Dead Center (11 page)

“Tara’s all right,” Calvin says. “I wanted you to know that right away.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Go inside and get a look at small-town assholedom at work,” he says.

I move quickly to the front door and into the house. As soon as I enter I see it: A dummy is hanging from the ceiling fan in the living room, secured by a noose around his neck. The fan is operating slowly, and the dummy is eerily being dragged in a circular motion around the center of the room.

I turn and walk back outside, where Calvin and Tara are waiting for me. “I got here about five minutes ago and found it,” he says. “Tara was in the backyard. I didn’t see anybody.”

Two police cars pull up, obviously having been called by Calvin. Laurie and three officers get out and come over to us. “Where is it?” she asks.

“In the living room,” I say.

“Have you checked out the house?”

I look over at Calvin, who shakes his head. “No. I just saw it and came out.”

Laurie nods and signals to the other officers. They draw their handguns, and two of them walk around the side of the house. Laurie and the other one move cautiously inside the house, and Calvin and I wait for about ten minutes for them to come out. Finally, they do, and Laurie comes over to us.

“So what do you think?” I ask.

“I think you should call Marcus.”

• • • • •

M
ARCUS CLARK
answers the phone when I call. He says, “Unhh.”

That is Marcus-talk for “hello,” so I say, “Marcus, this is Andy Carpenter.”

“Unhh.” Marcus uses “unhh” the way Willie Miller uses “schnell.”

“Marcus, I’m in Wisconsin working on a case, and it’s getting a little dangerous, so I really need you here, if you can make it.”

“Unhh.”

“I’m representing someone against a murder charge, and public sentiment is running against him. There’s been some violence, a firebombing…”

“Unhh.”

I’ve never had much success conversing with Marcus, and this time it’s not going any better. “Listen, Marcus, Willie Miller is going to talk to you and give you all the details. Okay?”

This time he doesn’t answer at all, so I hang up and call Willie, who has always been able to communicate with Marcus. I tell him the problem, and he agrees to get in touch with him right away. “You need me up there too?” Willie asks.

“No thanks, Marcus should be able to protect me.”

“Hey, man, don’t you think I know that? Marcus could protect you if you had the Marines after you. I’m not talking about that. Maybe I could help you out with the case, do some investigating or something. Sounds like you can use some help.”

I decline, though I appreciate the offer, and Willie promises to call me back after he talks to Marcus. If Marcus is busy, perhaps if he is invading North Korea or something, then Willie vows he will make the trip himself.

Willie is a black belt in karate, and one of the toughest people I know, but compared to Marcus, he is a Barbie doll. I will feel much better if Marcus can come up here, because things seem to be getting rather dangerous.

When I get off the phone with Willie, I go back into the living room, where Calvin is working. He’s been talking to a lot of kids at the school and is going over his notes. Since the kids wouldn’t speak to me at all, I’m surprised that Calvin is making progress with them, and I ask him about it.

He shrugs. “It’s possible that they got the idea I was once a roadie for Led Zeppelin and lost my leg when some crazed groupies knocked a huge amplifier onto me during a concert.”

“Amazing how these stories get started,” I say.

One of the major difficulties we will face is in making it seem possible that someone other than Jeremy committed this crime. Unfortunately, young women, and other people, are murdered all the time. It is not hard to imagine that these murders could have been random, by some passing sicko. But the fact that the bodies were then buried on Jeremy’s property changes that equation dramatically. Sickos don’t often find out who their victim’s ex-boyfriend was, and they don’t set about framing them.

We certainly must focus on Elizabeth’s other ex-boyfriend, whose very existence is in question at this point. Jeremy says that Elizabeth referred to him, though never by name, and even said on that fateful night that they were running away together. Of course, I don’t have a clue why that boyfriend would have killed Elizabeth just as they were planning to run away together. In any event, we must find him.

The fact is that if Jeremy is innocent, then these women were a threat to someone, or at least a cause of rage. If we can’t convince the jury that such a someone is likely out there, we’re finished and our client is history.

The only way we are going to pull this off is to learn all we can about the victims, a task made infinitely more difficult by the lack of access we have to their hometown. This may or may not turn out to be significant. I have to be careful not to focus too much on that town simply because its residents are so decidedly insulated and unfriendly. All evidence is that they have been that way for well over a century without having committed any murders.

