Parker 02 - The Guilty (32 page)

The Roberts family was buried in a closed-casket service

presided over by Reverend Bert Brown. During his concluding

remarks, Reverend Brown asked the heavenly father that the

bodies of these four souls be looked after in heaven, and that

any earthly remains not in these coffins find that everlasting

peace.

Any earthly remains not in these coffins...

The Guilty

269

I immediately picked up the phone and dialed information

for Hico, Texas. An automated voice answered.

"What listing?"

"I'd like the main number for the Hamilton County coroner's office."

"One moment, please."

Muzak played in the background. I tuned out the

newsroom chatter. Frank Rourke walked by the mail drop,

turned and eyed me for what seemed like minutes, then kept

walking.

"Hello, sir?"

"Yeah, sorry," I said. "Who is this?"

"Well, my name is Helen, but I'm afraid there is no

coroner's office in Texas."

"Do you mean Hamilton, Texas, or Texas as a whole?"

"I'm afraid that would be Texas as a whole."

"Then who's in charge of supervising wrongful death cases?"

"That would be the Justice of the Peace, sir."

"Then can I be connected to the office of the current Justice

of the Peace?"

"Ab-so-lutely."

A minute passed as the line rang. Another woman picked

up, her voice cheerful.

"Office of Justice Waverly, this is Brenda, how may I assist

you?"

"Hi, Brenda," I said, trying to make my voice sound as

young as possible. Brenda sounded to be either in her late

fifties or late teens. An aunt type. And aunts loved their young

nephews. "My name is Henry Parker, and I'm with the
New

York Gazette.
I'm a junior reporter."

"Oh, a junior reporter all the way up there in New York?

That's wonderful. How can we help you, Henry?"

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Jason Pinter

"If it's possible, I'd very much like to speak with Justice

Waverly."

"Oh now, Justice Waverly is eating his breakfast and he

doesn't like being disturbed during breakfast. Do you know

that man can eat an entire stack of blueberry pancakes in one

sitting? I swear I ain't seen nothing like it ever."

"That's fantastic, Brenda, really, but it's incredibly important I speak with him. We've had four homicides here in New

York. And I think they might be related to an old case involving deaths in Hamilton County. Hico, to be exact."

There was silence over the phone as the word
homicide

seeped into Brenda's thoughts. As much as she wanted to

protect Justice Waverly's breakfast routine, a good old gal like

her couldn't bear to let such atrocities simmer.

"Now, Henry, Justice Waverly will get mighty upset if I

barge in there, make him get all messy and syrupy and this

isn't an emergency of the important kind."

"Oh, I promise, Brenda, this is an emergency of the most

important kind."

Brenda sighed as the Good Samaritan in her kicked in.

"Hold on just a sec."

Rather than put the line on hold, I heard a clang as she

placed the phone down on her desk. I heard the sound of a

door being opened, then the voice of a man none too happy

about being interrupted. There was a brief spat, the sound of

someone yelling with food in their mouth, and then more footsteps as Brenda returned to her desk.

"Hello, Mr. Parker? Justice Waverly will be right with

you."

"Thanks, Brenda, you're a doll." Brenda giggled politely.

I heard a click as the line was picked up by another party.

"Hello?" a deep, male voice intoned.

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271

"Is this Justice Waverly?" I said.

"Brenda, I have it, hang up now." I heard a click as Brenda

hung up her end. "Mr. Parker, Brenda tells me you're calling

all the way from New York, that right?"

"Yes, sir. Justice, sir. I'm with the
Gazette.
I appreciate

your taking my call."

"I didn't take no call, Brenda threatened to give me that

terrible puppy-dog look all day if I didn't. She tells me you

said something about a homicide up there in the big city."

"That's right."

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, you New Yorkers have quite

a few homicides every year and you don't go calling me for

all of those. So what makes you think my office can help

with this one?"

"Well, sir, if I might answer a question with a question," I said,

"were you the Justice of the Peace of Hamilton County in 2004?"

"I most certainly was," Waverly said. "I have been justice

of this county for ought seventeen years."

"Then you probably recall notable criminal investigations

during that time."

"I have a mind like an eagle, son. What are you getting at?"

"Well, Mr. Eagle, sir, then you'll remember the deaths of

John Roberts, his family, and Pastor Mark Rheingold just a

few years ago."

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. And I

knew I'd just pulled a big, dangling thread. I waited thirty

seconds for a response. Waverly was still on the other end,

but it was clear he wasn't dying to talk about the fire.

"Justice Waverly, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mr. Parker, I'm here."

"So you do remember those deaths?"

"I didn't say that."

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Jason Pinter

"So you don't remember the alleged electrical fire that

killed five people, including the most famous pastor in the

state of Texas."

"I didn't say that, either."

"Justice Waverly, I'm not the police," I said. "I'm a reporter

trying to find out why four people have been murdered and

how they might be connected to a fire that killed five people

several years ago."

"I don't know how any of your murders are my concern,

Mr. Parker. Now if you'll excuse me I have a meeting in just

ten minutes and I still haven't had my coffee."

"Fine by me," I said. "Because my next call is to the FBI. I

know Mike Sellers down at the Houston branch pretty well.

And one thing he
hates
is red tape and bureaucratic doublespeak. So I hope you're not stringing any of that tape up for

me."

I had spoken to Deputy Michael Sellers once, over e-mail.

He had given me a terse no comment, though complimented

me on a previous story about the treatment of prisoners at

Rikers Island. I figured that brief correspondence was as good

an opportunity as any to name-drop.

