Ada Unraveled (37 page)

“Then he called her back the second time
about thirty minutes later. So, still before five. He said the
noises were definitely not from a television, that the noises were
really bad. She asked him what kind of bad noises during that
second phone call, and he told her it sounded like a child crying
and carrying on, and that the sound was traveling around the upper
floor of the house next door, so it was definitely not a television
program.

“Eddie also told her there were no kids
living next door, that it was a boarding house of some sort. Mary
says she stalled, tried to calm him for a few more minutes, because
she didn’t want to involve the authorities unnecessarily.

“Finally, I guess he just couldn’t stand
talking to her anymore, so he hung up on her after saying he was
going ‘over there to see what all the shouting was about.’”

“When? What time was that?” I was still
dealing with my earlier assumptions about Eddie. I wanted to know
if he’d had the girl long enough to…hurt her.

“Mary thought that second call had ended
about five or five-fifteen, because then she called Anne and told
her the bad news that they would have to go over and help the poor
guy out. She admits she still thought Eddie was just having some
kind of running nightmare or something. She says he’s still very
confused about things, and really very anxious, the poor dear.
Mary’s words, not mine.”

“So did Anne and Mary go over?”

“No. Anne wasn’t dressed, so she told her
sister to call her back if he called a third time. Neither of them
was really taking Eddie’s complaint that seriously. Until Mary
turned on her television—after showering and dressing and beginning
her breakfast--and she heard the Amber Alert. That wasn’t until
later in the morning. So she quickly called Eddie back, but now
there wasn’t any answer.”

“Nine. The first alert was nine,” Matt
said.

“Oh, hi Matt. Then about two hours later—I
guess that would bring it up to around ten-thirty or eleven, he
called her back and told her he had the child with him. He told her
the little girl was really upset by the time he got her away from
the boarder.”

“Wait! What boarder?”

“Eddie said there was a man there, running
around the upstairs in little more than his underwear. He had a
really bad time trying to calm the bas…sorry, guy down. The little
girl was terrified of him.”

I said, “A man lived in the adjacent house?
This was the house right next door to the Stowall house,
right?”

I thought there’d only been a woman living
there. But now I remembered, I also couldn’t tell if we were seeing
a silhouette of a woman or a man, up in that second story window.
The night I’d lost my shoe--in the stink hole.

“Yes, that’s the house. Eddie said that all
he’d found when he went next door was this nearly naked man.
Anyway, he wanted Mary to come and get the little girl. He was
afraid the police would make him leave his house. Make him go down
to the station. But by now Anne was working her shift at the bakery
with Martha, and Mary didn’t want to go over alone.

“She admits she stalled for time again,
wanting to wait until the Saturday waitress came on and Martha
could take a break for lunch—usually around one. I think Mary may
be in some serious trouble over this stalling. The authorities were
searching all over for this missing child, and by my calculations
Mary knew where the child was for at least two hours before she and
Martha left the bakery and went over to help Eddie. What do you
think?”

Matt said, “I didn’t hear that.”

Hannah paused. Then added, “Right. Me
neither.”

They made me smile. Sometimes my hubby could
be bad. He was telling her not to get involved. Let the police find
out who knew what, when, and then decide what they didn’t like.

Hannah continued. “Did you know he’s
agoraphobic? He barely leaves his house at all now. Mary said it
seems to be getting worse instead of better. She said, in a way,
she’s glad this whole thing happened, because at least now he’s out
of that house. The girls
hate
that house.”

“But, how exactly did he rescue the child?”
Single-minded me.

“I asked Mary that, but she didn’t seem to
know. By the time they got over there, you were lying on the ground
outside with the ambulance attendants bandaging your ear, and the
sheriff’s department was handcuffing a wounded Eddie and reading
him his rights. One of them climbed into the ambulance to accompany
him to the hospital. The little girl had already been
transferred.”

I was calmer now, over my crying fit—the one
that hit me after Matt returned from working the county job and I
took one look at his face. He can have that effect on me.

