The War Gate (8 page)

Drake shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

Janus’s smile returned in all of its idiocy. He waved the check in the air. “I was talking about the financial trouble in the BSA. There! I think the ink is dry.” He looked at the check. “A whole ten dollars! Fabulous. What an impact that will make. You have no idea what you’ve done. But you will. I can’t thank you enough.”

Drake didn’t want thanks. If the priest didn’t want the donation, he’d take it back. All he wanted was for the guy to get the hell out of Cyberflow. Drake started to say as much, but Janus turned away. In doing so, the priest knocked the phone book to the floor. Drake bent to retrieve it, noticing that the pages were splayed out. It was opened to the funeral section, the exact page he had been looking at earlier. He slapped the book back on his desk, but when he opened his mouth to say goodbye, he found the office empty. The priest had vanished.

“I hope you choke on it,” Drake said to the door.

Chapter 6

After showering, Avy decided on her lavender jogging suit. She tugged her hair into a ponytail, then shoved her feet into her best running shoes. Now she was dressed to twist into a pretzel if Sebastian asked her to. But there was one thing she wanted to do before going to the theater—stop by the library.

She drove down Hillsborough Street and parked in the Harvey Sibbitt Library parking lot. Once inside the library, she went to the administration desk with her driver’s license in hand. An aged woman had her back to her, stacking books on a shelving unit. When she turned around, she caught sight of Avy, slapped a hand to her mouth, and dropped an armload to the floor.

Avy stepped back, fearful she’d done something wrong.

“It’s your face,” said the woman, emphasizing the noun.

“What’s wrong with it?” Avy dug in her purse for a mirror.

“Nothing’s wrong with it. You look like someone who used to come in here.”

Avy blinked. “Was it Avalon Labrador? She was my mother, and she used to live here.”

The clerk fanned herself. “It’s just so striking. You could be twins. I knew your mother. She was a peach. I am very sorry about the way things turned out. The trial made the headlines here for months. Dear God, it was a regular media circus.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

The woman handed her a form. “I’m Abigail Folger. Let’s get you started on a card.”

Avy filled out the form, which got her a temporary. “Do you have an archives room? I might need tapes that go back to the nineteen seventies.”

“Forgive me for asking, but would this have to do with your mother?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’d be swimming in the microfiche for days to search out all of the articles. You could get that information face to face from the man who knew her better than anyone. Raymond Hammersmith. He’s worked at the women’s correctional facility for thirty-five years. He gathered everything in a scrapbook, spending months following the trial like a bloodhound. It would save you the hassle.” She brought out a phone book from under the counter. She wrote down the address and pushed the paper slip across the counter.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” said Avy.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

###

Hammersmith’s residence was on the South Side, on a street called Flag. It was a dusty, silver trailer on an unkempt lot. A large oak tree with a rotted tire swing sat off center in front of the entrance. Flagstones led up to the door, which looked like a submarine hatch. Six pots held rhododendrons under an aluminum eave. A small sedan cowered under a flimsy awning. The place screamed poverty, given its condition.

After she parked, Avy strolled up the walk, then rapped on the door. The trailer suspension creaked under heavy footsteps. The door opened with a squeal. A large man, fifty something, stepped forward holding a coffee cup. He squinted.

“Hello,” said Avy, throwing on her best smile. “My name’s Avy Labrador. I’ve come here because I think you can help me.”

The coffee cup slipped from his hand, swung on a pudgy index finger, its contents splashing on the wooden steps over Avy’s shoes. The man gawked, taking a step backward.

Avy licked her lips. She would try this again. “Like I was saying, a certain person gave me your address. I’m sorry to bother you, but you knew my mom, right? I was wondering if you could answer some questions.” There, she got it out in one breath.

“Man, I’m so fucked up,” said the man. “I mean, I’m super shocked. For a minute, I thought Avalon had dropped out of a cloud to come haunt my ass. But you’re not her!”

