The Closing: A Whippoorwill Hollow novel (The Whippoorwill Hollow novels) (8 page)

“What do you like about me?” he said, feeling a lot better.

She squirmed in his lap. He was aroused. “Well, you’re . . . tall.” She kissed him deep and probing.

“Let’s go to bed,” Nate said.

“Let’s stay here.”

He clicked off the lamp. The soft glow from the fire flickered on her bare shoulders. She undressed him and sat on his lap again. She kissed him and touched him and teased him and held him off until he felt he would explode. At the end of it, she straddled him as he sat in the chair. Her hands clasped behind his neck, she leaned back until her arms were straight. She tilted her head back as far as she could. When he burst inside her, she said through clenched teeth, “I love you. Oh, yes. I love you. I love you.”

Lost in his memories, Nate sat on the bench in Beauregard Park beside the lion-head fountain until Michie’s Place cut off its lights and locked its doors. He went to his apartment where there was no whiskey and went to bed, but sleep didn’t come. He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. He arose before dawn, walked to the courthouse, and sat on the courthouse steps. Judge Blackwell was always the first to arrive, and so it was that morning. His old Cadillac pulled into the parking lot. The judge got out of his car, crossed the lot, and stopped at the steps to look at Nate. Nate was pale and covered with sweat. No words passed between them. The judge unlocked the courthouse door, and Nate followed him to his chambers. Nate sat in the chair across from the judge’s desk. The judge made a pot of coffee and gave Nate a cup. Nate’s hands trembled so badly he couldn’t bring it to his mouth.

“Fold your hands, place them on the desk, and press them together. Breathe deeply.”

Nate did as he was told.

“Think about something you care about. What do you most want to gain by remaining sober?”

Nate’s tongue was dry, his voice hoarse. “I want Christine to take me back.”

The judge was quiet for a long time. “All right. Think about Christine.”

Nate closed his eyes. Through an alcoholic blur, he could see her face and hear her voice:
I hate you.
“So do I,” Nate said. He covered his face and sobbed.

“Let it out, son.”

After a long time, Nate calmed. He wiped away the sweat and tears, leaned back in the chair, and sipped coffee from the cup.

“Do you want me to talk with Doctor Davis about readmitting you to the hospital?”

“For what?”

“You can’t drink there.”

Nate shook his head. “I can’t hide from the whiskey forever.”

The judge and Nate sat together for a long time without saying anything. Nate finished the coffee. “Thanks,” he said. He stood to leave.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” He headed toward the door.

“She’ll probably never take you back, Nathan, but if there’s any chance at all, whiskey will kill it for you.”

Nate paused at the door. As always, the judge had done the right things to fortify him, and he had said the only words that could give Nate the strength to resist for a while longer. He turned and looked at the judge. A question had rolled around in his mind for a long time. “Why do you protect me, Harry?”

“What?”

“You convinced the sheriff and the commonwealth’s attorney not to indict me for the crimes I committed as a prosecutor. You recused yourself from our divorce proceedings, but you stepped in and convinced Christine not to press charges against me for forcing my way into the house and you again persuaded the sheriff and the commonwealth’s attorney to back off. You meet with me weekly to help me stay sober. What’s your interest in me? Why do you keep stepping in to save me? I didn’t ask for your help. You’re not my keeper.”

The judge folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “You served the county well for almost thirty years. We owe you some consideration for your good work.”

“That’s not enough to cause you to go to so much trouble. There has to be something more. What is it, Harry?”

The judge was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. Before your father died, I promised him I’d watch over you and step in if you ever needed help.”

Nate was surprised. “You and my father were friends?”

“We were good friends once, before you were born. I was his attorney.”

“My mother never mentioned your friendship.”

“She may not know we were friends. We drifted apart after he married your mother, but I went to see him at the hospital before he died. He asked me to watch over you. I promised him I would do my best. Your mother wasn’t there when I visited him. I doubt he told her I came by.”

“Why is it you never told me about this promise?”

