Ada Unraveled (23 page)

“Square four is not Ada and Mark, nor Ada
and Luke, or anyone we can yet identify,” Matt stated. “So square
five contains four children we can’t yet identify either.”

“Exactly.” I sighed.

Actually, square four contained two figures
around a tree full of snakes. Very disconcerting. A snake tree.
With snakes wrapped around the feet of the two characters.

Matt said, “Didn’t you tell me Jake and
Victoria raised snakes?”

“That’s not a nice thing to say. You haven’t
even met them yet, honey.”

“Very funny.”

I moved on.

“So, anyway, uh, square four could be Jake
and Victoria…”

“But, square five can’t be Victoria’s
children because Jake and Victoria had seven children. This square
only contains one boy…and only three girls. So…” His meandering
petered out into the third long sigh of this discussion.

I knew I was losing him so I quickly added,
“But square six…square six… Ah hah!” He turned to look at me
expectantly.

“Square six is Ada! Look, not the same
fabrics, but the same colors, browns, tans a little white. See? And
the baby with her therefore must be Eddie.”

Matt said, “Then why is she standing on an
island?”

I hadn’t a clue.

And--why was there a snake on the island
with this strangely quilted Madonna and Child?

Matt answered his own question. “Maybe she
ran away with Eddie, sometime in the early years of their
marriage.”

I said, “It would fit.”

Then I told Matt about our speculations as
to how and why Ada had suffered for so many years. Right under the
noses of the Cleveland County legal authorities. And nothing was
done to stop it.

He frowned and shook his head, in
disapproval, or disappointment.

I added, “Before we woke up to the fact that
our constitution meant to include all people as having free and
equal rights—back in the beginning of the twentieth century--this
country was going through a kind of mini dark ages, when it came to
women and blacks. And worse, in the eyes of CCSD, she was weak. Law
enforcement culture subtly denigrates weak women, much more than
weak men.”

“Part of me wants those bad guys up on the
mountain called out for what they were--callous misogynists.
Racists. Because a handful of them are still up there, fighting
Sheriff Pike.”

Matt sucked in air and turned away from the
quilt, preparing to leave. He was a man of few words. Action was
his style.

“That’s the man’s job. You stay out of it.
Don’t complicate his game, Rachel.”

Our eyes met. He was right. I was climbing
on my proverbial white horse. That was never a good thing. Horses
were wild, hard to control.

I nodded, by way of a salute.

“I gotta go spy. Will’s waiting.”

My Marine left.

Not long after, I climbed in Matt’s truck
and headed for Ada Stowall’s house. Where I would find a couple of
city horses I wasn’t expecting.

When I arrived at Ada’s house, the first
question I wanted to ask was about the stink hole I’d stepped in.
Had a body been found? Was that why the house was being scoured for
clues now? Because a second dead body was in the yard?

But I couldn’t find Tom. And none of the
others lingering around inside the crime scene tape looked like
they were in charge.

The deputy who greeted me was a functionary.
All he wanted to discuss was procedures. That we needed to wear
protective clothing, including booties, a neck tag authorizing our
presence inside the crime scene, and latex gloves. And we needed to
stay together, not touch anything or move anything, yada, yada.

I was pleased they were doing it right, most
of the men in the yard had on these same outfits, but why we were
here was uppermost in my head, so I nodded obediently, took two
extra sets and started looking for my partners.

I spotted Hannah coming up the sidewalk from
behind the small woods we’d parked next to on Wednesday. A day and
a half ago. I met her half way.

“Hey. What’s happening?” Hannah said.

I shrugged and handed her a package of
protective clothing.

I said, “We have to wear these inside the
house. So we’ll have to wait to don them until we’re on the front
porch. We don’t want to be walking around in winter coats
inside.”

We slipped our neck tags on.

Hannah scanned the road, and said, “You
heard from Gerry?”

“Just that she’s coming.” I looked back
toward the house. “There she is.”

