Night Light (14 page)

A cluster began to form around him as he talked. He noticed that Deni had stopped her interviewing and was listening as he explained how they’d dug the well — and told them how important it was that they process their garbage first. The crowd got bigger, and by the time he’d finished, two dozen or more people were hanging on every word.

But most of them were female heads of their households, and as malnourished as many of them were, they didn’t appear to have the strength to dig a well. They needed to get more men involved. But looking around, Doug didn’t see that many able-bodied men. They would need outside help.

When they’d finished talking, he and Deni walked around the building to look for a place to dig a well.

“Deni, I want you to do a story on the plight of the apartments in town,” he said. “The community needs to get involved. These people need our help. And as surprised as I am to say this, it looks like people are actually reading your paper.”

She laughed. “I know. It’s weird, huh? Handwritten legal pads tacked to a wooden board. But people are hungry for communication. Maybe we could set a date for people to show up here to work, and I could post it around town. Do you think anyone would come, with so much of their own work to do?”

“I’ll try to get the church involved,” Doug said. “We have twenty families now. Surely I can get several of them to come.”

The stench grew more intense as they made their way around the building and encountered the mountains of garbage festering there. Deni covered her nose and started to choke. “This place is gross. I’m gonna throw up.”

“You can go back and wait with Jeff if you want. I’m going to walk into the woods here and see if I can find a clearing big enough to dig a well.”

“No, I’ll go with you, but can we please hurry? We’re probably breathing bacteria as we speak. This can’t be good.”

He led her around the garbage and into the thick stand of trees at the back of the property. “The people can’t even open their windows to let the air circulate, because if they do they’ll smell this. But if we start showing them how to process the garbage, we’ll have to teach them how to compost, and we’ll need water to wash everything that can be reused. This could be mission impossible.”

She stepped over a fallen tree. “I thought you didn’t believe in impossibilities. If I remember, you call those God-sized tasks.”

The stench was growing stronger the farther they went into the trees. He pulled his shirt up over his nose.

Deni had both hands over her face. “Dad, this is seriously disgusting.”

He had to agree. “There must be something dead back in here. If we find it, we can bury it or burn it. That’ll help.”

“I’m not touching it!” Deni said. “I’ll go back and watch the bikes and you and Jeff can do it. I have a weak stomach.”

Since she didn’t turn back, he supposed her curiosity was stronger than her revulsion.

He pushed through the brush, following the stench, and saw a clearing between the trees. Other than some bushes and a sapling or two, there were about fifteen feet open where they could dig the well without hitting significant root systems. “This is it,” he told Deni. “This is where we could dig the well.”

“It’s perfect,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t have to cut down any trees. But the smell is rancid. Do you think the water would even be clean? It smells like a toxic waste dump. I’m gagging.”

They must be getting closer to whatever it was.

For all her gagging, Deni didn’t stop talking. “It’s worse right here than it was standing over the garbage. This place reeks.”

He pushed through the brush, stepped over some dead limbs, waved back the leaves of a mimosa tree. A squirrel dashed in front of him, startling a big black bird he hadn’t seen before. Its wings flapped noisily and clumsily as it lifted off.

Deni caught her breath. “Dad, it’s a vulture.”

He looked where it had been. There was nothing there. Only a pile of leaves covering a filthy blue blanket. He stepped closer and picked up a corner of the cloth. Slowly, he lifted it.

And then he saw the source of the stench — the decaying body of a dead girl.

twenty-two

D
ENI SCREAMED.
S
TUMBLING BACK, SHE SHIELDED HER EYES
from the sight of the decaying body, covering her nose from the stench. She tripped over a fallen branch, caught herself, then crashed back through the woods the way she had come, pushing through brush and thorns and branches, snagging her clothes and skin as she ran.

When she got to the edge of the woods, to the piles of garbage, she bent over and threw up. She was vaguely aware that some of the residents from the apartments were wandering toward her to see what the commotion was.

And then her father was there, panting hard, bending over with her, holding her hair back as she retched into the refuse. “It’s okay, honey. Calm down.”

She retched again.

