into a pout. “What are we going to do? I’m only going to
be able to work at Cain and Abel’s for a few more months. Then I’ll have to take at least a month of maternity leave. I don’t know if I can handle living with my parents alone during all this.” Mary smiled weakly.
Neither of us wanted to say it, neither wanted to ask the specific questions that needed to be asked. Are we going to get married? Are we at least going to live together? How are we going to support ourselves and the baby?
“I don’t know,” I said. My stomach felt sick and empty. I had the sudden desire to be far away from there. “Let’s talk about it after the barbecue.”
“Okay,” Mary said, feigning another smile. She had on dark denim boot-cut jeans and a loose-fitting peach-colored top. No one would notice anything.
The barbecue was a get-together of about fifty people, which consisted of various friends-of-friends from school, taking place at Zilker Park. Even in October, here in Central Texas it was almost 90 degrees that day. After arriving, it didn’t take long for Mary to begin chatting with girls she knew, and I located Kyle and a few other familiar faces.
Never mind the fact that I wasn’t old enough to drink, there was plenty of alcohol around and I set about getting as much as I could get my hands on. Kyle and I threw back a few beers right off. Someone had brought a flask and started making strong drinks, even in that blazing heat. We were young and it seemed like nothing. My eyes swept the crowd for Mary. I found her sitting with a small group by one of the trucks. She was cross-legged on the grass, laughing with the other girls, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. I was glad to be away from her.
The bright afternoon sun cast long shadows behind the live oak tree I leaned against. I had a decent view of Town Lake. I didn’t want to think of anything, I only wanted to drift off into the alcohol buzz and forget. I watched the sunlight make rows of diamonds on the water. I watched people paddle by in different colored canoes. I looked for the half-submerged rotted logs on which turtles liked to line up to sun themselves.
Someone put another drink in my hand. I looked down and saw a red plastic cup filled with clearish green liquid and ice. It tasted like lemon-lime soda and something else. Maybe vodka. To this day I don’t know what it was, but it was strong, and I doubt that alcohol was its only poison. I drank it down way too fast, thinking maybe it would cheer me up.
Those around me started to slowly migrate in the direction of the parking lot. I stood up and knew I was hammered, so I just kind of tagged along. I knew I must be forgetting something – someone? – but I couldn’t grasp the thought. I laughed and talked, but I can’t remember what I said, or what we talked about.
Our group of roughly nine people split into two vehicles. I crammed into the back seat of a red coupe next to a dark-haired girl with black eye liner and a low cut, burnt orange tank top. Renee something. My leg was pressed against her shapely thigh and somehow my arm found its way around her shoulder.
The driver, whoever he was, navigated us out of the park and onto the interstate. By the time the sun was setting we were driving through a different part of town. Though it was growing dark, this looked like hill country and I was pretty sure we had just crossed the 360 bridge. The scenery passed by in a blur of dark-hooded mounds covered in trees and wiry bushes. Our driver pulled into a posh neighborhood where every house was a sprawling mansion on a ridiculously expensive piece of Austin acreage.
Music trickled out of the windows like water from a fountain. I could see the notes bubbling down, then bursting on the cacti in planter sections near the front door. Landscape lighting in the trees and alongside the path were glowing in colorful patches of blue, gold, green and red. My head became heavy and started throbbing with the beat of the bass from the stereo. Suddenly I realized I felt terrible. I thought I might be sick. Crap, did I take drugs? I didn’t remember doing that. Wait, that drink – what the hell was in that drink?
No. No, I felt great – amazing. I’d never felt like this. I needed to relax and enjoy it. I’d watch the music some more, I’d watch those notes, the colors. I was floating. I’d go in to this party and have a good time. Where was that girl I had come with? Oh, she was beside me, holding my hand. Right.
* * * * *
I confessed my sins to Mary and my guilt drove me to drop out of ACC like I was supposed to. I started working full time at the Arbor Day Car Wash on Guadalupe. I still couldn’t bring myself to move in with Mary and her parents, even though they had offered. They were upset. Mary was upset. My own parents were upset, and it was essentially all my fault, or mostly.
“I’m sorry,” I told Mary. But after I told her about seven times, I didn’t want to say it again.
