Authors: Robert W Walker
“Really?”
“One pulled a knife, the other a gun, right there at the reading at the casket. The gun won the day, the knife wielder was then buried alongside his mother. Not sure but they say his tombstone read: Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. A week or so after the killing, the gunman, while on bail, still so hated his dead brother that he dug his brother’s grave up and threw him and casket into a nearby river. When asked why, he said, ‘Cause I didn’t want that scum beside my mother.”
“How the hell did he make bail for murder?” “Happens in a lot of these backwoods
municipalities. They need the money more than the justice, and truth be known, sometimes the judge is related to the defendant.”
“Unbelievable. Was the man ever brought to justice?”
“Found innocent; it was called self-defense since his brother came at him with the knife.”
“What about the desecration of his brother’s grave?”
“He got community service for that awful breach of his bail, and the rest of the family decided to bury his brother where the shooter could never find it.”
“This sounds like something out of 1820!”
“Well it was a few years ago, 1979.”
“Things have improved some since then, I hope.”
“On the surface, I’d say so. Bubbling beneath the surface, it’s still the wild wild West out there.” He pointed out his window.
“Wild and Wonderful, heh? She quoted the state license plate on every West Virginia car. “I keep hearing about this Hatfield-McCoy mentality of a blood feud, an eye-for-an-eye, and how many of your own cops believe this maniac is ‘taking eyes’ or putting out eyes for this very reason?”
Carl raised a hand and dismissed this notion with a gesture, saying, “Oh, please, that damn legendary feud crops up like a bad penny every time a murder’s committed in places like Logan County and Pike County, Kentucky where it began, but nowhere in the history of the HatfieldMcCoy feud was a woman killed—murdered outright that is, despite the romantic Romeo and Juliet twist put on it years later.”
“You sound like an expert on it, Carl.”
“I grew up here. Every kid gets a hefty dose of it from grade school on. It’s like the State Passion Play.”
“And you think an embarrassment? It’s history.”
“It’s history dressed up. Hell they’ve turned a murderous bloody feud into a tourist attraction.”
She shrugged. “Why not? Every area of the country has its folktales and folklore immortalized in one way or another. Pecos Pete in the Southwest, the Northwest has Paul Bunyon, and—”
“And we have two families taking the law into their own hands and killing one another over a stray pig or a slaughtered stray calf, a feud that lasted some thirty years— for generations.”
“Our first victim in this case was a Hatfield,” she countered, “but this wasn’t played up or blown out of proportion by the press.”
“Only because we kept the name out of the press. It was a no-brainer to do so, and Dr. Hatfield agreed. Look, these killings have nothing to do with the legendary feud. Of that I’m convinced.”
“Because the other victims had no connection to the Hatfields, I understand. But suppose for a moment, just suppose that the killer’s original intent was to reignite this feud?”
“For what devilish reason?”
“I dunno…in order to let loose a war of retribution of sorts…I mean, if his grandiose thinking failed, he may well’ve simply moved on to become the Hammerhead killer instead of a man intent on creating a war of sorts among others, one of your survivalists, perhaps?”
“Geeze, Dr. Hiyakawa, we’re all over the place with speculation and no facts.” Carl frowned. “I dunno…this last theory of the crime…sounds doubtful.”
“But if he is a home-grown boy, he’d have had the same steady diet of the story as you? And if he’s nuts to begin with…well?”
“We’re all of us hoping he’s not a local. Our hope is that he dropped in from say Chicago.”
“Ahhh…out of the sky, heh? That’s be convenient.”
“I’d hate to think one of our citizens capable of coming up with this monstrous method of killing innocent women.”
“Wouldn’t that go a long way to please everyone here, to learn it’s some creep passing through on his way to Baltimore or Cleveland.”
“We got a right to hope so,” he muttered in reply.
“Seems to have set up shop here…or stalled out in Charleston. Say, is that what Kunati is working toward? To pin it on the nearest outsider?”
“I wouldn’t say pin it on anyone. We want the right guy for this; all of us here.”
“Sure…I realize but—”
“What’re you getting at? Hey, Doctor, no matter our personal histories and problems…no matter the image problem we West Virginians have—or think we have— we’re still professionals here.”
“I know that, Carl.”
“We’re not molding the evidence to fit some wishfulfillment here.”
“All the same, prejudices play a part in any police force and can in any investigation.”
He said nothing, gritted his teeth, stood and wandered to the window, staring out at the evening rush hour crowd trying to get out of the downtown area for their more rural homes.
She swallowed hard and pressed her point. “There’s always a natural human desire to hope that one’s hometown could not nurture a killer of this magnitude, when we all know that’s not so. And from my casual observation, there’s a need in Kunati to prove this guy is not home grown, which may be blinding you, I mean him, to the truth.”
He turned on her, eyes glaring. “You’ve got no more proof he’s born and raised here than I have he’s not,” countered Carl, his face reddening in the half-light of his office.
“Come on, your own newspaper op ed pieces have been hinting that serial killers are not manufactured here with the coal? Except maybe in the deepest hills and hollows.”
“We’re as capable as any police force in the nation and better than most,” he replied, stepping closer to her, too close for comfort. “Better in fact than some, say Denver where they still can’t find Jon Benet Ramsey’s killer.”
She knew this was Carl’s biggest fear—his department appearing incompetent.
