Gone to Ground

by Brandilyn Collins

  Chapter 29

  Cherrie Mae

  By 3:30 I was almost ready to go. My heart knocked around, and my ankles didn't feel too steady. But I wasn't gon let the chief see how nervous I was.

  I sat at my kitchen table, takin one last look at the pictures on my computer. I hadn't gotten a close enough shot a the ring to show the initials inside the band. Still, these should be okay. Surely nobody else had a ring looked just like that one.

  While the computer shut down I called Deena and told her I was set.

  "Okay." She sounded a little out a breath. "I'm nervous. Keep us posted."

  "Where are you?"

  "At Tully's house. I picked her up and brought her over here so she could get her car and some clothes. The place is messed up a little but not bad. Nothin like they did to Stevie's trailer. I think they were careful, so Tully wouldn't have to be on her feet, putting the whole house back together. I'm helpin her straighten up."

  The computer clicked off. I shut the lid. "She not stayin in that house by herself tonight, I hope. Tell her to stay with her parents. We still got a murderer out there."

  "Don't worry, I've already given her that speech. She's not fightin it. She's too upset to do much of anything."

  Poor Tully. God, help that girl.

  "Maybe you two ought to stay at her house just till I'm done with the police. I'll come over and we can have a meetin."

  "Sounds good. But wait—we have Tully's computer. Bring your camera over here first so she can copy the pictures. She says it'll go fast. Plus you can leave the camera with us. We'll have two backups."

  "Okay. Be right over."

  When I pulled up to the curb outside Tully's, two neighbor women was across the street, talkin. Glancin at me and her house. No doubt gossip was flyin round Amaryllis. The police here—twice—and now Mike arrested. They had to be wonderin what I was doin here. I raised a hand and waved as I got out the car. They waved back. I could feel their eyes gawkin at me as I hurried up the sidewalk, totin my computer.

  Inside Tully's house I set down my laptop and hugged her hard. She looked pale and worn. Deena didn't look much better. At least they was too tired to be fightin with each other. I figured they done formed an odd kind a bond—both of em with a loved one arrested for the same murder.

  "Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows."

  We gathered round Tully's table, her computer bootin up. I gestured toward it with my chin. "You're lucky the chief didn't take it."

  She gave me a sly look. "Oh, he'd have liked to. I made my mother come over here and get it before we went to her house."

  "What did Michael do?"

  "I stayed in the car with the doors locked. At first he wouldn't let Mom in, but he wanted to know what had happened with me. She barged around and got my computer and purse, and when he wouldn't let her out with them, she told him the police were right behind her, and he'd best let her go if he knew what was good for him."

  Mercy. "Your mama got spunk."

  Tully's mouth curved in a wistful smile.

  I turned on my camera and stuck the connector into her laptop. "You don't have a printer, do you?"

  She shook her head. "I wish."

  "Me too." I made a face. "The police gon have to keep my computer till they can print out copies."

  Deena sniffed. "You'll never get it back. Make em print copies while you're there."

  I'd try. Who knew how things would shake down.

  Grim silence fell over us as Tully went through her download program. Didn't take her long.

  "There. Done," she said.

  "Don't look at em, Tully." I didn't want her seein those dead women.

  "Don't worry." She pressed her palms against her cheeks. "You think Chief Cotter will listen to you, Cherrie Mae?"

  "Don't know. I'd like to think he'll want to hear evidence anybody brings. But things look so convenient for him now."

  Lines pinched Tully's forehead. "What if all of this fits together? What if all three of them did . . . something?"

  Deena make a tsking sound. "Then Mayor B would be the brains behind it. I can hardly see Mike or Stevie makin that man do anything. He holds their jobs in his hands."

  We looked at each other.

  Deena's eyebrows raised. "I haven't told you what Carl Cypress said. According to him, on the night of Erika's murder Stevie was all upset about somethin near the end of their work shift. He was stompin around, and he told Carl he was gonna 'make her pay.' Carl asked him who and what he was talkin about, but Stevie wouldn't answer. And then my brother said he had to 'clean up the big mess.'"

