by E. C. Diskin
“Oh, that’s good news.”
“It is,” he said. There was just one thing about that visit with John that continued to gnaw at him. John still didn’t remember how he fell. It made Wilson wonder if Ginny was right about John’s memory issues.
“Well, thank goodness Ginny found you,” Wilson had said, but John muttered, “Right,” as if he either wasn’t glad Ginny found him or maybe he didn’t believe that she found him. It was odd.
“Anyway,” Wilson said, waving toward the script on the table. “You done with that yet?”
Donny leaned back. “No. Sorry, got sidetracked. Seems that stalker didn’t show up for work last weekend.”
Wilson crossed his arms, resting them on his belly, and leaned back on the chair’s hind legs. “What do we know about her?”
“She’s twenty-five, attractive, works in retail, a boutique in LA. She’s a frequent poster on Instagram and Twitter. You might look at her profile and assume she’s perfectly normal. But she broke into Woods’s house, told him it was their destiny to be together, and when he asked her to leave, she fell apart, locked herself in his bathroom, and started screaming about him messing with the plan. Police got her out of there. Cuckoo crazy, if you ask me.”
“And no word about where she was over the weekend?”
“Working on it. She’s back at work. I’m in touch with LAPD. They went by, and she said she had the flu over the weekend. Said she never left her apartment.”
“It’s a little past flu season.”
“Yep. I’ve already asked Roger to prep requests for warrants to get her credit card statements and bank records to see if we can determine her location on Sunday. LAPD’s gonna do some digging, too—talk to neighbors, see if anyone can confirm her whereabouts during the weekend. She was radio silent on her social media during the weekend, so no clues there.”
It would be nice if the shooter was from LA. Wilson much preferred the idea that Woods brought the trouble with him and it would leave with him too. And he really didn’t want to see Ginny pulled into this mess.
“Guess what else?” Donny continued. “She’s blonde. Didn’t that neighbor say she saw a blonde outside his house when he was being carted off?”
“Yep. But those license plate registrations . . .”
“Actually, I looked at Roger’s list. One of the registrations was owned by a rental-car company, so it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. We’re checkin’ it out.”
Wilson felt himself starting to relax. Maybe this case would be in good hands after all. “And how far are you with the screenplay?”
“Only a third in, but it’s pretty good. I’m interested.”
Wilson uncrossed his arms. “I don’t want a review. Do you see any reason someone might get upset about what’s in there?”
“I’m assuming yes. But I can’t say yet. Starts with an interesting first-person narration during the opening camera pan across town . . . the main character is named Anthony, and it’s about how he and his dad moved to Eden from Chicago when he was about twelve after his mom was killed. His father was determined to provide a safe environment for his son and was struck by the name of the town when he looked on a map. He took it as a sign.” Donny flipped the pages back to the beginning and read directly from the text. “Then the narrator says, My father didn’t know that danger is everywhere, whether a big city or small town. Some people are hunters and some are prey, and when you’re a black kid in a white town and you cross certain lines, you’re bound to be hunted.”
Wilson looked up at the ceiling tiles, at the water marks from last year’s roof leak. “Go on . . .”
Donny began flipping ahead. “So this first part sort of establishes how Anthony didn’t fit in, no interest in sports, even though he had the build. Made him a misfit. Some examples of racism in the classroom and cafeteria here and there, but nothing I’d consider motive. I’m just getting to the part where a sophomore English teacher has suggested he try out for a play. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
Wilson let his chair fall forward, returning the front legs to the ground with a thud. “Any word yet on the gun and coffee mug I dropped off yesterday?”
“Yep. No match.”
“Was the gun wiped clean?”
“Nope. Prints all over it, but not the same as the mug.”
“Good.” Thank God.
“What was that all about?”
