Unhinged (28 page)

“You're off the force? Can they do that?”

“Yeah. But there's gonna be an investigation, and the truth will come out then. In the meantime, I'm going to keep searching for Lotz on my own.”

“Please don't end up in jail.”

We drove in silence until we hit West End Boulevard and headed toward the lake.

“How did you figure out where he was?” Jennifer asked.

I swallowed hard. We were half a mile away from my car, and I didn't want to tell her like this. If I did, then she would have to drive away by herself with that terrible knowledge. But to wait to tell her would also be wrong. I stayed silent until she pulled behind my car; then I turned to her. “Put the car in park.”

“All right.” She looked curious.

“Jennifer,” I said softly, “earlier today, I found Paulina's body.”

She put her hands over her mouth just as she did when I had proposed, and tears gathered in her eyes.

My voice was shaky, but I continued. “I found her in the freezer at the Dixie-Mart. She was buried behind a wall of frozen food all those years—even after Katrina. The FBI's medical examiner is doing an autopsy. I imagine they're going to contact your parents, if they haven't already.”

Jennifer looked as if she wanted to speak but couldn't. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a shaky breath. “All this time she's been in that burned-out freezer? My little sister?”

I nodded.

“I always imagined how I'd react when I found out, but there's really no way to know.” Her voice was squeaky and began to crack.

I could handle everything that was going to be thrown my way, but seeing Jenn in a grip of pain that I had something to do with made me feel useless.

“I'm sorry,” I said, gently rubbing her shoulder. I hugged her. I kept waiting for the accusations that never came. Maybe she would push me away and slap me, or better yet, punch me in the face. But it wasn't like that. It was never like that.

“I've got to get to my parents.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No. I don't think that would help. I need to do this alone. My parents accept that I'm with you, but they have their reservations. I can't have you there.”

I nodded again. Her parents wanted to accuse me. I could feel it. In a way, I needed someone to condemn me; then maybe I wouldn't carry the blame alone.

“Are you going to be all right?” I didn't want to get out of her car.

“I'll be fine. I'm just going to sit here for a minute. You go ahead. I'll see you later tonight.”

“If you're sure.” I gave her the most tender kiss I could. My fingers slid down her face, and I saw in her eyes that it was okay, so I got out of her car.

At that moment, it seemed as if I were inside a surreal painting where nothing made sense. Was I really standing outside my car, or was I dreaming? I tried to blink myself back, but the neighborhood swiveled from left to right to left, finally settling on its proper horizon.

What was going to happen next?

J
ennifer woke me when she came into bed. Half asleep, I asked her how telling her parents went. She said fine, then snuggled into my side and rested her head on my chest. I stroked her hair until she fell asleep, and then I listened to her breathe. I didn't fall asleep for three more hours.

The next morning I woke up startled, turning to see that the alarm read 7:30. Panic swept through my body when I saw Jennifer wasn't next to me. Then I figured she had just gone to work.

I would've told her to stay home, but as I've learned, she can either be sensitive and affectionate or cool as a cucumber. I discovered a note on the refrigerator telling me she wanted to go to work in order to take her mind off things, and it was signed with a huge heart.

I took a shower, dressed in some casual street clothes, and drove to the Eighth District to turn in my badge and gun. It was a humbling experience, to say the least. To take something that has brought so much pride, integrity, honor, and should I say, power, and then give it back without ceremony was almost like throwing away a piece of my identity, leaving me naked and vulnerable.

Greenwood took my things and asked if there was anything I wanted to say.

“I'm going to get those back when I appeal to be reinstated,” I replied. That was more for myself than him.

He nodded. “I hope you do, but I doubt it. Keep yourself clean. Those boys mean business.”

I left Greenwood's office and headed straight for Detective Bienvenue who was at his desk doing paperwork. Making sure no one was in earshot, I leaned over and whispered, “Jake, where are you parked?”

“Right down Royal.” He pointed behind him.

It was perfect. The station had two entrances, one on Conti Street and the other on Royal. I knew the Feds were watching my car, which was parked on Conti.

“Can I use it? I'll bring it back later.”

“Why?” He reached for his keys.

“The Feds are watching me. I just want to do some things without them on my back.”

“You know I can't do that. Greenwood has specific orders.” Jake jingled his keys and threw them in his desk drawer. “I gotta piss really bad,” he said and walked away.

He was definitely a stand-up cop, always had been. I took the keys and left through the Royal Street doors, receiving a few pats on the back and well wishes.

It was time to go see Gene Lotz's mother again. I had to hear what she had told the FBI. I drove past her redbrick home on Mercier Street in New Orleans East. I was glad to see someone had cut the grass. It didn't help appearances much, though. The press was still camped out on her street, waiting for any movement. If I was going to talk to her, I had to find another way to get in.

I sped over to the next block, parking in front of the abandoned house directly behind Greta's. As I walked along the mangled fenced-in alley, I saw the back porch of her house, littered with plants, crab traps, and bird feeders. The crab traps were so old that the chicken wire had rusted to a nice umber color. Luckily, there were no dogs to impede my progress, only a decrepit four-foot-high chain-link fence that I easily hopped over. When I got to Greta's back door, I knocked and announced myself.

It took a moment, but she answered in the same nightgown I had seen before. I hoped she had more than one. “I saw you walking through my backyard. Trying to avoid those bastards on my lawn? Nowadays, I find myself checking out any noises I hear outside.”

“You never can be too safe. May I come in? I was hoping I could ask you a few more questions.”

“My Lord, all these questions I have to answer. I'm more popular than that Martha Stewart. Take a seat.”

She poured me a cup of coffee and carefully walked into the living room, handing me the cup, then sat next to me on her battered couch.

