Bonne Femme

Chapter 12

Visiting Kevin

Covington, Indiana

        At six-thirty Richard pulled up the driveway, steering around windfalls of small branches the storm had brought down.  Kevin, wearing faded khaki dockers, a white tee shirt, and scuffed running shoes stood on the carport of a blonde brick ranch-style house.  When he ran down the window, a moist, chill breeze made his gritty eyes water.

"Hell of a night, huh?" asked Kevin.

"Rain and wind most of the way down," said Richard, suppressing a yawn.

Jill straightened at the sound of his voice.

        "Come on in.  Margie's got breakfast started," said Kevin as Richard got out.  "We can bring in your stuff later. 

Jill came around the car, followed by Marta.

Kevin smiled his enigmatic smile as he extended his hand.

"Hi, I'm Kevin."

"I am Jill, and this is my friend, Marta.  It is my pleasure to meet you, Kevin."

 

218.

         She felt like a child shaking hands with an adult.  His hand enveloped hers.  He was a tall, muscular man carrying too much weight.  She made a quick estimate of one hundred and thirty kilos.

         "The pleasure is mine," he replied, his blue eyes twinkling brightly.  His voice was large man gentle.

"Nice to meet you too, ma'am," he said offering Marta his hand. 

"I hope you're all hungry.  Margie started cooking as soon as you pulled in the drive."

 

        Kevin's sister, a trim woman in her early thirties, mothered them through breakfast.  She was a recent widow, having lost her truck driver husband two years earlier when his Kenworth piled up with over fifty other vehicles in a fog-bound valley in eastern Tennessee.  Like her husband, Kevin was an independent trucker, and the young widow ran a sort of base camp for her younger brother.  It gave them both a home life of sorts.

        After breakfast Jill and Marta insisted on helping Margie with the dishes, which she reluctantly allowed, although obviously pleased to have the company.  Richard and Kevin walked out to the back yard and sat at a picnic table.

        Kevin slid a cigarette out of its pack and began the ritual of tamping it on the side of his zippo before lighting up.

        "Margie wants me to quit," he explained.  "So I compromise by not smoking in the house."

"Kind of missing the point, don't you think?" said Richard.

The gentle chiding elicited only the noncommittal shrug of an addicted smoker.

"Willie Boy know you're here?" asked Kevin.

"I don't confide in him."

        "He came down in May right after I got back from a run to California.  Just drove up one day and asked if I knew where you were.  Said he needed to find you to make amends for a fight you two had over a girl.  Said you'd both been drinking and things were said that shouldn't have been."

"More or less true only I wasn't drinking.  I already told you about it."

Kevin exhaled a plume of smoke.

"I told him I hadn't seen you in over a year, but he didn't believe me."

 

219.

He looked speculatively at Richard.

        "You know you kind of led me to believe this with the girl was some kind of good Samaritan thing, but it's not like that, is it?"

"We're engaged."

        Richard's lack of emotion puzzled him, but he didn't ask the question it brought to mind.  His code of manly conduct didn't emphasize a true confessions variety of sensitivity.  Men might graze such things, but they didn't dive in.

"Why did you bring the other one along?"

"She's Jill's best friend, and I didn't know what he might do while we were gone."

"So what's he done to spook you like this?"

        "He might have killed a woman in Cartier.  A woman named Rose Ford disappeared while Jill and I were out of town.  Until I told a friend of mine in the sheriff's department about it, no one knew that Mic had been seeing her.  After JR questioned him---I mean the very next day---he cornered Jill and scared the hell out of her.  Earlier he beat the hell out of this kid in front of the girls."

"Bar fight?"

        "Parking lot.  And he didn't even know the boy.  And he cornered Jill in a clothing store.  I don't know what he said or did because she won't tell me all of it."

        "That sounds like our boy," said Kevin, flicking the cigarette away and rubbing his chin.  "You say this woman disappeared.  Any idea how many missing persons there are in this country?"

        "Yeah.  I looked it up on the Internet.  There's enough that the police wouldn't get anything else done if they tried looking for all of them."

        "Richard," said Kevin carefully.  "You know it is possible that he really didn't do anything to that woman.  And maybe the rest of it is just him trying to get back at you for stealing his girl.  Now you've set the cops on him."

He saw Richard grimace.

"Hey, buddy.  If a friend can't tell you the truth, who can?"

 

220.

"I thought the last time we talked you agreed that he was capable of it."

