Gone to Ground

by Brandilyn Collins

  On hands and knees, I edged toward the end table. An eternity passed before I reached it. My fingers fumbled to grab hold a the knob.

  His footsteps stopped.

  I jerked my head round. What was he doin? How far was he from Tully's bedroom doh? Two feet? Five?

  I felt the knob brush my fingers. I gripped it hard and slowly pulled.

  Wood slipped past wood—too loud. I stopped. Had he heard?

  I peered down the hall. His head was up, cocked.

  He turned toward me.

  Beyond him, Tully's bedroom doh opened. All air sucked out a my chest.

  I yanked open the drawer, scrabbled for the gun. Grabbed it out. "Tully, get back!"

  Somebody screamed. Footsteps pounded.

  I jumped up and around the coffee table, both hands on the gun. Where was he? Where was Tully?

  My feet ran toward the hall. At the far end Deena's door flew open.

  Mayor B was almost at me.

  In that final split second everything slowed. Where was Tully? Had he stabbed her? What if I shot at him and hit Deena?

  I jerked the gun down toward his knee and pulled the trigger.

  "Aahh!" He stumbled, then crashed forward. I jumped out the way.

  The hall flooded with light.

  Chapter 42

  Deena

  My hand fell away from the hall switch, eyes blinkin in the sudden light. I gripped my gun. A man writhed and groaned on the floor near the livin room, his back to me. He held one of his legs.

  Cherrie Mae spun toward me, a gun in her hand. "Where's Tully, where's Tully?"

  No. I ran toward the open guestroom door. "Tully?" Flicked on the light. She lay sprawled on the floor, pantin. Petrified. "You okay?"

  She managed a nod.

  I ran back out.

  Cherrie Mae stood over Mayor B, gun pointed at his head. Utter fear and despair pinched her face. A parin knife lay in the middle of the hall.

  The man gasped his agony.

  I started to shake. "What happened, what happened?"

  "Cherrie Mae!" Tully's fear echoed.

  I swiveled back to her, craziness flyin out of my mouth. "She's okay, Cherrie Mae's okay. She shot him, he's down, she's up. Can you get to your feet? Let me help you."

  I jumped into the room and threw the gun on her bed. Pulled her up. She was tremblin as much as I was.

  "Get out here!" Cherrie Mae's voice. "I cain't take the gun off him. You got to call 911!"

  I rushed out of the guestroom. Only then did it start to sink in. The Closet Killer had come here. For Cherrie Mae? But we'd caught him. We caught Mayor B.

  I started down the hall. For the first time I looked—really looked at the back of the man's head. His body.

  A jolt ran through me. I stopped.

  Tully's footsteps sounded behind me. She gasped.

  Cherrie Mae looked at me, her eyes over-bright. The gun in her hand shook wildly.

  My limbs locked up. "No." I leaned against the wall.

  Cherrie Mae swayed. Panic clutched her face. "Deena. You got to call 911."

  I couldn't move.

  The Closet Killer rose to his knees. He turned his head toward me and shot a look of pure venom. The poison spilled through me, jarred my thoughts upside down. He hadn't come here for Cherrie Mae.

  He'd come here for me.

  "Stop!" Cherrie Mae screamed. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. "Get back down. Or I swear I'll shoot you in the other leg."

  He stayed where he was.

  "I mean it!"

  Sweat shone on his forehead. He collapsed on the floor.

  I felt Tully leave the space behind me. She ran into the guestroom, then back out. "Where's my phone, I can't find my phone!"

  Where was my gun?

  "Phones are on the coffee table." Cherrie Mae's teeth clenched. "Deena, help me. Get over here and call!"

  Somethin inside me broke. I let out a yell, ran to the Closet Killer and started kickin. I got his ankle, his back, the leg where he was shot.

  "Aahh!" He tried to push away from me, his hands grabbin for my foot. I kicked him in the head.

  "Deena!" Cherrie Mae screeched.

