Shorty's the night she was
attacked?' I asked.
'I might have been. But I didn't see her…
Seen Lucas… That ain't no hep, though, is it?' He smiled
boyishly and brushed at the grass with one shoe.
'You think Lucas could rape and kill a girl?'
'Lucas?' He thought about it. 'It's not like him.
But a guy gets a snootful, who knows?'
'How you know he had a snootful, Bunny?'
He smiled with his eyes. 'I never saw him out there
when he didn't.'
'See you around.'
'Yeah, anytime, Mr Holland. I hope it works out for
Lucas.' He bit the corner of his lip philosophically.
On the way to my car I saw Emma Vanzandt walking
toward me from a pavilion. She wore a pair of tailored brown riding
jeans and lizard boots and a maroon silk shirt that filled with the
wind.
'You're not going to say hello?' she asked.
'How you doin', Emma?'
'You've been busy. All Darl's friends wonder what
you might be up to.'
'They haven't figured it out, huh?'
'Billy Bob,' she said, her
voice climbing. 'Be a little kind. Darl's not a bad boy.'
'I didn't say he was.'
She looked back at the pavilion. 'Let's get in your
car and I'll explain something… Darl suffers from—'
'Fetal alcohol syndrome. Jack told me about it.'
'I'd never heard of it before. But our last
psychiatrist took one look at him and seemed to know everything about
him… They've all got the same face. The eyes are set far
apart, the upper lip is too close to the nose.' Then she looked at
nothing and said, 'What a club to belong to,' and laughed, almost
lewdly, as though giving vent to another person who lived inside her.
'His friends vandalized Lucas Smothers's house.'
'Oh, I don't believe that.'
'It's good to see you, Emma.'
'He wet his bed until he was fifteen. He's not
capable of raping anybody. I don't think he's learned how to masturbate
yet,' she said.
'Maybe he should start. He beat up a prostitute with
his fists.'
'You should have gotten married, Billy Bob. Then you
wouldn't be such a stick in the mud.'
'Really?'
She reached across the car seat and patted me on the
wrist. 'Jack's sorry for speaking harshly to you. Come by and see us.
We'll work all this out.'
'No, we won't,' I said.
'Well, you're just a big pill. But one day you'll
see we mean you well. Until then, you have a good life, sir,' she said,
and squeezed my hand.
She got out of my car, her long, Indian-black hair
tucked behind her head with a silver comb. Then I saw Darl come to meet
her, looking past her shoulder at me, his face oily and insentient with
booze and tranquilizers, the glare in his eyes like yellow heat trapped
under murky water.
The next day, in my office, Marvin
Pomroy, the
prosecutor, told me about the call that had come in to the rural fire
station, his eyes moving across the rug as though he were clarifying
the details to himself rather than to me.
No one would have seen the flames, but a shower
broke in the predawn hours and a column of wet smoke rose from between
two hills and hung in the sky like a long gray rope. At first the
firemen thought they were simply putting out a pile of discarded
automobile tires that had been heaped into a deep pit. Then they began
to poke through the foam and pull apart the tires with their axes. The
blackened figure at the bottom of the pyre looked atrophied, cemented
at the joints, like an anatomically deformed manikin encased in a thick
crust. Except for the white teeth, exposed by the skin that had
stretched back on the skull in a death grin.
'You're sure it's Jimmy Cole?' I asked.
'Cole was missing two toes on his left foot. He cut
them off with a hatchet to get out of the field in Sugarland,' Marvin
said. His eyes were bright, his gum snapping in his jaw. 'The crime
scene's clean, though. We can't tie it to Moon.'
'You look like your circuits are burning,' I said.
'The ME says Cole died somewhere else. His nose and
mouth and ears were full of sediment and pig shit. The ME says he was
probably buried in a hog lot, then dug up after rigor
attacked?' I asked.
'I might have been. But I didn't see her…
Seen Lucas… That ain't no hep, though, is it?' He smiled
boyishly and brushed at the grass with one shoe.
'You think Lucas could rape and kill a girl?'
'Lucas?' He thought about it. 'It's not like him.
But a guy gets a snootful, who knows?'
'How you know he had a snootful, Bunny?'
He smiled with his eyes. 'I never saw him out there
when he didn't.'
'See you around.'
'Yeah, anytime, Mr Holland. I hope it works out for
Lucas.' He bit the corner of his lip philosophically.
On the way to my car I saw Emma Vanzandt walking
toward me from a pavilion. She wore a pair of tailored brown riding
jeans and lizard boots and a maroon silk shirt that filled with the
wind.
'You're not going to say hello?' she asked.
'How you doin', Emma?'
'You've been busy. All Darl's friends wonder what
you might be up to.'
'They haven't figured it out, huh?'
'Billy Bob,' she said, her
voice climbing. 'Be a little kind. Darl's not a bad boy.'
'I didn't say he was.'
She looked back at the pavilion. 'Let's get in your
car and I'll explain something… Darl suffers from—'
'Fetal alcohol syndrome. Jack told me about it.'
'I'd never heard of it before. But our last
psychiatrist took one look at him and seemed to know everything about
him… They've all got the same face. The eyes are set far
apart, the upper lip is too close to the nose.' Then she looked at
nothing and said, 'What a club to belong to,' and laughed, almost
lewdly, as though giving vent to another person who lived inside her.
'His friends vandalized Lucas Smothers's house.'
'Oh, I don't believe that.'
'It's good to see you, Emma.'
'He wet his bed until he was fifteen. He's not
capable of raping anybody. I don't think he's learned how to masturbate
yet,' she said.
'Maybe he should start. He beat up a prostitute with
his fists.'
'You should have gotten married, Billy Bob. Then you
wouldn't be such a stick in the mud.'
'Really?'
She reached across the car seat and patted me on the
wrist. 'Jack's sorry for speaking harshly to you. Come by and see us.
We'll work all this out.'
'No, we won't,' I said.
'Well, you're just a big pill. But one day you'll
see we mean you well. Until then, you have a good life, sir,' she said,
and squeezed my hand.
She got out of my car, her long, Indian-black hair
tucked behind her head with a silver comb. Then I saw Darl come to meet
her, looking past her shoulder at me, his face oily and insentient with
booze and tranquilizers, the glare in his eyes like yellow heat trapped
under murky water.
The next day, in my office, Marvin
Pomroy, the
prosecutor, told me about the call that had come in to the rural fire
station, his eyes moving across the rug as though he were clarifying
the details to himself rather than to me.
No one would have seen the flames, but a shower
broke in the predawn hours and a column of wet smoke rose from between
two hills and hung in the sky like a long gray rope. At first the
firemen thought they were simply putting out a pile of discarded
automobile tires that had been heaped into a deep pit. Then they began
to poke through the foam and pull apart the tires with their axes. The
blackened figure at the bottom of the pyre looked atrophied, cemented
at the joints, like an anatomically deformed manikin encased in a thick
crust. Except for the white teeth, exposed by the skin that had
stretched back on the skull in a death grin.
'You're sure it's Jimmy Cole?' I asked.
'Cole was missing two toes on his left foot. He cut
them off with a hatchet to get out of the field in Sugarland,' Marvin
said. His eyes were bright, his gum snapping in his jaw. 'The crime
scene's clean, though. We can't tie it to Moon.'
'You look like your circuits are burning,' I said.
'The ME says Cole died somewhere else. His nose and
mouth and ears were full of sediment and pig shit. The ME says he was
probably buried in a hog lot, then dug up after rigor
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