Beyond Reason (2 page)
Authors: Ken Englade
ANNIE MASSIE SCREECHED TO A HALT IN FRONT OF THE modest two-story house that she knew almost as well as her own.
“Thank God you’re here,” Jane Riggs wailed, wringing her blue-veined hands.
“I came as quickly as I could,” Annie said breathlessly, striding briskly across the greening lawn to join Jane and her two companions, Marilyn Baker and Constance Johanson.
“This is so unlike Derek,” Jane sobbed. “So unlike him. I just
know
something dreadful has happened.”
know
something dreadful has happened.”
Every week, as regularly as a church service, Derek Haysom played bridge with the three women. Unless he was away on a business trip or he and Nancy were off on a trans-Atlantic jaunt, he never failed to miss a bridge date, certainly not when he was the host.
“We pounded on the door,” Jane said, nodding at the big brass knocker that glistened flatly in the weak, late-afternoon sunlight. “It didn’t do any good.”
“When no one answered, we thought they had lost track of time and might still be working in the garden,” interjected Constance. “But we checked, and they weren’t there either.”
“That’s when we got really worried,” added Jane. “So we went down to Mitchell’s Store and called you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Annie replied apprehensively. “Elizabeth called just before you did,” she added cautiously, anxious not to upset the three elderly women any more than they already were. But she could not smother her own strong premonitions of tragedy. “She said she hasn’t been
able to reach them all week, and she wanted me to come out and check on them.”
able to reach them all week, and she wanted me to come out and check on them.”
They all knew it was a rarity for Derek and Nancy not to have some contact every few days with their twenty-year-old daughter, a student at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, a ninety-minute drive away. She was the focus of their lives.
Annie looked around quickly. The bunged-up van was parked in its customary spot under the trees in the center of the circular drive. A few feet farther along was Derek’s BMW. It, too, was in its normal place, backed carefully off the pavement so its nose was pointing down the steep slope. He always backed it into its parking niche: When it was time to go somewhere the impatient Derek didn’t like to waste time maneuvering his vehicle.
“We didn’t know what else to do,” said Jane, her voice cracking. “We didn’t want to have to call you, but we didn’t know whom else to call.”
“Don’t worry,” Annie said soothingly. “You did the right thing.”
Digging into her purse, Annie produced a dull brass key. “Nancy gave this to me a long time ago,” she explained. “When they’re out of town, I come over to check the house, water the plants, and make sure everything’s okay.” Fingering it as reverently as a Catholic would a rosary, Annie paused, considering what to do. Nancy was her dearest and closest friend. They had been like sisters since they were children. Over the years she had come to be fond of Derek as well. She liked them both too much, was too respectful of their privacy, to go barging into their home unless she was asked to do so. But this had the earmarks of an emergency. She knew no two people more reliable than Derek and Nancy. If they made an appointment and then failed to keep it, there was a reason. In the pit of her stomach, she was sure the reason would not be pleasant.
Slowly, fearfully, she approached the door. Glancing over her shoulder, Annie read the anxiety on the three women’s faces and knew that the same emotion must be painted on
hers as well. Gritting her teeth, she turned the key in the lock and started when the tumblers clicked noisily into place. Holding her breath, she twisted the handle and swung the door open a crack. “Hello,” she yelled more loudly than she intended. Startled by her own voice, she jumped as though a hairy spider had just crawled across her foot. When there was no reply, she tried again. “Nancy?” she called more softly. “Derek?” Again there was no response. She turned and looked at the three women. No help there. Their faces were as blank as the Virginia sky.
hers as well. Gritting her teeth, she turned the key in the lock and started when the tumblers clicked noisily into place. Holding her breath, she twisted the handle and swung the door open a crack. “Hello,” she yelled more loudly than she intended. Startled by her own voice, she jumped as though a hairy spider had just crawled across her foot. When there was no reply, she tried again. “Nancy?” she called more softly. “Derek?” Again there was no response. She turned and looked at the three women. No help there. Their faces were as blank as the Virginia sky.
“Should I go in?” she asked them.
Constance shrugged. Jane, the more visibly frightened of the three, bobbed her head nervously. “Something’s very wrong,” she said in a quavering voice. “I feel it in my bones.”
