Die Smiling (18 page)

Bud's Ford Bronco was parked out in front at the station when Black dropped me off. Good, Bud could drive me home after I finished debriefing Charlie. I hadn't any more than gotten in the front door, however, when I heard Charlie bellowing my name. A minute later Bud came around the corner and strode toward me in a big hurry.

“Charlie saw Nick drop you off. Let's go. He called me in because he wants to talk to us together. I was about to call you. Hurry, he's on the warpath.”

Yeah? No joke.

When we made Charlie's office, he was smoking his pipe, but it didn't look like he was sending up peace signals.

“Sit,” he ordered, but he wasn't nearly as perturbed as I expected, so I quickly considered myself lucky.

We sat. Charlie took a moment to puff on his pipe until it was as inflamed as he was. “What the fuck is going on around here, might I ask?”

I braced myself for the F bomb times twenty, his usual total when frustrated, hoping he had addressed that question to Bud.

“Well, Detective Morgan, I'm waiting here.”

“Yes, sir. We found the body yesterday morning after being sent to check on the victim by her sister, Brianna Swensen. She couldn't reach her by phone and asked Bud to check out her condo. We were on our way to the target range, so I went with him. That's when we discovered the murder victim.”

“Well, that's quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?” He turned his ire on Bud. “I take it by Morgan's statement that you're well acquainted with these two women, right, Davis?”

Bud went for Honest Abe. “I'm dating Brianna Swensen, sir. Have been since New Year's.”

“Oh, is that right? You're dating the victim's sister? Well, so much for that. You're off the fuckin' case. Why am I the last fuckin' person to know what's going on around here?”

“I believe you were out of town until now, sir.” I ventured as hesitantly as I knew how, since I wasn't exactly the hesitant type.

“Yes, I was fuckin' out of town, Detective, but I do have a cell phone that actually fuckin' rings in other places when I'm out of this county. Why the fuck wasn't I apprised of all of this before now?”

Let me explain. Charlie is a Southern Baptist who never takes the Lord's name in vain, but other words less offensive to his religious tenets are fair game. He uses certain obscenities often and enthusiastically and with a great deal of skill, I might add. Bud and I are used to it. We usually don't even flinch. Charlie was fuming, indeed, and he turned to the window and muttered some really unique and inventive versions of the same sentiments. I braced myself, set my shoulders. I wanted Bud back on the job, and I intended to plead his case and take the heat.

As it turned out, when Charlie spun to face us again, the F word was still alive and well, overused, and forceful even. I didn't have time to utter a single syllable because his face went from ruddy/infuriated to ash-white/shocked in about two seconds flat.

Charlie stared, in what appeared to be unbridled horror, at whatever stood in the doorway behind us. Bud and I twisted around in tandem to witness what could possibly have sent him into such a state of hangdog speechlessness. I felt my own face drain because there behind us, not three feet away, stood Charlie's sweet and gracious, born-again, lovely wife, Ellie Lynn Ramsay. Even worse, she had her equally virtuous, straitlaced, and godly minister in tow. I would describe their facial expressions way past startled, sliding in at third to stunned disbelief. The F word was rarely mentioned in their Sunday School lessons, if I had to guess.

Charlie swallowed hard. He looked sheepish. I have never in my life seen him in sheepish mode. It took me a few seconds to get over the sheer amazement of it. Finally, Charlie cleared his throat, gave a weak smile, and said, “Why, Ellie Lynn and Brother Arnold. I didn't see you standing there.”

Yeah, I suspect he
definitely
did not. Brother Arnold was well known to be as kindhearted and generous as the day is long, but I was fairly certain that profanity was not on his to-do list. Bud and I had enough sense to avert our eyes and stare at the wall behind Charlie. I, for one, tried to appear invisible. Charlie now looked red faced and ashamed. Can't say I'd ever seen that in him before, either. He didn't wear it well.

Ellie Lynn Ramsay finally found her voice, but she sounded a bit shaken herself. “Yes, Charles, I can see that you were unaware of our presence. Apparently, we have caught you at a bad time. We'll go now and let you get back to work.”