Calvin and I have a ten o’clock meeting with Dave Larson, a local private investigator. Calvin had heard of him but never dealt with him directly. Laurie had given him a recommendation, though not a ringing endorsement. She said he was as good as we were likely to find in the Findlay area, while admitting that Findlay was not exactly a hotbed of private investigation.

I had pressed her with, “But he’s good? He can handle himself?” And she responded with, “Have you called Marcus yet?”

Larson turns out to be in his early forties, about five foot eight, a hundred and fifty pounds. He wears glasses and carries two pencils in his shirt pocket, and keeps saying, “You got that right.” He is the anti-Marcus.

“I do mostly insurance work, some divorce stuff,” Larson says in response to my question about his background. “It can get pretty hairy.”

“I can imagine,” I lie.

“You got that right.”

“Ever do any work in Center City?” I ask.

“A couple of minor insurance cases; I think they were both motor vehicle accidents. Never did any divorce stuff, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

He seems surprised by my lack of knowledge. “Those people don’t get divorced… it’s against their religion. They get married at twenty-one, and that’s it.” He laughs. “They’re stuck for life.”

“They get married at twenty-one?” Calvin asks, probably thinking about how many failed marriages he might have if he had started that early. “What if they don’t have anyone to marry?”

Dave laughs. “That hasn’t seemed to stop them so far.”

“Do they
have
to get married?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You got that right.”

“Why? Who makes them?” I ask.

“I don’t know for sure, but I think that guy they call the Keeper wants ’em to, so they do.”

“Amazing,” Calvin says.

“You got that right,” Dave says. “When that guy talks, those people would suck the Kool-Aid up with a straw, you know?”

I’m continuously being surprised by things I learn about that town. I’ve heard of religions prohibiting divorce, but dictating marriage by a certain age is outside of my experience. Of course, I’ve never let a spinning wheel or a guy in a dress dictate my life choices. I’d like to have the straw concession in Center City.

I roughly outline what Dave’s responsibilities would be if he takes on this job, which is basically to follow up whatever leads we give him, and report back to us. I tell him that anything he learns is confidential, since as a member of the legal team he falls under the attorney-client privilege. He looks at me as if I’m a dope for thinking he wouldn’t already know that.

Dave accepts the job, asking for a salary far less than I would pay an investigator back home. I give him a retainer and tell him we’ll contact him when we have a specific assignment, and he seems happy with that. I’m not sure we’ll actually need him, but it’s good to have him in reserve.

Calvin and I head over to the jail to see Jeremy. I like to meet with my clients fairly frequently, though it’s more for their benefit than mine. They usually tell me all that they know early on, so these subsequent sessions are not often helpful to the defense. However, they do seem reassuring to the client even when the news is not particularly positive. It must be the security of knowing that somebody is on their side, working on their behalf.

Richard and Allie Davidson are at the jail visiting with their son when we arrive. It’s the first time I’ve seen Allie since the night her house was set on fire. She thanks me profusely for helping her son, and Richard asks if they can stay while we talk. It’s fine with Calvin and me, and fine with Jeremy, so I tell him that they can.

We spend some time answering Jeremy’s and Richard’s questions about any progress we are making. Allie is content to let her men do the talking. So far there has been very little progress, and I tell them so straight out. Jeremy is facing a very serious situation, and I’m not about to sugarcoat it.

“We need to talk to people that Elizabeth knew well,” I say. “People from Center City.”

“Are you having trouble doing that?” Richard asks.

“It would be easier to penetrate NORAD.”

“The people in that town are crazy,” Jeremy offers.

“Have you met any of them?” I ask. “I mean besides Elizabeth.”

He shakes his head. “No. Sometimes when she’d go home for a holiday, I’d ask if she wanted me to come, to meet her family, but she said no. She said I didn’t know what it was like, but that I wouldn’t be welcome. She was embarrassed about it.”

“And nobody came to visit her at school?”

He snaps his fingers. “Of course! Her sister… she came there for a weekend. Liz said it caused a big fight with her mother. I think her name is Madeline.”

I had initially talked to a teenager when I called Jane Barlow. “How old is Madeline?”

“Probably seventeen. But she’s cool. She wants to go away to school like Liz, but she’s not allowed.”

