The Ravine (21 page)

“Well, I figured that when all else failed, it was time to call you, Tim!”

Despite the bone-crushing foolishness of his statement, Tim put both hands on Mitch’s shoulders and kindly said, “But talking to God is the first thing you should always do, and I’ll bet you’ve already been doing a lot of praying. All you have to do is have a little faith, so let’s get to work!”

The four of them circled the bed and placed their hands on Frankie, and Tim began to speak, his voice echoing down the hall. He appeared to be speaking to God as if He were standing right there in the room.

“Jesus, we ask that you heal this beautiful little boy, Frankie, completely. We ask that you find it in your all-encompassing mercy to touch him, and allow him to be restored to perfect health. We know that you have it within your power, Jesus, to do that which appears to be impossible. We have seen your incredible healing powers so many times and know for certain that they are real, and that all we need to do is ask that you come to our aid, right now, on this night, here in this room. We feel your presence, Jesus, and we know that it is only through your mercy that the hand of every doctor is guided every day, every minute,
throughout the world, and that you need only say the word, and this innocent child will be healed. We believe in the depths of our souls that you will answer our prayers. Amen.”

There were four sets of wet eyes as they all mumbled “amen,” accompanied by the voices of those who had gathered outside the door to join in the prayer.

For the next hour or so, Mitch and Carolyn could hear Tim stopping at each room, regardless of the faith of the parents, to pray, laugh, and encourage, until he finally went home to be with his family.

At around three in the morning, while Carolyn napped next to Frankie’s bed and Mitch fretted while walking aimlessly up and down the corridor, Frankie awoke and started to cry. It was the sound they were waiting to hear.

The next day he was given a clean bill of health, and was released shortly after the morning rounds. It took a while for Carolyn to forgive Mitch for his carelessness, but they knew they had been granted a valuable experience that was not to be taken lightly or ever forgotten.

So now, sitting in silence next to Carolyn, Mitch said, “Do you remember what Pastor Tim said that night at the hospital?”

She looked down, and a hint of a smile crept across her lips.

“All you have to do is have a little faith,” she said, to which Mitch replied, “So let’s get to work!”

They prayed together for the next few minutes, and began to remember that, despite all the terrible events that had taken place, there was still hope. God
does
exist, love
is
stronger than fear, and faith is the willingness to accept that which we cannot possibly understand, either in the case of grace or the difficulties that come into our lives.

They finished and Carolyn said she was ready to leave. Finally, a small thread of light had broken through the darkness.

Mitch and Carolyn checked into their hotel, and went downstairs to the restaurant to order lunch, which neither of them ate. They were just trying to do some normal things before the next step in the process. Carolyn called her mother, who told her that the boys were doing fine and that she should take her time, and come home when she and Mitch were done with what they had to do.
So strange
, she thought.
As parents, we protect, love, forgive, worry about, and correct our kids. They love us in return and have absolute trust in us. What could possibly have caused Danny to go so wrong? Could it really all be as simple as cashing in an insurance policy? Was there another woman involved?

Maryann was sitting on her front steps, smoking a cigarette, when Mitch and Carolyn pulled up in front of her apartment building. Mitch was tempted to ask her for a smoke, but he had quit over ten years ago, and he knew Carolyn would be furious if he started up again. Perhaps he would borrow one a little later if he knew for sure that Carolyn was preoccupied.

“Oh, no, I can’t believe it!” Maryann said when they turned onto Caves Road and saw the TV trucks lined up. Before they were even able to emerge from the car, there was a swarm of reporters poking microphones in their faces.

“Are any of you family members? How are you related? Do you know why he did it?

“
Who are you?
” one particularly smarmy fellow demanded. Obviously their deadlines for the evening news were looming and they had yet to get a statement from the family.

While they pretended to be working as industry colleagues, of course each reporter secretly hoped for an exclusive with a family member, and once he had that someone alone, in front of the camera, each jackal was confident he could break that person. The method was to sucker in the family with a few sensitive questions, and then go in for the kill. The coup de g
ace would be a three-second clip of a distraught
family member in tears that the producer could play over and over as a tease, while the announcer advised viewers to stay tuned in order to see the important, exclusive interview.

Mitch and Carolyn huddled around Maryann and pushed their way up the driveway. A cameraman tried to press his lens between them to get a shot of Maryann’s ashen face, and Mitch instinctively pushed it away. A few enterprising reporters had enlisted a neighbor to provide them with information about the family, and they apparently knew who Maryann was. It only took a few seconds for those reporters to jump into the fray.

“Hey, Maryann, look over here! Why do you think your father did it?”

“Maryann, what are the funeral arrangements?”

“Is it true there was a big insurance policy?”

Finally they reached the front door and were greeted by Sheriff Dandridge, who was lifting up a stretch of yellow tape that read “Caution, Crime Scene” so they could step under it more easily. A few uniformed police officers ordered the reporters to stay off of the property, which had the effect of creating an invisible wall around the front of the house, but didn’t stop them from hovering in the front yard.

