Authors: Mary Willis Walker
“The son of a bitch!” she said. “The sick, sorry son of a bitch.”
The whole room fell suddenly silent. Molly looked around her. Every head was turned her way—Stan Heffernan, Darryl Jones, Frank Purcell, Steve Demaris, Alison McFarland, Stuart McFarland, the assistant wardens, the journalists, the guards—all looking as if she’d blasphemed in church. Their shocked expressions made her so mad she said it again. “He was a sick sorry son of a bitch who never
could
tell the truth.”
She looked at Addie. “Why didn’t you give me this before?”
“Because he asked me not to deliver it until he was gone. What does he say?”
“He says he
did
kill Tiny and that the car is in the lake. Says he guesses he’s sorry.”
Addie sighed. “Pure Louie to the end.” She pointed to the paper in Molly’s hand. “Do you believe it?”
“No.” Molly rubbed the paper between her fingers, feeling the cheap quality of it. “No. I don’t believe it. Do you?”
“No,” Addie said. “I’m trying to figure out why he wrote it. To make you feel better about your book maybe?”
“That’s a charitable thought, Addie, but I don’t think Louie’s capable of that.” She looked around to see if everyone was still looking. They weren’t, but she lowered her voice to make sure no one else could hear. “Addie, do you know when he wrote this?”
“This evening, about nine, just before he ate.”
“Did he have any visitors right before?”
“Yes. Tanya Klein. As soon as she left, he sat down and wrote it. Took him about an hour. Then he folded it up and gave it to me. Made me promise I’d wait until he was dead.”
“Did you hear their conversation?” Molly asked.
“No. I took a break so they could talk privately.”
Molly looked around the room for Tanya. “Did she leave already?”
“Tanya? No. I think she’s picking up some of Louie’s effects at the side door.”
“Effects? What effects?”
“He marked her name on one of his boxes. Some papers, I suppose. The rest of his stuff he donated to my church group that works with the homeless.”
Molly was thinking so hard she could hear a rushing in her ears. “Oh, damn. Addie, I may be totally deranged, but I think I know what’s in that box. Tell me—what was really important to Louie in this world?”
“His poems,” Addie said immediately.
“Uh-huh. Those wretched poems. You know, two years ago he had me sending them around, trying to get them published, but it was a lost cause. I used some of them in my book, but there are zillions of them, enough to fill a cardboard box.”
Darryl Jones knocked on the door frame to get attention and said, “Folks, thanks for coming. They want to close up here, so let’s get out of their way. Any members of the press who want to talk are welcome to come back to my office for a spell.”
People headed slowly for the door, very slowly, as though they didn’t want to leave or couldn’t face being alone. Molly certainly felt that way.
Seeing Stuart and Alison McFarland, she caught up with them and said good-bye. They both looked subdued and burdened, she thought as she watched them walk out together. If they had hoped
that witnessing the execution would make them free from the past, it hadn’t worked.
“Louie didn’t like Tanya much,” Molly said, leaning down to talk to Addie as they walked, “so he certainly wouldn’t leave her his poems. But, to get them published, I think he would have agreed to almost anything, don’t you?”
Addie thought for a minute and said, “Yes.”
“I think someone used that as an incentive to get him to assure me that he killed Tiny so I’d stop being such a pain in the ass and let it go. That’s why he wrote me this last lie.” She waved the paper and stuck it in her bag. “Do you think that’s incredibly farfetched?”
“Yes, but it’s probably true,” Addie said. “You think Tanya made him the offer?”
They waited at the front door until it was buzzed open. They stepped outside into a cold wind that took hold of Molly’s thin cotton pants and fluttered them around her legs.
“She’s a lawyer,” Molly said. “They’re usually acting for someone else. I think she’s just the agent for someone who agreed to put up the money to publish, probably at one of the vanity presses where you can get anything published if you pay for it yourself. God, just think of it—
The Complete Poems of Louie Bronk
.” They stood at the top of the steps for a minute looking into the darkness. “It’s enough to send you screaming into the night, isn’t it?”
Addie shivered in the wind. “Yes, I believe it is.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a thin pink sweater, and threw it over her shoulders.
