Indelible (28 page)

“What happened, Robert?” Jeffrey waited, but he did not answer. “Tell me what happened,” he repeated. “I've never asked you before because I believed you were innocent. If you're saying you're guilty now, then tell me what happened.”

Robert cleared his throat a few times, then reached
out with both hands to get a cup of water off the desk. He took a sip of water and winced as it went down, his Adam's apple jerking in his throat. Jeffrey saw the bruises around his neck and knew that someone had tried to strangle him. Or had they put their hands around his neck to keep him from calling out? The bruises darkened as they wrapped around the front of his neck. Had someone stood behind him, squeezing his throat shut? What were they doing that was so bad they needed to make sure Robert could not call out?

“Robert,” Jeffrey whispered, trying to find his voice. “Tell me what happened.”

He shook his head. “Go home, Slick.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

“Go back to Grant County and marry Sara. Start a life. Have some kids.”

“I'm not gonna do that, Robert. I'm not gonna leave you a second time.”

“You didn't leave me the first time,” Robert said, anger flashing in his eyes. “Look, I raped her. That's just what I'm going to tell them: I took her to the cave and I raped her, and she started screaming, saying she was going to tell everybody. I panicked, just like I panicked the other night. I took a rock and smashed the side of her head in.” He gave Jeffrey a hard look. “Does that satisfy you?”

“Which side?” Jeffrey asked. “Which side of her head did you hit her on?”

“Hell, I don't know. Look at her damn skull. It's the side that's broken.”

“You didn't kill her,” Jeffrey said. “She was strangled, she wasn't beaten.”

“Oh.” Robert could not hide his surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah, I strangled her, too.”

“You didn't.”

“I did,” he insisted. “I strangled her just like this,” he said, the cuffs clinking as he wrapped his hands around an imaginary neck.

“You didn't,” Jeffrey countered.

Robert dropped his hands, though he would not admit defeat.

“I was just talking to her at first, trying to be nice,” he said, his voice getting smaller. His eyes glazed over as he went somewhere else, and he spoke so softly that Jeffrey had to strain to listen. “When she looked away, I hit her in the head, and when she fell over, I got on top of her, behind her. She screamed, and I started choking her to shut her up.” He used his hands again to illustrate. “She wouldn't stop screaming, and it got me mad just hearing her, and it got me excited, too—excited like I don't know. I kept one hand on the back of her neck.” He put his hand palm down, like he was there. “I knew she was scared—terrified. I was scared, too. I thought somebody would come, somebody would see me like that, like some animal. And I couldn't stop. I couldn't get anybody to help me. My throat . . .” He put his hand to his neck. “My throat felt like I swallowed a handful of tacks. I just couldn't breathe. I couldn't even make a sound more than a whimper, but in my mind, I could hear them laughing about it, egging me on, like it was some kind of game to see how far I could go before I broke.” He let his hands drop to his lap, his breath coming in sharp rasps. Jeffrey did not know if he was talking about Julia anymore or
what had happened to him last night. “I just wanted to go somewhere in my head, somewhere safe where I was okay, but it was all so horrible that I couldn't do anything but bite down on my tongue and pray to God it would be over soon.” His lips trembled, but there were no tears.

“Robert,” Jeffrey said, reaching out again to touch him.

Robert pulled away as if Jeffrey had slapped him. He curled into himself as much as he could. “Don't touch me,” he whispered. “Please don't touch me.”

“Robert,” Jeffrey repeated, trying to keep his voice controlled. If he had a gun, he'd go back to the jail right now and kill every one of those fucking bastards. He'd start with Reggie and work his way up the food chain until—what?—until he put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger? He was just as guilty in all of this as the others were.

Still, he had to know, “Why are you lying to me about Julia?”

“I'm not lying,” Robert said, anger flaring up again. “I raped her.” He gave Jeffrey a steady look. “I raped her and then I killed her.”

“You didn't kill Julia,” Jeffrey insisted. “Stop saying you did. You didn't even know how she died.”

“What does it matter?” Robert said. “I'm going to get the needle anyway.”

“You're not,” Jeffrey said. “Not if you cop to manslaughter. You can be out in seven years. You can still have a life.”

“What kind of life?”

“I'll help make a life for you,” Jeffrey said, and in that moment, he was certain he could make it work.
“You can come to Grant with me. Work on the force.”

“Not with a felony rap.”

“We'll find something else, then,” Jeffrey told him. “We'll get you the fuck out of this town. You can start over, have a new life.”