They went, leaving the door wide open, her prickly barbs no doubt still sticking in her husband's conscience. I didn't dare look at Charlie. Or Bud. Face rock sober, I refocused my eyes on the floor as Charlie sank down in his swivel chair and muttered something a little less obscene under his breath. It was still pretty graphic, nonetheless.

Finally, he said, “Well, I really stepped in that.”

We refused to comment. Charlie got up, rounded his desk, looked down the hall after his retreating wife, then quietly closed his office door. “I guess you know I'm gonna catch hell when I get home tonight.”

I considered that rhetorical and didn't comment. Neither did Bud.

The sheriff went on in a more normal tone of voice. “Okay, that's my problem, and I'll deal with it later. Go ahead. Tell me what you're doing to solve this case.”

I told him. He listened, turning his ancient chair toward the windows. While I ran the case, he rocked back and forth and kept us entertained with screechy-springs music, his eyes glued on the blue sky outside.

“And, sir, I was recently apprised that reporters are now gathered at Cedar Bend demanding to know what happened. Dr. Black asked me to get your permission to hold a press conference. He wants to know exactly what he is permitted to reveal.”

Charlie considered the request for a time, having calmed down considerably. His face was back to his normal reddish hue, his breathing fairly normal. “Hell, I already talked to them once today, and thought I'd given them enough to keep them satisfied for a few days, but I guess not. Let Nick give it a go, I guess. He's damn good at getting people's attention, I'll give him that. I saw him on Court TV the other night, talking about that case where that has-been actor what's his name shot his girlfriend. When does he want to do it? Soon?”

“Yes sir. ASAP. He asked me to call him as soon as you made a decision.”

“Tell him to go ahead with it, but not to give any more than necessary, have him tell them as little as possible, in fact. Go ahead, call him. I bet you've got his private number on speed dial, don't you?”

I did, of course, but, well, bringing it up was uncalled for. “Yes sir, but he's number five. You and Bud are one and two.”

Charlie frowned slightly. Bud grinned a little. It was good to see that he still could dredge up a pleasant expression. He hadn't displayed many lately. I punched the number in, and Black picked up almost immediately, obviously waiting for the okay. “Charlie just gave the go-ahead. He said not to overdo it with the gory details. Make the announcement short, sweet, and to the point.”

“Got you. What time will you be home tonight?”

“Don't know yet. Not early.”

“Why don't you come to my place this time?”

“Oh no, uh-uh. I think not.”

“Jude doesn't bite.”

“But I might.”

“Yeah, I recall.”

I smiled a little at that, remembering, until I caught a glimpse of Charlie's death glare. He didn't blink, either. “It kills me to interrupt your private chitchat, Detective, but we are discussing a freakin' case here.”

Freakin'?
Bud and I exchanged subtle glances, but didn't maintain any eye lock. It looked like Charlie had decided to turn over a new and less blasphemous leaf. I wondered how long he could carry on with such a drastic change of habit.

“Yes sir.” I didn't take offense at his impatience. Charlie was a good man, excellent sheriff, even remained calm most of the time; he just got a tad testy when we had a bloody, horrendous, unsolved murder at the lake. Like now. I said, “Gotta go. We're debriefing Charlie. Call me later.”

Ten minutes later I walked outside and got into the passenger's seat of Bud's Bronco, dreading what I was about to bring up to him. I didn't say anything until we were on the highway heading to my place then I took a deep breath.

“We need to talk, Bud.”

“Yeah? What's up?”

Okay, maybe I'm going to put it off another minute. “How's Brianna feeling?”

“Pretty good, I guess. Except she thinks she wants to view the body.”

“That would not be good.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm discouraging it, big-time.” He glanced across at me. “Okay, what's eatin' you? I know when you're stallin'. Hit me with it; get it over with. Hell, I'm off the case, anyway, what difference does it make?”

That's what happens when you work with somebody for a long time. They know your idiosyncracies and just about everything else about you, too. And this would make a difference to Bud. Irk him, even. “Okay, Bud, but you aren't gonna like it.”

