The Christmas Fair Killer

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘I say you’re lying.’

  ‘Yeah, you lying, worthless, little—’ Bonnie started.

  Tish held her hand aloft in a bid for silence. ‘These two women positively identified you as Armand Grenable.’

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who?’

  ‘Armand Grenable, brother-in-law and stepfather of these women.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I was rather shocked, too,’ Tish admitted. ‘Then it all began to click. Sam’s a popular nickname in the South, isn’t it? Even if your name isn’t Samuel. And Noble, well, that’s just an Americanization of Grenable.’

  Sam laughed. ‘You know, Tish, people in this town already think you’re a bit eccentric, but it sounds like you’ve completely gone off the rails this time.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Gaslighting. Another of those techniques abusers use, right, Clemson?’ she asked of the sheriff.

  ‘Yep. A common one, too.’ He folded his arms across his chest.

  Meanwhile, Sam’s wife, Heather, had stopped cleaning tables beneath their food tent and took her spot beside her husband.

  ‘Abuser? I’m not an abuser,’ Sam maintained.

  ‘Oh, but you are,’ Tish insisted. ‘Briony here recounted to me what happened when you would come home from work late at night – a restaurant owner even then, I presume.’

  ‘He ran a burger bar on the outskirts of the city,’ Briony inserted.

  ‘You’d come home late from the burger bar and creep upstairs under the pretense of saying goodnight to Briony. You’d knock on the door, she’d tell you to come in, and then you would rape her. You did the same with her older sister, Genevieve – better known as Jenny Inkpen. Do you know how I know you did the same thing to Jenny? Because when I went to deliver her breakfast the other morning, I was advised not to knock on the door without calling her name first. Hearing a knock on the door out of the blue was too startling and upsetting to Jenny. No doubt a holdover from her days being traumatized by you.’

  As Bonnie sobbed, it was now Sam’s turn to shout. ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘My husband is a kind and gentle man,’ Heather rejoined.

  ‘Is that why you married him, Mrs Noble?’ Tish asked.

  ‘One of the reasons, yes. I thought he’d be a good father to my daughter, Lily.’

  ‘Yes, your daughter, Lily. So Lily is Sam’s stepdaughter. I admit Lily’s presence threw me for a minute, since Sam’s only been gone from Alabama for three years. And Lily is nine years old.’

  ‘We prefer not to use the term stepdaughter, Ms Tarragon. Sam is just as much a parent to Lily as I am.’

  Bonnie spoke up. ‘My sister thought your husband was a great dad when she was married to him, too.’

  Heather bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry about your sister and your nieces, but my husband was not responsible.’

  ‘Then why change his name?’ Reade challenged.

  ‘He didn’t. You have the wrong man. My husband is a wonderful husband and father.’ She turned her attention to the dark-haired girl who had wandered out from her parents’ tent. ‘Isn’t he, Lily? Daddy would never dream of hurting you, would he?’

  Lily didn’t answer. She turned on one heel and ran away, choking on her own sobs.

  Heather, her face a sudden shade of gray, stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her husband before giving chase. ‘Lily! Lily!’

  ‘That’s it. I won’t have you upsetting my family any longer,’ Sam threatened.

  ‘Family? Which one?’ Reade cracked.

  ‘Clem, I swear to you, man to man, I’ve never seen this girl before in my life’ – Sam pointed to Briony – ‘and I never once met Jenny Inkpen.’

  ‘Again, you’re lying,’ Tish accused. ‘Everyone here saw your face turn white at the sight of Briony. Is that because you were surprised to see her or because you wondered if you’d murdered the wrong sister? Spoiler alert: you did murder the “wrong” sister.’

  ‘Murder?’ Reade repeated.

  ‘You mean he wanted to murder Briony?’ Bonnie slipped from the officer’s grasp and rushed forth to envelop her niece in a protective embrace.