“What kind of life?” Robert repeated. He raised his hands, indicating the station. “What kind of life can I have after this?”

“We'll get to that when the time comes,” Jeffrey said. “Just stop talking to people, okay? Don't talk to anybody but the lawyer—not even Hoss. We'll get the best guy we can. We'll go to Atlanta if we have to.”

“I don't want a lawyer,” Robert said. “I just want some peace.”

“You're not going to find peace in a prison uniform, Robert. You have to know that by now.”

“I don't care anymore,” he said. “I really don't.”

“That's just for right now,” Jeffrey told him. “That's just because of last night.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Robert said. “We got into a scuffle, but that was it. They knew better after I got finished with them.”

Jeffrey sat back in the chair.

“I beat the shit out of them,” Robert said, his teeth showing in what he probably wanted to be a smile but looked like more of a snarl. “Three on one, and I beat the ever-loving shit out of them.”

“That's good,” Jeffrey said, knowing he could not disagree. Three on one. Robert hadn't had a chance.

Robert's false bravado continued. “I punched one of 'em so hard he was begging for his mama.”

“There you go,” Jeffrey said, his heart breaking even as he said the words. “You showed 'em, Bobby. You showed 'em all.”

Robert took a deep breath, sitting up straighter, squaring his shoulders. “All right,” he said, like he was bracing himself. “It's all right. I can do this.”

“You don't have to do it alone,” Jeffrey told him. “I'm here. Possum's here.”

“No,” Robert said, like his mind was made up. “I'm going to do this, Jeffrey. It's the least I can do.”

“Least you can do for what?”

“For you,” he said, giving Jeffrey a knowing look. “I know what really happened.”

Jeffrey felt as if he had been threatened, but he did not know why. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I saw you in the woods with Julia that day. I saw you both going to the cave.”

Jeffrey shook his head. They had been alone that day. He had checked.

“I'm willing to take the rap for everything,” Robert said, tears welling back into his eyes. When he spoke, his voice shook from the effort. “I'll say I did it, take the blame for all of it and let you walk away. Just tell me, Slick. Tell me the truth. Did you kill her?”

S
ara was sitting in a chair on Nell's front porch as Jeffrey pulled into the driveway. He had exchanged Robert's truck for her BMW, and she was glad to see it back in one piece. She walked toward him as he got out of the car, but something about his expression stopped her.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he told her, though he was obviously lying. “Let's go to Robert's house again.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Let me go tell Nell where I'm going.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the street. “She'll figure it out.”

“Okay,” she repeated, wondering what was going on. He held on to her hand as they walked down the street. There was a slight breeze in the air, which made the day more bearable, but it was still hot on the black asphalt, and Sara could not help thinking back to two short nights ago when she had run down the street trying to get away from Jeffrey. Maybe he
was thinking about the same thing, because he squeezed her hand.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, but did not elaborate.

“Why do you want to look at the house again?”

“Something's not right,” he said. “It doesn't add up.”

“What did Robert say?”

“Nothing new,” Jeffrey told her. “He's still taking the rap for it. Taking the rap for everything.” His jaw tightened, and he was quiet a beat. “He's lying about Julia. It makes me wonder what else he was lying about.”

“Like what?” Sara said, thinking that it was pretty clear what had happened in the bedroom that night. “All the evidence backs what he's saying.”

“I just want to look at it again,” he said. “I want to see for myself that it works out.”

“What specifically do you think doesn't add up?”

He let go of her hand as they approached Robert's house, not answering her question. The yellow clapboard looked freshly painted and the white picket fence gave the place a surreal effect, like it was a Hollywood version of what a home should be.

There was a bright yellow strip of police tape on the door. Jeffrey took out his Swiss Army pocketknife, prying up the blade with his fingernail. “He was attacked last night.”

“In the jail?”

He nodded.

“By whom?”

Jeffrey sliced through the police tape. “He won't say.”

“How could Hoss let that happen?”

“It wasn't Hoss,” Jeffrey told her, closing the knife. “Robert won't say who put him in general population, but I have a feeling it was Reggie.”

“Why didn't he just paint a target on his back?”

“If I see that stupid redneck fuck again, I'm going to rip his head off.”

Sara had a hard time reconciling Reggie with these actions, but Nell had said he was not to be trusted.

She asked, “Is Robert all right?”

Jeffrey opened the door and stepped back, letting Sara enter the house first. “I tried to get him to talk to me, to tell me what went down, but he wouldn't.”