“It was a private pledge. Until recently, your conduct was above reproach. You didn’t need my help and there was no point in telling you, but your recent string of self-destructive acts has brought my old promise into play.”

Nate studied the judge. “Harry—”

“I have nothing more to say about this.” The judge seemed suddenly irritated. “Take my advice and immerse yourself in your work, stay out of trouble, and stay sober. You’re correct that I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in helping you, and my well of patience has run dry. It’s time you took responsibility for your actions. Don’t slip and fall again. You’ll face the harsh consequences of your misconduct alone from here on. I won’t step in to save you again. Leave me now. I must prepare for this morning’s calendar.”

Nate pulled the door closed behind him, puzzled by the judge’s revelations. On his deathbed, Nate’s father sent a message of reassurance to him through Christine. Now he knew his father had extracted a promise of help and protection from the judge. Despite the judge’s claim of friendship with his father, Nate was skeptical. Nate and his father were very close, and his father had never mentioned the judge. Nate stared at the door, thinking there was something still unsaid.

For the third time during the month of May, Nate sat in the little sweatbox that was labeled Visit A – Max Sec, but this encounter was different. It was a come-to-Jesus meeting. Deatherage sat on his side of the divider with his elbows propped on the desk, one hand pressing the phone to his ear, the other fiddling with a lock of greasy red hair. “Okay. I’ll admit it. I lied to you about the girl. I lied because I was scared. I told the sheriff and Darby Jones and Swiller I didn’t know her. I was afraid if I told you different, you’d walk out on me.”

“It works the other way. I’m withdrawing as your lawyer because you lied to me.”

“I’m not a liar. I mean I lied this one time, but I’m not a regular liar.”

“You lie when it suits you.”

“No, that’s not fair. Listen, I understand you’re mad at me, but put yourself in my place. If your life was on the line and the whole Buck County crew framed you for killin the girl, would you admit you knew her?”

“I’m done with you.” Nate gathered his papers and put them in his briefcase.

“Wait. Give me a chance and I’ll tell you the God’s-honest truth.”

“You had your chance.” Nate snapped his briefcase shut.

“Hear me out, lawyer. Please. I’ll tell you the whole truth. No more lies. I promise.”

“You’ll tell me a fresh pack of lies.”

“No. Nothin but the truth this time. I promise.”

Nate stood.

“Please, lawyer. I don’t stand a chance against em without you. Please stay. Give me one more chance to come clean. Please.”

Nate hesitated. Then he said, “This better be good. More to the point, it better be the truth.” He sat down.

Deatherage wiped sweat from his face and leaned back in his chair, visibly relieved.

“When did you first meet Updike?” Nate said.

“Okay. Here’s the God’s-honest truth. I was tomcattin around Bloxton one night about two weeks before the girl was killed. I rolled into a restaurant on Water Street name of the Coal Bin. They sell liquor under the table. She was at the counter by herself, drinkin straight whiskey. She had that look, you know, good lookin, but with a bit a trash to her. Smooth and soft, but kinda rough too. You know what I mean?”

Nate said nothing.

“I guess a man like you wouldn’t know about that. You probably like high-class women. I don’t. I like the ones who drink with me, cuss at me some, talk some trash. She had a nasty streak to her, the way I like. And she was little. I like em little.”

“Did you approach her that night?”

“I sat down next to her. She was pretty far-gone drunk when I started in on her. I poured a few more drinks down her, and she was ready to roll.” A smile came across Deatherage’s lips. “That little girl was good at it. She was real good. We had us a time, we did. All night long.” He stroked his chin. His smile widened.

“Where did you take her?”

“We went to the Black Gold Motel. She told me to stay in the car while she checked in with old man Drinkard. She sneaked me into her room, and we went at it all night.”

“Was that the only time you were with her?”

