by Jan Sumner
Chapter 10
It had been a while since he’d spoken to Amy, at least three months. Their relationship had been on and off for over a year. Right before Jonathan left for Fran’s funeral, they’d called it off. In many ways he missed her, but there were some things they just couldn’t seem to overcome. But on this particular evening, she sounded warm and friendly, just what he needed. They agreed to have dinner the next night, no strings attached. He actually felt some excitement about it and was looking forward to seeing her again.
It had been two weeks now, and he hadn’t heard back from Jeffery Zane. He thought he’d give it a few more days and then call him. He was, however, going to Storm Lake, no matter what.
They picked a restaurant they had never been to, which wasn’t easy to find since they both loved going out to dinner. Sitting at the bar, he could see her coming up the walk. Wow, he thought, she is beautiful. She approached him in her usual coy way, then reached out and gave him a big hug. “Jonathan, it’s so good to see you.”
“Amy, you look…stunning!”
They had a drink at the bar, caught up on each other’s lives and waited for a table. As they talked, Jonathan felt torn. He was definitely attracted to her, but some of the old feelings were rumbling around inside. He decided to make the most of the evening and not worry about past liabilities. Amy Rogers, worked for the University of New Orleans, as an associate professor of literature. That was, in fact, how they had met, at a book fair at the school.
As they ate their dinners, he told her about his adventure and what had happened to his family; even told her of his pursuit off Jack Zane's infamous legacy. At first she seemed taken aback a little, but the more he told her, the more she became intrigued.
“Well, what’s your next move?” She asked with genuine curiosity.
“I’m heading for Iowa. The sister lives there and Jack Zane is buried there. Plus, that’s where they were born and raised, there’s got to be some information there.”
“What if the sister won’t talk to you, or for that matter tells everyone in town not to talk to you?”
“Huh, well, I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it. But, I think she’ll talk to me. Their family went through a lot and this is a chance for them to possibly make a little money from what was a horrific experience. That certainly was a motivation for brother Jeff.”
Amy rocked back in her chair; Jonathan could see she was thinking. In the past, he’d sometimes found that a little scary.
“Jonathan, I’m going to propose something, but I don’t want you to think it’s any more than what it is…an honest offer, no strings attached.”
Oh boy, he thought, where is this going? “Okay, I’m listening.”
“It sounds like you have a lot of research still to do, and who knows how many people to talk to in Iowa. I’m offering my help. Now, don’t get spooked, you know I’ve always enjoyed your books; I just like murder mysteries in general. All of a sudden you’re involved in the real thing, and I would love to be part of it.”
It was his turn to rock back and contemplate. He felt comfortable doing this alone, but sometimes another perspective was valuable, and it might expedite the whole thing. But, what kind of help was she talking about?
“That’s a fascinating offer Amy. To be honest you caught me a little off guard. I had every intention of doing this alone…but, there is something to be said for two minds, etc. What exactly were you thinking?”
“Good question, I’m not really sure. I just have this feeling I’d like to help you, and learn along the way."
“I do want to make one thing clear here Jonathan, this is not a come on or an attempt to bring us back together, by some devious means. I’m being completely honest about my motives.” He knew she was telling the truth. They’d gone together for almost two years and she had always been honest with him, sometimes it seemed, to a fault. Their issues were those of lifestyle.
“Alright, let’s give it a go.”
“You’re sure you’re alright with this? I don’t want you thinking there’s anything weird going on here.”
“No, I’m fine, as a matter of fact, I think it’s a good idea. You might see something I’ve missed, or find something I would have overlooked. I trust you Amy, I know you’re being completely honest.”
“Good. When and how should we get started?”
“First of all we need to sit down and go over my game plan. See what I’ve done so far and what I had planned next. That way we can decide who does what and how, plus you might have some good ideas on how to proceed that I haven’t thought of.”
It seemed to bring a relaxed, yet exciting atmosphere to their dinner. They planned on meeting over the weekend to begin their assault on Iowa. It would be an experience neither one of them would ever forget.
Jonathan prepared breakfast, maybe not as delectable as good old dad’s, but not too shabby either. As usual, Amy was right on time, ate her breakfast and appeared eager to get started. “Okay, where should we start?”
Jonathan had laid out all his information on his desk, the interviews, newspaper clippings, and various articles he’d found. Amy sat down and began reading through them. Jonathan figured he’d give her a little space and time to get through all of it. As he sorted through his notes, he watched her. Her facial expression told it all, from interested to horrified. She hadn’t even finished, when she pushed the papers away and said, “My God, what an animal. I can’t believe…”
“Are you still sure you want to be involved?”