As they walked down the steps, one of the assistant wardens approached them and said to Addie, “Sister, if you’d like, I’ll drive around the side with you and load everything up for you.”
“Oh, thank you, Jim Bob. That surely would be a help.” She was struggling to put her arms into the sweater sleeves.
As he reached around to hold it for her, the assistant warden asked, “Sister Addie, don’t the idea of it, you know, driving back like that, don’t it give you a creepy feeling?”
Addie laughed. “No. I wasn’t afraid of him while he was alive and I’m certainly not afraid of him now.” She turned to Molly. “Maybe we can finish our talk tomorrow over the phone. I am just plumb beat right now.”
“Yes, of course. You’ve been here all day,” Molly said, feeling the
hair on the back of her neck prickle. “Addie, what’s happening with Louie’s body?”
Addie was looking down, trying to button the little pearl buttons on the sweater. “Well, his sisters didn’t want anything to do with him, dead or alive. And there’s no one else. So we’re going to bury him at our church. Nice little cemetery overlooking Lake Waco.”
“That’s what they’re going to load up?”
“That, and some boxes. I have a station wagon. Fortunately.” She chuckled. “I don’t know what I’d do if I still had my little Volkswagen bug.”
Molly was stunned. Almost too stunned to register the story possibilities. “Do they … put him in a box, or what?”
“No box. There’s no budget for it. They wrapped him in a sheet I brought and my afghan. It turned out to be finished enough.”
“What will you do when you get back to Waco?” Molly asked.
“Drop him off at the funeral home there. It was too costly for them to come here to pick him up and since I’m making the drive and have room, well, it’s the sensible thing.” She laughed again. “Gives me some company on the way home.”
“Well,” Molly said, “drive safe.” She was hit suddenly with the image of Addie being stopped by a highway patrolman who would peer into the back of the car and see Louie wrapped in the pink and brown afghan. It struck her so funny that she began to laugh.
But once she had started laughing, she couldn’t stop. She stood on the sidewalk and laughed, helpless, until tears ran down her cheeks. She tried to stop, tried to take a deep breath and control it. But she just could not stop. She was caught in the ridiculousness of it all. As she raised a sleeve to blot her cheeks, she caught a glimpse of the warden looking alarmed and Sister Addie looking worried. Still she could not stop.
Sister Addie reached out and put her arms around her. She hugged her in close and they stood together like that on the sidewalk, while Molly laughed and the tears ran down her cheeks. Finally, worn out, Molly came to a gasping stop. She stepped back out of Addie’s embrace, embarrassed by her loss of control, and used her sleeve to blot her wet face.
“Sorry,” Molly said, pushing her hair back. “I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden it all just seemed so ridiculous.”
Addie smiled up at her. “Well, it is that. Were you thinking of me being stopped on the highway with Louie in the back?”
Molly let out a hiccup. “Yes. Exactly.”
“It is a funny image, me trying to explain it to the highway patrol. Are you going to be all right driving home or would you like to come along with me and Louie? We could put you on a bus to Austin in the morning.”
“No. Thanks.” Molly rummaged in her bag for some Kleenex. She hiccuped again. “I’m fine. I need to get back.”
“Yes. Maybe you’d like to come to the service for Louie on Thursday.”
“No. I don’t think so. Thanks, but I …” She didn’t know how to finish it.
“It’s not your brand of worship,” Addie said.
Molly nodded.
They said their good-byes and Addie walked off across the street with the assistant warden. Molly headed along the sidewalk toward the town square.
After she had walked half a block, she heard steps behind her and turned to look. Frank Purcell was barreling down on her, his Stetson low on his forehead, his boots hitting the sidewalk hard. “Mrs. Cates,” he called, “where are you parked?”
She looked back to the prison where Stan Heffernan and a few reporters were crossing the street and she called out in her loudest, most carrying voice, “Good night, Stan!” She turned and waved. Stan, looking a little puzzled at her enthusiasm, waved back at her.
At least, she thought, they have seen this man with me and he knows it. If he has any plans for me, that should nip them in the bud. “I’m parked on the square, across from the courthouse,” she told Purcell.