Annie threw back her shoulders and took a deep breath. Reaching out, she gave the door a gentle shove. Silently, it swung open another eight inches. Immediately, she wished she had not touched it. In the gloom, she saw a sight she knew would haunt her dreams for years to come. Just inside the door, barely two strides away, Derek was sprawled on the floor surrounded by a huge dark stain which she knew intuitively was dried blood.
“Oh my God,” Annie gasped, covering her mouth.
“What is it?” Jane asked shrilly. “What is it?”
“It’s Derek,” Annie croaked, swallowing an urge to retch. “He’s right there on the floor. He’s covered with blood.”
“Let me see,” Marilyn said, pushing forward. “Maybe we can help.”
“No!” Annie replied, quickly closing the door. “There’s nothing we can do now. There’s no way he could be alive. Not with that much blood. Take my word for it,” she said, blocking the entrance. “You don’t want to see.”
“What about Nancy?” Constance asked, smothering her rising panic. “Where is she? Did you see her?”
“No,” Annie said, struggling to control her own horror. “I didn’t see her. I don’t
want
to see her.”
want
to see her.”
“Maybe she got away,” Jane suggested.
“Then we would have heard from her,” Annie replied. “She would have called the police.”
“Maybe she’s lying in there hurt,” Constance added.
Annie considered that. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Jane mumbled, breaking into tears.
Annie stared at her. As a physician’s wife she knew how contagious hysteria was. If she did nothing, she would very quickly have three blubbering women on her hands.
“We can’t go inside,” Annie said firmly. “I’ve read enough books to know we shouldn’t go into a house in which a crime has been committed. From the quick look I got, I could tell Derek has been dead a long time. Going into the house isn’t going to help him or Nancy. What we need to do is call the police.”
With a decisive twist, she relocked the door, removed the key, and returned it to her purse. Then she bundled the three panic-stricken women into her car. She drove down the drive and turned right in the direction of the main highway and Mitchell’s Store, the same roadside market where Jane had used the telephone to call her. They were there in three minutes.
While the women waited in the car, Annie punched at the telephone’s metal keyboard, willing her hand to stop shaking long enough for her to push the right buttons. When Dr. William McK. Massie came on the line Annie explained to him in a halting voice what she had seen. He told her to stay calm; he would call the police.
ALTHOUGH MASSIE INITIALLY CALLED LYNCHBURG OFFICIALS, he discovered that the Haysoms’ home was not in the city but in Bedford County, a distinction Massie did not appreciate until he was told by the LPD dispatcher that he had to contact the Bedford County Sheriff’s Office. The city of Bedford, where the sheriff’s office is headquartered, is about thirty miles west of Lynchburg, almost exactly halfway between that city and Roanoke. But the Bedford
County line runs right up to the city limits of both places. Boonsboro is only a mile and a half outside the Lynchburg city limits and barely over the county line.
County line runs right up to the city limits of both places. Boonsboro is only a mile and a half outside the Lynchburg city limits and barely over the county line.
As Roanoke and Lynchburg expanded, Bedford County Sheriff C. H. Wells and his troopers were faced with more work. To help facilitate the reporting of crime on the county’s borders, Wells maintained local numbers in Lynchburg, Roanoke, and Big Island, which is on the northern border with Amherst County. Dispatchers in all the counties were scrupulous about determining who had jurisdiction.
When Massie got the Bedford dispatcher on the line, he succinctly explained his reason for calling.
“Tell your wife to go back to the house,” the dispatcher said. “I’ll have someone there as soon as I can.”
Within minutes Deputy Joe Stanley roared up the driveway. It was 4:15.
“Tell me what you saw,” Stanley ordered Annie.
As soon as she finished, Stanley took the key from her trembling hand, unlocked the door, and looked inside.
“Aw, Jesus,” he said. The scene was exactly as Annie had described it: Derek was stretched out grotesquely on the floor, and he had obviously been dead for several days.
As Annie had done, Stanley backed out of the house, closed, and locked the door. Following department procedure, he radioed Bedford and told them to stand by for a telephone call, mindful that ears other than those of Bedford deputies often monitored the law enforcement frequencies. From a pay phone he confirmed what Annie had said, adding that the second person believed to be in the house was not visible from the living room and that he needed another deputy immediately.