        "That was in the Mog," said Kevin, obviously struggling to consider the possibility.  "This is different."

        "What's the difference?  If he murdered that girl we found him with after the firefight then he could do it here.  She was black and we were in a war zone, but murder is murder, isn't it?"

Kevin considered it as he shook another cigarette from the pack and lit up.

"We heard him make a racist joke about the dead girl.  We didn't see him do anything."

"We saw plenty.  He liked looking at bodies, especially female bodies."

"So he's a sick, callous bastard.  Everyone was callous over there but you."

"None of the rest of us acted like he did," Richard insisted.

"And yet you hang out with the guy."

Kevin nodded solemnly before continuing.

"Let's get to the nut-cutting.  Why are you here?"

"I need advice for now.  Later, I may need a favor."

"I'm not going to help you do anything crazy, Richard."

"All I want is for you to look after Jill if something happens to me."

"Like getting arrested?"

"Or getting dead."

Kevin looked at him sharply, and then shook his head.

"Stop being so melodramatic."

"I'm serious.  I need to know that you'll see to her safety if something happens to me."

"Okay.  I promise," said Kevin quickly.

 

221.

         It was disappointing that his friend didn't take him seriously, but Richard knew Kevin would keep his promise.  He pushed up from the picnic table.

"I need to make a call up to South Bend.  Can I run up your long distance bill?"

        "Call anyone you like.  Just don't leave me any nine hundred number charges," cracked Kevin.  "It would be hard to explain to Margie."

 

        A little after noon Richard finally convinced a secretary to put his call through to Senter, who only reluctantly agreed to give him a few minutes the following day.  The afternoon could have been given over to salutary idleness approaching normality.  Kevin, a natural raconteur, entertained the girls with humorous stories that ran from the wry to the absurd, while Margie played hostess.  They enjoyed her cookies and talked deep into the night when the time to retire made Margie seek for the proper words to ask about the sleeping arrangements.  Kevin, however, solved the delicate problem with his usual cut-to-the-nub approach.

"There are only three bedrooms," he said.  "So who gets these and the couch?"

"That would be me," said Richard, raising his hand.

        "Semper fi, old buddy," said Kevin, tossing the bedclothes to him.  "Jill, you and Marta bunk in the bedroom at the end of the hall."

Jill lingered after the rest went down the hallway to their respective bedrooms.

"Is something wrong?" asked Richard.

She shook her head.

"I like your friend," she said.

"Kevin's a good guy.  He's going to take care of you if something happens to me."

"Do not let anything happen, Richard."

"I don't intend to."

 

222.

When she didn't respond, he looked at her quizzically.

"You're sure there's not something wrong?"

        "I am trying to act appropriately.  We are supposed to be engaged, are we not?  How would it appear if we did not take time to say goodnight?"

"Right.  Well goodnight then."

        "Goodnight, Richard.  Thank you for trying to care of me.  I have never had that before except, of course, for my Aunt Mirabelle---and that is only when I am a child."

 

Professional Advice

        South Bend, June 14

        Jill suggested that she and Marta search county and local law enforcement websites as well as online newspaper morgues.  She thought there might be a chance that Mic's hometown newspaper might be available on the Internet, but she cautioned him not to expect too much.  Her research had taught her that most newspaper morgues consisted of poorly organized stacks of back issues.  The smaller the town the more likely it was that they had yet to be converted to microfiche much less to computer file.

        Doctor Laurel Senter's dark brown eyes appraised him coolly.  Conservatively dressed in a gray suit sans jewelry, she exuded the air of competence and confidence he remembered.  The curve of her jaw clenched slightly just below the ends of her straight blond hair as her small hand grasped his firmly.

        "I don't mean to be rude Mr. Carter," she said brusquely, "But tell me why I should speak with you?"

"I need to understand a man I suspect of a series of crimes."

Still standing, she let the silence drag a beat.

        "Your deputy friend tells me that you are not with the department.  This is an unofficial investigation?"

"Yes," he said.

He caught her none-too-subtle look of annoyance.

 

223.

       "But a woman this man had a relationship with is missing.  I think he killed her, and I think there may be others."

"You think you've discovered a serial killer," she said with mild exasperation.

"I didn't say that."

        "Mr. Carter, it's more than likely that you are the victim of an overactive imagination.  Believe me, it happens all the time."

        "Dr. Senter, I need the benefit of your knowledge.  I do appreciate you taking time to see me, and you don't need to worry about me pestering you."