Sheriff Dandridge looked to be in his sixties, and just about ready for retirement. In fact, he had just been thinking to himself that it was too bad he hadn’t taken retirement before this mess. He was your classic string bean, but only stood around five foot seven, and his long, narrow head was topped by what at first looked to Carolyn like a beige cowboy hat. When she saw the badge in the center of it, however, she realized it was part of his uniform, which was a dull khaki color. Another blue-uniformed officer stood beside him, like a sentinel. There was some pretense they were observing a certain amount of protocol, but in reality everyone was faking it. Dandridge knew he and the rest of the force had never experienced anything like this before.

Dandridge was wearing a very grim look on his face, but he also appeared perplexed, frustrated, and a little out of his depth. The cameras and the reporters in particular scared him. He knew that thanks to the Internet, one little slip-up could instantly be transmitted around the world, and then replayed over and over for years to come. So he had stood in front of the cameras only once that morning, in order to convey the basic information to the reporters, and had declined to provide any other details for the rest of the day—only adding to the mania of the massive collection of media professionals desperate for any nugget of information.

Once inside, Mitch pulled back a curtain; it was only then that he realized just how many people—reporters as well as onlookers—were in front of the house. It appeared their mad dash into the house had just provided the highlight of the day, and everyone seemed to be buzzing around frantically. Then Mitch remembered where he was and why he was there.

He turned and looked across the foyer, at the yellow caution tape the police had crisscrossed from the banister to the wall at the base of the stairs to prevent anyone from setting foot on the steps. Mitch glanced up into the darkness of the second floor. He could see that the door to Rachel and Danny’s room was shut, and for an instant it seemed a shadow moved across the hallway. A sense of foreboding hung in the air. It was then that he had a palpable sensation that he could taste the evil that permeated the house. He was overcome by a desire to rinse out his mouth. Perhaps this was why Dandridge looked so spooked.

“Well, you can go anywhere you like on the first floor,” the sheriff said as he took his hat off in the presence of the ladies. He was a gentleman in an old-fashioned sort of way, and clearly was very concerned about Maryann. He had a reedy voice with a slight Southern twang.

“Please accept my condolences,” he continued. “I can’t imagine what y’all are goin’ through. And those reporters outside . . . I recommend
that you take whatever photos you need and sort through them at your convenience, and if there’s clothing downstairs here, you can take that as well.” He knew no one wanted to stay there longer than necessary.

“Sir, thanks so much for letting us do this,” Maryann replied in a barely audible voice. Carolyn led her into the living room where she knew Rachel kept her photo books, a box of slides, and several framed photos as well. They would find what they needed in no time at all. She hoped that Rachel had left a few of her nicer dresses in the closet downstairs near the entrance due to the prohibition against going into the bedrooms—not that she had the slightest desire even to glance up the stairs. She didn’t want to linger. There was a repulsive sweet odor she had never smelled before and certainly never noticed in Rachel’s house in the past, and it was causing her to feel nauseous.

Mitch still could not understand why they were permitted into the house at all, and presumed it was due to the small-town, suburban environment; however, it also spoke to the fact that the police had already judged Danny and found him guilty. They clearly were convinced he acted alone; otherwise they at least would have prohibited anyone from walking on the floor in the area that led from the garage into the kitchen and the path up the stairs. He shook his head in wonder, and hoped the police knew what they were doing.

He walked across the dining room and into the kitchen as if led by an invisible cord that had strung itself around his waist, and he opened the door that led to the garage. To think that Danny had stood in this very spot just two nights ago, debating whether or not to murder his wife. If only he had come to his senses and, if for no other reason than self-preservation, realized he would never get away with it. He could have walked into the garage, driven that dope Logan to his car, and called it a night. Aside from everything else, his decision had been downright stupid. Danny must have presumed that he would be able to lure Logan up to the room after killing Rachel, and then make it look as
if he had killed Logan in self defense. Or perhaps he had been out of his mind. Or perhaps something had had him in its grip.

Mitch closed the door but still couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that had consumed him the minute he walked in the front door. He had the feeling he was being watched by someone, and indeed he was. The silent cop had followed him without so much as a harrumph to announce his presence. As the sheriff walked into the kitchen, Mitch’s eye caught three kitchen knives that were lying next to a wooden block.

“Sheriff, were the knives out like that when you first discovered the crime scene?”

“I’m afraid they were, but we have no idea why they were left out, or why Mr. Turner chose to use such a small knife. None of it makes any sense to me.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Mitch replied as he went off to look for Carolyn and Maryann.

He found them chuckling over a picture of Rachel in a Halloween costume and chose not to interrupt their brief moment of levity. Instead, he turned into the study that Danny used as his office. It had a TV in it, and didn’t really look as if much work got done there. Indians and Browns pennants lined the sides of the TV, and the walls were adorned with family photos. There were three empty Budweiser bottles standing on the coffee table. The desk was littered with bills, which Mitch mechanically thumbed through. Some were opened, and some were months old, unopened and disregarded. He sat in Danny’s chair and opened a drawer that was crammed with junk, and noticed the Tony Robbins workbook from the seminar to which he’d sent Danny. He had intended it to help Danny get on top of things like managing his finances, being truthful, taking logical risks, and opening up to his friends, but the program hadn’t been a fit for him. Most of the pages were empty, but under the heading of things he needed to improve, he had written, “Have to increase my earnings at least 20 percent next year
in order to provide for Rachel up to her standards.” That was certainly a strange thing to say, and betrayed a hint of resentment toward his wife.