“Virginia Smith. That was one of the names on those vehicle registrations Roger gave me. Virginia Smith is the married name of my buddy John Anderson’s oldest daughter, Ginny. That yearbook confirmed that she was in the theater group with Darius Woods. She got in some trouble back in high school. It’s tricky. Didn’t want to officially point a finger before chatting with her.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Could have been the worst kind. It was a case from the spring of 1999, the year they graduated, and given the similarities of these cases and the fact that Woods probably knew her, I wondered if he knew something about what happened back then—maybe something she wouldn’t want him to write about.”
“You’ve got my attention,” Donny said, sitting back and crossing his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WILSON SHUT THE DOOR TO his office and took a seat on the sofa by the window before continuing. “It was a shooting at a women’s clinic—you know, one of those places that does abortions in addition to health care.”
“I’m aware.” Donny smirked.
“Anyway, the doctor survived, but the evidence required us to bring in Ginny. It didn’t look good for her. It was a federal case, and the FBI swarmed almost instantly. She’d been a frequent protester, she’d lied about her whereabouts that morning, and there was a good ID of her car and of a blonde girl at the scene. And she said nothing to defend herself when we questioned her. She wouldn’t speak at all.” Lifting the plastic blinds, he turned his attention from Donny to the sky, just moments from full darkness. Everything about the spring of ’99 was tough to think about.
“How old was she?”
“Seventeen. Feds would have tried her as an adult, for sure. That was a rough year. For all of us.” Wilson sat back and finally looked at Donny. “My wife died about two months before that happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. The thing is, you learn who your friends are when bad stuff happens. Bonnie and John Anderson really helped me out. All spring, Bonnie insisted that me and Eddie come over for dinner at least once a week, and she sent casseroles over every week for two months. My other kids had already moved out, so it was just me and Eddie at that point. I didn’t know how to do the whole parenting thing without my wife. Bonnie tried to help, though Eddie wasn’t the easiest kid. And John—well, he took me and Eddie hunting, made sure the weekly poker games continued. They were both determined to keep us well fed and distracted.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah—which made it difficult when all that happened with Ginny. It was not fun being the one to bring their only child in for questioning.” He could still remember Bonnie pulling him aside after they got to the station that day, begging him, with tears in her eyes, to do something. “You know this is a mistake,” she’d said. “There’s no way.”
He’d tried to calm her, though his eyes may have betrayed him. The description of the girl was a compelling match for Ginny. She’d obviously lied about her whereabouts. And the subject of abortion had been raised at dinner just two weeks earlier. He’d said nothing about it to the feds, but it was too easy to imagine that Ginny had gotten the idea from the conversation they’d all shared.
Bonnie had brought it up while she dished a second helping of casserole onto his plate, saying he needed to get the place shut down. She’d said as much before. At least every couple of months since it had opened.
He’d laughed. “Not the way it works, Bonnie. They’re breaking no laws.”
“They’re killing babies.”
Wilson had lo
oked to John for help, and John nodded to Ginny and Eddie. “You two can be excused.”
“They’re not little kids, John,” Bonnie said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. I say that to my dad every day,” Eddie said with a smile.
Ginny stood and began clearing the dishes.
“Ginny cares as much as I do, John. She’s spent I don’t know how many Saturdays over the last year picketing that place.” She handed Ginny her plate. “I’m sure you’ve saved some lives, too, baby.”
Eddie stood and began helping Ginny clear the dishes. “We should just blow it up.”
Wilson had glared at his son.
“I’m jokin’,” he replied.
“That’s the thing,” John added. “Those places attract violence. I don’t want my daughter gettin’ hurt. Maybe you could use some creative policing to figure it out, because with the news these days, that parking lot is essentially a health hazard.”
“Come on, John. That’s ridiculous,” Wilson said.
“Pastor Gary and I had a meeting about this today,” Bonnie said. “It was just last month that an abortion clinic was bombed in North Carolina.”
“I heard,” Wilson said. “But it didn’t fully detonate, right? Minimal damage.”