  "How could you do it?" I got him in the shoulder. "How could you? You lied to me, you lied to everybody. Actin like you're servin the town. You're nothin but a liar." I kicked him in his ribs. "Liar." In the hip. "Liar!"

  "Deena, call 911!"

  He lay still, groanin. I fell back.

  "Deena, come on!"

  Panic rose as reason returned. Was I insane? What if he'd caught my foot? Pulled me down?

  Where was the knife? I searched the floor, saw it between me and Tully, out of his reach. She kicked it farther away.

  "Deena, come call!"

  My mind exploded. "I can't! How do I get around him, what if he grabs me, he fooled me and everybody, and I didn't know, I didn't know. I don't want him touchin me ever again, I want him out of my house now, out, out—"

  "To fair request, silent performance maketh best return!" Cherrie Mae shot me a crazed look.

  "Huh?"

  "Hush up and do it!"

  My head cleared. "Okay. Okay."

  Slidin against the wall, I edged around the murderer. Past Cherrie Mae and into the livin room. Snatched up my phone from the table. I turned it on, punched the numbers.

  "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

  "It's—" My tongue stuck. "Deena. Ruckland. We caught the Closet Killer. We shot him, he's alive."

  "The Closet Killer?"

  "Yes. It's Trent. Trent Williams."

  I dropped the phone and wailed.

  Chapter 43

  Tully

  It couldn't have taken more than a few minutes for the police to arrive. But it felt like forever. Cherrie Mae kept the gun on Trent. I fetched the other one off the guestroom bed, inched around the horrible man, and hurried over to Deena.

  She took the weapon from me, then stood beside Cherrie Mae and aimed it at Trent. "Try movin now, Mr. Pulitzer-Prize-Winner. Mr. Marry-Me-and-Go-to-New-York."

  Her body trembled. My shaking had stopped, now that I knew the cops were coming. Cherrie Mae seemed to be holding up okay. I stood between her and the front door.

  Trent lay moaning, breathing in gasps. Between being shot and Deena's kicks, he was hurt bad.

  Cherrie Mae looked dazed. Trent didn't fit with anything we'd believed. "Why, Trent?"

  No answer.

  "Why?"

  His hands clenched. "I didn't kill Erika."

  She stared at him. "Caught in this house with a knife in your hand—and you denyin you didn't kill those women?"

  Deena snorted. "Yeah, like you weren't here to kill me." Her voice bent.

  "I didn't kill Erika." Trent's face was pale, his expression cold as ice. Not the slightest hint of conscience.

  And then I knew. The final pieces of our puzzle rearranged. We'd spent so long thinking all six murders were committed by the same person . . .

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Deena's head cocked. She'd heard them too. "Fine, Trent. Who killed her, then?"

  He said nothing.

  I swallowed. "Mayor B."

  Cherrie Mae's eyes flicked to me.

  I rubbed my face. So tired. And I needed to sit down. "That's where I went wrong. It's why Mayor B wanted the pictures of the other women ten days ago. He'd never seen those victims. He needed to kill Erika because of the blackmailing, and he had to make sure it looked like the other murders."

  "But . . ." Cherrie Mae shook her head.

  The sirens screamed near. Cars screeched to a halt.

  I hurried to open the door.
/>
  THURSDAY

  April 28, 2011

  The Jackson Bugle

  Pulitzer Prize Winner Confesses to Crimes He Wrote About

  Amaryllis. Trent Williams, 32, crime reporter for The Jackson Bugle, allegedly confessed Wednesday to the murders of five women, whose deaths provided the backdrop for his 2010 Pulitzer prize-winning feature, "Gone to Ground."

  According to Chief Adam Cotter, in a statement to police, Williams, who grew up in Amaryllis, spoke "in a toneless voice with no remorse" about his childhood dream of one day owning a successful business—a dream that never came true. In his late twenties, after seven years of covering crime for The Jackson Bugle, Williams said, he saw his life as "headed nowhere" and "wanted something big to boost" himself to fame.

