Hard Twisted (28 page)

Look at me, I said.

She smeared her face with her wrist. Clint said it didn't matter whether I was innocent or not, that the police would charge me with accessory anyways.

Accessory to murder, you mean.

No, sir. Not murder. I didn't know my pa was dead then, I swear it.

But you must've thought something was fishy when you got that letter.

He told me about accessory before that.

Who told you?

Clint. Clint told me.

The men shared another glance.

Go on.

That's about it. I know it don't sound right to you, but you wasn't there. You wasn't there, and you wasn't me, and you wasn't with him.

The sheriff leaned back in the chair. All right. It don't make no sense, but that's all right. It never does. He closed the file and lifted it and dropped it onto the desk. Bill?

Lucile, did you and Mr. Palmer ever go through any kind of a wedding ceremony?

No, sir.

Did he ever give you a ring?

Uh-uh. No.

Did you ever think in your own mind that the two of you were actually married?

No, sir. He told folks we was, but I knowed we wasn't.

There goes your bigamy charge, the sheriff said.

Yeah, but there goes his privilege claim. The lawyer made another note. I'll take that deal any day.

Sir?

And when you got back to the Palmer place in Peerless, you heard him say to the old man ... Wait a minute. The lawyer opened his briefcase and removed some papers that were clipped together and he flipped through the pages. You heard him say, I'm hot in Utah. And the old man said, You're hot here too. Is that about right?

That's what I heard. Yes, sir.

And what did Palmer say after his father told him that?

Nothin. They just went outside together and talked.

After the old man went and got dressed.

That's right.

And the Smith girl, she heard this as well?

I reckon. She was standin right there.

The lawyer made some lengthy notes and then he looked to the sheriff and shrugged. The sheriff snuffed his cigarette and rose with his keys jangling and walked to the door and called into the hallway.

Sir?

Yes, Lucile?

I was wonderin how long I got to stay here in the jailhouse.

The lawyer looked to the sheriff in the doorway. For right now, you're what's called a material witness, Lucile. That means you've got to stay until after the trial at least. Clint Palmer's trial.

Okay.

And then I guess it depends on what happens. Whether you cooperate or not, and whether he's convicted. Cuz if he's not convicted here, there's folks up in Utah want to get their hands on him real bad.

A different deputy entered the room and stood behind her and placed her in handcuffs, and nobody spoke again as he lifted her by the arm and steered her to the door.

They passed back through the hallway to her cell, and there he removed the heavy cuffs and she sat down on the cot and rubbed her wrists as the door clanged shut and the bolt slid home with a sound that made her jump.

Five days after her arrest she was told by the matron that a motion to change venue had been granted, and that Palmer's trial for the murder of her father would be held not in the courthouse across the parking lot, but at the Hunt County courthouse in Greenville.

Nine days after her arrest she was led in handcuffs once again to the same windowless room. Awaiting her this time were the sheriff and four other men, all of them seated in a semicircle around an empty chair. A typewriter sat on the desk, and once she was herself seated and her handcuffs removed, the man behind the typewriter nodded.

The justice of the peace introduced himself as Mr. Wyatt and asked her to stand again and raise her right hand to be sworn. Then Sheriff Lawrence Palmer and District Attorney Donald
Adams, who had driven together from San Juan County, Utah, questioned her each in turn.

They were young and earnest men, and they queried her at length about her time in John's Canyon, and about all that had happened there. The typewriter clattered as she spoke. She told them the truth, or such truth as might be gained from the story of a girl who was herself no longer the girl of her story.

Over the course of her interrogation, Lottie learned that both of the cattlemen's bodies had been recovered from a ledge overlooking the river gorge, and that Norris Shumway, the boy known to her as Jake, had died of a gunshot wound to the face, and that he'd all but been decapitated with an ax.

If the men who questioned her knew anything about the missing Navajo herders, they did not care enough to ask.

