The Killer's Wife (15 page)
Authors: Bill Floyd
B
easley tapped on his computer for a minute and then turned the monitor around so we could all see. I realized I was holding my hand over my mouth, and removed it
by force of will. Carolyn asked Matthews if I should really see this.
easley tapped on his computer for a minute and then turned the monitor around so we could all see. I realized I was holding my hand over my mouth, and removed it
by force of will. Carolyn asked Matthews if I should really see this.
“It’s up to her,” the detective said. “But it’s only the hallway camera. There’s nothing from the classroom where it took place.”
Still, Carolyn held my hand as we watched. Everyone huddled around the vice principal’s desk, staring pensively. Hands were busy stroking chins and there was a fair amount of shuffling. Beasley and Matthews had seen it before, but for the rest of us there was that sickening intrusive feeling that always came along with watching this kind of event unfold. Images of Columbine, that bloody kid falling out the window; panicked subway stations; plane crashes in real time. Some slightly distanced part of me understood that this footage would probably pop up on the Internet sooner or later, and sick people would watch it and rewind it and watch it again, not in order to help find my son, but for vicarious thrills. One person’s queasy was another person’s rush.
The angle was from above the hallway, a camera situated over the door that led out onto the school grounds. It showed a parabolic and somewhat distorted view of the rows of lockers down each side of the hall, intermittently broken by doors leading into the classrooms. Beasley tapped on the screen and said Rachel Dutton used the third room on the left for her after-school sessions. Hayden had been the only student with her today.
A figure entered the hallway and walked beneath the camera at 3:29 P.M., according to the LED display ticking
off in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. I grasped at the fact that the person I was seeing on the screen was somewhere at this very moment with my child as his hostage; I couldn’t really process it.
off in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. I grasped at the fact that the person I was seeing on the screen was somewhere at this very moment with my child as his hostage; I couldn’t really process it.
Or the fact that it only applied if Hayden was still alive at all.
The man was skinny, jeans cinched tight at his waist but baggy around the knees. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood drawn up over his head. His face was hidden from the camera as he walked away from it, checking doorways until he reached the third on the left. He carried a backpack that seemed heavy. Matthews asked if I saw anything that struck me, but I didn’t.
The murderer pushed the door open gently at first, then disappeared quickly inside and shut it behind him. The hallway was still and nothing moved. Beasley clicked his mouse and started forwarding the footage, minutes spiraling by at high speed in the corner.
“How long was he in there?” Duane asked.
“Sixteen minutes,” Matthews answered. “Which is actually pretty fast work, considering that he had time to bind them both, then do what he did to the teacher.”
“What did he do?” I said, and everyone turned away from me. “I mean, to the teacher?”
It was obvious from the looks exchanged between Matthews and his officers that no one wanted to say. Beasley held his head in one hand and stared silently at his computer. Duane told Matthews that I’d read about it in the papers anyway. Matthews was still doubtful, but he made
his face rigid and said, “We believe he cut Ms. Dutton’s throat shortly after entering the room. There were other teachers still in the building at the time, and no one heard her scream, so it must have happened quickly. He then performed a mutilation that was similar to what your husband did to his victims.”
his face rigid and said, “We believe he cut Ms. Dutton’s throat shortly after entering the room. There were other teachers still in the building at the time, and no one heard her scream, so it must have happened quickly. He then performed a mutilation that was similar to what your husband did to his victims.”
“My ex-husband,” I heard myself say dully. I felt like I might throw up again. I remembered her eyes, how sympathetic and patient they were when she took my son’s side after his scuffle with Ashton Hale. She’d looked me right in my face and offered her help.
“He took her … ?” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. My voice sheered off halfway through the last word.
“We believe so, yes,” Matthews said.
“Did he leave anything in their place?”
He hesitated and then said, “We think it was some kind of plant seeds. Forensics will have to identify it.”
“Jesus Christ,” breathed Beasley. “Ms. Wren, I know she did everything she possibly could for Hayden.”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
The vice principal had tears standing in his eyes, and he swiped angrily at them with his forearm and apologized to the room at large. Everyone told him it was all right. He turned back to the computer and lifted his finger off the mouse. The scene slowed back into real time: 3:45 P.M. The classroom door opened. The figure came out, large dark sunglasses over his eyes, a bandanna pulled up over his mouth and nose. Within that hood, only a thin stretch of visible skin. Blood all down the front of his sweatshirt, soaking the long sleeves.
