Final Justice (48 page)

She turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

Sara waited till well after midnight to leave the house. The children were sound asleep, and Tim was working night shift. She parked in the alley behind the Bulldog Cafe, so her car would not be noticed if anyone was riding around at such an hour.

She saw the lights were on in the third floor of the courthouse. Floyd Dixon, the part-time jailer and also married to her second cousin, was also working. He was there because of Emma Jean, and so was she.

Entering the courthouse through the basement, she made her way upstairs. Floyd was asleep behind the desk, snoring loudly. The door to the narrow corridor between the barred cells was open. Stepping inside, she closed it after her.

"Emma Jean," she called softly. "It's me, Sara."

There was no answer, and she walked past the cells to the one on the end, next to the window. A street light cast eery shadows, but she could make out a narrow cot against one wall, a toilet, sink, and, sitting on the floor staring up at the barred window was Emma Jean.

Sara used the back of her wedding right to tap on the bars. "Emma Jean, are you all right?"

The voice that responded was wispy as a dandelion. "Go away."

"Not till you talk to me. You're in big trouble, Emma Jean, because Burch wants you to go to prison for killing Rudy, but I know it was self-defense. And that's what you've got to tell them, and..."

"I don't care," Emma Jean whipped her head about to say defiantly, "and I just want to die. Now leave me alone."

Emma Jean looked like someone gone mad, her eyes dark and sunken, hair matted and wild about her stricken face. "My God, what have they done to you?"

"Nothing. They haven't done nothing. They leave me alone like I want you to do." She turned her face back to the window.

"I can't understand why you've given up. What about Luke? Don't you care about him, anymore? Good grief, honey, folks say you shot him, and I know you could never do that. He started waking up today. Alma won't let me in to see him, but I'll find a way. When he hears about you, he's going to want you to fight, and..."

Sara's voice trailed as she saw Emma Jean slowly, shakily, crawling toward the bars, one hand extended like a starving beggar groveling for a bread crumb.

"Luke is going to live? But they said he never would... that the doctors couldn't get the bullet out of his head, that he was going to die..."

Sara dropped to her knees so they were facing each other. "They did get the bullet out. He's been in a coma, but I think he's going to be fine. And so are you, if you'll fight this thing." Rage boiled like water in a tea kettle as she demanded, "Who told you that?"

"Mr. Cleghorn. He said the doctors told him there was no hope. And he also said everybody thinks I shot him because he wouldn't leave Alma for me. But that's not so. I'd never hurt Luke. God knows, I wouldn't. I love him, Sara." She began to cry.

Sara reached through the bars to pat her shoulder, wishing she were inside to hold and comfort her. "I know you do. And you know why Burch lied? He doesn't want you to fight. He wants you to give up so it will be easier for him. With everyone thinking you're a home-wrecker and a cold-blooded murderer, it makes him a kind of hero to help put you away. Then they'll start forgetting about what he did. That's what he's after. He doesn't care about you."

Emma Jean wailed, "Oh, Lordy, Sara, what am I going to do? I thank God Luke is going to live, but there's no hope for me. I
did
kill Rudy. Don't you see? I stabbed him with a butcher knife."

"But he was beating you, wasn't he? It was self-defense. He'd beaten you before, and you couldn't take it, anymore. That's what you can say, and with Luke to back you up, the jury will believe you."

"No, they won't. They'll say he's only doing it because we've been sleeping together. But maybe they would if Matt would take up for me, too. After all, he was there that time I lost the baby. He saw me all bruised up, and..." Noting Sara's expression, she asked fearfully, "What's wrong?"

"He won't get involved. Nobody would dare to except for me and Luke. I won't be any good as a witness because I never saw Rudy beat you or any sign he had. Now your trial starts next week, and if you let Burch plead you guilty it's going to be cut and dried. You'll be sentenced right away, unless you stand up for yourself and say it was self-defense."

"But he won't let me."

"He can't stop you. And you don't even have to let him know ahead of time you plan to do it. The judge will ask how you plead, and you just shout out 'not guilty' and then explain how you did it in self-defense. You can say Rudy was beating you like he'd been doing for a long time, and something snapped and you couldn't take it, anymore."

"I... I could do that," Emma Jean said, spirit beginning to stir. "I could tell everything that happened that night and hope and pray they believe me."

"Tell
me,"
Sara prodded. "Tell
me
exactly what happened. Every single detail. Don't hold anything back."

Emma Jean pulled herself up to sit next to the bars. Swallowing hard, she tried to think of how to put the horror into words. Finally, with a deep, ragged breath, she told her story.

* * *

He had entered the bedroom carrying the butcher knife, bellowing his fury.

"You been screwin' around with him, you little whore. It took me a while, but I finally figured out that damn window was busted from the inside. Not the outside. There weren't no burglar that night. I caught you two, only I didn't know it then."

Emma Jean shrank away from him, whimpering in terror. "No, Rudy, no. It's not like that. You've gotta believe me."

He backhanded her so hard lights flashed before her eyes as she was knocked against the wall. He hit her again with his open palm, making her fall sideways. Another backhand sent her reeling the other way like a pendulum.