“Probably not. So what? I haven't liked anything that's happened today. Shit, my mood couldn't get worse.”

Au contraire
. “I'm getting some feedback on Brianna's relationship with Hilde, and it's not good.”

Bud's frown dug even deeper vertical lines between his brows. I wasn't used to seeing him so angry and edgy. He was usually the good old boy from Atlanta, grinning and wisecracking and telling goofy stories. “What kind of feedback?”

“People are telling me they didn't get along. That they hated each other's guts, even.”

Bud muttered something, and I duly noted how his fingers clenched tighter around the steering wheel. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Dixson, the photographer, seemed pretty sure of it, and a couple of the girls mentioned the sisters fought a lot.”

“That's pure bullshit. Bri's never said one bad word to me about Hilde.”

“But would she?”

Angry now, Bud jerked the wheel to the right, took us to the curb, stopped, and stared straight ahead, the car still idling. “What the hell's this all about, Claire? Are you sayin' Bri's now a suspect?”

“I'm not saying she is. But I can't say she's not, either.”

“I can.”

“Yeah, well, that might be the reason Charlie pulled you off. No offense, but it's obvious you're not being objective when it comes to Brianna.”

Bud was more than offended and didn't try to hide it. Jamming the gearshift into drive, he swerved out into traffic again. “Bri's incapable of hurting anybody. For God's sake, Claire, you know her, too, how sweet she is. Can you see her slicing off Hilde's mouth and taking shots at us? Get real. Hell, she sent us up there. She wouldn't have done that if she'd just murdered her sister.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It's kinda convenient, don't you think, the way she sent us up there to find the victim? Gives her a pretty convenient alibi.”

“Okay, think whatever you want. I say she didn't have time or opportunity.”

“Maybe she had an accomplice.”

“Oh, get real, Claire, this theory's crazy. It doesn't make sense. If somebody was in it with her, why would she send us up there before he got away?”

“Mixed signals? Or it took longer than he expected to clean up and pose the body?”

“Bullshit. I'm telling you she couldn't do it. You saw her after I told her, she was a basket case.”

“Okay. All I'm saying is when you think about this, Bud, you've got to remain objective.”

“You're tellin' me that? After you jumped into bed with Nick Black when he was number one on our suspect list.”

Bud had me there. “Yeah, and I should never have done that. But I'd already been taken off the case by then, and that makes a big difference. C'mon, Bud, let's not argue about this. Just keep an open mind and keep an eye on her. If somebody else did it, and it was this personal, who knows, he might have it in for both sisters. He might come after Brianna, too.”

“You think I haven't thought about that? Why do you think I'm staying nights at her place?”

“Okay. Give her my best. Tell her I'm thinking about her.”

“Yeah? Just not what you're thinking, right?”

Bud was furious and drove to my house in complete, uncomfortable silence. He dropped me off without a word, backed up, and then spun gravel on the way out. Great. Just what I needed. But I wasn't overly worried. We'd had disagreements before. Deep down, he knew I was right about this. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. Given the time, he would've come to the same conclusions on his own.

One lazy summer day when it was very hot outside and the bees were buzzing around in the pasture behind the barn, the older one and the boy lay naked and entwined in the hayloft behind some bales of hay. The boy had set up his camera on a shelf above them, and he was caressing her intimately, and she had her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his gentle fingers and thinking she couldn't be any happier than she felt at that moment. The spell was broken when somebody thrust open the barn door below them. The boy grabbed her, put his hand over her mouth, and pulled her deeper into the shadows.

Downstairs, they could hear Momma's voice. She was dragging Sissy by the back of her T-shirt, and Sissy was screaming to the top of her lungs for her daddy. But Stepdaddy had taken Bubby to a ball game, so she had no one to rescue her. They quickly grabbed their clothes and put them on, and the boy lifted down the video camera and turned it on Momma as she pulled Sissy bodily up the steps.

“This'll prove that she abuses you guys when her husband's gone,” he whispered.