“You find one as good as she was, you come back for more, but she wouldn’t tell me her name or where she lived or her phone number. I looked for her the next night at the motel, but she was gone and Drinkard claimed he didn’t know anything about her. I looked for her every night, but she wasn’t at the Coal Bin or the motel or anywhere else I looked. Then I had that fight with my old lady I told you about. I bought a jar of moonshine. It was Friday night and I wanted to party. I drove around Bloxton lookin for someone to party with. I was fillin my tank at the Esso station across from the motel and I saw that little girl drive up and go inside the office. I watched her lug a bag into one of the rooms. She looked mighty good, tight red blouse with a black bra peekin through, a short black skirt came near-on up to her butt cheeks, a little piece a trash showin off what she had.” Deatherage gazed at nothing and smiled.

“What did you do?”

“I banged on her door and she opened up and I told her I wanted to party again, and I kind of shoved my way inside. That’s when things went bad.”

“What happened?”

“She said she didn’t know who I was. I reminded her about what we did in that same room a couple weeks before. She claimed she didn’t remember. I didn’t believe her at first, but she kept sayin she didn’t know me. I guess she was blind drunk the night I rolled all over her.”

“What did you do?”

“I got kinda hot. I don’t care how drunk she was. A woman shouldn’t do the things she did with me and then tell me she don’t remember. It hurts a man’s pride.”

“Did you hit her?”

“I slapped her around a little.”

“The medical examiner’s report said she had a swollen eye and a busted lip.”

“I didn’t do that to her. I didn’t hit her hard enough to leave a bruise. I didn’t get the chance. She pulled a gun on me.”

“She had a gun?”

“She had a little black pistol. She put the barrel snug to my chest and told me to get the hell out. Said she was meetin another man later on and he was the kind that would put me in a world of hurt if I didn’t get out. That was it for me. I wanted to lay with her awful bad, but I didn’t want it bad enough to get shot. I took off lickety-split.”

“Where did you go?”

“I drove around Bloxton, poppin wheelies and cussin, mad as hell. I decided I needed more than one jar a shine to get over all my setbacks, so I drove out to Cecil Garrison’s place and bought another jug. I sat on Cecil’s porch drinkin hooch until Cecil told me to move along.”

“What time did you leave this man’s house?”

“About eleven.”

“Where did you go?”

“I drove to the warehouse, parked my truck on the dirt road behind the motel, and started in on that second jar a shine. About midnight I went inside the warehouse, finished off my hooch, and passed out.”

“You didn’t bother Updike any more that night?”

“I didn’t see her again until I found her on those old mattresses just before dawn.”

Nate thought about the story of the murder George Maupin presented to the jury. The murderer choked Updike to the point of death and allowed her to revive twice before he killed her. He took great pleasure in her pain. According to Deatherage’s story, Updike insulted his virility and he wanted to punish her for that. Nate thought he had sufficient motive. “You were drunk and angry at Updike. You say you didn’t go to her room and have it out with her, but it sounds more like you drank in your truck behind the motel to build up your courage to attack her.”

“I know it looks bad. Hell, that’s why I lied about knowin her, but the truth is I stayed away from that little girl. I don’t have a death wish. She had a gun. She said she was waitin for a man would do me in if he got his hands on me. I didn’t go to her room because I was afraid.”

Deatherage told his story in a convincing manner, but Nate was skeptical. He decided to test Deatherage by surprising him. “Did you see Henry Crawford that night?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“He was in the warehouse.”

Deatherage didn’t flinch. “Did you talk to him?” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Well, if Henry was there, he might have seen who killed the girl, but he’s drunk out of his mind pretty much all the time so I don’t think anyone will believe him. It’s still worth a try for you to track him down. He sleeps in the warehouse most nights. Come to think of it, he used to sleep on those mattresses where I found the girl.”

Nate had questioned a lot of liars over the years. Most of them showed some sign of deception. They looked away from their listener, fidgeted with their hands, shifted in their seats, or watched their listener too eagerly. Deatherage was looking directly into Nate’s eyes and telling his story in a relaxed manner. He volunteered details that were unflattering to him. Either he was telling the truth or he was a very good liar.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Nate said. “I’ll go to Bloxton again to investigate your story. If you lied to me this time, I’m done with you.”

“Thanks for stickin with me. I’m sorry I lied to you. It won’t happen again. I told you the truth this time, the whole truth.”