His hands were bloody, too; it must have been hard for him to keep hold of my son as he struggled. I felt the pressure from Carolyn’s hand on mine, but all tactile sensation had gone. Hayden appeared to have duct tape wrapped around his hands at the wrists and his feet at the ankles. Another strip across his mouth, and in that moment I tasted with my own lips the bitter adhesive, I sensed the tautness. But my son was fighting, by God, trying to twist his way out of the murderer’s hold. He succeeded, briefly, and fell on the floor. I flinched as though I’d hit the waxy tiles myself. The murderer grabbed him again, this time by the back of his shirt, balling it into a fist and hefting Hayden up. He appeared to be hissing some warning or threat from behind his bandanna. Hayden calmed considerably.
His hands were bloody, too; it must have been hard for him to keep hold of my son as he struggled. I felt the pressure from Carolyn’s hand on mine, but all tactile sensation had gone. Hayden appeared to have duct tape wrapped around his hands at the wrists and his feet at the ankles. Another strip across his mouth, and in that moment I tasted with my own lips the bitter adhesive, I sensed the tautness. But my son was fighting, by God, trying to twist his way out of the murderer’s hold. He succeeded, briefly, and fell on the floor. I flinched as though I’d hit the waxy tiles myself. The murderer grabbed him again, this time by the back of his shirt, balling it into a fist and hefting Hayden up. He appeared to be hissing some warning or threat from behind his bandanna. Hayden calmed considerably.
The killer’s mouth was still moving as he went underneath the camera, but now his face tilted upward, as if he were talking directly to whoever might later watch the tape. As if he were talking to me.
Hayden’s eyes were so wide, so prominent, they swallowed his whole face above that mocking strip of tape. Eyes more frightened than I’d ever seen them, virtually unrecognizable. He stared at the camera, too, as they moved beneath it, then they were out of the picture and gone.
Matthew said, “I’m sure that was difficult for you, Ms. Wren. I need to know, is there anything about the suspect you found familiar in any way? Anything at all you recognized?”
I shook my head. I was afraid to speak. I knew I would need a clear head for the foreseeable future, and I didn’t
want anyone in this room to think I was going to be too weak to handle anything that was asked of me. Everything I could do, everything in my power, I would do. A running prayer had already established itself in my head, a mantra I returned to with every moment I wasn’t taking in new information:
Please let him be okay, dear God, my God, I’ll do anything you want, just let me have him back, let me bring him back home.
want anyone in this room to think I was going to be too weak to handle anything that was asked of me. Everything I could do, everything in my power, I would do. A running prayer had already established itself in my head, a mantra I returned to with every moment I wasn’t taking in new information:
Please let him be okay, dear God, my God, I’ll do anything you want, just let me have him back, let me bring him back home.
Randy’s victims probably prayed. Every one of them probably asked much the same things as I was asking now.
I told Matthews I wanted to watch the tape again.
W
e found Pritchett having dinner in the Hilton’s bar and restaurant, in the company of a middle-aged man and a younger woman. Aside from them, the room was nearly deserted; all low lights and empty tables, a single waiter running a push broom near the entrance to the kitchen. Pritchett looked up as we approached. I walked briskly in front of Duane and Carolyn, with Matthews and a pair of uniformed officers barely keeping me in check. Pritchett stood and faced me.
e found Pritchett having dinner in the Hilton’s bar and restaurant, in the company of a middle-aged man and a younger woman. Aside from them, the room was nearly deserted; all low lights and empty tables, a single waiter running a push broom near the entrance to the kitchen. Pritchett looked up as we approached. I walked briskly in front of Duane and Carolyn, with Matthews and a pair of uniformed officers barely keeping me in check. Pritchett stood and faced me.
“I saw it on the news,” he said preemptively, indicating
a TV set above the empty bar. He looked dismissively past the uniformed cops and addressed Matthews. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with this. It is not what I intended to happen.”
a TV set above the empty bar. He looked dismissively past the uniformed cops and addressed Matthews. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with this. It is not what I intended to happen.”
