“Thank you. Now we have one more question for you.”
“Go ahead, Agent Madden.”
I ignored his new, more formal appellation for me. “Do you know why some of the victims of the Snow White Killer are winding up on property that you own?”
“What? Oh, you mean Mara and that girl found with her at her Nana’s?”
“Not just them. Plus another victim from last night found in one of your fields.”
“What victim last night? Where?”
Woodson cut her eyes toward me, but I kept talking. “Another victim showed up last night on some hunting acreage you own over near Willow Grove. You know anything about that?”
“Well, hell no, I don’t know anything about that,” he answered. “I didn’t even know until you just asked me! I can’t control where this guy is dumping these poor girls.”
“So you’d claim that it’s just coincidence that two of the four victims have wound up on your property so far?”
“I don’t claim shit. I state it. Of course it’s just coincidence. What? Do you think I’m the Snow White Killer?” He laughed, somehow with more derision than he’d used previously.
I looked at Woodson with a shrug. “Do you have any questions?”
Woodson smiled politely, and her next question caught me completely unaware. “Just one. Can you fill us in on your former arrest and status as a convicted rapist?”
At a loss for words, I looked back at Charlie, intent on apologizing for the error that must have occurred. “Charlie,” I began to say, but he shook his head and raised a hand to silence me.
“So that whole business has finally come up again, after all these years? I’ll be damned.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, then rotated to face Woodson. “And what the hell are
you
talking about?”
Woodson regarded me with a stare that was equal parts apologetic and resolute. She didn’t answer and instead waited for Charlie to speak. I turned back to face him.
“You don’t know about all that mess, Lucas?” Charlie asked. “Your daddy never told you?”
“Told me what?”
“You still don’t know why we left town back in eighty-two?”
“You took another job at a different college. Mara told me once she and I met up again in New Orleans.”
He laughed, self-deprecatingly. “Well, yes, eventually I did find a new job. But that’s not why we left in the first place.
“Long story short, while I was a professor at Ole Miss, a couple of girls in one of my classes were failing, and once they figured out they really were going to fail, they went to school administrators and claimed I’d raped them in my office. That I made them both have sex with me right there in my office and told them I’d kill them if they ever told anybody.”
“Charlie. For God’s sake. I never had any idea.”
Charlie laughed again, this time bitterly. “Weren’t no ‘God’ to it,” he said. “I told my side of the story, which didn’t do me any good. Your daddy came down, the only one of my supposed friends who even bothered. He helped me find as good a lawyer as he and I could afford.”
And in a crystal clear moment of clarity, I suddenly understood the unspoken topic of my father’s sermons for that entire summer.
Charlie continued. “Didn’t matter, though. They found me guilty within thirty minutes after the jury closed the doors. In fact, the judge advised everyone to stay after the closing arguments and the jury adjourned. I guess he knew as well as I did that it wasn’t going to take long for them to reach a guilty verdict.”
“But it was a lie, right?”
“Of course it was a lie.”
“So what evidence did they have? How the hell did they ever build a case against you?”
“They didn’t have all the fancy DNA techniques worked out back then, Lucas. All they had were my words against those two white girls. It didn’t take long.”
“I never knew,” I mumbled, before falling silent again.
“I was in jail for a while, but then your daddy found another lawyer who filed an appeal, literally a god-awful man, someone of whom the whole Mississippi judiciary system was terrified. And we were going to take it public, and it was going to be big news, none of this small town cover-up business. Back then it was still real en vogue to liberate unjustly accused black men, Medgar Evers, all that. So the odds were suddenly in my favor, despite the initial miscarriage of justice. So when those girls and their families found out about the appeal, they gave me a plea bargain—that if I left the state of Mississippi, they’d drop all charges and I could have my life back.”
“God,” I said.
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Like I said. Weren’t no ‘God’ to it. They made me sign a statement that I’d done what they said, but that I hadn’t used a weapon and that they were just scared, so perhaps I’d thought it consensual. I can’t remember the exact wording. It must have embarrassed the person who wrote it, much less me, who had to read it and sign it.”