  ‘Sam wasn’t sure whom he wanted – or shall I say needed – to kill. All he knew is that someone left an anonymous letter on the windshield of his truck on Thursday morning. That letter threatened to reveal that Sam had sexually abused his stepdaughter unless he coughed up ten thousand dollars in cash and left it under the football field bleachers later that night. You were dumbfounded, weren’t you, Sam?’ Tish asked. ‘At first you probably weren’t even sure if the note was real or just a prank. Then, at some point during the day, you looked up and saw Genevieve Savernake on the stage during the dress rehearsal. She didn’t see you – no, as Justin Dange informed me a few days ago, Genevieve threw herself into her roles to the point where she was oblivious to what was going on in the audience. But you – you have a great view of the stage from this angle. And saw her quite clearly. Indeed, Jules remarked the other morning that these food court booths are so close that he could see the edges of Scrooge’s prosthetic nose.

  ‘When you saw Genevieve, you naturally assumed the letter was from her. The letter itself even pointed in her direction, for it made reference to your abuse of your stepdaughter. Singular. Of course, Genevieve had left home before you targeted Briony, and she’d have had no knowledge that you’d abused her as well.

  ‘The sight of Genevieve caused you to panic. You couldn’t let Heather see the note. Nor could you go to the police, lest they discover your secret. However, you also couldn’t pay Genevieve. Not only did you have absolutely no guarantee that she wouldn’t ask for more money at a later date, but how would you explain an expenditure of that magnitude to your wife, if you even had the money at all?

  ‘So you decided then and there to murder her, but you had to do it soon, because if you didn’t pay her that night, she might expose you for who you really were. Given that you’re a vendor here at the fair, it was easy to follow Genevieve backstage and figure out which trailer was hers. Armed with that knowledge, you then had to figure out how to kill her. You’d seen the re-enactors open the fair with their parade, and since business was slow for you Thursday evening, you’d probably wandered over to watch their rifle-loading and firing demonstrations. Likewise, given your access to the entire fairgrounds, it was easy for you to figure out where the rifles and the gunpowder were stored.

  ‘And so you went to the equipment shed that night, armed with a hammer. The same hammer we saw you use to drive the stakes of your tent further into the ground. The hammer Reade’s officers will no doubt find in the bed of your truck.’

  ‘That’s why we didn’t find it on the grounds or in the woods,’ Reade commented.

  Tish nodded. ‘But there was still a certain matter to which Sam/Armand needed to attend. Noise. Hammering on a padlock and shooting an antique rifle would have woken the entire campground, so he needed to drown out the sound. As the owner of the local night-time hangout, he knew where to buy illegal fireworks and also which kids in town wouldn’t mind taking the risk of celebrating the school holiday by shooting them off.’

  ‘You have no proof of any of this,’ Sam argued.

  ‘You forget,’ Reade said, ‘that I also know who sells fireworks in this town. It should be pretty easy to track down who sold you a few hundred dollars’ worth of fireworks in December.’

  ‘A few hundred dollars’ worth of fireworks and a packet or two of sparklers. Remember, we saw Lily playing with them last night?’ she asked of Reade.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Reade corroborated.

  Tish thought back to when she had witnessed her own father with their housekeeper so many years ago. In the few months after being caught, her father would ‘gift’ Tish money. A twenty-dollar bill here, a fifty-dollar bill there, an extra present on her birthday. He claimed it was for being a ‘good daughter,’ but even at her young age, Tish inherently understood what was implied in being ‘good.’

  Tish swallowed
hard and looked Sam straight in the eye. ‘You bought the sparklers because even while murdering your eldest stepdaughter, you still sought every opportunity to purchase your youngest stepdaughter’s silence, because silence is what men like you rely upon in order to perpetuate your wretched deeds.’

  ‘Silence? Get out of here! Silence for what?’ Sam challenged.

  ‘You’re telling me your stepdaughter ran off in sobs just now for no good reason, Sam? Men like you don’t change,’ Reade volleyed. ‘They never do.’

  Sam remained silent, but it was clear from his steely gaze that he knew he’d been caught.

  Tish went on, ‘You ensured Genevieve’s silence was permanent. Only you’d silenced the wrong sister. It was Briony who’d seen you drive into the vendor parking area that morning. It was Briony who’d written the letter and left it on your windshield. She asked for the money, not only to make you pay but so that she might finally be able to afford the mental health care she needed. The mental health care you denied her when you kicked her off your insurance plan, even though you were the reason she needed that care in the first place.’

