After Dark (30 page)

    "Promise me that you'll calm
down and act reasonable and I'll get T. C. and Mike to let you go,"
Buddy offered. "But I've got to have your word that you'll behave yourself."

    "I'll behave myself."
Glenn ceased his struggling, but his agitated breathing sounded like a
snorting bull preparing to charge. "All I want is some answers to
my questions."

    Buddy motioned to the officers
flanking Glenn. "Let him go."

    They followed orders and released
Glenn, who immediately dragged a handkerchief from his back pocket
and wiped the sweat from his fat, red face. "Me and Jackie's uncle
Ronnie are making funeral arrangements for her and I need to know when
her body will be released."

    Buddy sighed, undeniable relief
spreading through him. The last tiling he needed was to have to lock up
Jackie's boyfriend. The sooner the Jackie Cummings situation was over
and done with and the woman was buried, the better for everyone involved,
especially for Mary Martha. That was the reason he had demanded an immediate
autopsy. Get the death ruled a suicide and put an end to it.

    "Why don't you come on into
my office, Glenn." Buddy waved an invitation. He waited for his guest
to precede him into his private quarters, before following him and
closing the door behind them.

    Have a seat." Buddy indicated
a wooden chair in the center of the room, then positioned his hip on the
edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I asked Doc Thompson,
as a favor to me, to get the autopsy done today if possible. He finished
up about thirty minutes ago and sent his report right on over. I've got it
right here." Curving sideways, Buddy reached behind him on the
sturdy metal desk and picked up a file folder. "You can call over to
the funeral home and have them pick up Jackie's body in the morning."

    Tears pooled in Glenn's eyes. Poor
bastard, Buddy thought. Apparently he really had loved Jackie, despite
the fact that probably a fourth of the men in town had bonked her at least
once. Hell, he could remember back in high school when Jackie had spread
her legs for him and half the football team.

    "Did Doc Thompson agree that
Jackie shot herself?" Glenn asked, then blew his nose loudly into
his sweat-stained, white handkerchief.

    Buddy lifted the folder, slapped
it down on the open palm of his hand and sighed dramatically. "I'm afraid
so."

    Making a sound somewhere between
a snort and groan, Glenn shook his head repeatedly. "But it don't make
no sense to me. She didn't have no reason to kill herself. We were talking
about getting married, and she said that… well, that she was coming into
some money soon."

    "I can let you read a copy of
the suicide note, if you'd like," Buddy said. "But Miss Edith
has already taken a look and said the handwriting was Jackie's all
right."

    "Not doubting Miss Edith's
word or nothing, but I'd like to take a look at that note all the same."
Glenn lifted his wide butt just a fraction and stuffed his handkerchief
in the back pocket of his pants.

    Buddy opened the folder and flipped
through the pages, then lifted a sheet of copy paper and handed it to
Glenn, whose hand quivered just a tad when he reached for the suicide note.
As he scanned the message slowly, seeming to study each word, fresh tears
formed in his eyes. He swallowed several times, apparently struggling
to keep from boo-hooing like a baby.

    Buddy knew the words by heart He
had read the damn tiling at least a dozen times. Please forgive me for
taking the coward's way out. I've done some terrible things in my life,
but I hope that God will take me on up to heaven despite all my sins. If
there was any other way. But there's not. I am so very sorry. Jackie.

    The message said a whole lot,
yet didn't really explain a damn tiling. But he had seen suicide messages
that said less. And he had worked numerous cases where the person
hadn't even left a note.

    "I'm telling you, Buddy, this
note don't make no more sense than Jackie killing herself." Glenn's
tight clutch wrinkled the paper. "Surely to goodness if something
that bad was bothering her, she would've told me."

    Buddy slid off the desk and walked
over to Glenn, then placed his hand on the man's shoulder and gave him a
comforting squeeze. "I'm awful sorry about this, and I know you've
got questions that I can't answer. But they're questions nobody can answer
except poor old Jackie. Something awful must have been bearing on her
mind for her to have resorted to suicide."