From the grim set of his mouth and his readiness for confrontation, I read two things right off: he most likely hadn’t been responsible for Hayden’s abduction, but he was as certain as ever that I had been involved with his daughter’s murder.
I plunged ahead regardless. “You threatened my son the first night you came after me,” I said. I didn’t realize I was hissing through clenched teeth until Duane grabbed my arm. I was actually poised to launch myself at Pritchett, whose face was noticeably pale, if resolved.
Matthews advised me to control my emotions if I wished to stay. Then he asked Pritchett to account for his whereabouts during the afternoon. For the first time, Pritchett introduced the two people sitting at his table. They rose in concert and, incredibly, smiled politely as they shook hands with the detective. “Elliot Talese and Denise Sanders,” Pritchett said. “Two representatives from my company who flew out here to consult on an upcoming marketing promotion. We’ve been engaged in teleconferences throughout the day.”
“You sold your company,” Duane said pointedly.
“I’m still on the board of directors,” Pritchett fired back. He evaluated Duane curiously for a moment, then nodded as he recognized him. “I’d heard you and your wife were helping Mrs. Mosley. No conflict of interest in that,
I’m sure.” He shrugged him off as casually as he had the street cops, and continued to direct his defense at the detective. “Look, I didn’t plan on Mr. Talese and Ms. Sanders being here. This was a last-minute issue and the company only alerted me that they were coming the day before yesterday. You can call and verify that with any number of people.”
I’m sure.” He shrugged him off as casually as he had the street cops, and continued to direct his defense at the detective. “Look, I didn’t plan on Mr. Talese and Ms. Sanders being here. This was a last-minute issue and the company only alerted me that they were coming the day before yesterday. You can call and verify that with any number of people.”
Talese and Sanders both seemed quite eager to back him up, and Matthews sent them off to another table so the cops could take their statements. Matthews told Pritchett that they’d be interested in verifying all of the phone calls and personal visits he’d made since he came to town.
“Not a problem,” Pritchett said. “I’ll instruct the hotel to release the calls made from my room, as well.” He was still talking to Matthews, correctly surmising that the detective’s assessment would be the deciding factor in whether this was a momentary hassle or a continuing problem, but he kept turning toward me, eyes flashing. “I could never hurt another person’s child. Not after what happened to mine.” And then, as if he couldn’t help it: “But at least now you finally know how it feels.”
Duane snorted. “You been practicing that line for long?”
“I’ve been practicing some form of it for the nine years since my daughter was butchered,” Pritchett replied, his steely sense of wounded dignity intact. “That doesn’t mean I would harm her son.”
Carolyn called him a sonofabitch. “At the very least you put both of them in jeopardy with your bullshit PR campaign. Even if it wasn’t you, it’s because of your splashing her face across the TV and newspapers that this happened.”
“In that case, I’m sure you’ll accept your share of the responsibility, Mrs. Rowe,” Pritchett said with a smile.
Matthews suggested we wait out in the lobby.
“I’m all right,” I said levelly.
Duane removed a check from his pocket, tore it into quarters, and dropped it onto Pritchett’s dinner plate among the garlic bread crusts and leftover pasta. “That’s our share of the responsibility. It’s your payment for us finding her. I’ve been carrying it with me, hoping to get the chance to do that in person. Ever since you went on the air, I knew this was something I wanted no part of. And if you’ve made me party to the hurting of a child, if you’ve stained my hands with something like that …” He saw Matthews’s warning glance and finished simply, “No matter what you do, none of this will bring your daughter back.”
“And that overwrought show of umbrage won’t bring her son back, either,” Pritchett said. “If you want to discuss your fee, you’ll have to do so through McClellan Associates. They hired you, not me personally. But I expect you know that.”
Matthews sat in the chair where Talese had been. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. It was the newspaper clipping that had been placed beneath my windshield wiper blade the night Pritchett initially accosted me, the article about the murdered woman in Tennessee. Carolyn had given it to the detective, along with some further background details, before we left the school. Matthews let Pritchett look at it long enough to recognize it, then asked him why he’d left it for me.