She narrowed her eyes. “I sure hope you’re Raymond Hammersmith.”

“They call me Chubby.” He stared at her. “Yes, yes, come in. By all means!” He back-peddled, allowing her in. She entered, looking around for a moment. She chose to sit on the end of a stuffed chair, not wanting to get too comfortable. She watched him hurry around the corner, then heard a racket of clashing dishes. Something hit the floor with a ping. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” he hollered.

“Thanks for inviting me.” she shot back.

She looked around again. Cluttered. A table held a stack of detective novels, sitting on top of an even larger stack of crime magazines. Several rifles sat in corner crooks, while numerous pistols lay scattered about on the top of cushions. A TV hung from wires, eye-hooked to the ceiling. Near the couch, something resembling a fuzzy slipper came to life. The tiny dog stretched once, then walked with an arthritic shiver into the kitchen. Then she heard, “Gretchen. Get out from underneath my feet.” In another minute, Chubby appeared with a cup, saucer, and napkin. “I know just how you like it,” he said. “Guh. I mean, I hope you like it this way.”

She accepted the cup, watching him study her. Avy sipped the brew. “Just right.” What the heck else was she going to say?

He stood in front of her, wound up like a taut spring. She began to fidget under his pop-eyed gaze, wondering how she was going to bring up the subject. According to the librarian, this was the man who had followed her mother’s trial and possibly had the information she was looking for.

Chubby backed up to sit on the armrest of the couch. Now they were both perched on armrests.

“I hope I didn’t freak you out,” Avy tried. “There’s a huge resemblance. I promise I won’t be long. I just have a few questions about my mother.”

Chubby brightened. “Oh, sure. Fire away.” He lifted a thick, three-ring binder from an end table, opened it up, then flipped a few pages.

“I guess I’d like to know if the arrest was as bad as I’ve been told.”

He crossed the floor to give her a clipping. “This pretty much explains what happened.”

Avy read the ink-smudged newsprint, while she sipped the coffee.

Law enforcement officials were tipped off about two bodies found in the vicinity of Interstate twenty-nine. The deceased are Tom Labrador and Judge Ronald Gillian. The identification of one of the deceased men led police to an undisclosed residence, where an adult female was questioned. The woman was taken to headquarters for further interrogation. She remains a person of interest in this case. No one has been formally charged. The investigation is ongoing.

Avy handed the short clipping back. “It sounds like she was the main suspect from the beginning.”

“Yeah, two months later the district attorney was set to go. The prosecution hammered her the first day. They said things like ‘irrefutable evidence’ and ‘slam dunk’ because they were so sure that Avalon was guilty. The defense attorney was a friggin nitwit. All he did was bring in people to testify to her character. Seems like she had the whole neighborhood on her side. They had some nice things to say about your mom. Nobody believed that she could do anything like that. But all of that ended up being immaterial.”

“Do you believe she committed the murders?”

“Nah, not even from the start. I could read her pretty well. I was assigned to her cellblock for a long time, and I got to know her. We talked about a lot of things. Strange thing was that she had no memory of any of it. Plus, she was just too broken up over her husband getting killed like that. They had to remove her a dozen times during the first two weeks of the trial, because she couldn’t look at the autopsy photos. Never have seen a woman cry so much after knocking off her mate. It just didn’t make any sense. There was no hate there.”

“It sounds like you followed the trial, then became good friends with her.”

He looked sad for a moment. “She was the best.” He pointed to his chest. “Inside here, you know.” Then he patted the binder. “I documented everything. Up until the end when the jury reached the final verdict, pronouncing her guilty of capital murder. Then the penalty phase came later—death by lethal injection. Man, the protests flew hot from everyone. There were letter campaigns to the attorney general, the mayor, governor, even the Supreme Court. Nothing worked. Even the appeals. A second lawyer was appointed, but he couldn’t pull any rabbits out of the hat. In fact, he was worse than the first one. She never got a retrial.”

“Then it all came down to the end fourteen years later.”

