Three Classic Thrillers (174 page)

“I tried to see him,” she said.

“When?”

“Last night. I drove to Parchman. They wouldn’t let me in. Said it was too late.”

Adam lowered his head and softened considerably. He would accomplish nothing by cursing her. She was an alcoholic, struggling to overcome demons he hoped he would never meet. And she was his aunt, his beloved Lee. “He asked about you at the very end. He asked me to tell you he loved you, and that he wasn’t angry because you didn’t come see him.”

She started crying very quietly. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, and cried for a long time.

“He went out with a great deal of courage and dignity,” Adam said. “He was very brave. He said his heart was right with God, and that he hated no one. He was terribly remorseful for the things he’d done. He was a champ, Lee, an old fighter who was ready to move on.”

“You know where I’ve been?” she asked between sniffles, as if she’d heard nothing he said.

“No. Where?”

“I’ve been to the old home place. I drove there from Parchman last night.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to burn it. And it burned beautifully. The house and the weeds around it. One huge fire. All up in smoke.”

“Come on, Lee.”

“It’s true. I almost got caught, I think. I might’ve passed a car on the way out. I’m not worried, though. I bought the place last week. Paid thirteen thousand dollars to the bank. If you own it, then you can burn it, right? You’re the lawyer.”

“Are you serious?”

“Go look for yourself. I parked in front of a church a mile away to wait for the fire trucks. They never came. The nearest house is two miles away. No one
saw the fire. Drive out and take a look. There’s nothing left but the chimney and a pile of ashes.”

“How—”

“Gasoline. Here, smell my hands.” She shoved them under his nose. They bore the acrid, undeniable smell of gasoline.

“But why?”

“I should’ve done it years ago.”

“That doesn’t answer the question. Why?”

“Evil things happened there. It was filled with demons and spirits. Now they’re gone.”

“So they died with Sam?”

“No, they’re not dead. They’ve gone off to haunt someone else.”

It would be pointless to pursue this discussion, Adam decided quickly. They should leave, maybe return to Memphis where he could get her back into recovery. And maybe therapy. He would stay with her and make sure she got help.

A dirty pickup truck entered the cemetery through the iron gates of the old section, and puttered slowly along the concrete path through the ancient monuments. It stopped at a small utility shed in a corner of the lot. Three black men slowly scooted out and stretched their backs.

“That’s Herman,” she said.

“Who?”

“Herman. Don’t know his last name. He’s been digging graves here for forty years.”

They watched Herman and the other two across the valley of tombstones. They could barely hear their voices as the men deliberately went about their preparations.

Lee stopped the sniffling and crying. The sun was well above the treeline, its rays hitting directly in their
faces. It was already warm. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I know it meant a lot to him.”

“I lost, Lee. I failed my client, and now he’s dead.”

“You tried your best. No one could save him.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t punish yourself. Your first night in Memphis, you told me it was a long shot. You came close. You put up a good fight. Now it’s time to go back to Chicago and get on with the rest of your life.”

“I’m not going back to Chicago.”

“What?”

“I’m changing jobs.”

“But you’ve only been a lawyer for a year.”

“I’ll still be a lawyer. Just a different kind of practice.”

“Doing what?”

“Death penalty litigation.”

“That sounds dreadful.”

“Yes, it does. Especially at this moment in my life. But I’ll grow into it. I’m not cut out for the big firms.”

“Where will you practice?”

“Jackson. I’ll be spending more time at Parchman.”

She rubbed her face and pulled back her hair. “I guess you know what you’re doing,” she said, unable to hide the doubt.

“Don’t bet on it.”

Herman was walking around a battered yellow backhoe parked under a shade tree next to the shed. He studied it thoughtfully while another man placed two shovels in its bucket. They stretched again, laughed about something, and kicked the front tires.

“I have an idea,” she said. “There’s a little café north of town. It’s called Ralph’s. Sam took me—”

“Ralph’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Sam’s minister was named Ralph. He was with us last night.”

“Sam had a minister?”

“Yes. A good one.”

“Anyway, Sam would take me and Eddie there on our birthdays. Place has been here for a hundred years. We’d eat these huge biscuits and drink hot cocoa. Let’s go see if it’s open.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.” She was excited and getting to her feet. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Adam grabbed the headstone and pulled himself up. He hadn’t slept since Monday night, and his legs were heavy and stiff. The beer made him dizzy.

In the distance, an engine started. It echoed unmuffled through the cemetery. Adam froze. Lee turned to see it. Herman was operating the backhoe, blue smoke boiling from the exhaust. His two co-workers were in the front bucket with their feet hanging out. The backhoe lunged in low gear, then started along the drive, very slowly past the rows of graves. It stopped and turned.

It was coming their way.