Gerry was on the front porch, standing under
a signature, animal-print umbrella. Apparently she had already been
inside. I waved, and Hannah and I hustled back.

We joined her on the front porch. She was
already dressed in a white polyethylene outfit, complete with hood
and booties. But it was over her winter clothes. And her booties
were splashed with mud.

I said, “Have you been inside?”

Gerry said, “What? No, Tom had me go out in
the backyard to help identify where we were when you stepped in it.
I told him I thought it was out by the shed, but I had to take the
team to the exact location before they could see it. Seems the
searchers couldn’t locate it with their noses, or their eyes,
because there’s been so much rain. Or…”

She looked around surreptitiously.

“…so they could defend themselves for
waiting a day. I guess this whole part is about Ada, not our little
discovery. Tom is very hush-hush, but clearly someone is focused on
other things, like blame for not acting sooner.”

She eyed us both, we nodded our
understanding.

Matt’s admonition times three—don’t rock
boats, don’t rock boats, and don’t rock boats.

Gerry grabbed the extra set of protective
wear and tore off the stuff she was wearing, along with her coat,
and put the new set over her black turtleneck and jeans. Put the
booties on her cheetah-print sneakers.

Hannah and I did the same then the three of
us waited, still outside in the freezing cold, protected from the
moisture only by a three-foot overhang.

Hannah shivered and muttered, “I hate this
waiting. I just want to get this over with.” Her grim expression
let me know she was dreading the walk-through even more than the
mountain mist, so I searched for small talk and found Ruth.

“How’s your mom?” I asked.

“She’s upset that I’m here.”

“What did she say?”

“Today? Nothing. I just know.”

I looked at her. “We have to sit down and
talk about you and your mom’s psychic abilities.”

She didn’t grin. She didn’t say anything.
She acted like I’d said nothing. Her dead-eyed stare out at the
gray day made me look away.

Tom opened the front door from the
inside.

I got my fourth eye-warning for the day. It
lasted just under fifteen minutes. Not really. But at least fifteen
seconds.

Felt like minutes. This one had to do with
Gerry. I knew that because, after drilling me with his eyes, they
slid to his sister and stayed there for almost as long.

I focused on our prize. We had a house to
scour for clues. I was itching to start. I pulled on my latex
gloves and opened the screen door. As I passed by Tom, a whiff of
something sinful made me think of donuts.

Gerry was right behind me. “I notice you’ve
eaten breakfast, Tom.”

“Don’t start, sis. As far as I’m concerned
you’re not here.” Gerry faked a pout and took a step to the side so
Hannah could get out of the cold, too.

Using a tight voice, Tom said, “Alright,
listen up. We’ve been at it for three hours. The forensics team is
done. You’ve pretty much got the second shot at it. You can even
take your own pictures. But just so you know, mess up and you’ll be
‘barred for life from future crime scenes.’ God’s words, not
mine.”

I nodded at Tom. His warning focused us on
proper protocol, the politics of this crime scene and not rocking
the boat for the remainder of the examination.

Maybe that’s why we missed the evidence
laying in plain sight near the end of our search. That and the
gruesome light show.

My plans to educate my new assistants
vanished as Gerry headed straight through to the kitchen. From the
looks of it, she’d spotted someone there worth chatting up, an
older gentleman I figured was a captain or better. This was my
first reminder of her station in life .Learning forensic skills was
not on her list. Networking with power people was.

I began taking pictures of the Stowall
domicile. I’d brought my most discrete camera just in case the
powers-that-be changed their minds about letting us record the
place. Hannah stayed by my side as Tom followed his sister, head
down, like an angry bull.

As I noted before, the house was in
disrepair, even beyond the other homes in this rundown subdivision,
which I had learned was called The Mountain Springs Community of
Iguana. I snapped a picture of the scarred door surfaces, now
covered with fingerprint powder. There were three locks on the
interior door, one more than usual. The third one being a deadbolt
operated by a key inside and out, presumably so that people
couldn’t leave the house without the key.