“Yeah, just over fourteen years. They found out she was pregnant while they were strapping her to the gurney. What a train wreck. They had to lay down a major cover up to keep it from the press. The two doctors assigned to her got canned for incompetence a year later. Nobody could figure out how Avalon got pregnant. They ran all kinds of tests, trying to find out who the father was. The prison reps didn’t have any comments for the media, who were all over the story because they thought it was a botched execution. They never did find a DNA match. All the gals in the prison said that it was the Ghost Lover that came in to do the deed.”

“Ghost Lover?”

“Yep.” He handed her a another clipping. “They did interviews with some of the inmates who spent time with Avalon. One of them wrote that poem. I can recite it by heart.”

Avy began to read the poem.

“Who goes there in the night?

When all is deathly dark

'Cause time stands still for all of us

When all are filled with fright

Oh, take me, ghostly lover

Take me far away

Wrap your arms around me

Tell me that you’ll stay

A shadow stalks and whispers

It speaks a loveless ruse

He’s come to do his bidding

With all the little sisters.

Oh, take me, ghostly lover

Take me far away

Wrap your arms around me

Tell me that you’ll stay

Rake my body, make it shiver

Plunge your soul in mine

Give it to me nasty bad

You death-watch nightly giver

Oh, take me, ghostly lover

Take me far away

Wrap your arms around me

Tell me that you’ll stay”

Chubby handed her the large binder after she finished reading the poem. He opened it to a certain page, pointing to an article. He was the subject of the interview this time.

Long time Raleigh prison guard, Raymond Hammersmith, has been championing the innocence of Avalon Labrador for more than fourteen years. His outspoken opinions about the trial have garnered media attention and public support, yet controversy from his superiors. He offered his closing thoughts on the aftermath of the trial, sentencing, and death of his longtime friend. Hammersmith said, “Avalon was never a cold-blooded killer or a black widow like some people have been saying. She was incapable of harming another person. I know that killer instinct. I’m telling you, she didn’t have it.”

Hammersmith went on to say that the trial was a “mockery, a rush to judgment” He also disagreed with the sentence that she received. He has taken great offense to the way things were handled. He challenged the authority that would execute a woman who had been distressed during the last days of her life. Hammersmith said, “In the first place, you don’t even think about executing someone who’s suffering a mental breakdown—that’s the real crime.” He added, “I believe that the stress in those last days caused a delivery that ended in her death.” Asked what clinical proof he had of her unstable nature, he said, “Avalon said she had nightmares of divine visitations from angels. She saw a priest with long flowing hair.”

Avy clenched her fists when she read over the “priest with long flowing hair” remark three more times.
Angels. Ghost lovers
. It seemed like the whole prison was in on it. Either her mother was a full-tilt whacko, or something very strange had happened in the women’s main prison. Whatever it was, it had resulted in a massive cover-up. The inmates were convinced of paranormal activity. The claims might have worked in an insanity defense, but why hadn’t her mother’s attorney used the tactic earlier in the trial? None of it made any sense.

She flipped through the book, reading several more clippings while Chubby looked on. She found more about the evidence against her mother. She read a few snippets from Drake’s testimony, including his reactions to the murder. It all seemed so surreal.

Chubby went to a display shelf to bring down a picture. He held the frame before her. “This was taken in the exercise yard by one of the other officers. We were holding hands that day. It was Avalon’s birthday. You can see right here where she signed it to me. It says, ‘To my best friend in whole world, Chubs.’” He placed it back on the shelf, giving it a loving pat.

Now, Avy stared at him. It was obvious that Raymond Hammersmith had been in love with her mother. He spoke of her with a divine reverence and loyalty, as if she were a fairy princess or queen. It was hard to tell what was manic obsession, or what might be innocent infatuation. Her instincts told her that Chubby had not been intimate with her. He just didn’t come off that way. It had to be a true friendship, she realized. She could see how her mother had become endeared to this simple, gentle man.