Carl lowered his eyes and returned to his desk, sitting. His weight caused the chair to scream when he’d dropped in it. “As for this department, we’re a fine organization. This thing…it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before, and then people like you pass judgment on us.”
“How? How have I contributed to that?” She felt genuinely hurt at this accusation. “And don’t forget, you asked me here. Fetched me even!”
His eyes had become dagger-like as if the weight of the job and his frustration with this case made him want to shout at her. “I hope Kunati and me aren’t in your way.”
God, how she wanted to correct his grammar—me aren’t—but this was hardly the moment. “I’m just trying to do my job, Chief. If I happen to be brusque and to the point, that’s just me.”
“You could tone things down a bit.”
“Hmmmph! If I were a man, you’d call me confident and efficient.”
“Perhaps we should both do that, stick to the job, and leave this subject off bounds. You and me, we’ve got to hold onto some common ground, but you should know one thing.”
“I agree completely,” she began but stopped. “What one thing should I know?”
“It was never my idea to call you in on this case.”
“What?” This came as a complete surprise. “Really?”
“I have tried to keep an open mind about it, of course, but no…it wasn’t my idea, and had it been left up to me—”
“Little wonder Amos Kunati has been so against me if his Chief is against me.”
“He and I don’t always agree, and as far as he knows, it was my call.”
“I see, I think. But then whose call was it? The mayor?”
“And others I’m not at liberty to divulge.”
“The governor?”
“I’ve already said too much.”
She grimaced, feeling foolish. Why hadn’t she been able to read this in him, in his body language, in his words or unspoken words. Instead, she’d believed him entirely on her wavelength. Was Orvison that good an actor? Am I losing it, losing some of my powers, she wondered. Finally, she picked her jaw off the floor and said, “And here I am…working under a false notion you were with me all along.”
“I don’t want anything happening to you while you’re in Charleston,” he assured her.
“So your insistence on filming me while at work.”
“Protocol.”
“And that’s why you came back to the trailer the other night?”
“Exactly.”
“No premonitions, nothing like that?”
He shook his head. Said nothing more. They stared at one another for a long moment.
She finally said, “Look, I’m sorry if anything I’ve said or done has made you feel out in left field, or at all uncomfortable.” As she said this, he waved it off. “I certainly had hoped we were working as a team, Chief.”
She realized they’d gone back to calling one another doctor and chief respectively.
“Forget it,” he said now. “Sorry I said anything. Look, it’s growing late. Let me buy you dinner at the Quarrier Street steak house. “Best place in town to eat. Lobster toes are unbeatable.”
“I-I-I dunno.”
“Come on. I’ve been watching you. You haven’t eaten more than a Snickers bar and a coke all day.” “I just feel uneasy, Carl…Chief…after all the delusion I’ve been under, and me a psychic.”
“You never said you could read people’s minds.”
“True enough.”
“Come on.” He ushered her toward the door. “Only if we can have a clean, fresh start.”
“Absolutely, a fresh start.”
As they made their way out of the stationhouse and into a balmy but cool evening, she recalled one of the definitions for green was fresh like young shoots sprouting from the Earth, a new beginning. Spring was in the air. And so many positive things hovering about the here and now, including Rae’s getting straight with Carl Orvison. It just floored her to realize that when both men had stood in Raule Apreostini’s office that both men, and not just Kunati, were there under duress, asking for her by name and reputation under duress—that she was pushed on this West Virginia law enforcement department by their superiors.
She tried to put the image of her ranting at Raule about not wishing to go to Charleston out of her mind. The two Charleston men had come to fetch her, and yet neither man had wanted her on the single largest, most important manhunt in the history of their city. Of course, they wanted to solve the case themselves. Meanwhile, Raule was busy filling an order, so to speak—doing a favor or repaying a debt. Rae’s Psi powers being the currency.
Where was the justice in this poisonous twist in the relationship between Orvison and her? She might’ve stayed home and seen to her daughter; she’d’ve been there to keep Nia out of the conniving clutches of her father, Tomi Yoshikani.
“You OK, Doc?” he asked. “Sure,” she lied. “Let’s ahhh…get that bite, huh? Where’s this restaurant you’re talking about?” She stood to go, and Orvison followed suit.
By the time they arrived at the restaurant selected by Orvison, Rae had become even more worried about Nia; about what kind of damage Tomi had most certainly exacted of Rae’s and Nia’s relationship. Damage control was needed, and she so wanted to get back home to Nia. She feared that Nia will have decided to move in with her father to live his lavish lifestyle by time she got home. The concern over this welled up like a ball in Rae’s stomach, and she was quite sure she’d likely just order a martini…maybe sample those lobster toes since the state was paying.
TWENTY ONE
His workplace was filled with tools—the tools of his trade, not like the crass hammer and nails he used to kill women with. No, these were finely crafted, precision tools in order to do the job. He’d worked his entire life to become somebody, someone of importance in the community. It’d been what Mother had wanted of him, what she and Her Lord preached on a daily basis, and part of the promise she’d forced him to make on her deathbed—to become someone who worked in a skilled profession and to gain the notoriety of doing good in the world, of helping the community, of caring for people and making money—lots of money.
He went about his work with the passion of a man who cared, but often it was a pretense—especially of late— as he’d grown dull and bored and impatient; all concerns that could lead to others noticing, and if others began to notice his slipshod work of late, he’d be exposed for the fakery of years that had accumulated in a spotless reputation among his colleagues and law enforcement here in Charleston.