“That article was sent to me anonymously a few weeks before I learned Mrs. Mosley’s whereabouts,” Pritchett said. He kept calling me by my old name, goading me to correct him, but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. “To be quite honest, I think she sent it to me, perhaps as a warning, because the people who’d been hired to find her”—and he paused long enough to glare at each of the Rowes in turn—“had been sloppy and alerted her to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to keep her identity and whereabouts secret for much longer.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “I can understand if you still think I was a part of what Randy did. I can’t do anything to change your perceptions about that at this point. But you can’t possibly believe that I had my own son abducted. Why would I?”
Pritchett didn’t have an answer; everyone could see it in his face. But he maintained his composure, even though it appeared to cost him significantly. It was like watching an implosion of sorts, as his mouth turned down and his lips thinned. So he defaulted to his old accusations. “Why was your name on the fake documents?” was the best he could do. “Out in the shed, where he kept his trophies—your name was all over them, the licenses and passports. And your DNA—”
“Because Randy was insane, Mr. Pritchett,” I said, despairing. I wished for a bullhorn so I could scream it in his face. I wanted to blare it, to force him into seeing reason. “He was crazy. He almost drove me out of my mind, and he seems to have succeeded in driving you out of yours.
Maybe I deserve to pay for what happened to Carrie, but my son doesn’t. So, please, if you know anything that could help us find him,
please
tell us. I’m begging you.”
Maybe I deserve to pay for what happened to Carrie, but my son doesn’t. So, please, if you know anything that could help us find him,
please
tell us. I’m begging you.”
But he wouldn’t look at me anymore. Instead, he asked Matthews to arrange a formal time tomorrow when he could come down to the station and make a statement. Matthews suggested that he make time for it tonight. Pritchett summoned his minion Talese over and instructed him to call LA. “Tell them I’m going to need some legal representation out here,” he said.
My anger waned as I watched him fold his hands and stare blankly past me. When he finally managed to conjure a waiter and request a glass of whiskey, it was plain to see that he was a broken man already.
B
ack at my place, I lingered in the upstairs hallway outside Hayden’s bedroom, unwilling as yet to cross the threshold. Matthews had assigned a rotation of officers to keep watch on the house, and a couple of tech geeks had come by to put a trace on my phone. I signed forms granting them permission to track all incoming calls to the home number and my cell. Carolyn had taken two minutes to wash up and dump her purse in the guest bedroom before getting on the phone. I could hear her downstairs, tapping keys on her computer and muttering to herself about departure times. Duane had returned to their house to pack his
things. He was going to fly out tonight if possible, or early tomorrow if that was the soonest he could find a flight. I’d told them I didn’t know how I could pay them for their efforts and they’d waved me off without further comment. I had the feeling of being a sideline observer in a game that would have consequences only for me.
ack at my place, I lingered in the upstairs hallway outside Hayden’s bedroom, unwilling as yet to cross the threshold. Matthews had assigned a rotation of officers to keep watch on the house, and a couple of tech geeks had come by to put a trace on my phone. I signed forms granting them permission to track all incoming calls to the home number and my cell. Carolyn had taken two minutes to wash up and dump her purse in the guest bedroom before getting on the phone. I could hear her downstairs, tapping keys on her computer and muttering to herself about departure times. Duane had returned to their house to pack his
things. He was going to fly out tonight if possible, or early tomorrow if that was the soonest he could find a flight. I’d told them I didn’t know how I could pay them for their efforts and they’d waved me off without further comment. I had the feeling of being a sideline observer in a game that would have consequences only for me.
Duane’s first stop would be Detroit, Lane Dockery’s hometown. He’d verified with Dockery’s sister, Jeanine, that she’d organized what notes she could find that pertained to our case. Duane only planned to be there for a few hours before heading farther west. If he could arrange an appointment, he was going to see my ex-husband in person.
“The prison officials have interviewed Randy, and they claim he’s pretty distressed about the whole thing,” Carolyn said softly behind me. I jumped half out of my skin and she laid a cool hand on my arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was trying to be quiet when I came upstairs, in case you were sleeping.”
When I laughed at the idea, she said I’d have to get some rest at some point. But I could still hear the TV downstairs; the ten o’clock news led with the incident at the school, and they just kept going. Repeating over and over the description of the minivan that had been seen leaving the school, driving erratically, around the time of the crime. CNN had picked up the story and we were supposedly getting coverage across the whole Southeastern viewing area, with Amber Alerts periodically scrolling across beneath people’s sitcoms and reality shows and basketball games. I wondered if they would blank them out, the way I usually did.