As more and more people gathered, asking what the screaming was about, Deni straightened and tried to pull herself together. She looked back toward the trees, where that dead body had lain for days … weeks …

Someone had to go for the police.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looked at her father. “Dad,” she said. “I’m going to send Jeff for the sheriff.”

He looked at the inquisitive crowd forming around them. “Tell him to hurry.”

twenty-three

T
HE SHERIFF AND HIS DEPUTIES WERE THERE WITHIN A FEW
minutes after Jeff alerted them. Two of the neighbors in the apartments came with them into the woods to identify the body. They both thought it was Jessie Gatlin, but since she’d been shot in the face, it was difficult to be sure. The girl had a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle. If Aaron could confirm that Jessie had one, then maybe they wouldn’t have to find anyone to identify the body. Asking the child to do it was out of the question.

The sheriff and his men roped off a perimeter around the body and began to work the crime scene.

Doug sat with Deni and Jeff on the steps of the apartments, waiting to talk to Scarbrough again before they went home.

“Those poor kids,” Jeff said. “Dad, you’re not gonna tell them she was murdered, are you? No kid should have to hear that about his mom.”

“If it’s her, I don’t see how we can avoid telling Aaron. He’ll hear about it. It’s a homicide investigation now. That’ll get a lot more attention than a missing-persons case.”

It was getting dark, but most of the neighbors had come out of their apartments and stood in the parking lot or sat on dusty, rusting cars, waiting to hear whatever evidence the sheriff was able to find.

“What if it wasn’t a homicide?” Deni asked. “What if it was suicide?”

Doug hadn’t considered that. “I guess it could be. I just assumed it was murder when I saw the gunshot.”

The sheriff came around the building, scanned the parking lot, then started toward them. “Would you mind stepping into Jessie’s apartment with me? I’d like to talk to you.”

They followed him up the stairs and into the sweltering, sewer-stench apartment.

“Sheriff, do you think it could have been suicide?” Doug asked as he closed the door.

The sheriff shook his head. “No. She was shot twice,” he said, “and neither bullet was at close range. It was clearly a homicide. And we found some shell casings. They look like they’re .38 caliber.”

Doug’s eyebrows shot up. “One of the guns Aaron had was a .38.”

“That’s what I thought.” Scarbrough set his foot on a box. “Where did he say he got it?”

“He said he found it. Do you think it belonged to the killer?”

“Could very well be. The kid may have stolen it from the guy who killed his mother.”

Jeff came further into the room. “But Aaron didn’t know his mom was dead. How could he know who killed her?”

“I’m not saying he knew,” Scarbrough said. “I’m saying that maybe it was someone familiar to the family. Someone around here, even.”

“Are you sure it was the same gun?” Doug asked.

“No, and we won’t know for sure until we get the ballistics report, which could take some time. My department doesn’t have the capability to handle ballistics, but Birmingham does. They have their own specialists who analyze firearms. Problem is, we have to wait in line. With the boost in crime, there aren’t enough specialists to get it all done.”

“Even when there’s a killer on the loose? Seems like they’d move it to the top of the list.”

“Unfortunately there are a lot of killers on the loose and they don’t have the resources they used to have to work with. We’ll have to wait our turn. But if I’m right, then Aaron is the key to finding his mom’s killer. All we have to do is get him to admit where he got that gun.”

“Then we’d better get home and break it to him,” Deni said.

Scarbrough reached for the doorknob. “I’ll take you all home. And after we tell him, maybe he’ll have some idea who the killer is.”

twenty-four

H
EARING THE SHERIFF
’
S VAN PULLING INTO HER DRIVEWAY,
Kay dashed outside.

Doug, Deni, and Jeff were in the van with Sheriff Scarbrough. Something was wrong.

“What happened?” she asked Doug as he got out.

He looked past her, making sure no one could hear. “Where are the kids?”

“Out back,” she said. “Doug, tell me what’s wrong. Why is the sheriff here?”

Deni and Jeff unloaded their bikes and rolled them into the garage. Deni looked pale and shaken, and Jeff seemed somber.

“We found a dead girl in the woods behind the apartments. We think it may be Jessie Gatlin.”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh no.”

“She’d been there for weeks. She was shot twice.”