“Did Liz ever talk about any other friends… ever mention any other names?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Liz used to say that inside and outside that town were like two different worlds. But it’s not that she didn’t like the place. She was really religious; it wasn’t like anybody was twisting her arm about it.”

“Did she ever mention Keeper Wallace?”

He nods. “A couple of times. She thought he was a great man. A couple of times she went all the way home for some kind of big meeting that he led.”

“Did she ever describe those meetings?”

“No. Just that they were really important and that the whole town went.”

I have no trouble believing that, since I was first there during one of the meetings. The streets at that time were deserted except for the ever-present servants. “Never mentioned a wheel when she was talking about her religion?”

“A wheel?” he asks, clearly having no idea what I’m talking about, so I take that as a no.

Jeremy is taken back to his cell, and his parents leave with us. Once outside, Richard asks me again about progress in the case, as if I wouldn’t have been completely forthcoming in front of Jeremy, perhaps withholding something good so as not to get Jeremy’s hopes up. He is disappointed when I have nothing to add, but expresses his full confidence in me. I wish I shared it.

Calvin and I go back to the house, and as we approach, he stops short, a stunned expression on his face. “You must be kidding,” he mutters, almost to himself.

I look ahead, and there on the front porch is one of the scariest sights I have ever seen.

Marcus.

• • • • •

I
HAVE ABSOLUTELY
no idea how Marcus got here. He doesn’t fly, at least not on planes, and I don’t see any evidence of a car. It’s possible he hitchhiked, but if any driver willingly picked up Marcus Clark, that person should be immediately committed and placed under twenty-four-hour suicide watch.

Marcus sitting on the porch of this peaceful house in this sedate little town gives new meaning to the word “incongruous.” He projects pure menace and power, and Calvin says, “You’d better get him inside quick.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because in two minutes, For Sale signs are going to be popping up on this street like weeds.”

“Hey, Marcus, how ya doing?” I ask. “I didn’t think you’d get here so soon.”

“Unhh,” Marcus says. His phone and in-person personalities are remarkably similar.

“This is Calvin,” I say. “Calvin, this is Marcus.”

“Hello, Marcus. Andy’s told me a lot about you,” Calvin says gently. Everybody talks gently to Marcus when they first meet him.

“Unhh,” Marcus says. He seems to have really taken to Calvin.

“Come on in,” I say. “You hungry?”

“Yuh,” he says. Now we’re getting somewhere.

I put Marcus in the kitchen and invite him to have whatever he’d like. It turns out that what he’d like is every single edible item he sees, including pistachio nuts with the shells intact.

Marcus is about ten minutes into the carnage when the doorbell rings. I go to answer it, hoping that it’s someone with a stomach pump, but it turns out it’s Laurie.

“I assume Marcus is here?” she asks.

“How did you know that?”

“We got four 911 calls from people who saw him on your porch,” she says.

“Was he doing anything wrong?”

“He was looking like Marcus.”

No more explanation is needed, and Laurie goes into the kitchen. She gets there just in time, as Marcus is preparing to eat the dead woman’s dinette set.

What follows is a transformation that I’ve seen a few times but still find hard to believe. The moment Marcus sees Laurie he breaks into a humanlike grin, moves to her, and hugs her. “Hey, Laurie,” he says.

“Marcus, it’s great to see you. How have you been?”

“Good.”

They wax eloquently like this for a few minutes, and then we all sit down and discuss what Marcus’s responsibilities will be here in Findlay. Laurie suggests that we make it a short list: that all he should have to do is protect my ass. I describe the situation in Center City, with the various servants ranging from burly to enormous, and he just takes it all in without responding or showing any concern. I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think Marcus was born with a “concern” gene.

What Marcus does have is a significant amount of ability as an investigator and an amazing talent to get people to tell him things. I wouldn’t describe it as cajoling or persuading; it’s more like scaring into submission. But it works, and I’m bottom-line-oriented enough to want to use these talents.

What we decide on is that we will use Marcus as an investigator, and as a protector when I think I’m going to be in a situation that could be dangerous. Laurie thinks so highly of my physical prowess that her view is that I’m in danger every time I cross the street, so she’s not thrilled with this resolution. But this time I’m calling the shots, and that’s how we leave it.