  Bonnie Broussard pulled Briony close to her and the pair wept.

  ‘But, of course, you wouldn’t have noticed Briony. She was working on the midway, just a short distance behind your tent, but was well disguised with her buzz cut, hood, and sunglasses. Like the siblings in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Genevieve and Briony had each established a new identity – Genevieve through her acting and Briony through a change in appearance. Yet, despite their new identities, they couldn’t shed the past or their invisible bond with each other. After nearly crossing paths several months ago in Savannah, fate finally drew them – unbeknownst to each other – here to the fair and, consequently, to you. Briony hadn’t the faintest idea her sister was up on that stage when she wrote that letter to blackmail you, but when you didn’t show up with the money she requested, she took extra care not to wander too far from the shooting gallery where she worked. Fortunately, you never spotted her, for I have no doubt if you had, she’d be dead, too.’

  Reade stepped forward. ‘Looks like your time is up, Grenable. We’re taking you in.’

  Before Reade could even place him in handcuffs, Sam reached beneath his greasy apron and whipped out a .38 that had been concealed in the waistband of his jeans. ‘You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?’ He pointed the barrel of the gun at Tish. ‘Always having to prove how smart you are. How much better you are than anyone. It wasn’t enough you took the library sponsorship away from me. You had to go messing around in my business.’

  ‘Put the gun down,’ Reade’s officer shouted as he trained his own gun upon Grenable.

  Sam turned the weapon on Briony and Bonnie. ‘And you two bitches. All you had to do was keep your goddamn mouths shut! I loved you, Briony. You and your sister. All I did was show you that love. It might not have been the love you expected, but it was pure and true.’

  ‘You’re a monster,’ Briony shouted. ‘A monster!’

  Briony’s outburst was the distraction Reade needed. As Grenable’s jaw dropped, Tish lunged forward to push Bonnie and Briony out of the line of fire. Meanwhile, the sheriff tackled Grenable from behind, grabbing him around the waist and knocking him, face first, to the ground, but not before Grenable could squeeze the trigger, discharging a single shot in the direction of the three women. Knocking the still-smoking gun from Grenable’s hand, Reade pinned the man’s arms behind his back while his officer cuffed him.

  Before Reade could issue Grenable his rights, Briony screamed. After being thrown to the ground, she and her aunt had risen to their feet.

  Tish, however, had not.

  In the soft glow of the festival lights, Reade watched as a dark spot on the back of Tish’s wool coat slowly grew in size. In anger, he raised the hand bearing Grenable’s gun and raised it over the back of his prisoner’s head.

  ‘Sir! No!’ The officer grabbed Reade by the wrist.

  Relinquishing the firearm to his officer, Reade rushed to Tish’s side. ‘Tish! Tish!’

  She did not respond.

  ‘Call for an ambulance,’ he directed.

  Meanwhile, officers from Reade’s department arrived from the campground, answering the sound of shots fired. Quickly, they cordoned off the scene of the shooting and kept onlookers at a safe distance.

  Fighting for admittance, Celestine could be heard shouting to one of Reade’s well-intentioned officers, ‘We’re not onlookers. We’re family!’

  Reade waved to the officer in question to allow Celestine and Jules into the taped-off area.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Jules exclaimed at the sight of his friend.

  ‘Is she gonna be all right, Clem?’ Celestine asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He removed the scarf from his neck and the all-in-one tool fastened to his holster. Using the knife function, he cut a slit in the back of Tish’s coat and then cut his wool scarf in half and packed it into the wound.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be waiting for an ambulance?’ Jules asked.

  ‘There’s an ambulance here at the fair, but it’s going to take some time to navigate through the crowds to get here. In the meantime, you two can give me a hand. Jules, I need your belt.’

  Jules placed Biscuit on the ground and hastily removed the brown leather belt from around his waist and handed it to the sheriff.

  Reade took the belt and slid it beneath Tish’s abdomen and then fastened it just tightly enough to prevent the scarf bandage from moving. ‘OK, I need you two to help me log-roll her on to her back.’