“Was he badly beaten?”

“It's not that I'm worried about,” Jeffrey said, and she read everything on his expression in a moment.

“Oh, no,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “Is he okay?”

He closed the door behind them. “He says he's fine.”

“Jeffrey,” she said, wrapping her hand around his shoulder. He looked down the hallway, not at her, and she could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure.

“Possum was down there this morning to bail him out,” he said. “I didn't even think about doing that.”

“How could he make bail?”

“Hoss must have pulled some strings,” Jeffrey told her. “It's not like he's a flight risk. Where would he go?”

“I'm so sorry,” she told him, feeling his sadness wash over her.

He put his arms around her, and she held him, trying to offer comfort when she knew there was little else she could do.

“Oh, Sara,” he breathed, burying his face in her neck. His whole body relaxed, and despite all that had happened, she felt an overwhelming sense of happiness knowing that just by holding him she could bring him such peace.

He said, “I just want to get away with you.”

“I know,” she told him, stroking the nape of his neck.

“I want to take you dancing,” he said, and she laughed because they both knew she had the coordination of a just-born colt. “I want to walk on the beach with you and drink piña coladas out of your belly button.”

She laughed again, pulling away, but he would not let her. Sara kissed his neck, letting her lips linger on his skin. He tasted salty, like the ocean, and she could smell the musky odor of his aftershave. “I'm here,” she said.

“I know,” he told her, finally breaking the embrace. He gave a heavy sigh, indicating the house with a toss of his hand. “Let's just get this over with.”

“What are we looking for?” she asked, following him into the living room.

“I don't know,” he said, opening one of the drawers in the coffee table. He rummaged around inside, then closed it. “Where did he keep his backup gun?”

“I think he said the living room?” Sara said, more of a question because she could not remember.

“There should be a safe,” he said. “If he was telling the truth about where he kept it.”

Sara was not sure if anything Robert said could be trusted, but she opened the doors on the television cabinet. Except for a large TV and a bunch of videotapes, she saw nothing. She bent down to go through the drawers, saying, “They don't have kids in the house. He could've just kept it in a drawer.”

“Robert knows better than that,” Jeffrey said, getting on his hands and knees to look under the couch. “Hoss taught us both that you always secure your weapon.” He sat back on his heels, a sad look in his eyes. “Robert coached Little League,” he said. “He probably had kids in here all the time. He wouldn't have left a gun laying around.”

“Jessie had an episode,” Sara told him. “Nell told me around the miscarriage she took too many pills.”

“Another reason for him to keep it hidden,” Jeffrey pointed out.

Sara rummaged through a stack of instruction sheets for every piece of electronic equipment in the house. She found several old remote controls, a few spent batteries, and a fingernail file, but no gun safe. She asked, “Where do you keep your backup?”

“By my bed,” he answered. “When I'm home, my service piece is in the kitchen.”

“Why there?”

“I've never thought about it,” he said, running his hand under the coffee table. “Just seemed logical. One upstairs, one downstairs.”

“Where in the kitchen?” Sara asked, walking toward the back of the house.

“Cabinet over the stove,” he called, then, “Shit.”

“What?”

“Got a splinter.”

“Try to be a little more careful,” she advised him, walking down the hall. The bedroom was directly across from the kitchen, but she did not let herself look. The stench of dried blood was overpowering, and Sara knew that it would linger in the house long after Robert and Jessie found someone who could clean it. She could not imagine how Jessie could go on living here after what had happened.

Sara opened the cabinet over the stove, finding a stack of Tupperware bowls with their lids neatly piled beside them. She stood on the tips of her toes, peering all the way to the back, but there was nothing even resembling a gun. She went around the room, opening and closing all the cabinets, with the same results. She even checked the refrigerator, which had a full gallon of milk, juice, and the usual staples, but no gun.

“Find anything?” Jeffrey asked. He stood in the doorway with one hand cradling the other.

“Does it hurt?” Sara asked.

“Not much,” he said, holding out his hand. She turned on the light and saw a thick splinter in the palm of his hand.

“They must have some tweezers,” she said, opening the drawers. A quick search found nothing but common kitchen utensils. “I'll check the bathroom.”

She headed toward the master bathroom but stopped when she caught sight of a sewing basket sitting on the highboy beside the dining room table.

She told Jeffrey, “Come in here, the light's better,” as she searched the basket. “These will work,” she said, finding a pair of straight-edged tweezers among the pins and needles.