Momma had the riding crop in her hand, and she was saying awful things about Sissy. Terrible things, even worse than the things she used to say about the older one. Sissy was fighting not to be put into the punishment box, screaming that she was scared, that she couldn't stand to be locked up, but Momma began hitting her with the whip over and over, on the back and legs, until Sissy lay curled in a fetal position, moaning and sobbing.

“I can't let her beat on her like that, I can't,” the boy whispered. Before the older one could stop him, he jumped up with the camera and shouted for Momma to stop. “You better quit hitting her. I got it on video now what you do to your kids!”

Momma whirled around in surprise, eyes still black with rage, and then she started toward them, slapping the crop on her palm. “What you doing up here, you nasty little shit? Screwin' my daughter? You think I don't know how you're always trying to get into her pants? Well, it's gonna stop right now. You're never gonna see her again, so get the hell off my property before I call your snooty doctor mommy and tell her what you've been up to.”

The boy thrust the older one behind him as Momma advanced on them with the crop, ready to protect her, but before they could get away, Sissy was back on her feet, head down, charging Momma from behind. She hit her hard from the side, ramming her toward the edge of the loft. Sissy fell to her knees near the drop-off, but Momma couldn't grab hold of anything and she screamed as she went off the loft and fell to the barn floor twenty feet below.

“Oh, my God,” the older one cried, running to the steps.

Below, Momma lay on her back on the concrete floor, her neck at an impossible angle, the riding crop still clutched in one hand. The older one started down, but the boy grabbed her by the arm and stopped her. “Don't go down there, she's already dead. Look at her head. The fall broke her neck.”

The older one started to cry, but Sissy moved on her hands and knees and peered over the loft's edge at her mother's body. “Good. I hope she's dead. I hope I killed her. I hate her.”

The older one stared at her, and the boy turned the older one's horrified face to make her look at him. He smiled. “Now we've got Sissy exactly where we want her, babe. She killed your Momma, and they'll put her away forever for that. You're free of both of them.”

Sissy looked up, and the older one stared at the red, angry slash marks across her arms and legs, and then Sissy scrambled toward her and clutched her around the knees. “No, please, please, don't tell on me, please, I'll do anything you say. I'll be good. I'll wait on you and give you anything of mine you ever want. Please, please, don't tell Daddy I pushed her.”

The older one cried harder because Momma was dead, and she did love her after all. Momma had been treating her nice for a long time now, but she understood why Sissy did it. How many times had she wanted to hurt Momma, kill her in awful, painful ways?

The boy grabbed up Sissy and shook her by the shoulders. “You better do what I say, every single thing I say, because I got you murdering your mom on tape. I filmed every bit of it. From now on, you're going to be our little slave girl, and you're going to do everything I say or this tape goes straight to the police.”

Sissy stared up at them, her blue eyes huge, frightened. She nodded slowly, and the boy smiled. “That's a good little slave girl. Now all we have to do is make this look like an accident.” He paced back and forth along the hay bales, thinking, and then he stopped in front of the older one. “When's Russell coming back with Bubby?”

“In a couple of hours, I guess.”

“Okay, this's what we're gonna do. Sissy, get inside that box and we'll lock it. That'll make the cops think you couldn't have pushed her. I'm gonna fix the steps to look like the rail broke off and made her fall. Then the two of us will go back to my house and tell my parents we've been out in the Winnebago all afternoon playing games. My sisters will back that up. Then we'll hang around with them and my sisters in the house, so we'll have an airtight alibi. Your daddy will find her when he gets home and figure she accidentally fell down the steps, and then everyone will find out how she put Sissy in the punishment box and know how she used to abuse you. It's perfect.”

“Yeah, perfect!” cried Sissy, and then she actually smiled as she crawled calmly into the box and let the boy set the padlock.

The older one burst into tears again and fell to her knees, overcome with emotion, but she wasn't quite sure why. The boy gathered her into his arms and comforted her and kissed her hair, and when he told her everything was going to be all right, she believed that, too.