  Celestine and Jules knelt beside Reade. ‘You sure about this?’ Celestine asked.

  ‘Only choice we have. I need to make sure her airways are clear and then administer CPR. Now, on three,’ he instructed. ‘One … two … three.’

  The trio gently rolled Tish from her stomach on to her back, taking great care not to twist her torso. Her face was ashen, and her lips were tinged at the edges with blue. ‘She’s cyanotic,’ Reade said as he tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and checked her airways for blockages.

  ‘Oh, I can’t watch!’ Jules exclaimed, picking up Biscuit and clutching him to his chest. ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘Blankets. Anything to keep her warm.’ Reade removed his wool peacoat and draped it over Tish’s legs.

  ‘On it!’ Jules headed off into the crowd.

  ‘There’s some at mobile HQ,’ Reade shouted after him. ‘Celestine, remove her boots.’

  Celestine did as she was told. ‘Should I raise her legs?’

  ‘No. Just massage her feet. Try to keep her warm and her blood circulating.’

  Reade unbuttoned Tish’s coat and began to administer CPR. ‘Come on, Tish!’ he begged after the first two rescue breaths. ‘Come on.’

  Celestine massaged Tish’s feet and watched in horror as the blue tinge spread further across her lips.

  ‘Tish, don’t go. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me,’ Reade pleaded as he applied rhythmic chest compressions.

  There was still no response.

  ‘Tish, listen to me. You can’t die on us. Too many people need you.’

  Having completed the cycle of thirty chest compressions, Reade leaned in and delivered two more rescue breaths before starting another cycle of compressions. ‘Tish, please. Please don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  As light snow began to fall, Tish sputtered and coughed.

  The sound moved Celestine to tears. ‘Oh, thank you, Jesus.’

  Jules returned with Biscuit tucked under one arm and a wool blanket and a pile of billowy white fabric in the other. ‘Lucinda, Frances, and Edie gave me a blanket from the stage and their petticoats too. How is she?’

  Tish’s face was still ashen, but color had been partially restored to her lips.

  ‘Oh my God, is she breathing?’ Jules dumped his finds by Reade, who proceeded to arrange them over Tish.

  ‘She is,’ the sheriff replied, ‘
but she’s not out of the woods yet.’

  The ambulance arrived, sirens muted, blue lights flashing. A team of paramedics emerged from the back door and swooped in on Tish. One of them approached Reade for a quick debriefing.

  ‘Victim was shot once in the back with a thirty-eight. I packed the wound, followed protocol for moving a patient with possible spinal cord trauma, and then administered CPR. Victim responded and resumed breathing shortly before your arrival,’ Reade reported in an emotionless voice.

  He then stepped back and out of the way of the emergency workers, wandering over to where Celestine and Jules stood huddled together. The three of them silently observed as the paramedics connected the unconscious Tish to an assortment of tubes and wires, hoisted her on to a gurney, and loaded her into the back of the waiting ambulance.

  All the while, the snow kept falling.

  Standing in his shirtsleeves in the cold and damp, Reade became cognizant of a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You did good, Clem.’ A tearful Celestine moved her hand from his shoulder and down his arm. ‘I’m gonna get my car so Jules and I can follow the ambulance to the hospital. I know you have your own sources, but I’ll call you to let you know how she’s doing.’

  Reade bowed his head, reached for Celestine’s hand, and clutched it in his. No other words were exchanged. No other words were needed.

  Celestine and Jules departed, and the paramedics slammed closed the doors of the ambulance. Left alone amid the chaos of the crime scene, Reade watched the blue flashing lights of the ambulance as they pulled away from the fairgrounds and faded into the distance.

  TWENTY-SIX

  After undergoing emergency surgery to remove the bullet and treatment for a punctured lung, broken ribs, muscle damage, and moderate blood loss, Tish was discharged from the hospital on Christmas Eve – just five days after the shooting. It was, her doctor clarified, an accommodation for the holiday more than an ‘official’ discharge, but she also felt strongly that being home among friends and loved ones at Christmas would probably be more beneficial to Tish than lying in a bed, critiquing the hospital’s sad attempt at roast turkey.