By the time Stanley got back to the house, Deputy George Thomas was there and more help was on the way. The dispatcher had put out a call for all available investigators to report to the house on Holcomb Rock Road. The LPD and sheriff’s offices in neighboring counties also were alerted.
Working as a team, Stanley and Thomas went back inside.
Barely glancing at Derek, they moved to the right, across the living room and into the master bedroom. Despite bloody tracks across the floor, there was no other body there.
Barely glancing at Derek, they moved to the right, across the living room and into the master bedroom. Despite bloody tracks across the floor, there was no other body there.
Retracing their path, they crossed the living room again, stepped around Derek’s supine form, and went into the dining room. It looked as though someone had poured a bucket of brown paint on the slate floor, then splattered some of it around the room before swishing the remainder about with a mop. But Nancy was nowhere to be seen.
“God, would you look at that,” Stanley mumbled. “You ever seen anything like that before?”
“Not in my worst nightmares,” Thomas stuttered.
For a considerable time they stood there, horror-stricken, staring at the evidence of more carnage than either of them could have imagined was possible.
After what seemed a long time, Stanley shook his head and found his voice. “Where’s the woman?” he said. “We still haven’t found the woman.”
“Oh, hell, that’s right,” Thomas said. “Where in hell could she be?”
Without answering, Stanley nodded slowly at the open door across the room, the passage that led to the kitchen.
Slowly, they crossed the blood-splashed dining room.
“You think she’s there?” Thomas asked.
“Has to be,” Stanley replied.
Cautiously, afraid of what they were going to find, they peeked into the room. Curled on the linoleum floor, in the center of a large brown stain, was Nancy Haysom. Except for the dried blood, she looked as though she may have just stretched out for a nap. She was resting on her left side, her hands tucked under her body and her legs bent slightly at the knee. Her hair fanned out gently from her face. On her feet was a pair of tan walking shoes so new that the manufacturer’s logo was still clearly visible on the soles. Bending over the body, Stanley could see part of a gold necklace. Most of it, however, disappeared into a horrendous slash across her throat, a wound so deep and so large she was all
but decapitated. The deputy didn’t have to feel for a pulse; he knew that Nancy was far beyond help.
but decapitated. The deputy didn’t have to feel for a pulse; he knew that Nancy was far beyond help.
Retreating through the dining and living rooms, Stanley and Thomas went out the front door and carefully closed it behind them. Annie Massie and the three bridge players were waiting for them, tense and white-faced.
“Did you find Nancy?” Annie asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” Stanley said, breathing deeply. “I’m afraid she’s dead, too.”
SERGEANT GEOFFREY BROWN, LPD’S YOUTHFUL LAB technician, had gone home that afternoon with grand plans to celebrate the early spring. He was in the backyard, grilling steaks on the barbecue, when the telephone rang. A few minutes later he came back and told his wife he was going to have to leave.
“Not again!”
“A double murder,” he explained quickly, “over in Boonsboro.”
“But that’s Bedford County,” she pointed out.
“I know,” he said, “but they’re activating the Regional Homicide Squad. That means me.”
“What time will you be back?” she asked in resignation.
“I don’t know,” he said, snatching his car keys off the kitchen table, “but don’t wait up.”
WHEN HE GOT TO THE HOUSE, BROWN’S FIRST IMPRESSION was that he was wading into a sea of gore. Looking around quickly, he estimated that 90 percent of the floor surface in the living room, dining room, and kitchen was smeared with blood. His second impression, once he began examining the bodies, was how terribly they had been butchered.
Moving first to Derek because his body was the closest, Brown squatted and examined the scene. Derek, he noted, was lying on his back, turned slightly to his left, with his head resting against the wooden fireplace jamb. His right hand was palm down with the right index finger extended,
as though he were pointing to an object on the bloodstained floor. His left hand was palm up, exposing a deep gash that ran horizontally, a cruelly ironic, cavernous lifeline.
as though he were pointing to an object on the bloodstained floor. His left hand was palm up, exposing a deep gash that ran horizontally, a cruelly ironic, cavernous lifeline.
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