"Rudy, please, don't..." Blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

His fist slammed into her belly, and when she rolled into a fetal position, he yanked her off the bed and threw her to the floor and kicked her. "I told you if I ever caught you screwin' around, I'd make you sorry you was born. I should've known you'd never change. You was a whore when I met you, but you're gonna learn no woman cheats on me. I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't never forget.

"Now get back on that bed." He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted, painfully pulling her up to her feet.

Emma Jean was howling with pain. Again, he made a fist and hit her in her chest. She was struggling to breathe, wheezing sounds coming from deep in her throat.

He threw her down on the bed, turning her on her stomach and then stripped off his clothes. "I'll give you something to cry about, you little bitch." Yanking his leather belt from his trousers, he brought it down viciously across her back. "Now lay there and take what you got comin' and don't you make a sound."

Through the misting anguish that blurred her vision, she could barely see the knife he had laid aside on the orange crate table next to the bed. Fingers clawing at the sheets as he shoved himself painfully into her from the rear, the thought came to her that she would rather cut her own throat than endure another second of tormented degradation. She loved Luke. Deeply and truly she did. But he was not free, and neither was she and never would be. There was no place for her to escape the madness except the grave.

Slowly, her hand snaked out for the knife. Lost in his perverse lust Rudy did not notice. Her trembling hands closed about the handle, and she began sliding it towards her. It would be over soon. A quick, sharp slash to her throat, and she would quickly bleed to death. She only prayed that Luke would escape Rudy's wrath. Surely, with her dead, he would leave Luke alone. It would be over.

Suddenly, Rudy flipped her roughly over on her back. "You're gonna finish it for me, whore. I'll bet you do it for him all the time, don't you? Well, you won't do it again, 'cause I'm gonna cut his dick off before I kill him. Oh, yeah, I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna make him squeal like a pig on butcherin' day."

Like the puncturing fangs of a rattlesnake, Rudy's threat against Luke ignited rage and rebellion unlike anything Emma Jean had ever known before. She bit down. Hard. Twisting, pulling, tearing. She tasted blood but did not let go.

And in her hysterical insanity, she plunged the knife into him again and again.

* * *

Emma Jean slumped to the floor, sobbing quietly. Sara was also crying and murmured, "It's okay, honey. You aren't to blame."

But Sara feared a jury might think differently, even if Luke was able to testify about Rudy's beating her in the past. It had been a brutal killing, and only someone who had experienced such cruelty and humiliation could empathize. It would, sadly, be a hard case to prove, especially with a lawyer who was secretly sacrificing his client for his own gain.

Sara sat with her until Emma Jean quieted, then said she was going to see what she could do to help.

Emma Jean asked her to please try to sneak back and let her know how Luke was doing. "And tell him I love him. I never told him that before, and it's important he know."

"I'll tell him," Sara managed a smile. "But I think he already does."

* * *

Sara drove through the night but did not want to go home just yet. Finally, as it started getting light, she felt the need to go to the Veazey house to see where it had happened. There was a wreath, signifying a death in the house, tied with string through holes in the screen door. The flowers were dried, the leaves crumpled, and the ribbon hung limp. She tried the door. It was locked.

She turned away, not knowing what she had been looking for, anyway. Walls could not talk. Neither could the chickens, who were beginning to come out of the hen house. Someone, probably Sid Dootree looking out for things since he owned the house and the land, had filled the feeder with mash, and the chickens were migrating toward it, cackling softly among themselves as the rooster crowed to herald the dawn.

Sara turned toward the car, but, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something or someone emerging from the roost house. She whipped about in time to see a woman run around the side to disappear behind it. Sara's heart quickened. Maybe there was someone who might be able to help Emma Jean after all.

Chapter 29

"Come on, Luke, tell us who did it," Matt asked, not for the first time. He and Kirby stood on opposite sides of the hospital bed. It had been nearly a week since Luke had awakened, and it was the first time the doctors felt he could be questioned.

The bed was rolled up to a sitting position. Luke was sipping a cup of coffee. "Like I said. I'll take care of it myself."

Kirby argued, "But you aren't going to be out of here for a while. We need to go ahead and make an arrest. Just give us the name."

"There's no hurry," Luke said quietly. "They aren't going anywhere."

Matt and Kirby looked at each other, then Matt said, "So there was more than one."

"Of course there was. Now stop yammering at me about it and tell me what's been going on." He longed to ask about Emma Jean but didn't dare. He wondered where Sara was, why she hadn't been to see him. She'd not only fill him in but also get a message to Emma Jean. Since waking up, he'd had little to do but lay there and think. And what he thought about the most was how he wanted to get out of the hospital so he could make plans to leave town. And he was taking Emma Jean with him, by God. All the hammers had struck, his mother now rested in peace, and he could, finally, get on with his life.

Again, Matt and Kirby exchanged glances, but Luke did not notice.

"Well, actually, nothing's been going on," Matt said. He had promised Alma he wouldn't tell Luke about Emma Jean murdering Rudy, how she was going on trial, none of it. Alma said the doctors had told her Luke wasn't up to handling anything stressful for a while. It made sense to Matt. Besides, Luke couldn't do anything about it, anyway. Better to get it over with. He'd be plenty mad later, but Matt figured that was Alma's problem. He was just cooperating.

Kirby chimed in, "Yeah, the only thing folks talk about is you, wondering who did it, and..."