I heard a pounding sound, like something hitting wood.

Sounded like Justice Waverly was getting frustrated and

taking it out on his poor desk.

"No, now I wouldn't want that," Waverly said. "I'll answer

any appropriate questions in order to help whatever story you're

writing. But I won't go into tangential matters that are none of

your business. So to answer your question, yes, I do remember

the deaths of the Roberts family and the tragic passing of Pastor

Rheingold. He was a pillar of this community."

"Would you say the Roberts family was a pillar of the

community?"

The Guilty

273

"Shoot," he said. "John Roberts just moved his family

down to Hico a few years back. He had some relatives down

here got along pretty good, but I can't say they had as much

influence as Pastor Mark."

"I read the news reports of the fire. You're sure it was

electrical?"

"Goddamn right I am," Waverly said. "And I hope God's

green ears don't hear you insinuating we didn't give that fire

a thorough investigation."

"No, I'm saying you're awfully defensive."

There was silence on the other end again. Then Waverly

spoke.

"We turned that house inside out. There was nothing left.

Not a doll, not a picture album, nothing. An entire family was

destroyed in one night, I assure you it was a monumental

tragedy. We didn't find any reason or need to pry more than

we already had."

"So you're admitting the investigation wasn't handled as

thoroughly as it could have been."

"I'm saying injury was bad enough without adding insult."

"Unless the insult and injury would have been to your

town."

"I'm sorry, Parker, you've lost me there."

"Let's see if you can follow--at the Roberts's funeral, the

priest made a statement making it clear there were remains

unaccounted for. That one or more of the coffins the Roberts

family was buried in wasn't full. Do you follow that?"

"I have nothing to say about such idiotic rumors. And if

you don't mind me saying, I don't see how this has any relevance to your murders in New
Yawk.
"

"I'll get to that," I said. "Now whose remains were never

found?"

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Jason Pinter

"This has nothing to do with you," said Waverly.

"Whose remains, Justice? I can be on the phone to Mike

Sellers in thirty seconds, and based on your lack of cooperation he can have those graves dug up in less time than it takes

for you to stir your cream and sugar."

"You arrogant prick," Waverly spat. "Just who do you

think you are? Do you have any idea who we are, what this

town is? We have a thousand residents. You live in a city

of millions, where nobody gives a shit about anybody else.

Do you have any idea what something like this could do to

our county?"

"Without the legend of Brushy Bill Roberts, your town

dies," I said. "That's a fact. And by covering up a murder investigation, it will do the same thing."

"Who said anything about murder?" Waverly said. There

was concern in his voice. It was trembling. He knew something.

"Whose remains were never found?"

"I don't have to talk to you?"

"
Whose,
Justice?"

"The son," he gushed. "William Henry. We found a piece

of femur we believe was his, but..."

"But what?" I said.

"But we weren't sure. So we buried it."

"You buried an empty coffin?"

"It wasn't empty!" Waverly said. "There was a femur bone

inside! Besides, the boy's body was nowhere. Either he died

in that fire or he disappeared off the face of the earth. We

figured his remains being too burnt up to find was a more

likely scenario."

"Only those remains turned up alive in New York, pulling

the trigger of a Winchester rifle four times, killing four people."

The Guilty

275

"Listen, Parker," Waverly said. "You don't know what it's

like here. You don't know what this would mean to our

township and its residents."

There had to be something else going on. Hico stood to

prosper hugely if it was revealed Brushy Bill Roberts was, in

fact, Billy the Kid. Waverly was hiding something else.

"What was Pastor Rheingold doing in that fire?" I asked.

"Strange that he just happened to be at the Roberts home the

night it goes up in flames."

"Enough!" Waverly said. "You got your damn story.

Rheingold has nothing to do with it. Goodbye, Mr. Parker. I

hope you sleep well tonight."

Waverly hung up. Sleep was the last thing I would find

that night.

43

Mya stirred. Not because her body awoke naturally. Not

because sunlight from the outside had forced it, or because

she had to pee, or any other number of reasons why nature

might interrupt one's slumber.

No, Mya awoke because of the knife point she felt digging

into her side.

"Wake up, Mya," he said. She opened her eyes, the lids dry

and crusty. Her hands were still bound, her wrists hurt like

hell. She hadn't been able to wipe the moisture or makeup

away. The last thing she remembered was following this man

back to his hotel room, having a drink, feeling his lips on hers,

and then nothing. There was no other pain, and besides her

bonds she was otherwise unharmed.

She was lying on the floor of some dingy hotel room. The

bed was unmade. Ugly orange curtains dangled above her.

The rusty air conditioner rattled, spewing a warm breeze.

Under the bed she could see a small blue duffel bag, underwear and socks spilling out of it.

By the foot of the bed, Mya saw what appeared to be a

gun. Not like the kind she saw in the movies. This one was

long. The barrel seemed to have some kind of wood finish.

The Guilty

277

The boy noticed her staring and said, agreeing, "She's a true

thing of beauty."

Mya tried to squirm but it was no use. Her energy was

gone. And a blade was ticking her ribs. If she bucked in the

wrong direction, it could...

"How you feeling?" he asked. Mya blinked. What was his

name? He'd told it to her at the bar. Where he'd been

charming, funny, handsome and sweet. Of course all of this

was before he kidnapped her. "Nod once for okay, nod twice

for not okay."

Mya nodded twice, vigorously. She remembered his hands

on her, her whole body tingling, feeling alive. She remembered his hands, strong and gentle, but then all of a sudden