  Tully's eyes widened. "What big mess?"

  "I don't know. But what if Mayor B killed Erika before that factory shift was over, and then made Stevie go clean up the crime scene?"

  Hmm. "But then who was Stevie talkin bout, he gon make her pay?"

  "Don't know. I thought it was Erika because she's always taunted him."

  "Maybe the 'big mess' was just something at work," Tully said. "After all, that's his job—cleaning."

  "Yeah, maybe. It's just . . . the timin."

  I mulled that over. "We got to add that to our notes—whatever it means." I pulled the papers from our first meetin out a my purse. "Here. You two look these over while I'm gone. Add anything new to em. We can talk bout it when I get back." My gaze fell on the first page where I'd circled a big question mark around Erika "comin into big money."

  A thought flashed in my head.

  "Tully, you think Mike really did plan to go away with Erika? Cause if he did, why would he kill her?"

  Tully shook her head. "I think she was lying. I don't think he would have left me. He was too excited about our son." Pain flicked over her face.

  "Then maybe the part bout money comin to her was another lie."

  "Probably. Maybe she lied to Mike about the money, too, trying to bribe him away from me. And once he took off with her and learned the truth, she figured it would be too late. Sounds just like her."

  Deena sighed. "But all this focuses only on Erika. Don't forget there are five other murders."

  She was right bout that. This whole thing was a mess. I held out my arms. "I need to go. First we got to pray."

  They grasped my fingers, and I led us all in prayer that God would give me the right words. And most of all that he'd lead us to the killer a those six women. Fast.

  I pushed back my chair. "All right then. Be back when I'm done."

  Chin held high—like I was confident as a fat cat—I left Tully's house and headed for the police station.

  Chapter 30

  Cherrie Mae

  On Main Street, I straightened my back as I climbed out the car, my purse hangin from one arm. My hands was sweaty-slick on my computer.

  Inside the station I spotted Ted Arnoldson first. He was sittin at a desk talkin on the phone. I caught the words evidence and test. Ted nodded at me, then turned away, lowerin his voice. The air in that little lobby crackled with energy. The police had to be trippin all over themselves, tryin to figure how to get two suspects for one murder.

  Just wait till I got through with em.

  The chief's office doh was closed. Muffled voices sounded behind it. I strode over and knocked. Ted looked over his shoulder at me and held up a finger—wait. I paid him no mind and knocked again. Next thing I knew Chief Cotter stood in the threshold, starin down at me. Behind him I could see John Cotter, sittin in a chair in front a the chief's desk.

  The chief nodded, and his beefy jowls shook. "Cherrie Mae." He glanced at my computer, faint curiosity in his eyes.

  "I got to talk to you. It's important."

  He breathed in, makin his nostrils flare. "We're pretty busy right now. Can you come back?"

  "Nope. It cain'
t wait."

  "What's this about?"

  "Erika's murder. I got new evidence."

  John Cotter rose. I heard Ted Arnoldson hang up the phone, felt his eyes at my back.

  "New evidence, huh." The chief rocked from his heels to his toes. "You remember somethin about bein at her house that night you forgot to tell me?"

  "Nope." I looked around. "Can we sit down? I got somethin to show you."

  Chief Cotter scratched the back of his head. "What is it?"

  "You done arrested the wrong men for Erika's murder, chief. Or at least you need to arrest a third."

  He gave me a look. So did John Cotter. And I knew Ted was starin at me.

  "You tellin me you got another suspect for me?"

  My courage wavered. I didn't like the way the man looked down at me. What did he see? Some five-foot African-American cleanin woman he could wave away with a flip a his hand? Sure was different from a week ago, when he needed my information.

  I firmed my mouth. "That's exactly what I'm sayin."

  The chief sighed. "All right." He sounded dubious. "Let's go in there." He pointed to the little room where they'd questioned me last Wednesday. "We'll make it quick, okay?"

  Mm-hmm.