    "I just can't believe she did
it." Glenn sniffed several times, sucking back tears. "She
didn't own a gun. I don't think she even knew how to use one."

    Buddy patted him on the back.
"The evidence is clear. Doc Thompson and I agree that Jackie shot
herself. We may never know why. And as far as the gun goes, well… she took
it from Mr. John Graham's collection that was stored in the attic. Miss
Edith distinctly remembers telling Jackie about the collection one day
when they were discussing Miss Edith's collection of teapots."

    Glenn stood. The letter fell from
his hand and floated to the tiled floor. Buddy wrapped his arm around
Glenn's broad shoulders and walked him out of his office, through the police
station and outside to where his old Chevy pickup was parked by the
curb. The sweltering sun hung low in the western sky, preparing for sundown.
Glancing up and down the street, Buddy noted that there wasn't much traffic
and the sidewalks were nearly empty. Noble's Crossing rolled up the streets,
becoming a quiet, sleepy little town. And that was the way he liked
things. Nothing wild and wooly going on, at least not out in public. Nope,
all the sex and sin in Noble's Crossing went on behind closed doors.
Mostly.

    "You take care now,"
Buddy said. "And let me know about the arrangements for Jackie's funeral.
Miss Edith will want to attend. And of course, I'll be there."

    "That's mighty fine of Miss
Edith. Jackie sure did admire that woman. She was all excited when she
got the job as Mary Martha's nurse." Glenn choked up. Pursing his
lips, he strained to keep from crying.

    Glenn got into the truck, looked
point-blank at Buddy and shook his head. Tears trickled down his chubby
cheeks.

    When the truck disappeared up
Third Street, Buddy heaved a sigh of great relief. He had been dreading
the confrontation with Glenn, not knowing for sure if he could convince
Jackie's lover that she really had committed suicide.

    Once back in his office, Buddy removed
his cellular telephone from where it was clipped to his belt. Best to
use his private phone for this call. He punched in the familiar number.

    They sure as hell had themselves
a mess with Mary Martha. After all these years of emotional and mental
problems, why had she chosen now, of all times, to try to take her own life?
Was it because she simply couldn't live without Kent? Or was it possible
that waking and finding Jackie dead, she had just acted on impulse? Or
had Mary Martha not been asleep and actually witnessed Jackie's death?

    Edith answered on the third ring.
"Hello."

    He figured she had been waiting
to hear from him. "Glenn Manis was just in to see me and I've dealt
with that problem. He's confused and in a lot of pain; but we talked
things over, and I think he'll accept the facts without stirring up a
stink. After all, what else can he do?"

    "I'm not concerned about
that nitwit Manis," Edith snapped. "Johnny Mack Cahill is the man
we need to be worried about"

    "I don't think Johnny Mack would
do anything to hurt Mary Martha."

    ''You idiot! No, he'd prefer not
harming Mary Martha, but he will if he thinks it will help Lane. Haven't
you got sense enough to know that if we don't find a way to get rid of him,
he's going to repeat those vile things he said about Kent? And what happens
if someone believes him?"

    Buddy squinched his eyes and gritted
his teeth as his face contorted with anger. Damn the woman! Was Kent's reputation
all that concerned her? "Those vile things he said about Kent were
true. Your precious son damaged Mary Martha beyond repair."

    "Don't you think I know that. I
have to live with that knowledge every day of my life… every time I look
at Mary Martha." Edith cleared her throat. "We have to do something
about Johnny Mack. And the sooner the better."

    ‘’What do you have in mind?"

    "I'll come by your house tonight,
late. And we'll discuss our options."

    "Ten o'clock?"

    "Eleven," she replied
and then hung up.

    Buddy clipped his cell phone on
his belt and fell back into the swivel chair behind his desk. If he knew
Miss Edith, and he did, discussing ways to deal with Johnny Mack wouldn't
be her top priority tonight. Getting laid would.