  His alleged murders of five women, all living alone in the town of Amaryllis, occurred over a period of three years. His method was always the same—a single stab with a paring knife to the throat, severing the carotid artery. The victims were all found in their bedroom closets, causing the serial murders to be known as the Closet Killings. "I was done after five," Williams said. "I had my prize. I was on the way to New York."

  In chilling hindsight, Amaryllis police point to Williams's feature about the murders, in which he wrote about the vagaries of sociopathic serial killers and the difficulty in detecting such criminals due to their ability to present a normal persona.

  "I just never would have guessed," said Theodore Stets, owner of Amaryllis Drugstore. "Trent was our hero for writing about the murders. Plus he wasn't living here anymore. Most people thought it was someone still in town."

  Williams was meticulous in planning his crimes. He allegedly told police that before a murder he would rent a car—from a different company each time—and make the one hour and thirty minute drive to Amaryllis at night. For every crime he disguised himself with a different toupee, which he later discarded. The murders themselves, he said, took only minutes. Wearing gloves, he would break into the house's back door, grab a paring knife from the kitchen, and stab the victim as she slept. When asked why he took the time to move the bodies to a closet, he reportedly shrugged, "It provided an added interesting twist."

  Williams said he chose his victims because they were "widowed or divorced with no children at home, so who would miss them?"

  At his arraignment Wednesday Williams was held without bail, awaiting "a certain" indictment from the grand jury in July, said Cotter. Williams could face the death penalty.

  In a further development that has stunned the town, the recent sixth murder in Amaryllis of Erika Hollinger, made to look like one of the Closet Killings, has now been deemed to be the work of a different suspect. Amaryllis's mayor of fifteen years, Austin Bradmeyer, has allegedly confessed to that crime.

  "We've gathered a lot of evidence to sort these crimes out," said Cotter, who added he's barely slept in days. "And we're continuing to do so. In light of the growing evidence against Austin Bradmeyer, and the statements of two other men who had formerly been arrested for Hollinger's murder, the mayor did break down and tell us what happened."

  Cotter continued, "I have to mention the help of three women in town—Cherrie Mae Devine, Deena Ruckland, and Tully Phillips—who not only caught Williams when he broke into Deena's home, but also helped gather information on Erika's death."

  On Monday night the three women were staying at Ruckland's house when . . .

  SUNDAY

  JULY 31, 2011

  Epilogue

  Cherrie Mae

  Whoo, it was hot outside. My air conditioner was runnin at top speed and still barely keepin up. I had the front curtains closed against the afternoon sun. Deena and Tully sat on my couch. Me, the ol woman, was now the one with her feet up. Just five weeks after deliverin her healthy baby boy, Tully was already back down to her original size.

  The resiliency a the young.

  In a small carrier in the corner, baby Michael slept. Cute little thing, round-faced and dark-haired. Looked like his mama.

  The first few days after Trent's arrest now seemed like one big jumble. Chief Cotter had a mess to sort out. First he had to interview me and Deena and Tully. We told him everthing we'd figured out. Then Mike had to come clean bout goin to Erika's house—which he did. He even admitted he'd had the presence a mind to search for the picture a the two a them, which he ripped up and flushed down her toilet. He wiped his prints away before he ran out a the house.

  Gettin Stevie to tell the truth was harder. That boy was just too scared. But eventually he managed.

  The chief never would tell us who the witness was that claimed to see Stevie runnin home at 12:30. But "the person," as the chief put it, "did realize the time could be wrong when faced with all the other evidence."

  Hm. Just as well we didn't know who it was.

  In the past three months, after all the chaos and news stories died down, Tully, Deena, and I hadn't seen much a each other. Tully was busy havin a baby and tryin to figure out her life. Deena had her hands full settlin her brother back down and tryin to make sense a Trent Williams. Actually, the whole town was still tryin to make sense a that. Everbody was hurt. Everbody. Trent had been our hometown-boy-made-good. Our pride.

  Mayor B had hurt us deep too.