“Murdered?”

“Apparently.”

She turned to Sheriff Scarbrough. “Do you know who did it?”

“Not yet,” Scarbrough said. “Kay, I’m going to have to talk to Aaron. We need to break the news and ask him some questions.”

“Of course.” She led them into the house and looked out the back window. The kids were washing their recyclables in a rubber bin. They were laughing and splashing each other. Even Aaron had joined the fun. She hated to interrupt, especially for this.

Kay went to the back door. “Aaron, can you come in for a minute?”

He stopped splashing. “Okay, but I’m all wet.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get you a towel.” Her gentle voice must have alerted him, for his smile faded. He came inside and saw the sheriff, and the color drained from his face.

“Hi, Aaron,” Scarbrough said. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Aaron froze. “What do you want?”

“Sit down, Aaron,” Kay said. “Please …”

Fury flashed across the child’s face. “If you came to take us out of here and split us up, we’ll run away.” The corners of his mouth pulled down as he got the words out.

“That’s not why I’m here, Aaron.”

Doug stepped toward the boy, touched his arm. “Come on, son, sit down.”

Aaron jerked away from him. “I don’t want to. And I ain’t your
son.
”

Doug sighed and pulled out his own chair, sitting slowly down. The others followed, but Kay kept standing. She moved closer to the boy, wishing she could hold and comfort him …

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Aaron, it’s about your mother. Could you tell us if she had a tattoo?”

Aaron’s face tightened even more. “You found her, didn’t you?”

“We’re not sure.
Does
she have a tattoo?”

“Yes,” he said. “She got one on her ankle. A stupid butterfly.”

Kay turned to Scarbrough to see if that confirmed it. He nodded.

Aaron seemed to sense it too. His face crumpled, and his lips trembled. “You’d think if she was gonna go through all the money and pain to get a freakin’ tattoo she’d get something important like an eagle or a spider or something. But no, she had to go and get a butterfly so Sarah would want one too.”

Doug’s voice was raspy. “Aaron, we need you to sit down. We have to tell you something.”

He stood there a moment, staring at his shoes.

“We found your mother,” Doug said. “Aaron, she’s dead.”

The boy didn’t look up. He didn’t move at all. Finally, he asked, “Where?”

“In the woods behind your apartments.”

For a moment, Kay watched his jaw muscle popping in and out, but he kept his eyes on the floor. Finally, he spoke. “She prob’ly deserved it. Stinking junkie.”

Kay caught her breath. “Aaron!”

His face twisted and he started backing away. Kay reached out to hug him, but he jerked out of her reach.

“We’ll have a funeral, Aaron.” Deni’s voice was soft. “We’ll give her a proper burial.”

His ears turned red and his mouth trembled. “I don’t want to see her.”

“You don’t have to,” Kay said.

The sheriff gave him a moment, and Kay watched Aaron’s valiant struggle to hold back his tears. She wished he’d just let them go.

Scarbrough cleared his throat. “Aaron, I need to know where you got that gun the Brannings found. The .38.”

“I already told you I found it.”

“Found it where?”

“I don’t remember.”

Doug got up and went toward him. “Son, whoever owns that gun might be the one who killed your mother.”

Aaron’s expression changed, and he looked up, surprised. Kay realized they hadn’t explained that she’d been murdered. Was that shock on his face, or rage?

“She was shot, Aaron. We need to find the gun’s owner.”

“I don’t know who it was,” he said again. “I found it in the garbage.”

“The garbage behind your apartments?” the sheriff asked.

He shook his head. “No. Some other garbage. I don’t remember where.”

For some reason, the kid was lying. Kay wondered who he was trying to cover for … and why.

Scarbrough turned to Doug. “I’ll need that weapon. We need to log it as evidence.”

Doug went to get it out of the gun cabinet. He brought it back in a towel to keep from smudging any prints that might be on it. Carefully, he handed it to the sheriff.

Scarbrough dropped it into an evidence bag and took another look at the boy. “I have to go now, Aaron. But if you think of who might have killed your mother — or who owned this gun — I need you to tell me immediately. It’s real important. We need to get the killer off the street before he kills anybody else.”