  I opened my laptop and pressed the button to turn it on. The chief spoke in low tones to his son. John Cotter left the office and went to his own desk.

  Adam Cotter hurried down the short hall toward the interrogation room. I followed, balancing my open computer in both hands like one a the wise men bearin his gift.

  In the room with the doh closed we settled at the table, Chief Cotter to my left at the end. His chair squeaked as he sat down. "Okay, Cherrie Mae. What you got?"

  The recordin machine sat before us on the table. I surveyed it. "Aint you gon turn that on?" They'd had it runnin for my interview last week. All important interviews was taped.

  The chief pushed up his bottom lip, frustration crossin his face. "Sure." He leaned over and hit the button with his fat finger. Settled back in his chair. "There."

  "Ain't you gon say who's present?"

  He looked at the ceilin. "Monday, April 25th. Present: Chief Adam Cotter and Cherrie Mae Devine." He held out his palm—go ahead.

  This wasn't goin right. The chief was bein way too dismissive. And I hadn't even tol him who the new suspect was yet.

  Maybe dismissive wasn't the right word. Chief Cotter acted just plain distracted. He had no time for this. I knew where his mind ran. He was stagin scenarios a Mike and Stevie killin Erika. And how they could have killed the other five women too.

  My computer finished bootin up. I moved the mouse to bring up the pictures.

  "So what is it?" He drummed his fingers against the table.

  "I'm gettin to it." My hand almost shook.

  Up came the first photo—Erika's ring in Mayor B's green hangin file. Suddenly it looked so small and insignificant on my monitor. Why hadn't I printed the pictures out somewhere? I just knew the police were gon take my computer and destroy everything on it. Some little "slip-up."

  I enlarged the picture to fill the screen.

  "Cherrie Mae, you're takin my time, and I really am busy right now."

  Indignation stalked round my chest. This man was here to serve the town. We weren't here to serve him. I huffed upright in my chair, arms folded. "You want my information—or should I just take it to the newspapers? I got Trent Williams' cell phone number."

  A dark look crossed Chief Cotter's face, followed by one a forced patience. "Now, Cherrie Mae, no need to go callin Trent. I'm listenin."

  "Good. Get me a Bible and some cigarettes—and I'll talk."

  The chief gawked at me, then chuckled. "Since when did you start smokin?"

  "The cigarettes is for you. You gon need em."

  He drew his head back, then recovered. "I'll be fine."

  "I still need the Bible."

  "We don't have a Bible in the station, Cherrie Mae. Now if you got somethin to tell me, get on with it."

  "Fine then. Pretend you do. And I'm layin my hand on it." I stretched my hand above the table, palm down. "I swear on the Bible everthing I'm tellin you is true. And you know Cherrie Mae don't take the Bible lightly."

  He dipped his chin. "Duly noted."

  "Okay." I shifted in the chair. "Member last week you wondered bout Erika's ring? It was missin? Well, I found it."

  "Really."

  "Yup. And you ain't gon believe where. I didn't want to believe it first myself. But evidence is evidence." I turned my computer around and pointed to the picture. "That's it. Got Erika's grandmama's initials in the band, so I'm sure it's the same one."

  The chief leaned forward, frownin. I pushed the computer close to him. He stared at it, then looked at me. "Where'd you get this picture?"

  "Took it myself. That's the top drawer a the desk in Mayor B's home office."

  The chief's beady eyes rounded. "Austin Bradmeyer?"

  "Yup. I got more to show ya." I clunked my chair closer to the chief so we could both look at the computer together, then worked my mouse to bring up the other pictures. "Here's a close-up a the ring. Here it is on the desk, taken some distance away. See—that's Mayor B's office."

  Chief Cotter examined each picture, tongue-tied.

  "He also got a file in that drawer a the murder victims, you know that? A close-up shot a ever one a the six women, includin Erika."

  The chief's eyes snapped up to me. "You got proof of that?"

  I showed him the photos a the six gory pictures spread out on the mayor's desk.