Fearing that she was about to dismiss him, he hurried on.

        "When I attended your presentation last summer in Chicago, I got the impression that you have a passion for sharing your insights."

"But I don't want to encourage amateur sleuthing.  To do so would be unethical.

"I need to know---"

        "You've seen too many movies, Mr. Carter," she sighed.  "I'm getting to hate the term profiler.  I'm a psychologist, not a fortune teller, and despite what you've read, neither I nor anyone else can tell you a lot about the personality of a person based on someone else's impressions of him, especially if that individual is as biased as I fear you may be."

        "I know that ma'am.  But I've had some training in investigation, admittedly not enough, and if you'll bear with me a moment, I'd like to tell you about him.  I'll skip the impressions and relate only the things I've personally seen and heard."

"Sit," she said in exasperation.  "I guess I can give you a few minutes."

        As objectively and succinctly as he could, Richard told her about Mic's interrogation in Somalia, about his molesting the dead girl, and about his humiliating treatment of Rose Ford.  Senter listened intently without interrupting.

        "If what you have described is based in reality rather than fantasy, then this man's behavior is disturbing.  But I fear you've contracted a rather common first year psychology student malady---I call it jumping to diagnosis."

        "Ma'am, this guy's actions aren't inkblots into which I have projected a meaning.  What I've told you is actual, concrete, observations.  I saw him torture a girl in Somalia.  I saw him molest another girl's body.  Let's stick with those things and leave my suspicions aside."

 

224.

She smiled, but only briefly.

        "Okay.  Where to start?  Those two incidents are sexual in nature.  What do you know about the motivation of sex offenders?"

"That it's not about sex, it's about power, right?"

        "Wrong," she said grimly.  "It's about sex and power.  It's about sexual frustration and generalized hatred for women.  The inability to form healthy relationships leads to a lust for violent, forceful sex.  Mostly it's about ego, about compensating for feelings of insignificance.  They think they are important but that no one recognizes them as important.  Each person they destroy makes them feel more powerful for a time, but doesn't solve the underlying feeling.  That makes them more destructive.  They feed on their destruction, and constantly fantasize about doing it better."

She frowned in concentration before continuing.

       "The sadism and necrophilia are classic behaviors.  They tell us that he needs complete control.  He humiliates, terrorizes, and inflicts pain to prove to himself that he is powerful.  Perhaps he's even taking vengeance.  The cliché---that he hates his mother, is not out of the realm of possibility.  The necrophilia suggests a preference for post mortem sex."

"Why?"

        "It makes him feel supremely powerful.  Remember, he needs to control her.  How much more under his control could she be than when he has turned her into a mere vessel?"

"But she's no longer even a person," he said.

"She never was."

"Thank God such men are rare," he said.

        "Not so rare, Mr. Carter.  When Berlin fell at the end of the Second World War, Russian soldiers hunted down and raped German women for days.  Japanese soldiers did the same thing in Nanking.  Do you really think Russians and the Japanese are so very different from other men?  Rape has always been common during war.  They are enemy women, you see.  So it is justified."

"Most men wouldn't do that," he objected.

 

225.

       "True.  Most are normal in that they can control their behavior, even if they can't control their urges."

"You think most men are tempted to do those things?"

She shrugged.

"I'm not a man, but from what I've seen, I think many are."

Noticing his dubious expression, she continued.

        "I volunteer to help the victims of abusive relationships.  You would not believe how common they are.  Few men actually beat their wives and girlfriends, but many intimidate and verbally abuse them.  This is grossly underreported.  Although these things are but pale shadows of the sexual predator they share a common thread.  They do it to make themselves feel powerful.  So," she said, rising to signal the end of the meeting.  "If what you told me is true, then this man bares watching.  The urge is there even if he has never acted it out.  Tell your friend the deputy that."

        "Wait.  There's one other thing in I saw in Somalia," he said.  "I didn't tell you before because it didn't involve an action that I witnessed.  It was in the nature of a scene I found him in."

"Go on, but make it quick," she said, sitting again.

        "We went looking for him after a firefight, and found him sitting in a doorway smoking.  Not five feet away was the bound body of another woman.  She was strangled with an electric cord."

        "Well it was a savage place, wasn't it?" she said.  "Rival militias fighting for control.  Perhaps it was an execution."

        "That's what he said at the time, but it wasn't.  Executions were by bullet behind the ear---beheading if they really wanted to make a point."

"Describe the scene then," she said.