I did some calculations. “How does Eddie
explain the hours between his second conversation with his aunt and
the final time he called her?”

“I don’t know. I hear the authorities are
all over the two houses right now, scouring them for clues, so I’m
sure we’ll know what went on pretty soon. I’m just so relieved you
made it home from Cleveland hospital okay. I wish you would have
let me drive you home.”

I wished I knew why Eddie shot me.

“It wasn’t necessary. I was fairly calm
after they patched me up, grilled me for two hours, and then sent
me packing. I didn’t fall apart until Matt came home a few minutes
ago. I was actually preparing dinner just before that.”

For some inexplicable reason, that comment
sent me into another emotional tailspin and I signaled Matt to take
over the conversation while I retreated into the bathroom to
wrestle with my new demon—uncontrollable emotions.

“How’s your mom?” Matt’s gruff voice chased
me. He was angry. Still looking at me like I was a stranger. We
would have a talk. I would remind him he’d fed me a relative of
heroin for several days.

Or maybe I wouldn’t. That wasn’t his
fault.

I already knew the answer to Matt’s question
anyway. Ruth was still resting in her soup of medicines.

I washed my face and put a fresh bandage on
my nicked ear. Tears were flowing from my eyes again. Like a faucet
with a bad gasket. Like the rain running down our windows as if we
lived in a rainforest.

I worried that neither would ever stop.

Sunday, October 19

I sat on the hard, wooden pew pondering my
fate, Eddie’s fate, Martha, Ann and Mary’s fates, and I was sorting
out the killers after a day full of discoveries.

Luke killed Mark, Ada, and the three
luckless women who’d met him in his final days. And probably Jake.
The final ruling on that was still out.

The empty blow gun syringes found on Luke’s
bed—placed there by Eddie--were being tested now. But it seemed a
safe bet that they contained rattlesnake venom, and that was what
Jake had died of. Snakebite.

The evidence not only pointed overwhelmingly
at Luke, there wasn’t anyone else to consider. And the motive was
clear. Both Mark and Luke were forced to handle snakes when they
were children. They were witnesses to the sterilization of their
sisters. They were products of an extremely dysfunctional family.
And Mark was dead.

And now Eddie shook uncontrollably whenever
he was forced to leave his home.

Eddie killed Luke; he’d said so, at the
hospital. And the gun associated with that crime had been found
next to Luke’s body. It had been tested for prints and Luke’s had
been found on it, along with a few as yet unidentified. Eddie had
been dead for most of his life, so he had no fingerprints on file.
Until now. I was betting those other prints were his.

According to Tom, Eddie had exclaimed upon
hearing that Luke’s prints were on the gun, that Luke must have
been the one to leave the gun on his bureau. Tom also told his
sister it wasn’t unusual for serial killers to have a
death-wish--to lay the trap that would help stop them in the end.
And Luke had morphed into a serial killer by the time Eddie shot
him.

Matt found out from one of his connections
up on Cleveland plateau that charges haven’t been brought against
Eddie yet. Rumors are that the Cleveland DA is reluctant to
prosecute Eddie for Luke’s death. The DA knows there are
justifications for Eddie’s behavior. And as a tortured soul, Eddie
would probably never be found guilty by a jury.

I’d almost killed that tortured soul. If I’d
gotten the gun out of my pocket, I would have. This morning I threw
out my ancient trench coat. And now I was looking at my gun
differently, too. It would have been a terrible mistake if I’d
killed him.

The only answer I had found to the question
of why Eddie shot at me was that he’d thought I was a bad person.
Something that Martha had said. No one would clarify this for me.
Other questions simmered in my mind, as well. White truck
questions. Strange men standing at the top of driveways and late
night phone calls questions. Ruth questions.

They might just be unrelated. Only time
would tell.

The little girl found with Eddie had finally
begun communicating with her parents. Late last night Gloria called
to tell Matt and me about the little girl. It was nice of her. I’d
been worrying that our relationship had been dinged.