  When I had nothin more to show, the chief blinked at the computer for a long time, then leaned back in his chair. He studied the far wall. "Who knows about this?"

  I hesitated. "A couple other people. They got copies a the pictures."

  "Who?"

  "Don't matter who. What matters is what you gon do bout it."

  The chief studied me. "Tell me, Cherrie Mae. How come you to open a drawer in Mayor B's desk?"

  "Why's it matter? Point is I did—and that's what I found."

  "Someone give you some kind a tip? A reason to go lookin?"

  "Nope." I wasn't gon get into this. The chief had enough to do without investigatin my snoopin. But he sure was lookin at me funny. I come in here with evidence against Mayor B, and suddenly I was feelin like a suspect.

  He breathed in. "When'd you take these pictures?"

  "Late this mornin."

  "Today?"

  "Yup."

  He poked out his cheek with his tongue. "Well, now, that's interesting." He got up and went to the doh. Opened it and stuck his head out. "John."

  "Yeah."

  "You need to come in here. Bring that piece of evidence from the Phillips'. And a glove."

  The chief waited in the threshold until his son stuck a small paper bag and latex glove in his hand. He brought em back to the table and sat down. John Cotter followed, closin the doh and sittin on the other side a me. I glimpsed some writin on the bag, but the chief turned that part away from me.

  "Reason it's so interesting"—he pulled on the glove and unrolled the top a the evidence bag—"is within the last two hours, durin a search of Michael Phillips's house, we found this."

  He reached into the bag with his gloved hand and pulled out Erika Hollinger's ring.

  http://www.pulitzer.org/works/2010-Feature-Writing

  2010 Pulitzer Prize

  Feature Writing

  The Jackson Bugle

  Gone to Ground

  What happens to a small, quiet Southern town when evil invades in the form of a serial killer?

  By: Trent Williams

  October 29, 2010

  (Excerpt)

  "Why?" th
e residents of Amaryllis ask themselves daily. "Why here, in our quiet little town? Why these particular victims, who had no enemies?" The questions reverberate through the Main Street businesses, the churches and homes. They are whispered at the dinner table, in bed, and on front porches. The drive to understand, to make sense of the nonsensical, runs crucial to the human psyche. After each murder the questions have swirled harder.

  Twin sister to why, is who. The citizens of Amaryllis long to believe the Closet Killer is from another town. Maybe someone slipping over from Bay Springs or Heidelberg. Someone even from the next county—perhaps from the large "city" of Laurel, population 18,000. In the midst of the upheaval and fear, distrusting one's own neighbor is too traumatizing. Friends and families need to pull together for comfort and strength, not point fingers. But with each new murder in the town's boundaries—and with no other similar crimes anywhere else in the entire state—the "someone else" theory has begun to deflate.

  "Maybe the killings are done now," Theodore Stets says from behind the counter at the drug store on Main. "Five women—maybe he's had enough. He'll just stop." His tone turns from wistful to grim. "'Course then, we might never know who it was."

  Could he live with never knowing, if the murders stopped?

  Theodore wipes imaginary dust from the counter. The furrows in his forehead deepen, as if he questions the wisdom of speaking his mind. "Thing is, as odd as it sounds, now we still have hope. Oh, in a way everybody suspects everybody, but not really. I don't truly think the killer is my good friend from grade school, my brother or neighbor, the guy I sit next to in church every Sunday. But the whole town can't be right about that. The culprit is going to be somebody's brother or father, neighbor or friend. And what's a person to do with a shock like that? Finding out the truth about someone you believed in all your life? You think Amaryllis folk have trouble trusting now. Imagine what it'd be like having your whole world turned inside out."

  Chapter 31

  Deena

  Tully and I moved to her livin room, where she could put her feet up. I pulled down the shades. Tully took the couch while I perched in the worn armchair. First I added the new information to our notes. After that I had to get up, move around. We went over everything we'd written down—and didn't come up with a single new insight. Tully was too worried about her husband bein in jail, and what the rest of her life would look like. And I couldn't stop thinkin about Stevie.