“Where’s Marcus going to live?” Calvin asks.

I hadn’t given it much thought, and now that I do, I’m not thrilled with the possibilities. “Do you have room at your place?” I ask.

Calvin shakes his head, as if he deeply regrets that he has to say what he’s going to say. “Damn… I wish I did. My aunt and uncle are in from Milwaukee, and they brought the twins.”

“Is that right?” I ask. “You never mentioned them.”

“I don’t talk about them much; they’re on my mother’s side.”

“I think Marcus should stay here,” Laurie says. “You’ve got three spare bedrooms upstairs, and it’s you he’s going to protect. Staying at Calvin’s house wouldn’t make much sense, even if he didn’t have his aunt and uncle and the twins on his mother’s side in town.”

I stare daggers at Laurie, but she fends them off. “What a wonderful idea,” I say through clenched teeth.

While I would never let on to Laurie, I’m relieved that Marcus has arrived, even if I’m less than thrilled that we’ll be rooming together. Physical courage has never been one of my defining qualities, and Marcus’s presence makes me feel much more secure. Now, if Clarence Darrow would show up and help us win the case, the team would be complete.

Having been protected by Marcus before, I know how to proceed. I rent him a car, get him a cell phone, and then forget about him. I don’t even have to tell him where I am going to be or when I am going to be there; he is just somehow always there when I need him. And I somehow always need him.

During the meeting, Calvin gets a phone call from one of the kids at the university who Calvin has been cultivating as possible information sources. It seems that one of Liz’s friends at school overheard phone conversations she had with someone named Eddie, and it was her sense that he was her ex-boyfriend from back home. This is a potentially important development for our side, and Calvin is quite pleased with himself that he has come up with it. At the very least, it gives us a much-needed avenue to explore.

Tonight is going to be a night that Laurie sleeps over. I know this, because after Calvin leaves and Marcus goes upstairs to choose a bedroom, I say, “You want to stay over tonight?” and she says, “Absolutely.” I am Andy the All-Powerful.

I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing by keeping her so close, even though she’s leaving it up to me. It’s feeling a little like those bad old movies where the girl says to the guy as they lie on the beach, “Is this just a summer thing, or will I see you in the city?” Well, this is just a winter thing, and I sure as hell am not going to see Laurie in the city.

On the other hand, I love her, and I love being with her, and it’s counterintuitive to not want her to stay over. I just have to discipline myself to understand what it is and what it isn’t, as well as where it’s going and where it isn’t.

I’m pretty much a master of mental self-discipline, but this is a tough one.

Laurie gives me a list, and I go to the market and buy food, since Marcus has consumed everything, and he’s going to have to continue to be fed. I have my cart full when I get stuck behind two women on the cashier line. I don’t know why it is, but I find that many women stand and watch their items being rung up, and only when that process is done do they open their purse and start taking out their means of payment. Do they think they are not going to be asked to pay?

When I finally get back home, Laurie starts to cook dinner. “You should ask Marcus if he wants to eat with us.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, though it sounds more like a whine than I intended.

“Andy, you can’t not invite him to dinner. He’s living here.”

“He didn’t sign up for the meal plan.”

“Andy…”

I nod with resignation and go upstairs. Marcus is not at home, which is good news and bad news. I can be alone with Laurie for dinner, but it means that Marcus is loose on the streets of Findlay. So it’s good for me, bad for Findlay. I can live with that.

After dinner we spend the kind of evening that I’ve missed even more than I realized. We open a bottle of wine and sit on the couch, with Tara between us. Golden retrievers are a master of positioning, and Tara arranges things so that I scratch her stomach while Laurie pets her head.

We watch a tape of one of our favorite movies,
A Beautiful Mind,
and I can see Laurie’s eyes tear up as Jennifer Connelly says, “I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible.” Well, extraordinary things can come in all shapes and sizes, and this is an extraordinary moment.

It is all so comfortable, all so wonderful, that I almost resist when Laurie asks if I’m ready to go to bed. Almost, but not quite.

Moments later we are making love, and while we are doing so, Laurie says, “Andy, I don’t want this to end. We have to figure out a way that this doesn’t have to end.”

I don’t know if she is talking about our lovemaking or about us, but either way it’s got my vote.