        "It was a trashed building, abandoned, and looted.  She was fully clothed . . . on her side . . . angled toward the door . . . ankles and wrists tied together at the small of her back . . . insulated wire twisted . . . embedded in her neck."

He paused, feeling sick.

        "Tell me about the ligatures.  How was she restrained?  Be specific, especially about the knots."

 

226.

       "Nylon?  I think it might have been parachute cord," he said, forcing himself to recall the details.  "The wrists and ankles were tied separately, then wound together with several loops binding them into a . . . I remember thinking that the pale palms and soles looked like a grotesque bouquet.  That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

        "The mind seeks images to explain things that are beyond our normal experience.  You have a vivid imagination," she said distractedly, her mind obviously more on the scene than Richard's feelings.  "And the garrote---you said insulated wire?"

"Yes."

        He cleared his throat.  "It was . . . uh . . . twisted like a tourniquet . . . a broken chair leg was used.  He stood behind her to do it."

        "Yes, of course.  She would have been on her knees," said Senter, her voice clinical.  "Near the door.  He wanted to see her better.  So we don't know if there was a sexual assault, but the crime was definitely sexual in nature.  There were elements of ritual and a displayed body.  Fully clothed, you say?"

When he nodded, Senter frowned in concentration.

"Where was this man you suspect?"

        "Sitting in the doorway not five feet away from her . . . smoking a cigarette as if nothing had happened."

"Facing her?"

"No, sitting sideways so that he could watch the street and also see her."

        "An assumption," she said dismissively.  "Mr. Carter, if you suspected him at the time---"

        "I didn't.  It's not the sort of thing you would suspect, is it?  I mean it doesn't seem like the sort of thing someone you know could do."

"Why, after all this time, do you suspect him now?"

"Because of what he's doing."

Senter shifted in her chair.

"Now you're ready to tell me what this is really about?"

 

227.

"I need to anticipate him so that I can stop him."

        "I think we're through here, Mr. Carter.  I consult with professionals, people who are emotionally detached from the person or crime they are investigating.  You are neither.  The only reason I even agreed to see you is because I think we owe the boys like you who we send in harms way."

"Doctor Senter.  I need something besides my ignorance and fear."

        "You are trying to protect someone," she said.  "That's obvious.  It's also obvious that it is a woman.  Is this some sort of male competition?"

"Not on my part," he said.

        "Shell down the corn, Mr. Carter.  Fill me in on the personal aspect of this whole thing."

        Richard told her about Jill's violent breakup with Mic, about the subsequent fight and threat, the beating in the parking lot, and what Jill had told him of the incident in the clothing store.  Afterward, she sat looking at him skeptically.

"That's it?"

"You don't find his behavior disturbing?"

        "Of course.  If I accept what you say, but you are obviously emotionally involved, and I suspect that you are exaggerating.  It wouldn't be the first time.  Since the term ‘serial killer' became a household word, you would not believe the number of tips the police receive about them from perfectly sincere and well-meaning citizens."

        "Bear with me a moment, Dr. Senter," he said.  "The original term was stranger killers, because strangers are the preferred targets, right?"

        "You can't go killing a series of people you have personal connections to or you'll get caught," she said.

"Right.  They're too smart for that."

        "Don't give them too much credit," she said.  "The myth about criminal genius is just that.  Popular drama tends to depict the typical serial killer as extremely bright.  Some are, but most fall in the lower range of normal intelligence.  They get away with multiple murders because they move around and have no connection with their victims.  They're more wary than smart."

"Wouldn't intimidating people they know be atypical?"

 

228.

       "Very.  Although a first victim often is someone they know.  That's why finding the first victim is so important for the investigator."

        "I think his first victim may have been a high school classmate, and the last one was a female acquaintance, which, from what I understand would make him atypical.  What I need to know is it totally unprecedented for one of these people to specialize in people he knows?  And he likes to intimidate people.  Is that consistent behavior for the type?"

She shifted in her chair, and inclined her head the way a teacher might.

        "Well, first I'll point out that a normal person's actions aren't always consistent.  Secondly, intimidation is abuse.  It is control in the extreme, psychological rather than physical, but these guys are all about the psychological because they live in their imagination.  The most serious objection to your idea, however, is that it strays so far from the norm.  A stranger killer well into his career invariably chooses victims almost at random.  He gets better at the job with experience.  He makes less mistakes, becomes more sophisticated.  Usually it is only in the initial stages that there is a personal connection."

"What attracts them to a particular victim?"