She sat at the picnic table in her backyard, sobbing, and I sat opposite her. I shifted my legs awkwardly on the bench, feeling stiff and bitter. I knew deep down that she hadn’t done anything wrong and she had the right to be hurt. Her life was ruined too.
“How could you do this? You said you loved me,” she said.
“It was an accident. I wouldn’t have done it if I was in my right mind. It’ll never happen again,” I said.
“Now what?” she almost screamed. “What are we going to do, Trent? Are you just going to abandon me?” A flash of terror entered her eyes and then faded, replaced by anger and betrayal.
“No,” I said firmly. “No. I’m working now. I’ll make sure you and the baby have everything you need.”
Her eyes widened, softening in fleeting hopefulness. She blinked, a new thought clouding that hope, and pulled her head back slightly. “So... are we together? Are you going to be helping me, or are we broken up and you’re just going to be giving me money out of obligation? What are we doing, Trent?”
“I – I don’t know, I just –”
“Okay,” she said, trying to compose herself. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her red cheeks. “I guess the question is: do you love me or not? I get that we’re young. I totally get that. But if you love me, you’d choose to stick it out with me.” She glared at me, unflinching.
I really thought I loved her. When I first told her that two years ago, I felt like I meant it. But since she became pregnant I don’t know what happened. I didn’t feel it now, I didn’t want to be with her.
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. “But I’ll help you with the baby, at least financially. I’ll take responsibility."
Mary burst into a new wave of sobs which quickly turned into wild crying. She put her hands into her hair and pulled them out again. She did this many times, making her hair a tangly mess.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re not taking responsibility for anything! I can’t believe you would do this.” Her chest heaved in and out as she cried. I felt horrible and helpless, like toxic gas had entered my lungs and was suffocating me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I had sworn I would stop staying that.
Mary swung her legs out from the bench and stood up. “Get out! Get out of here!” She pointed to the back yard gate. “I never want to see you again.”
This was absurd; she’d have to see me again since I’d be giving her funds. But I didn’t mention that. Without another word I walked around to the front where my beater car was parked and I drove home.
Five months later, Mary delivered our baby.
CHAPTER SEVEN
January 18th
Three days after the shooting, I finally spoke to Tim. He had been released on lack of evidence. He kept apologizing, embarrassed by what had taken place, my accidental involvement, and now my lack of a job, but at least I hadn’t been in the slammer for four days. Tim told me that when all this blew over, he hoped I’d consider taking my job back. I wanted to.
I was following the story of the victims online. There weren’t nearly as many postings as I’d expected, especially considering the gruesome nature of the crime. The most recent article from January 13th, one week after the shooting, was the most fruitful yet.
Possible suspect in Williamson County homicide in custody.
Williamson C
ounty (KXAV) – A possible suspect in the County Road 118 case, which left one woman dead and another in critical condition, has been taken into custody. Emile Richard Woodard, 43, of Travis County was arrested on separate charges of attempted murder of a different Williamson County resident two weeks ago. Officials have not determined if the crimes are related. However, Woodard meets an eyewitness description of the shooter.
One of the female victims in the County Road 118 case has been identified. Carol Brandt, 46, of Round Rock, was identified posthumously. Her cause of death was determined to be due to multiple injuries including head trauma, spinal damage and starvation. The surviving victim, a still unidentified female in her early twenties, remains in critical condition at St. David’s Hospital in Georgetown.
Hospital officials say that the young woman’s injuries are still life-threatening. The woman sustained multiple stab wounds and heavy blood loss. Officials responded in the affirmative that this victim was also sexually assaulted.
Sheriff Marcus Gonzales told KXAV that no fingerprints were found in the abandoned house where the two victims were discovered, but that DNA samples were taken. Those samples will be compared with Woodard’s DNA for a possible match.
Detectives are asking anyone with information on these crimes to call their tip line at...
At the top of the article was a photo of the suspect, presumably the guy who tried to kill me at Tim’s ranch. The beard was a lot shorter, but it was still there, and he didn’t have the sunglasses on. He had thick black eyebrows and dark eyes. Could I be certain that this was the man, since I wasn’t up close when I first saw him? No. But it could be him. Probably was.
The surviving woman must be in a coma or similar state if they still didn’t know who she was. It was a given that she wouldn’t have been found with ID, but unless she had amnesia she would have told them her name.
