“Maybe,” she says. “I mean it fits, I guess, but . . . I don’t know. Why don’t you think Ronnie was involved—in the cover-up if nothing else?”
“Two reasons. The old truck that was stolen.”
“The what?”
“The old farm truck that was stolen from a farm not far from where Janet’s car was found.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“When I first heard about it, I thought maybe Janet faked her death and stole the truck to get away, but . . . it was found in town. I think Verna and Ralphie used it to get home after leaving Janet’s car. If Ronnie had been involved, he could have followed in another car and given them a ride home. In fact . . . remember the sheets of plastic found up close to the interstate? I think that’s what Verna used to sit on to drive Janet’s car. I think Verna was taking them home to destroy them and tossed them in the back of the truck when they stole it, but they blew out on their way home.”
“Wow,” she says, shaking her head. “Wow. It all fits. What’s the second reason you think Ronnie’s not involved?”
“He wanted to sell the property. Verna didn’t want him to, but—”
“What property?”
“The property the new high school is on. He wanted to sell it back in 2000, but she didn’t want him to. She had to let him just so they could survive, but that meant she had to move Janet’s remains. If he had buried Janet out there with her, he’d’ve known why they couldn’t sell it.”
She nods. “That makes—”
My phone vibrates and I answer it.
Someone is already talking before I say hello. Two people. Maybe three. Their voices aren’t directly up to the receiver. It sounds like someone butt dialed me, but then I hear Verna pleading with Ralphie and realize she’s called me on purpose.
“Ralphie,” she’s saying. “Listen to Mommy. Sheriff Jack is our friend. Don’t you remember? He’s a crime stopper like you.”
I put the call on speaker so Darlene can hear it and kick the gas pedal, wondering if the last conversation I’d had with Dad would be the last.
Chapter Fifty-three
Janet now had her bottle of liquid relaxer and was back in her car wondering if she should start drinking some now or wait ’til she got to the party.
She didn’t want to be drunk. She had never been drunk. She had only drank twice before and just a little beer both times. So she was an amateur drinker who didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t want to drink so little it had no effect nor too much so that she didn’t remember every detail. How much was that?
As she sat there trying to decide, she suddenly became aware that someone was staring at her.
She turned to see the weird, wild-eyed guy in the VW gazing at her and it gave her the creeps.
Luckily Little Larry was there. That made her feel safer, but it still unnerved her. And it wasn’t that he was looking. She got looked at a lot. Most young girls did. It was the way he was looking . . . totally weirded out and creepy.
She cranked her car and pulled away from the pumps.
Forget him. Think about Ben. Think about how amazing it’s going to be.
As she pulled up to the highway thinking about making love with Ben, picturing it in her mind, she realized she forgot the lingerie she bought just for the occasion.
Shit. Sneaking out in the dark, she didn’t even see it on the end of her bed.
Should I go back? I’m already running late.
You have to. Every single thing about this weekend has been too perfect for this, the most important part of it, not to be to.
Nodding to herself, she turned right, back toward town and her house, instead of left toward the party.
Wonder how it’s going to feel? Will it hurt at first?
She knew Ben would be gentle.
Would she bleed? How much?
She had forgotten the lingerie somehow, but not the blanket for them to use. It was in the backseat waiting. Waiting . . . like she had been, like they had been. She hoped her mom wouldn’t miss it, because she didn’t plan on returning it. It was going to be beneath them during their first time and she planned on keeping it forever. Wanted to be able to wrap herself in it anytime she felt sad or lonely.
The night was dark. No moon or stars visible.
She had driven faster than she should have through town, but as she approached her driveway, she slowed down drastically and cut her lights.
Rolling down her window so she could hear how loud her car was on the drive, she listened to the popping and crunching of the little white rocks beneath her tires.
The drive was long and wooded, her car louder than she would have liked, but she couldn’t go any slower than she was going. It was just going to take a little while. There was nothing to be done about that.
It’s okay. Ben will wait. And I will make it worth his wait.
As she neared the house, she decided to park and walk the rest of the way.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to walk, she was going to run.
So it’d be quicker and quieter.
But as she pushed up the gearshift into Park, she heard something.
Footsteps? Rushing toward her? She didn’t see anyone.
The sound of someone rushing toward her stopped abruptly, and then she heard another sound. Metal? Metal sliding on . . . what? More metal?
In the fraction of a second before she felt the first cut, she recognized the sound she had heard so many times before. It was Ralphie’s sword being drawn from his cane.
Chapter Fifty-four
Quickly but quietly we enter the house, moving through the foyer and living room to a spot in the kitchen where we can hide behind the island and see into the den.
Ronnie Lester is on the floor, his throat so severely slit he looks nearly decapitated, a pool of blood expanding around him.
Dad is seated on the couch, Ralphie behind him with a sword held to his throat.
Verna stands between Ronnie’s body and Ralphie, pleading for Dad’s life.
We’re too far away and there’s too little of Ralphie showing and there are too many objects in the way for a clean shot.
“Please, baby,” Verna is saying. “Listen to Mama.”
“I’m not Baby. I’m Batman.”