  Both men had been indicted by the grand jury. Word was, both planned to plead guilty to their crimes, hopin to avoid the worst possible sentences. Trent wanted to avoid the death penalty. Mayor B hoped to get out a jail someday. Even if he did, he wouldn't be goin back to a wife. Mrs. B was divorcin him, I'd heard, both cause a the murder and Erika's baby, which DNA proved was his. Eva B still wasn't talkin to me. Maybe some day we'd be friends again.

  As for me these past months? I was just plain wore out.

  So Tully, Deena, and I was happy to see each other today. But it was more than just to catch up. We had a major issue to discuss. In honor a our meetin I'd made some cream-cheese muffins and lemonade. Best to have somethin in your stomach when you bout to make an important decision.

  We ate and gabbed, then got down to business.

  I wiped my mouth. "So who's first? You, Deena?"

  "Sure." She spread her arms like she had a big pronouncement. "I vote yes to the book."

  Goodness. That was quick.

  "I've thought a lot about it." Deena leaned forward. "Cherrie Mae, you want to retire. Tully, even with your parents' help, you need all the money you can get as a single mother. Me, I'd just like to buy a few things. Like a new car. Updated equipment for the salon. Also I want to help Stevie some. His trailer could use fixin up."

  Stevie was back workin at the factory. With Mayor B gone, Carl Cypress was runnin the place.

  Tully nodded. "How is your brother?"

  "He's okay. Sure doesn't trust the police. But he's calmin down. I think he's beginnin to see it's better to tell the truth." Deena looked at her lap. "Course I could say the same thing about myself. I mean if we'd done that right off, maybe he wouldn't have ended up in jail at all."

  Maybe. Who's to say? But I couldn't disagree about the truth part.

  Deena sighed. "Also, I think writin this book will help me. I mean, this thing with Trent just totally threw me. I still don't get it. To think you know somebody—and then realize they're not at all who you thought . . ."

  Bad enough that Deena's childhood friend killed five women. But then to try to kill her. Not until after Trent's arrest did his final words on the phone to Deena become clear. "I get it. I see why you really called." He'd thought she'd figured out he was the Closet Killer. And he couldn't let her bring him down.

  "Yes, baby." I gave her a sad smile. "I think it will help you sort it out."

  Tully and I waited for her to say more.

  Deena lifted a shoulder. "That's it."

  So. One vote yes. We sat on that for a minute.
/>
  I turned to Tully. "How bout you?"

  She hesitated. "I say yes too."

  I couldn't keep the surprise off my face. She'd always been the quiet one. Private. I didn't think she'd want the world peerin into her life durin the worst days she ever had. "Look like you ain't as sure as Deena."

  "I wasn't at first. Then I talked to my parents about it. They're happy to have me and little Michael living with them. But they know eventually I'll want to get out on my own. I need to save for that. But how to save when I'm not working?"

  Deena nodded. "You're sure, then, about the divorce? You're not goin back to Mike?"

  "I . . . no." Tully plucked at her shirt. "He betrayed me with Erika, even if she did lie about the baby being his. Maybe she didn't know who the father was. Anyway, now I can see Mike's not the kind of husband I want, or the kind of father little Michael needs. He'll always be my son's father, but not to live with. If he'd acted like he'd changed . . . But he still blames me for his arrest. When he got home from jail I was in our house, hoping . . . I don't know what I was hoping. And he hit me. Left bruises on my face. That was it. That's the day I packed up and moved to my parents' house for good. And marched myself down to the police station to report him. Didn't take him long to violate the restraining order. That's why he's in jail now until his trial. My lawyer thinks he'll get more time when his case comes up."

  "Maybe so," Deena said, "if you testify against him."

  "Oh, I plan to. I'm going to tell them everything."

  Poor Tully. That would be hard on her. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'll be prayin for you ever day."

  "Thanks, I need it." She lowered her eyes. "I've been goin to church again and . . . well, that's important. I don't think I can do this without God."

  Amen to that.

  "Anyway." Tully took a breath. "At first I couldn't bear to think of writing all this stuff for the world to read. That just . . . I couldn't do it. But by now our story's already everywhere. Think of all the national reporters who've been to our town."