“If it wasn’t Pritchett, then it was Randy,” I said. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know who he recruited to do it, but it has to be him. I’m thinking about those letters the warden at San Quentin told you about while you were out there. Maybe he wasn’t after just Pritchett and Dockery.”
“I tend to agree,” Carolyn said. “We’re checking all his prison acquaintances, going back for as long as he’s been there. The PO box where Randy was mailing his letters will be staked out. If we could somehow connect him to the article that Pritchett left on your windshield, the one he claims was sent to him anonymously … Matthews says his forensics people couldn’t get anything from it. But whoever killed the girl in Tennessee is likely the same person who abducted your son. We’ve confirmed with the authorities there that what was done to the victim in Tennessee is the same as what was done to the teacher in Hayden’s school, Rachel Dutton.”
“And the same as Randy did to all those others. My ex-husband has himself a copycat,” I said, shaking my head. “A partner in crime to complete his unfinished business. I can understand someone wanting to hurt me, but Hayden …”
“Forget trying to understand. Only someone as sick as Randy is could figure out how his mind works. The police are looking into it, and so are the people at San Quentin, and so are we. But there are warrants that have to be signed by judges, logistics to work out … I know all that sounds like bullshit to you right now, but I’m just telling you so you understand that it’s going to take some time.”
I stared into my son’s dark room. His bed was halfway
made, or at least the covers were pulled up. If I did sleep tonight, it would be in here, on his little mattress, beneath the Backyardigans poster and his certificate of graduation from first grade, which I’d framed and put on the wall last year, even though he claimed it was no big deal. I found myself thinking about the late Rachel Dutton.
Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?
I realized that I knew nothing at all about her, not even her age. I imagined phones ringing, the police knocking softly on a front door.
made, or at least the covers were pulled up. If I did sleep tonight, it would be in here, on his little mattress, beneath the Backyardigans poster and his certificate of graduation from first grade, which I’d framed and put on the wall last year, even though he claimed it was no big deal. I found myself thinking about the late Rachel Dutton.
Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?
I realized that I knew nothing at all about her, not even her age. I imagined phones ringing, the police knocking softly on a front door.
“I know what Pritchett meant tonight,” I whispered.
“What’s that?”
“When he said, ‘Now you know how it feels.’ He was right. All this time, I imagined that I was hurt because Randy deceived me, and because to some degree, it doesn’t even matter anymore how much, but to some degree I allowed myself to be deceived. And I thought that meant that I understood, that I had some empathy with the real victims. But it was bullshit, Carolyn, it was bullshit of the absolute worse kind.”
Carolyn started to say something, but I cut her off. “No. I had some responsibility, and all this time I’ve spent feeling guilty and agonizing over it, I forgot the essential truth. What Pritchett meant is that now I know how it feels to have
no responsibility
, to have something done
to
me, and that’s worse, because the situation is completely out of my hands and beyond my control. I’m helpless. That’s what Pritchett and all the others have been living with all along.”
no responsibility
, to have something done
to
me, and that’s worse, because the situation is completely out of my hands and beyond my control. I’m helpless. That’s what Pritchett and all the others have been living with all along.”
“Will your realizing that comfort you right now? Will it help get Hayden back?”
“I don’t know.”
“It won’t, and you
do
know it. So forget it. Focus on what you
can
do. If you can’t sleep, come downstairs and help me go over the notes from Randy’s trial. I ordered a transcript when we were first looking into how Pritchett went after him in prison. Maybe something in there will help.”
do
know it. So forget it. Focus on what you
can
do. If you can’t sleep, come downstairs and help me go over the notes from Randy’s trial. I ordered a transcript when we were first looking into how Pritchett went after him in prison. Maybe something in there will help.”
So I followed after her, feeling like a sleepwalker. I could read the words in the transcript, but for all the comprehension that seeped in they might as well have been written in a foreign language.
All the while, a clock in my head kept winding down. The seconds ticking away my son’s life while the authorities worked on getting warrants signed and coordinating logistics.
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