        "Often there is a type they're looking for:  petite blondes, tall brunettes, timid women.  Other than that, it's random.  They troll for candidates and strike when they find a vulnerability."

Jill and Rose had nothing in common that he could think of.

        "If he knows the intended target is on to him shouldn't that make him seek a different victim?"

"It should."

"Well, this guy's not going away.  In fact he's getting more threatening."

"Doesn't that make you doubt your diagnosis?"

        "Maybe.  But tell me, could one of these men ever satisfy himself with purely psychological terror?"

She considered the idea a moment.

        "An interesting question.  Instinctively I would say no, unless, of course, he were in the initial stages of his career.  On the other hand, it would be arrogant to think we've seen every variation.  They often lead public lives that seem quite normal: loving husband and father, nice neighbor, good co-worker.  So, they are capable of leading split lives.  Some are seriously motivated and quite accomplished in both his lives.  So I don't see why one of these guys, even if he's well into his career, couldn't also engage in the sort of behavior you describe, not as a substitute for his normal activity, but as a parallel enterprise just because it is part of his personality."

 

229.

She paused for a moment and frowned in concentration.

        "The motive would have to be a strong one for him to spare the time and concentration to plan and execute something like that . . . something to do with his ego."

        Senter had become intrigued with the possibility.  It was something she hadn't considered, and she was enough of an academic to pursue it.

        "He would have to escalate the intimidation in order to gain sufficient satisfaction, and then the pressure for him to handle it in his normal way could override caution," she said distantly.  "It could easily spin out of his control."

 

Jill and Marta

       ‘Cassville, Missouri' had produced nothing of value.  The query for ‘Barry County' produced a menu of county office websites, none of which contained helpful information.  Jill did, however, discover the name of the local paper.  Unfortunately the daily had no on-line resources.  After printing out the addresses of the county offices and that of the newspaper, she exited.

"Are you through?" asked Marta.

"Not yet," she said as she called up a list of Missouri newspapers.

"What are you trying to find?"

        "Newspaper accounts of a crime Mic may have committed when he was boy," she said.  "Richard thinks that Mic is capable of . . . more than just beating someone up."

        "You do not have to find evidence of that," said Marta.  "I have seen how jealous and angry he is.  In my country, men often kill each other because of honor.  I don't mean it is a common thing or happens every day or anything like that.  But to kill a man over a woman, it happens."

        "We need the evidence because Richard wants the police to investigate Mic.  If that happens, Mic may leave us alone."

        She logged into a Springfield paper and pulled up thumbnails from the morgue for the years 1987 to 1990.

 

230.

       "Mic always is angry," said Marta.  "He came to my house when you and Richard are away.  He thinks I lie when say I do not know where you are."

        "Stay away from him," Jill said, distractedly as she typed in her credit card number and ordered two articles downloaded.

"Jill, why did you not tell me before you and Richard go away?"

"You received an e-mail," said Jill, technically avoiding a lie.

        "Yes.  It is not like you.  I know that you are . . . private?  You do not say personal things.  I expect you to call me, and when you do not I say, ‘This is not like my friend, Jill.'"

        "There is nothing to tell, Marta.  I got . . . involved with Richard, and Mic was still bothering me, so we decided to go away for a while until . . . I was sure and . . ."

        Jill trailed off, not knowing how to end her complicated lie.  She printed out one of the thumbnails.

"Yes.  And now you are sure because you are going to marry him."

Jill pretended not to recognize her friend's implicit request to fill in the blanks for her.

"Let us see what we find in West Virginia," she said, trying to avoid the subject.

"What is it that you are not sure of when you go away?" Marta persisted.

         Jill found the county in which Glenville was located, and logged onto its website.  It was obvious that Marta was intent on getting answers.

"I was not sure how I felt about him," said Jill.

It was close to the truth.

"I'm really glad we went."

        "I worried about you, because you go away with him so quickly.  When I receive the email that you go away with him, I say, ‘this is very strange.  A naïve young girl goes away with a man, not my friend, Jill.'  But your message says I am wrong.  So it must be so."

         Jill printed out the addresses of the county offices, and then called up the website of the Charleston newspaper.

 

231.

       "I would have contacted you, but we did not want to let Mic know where we were, so we decided not to contact anyone.  Actually, it was impossible.  There were no phones out . . . in the desert."

"It is difficult to believe."

        "What is?" asked Jill, feigning disinterest, but afraid that her clumsy lie had been discovered.

