Perdition Read online

  “Should I go back there or can I do it on the phone?”

  Nell opened the door to the Crier building and stifled the sigh that wanted to escape at the young woman’s question. “You have to go there. You won’t get the same response over the phone, nor will you get the people next door coming over to talk to you. Do the entire block, both sides. “

  Carrie didn’t stifle her sigh. “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Most good stories are.”

  Nell headed for her office. She noticed that Jacko wasn’t there. He, at least, seemed not to need to be told how to cover a story. After going through about ten phone messages, including three from Lizzie involving asking to be picked up, then not needing a ride, then asking if she could spend the night with Janet, Nell noticed that Carrie was still in the office. She glanced at her watch; it was almost four o’clock. I have children at home, Nell thought. I don’t need them at work.

  She got up and stood in her office doorway. “A lot of those shops will close at five,” she said, loud enough to get Carrie’s attention.

  “It’s only four now,” the young woman said defensively.

  “You’re going to interview ten to fifteen businesses in an hour?”

  Carrie grabbed her bag and got up. “Okay, I’m on my way now.” With that she headed out the door.

  Nell settled back in her office, enjoying the peace of being alone. She started writing the straight news story of Ronald Hebert’s arrest. If Carrie actually came up with something, she might run it as a separate story of the actual capture. If not, then Carrie could kiss goodbye any chance in hell of interviewing Douglas Shaun.

  Dolan arrived a little while later, returning from an errand at the bank, but neither Carrie nor Jacko came back to the office before Nell left. She took the route home that led through town. The Closed sign was still in the door of Ron’s Flower Shoppe. She didn’t see Carrie’s car anywhere around.

  Home also was peaceably quiet. Lizzie took not getting a response from Nell as a yes to her overnight with Janet, and Josh was at the bike shop according to his hastily scribbled note. Nell started to pick up the phone to call the respective places where her children allegedly were, to check up on them and make sure that they were okay. But she put the receiver down.

  It’s over, she reminded herself. The monster is in the county jail and my children are safe.

  Josh came in just at the outer limits of suppertime. Another half an hour and he would have been eating leftovers, and not just any leftovers but leftovers from Nell’s cooking when she wasn’t cooking for the kids. They compromised on meatloaf, although Nell insisted on a salad. Josh drowned his in dressing, but at least he ate it. Lizzie usually just pushed hers around on her plate, rearranging the greens, as if the point was to touch it with a fork, not actually eat it.

  Josh watched TV and Nell read and the evening passed that way. There was no more than the usual minor dawdling at bedtime. Nell planned on getting a decent night’s sleep for once.

  The phone rang in the middle of the night. Nell grabbed it up, fear brought on by the jarring bell, racing her heart.

  “Hello?” she said.

  But there was only silence on the other side.

  “Hello, who’s calling?” Nell demanded.

  She heard what she thought was a soft breath, then the click of a phone being hung up.

  He’s in jail, she told herself as she slowly put the phone back down. Her heart still raced. It was just a stupid wrong number at a stupid time. It took her a long time to fall back to sleep.

  twenty-three

  The morning was a perfect spring morning: clear, bright, enough coolness to make the brilliant sunshine more than welcome. Josh didn’t even linger with breakfast, hurrying so he could ride his bike the long route to school.

  When Nell got to the paper, she unlocked the door, always proof that she was the first one there. Dolan came in a little while later, Ina Claire right behind him. She put her latest recipe in Nell’s box. But with the exception of offering a good morning, both of them left Nell alone. Of course, they both had heard about the arrest and seemed to know that the news this week would once again be something very different from high school football scores.

  Nell used the time to continue working on the story. She doubted that Carrie was going to come through with anything save a few desultory interviews with the neighboring shop owners, and she wanted a good article. She’d already put calls in to Buddy Guy (that would be the official political statement); Harold Reed (for the true story); Sheriff Hickson (for his official statement, with the hope that Jacko had gotten something more interesting and on the record); and Chief Shaun (for follow-up). Nell intended to find out which corners he’d cut, not so much for the story itself but because she wanted to know what had really happened. Plus, she wanted to have a better idea who Doug Shaun was. Especially if she was going out to a meal with him.

  However, the only one of her phone calls that was returned was Doug Shaun’s, saying he couldn’t meet her today. They agreed on lunch tomorrow.

  She held off on doing much research into Ronald Hebert, as that was what Carrie was supposed to be doing, but her frustration built as she didn’t hear from or see Carrie all morning. It would have been helpful to know what Carrie had come up with so she could decide how to divide their stories. Nell was a little surprised at not hearing from Jacko, but he had a much better track record than Carrie, so that wasn’t as big a concern.

  Just as her stomach announced that lunch would be a very good idea, Jacko came in.

  “Hi,” Nell said, glad to have another reporter to talk to about the arrest. “How extreme was Sheriff Hickson’s dismay at the arrest?”

  “Way extreme. Turns out Ronald Hebert is a cousin of a cousin of his. And you know how people are about family down here.”

  “Long night?” Nell asked him, noticing dark circles under Jacko’s eyes.