“But you remember that bomb that exploded in Alabama last year? Killed a security guard and blinded a nurse.”
“And whoever did that is still on the loose,” John added. “The smarter crime was the New York shooting last year.”
“Did you just say smart and crime in the same sentence?” Wilson joked.
“I’m just saying—the doctor was killed—sniper style, while he stood at a kitchen window. No collateral damage. And I heard that several other doctors in the area quit after it happened. So I’d have to say the tactic worked.”
“You sound like you approve,” Wilson said, tossing his napkin onto the plate.
“Didn’t say that. Just noting that it was effective.”
“It was murder. And terrorism,” Wilson said.
“I don’t care what you wanna call it,” John said, “but the kids aren’t safe. They still haven’t caught any of those people.”
“Maybe what I should do is have a talk with this Pastor Gary—get him to stop sending those kids over there.”
“That’s no solution,” Bonnie said.
“She’s right, Dad,” Eddie chimed in from the doorway. “Teenagers are the only ones who aren’t afraid to make waves.”
Ginny joined him. “It’s true. I mean, teenagers were the first to stand up for desegregation.”
“I thought we were talking about ‘good activism,’” Eddie said sarcastically.
“Ass,” Ginny muttered.
“Ginny!” Bonnie exclaimed.
Eddie laughed it off. “I know she loves me, Mrs. A. We’re just jokin’ around.”
It had been a harmless conversation, or so Wilson had thought. Eddie and Ginny went out for ice cream afterward. Typical teenagers. But two weeks later, Ginny was being questioned for attempted murder, and Bonnie was hysterical.
“She couldn’t have done this,” Bonnie continued. “She’s a good girl. You know it. She’s got her whole life in front of her. And that place is awful! We’ve all been trying to shut it down since the minute it opened.” Bonnie’s fingers were digging into his forearm. She wouldn’t let go. “She did not do this.”
“Please, Bonnie,” he’d said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ve got to speak with her alone. I have to ask questions. The FBI is involved. We can’t ignore the evidence.”
Bonnie finally let go of him and ran over to John, who was walking in the front door of the station. “John! You have to do something.” It was all Wilson heard, but John left the building moments later without talking to him, and forty-five minutes after that, a pastor from their church had arrived.
“So what happened?” Donny asked. “Was she the shooter?”
“I suppose we’ll never know. That Pastor Gary came in—he worked with the youth group—said he could vouch for Ginny’s whereabouts, which was odd, because she’d told her mother she was leaving early that morning to help at school. But I brought him into the room, left, and watched from outside.”
“What did he say?”
“Something like he was so sorry about what happened and that he understood why she felt she couldn’t say anything. She stared at him, just frozen. He said he’d already told me she’d come to church before school to help him and he had asked her to keep it a secret. He apologized for putting her in that position. He gave me a story about how they were working together to organize the teens’ upcoming mission trip and that she’d worried her mother wouldn’t allow her to miss a class to help him, so he’d told her to lie, and that it was wrong, but that’s where she’d been.”
“And you didn’t buy it?”
“Of course not. I watched him telling her exactly what he’d told me, so she could back up the alibi. I mean, it was a conflict for me, obviously. I didn’t want to go after the only child of a close friend, and I didn’t believe the pastor, but when I went back in that room after I left them in there alone, she just looked at me and said nothing. It was hard to know if she was silently pleading for help or what, but we both knew that lies were being told. Within hours, other ministers from their church came in and backed up Pastor Gary’s story, some even saying they’d seen Ginny at the church with him. We all knew that testimony from her church’s leadership would be nearly impossible to overcome without something more concrete on Ginny, and we didn’t have much more than a vague description from a hysterical woman.”
“So that was the end of it?”