Like before, Ralphie has his Batman costume on and the handle of the sword he’s holding to Dad’s throat has a silver bat for a handle.
“You know Sheriff Jack. He’s our friend. He’s a crime-stopper fighter like you.”
Ralphie shakes his head, seemingly confused.
“Trust Batmom,” she says. “I wouldn’t lie to Batman. Not to my own son. Please put down the Batsword.”
The entire scene is sad and surreal, a sickly old man sitting on a couch, a fat Batman in a homemade costume standing behind him holding a sword to his throat, a desperate mother pleading with her son for the life of her former lover, her husband dead on the floor not far from her.
“Any ideas?” I whisper to Darlene.
“Can you make the shot?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. Not with a handgun.”
“I can.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve won the state law enforcement marksman competition three years in a row.”
“For real?”
“I’m very good.”
“Tell you what. Take aim but don’t shoot unless it looks like he’s about to actually use the sword. Okay?”
She nods.
“That’s my dad. Don’t shoot him. Don’t take the shot unless you have to. Don’t take it unless you have it clean.”
“I won’t. What’re you gonna do?”
“Try something else. I’ll be back in a second.”
When I return a few minutes later, I’m wearing Ralphie’s Iron Man costume.
“I’m gonna see if I can talk him away from Dad. I’ll do my best to stay out of the way of your shot. If I fail and he starts to attack, go for the shoulder of his sword hand.”
/>
“You look ridiculous,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“It just might work.”
“About to find out.”
I stand and walk around the left side of the island and stay to the left side of the doorway as I approach, trying to leave Darlene with a clean shot.
As I get close to the entryway to the den, I say, “Batman, Iron Man needs your help. Intruders are breaching the perimeter. Come with me. Do not harm Sheriff Jack. We need his help.”
I feel like a prize idiot, but am giving it all I’ve got, not giving in to embarrassment or self-consciousness.
“Batman, did you hear me? I need your help. Why are you doing that to Sheriff Jack, the newest member of the Justice League? We need him.”
“You’re not in the Justice League,” Ralphie says. “You’re an Avenger.”
Oh shit. Think fast.
“But you and Sheriff Jack are. The Avengers need your help. Please Batman. Bring your Batsword and come help me with the . . . the Joker. The Joker is outside. He’s the one who confused your mind with his potion. He’s the one who has you holding a fellow crime fighter like Sheriff Jack.”
“The damn Joker,” Ralphie says, starting to lower the sword. “I should’ve known. Sorry about that, Sheriff Jack.”
“It’s okay. It’s not you. It’s that damn Joker.”
As Ralphie removes the sword and Dad stands up, Verna bursts into tears and collapses onto the floor near the dead body of her husband.
Chapter Fifty-five
While Darlene sits with Ralphie in his bedroom, Verna, Dad, and I talk in the living room.
They are seated on the couch. I’m in a chair across from them. We appear to be the first people to ever actually use the room.
Verna is crying softly.
Through the open doorway to the den I can see Ronnie’s body on the floor.
“We’ve got to call the sheriff’s department,” I say, “but I wanted to give y’all a chance to talk first.”
Verna says, “Thank you.”
Dad looks at me and nods.
Verna looks up and over at Dad. “I’m so sorry Jack. For everything. I . . . I just couldn’t lose . . . both my babies.”
“I know,” Dad says, then looks over at me again. “I know. Nothing we wouldn’t do for our kids. I just wish you could’ve told me.”
“I tried. I really did. More than once. I think I had about worked up my nerve and then you were gone, and . . .”
“I’m so sorry I left the way I did,” he says.
He had done it for his child, had given up on the case and a real chance for happiness with Verna for Nancy.
“I always told myself if anyone was arrested, I’d come forward and . . . I’d like to think I would have, but . . . I can’t be sure. There is nothing in this world worse than losing a child . . . except losing two.”
“I understand what you did and why,” Dad says. “I really do. And I’m gonna help you and Ralphie in every way I can. And your answer won’t change that, so tell me the truth. I really want to know. Did you get involved with me so I wouldn’t arrest you or Ralphie?”
“Oh, Jack, no. Of course not. I genuinely, sincerely fell in love with you. I still am. It was all real. Every . . . everything. You saved me. You . . .”
“How were you able to do it?” I ask.
“Whatta you . . . I don’t understand.”
“How could you even function after it happened? How could you do what you did?”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Several times along the way I didn’t think I was gonna be able to do it. I really didn’t. I probably stopped half a dozen times or more, but . . . something got me through, something . . . I knew he didn’t mean to do it. I knew it was an accident, an unimaginable, horrible, and terrible tragic accident. I knew there was nothing I could do for her. I also knew—and this is what really got me through—she would have done the exact same thing for him. The exact same thing. She adored him and . . . the exact same thing. Still . . . it was so . . . hard to . . . the most difficult thing by far—even more difficult than burying my baby in that cold ground—was . . . getting in that car with her . . . body . . . and . . . driving out to the property. I made it a game with Ralphie. That was hard too. Had him hide in the trunk. He . . . I made sure he never saw her. He hid in the trunk, then dug the hole for me, then hid in the trunk again while I buried her. I protected him and took care of her the best I could. I couldn’t lose them both and . . . there’s no doubt in my mind—not a single bit in all these years—that Janet would have . . . not just approved but insisted on what I did.”