At the end of their questioning, which lasted over an hour, they told the local sheriff they were returning the Goulding car to Utah, and when Lottie asked that they let Mike and Harry know that she was all right, the Utah sheriff said he didn't plan on speaking to either one of them, either now or in the future, not if he had any say in the matter.

A month after her arrest Lottie was taken in handcuffs to a room on the ground floor of the jailhouse. Men spoke in the anteroom and watched her through the open doorway as a typewriter tapped and papers were shuffled and stapled and stamped. From there she was handed a blanket and led outside to a waiting car.

A deputy leaned on the fender. He folded his newspaper and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Then he opened the rear door and eased her inside with a hand pressed to the crown of her head.

Where we goin? she asked as the engine started, but the man did not answer.

They drove past planted fields and running creeks and trees that dappled the windscreen. The day was sunny and warm and farmers were in the fields and trucks and other cars on the road. At a crossroads in Commerce, the deputy honked and waved to a filling-station attendant, who raised a hand in reply.

The ride took almost an hour, and the driver never spoke.

The Hunt County courthouse filled an entire city block. On the sidewalk, heads turned to watch as the handcuffed girl in the blanket and slippers clap-clapped her way up the wide concrete steps. Once inside, Lottie was taken to an office where sheriff's deputies in green uniforms were waiting, and where the driver removed her handcuffs, and where another deputy replaced them with handcuffs of his own.

Watch she don't slip through them bars, the driver said as he left.

They sat her in a chair by the door. A deputy spoke on the telephone and a typist glanced at her and smiled. Soon a uniformed matron appeared, and documents were exchanged, and together the matron and the girl rode the elevator up to the fifth floor where the women's cells were located.

It was the first time Lottie had ever been inside an elevator.

The cell doors in Greenville were open bars, and she could see the other prisoners in their street clothes pacing or sitting or lying on their cots. The corridor smelled of cigarette smoke and shit and perfume, and when they passed the cell of Helen Smith, the redhead sprang to her feet.

Lucile! Hey, it's me! Hey!

The girl continued shouting, but her voice was drowned by a
chorus of other voices that told her to shut up or said Fuck you and Stupid white whore.

Lottie's cell was at the end of the row, and through her window bars she could see the street below, and the rooftops of the brick buildings opposite, and the green expanse of trees and fields that stretched for miles beyond the city limit. After nightfall, when the outer dark was absolute, the lights went off in the cellblock and the women called to one another and called to her by name, saying, Lucile! Oh, Lu-ceel! but she did not answer them.

The day after Lottie's arrival in Greenville the matron brought to her cell her old boots and her old clothes newly laundered and folded and stayed to watch her dress. She was then led without handcuffs down the corridor and through an iron gate to a stairwell, and from there down a wide hallway to a conference room on the third floor where she sat alone listening to the sounds of people milling in the hallway. Some of them laughing. A child crying. And then, after almost an hour of waiting, the door finally opened and two men entered.

One was a lawman in a crisp green uniform with stars on his collar and a gun holstered low on his hip. The other was a lawyer in a vested suit and rimless wire spectacles. They each carried cups of heavy ceramic, and the man in the suit had an extra cup for her.

Miss Garrett? How do you do. I'm Henry Pharr, and this is Sheriff Newton. I hope you take it black.

They sat on either side of where she stood at the head of the table. The sheriff removed his hat and set it on the table and blew into his coffee. Your show, he said to the lawyer as Lottie sank into her seat. The lawyer showed his teeth.

Miss Garrett, I don't know how much you've been told, so let me take a moment to bring you up to speed. Our trial is scheduled to start on Tuesday. That's April the ninth. Mr. Palmer's lawyers have filed a motion for a continuance and a motion to quash the indictment, but I expect those to be denied. That means with any luck we should have you on the witness stand by Thursday afternoon. Friday morning at the latest. How does that sound to you?

Lottie blinked.