She sat quietly staring almost through him. She was trying to absorb everything she’d just read. It was almost as if she was in some sort of nightmarish trance.
“Amy…are you okay?”
“What? Yes, I’m sorry, it’s just…how does someone become like that?”
He moved around to her side of the desk and sat beside her. Putting his hand on hers he said, “I don’t know, but that’s what we’re going to try and find out. That is, of course, if you’re still interested in helping me, if not I’ll understand.”
She pulled her hand out, patted his and said, “Oh, I’m in. You can’t imagine how in I am. As detestable as that was, it did nothing but spur me on. Yes, Jonathan, I’m in all the way.”
With the initial shock past, they proceeded to lay out a strategy. He would go to Iowa, while she tried gathering more information on Zane’s other victims. He could focus in on Jack Zane the killer, and how that aspect related to his family, while Amy focused on the other murders. Between them they hoped to establish some sort of continuity and pattern to his acts. This would provide a time line and flow for the book.
At dinner Jonathan had explained everything he’d found out about Zane up to that point, except one small item. He never mentioned that his own mother had been there when his great grandparents were killed. That was one little part he held sacred; wanted to keep for himself. She might discover it later, but he’d deal with it then. For now it was his.
He made his arrangements and the next week was on his way. They had agreed Amy would begin researching all the past victims and then try to line up addresses and phone numbers of relatives. When Jonathan returned they would start pursuing those leads.
He flew into Des Moines, rented a car and drove up to Storm Lake. He’d decided to stay in Cherokee, just up the road. Jeffrey Zane had never called back, so he assumed either he hadn’t tried calling his sister, or she had refused to talk. Either way, it was going to be a challenge.
With the flight and driving time, it was late when he checked into the motel. He was tired. A good night's sleep and a little breakfast in the morning, he’d be ready for whatever lay ahead, he hoped.
Pulling into Storm Lake, he couldn’t help but wonder how many of these little towns there must be throughout the mid-west, and for the most part, they all looked alike. This one, however, had one uni
que distinction. It had been home to a notorious serial killer.
He parked his car on the main street, got out and just walked around, wanting to get a feel for the town. There were the usual places, drug store, café, and small shops, ranging from tools to clothing. Everyone seemed friendly and polite. He wondered if that would change, once he started asking questions.
His first stop was at the post office. If anyone would know Barbara (Zane) Wilkes, the postman would. It was a small brick building with one walkup window. The woman behind the counter looked liked she’d been there when the town was founded.
“Excuse me, I wonder if you could tell me where the Wilkes family lives?”
Not looking up, still sorting mail, she said, “Oh, I imagine I could. Who wants to know?”
“I do…Jonathan Smyth,” he said looking at her like, “What business is this of yours.”
“I’m sorry,” she said putting down the mail. “We don’t get many new people in town, so I was just curious.”
“That’s okay, I just wanted to find them, get caught up on old family business.” He could see she wanted to ask, but thought better of if.
“Well, if you go straight out of town to the east, then turn right at the second road and go, oh, about, three miles, you’ll come to their place. It’s on the right side of the road. It’s a big, old, two-story house with a red front door. You can’t miss it.”
He thanked her and left, not sure about how to approach it. For now he’d look around a little more, then drive back to Cherokee.
Once in his room he called Amy. He told her he’d made it safe and sound, had looked around the town most of the afternoon, and found out where the Wilkes’ lived. It was late July, so Amy was off school and could devote lots of time to finding out about Zane’s past victims. She told Jonathan she’d had some success in finding numbers, but it was so long ago and people had moved, died or just disappeared. But she would keep plowing until she came up with some good leads. They hung up, and he got into bed trying to sort out what he was going to do next. If he called and told Barbara Zane Wilkes he was there, she might hang up. If he just showed up, who knows what might happen. He was tired and couldn’t think of a third option, but after a good night’s sleep…well, something might come to him.
He awoke refreshed and went to get breakfast. While turning some, less-than-over-easy eggs, it came to him. Why not call Jeffery Zane again and see where that might lead. He hurried back to his room and made the call. Amazingly, Zane was there. Jonathan asked him if he’d had any luck contacting his sister, and if so, what had she said. Zane said he’d talked to her, but she was not too receptive to the idea, or to quote Zane, “She dint walk ta talk to ya.”