  “Uh … yeah, sort of. Look … I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course. Can we do it over lunch? I’m starving.” Nell was betting that Jacko was going to bring up the general situation with Carrie—that she wasn’t carrying her weight. Maybe it was time to stop the pretense of treating them as equals, she thought as they headed across the street to the sandwich shop. With enough direction and “encouragement” Carrie was an adequate reporter, but, without a severe attitude adjustment on her part, that was all she’d be.

  The shop was crowded, so they decided on an impromptu picnic at the beach. It was about a five minute drive from the paper. Nell decided she could use the time to come to a decision about how she might respond if Jacko requested a promotion.

  “How much of a story do you have on the sheriff ?” Nell asked as she unwrapped her turkey-on-sourdough. They were sitting on the sea wall, which served as both table and bench, wrappers and napkins held down with their drinks.

  “Not that much, really. I don’t think it’s a good or fair idea to play up the cousin-of-a-cousin angle.”

  “True. It’s not really relevant and it would only make Sheriff Hickson mad.”

  “He told me I could quote him on the record as saying that he doubted a home-town boy like Ronald, someone we’ve know all our lives, could do such a thing.”

  “But the chief claims he has some pretty damning evidence.”

  “Yes, but …” Jacko trailed off.

  “You’re not convinced,” Nell said, suddenly suspecting that this conversation had nothing to do with Carrie.

  “I … I know Ronald,” Jacko said, then was silent.

  “Are you friends?” Nell probed. Pelican Bay was a small town and she knew little of Jacko’s life outside the paper. It was quite possible he and the florist had met, although she was a little surprised.

  “Not … really.” Again he was silent.

  “Do you not want to cover this story?” Nell asked.
Jacko was struggling with something, and she was trying to think of a question that would get him to talk to her.

  “I’m … afraid I’m part of the story,” he said softly. He took a breath and hurried on, “I spent the night with him. The night that Joey Sayton was killed.”

  Nell found herself caught off guard by his confession. No, this was not a conversation she’d ever expected to be having with Jacko. She quickly silenced all the first questions she wanted to ask—You’re gay? He’s gay? How did you hide it so well from me?—and tried to focus on the underlying purpose of Jacko telling her this.

  “Did he go out during the night?”

  “No. No, he didn’t.”

  “Could you have been asleep and not noticed?” Nell asked gently. Others would ask this same question and they would not be gentle.

  Jacko shook his head, but answered, “Maybe. I don’t think so, though. I woke up several times during the night and he was always there. He went to the bathroom once and I woke up then.”

  “Are you sure that it was just going to the bathroom? Could you maybe have woken up only when he came back and assumed that that was where he’d been?”

  “No, I woke when he rolled out of bed, heard him go about his business, and he came back to bed. And I was still awake when he fell asleep.”

  “Are you sure enough of his not going anywhere to swear to it in court?” Nell asked.

  “Oh, God, I don’t know. We met at a bar over in Biloxi, had a few drinks together, and went back to his place. Don’t think my landlady would approve of me bringing men home to spend the night.”

  “What time was all this?”

  “If I’d known … known all this would happen, I would have worn a watch,” Jacko answered with a rueful smile. “I guess I left my place around eight thirty, got to the bar at nine or so, came back to his place sometime after ten and before midnight. Could I even swear to any of these times? No. Sorry.”

  It was possible that Ronald Hebert had killed Joey Sayton, strung him up in the tree in the picnic area while the bikers were still in the woods, and then met Jacko later that evening in the bar, Nell thought. She had considered not even finding out the time of Joey’s death, keeping open the possibility that he hadn’t been dying and dead in the oak tree the whole time they were there. A heaviness settled over her as she saw the almost inevitable consequences for Jacko. He would have to tell his story to people who would view him as tainted just for sleeping with another man, let alone a man who was a cruel murderer. She would have to check, but even if Joey had been killed during the time Jacko and Ronald Hebert were together, that was no positive proof that Ronald didn’t do it—any prosecutor would argue that he’d slipped out when Jacko was asleep. The laws had changed, but attitudes hadn’t.

  For a brief second Nell considered suggesting he not tell anyone, but that would be futile. If Ronald Hebert hadn’t already named Jacko as an alibi, he probably soon would. It wouldn’t look good for Jacko to try and hide what couldn’t be hidden.

  “You know this won’t be easy,” Nell said gently.

  “Am I fired?” Jacko asked abruptly.

  “No, of course not. You’re the only decent reporter I have” was Nell’s initial, fierce response. But then she wondered if every good intention on her part would be enough to make it possible for Jacko to keep working in Pelican Bay after this.

  “Thanks,” he said softly. “What do we do now?”

  Nell thought for a moment. “We finish lunch. That’s what we do.” She took a bite of her sandwich, then added, “Maybe we should talk to Harold Reed, the assistant DA. It might be … easier.” Easier than talking to those macho boys Chief Shaun and Sheriff Hickson.

  They finished their lunch silently. Jacko threw half of his sandwich to the seagulls.

  Then he turned to face her, “I guess now is as good a time as any,” he said.