“How many people has Ralphie killed over the years?” I ask.
She hesitates a moment. “Two. Well, three now, counting Ronnie. But he was protecting me. And he thought he was protecting me with all three. He didn’t intentionally or willfully murder anybody. Not his sister. He adored her. He . . . I don’t even think he knows he did it. He may. I can’t be certain. But I think he stuck that sword in that dark car . . . never realizing it was . . . her. He’s only mentioned that night a few times over the years . . . and he’s never mentioned Janet. He’s . . . he only talks about protecting the family and the adventure he had in the trunk. I don’t think he’s ever associated her disappearance with what happened that night. And not the transient girl who came up on us when we were burying Janet in the memorial garden. It happened so fast. She was on something. Jumped out of the bushes yelling something. Ralphie pulled out his sword as he was turning. He struck her before he even knew who it was or what she was doing. I told him she would be fine. He slept in the car while I . . . did what I did . . . to make it look like a hit and run. He’s never mentioned it again. I don’t think he knows he . . . killed either one of them. My crime was covering it up. Just like I had with Janet. If I hadn’t done it when he killed Janet, that poor girl would still be alive, but . . . after he had already done it, after she was dead, I . . . just . . . There was nothing I could do for her. I . . . I used the . . . tractor I had stolen to move Janet . . . to make it look like a hit-and-run. It’s so . . . monstrous. I’m such a . . . horrible person, but Ralphie’s all I have in the world.”
Dad and I both nod.
“What do you think will happen to him?” she says.
“We’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Dad says. “Get him in a good, safe place that specializes in . . . this sort of thing. You’ll be able to visit.”
“I’ll be in prison,” she says.
I try to process everything Verna has said, trying to suss out the truth, trying to empathize and understand.
“Do you believe her?” I ask.
Dad nods. “I do.”
We are standing out in front of the house so we can talk in private.
Dad looks far older and far more frail than I ever thought I’d see. He looks conflicted too, his demeanor a complex mixture of relief and sadness.
“I get it,” he adds. “I really do. I’d do the same for any of you.”
I knew he meant me, Jake, and Nancy.
I nod. “But . . . what she did with the tractor to the poor girl at the monument,” I say.
He nods. “I know. But she did that to a corpse, a . . . to someone it was too late for. I know Verna, know her . . . heart. Two times in her life she’s covered up what were tragic accidents for her only living child—an impaired child she has to do everything for. Think about how much easier her life would’ve been if she’d’ve let him be arrested.”
I think about it.
“I love her,” he says. “Never stopped. Love her even more now. I want to be with her. Plan to be . . . for whatever time either of us has left—even if it’s just a few hours each weekend during visitation in whatever prison she’s in, but . . . I . . . wish it wouldn’t come to that. Can you think of a way it doesn’t have to?”
I think about it.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask. “You have no reservations? No—”
&nb
sp; “None. I’m sure. Please help her, please help us. Can you think of a way we can . . .”
I think I have an idea, and though I’m less certain about everything than he is, I trust him, his judgement, his integrity. And even if I didn’t, or even if I question the clarity of his thinking on this, how can I not do all I can for the man who has done so much for me, for the woman he loves, and for the short future they have together after too many decades of lives far less fulfilled and happy than they might have been?
Eventually, Glenn, his lead investigator, his crime scene officer, and other deputies arrive.
I pull him aside and explain everything to him.
“I’ve got a favor to ask and a deal to make,” I say.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“First, there’s no way Ralphie is competent to stand trial.”
“True.”
“I’m assuming your facility can’t accommodate someone in his condition and that he’ll be sent to Florida State Hospital in Chattahoochee for a period of evaluation.”
He nods.
“Would you recommend probation to the state’s attorney’s office for Verna? Since Ralphie can’t stand trial, I don’t want to see her treated more harshly than she should. She’s lost so much, suffered so much. All she did was try to protect her son, to keep him with her.”
“She committed at least three felonies, John.”
“Sure. Accessory after the fact. Perjury. Aiding and abetting. Probably others, but . . . given the circumstances . . . given her motivations.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “We’re talking a lot of wasted law enforcement time and taxpayer money. Think about the other cases we might have solved, the other services we could have provided. I have to think about all sides of . . . everything.”
Everything, I wondered, or mainly just what voters will think?
“Here’s the deal I’ll offer,” I say. “If you recommend probation for Verna, she will cooperate, give a full statement—without that you have nothing. You can’t get anything from Ralphie. She’s all you have. She’ll give you a full confession and Dad and I will not say anything to anyone. Not the media. Not FDLE. Not the state’s attorney. Our involvement will be invisible. You and your department will get all the credit for closing a very old cold case. I’ll say it again. Verna will cooperate fully, make it easy on you, on everybody. Otherwise you have no case. And we won’t press charges or make public your brother’s two assaults on Dad.”
BLOOD WORK: a John Jordan Mystery (John Jordan Mysteries Book 12) Page 19