Luke was keeping people in as well as
out.

I snapped a picture of the line of sight,
which ran from the front door to the back door, passing through the
living room and the kitchen on the way.

On the immediate left, as you entered the
house, was an interior wall, upper half wallpapered and lower half
beadboard paneled and with a thin chair rail divider. These were
not recent interior design additions. These were decorating efforts
of a much earlier time, maybe before Eisenhower. The entranceway
wall turned left into another hall leading to other rooms.

I knew from our walk-around of the yard
Wednesday that there were probably four downstairs rooms: on the
right, the living room in the front and maybe a den at the back;
and on the left, maybe an office or bedroom in front—behind the
pre-Eisenhower wall--and a sizable kitchen beginning straight ahead
and flowing to the left in the back. Somewhere off to the left off
of the invisible left-right hallway would no doubt be a bathroom
and laundry room.

The stairway up to the second level wasn’t
visible from the front of the house, so I wasn’t sure what side of
this small house it would be situated on.

I also wasn’t sure if there were two or
three rooms on the second floor, but the sloped roof made me think
it was a much smaller space than the main floor.

And then there was the basement. I was
determined to visit that space as well, before we left this house
of pain.

Hannah would trail behind me as we explored,
asking occasional questions and using fairly sophisticated crime
scene terminology, reminding me she was probably brilliant. She’d
obviously prepared for this exploration overnight.

The living room was about twelve by fifteen
and occupied by a scattering of dilapidated cloth furniture, most
of which faced toward the rear wall at a small, analog
television.

Soiled doilies covered the filthy arms of
the couch and one chair. Next to the chair was a listing table
lamp. I guessed the couch had once been aquamarine, and the styling
and color loosely dated it to sometime in the 1950s or ‘60s.

This front room was cheerless, frozen in
time. It spoke to the Luke Stowall lifestyle. Uninviting. Not
expecting company. Raised high enough off the ground to prevent
snooping. Never washing your windows provided extra privacy.

Through the dingy side window glass I could
see the vacant lot we’d traipsed across. The fall field mirrored
the sorry interior. A couple of miserable Cleveland County deputies
peered soddenly in at me through the front window.

I read their minds. They hated that I was
inside, working their crime scene, warm and dry.

Hannah told me she’d done a quick online
check before arriving and had learned the house was built in 1928,
long before Luke and Ada. She added that the home had first been
Jake and Victoria’s.

That explained the choice of entryway
wallpaper, faded peach-colored Oriental birds on bamboo in a
swirling aquamarine background. Chinoiserie.

I had trouble wrapping my mind around the
possibility that everything inside the house was at least fifty
years old.

I muttered, “Where’s Eddie? Did he let them
in?”

Hannah turned to face me so others might not
hear. “I know they tried to get Victoria to agree to a warrantless
search, but she wouldn’t. Anne called me about this. Your cover
story about representing Victoria was almost blown, until Anne
convinced her mother to allow the search.”

Anne, one of the Stowall daughters.

“Victoria still owns the house, then?”

“Yes. I guess Luke and Ada never could
scrape the money together to buy it. Anyway, CCSD had already moved
forward to get the warrant approved by a judge. The grounds for the
request came from the neighbors across the street. They called to
complain about some “snooping” going on around the house. That
would be us, of course. When the man was questioned further he
started blabbing about hearing all sorts of violence for years. The
judge signed the search warrant late yesterday. Victoria’s
agreement to allow the search came a few minutes later. Anne says
she’s sorry.”

I said, “So the daughters are okay with the
investigation of their family?”

“Well, Anne is.” Hannah glanced around
nervously.

I stepped back to take one more picture of
the living room, this one from the kitchen doorway. In the process
I backed into Gerry.

“Follow me,” she whispered cryptically. We
did, down the short hallway toward the left side of the house and
the other front room. We stepped quickly into the small room, the
one that lay behind the beadboard wall. Inside we found Ada
Stowall’s quilts and sewing supplies.