I looked around at the high, stained-glass
windows and inhaled the remnants of incense from this morning’s
mass. I was here to thank Him for letting me live. I was here to
make sense of it all.

Matt told me that Eddie was saying Martha
was the crazy one, that she was the one who’d probably driven the
white truck, maybe with Anne.

I thought Eddie was making it up. None of
the witnesses mentioned two women. And the fool truck was jacked up
several feet off the ground. I didn’t think those two older women
could get in a truck like that, let alone drive it. But I thought a
lot of things and my memory of that horrible accident on Highway 78
was no clearer today than yesterday. Or the day before.

Maybe I should thank Him for that, too:
traumatic amnesia.

I looked around Saint Anne’s. It was a
beautiful message, from a loving God, through his adoring people. I
tried to let it in and some of it entered. But so did more doubts.
What kind of God would create us?
In His image.

So what, God was a murderer? God was a
torturer? God was a simpleton?

An echo from the front of the church
reminded me I was not completely alone. The daily masses had long
ago ended, but laypeople were still tidying up. I’d come to find
answers in a vacant building.

I’d never really belonged here, had I? I’d
never really been able to absorb the culture of my adopted
religion, though I’d tried repeatedly. And I did love it. I just
didn’t seem to fit here.

I rose from the hard pew and walked back out
into the rain to stand under my black umbrella and wait for Matt. I
was thinking He could at least let the sun shine again. And then He
did. Sending chills up my spine.

When I got home, I sat in my kitchen
stroking Wisdom’s silky coat and wondering where all the gray had
come from. Turning away from the inevitable decline of my pet, I
decided to try the Stowall daughters again.

I’d called before, on and off, all through
my investigation. But phone-ID capabilities had kept me from
getting through to them—made it possible for them to hide.
Listening to endless ringing on the other end of a line that didn’t
even go to a message machine was the height of frustration.

The daughters were masters of avoidance.

But the need to wrap up the sterilization
issue pushed me to try again. And I knew I needed to include Matt
this time, let him listen in. Of course, I cautioned him not to
make a sound. If I was going to get anything out of these women it
would have to be a seemingly private conversation.

Matt agreed, and we sat together in our
office, the phone on speaker. It was Matt’s idea to record the
conversation.

This time, I began with the middle one of
the three sterilized girls, Anne, and I finally connected.

The swiftness of her answer caught me by
surprise and I was momentarily at a loss for words. Anne’s first
words told me she was ready to share.

“Thank you for freeing Eddie from his
terrible past, Rachel. Now maybe he can begin anew. And I
understand that the other quilters want to hear why Eddie was
treated the way he was.”

Why. Yes. We all needed to hear why. And
how. And when.

Not just who. Not just that it was Luke and
his damaged mother Ada.

“Martha was the first to be sterilized. The
oldest girl. She’d gone to the shed out behind our house before
anyone.”

A simple declarative. There were no words I
could speak, so I just breathed, slowly.

“And she blames herself, Rachel, for what
happened to Mary and me, and eventually to Sarah. She blames
herself for not being able to stop Jake as he fell further under
the influence of a quack physician.”

Marcus Borman.

Anne continued. “I read about Svengali
once--looking for explanations why anyone would fall prey to an
essentially evil person. It helped, but not completely. Only my dad
could have explained it to me. He never did.

“What I know about my father, Jake Stowall,
is that he loved his children intensely. We were the proudest thing
he had done with his pitiful, handyman’s life.”

“I can see that,” I finally managed. Anne
had some sort of speech defect. Her voice kept stopping and
starting, and she made a strange noise to fill the gaps. She
sounded a bit like an owl.

Maybe that was another reason why she didn’t
answer my phone calls.

“Yes. But,
who-who
…he loved us badly,
too. You need to understand, Rachel, my parents had mostly done a
good job of raising us—because of my mom. She’s very strong. But
then came—
who-who
John. I hear you’ve read his
autobiography.”