I’ve watched plenty true crime shows. I’ve seen how many times police misread somebody’s fear. They automatically think the person’s got something to hide.”
I couldn’t respond to that. Because it was all too true.
“What do we do now?” Cheryl got up and paced, the energy of her fright clearly too much to contain.
“All we can do is wait. Hard as it is. But I have to warn you, Billy could be at the station for a number of hours.”
Cheryl halted. Her expression contorted. “I can’t lose him. Isn’t it enough that I lost Lester last year?”
More than enough.
“Billy’s all I have now.” She looked at me. “You know I had him late in life. I couldn’t get pregnant, even though Lester and I had tried for years. Finally when I was forty … Many times I wondered if that’s why Billy is the way he is. Slow. Barely able to grasp concepts like math when he was in school. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was just too old.”
“Cheryl, don’t say that. You wanted him, you’ve loved him. He knows it, and that’s what counts.”
She flopped back onto the couch and picked up a pillow. Tossed it down. I couldn’t bear the sight of her despair. Memories of my father flashed in my head—those first few days after my arrest when he still believed in me. He’d suffered so terribly. As I had. Then look what had happened to him ….
I could not sit back and watch this happen to Cheryl.
“Look.” I leaned forward. “I promise you I’ll do all I can to keep Chief Melcher from homing in on Billy. I already talked to him just this morning, insisting your son’s not responsible for this. And I’ll keep talking. I’m the closest thing to an eyewitness. My recollection has to count for something.”
Cheryl focused on me and slowly nodded. “Thank you.” The words were little more than a croak.
I stood. “I need to go now. I was on my way to see the Crenshaws.”
Cheryl winced. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them Billy didn’t do it.”
“Yes.”
What else could I do?
On the way out I put my arm around Cheryl again. This time she hugged me back.
Maybe she hadn’t lied to me at all. Maybe I’d misread her, just like the police were so good at doing.
Maybe, somehow, I would slide through this. Help Billy and still keep the life I’d built. The life that demanded my constant deceit—and separated me from the God I so needed.
If I could just find the real murderer.
Chapter 12
As I was driving to the Crenshaws, still shaken from my visit with Cheryl King, my cell phone rang. Pete. I pulled over to a curb and answered. “Hi.”
“You won’t believe this, but they already hauled Billy King down to the station.”
“I know.” I told Pete I’d stopped by to see Cheryl.
Pete grunted. “And you told her you know Billy’s innocent, didn’tcha.”
“Yeah.”
“Even after ol’ Melcher-Belcher threw out his threats.”
“I can’t stand by and—”
“I know, I’m with ya. But things just got harder. You know who told the chief they saw Billy last night?”
My back straightened. “Do you?”
“Yup. Becky Myers.”
The name shot through me. “Becky! She was at the shower. Left not long before I did.”
“Yup. She lives on Brewer ’bout a block and a half up from where Clara was killed.”
“How you’d hear this?”
“Oh, I got my ways. Made a few phone calls to friends who live on Brewer. And when I heard it was Becky, I called her directly. Said I was just tryin’ to watch out for you. Which is true.”
I stared out the windshield, stunned. Becky was a good friend of Dora Crenshaw, Clara’s mother. And about the same age. Becky was a kind woman who’d never say anything bad about anybody. She wouldn’t have told the police anything less than the truth.
“And she’s sure it was Billy?”
“Absolutely positive. Becky told me she pulled into her driveway and nearly hit him as he was hurryin’ down the street. He looked right at her, in her
I couldn’t respond to that. Because it was all too true.
“What do we do now?” Cheryl got up and paced, the energy of her fright clearly too much to contain.
“All we can do is wait. Hard as it is. But I have to warn you, Billy could be at the station for a number of hours.”
Cheryl halted. Her expression contorted. “I can’t lose him. Isn’t it enough that I lost Lester last year?”
More than enough.
“Billy’s all I have now.” She looked at me. “You know I had him late in life. I couldn’t get pregnant, even though Lester and I had tried for years. Finally when I was forty … Many times I wondered if that’s why Billy is the way he is. Slow. Barely able to grasp concepts like math when he was in school. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was just too old.”
“Cheryl, don’t say that. You wanted him, you’ve loved him. He knows it, and that’s what counts.”
She flopped back onto the couch and picked up a pillow. Tossed it down. I couldn’t bear the sight of her despair. Memories of my father flashed in my head—those first few days after my arrest when he still believed in me. He’d suffered so terribly. As I had. Then look what had happened to him ….
I could not sit back and watch this happen to Cheryl.
“Look.” I leaned forward. “I promise you I’ll do all I can to keep Chief Melcher from homing in on Billy. I already talked to him just this morning, insisting your son’s not responsible for this. And I’ll keep talking. I’m the closest thing to an eyewitness. My recollection has to count for something.”
Cheryl focused on me and slowly nodded. “Thank you.” The words were little more than a croak.
I stood. “I need to go now. I was on my way to see the Crenshaws.”
Cheryl winced. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them Billy didn’t do it.”
“Yes.”
What else could I do?
On the way out I put my arm around Cheryl again. This time she hugged me back.
Maybe she hadn’t lied to me at all. Maybe I’d misread her, just like the police were so good at doing.
Maybe, somehow, I would slide through this. Help Billy and still keep the life I’d built. The life that demanded my constant deceit—and separated me from the God I so needed.
If I could just find the real murderer.
Chapter 12
As I was driving to the Crenshaws, still shaken from my visit with Cheryl King, my cell phone rang. Pete. I pulled over to a curb and answered. “Hi.”
“You won’t believe this, but they already hauled Billy King down to the station.”
“I know.” I told Pete I’d stopped by to see Cheryl.
Pete grunted. “And you told her you know Billy’s innocent, didn’tcha.”
“Yeah.”
“Even after ol’ Melcher-Belcher threw out his threats.”
“I can’t stand by and—”
“I know, I’m with ya. But things just got harder. You know who told the chief they saw Billy last night?”
My back straightened. “Do you?”
“Yup. Becky Myers.”
The name shot through me. “Becky! She was at the shower. Left not long before I did.”
“Yup. She lives on Brewer ’bout a block and a half up from where Clara was killed.”
“How you’d hear this?”
“Oh, I got my ways. Made a few phone calls to friends who live on Brewer. And when I heard it was Becky, I called her directly. Said I was just tryin’ to watch out for you. Which is true.”
I stared out the windshield, stunned. Becky was a good friend of Dora Crenshaw, Clara’s mother. And about the same age. Becky was a kind woman who’d never say anything bad about anybody. She wouldn’t have told the police anything less than the truth.
“And she’s sure it was Billy?”
“Absolutely positive. Becky told me she pulled into her driveway and nearly hit him as he was hurryin’ down the street. He looked right at her, in her
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