    Johnny Mack didn't want ten inches
between them, let alone ten feet. But he simply sat there on the sofa in
the den and watched Lane pace the floor. She had been nervous and edgy since
their return from the hospital. At first he'd chalked it up to concern
over Mary Martha. But Mary Martha had survived her suicide attempt
and, after a few days in the hospital, would return home. And Will wasn't
the cause of Lane's distress. Once the boy had seen for himself that his
aunt was all right, he had calmed down. So that left only one thing-Lane's
agitation was probably due to the little bomb he had exploded in Miss
Edith's face. A truth bomb, that would no doubt leave more than one casualty
in its wake.

    "Want to talk about it?"
he asked.

    "Yes, I want to talk about
it." Lane halted, planted her hands on her hips and confronted him.
"Knowing the truth about what Kent did to Mary Martha, why didn't you
do something? Why didn't you tell someone?"

    "What should I have done?"
he asked. "Who should I have told?"

    "You could have gone to Mr.
John or Miss Edith and told them. Or you could have gone to the police."

    "And Mr. John and Miss Edith would
have believed me, wouldn't they? And there was no reason the police wouldn't
take the word of a trailer trash bastard over the word of the town's golden
boy, was there?"

    Johnny Mack got to his feet, reached
out and grabbed Lane's hands. She resisted at first, but when he tugged
her toward him, she went willingly. "When Mary Martha told me that
Kent had been sexually abusing her since she was eleven, she was
half-drunk and upset with me because I wouldn't… because I'd turned her
down. Hell, a part of me didn't even believe her."

    "But a part of you did."

    "Yeah, but dammit, Lane, there
was nobody in this town who would have believed me. And my guess is that
in the cold, hard light of day, with Kent at her side, Mary Martha would have
denied it and called me a liar to my face."

    "You could have gone to my
father. He-"

    "He would have wanted to believe
me, but he would have had a difficult time taking my word over Kent's.''
Johnny Mack slipped his arm around her waist. "Your father liked me,
but we both know if he could have chosen a husband for you, it would have
been Kent."

    "Yes, it would have been.
And Daddy would have been wrong in that choice." Lane laid her head
on Johnny Mack's chest and wrapped her arms around him. "How could we
have all been so blind to Kent's true nature? I knew that after he started
drinking he turned into a vicious, vindictive monster, but I had no
idea---Poor Mary Martha."

    "Kent Graham deserved to die
the way he did- beaten to a pulp." Johnny Mack stroked Lane's back, caressing
her tenderly. "Whoever killed him hated him, that's for sure."

    ‘’You don't think Mary Martha…"
Lane groaned.

    "Perhaps. Or maybe even Miss
Edith. And I wouldn't rule out Buddy Lawler. He knew about Kent's relationship
with Mary Martha, and I'd say that man would do just about anything for
her."

    "But Miss Edith and Mary Martha
were together when Kent was killed. And Buddy was downtown at his office."

    "Mmm-mmm."

    "What are you thinking?"
Lane lifted her head from his chest and gazed up into his eyes.

    "I'm wondering if there's
any connection between Jackie Cummings's so-called suicide and Kent's
murder."

    "What do you mean so-called
suicide?"

    "Call me a male chauvinist
pig if you want to, but it's my opinion that as a general rule, women
don't use guns when they commit suicide."

    Lane grasped Johnny Mack's forearms,
the act putting some space between them. "What do you mean?"

    "Honey, men blow their brains
out. Women take pills."

    "The way Mary Martha
did."

    "Yeah."

    '' So that means you think Jackie
didn’t kill herself.''

    "I think somebody went to an
awful lot of trouble to make it look like suicide, even down to writing
a phony suicide note. But the question is why?"

    "And the answer is?" Lane
asked.

    "The answer is that Jackie
Cummings knew something she wasn't supposed to know and somebody killed
her to keep her quiet."