Charlie stood and placed both hands on the table. “Yep. I signed my life away on that dotted line. And forever, whether I’m the only one who believes it or not, I’ll go down in history as a rapist. So that’s who I am, Agent Woodson, at least when it comes to your goddamned record. Anything else before you leave?”
It was silent for several seconds as I struggled to assimilate his story. Woodson finally broke the silence. “So do you have an alibi for your whereabouts between the hours of two and eight
P
.
M
. two nights ago?”
“Me?” He focused on me with an anger he couldn’t disguise. Suddenly his face broke into a wide grin as he recalled something. “Matter of fact, I do, Agent Woodson. In fact,” he gestured toward me, “I caught a movie with this man’s father that afternoon, then he and I parted ways and I went and played poker until midnight over at Bill Carlisle’s place.” He smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Charlie,” I said, “it’s not like that.”
“Oh yeah? Then what the hell is it like? You came over here to find out whether I was your Snow White Killer. Whether, I presume, I had kidnapped and raped my own daughter?” He cleared his throat. “You can go fuck yourself, Lucas.”
“This wasn’t Lucas’s idea, Mr. Bliss. The FBI made him come.” Woodson spoke the words in a steady tone, without hesitation.
Charlie peered at me as he spoke to her. “Well, that may be so, young lady. Whatever the case, now you both know what happened. And for your record you can still both go fuck yourselves.”
It was silent for a moment, then Charlie looked at a clock on the wall. “So, is there anything else? I need to get some errands done today.”
Woodson and I both shook our heads in the negative, consumed by silence, and Charlie bade us farewell.
The interview was over.
* * *
At the door I turned and tried to use a conciliatory tone for one last question down the hall. “Charlie. What ever happened to those girls, the ones who lied about you in school?”
I couldn’t see him in the darkness of the house, but his voice answered from the hallway. “Well, you Christian folk, y’all might see it as divine providence. Or your buddy John Lennon might say it was instant karma. But I say it’s the way the ball bounces.” An orange glow appeared in the hallway, and then a whiff of smoke passed through the doorway. He’d lit a cigar. “Those two girls died in a car accident about two years later over in Atlanta, I heard. And that’s the last time I’ve given them a second thought in a long time.”
I waited, trying to think of something else to say, but it was obvious he didn’t want to continue the conversation. I nodded and followed Woodson down the porch. We stepped around the hound dog, still lounging in the same position from before. I heard the screen door bang shut behind us with a finality that seemed to perfectly punctuate the day’s proceedings.
I knew in that moment that my relationship with Charles Bliss had come to an end, forever.
In the wake of all the stunning revelations, I had momentarily forgotten how angry I was with Woodson in the first place. At our first opportunity I pulled over at a small gas station on Highway 26 to fill up.
Woodson began filling her tank, too, on the other side of the island. “So why the hell didn’t you tell me about the rape charge you dug up?” I finally asked, then changed to a sarcastic tone. “I thought we were in the circle of trust now.”
Woodson held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I came across it last night and didn’t know what to do. The only thing I knew was I couldn’t tell you beforehand.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d ruin it by talking with him on your own first.”
“Well, great idea. The way it played out, I’m pretty sure I just lost a friend forever today.”
“I’m sorry about that, Lucas. I really am.”
“Well, that remorse you’re feeling plus a dollar buys you a cup of coffee at McDonald’s.”
She started to speak but I didn’t let her. “What’s done is done. Or should I say what’s fucked is fucked. But from now on this…” I waved my hand back and forth in the air between us, “this is a two-way street. Just the other day you were giving me shit when Donny told me about the link to Charlie’s property, and I came clean to you from the get-go. But now I don’t get the same treatment in return.”
Woodson opened her mouth to protest, but closed it just as quickly. She nodded instead.