        "That you do not see it from the beginning that he is in love with you.  I see the way he looks at you, but you do not notice.  He is the nice guy, but you like the macho.  You are my friend so I do not say nothing."

"I was blind."

It struck her that it was the first truthful thing she had said.

"So.  Cuando es la boda?  Do you and Richard marry before Alberto and me?"

"We have not discussed a wedding---I mean the date," stammered Jill.

        "Can you go to the desk and pick up our printouts while I finish up here?" she asked, hoping the task would distract Marta from the fictional engagement.

 

Richard and Dr. Senter 

       In his mind, Senter had confirmed his initial intuitive assessment:  Mic would continue his game, whatever it was, until forced to abandon it by fear of getting caught.

"Doctor," he said, getting to his feet.  "You've been very generous with your time.  Thanks for seeing me."

She grasped his extended hand and held it firmly.

        "That was my choice, but listen to me carefully, young man.  What we've discussed today is only theoretical.  You need to maintain a good grasp of what you know and what you only suspect.  Now, I'm writing up notes on our meeting today and before you leave I need the name of this man we've been discussing theoretically?"

"William McCulloch Boyd."

 

232.

       "Very well.  If anything suddenly happens to Mr. Boyd, I'm sharing everything that was said here today with the appropriate authorities.  Do you understand?"

        "I wouldn't expect anything else, ma'am. Don't worry.  I have no intentions of taking the law into my own hands."

"There's no such thing.  When you take it into your own hands, it stops being the law."

 

Return yo Covington 

      They met in the lobby of the library just after five.  The drive back to Covington would take a couple of hours, so they hit a fast food place.  Jill and Marta shared one side of a booth, corralling the contents of their pita pockets while Richard ate a more sensibly crafted burger.

"How was the interview?" asked Jill.

"Dr. Senter is an interesting lady," he said vaguely.  "It was good of her to see me."

        "I could not get copies of news articles from Cassville," she said.  "The nearest online newspaper was from Springfield.  The account gives little information that you did not already have.  In West Virginia, the Charleston paper has a regular column in its weekend edition called Around the State.  I found two references to Glenville, but I don't know how useful they are."

Jill took neatly folded sheets of paper from her purse and handed them to him.

"We made copies."

        He scanned the articles from Missouri and shuffled them to the bottom of the stack to read the Glenville articles.  The first, dated three years ago, concerned the discovery of what the paper called a rolling meth lab, a van containing anhydrous ammonia and cases of a non-prescription sinus drug along with the jury-rigged chemistry equipment.  He slipped it to the back and read the second, dated six months later than the first, the story of the murder-suicide of a Glenville doctor and his wife.  Details were sketchy, consisting only of the names, and the implication that jealousy had precipitated the violence.  He refolded them, hiding his disappointment, and handed them back.

"Any missing persons cases or unsolved murders that made state news?"

        "Yes, but none mentioned this Glenville," she said.  "I should have written them down.  It is the first rule of research."

        "You did great for the amount of time you had.  I'll take a closer look later if you can access them when we get home."

 

233.

"Richard, do you know that police reports are available online?"

"Actual reports or summaries?"

        "I am not sure, but you may also obtain the complete criminal record of any person in the country all the way back to 1928, but there is a fee and one must provide the name and social security number of the person one wishes to know about."

"From online detective agencies?"

        "Yes.  They will also gather all the public records on a person, but it takes them two to three weeks.  They also can gather all the police reports for a city or county for an extended time span, but this is expensive I think."

"Can you find that site again?"

        "A child can find it," she said as she rewrapped the remains of her pita and placed it on the tray preparatory to leaving.

He gathered the food litter and dumped it on the way out.

"Did you read the article about the doctor in Glenville?" she asked.

"The murder-suicide?  I scanned it."

"He left a suicide note accusing his wife of a liaison.  Isn't that odd?"

"I'm not following you," he said.

        "If he loves her so much that he kills himself afterwards, then how could he bring himself to kill her?"

Murder-suicide was a poor fit for men compelled to violence against women.

        "It's probably about him, not her," he said.  "It's hideously selfish.  So is suicide to a lesser extent."

        "Maybe he killed her because she betrayed him," she ventured.  "Then perhaps he cannot live with his guilt."

"Maybe he just couldn't live with the prospect of jail," he said, handing her the keys.  

"Can you drive us back?  I'm beat.  I think I'll just lay in the back seat and rest."

 

234.