Jonathan asked him what he thought might happen if he just went out there. Zane told him it would probably be okay, she and her husband Clyde, were pretty nice folks. That was it then, he’d just show up. But first he had to decide on whether to talk to people in town before going out. He decided to go out first and not have the Wilkes’ find out he was asking about them in town.
The postal clerk's directions were perfect. Down the dirt road and there it was on the right side, red door and all. There was a pickup truck out front and a couple of dogs playing around in the yard. He pulled up and parked along side the truck. This immediately brought the dogs running. At least they didn’t jump, lick and slobber all over the car, and they looked friendly enough, so he got out. A few jumps up, whiffs and sniffs and they seemed to accept him. He hadn’t taken two steps when a tall, lean man walked out on the front porch.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes… Mr. Wilkes?”
“Yeah.”
Jonathan continued walking toward the house, accompanied by the frisky mutts. Mr. Wilkes stood with his hands in his overall pockets waiting.
“Mr. Wilkes, my name is Jonathan Smyth, and I was hoping to sit down with your wife and talk to her about her brother, Jack Zane. I’m a writer and…”
“Hold it right there. She talked to her brother Jeffery about this and told him she didn’t want nothin to do with it.”
“I understand, but did he mention it might mean some money to you?”
By now he was up on the porch standing in front of a man at least six feet six, who couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds.
“You see, I’m a writer and I want to write a book about him. If it’s successful, well, it could generate a lot of money for you both.”
Jonathan could see an ease in his stature, and softening in his tone.
“Hold on, you wait right here and I’ll go talk to her.”
Clyde went inside and left the front door open, only the screen was closed. Jonathan could hear talking toward the back of the house, but couldn’t make out what was being said. He walked back down the porch steps and waited. The day was getting hot, and the dogs had decided to cool down by lying under the truck.
He heard the screen door open and turned to see Clyde and Barbara standing there. As he started back up the steps, Clyde said, “'For we go any farther, we want ya to explain this money thing.”
Jonathan agreed, so they let him come in and sit down. As with Jeffrey, he told them about everything that was involved in writing a book, and that it would take some luck, money and good timing for it to be a success. Barbara hadn’t said a word, sitting quietly and watching. When he finished, Clyde grabbed Barbara’s hand and they went into the kitchen. Jonathan sat patiently, wondering if these delays and pauses were a genetic trait in the Zane family.
Shortly, they came back and sat down. Barbara said, “You can probably tell I don’t like talking about Jack. That was a terrible time for my mom, and me and I’ve tried not to think about it. But with everything Jack put us through, I guess if we could…get something back, that’d be okay.”
Jonathan could feel himself relax inside. Maybe, just maybe this was going to work. He got out his papers and recorder and once more explained why he needed to record everything.
“Barbara, tell me about growing up, your mom and dad, what you remember about Jack and Jeffrey.”
Jonathan wanted to see if it connected with what Jeffrey had told him. She confirmed their dad was abusive and treated Jack badly. When Jack took off, she was glad, even though it hurt her mom. When Jeffrey left, however, she was scared, he’d been nice to her, and she and her mom were then alone. Even though he’d heard all this before, it was much sadder coming from Barbara. As she talked on, it seemed she was miscast in this family; nice, caring, but had definitely been traumatized by what had happened. It appeared she and Clyde had built a nice little life out here in the country and were very happy. As she spoke, Jonathan thought about calling it off. This was bound to bring up old memories she and the town had buried for years, plus if the book was a success, national attention would come storming its way into this peaceful little community. Jack Zane had been dead and buried for over thirty years, and was now going to be resurrected in all his ignominy.
Jonathan suddenly realized Barbara had stopped talking, and he was now providing the silence.
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about what you said and how your brother told me exactly the same thing. Your childhood must have been very…difficult and sad.”
She began to tear up and looked at him through watery eyes, “Yes. It was, except for my mom. The only part of my childhood that had love in it, came from her.”
“Barbara, would you like to stop? I can come back tomorrow.”
As she wiped the tears from her cheeks she said, “Yes, that would probably be best.”
He drove back to his motel. He felt so much differently about this interview. With Jeffrey, it was like pulling teeth from someone who was only after the money. But with Barbara, she was speaking from her heart. Oh sure, she was interested in the money, but only as recompense for all the pain she’d been through. Jonathan felt compassion f
or her, a sense he might be bringing more heartache back into her life. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, but if he walked away, that was probably the end of the story, and his search for what happened thirty years ago to his family.