“From now on, no more secrets,” I said. “None. Or one of us is going to have to go. I don’t so much care who at this point, anymore. But we can’t be partners like this. We either trust each other the rest of the way, or we don’t. What’s it going to be?”
Woodson looked up at me, and I could see genuine regret in her eyes as she spoke. “Okay, Lucas. I’m sorry. No more secrets. I promise.”
I clicked the last bit of gas into my tank, replaced the nozzle, and stepped across to Woodson’s side as she finished up as well. “One last thing,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I do appreciate what you did back there,” I said.
“I’m not following you.”
“At the end, I mean. How you tried to protect me in front of Charlie by blaming yourself and the Bureau for the interrogation.”
Woodson nodded and smiled slightly. “Oh, that. I know you do. You don’t have to say it.”
“But I’m saying it anyway. Thanks, Woodson. It means a lot, actually. Really.”
She eyed me, but didn’t say anything, and just continued to look at me.
I found myself staring at her as well. And suddenly realized I needed to say something—if I didn’t, I was afraid of what might happen. I suddenly couldn’t shake the idea of trying to kiss her.
I clapped my hands together hard, much more intensely than I’d intended. “So,” I said. “How about comparing notes?”
Woodson looked at me a moment longer, and then smiled. “Okay,” she said, simply.
* * *
We sat in her car and reviewed everything, but the conversation really boiled down to two main facts. First, the rape charge against Charlie was a case of false accusation and not necessarily significant to the search for SWK. Secondly, and more importantly, Charlie had an alibi for his whereabouts the previous night, which we could also check.
The stirring of feelings I’d felt toward Woodson at the gas pump had eventually died down, at least to some extent. I still wasn’t sure what to make of them and was worried that it would become a distraction if we kept working together that night.
Rather than suggesting another late night, I instead bade her farewell and advised her to go home and get some much-needed rest. She agreed without any argument, and we made plans to meet the next morning in the New Orleans field office and come up with next steps.
* * *
On my way home I tried to assimilate everything we’d learned in the last few days, from Charlie’s past, to the pinprick on the fourth victim’s finger, to the SWK/BTK/Zodiac results in the Damnation Algorithm, to the huge caffeine levels Woodson had discovered in the victims’ systems, to the ever-extending message left on the foreheads, to the lack of an apostrophe in CANT.
Everything.
And nothing added up.
So many observations, so few leads. Nothing tying everything together.
At the next intersection leading back to the interstate I pulled to a stop behind Woodson. She proceeded, and I found myself staring at a rectangular green sign indicating Crossroads, only three miles away to the left. After another moment’s hesitation, I decided.
I needed to meet with one more person, without Woodson in tow. I needed to confirm Charlie’s alibi about his whereabouts last night.
Instead of going back to the interstate, I turned to the left just as Woodson’s taillights disappeared over a hill in the distance.
* * *
Ten minutes later I pulled into my father’s church parking lot and realized a prayer service was just letting out. No one in the emerging congregation paid me much attention as they exited the doors and broke off into smaller groups. Older farmers lit up pipes, ladies laughed over an infomercial or gossip, and kids threw a football in the grass.
A few middle-aged couples conversed with my father at the top of the steps, laughing as each took a turn relaying some story.
I walked up the steps toward him, suddenly doubting my decision to come here, feeling as though I were caught in some genetic tractor beam, unable to avoid my father any longer.
None of the congregation members recognized me. My father had changed churches several times since I left for college, and I hadn’t been to any of his churches for even longer than that, ever since my mother’s death.
But the members suddenly went quiet as they glanced from me and back to my father, recognizing the off-kilter similarities in our faces. My own features like a genetic peek-a-boo into the way my father once looked long ago. The laughter in my father’s face vanished, and his own expression went indecipherable.
As I made my way up the last few steps, he bade farewell to the group. They parted for me, the women cutting their eyes at me ominously, the men ignoring eye contact altogether.
Behind me, one of the men turned and called up. “Pastor Madden? You want one of us to help you lock up?”