I took a sip of coffee to please her. “I just need my memory refreshed. The FBI was going to let me see the video you made with them since I wasn't present at the time, but it got sent to Washington D.C. for analysis. I was hoping you could just go over a few things that you had said.”

“Oh, I don't know. It was hard for me to say those things. I don't know if I could put myself through that again. I cried myself to sleep that night, but it was such a relief to tell someone after all these years. Please drink up. I never have company anymore. The only other person that I've come into contact with besides the FBI is the pharmacist and the boy who delivers my groceries. He's a nice black boy, but we have nothing in common. It gets lonely, even with all those vultures out there.” Greta sat slouched in her section of the sofa, looking at the television that was muted. The scene was a picture of solitude.

“I'm sorry. Maybe if you moved into another community it might be easier to make friends. A gated community maybe?”

“No. I can't afford to move. If I die of a heart attack or a bullet wound, it's going to be in this house. Can I get you some Nilla wafers?”

“No thanks. You spoke in greater detail about Gene's abusive father, Bruce. Can you tell me what you told the FBI?”

“I guess so if it will help you. I like you; you're a nice man. But remember your promise. You can't kill him. The truth will come out if you do. Promise me that if you catch him, you won't kill my boy.”

“The truth?” I questioned.

“You know what I mean. Just promise.”

“I promise,” I lied, not quite sure if she was just rambling.

“Forgive me. I just took my pills, and I'm afraid they make me light-headed. Let me see. As you know, Bruce was abusive toward me but mostly to Gene. I thank God every day that Gene killed him. I don't know why, but he was convinced Gene was a homosexual. Oh, and I can only tell you about what I saw. I can't imagine what he did to my son when I wasn't there. I told you about the belt and the cigarette burns.

“I suppose the worst thing he did was something I just couldn't say to you the first time. I would never ever tell anyone about it, but the FBI threatened to keep me there for days. They took my pills away, said I'd get audited if I didn't tell them everything, and they even tried to pressure me into contacting my lawyers. I was held in that room for hours. They scared me, you know. I was hoping that you would come in. You're such a nice boy.”

“They wanted you to have lawyers there?”

“No, they wanted me to call off my lawyers, so they could destroy the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Hush, dear. So, about Bruce. I hated that man.”

I sighed. Figuring we would eventually get to the truth as she saw it. “What did Bruce do?”

Her face lit up. “Have I told you about the ducks that fly into our backyard?” Then, just as quickly, she looked disappointed when I didn't respond. She spoke again, and I watched the visible cords of neck muscle contract with each syllable. “One day Bruce came home and saw Gene coloring. It was a girl's coloring book with unicorns and what have you. Well, Bruce went crazy. He grabbed Gene and slapped him across the face. Gene was seven at the time. He said he was going to show him what it was to be a man.” She paused. “Oh, God. I can't. I can't.”

I could see years suddenly adding to her face. Pain emanated from her as small squeaks of air popped from her throat. I thought she might hyperventilate.

“Please, Mrs. Lotz. It will help me understand the state of mind your son is in. Remember you were as much a victim as Gene was.”

Greta wiped her eyes with chalk-white hands and brought a green throw pillow to her chest and hugged it like a baby. I seemed to be dredging up painful memories for a lot of people these days.

She continued, “Bruce grabbed me and threw me down on the kitchen floor, telling me not to cry and to shut up. I remember how cold that floor was on my back. Hard, too. Bruce knelt between my legs, looking over me with those possessed eyes. It was as if Satan had taken over his body. If I had resisted, I knew he would have hit me—or worse. He had threatened me with a kitchen knife several times.”

Greta's eyes squeezed tightly as she told her story. I imagined her standing in that kitchen, witnessing it all over again. “It didn't matter to Bruce that Gene was frozen where he stood, watching us, crying. I heard him say ‘Mom' so faintly that my heart broke. Tears were running down his face, but he wasn't making the usual crying noises. My baby was crying like an adult. I couldn't look at his little face anymore. I'd rather see the evil that hovered over me than my own son. I wished I was dead at that moment; I really did. My limbs suddenly stopped moving. I must've gone into shock. I thought Bruce was only going to beat me until he pulled my shirt open and ripped off my sweatpants and panties. I was naked in front of my son with bruises and cuts still healing from other beatings.” Greta wiped her glistening face on the pillow, keeping her eyes shut.

I wasn't about to speak and break her concentration. I wouldn't know what to say, anyway.

Her face became strained as she clenched her teeth and more tears flowed. “I said no. I began to cry, but there was no sound and no tears. I said no. No. No.
No.
Over and over, but I couldn't produce tears. I couldn't even have that. He did it right there and forced Gene to watch. I couldn't feel anything except that hard, cold floor. He said, ‘Don't you go nowhere. This is what real men do. You're going to like women, or I'll kill you, I swear.'”

I sat suspended in disbelief. She had to have a few screws loose from her experience to be able to recount this heinous story without having a mental breakdown.

She went on as if her body were nothing more than a storytelling vessel. “He yelled at me to stop making that crying face. When I couldn't, he punched me. I don't know how many times. By then, I wasn't in my body anymore. I was somewhere else, where no one was hurting me.” She gasped. “I woke up on that floor with a sheet over me. My eyes were swollen, but I could make out Gene wiping my face with a napkin. I never asked Gene, but I always hoped that he was only wiping off blood. I pulled myself up and staggered to the bathroom, seeing Bruce on the couch with a beer like we were an average American family. After that I stayed in my bedroom while Bruce was in the house, and when Gene looked me in the eyes, I turned to stone. I had nothing left to give him. Every day I asked God to forgive me for staying. And during those years, I also asked God to take me away from that life. I guess He saw fit to take Bruce.”