“You want me to open these?” Jeffrey asked, but he was already twisting the rod to open the blinds. He looked out into the backyard, saying, “It's nice here, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, taking his hand in hers. She wore glasses sometimes at work, but she had been too vain to bring them along on the trip. “This might hurt.”

“I can take it,” he said, then, “Ow, shit.” He jerked back his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, trying not to smile at his reaction. She held his hand closer to the window, taking advantage of the light. “Just think about something else.”

“That won't be hard,” he told her sarcastically, wincing as the tweezers grew near.

“I haven't even touched it,” she said.

“Are you this mean to your kids?”

“Usually they're a little braver.”

“That's nice.”

“Come on,” she teased him. “I'll give you a lollipop if you're good.”

“I'd rather give
you
something to suck on.”

She raised an eyebrow, but did not respond. Slowly, she worked at the splinter, trying to get it to come out in one piece.

Jeffrey asked, “Did you notice something weird about Swan?”

“Weird how?” She groaned as the splinter broke.

“Like . . .” He made a hissing sound as she dug into the skin. “He's the exact opposite of Robert.”

She shrugged. “Maybe that was the point. She wanted something different. A change.”

“Am I different from the guys you usually date?”

Sara worked on the splinter, trying to come up with a good answer. “I can't say that I've given it much thought.” She smiled as the splinter came out. “There.”

He put his hand to his mouth, something Sara saw kids do at the clinic, as if some genetic imperative convinced them that their mouth could cleanse a wound.

“Let's look in the bedroom,” Jeffrey said.

“You think he was lying about keeping a backup in the living room?”

“I don't know.”

“He could have kept it in his truck.”

“Maybe.”

“What else is bothering you?” She decided not to let him brush it off. “I'm not stupid, Jeffrey. Something's bothering you. Either tell me or not, but don't keep denying it.”

He put his hand on the windowsill. “Yes, something is bothering me. I just can't talk about it.”

“Okay,” she agreed, glad that she had at least gotten him to admit it. “Let's finish in here. Maybe then we can go back to Nell's and try to make some sense of all this.”

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the hinges squeaked when she opened it. Light was streaming in through the windows, and Sara was surprised to find that her memory of what the room had looked like the night Swan had been shot was completely skewed. Somehow, her mind had exaggerated everything so that whenever she tried to
imagine the room, she saw blood everywhere. In actuality, except for the splatter fanning out to the door and ceiling and the pool of blood and matter where Swan had lain, the room was clean.

Jeffrey opened the armoire and searched the shelves as Sara went to the bedside table opposite the side Swan had been shot. Everything in the room had been dusted for prints, black powder showing specks of dirt and ridges on every available surface. She assumed Reggie had lifted whatever evidence he needed, but still Sara tried not to touch the black powder on the cabinet door, knowing from experience how difficult it was to wash off. She opened the door from the top, stepping back as a baby-blue vibrator fell out onto the floor.

Jeffrey was looking over her shoulder. “That explains a lot,” he said in a knowing tone.

“What does it explain?” Sara asked him, taking a tissue to use as she returned the machine to its resting place. “Every woman I know has one of these.”

He seemed surprised. “Do you?”

“Of course not, honey,” she joked. “You're more than man enough for me.”

“I'm serious, Sara.”

“What?” she asked, glancing in the cabinet before shutting the door. There was a small tube of personal lubricant, but she thought better than to tell Jeffrey. She said, “It doesn't mean anything. Sometimes couples use them. What sort of smoking gun are you looking for here?”

“I don't know,” he said, sounding defeated. “He's not telling me the truth. We've got to either prove
he's lying or prove he's not.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, I'm going to support him through this.”

Sara told him, “Sometimes when people lie, they sprinkle in the truth so that it sounds believable.”

“Meaning?”

“Robert might have told us a bit of information that we're just not hearing.” Sara suggested, “Let's take it from the beginning and go over what Robert and Jessie said happened the first time.”

“You mean what they told us when Luke was shot?”

She nodded.

“All right,” he said, looking around the room. “Let's take it from the top. We were in the street. I heard the shots and ran through the backyard to here.” He stood in the doorway. “I saw what had happened, or at least saw the dead guy. Robert groaned and I turned around. He was here,” Jeffrey pointed behind the door. “Jessie was over here,” he said, indicating the area by the window.

“Then what?”

“I asked Robert if he was okay, then I went to get you.”

“All right,” Sara began, taking up the narration. “I came in and you went to call the police. I checked Swan's pulse, then I went to help Robert.”