I've read your witness statements and I've spoken with Bill Fannin at some length, and I want you to know right up front that we understand the predicament you were in, and that nobody here blames you for what happened to your father or for any of that business up in Utah. As far as we're concerned, you were just as much a victim of Mr. Palmer as any of them. You believe me, don't you?

Yes, sir. She nodded. Thank you.

Excellent. Now Mr. Palmer has already confessed to the two murders he committed up in Utah, but none of that matters here in Texas. If we're to win a conviction here, we'll need your full and complete cooperation. You understand that, don't you?

The sheriff leaned sideways. The man asked you a question.

What do you want me to do?

The lawyer smiled again. It's very simple, Lucile. Just tell the jurors exactly what you've already sworn to in your statements.

Can't you just read 'em the statements?

I'm afraid it's not that simple. You see, your statements are what we call hearsay evidence. They can only be used for impeachment purposes.

Sir?

Impeachment. So for example, if you were to lie or to change your testimony, then I could use your statement to show that you lied. But that would be foolish, because lying to the court is a crime. In fact, it's just about the stupidest crime a witness can commit. You understand that, don't you?

Yes, sir.

All right then.

Will Clint be there at the trial?

Yes, he will. He'll be seated at the defense table with his lawyers. But don't worry, you don't have to look at him. In fact, I'd prefer that you don't.

So what do you want me to say?

Let's don't worry about that just now. We'll have a chance to go over all of this again before you actually testify. But there's one thing we need you to do for us first. And by that I mean today. Right now in fact.

What is it?

The lawyer glanced at the sheriff as he sipped from his cup.

Without getting overly complicated, it will be the state's burden to prove that Mr. Palmer was the killer. But before we can even get to that, it's also the state's burden to show that your father, Dillard Garrett, was the victim. We expect the defense to challenge that fact by arguing that the skeleton that was found up in Peerless wasn't your father's at all. Or at least that we can't prove it was your father's beyond a reasonable doubt. They may try to claim that your father is still alive, for example, and that the skeleton belongs to somebody else altogether. Do you understand what I'm getting at?

I guess.

Good. Very good. Now, what we'd like to do today is to take
you downstairs and show you the skeleton. I know that may be difficult for you, but I'm afraid we have no alternative. We've got a doctor from Baylor College who's an expert in these things, but all he can say for sure is that the skeleton belongs to a male of a certain age and height, and that the head was decapitated while the victim was still alive.

The girl blanched. The men shared another glance.

I'm sorry, Lucile. I thought they told you.

They waited, both watching the girl.

Are you okay?

I guess I never thought about it is all. How he done it.

That's all right. The lawyer checked his watch. You just take your time. But if you're up to it, we'd like to go downstairs right now. Is that all right with you?

The matron was waiting outside the door. The two men flanked Lottie as they walked, with the matron following behind them. Heads turned in the hallway and on the staircase. An attendant rose from his stool as they reached the basement landing, and a windowless door was opened with a key on a chain. The matron and the attendant waited outside.

The sheriff threw the lights. The room was a kind of storeroom, with a low, raftered ceiling and shelving on the walls and in stacks that ran in long and ordered rows. It smelled of dust, and mildew, and old cardboard.

They threaded their way toward the back, to where a table lay covered in a thin white sheet, the caged bulb overhead imparting a topographic grid onto the contours of what lay beneath it.

The men did not speak as they flanked the table, each taking a
corner. Then the lawyer nodded and they lifted the shroud and walked it to where the girl stood waiting at the foot of the table.

What she'd expected to see was a Halloween skeleton of clean white bones and hollow eyes and clenched and grinning teeth. What she saw instead beneath the shroud was the kind of jumbled game skeleton she might have found in the spring woods of her childhood, the kind with clumps of hair and naked tendons and brown and shrunken hide that clung yet to the twisted bones like something melted in a fire.

She vomited onto her boots. Her knees sagged, and the lawyer's arm was around her and helping her to a chair, where she sat with her head lowered and where the smell of her own sickness caused her to heave and vomit once again.