Wilson nodded. “FBI continued digging, but months later, they’d come up with nothin’. And I wondered if maybe the pastor had put Ginny up to it. He was the organizer of all the teen protests. The kids worshipped him. I’d seen the way they looked at that guy. He was a man of God, but I’m telling you, there was something there that I didn’t like about him. Those kids marched down Main Street a few times, up in arms about one thing or another, and when I would approach the pastor, telling them to disperse, those kids swarmed around him. I don’t know. I mean, he was always spouting Scripture. I’m a churchgoing man, but that church—I mean, Bonnie and John are great people—but that church seems a little extreme, if you know what I mean.
“Anyway, it’s one of only two unsolved cases dealing with abortion clinic violence in the last thirty years. The trail went cold. No one else saw anything. I’m telling you, being the law isn’t always easy. Maybe it was easier in a big city where everyone’s a stranger, but you get to know people real well in a small town. It’s not always easy going after ’em. I mean, you should, you need to—don’t think I’m saying otherwise, but that was a tough year, that’s all. For all of us.”
“Sure,” Donny said. “I get it.” He broke eye contact as he said that last bit. Wilson could feel his unspoken judgment.
“Anyway, we’re gettin’ off track,” he continued. “What I wanted to tell you was that Pastor Gary got on my radar that day he saved Ginny’s butt, and several years later a woman came in here and wanted to file a complaint against him. Said that he’d been inappropriate with her daughter.”
Donny leaned forward. “Oh jeez, I fear I know where this is going.”
“Yeah. She’d complained to the church, but they’d talked to the pastor, who denied the allegations. His story was that the girl had been inappropriate with him, and when he shut it down, she got angry. So I went to the church to question the pastor but learned that he’d been reassigned to a different ministry. Before I could find him, the woman returned, saying she didn’t want to put her child through the ordeal of a criminal investigation, and the matter dissolved. She was satisfied that he was out of the church. But it always made me think of Ginny. She looked at Pastor Gary that morning with such fear, and soon after that shooting, it seemed like her life began to unravel. I had this sinking feeling that she’d been involved with th
at clinic business, but I didn’t have the heart to continue digging. She was such a good kid, and I always wondered if she’d been another of Pastor Gary’s victims.”
“Man,” Donny said.
“I sort of figured that whatever happened, even if she’d done it, the doctor survived, and Ginny was a naive kid who may have been under that pastor’s thumb. She didn’t go off to college as planned, and then a few months later, Bonnie said she’d been hospitalized for depression. Whatever happened that spring, it haunted her. I’m guessing that’s punishment enough.”
“So you’re thinking that maybe Woods knows what happened back then. Maybe he wrote about it.”
“Exactly, so let’s finish that damn screenplay. You print me out a copy?” Wilson asked.
Donny handed it over. “Here, take this one. I’ll read online. And please,” he said, “take your desk back. I gotta grab a few things at the store before heading home.” Both men stood, and Wilson returned to the proper side of his desk.
There was a weak knock at the door, and Wilson looked up. “Hey, Pops,” Eddie said, standing in the doorway. Wilson took one look at his son—the glazed eyes, the Cardinals T-shirt that had been on the floor of Eddie’s room all week, dirty jeans, greasy hair under that baseball cap—and he knew Eddie had never even showered. Just rolled out of bed and started the madness all over again.
“What are you doing here?”
Eddie stumbled past Donny without acknowledging him and plopped onto the couch before Wilson could reach him, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling as if he had the worst news to share. “I don’t know. I just don’t understand why . . . ,” he said, his voice beginning to crack, “nothing I do matters?”
Wilson glanced at Donny and shook his head before answering his son. This was not the time for Donny to ask questions. “Of course what you do matters,” he said in a soft tone, sitting by his child. “You just feel like this because of whatever you’ve taken. You need to stop, Eddie. Please.”
Eddie raised his head and scoffed. “That’s bullshit!” he said, raising his voice. “The drugs didn’t make me feel this way. I took the drugs because I feel this way. I mean, she hates me. No matter what I do. It’s like she’ll never forgive me.”