  “Delay won’t help. Not if Ronald has already told them about you,” Nell admitted.

  Jacko looked at her. “Do you think he will … admit to that?”

  “He’s facing a murder charge. This may still be Mississippi, and not many people around here cheer for gay marriage, but he’s still better off being called queer than facing the death penalty.”

  Jacko just nodded. They got in Nell’s car and she drove; Jacko hadn’t really agreed to talk to Harold Reed, but that was where she took him. She knew she wouldn’t win any points with Doug Shaun for going past him—in fact, he might never take her to lunch—but her main concern was Jacko.

  He asked her to go in with him, and she agreed.

  “You know I can’t say much in the middle of an ongoing investigation” was the first thing that Harold said as they entered his office. Of course, he thought they were there as reporters.

  Nell explained they weren’t, and Jacko told his story.

  Harold listened impassively, not even blinking as Jacko described picking up Ronald Hebert in a gay bar. Harold asked the same questions Nell had, but his were more probing, hinting at the harsher questionings that would come.

  Unlike Harold, Jacko was far from impassive, the wavering steadiness he’d started out with deteriorating into breaks and hesitations that almost verged on tears.

  When Harold at last finished asking what he had to ask, Jacko allowed himself the obvious gesture of wiping his sleeve across his eyes, then he quietly said, “I can’t believe that Ronald murdered—”

  “Someone did” was Harold’s terse reply.

  Jacko abruptly stood up, as if he couldn’t bear to stay any longer in this place where he’d been forced to blurt out secrets he never intended to share. “I have to wash my face. I’ll see you back at the paper,” he said to Nell, not looking at her. Then he was gone, his footsteps almost running down the hallway.

  “It won’t make much of a difference, will it?” Nell said. “His honesty will take him through hell and it won’t make a difference. Unless …” She trailed off, not sure she wanted to ask the question.

  “Unless?” Harold prompted.

  “Time of death. What if the time of death is when Ronald Hebert can find about ten or so witnesses to place him in the bar?”

  “I don’t want this in the paper,” Harold said, leaning forward, as if the smaller distance could better keep a secret. “The victim died approximately between four and six a.m. But the killer was brutal and clever and had left him to die.” Harold leaned back.

  “How?” Nell asked.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I’ve got too much imagination to not know.”

  “Joey was hung up in such a way that he could take some of his weight on his arms, but once he got too tired and couldn’t hold himself up … So the killer didn’t even need to be there, and we can only guess at how long Joey might have been able to keep himself alive and how long he was in the tree.”

  Maybe Harold had been right, Nell suddenly thought. Maybe she didn’t want to know. “So he was in that tree the whole time we were there?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s possible,” Harold confirmed.

  “Oh, God, that’s horrible!” Nell burst out. She couldn’t be a reporter anymore, remembering Joey’s parents sitting at that picnic table, their son alive and within thirty yards of them.

  Harold just nodded. They sat in silence for what seemed like minutes. Finally, Harold broke it. “Do you think that Jack will leave town?”

  “No, I can’t see that,” Nell answered. “Or if he was going to, he would have by now. Why stay around to confess to sleeping with a man accused of murdering children?”

  Harold gave a tired sigh. “You know the politics around here. Doug Shaun is convinced he’s got his man. Sheriff Hickson is running around questioning why Ronald Hebert, who has lived in this town all his life, been a good solid citizen, albeit”—Harold consulted some notes on his desk—“‘a little ligh
t in the loafers,’ suddenly turns into a killer.”

  “Not to mention he’s a cousin of his,” Nell added. “And you think that Jacko will be a pawn between the two of them?”

  “I know he will.” Harold’s phone rang.

  Nell got up to leave. There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

  But as Harold reached for the receiver, he added, “The only thing that could put a stop to all that is another dead child.”

  Nell found her way out of the office. It was still a perfect day outside, as if the sun couldn’t pay attention to human misery.

  When she got back to the Crier building, Jacko wasn’t there. She wasn’t really surprised. If she weren’t the boss, she wouldn’t have come back either. Nell wasn’t so much worried about Jacko fleeing as she was about how he was handling this. Reporters are the observers, not the observed; add that to a forced coming out and being linked sexually with a possible murderer, and Jacko was in a hellish position. Nell decided to give him some time alone and call him around closing time—and through the evening if she didn’t hear from him.

  She did mindless tasks to pass the afternoon, including the filing that she hated. (Thom, although he hadn’t enjoyed filing, had had a much lower tolerance for unfiled papers than she did, so he usually just took care it.) Only after she’d sharpened just about every pencil in the office did she decide it was time to give Jacko his first call, then go home and see if her children were there, or if she had to do something to get them there.

  She brushed the pencil shavings off her hands and sat down at her desk, only to look up and see Douglas Shaun framed in her doorway.

  “Chief Shaun.” She announced the obvious, surprised at his sudden appearance.

  “Hello, Nell.” He came into her office and sat down, not waiting for an invitation. “Where’s Jacko?”

  “You’ve talked to Harold Reed,” Nell stated.