       The old Cougar rode smoothly, only the road noise betraying its advanced age.  Jill cruised slightly above the speed limit, matching the pace of traffic.  As she steered south through the darkening day, Richard slept and Marta looked at the Indiana countryside.

        "This is a large country," said Jill.  "In Europe we would already have passed through several towns.  There is still so much space."

        "And like a garden.  One sees all these fields of maize," responded Marta.  "Pero hay mucho que no sirve para nada.  Come se dice?  Much is not worth nothing, like the land you and Richard visit on your . . . vacation."

        Jill didn't like lying.  She thought it was time to give Marta a slightly more truthful account, omitting the fact that she had been abducted.

"About that trip," she began.  "We actually . . . "

"What time is it?" interrupted Richard suddenly.  "And where are we?"

"It's nearly eight-thirty," said Jill.  "We just passed the exit to Jonesboro."

"Good, we'll be at Kevin's by a little after dark."

"How long is that?" asked Marta.

"About an hour," he answered.

"Can we stop at the next service station?" she asked.

 

Richard got out to take over the driving while Marta was in the restroom.

        "Jill," he began carefully.  "I don't think it would be a good idea to tell Marta about Bonne Femme."

"You were only pretending to sleep," she said accusingly.

"No.  I actually just woke up about the time you were going to tell her."

"I do not like lies, Richard.  Yours or mine."

 

235.

       "I understand that.  But let's not draw her into this anymore than she already is.  So far, Mic is only interested in her because she is your friend.  He doesn't care about her one way or the other, and we want to keep it that way.  What she doesn't know, she can't tell him.  He can't know about Bonne Femme."

"It does not matter," she said.  "I told you before.  I will not go back there."

She was silent until just before Marta came out of the station.

"I will not tell her, Richard.  But I am afraid that she is already involved too much."

 

        The evening featured bright stars among scattered mares' tails joined by a full yellow moon around ten.  A mild damp breeze sifted northward promising another spate of showers.  They conversed on the patio until eleven.  When the women went inside Kevin lit a cigar and offered one, which Richard declined.

"What did you find out today?" asked Kevin.

        "Nothing that changes things.  He'll continue to write the script until I find a way to turn it around."

"Turn it around?"

"I've got to scare him.  He'll never be afraid of me though."

"Probably not," agreed Kevin.

        "He ought to be.  I came close to killing him that night.  I had a broken bottle pressed against his throat.  I almost finished it."

Kevin studied him through tendrils of cigar smoke.

"You didn't because you couldn't.  Your brain's not wired that way."

"I wasn't much of a Marine, was I?"

        "You were as good as any of us," said Kevin without hesitation.  "And a hell of lot better than he was."

"I was scared every time we stepped on the streets."

 

236.

"Everyone was but that freak.  You did what you had to do when it came down."

"I'm the one who killed that kid."

        "That again!  I told you before.  It could have been any of us.  Except for luck, or fate, or the will of God, you could be as dead as that kid is.  He tried to kill you.  In a situation like that you react, you don't think."

        Richard needed to hear it again, but words couldn't penetrate to the festering spot inside him.  He longed to redact the past into a version he could live with.  They sat in silence while the moon rose high enough to lose its golden hue, and the canvass chairs became dank with dew.

"Kevin, there's something I can't tell Jill."

Kevin motioned for him to continue.

       "I believe I know what he's doing, but I . . . could be wrong.  I can't prove a bit of it.  And I need to because that's the only way to end it."

        "Let's be real here," said Kevin.  "Your job is to take care of that woman in there, and if you don't I'm going to be mad because I really like her."

He sucked on his cigar before continuing.

        "Let's forget the preemptive nonsense because we both know you ain't got that in you.  You go on and try to dig up something on him to get the law interested, but remember that protecting her is job one.  If I can indulge in military metaphor, it'll be like walking point:  you got to expect the worst all the time, I mean every moment."

Richard smiled.

"What?  I say something funny?"

"I said the same thing to Jill the other day."

        Jill had gone out the front to get the purse she had left in the car, and decided to go around by the patio to say goodnight to Richard in order to maintain the fiction of their engagement. 

"She hates the military metaphors," she heard Richard say.

        That she was the subject of conversation made her hesitate in the shadows to listen.

 

237.

       "Richard, protecting her is going to be easier than getting the cops to look at him seriously.  Besides scaring her and making vague threats that only you know about, what's he done?  Hang around and make you nervous?"