He fell into step with her. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Nice and safe with all the sheriff’s men around there.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I had a bad experience in Fort Worth on Saturday.” She patted her cheek. “You remember when I came by the house. It made me a little cautious.”
“I’d say, Mrs. Cates, you are one of the least cautious people I’ve run across.”
She looked sideways at him. “I am?”
He smiled and it was a pleasant smile although she couldn’t see if
it reached his eyes because they were hidden in the shadow of his hat brim. “You are. That scene back there in the visitors’ lounge.” He
tisk
ed. “Now everyone knows you don’t believe Louie was guilty and it’s well known that you are not one to give up a bone you’re chewing on. That combination plate might make you a target.”
Molly opened her eyes wide, pretending she was young and innocent. “You think so?”
He smiled again. “That’s why I want to get you safely inside your truck and headed home. My boss’s orders actually.”
“Well, I’m obliged. To you and to Charlie.”
They passed the bus station and Molly could see the top of the courthouse. She felt the impulse to ask him about feeding information to Louie Bronk eleven years ago. It would be in keeping with her indiscretions of the evening and she really wanted to see his reaction. But she fought down the impulse. Another time.
“How’s Charlie doing?” she asked instead.
“Poorly. Very poorly.”
“Sorry to hear that.” She really meant it. Charlie had his hand in lots of the subterfuge going on here. But he was no killer, she was certain.
When they reached her truck, she had her keys out and ready. “Thanks for the company,” she said. She unlocked the door and climbed in. Just as she was about to close it, Frank moved in and took hold of the door handle. Alarmed, she started the engine, put her hand on the gearshift, and looked down into his face.
He quickly lifted his hands, showing her his palms. “Don’t shoot,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to ask you something.” The smile faded. “Do you have enough fuel to make it all the way home without stopping?”
She nodded.
“Then do it, please. Lock your door and don’t stop.”
“Now why should I do that?” she asked.
He sighed. “I could say it’s just that Mr. Bronk there, the late Mr. Bronk, reminds me of the dangers a lady faces out on the highway.”
“You could say that, but I wish you’d tell me the real reason.”
He looked down at the toes of his boots, then back up at Molly. “You and me both know there’s a killer, a living one, out there.” He gestured with his head toward the road in front of her. “Ain’t that enough?”
“Your boss knows who that killer is,” Molly said. “You probably do, too.”
He tilted his head down so his face was hidden by his hat brim. “Do like I said and have a safe trip,” he said.
“Well, put your mind to rest, Mr. Purcell. That’s exactly what I intend to do.” She took hold of the door handle, slammed it shut, and locked it.
Molly waited until he stepped up on the sidewalk before she drove off.
She let out a long breath. It was done. Now she could go home and sleep, which was the only thing in the world she wanted. She turned on the heater, first time that year, and headed north toward Route 30. If she could do seventy part of the way, she might get home by three-thirty. There wouldn’t be any radar traps to worry about this time of night.
As she was leaving the city limits just before the turnoff for the highway she saw some movement ahead at the side of the road. She looked again. Yes, at the outer range of her headlights something was moving. She slowed down and checked to see if her doors were locked. Damn. Frank Purcell certainly had gotten to her.
As she got closer her headlights caught a blur of white on the shoulder of the road. A figure rose and moved onto the road. It was a woman, wearing a skirt, a long brown skirt and a white shirt. She raised her hands and stumbled into the middle where Molly’s lights exposed her.
Molly caught her breath. It was Alison McFarland. Her hair was a wild mess and she had a smear of blood under her nose. She was cradling one arm up against her body with the other. Molly looked in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind her. The road was clear. She slowed. Other than the girl, the road was deserted. On one side, nothing but a barbed-wire fence and open fields; on the other, the same thing. No place for anyone to be hiding; the girl was alone. And in trouble.
Molly reached for her phone to call for help. She picked it up and saw in the display window the red letters “No Svc.” Damn. She was out of the service range of her system. She slammed it down.
In the road, Alison started to limp toward the truck, tripped, and fell to her knees.
Molly braked. Alison tried to rise from her knees. Molly could
hear her crying now. She opened the door and looked both ways before getting out.