        "Yeah.  The only violence so far is me cold-cocking him with a beer bottle.  Of course he attacked me first."

        "It's just your word against his---and hers of course, but that's just because she loves you.  You know, JR wouldn't even believe you if you two weren't friends.  An objective cop would just think it's two guys getting crosswise over a girl.  I'll bet even JR suspects that."

"You believe me, don't you?"

Kevin hesitated, and Jill held her breath, fearing what he might say.

        "I know you," he said.  "And what I know of that crazy bastard makes me believe you."

He shifted before continuing.

        "I've been thinking while you were gone today, and it occurred to me that the biggest mistake you could make would be to let him provoke you into doing something that would get your sorry ass thrown in jail.  If that happens call me first, and then your lawyer."

"That's not going to happen."

        "Don't let it.  And as long as I'm giving advice concerning unlikely occurrences---and I'm dead serious about this---you have to be ready---really ready when something comes down."

"What do you mean?"

        "It means that you can't freeze like you did when the kid swung down on you.  Nobody gets that lucky twice."

"I won't have any second thoughts," said Richard firmly.

"I'm not worried about your second thoughts.  I'm worried about your first ones."

"What are you talking about?"

        "Some people get in trouble because they don't ever think of the consequences.  You have this annoying habit of trying to weigh all the consequences before you do anything.  If he does anything, you better think the worst is happening."

"That's what I'm doing."

 

Kevin laughed humorlessly.

        "No.  You're still hoping for the best---thinking he might just go away and leave you two alone."

Jill wanted to leave, but couldn't.

        "It's okay to hope for the best," continued Kevin.  "As long as you expect the worst.  It's like facing a power pitcher with a good change-up.  Sure, he might strike you out with a change up, but the only way to defend yourself is to look for the heater.  You can always adjust to the off speed pitch.  You go looking for the slow one, you ain't got a chance to catch up to the fastball."

Richard smiled, imagining what Jill would make the baseball analogy.

        Seeing the smile, Jill was appalled that they were joking about having to kill another human being.  To her, there was nothing amusing in their surreal conversation.

"When Mic comes at you," said Kevin seriously.  "You finish it this time."

"Kill him, you mean?"

 

238.

"If he's got a weapon."

"I can't believe we're actually discussing this," said Richard.

        "Look.  If you're right about him . . . well you can't do anything preemptive, but you've got to finish it when he makes a move."

        Kevin exhaled a lung full of smoke in exasperation.  It hung in the still night air between them.

 

       "We're not conspiring, Richard.  We're looking at contingencies.  You know you never have time to think things through.  They never work out the way you imagine.  You have to be ready to react appropriately when it happens.  How many times did we see it on patrol?  You plan this.  You plan that.  But the bad guy has plans of his own.  All you can do is be ready."

"How can you always be ready?  You know it's not like that."

        "I know.  But say you wake up at night and he's in your apartment or something---you got a gun?"

Richard nodded.

"Then you shoot him and worry about his intentions later."

"What if I misjudge the situation?"

"Too bad for him.  He's the aggressor, not you.  You didn't start this game."

"I can't believe we're discussing this."

Kevin scowled.

        "If he killed that girl in the Mog like you think, then he could kill yours too.  If that's where this is leading then you have to finish it.  I'm not telling you to go after him---just the opposite.  But be ready and react if the time comes."

        Jill pulled back, missing what Richard said next.  Her mind whirled as she went back in by the front door.  What bothered her most was the sprinkling of humor mixed into their macabre conversation.  Then the reality hit her:  Richard and Kevin had killed men, and men had tried to kill them.  She tried to imagine how that could change a person.  On Bonne Femme she had been prepared to kill in her own defense.  She remembered holding the pistol on Richard, determined to pull the trigger if she had to.

So how different am I? she wondered.  He hesitated and I hesitated.

        She lay awake, thinking that perhaps she wasn't so very different after all.  Kevin's advice to Richard seemed realistic---horrible, but realistic.  It appalled her.

        Of course, she should go home, or, at the very least, get away and stay away from both Richard and Mic.  Going back to Brittany would be wasting the savings her aunt had sacrificed to send her to school in the United States.  She couldn't afford to transfer to a different college or even move into campus housing.  Mic frightened her too much to even think about living alone again, and she had already determined not to endanger Marta by moving in with her.  Jill had been through the checklist before.  The option she had chosen was to accept Richard's offer and hope that he was as sincere as he seemed to be.  Now she wasn't sure.