Dust to Dust (44 page)

“Me,” said Marsha. “Your boy, as you call him, raped and killed my daughter.”

“Stupid woman, you’re not going to believe what Nicholson said? Sit down and listen. I’ll tell you how this is going to go down.”

Apparently he had been listening at the door, thought Diane. Tyler must have called him.

“Now, listen here,” said Samuel Carruthers. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here like this after what you’ve done?”

“I’m the guy with the gun. And I’ll always be the guy with the gun. Listen here. What they’ve said is a lie.”

“He admitted it,” said Samuel.

“Did not,” said Tyler.

“If you’ve finished tying up his leg, sit down,” said Everett Walters. “Everybody sit down or I start shooting, and fuck the consequences.”

Samuel had torn a piece off Tyler’s shirt and tied it around his leg. He tightened it so that Tyler yelped and he sat back down in the chair beside his wife. Diane didn’t think he really did much in the way of tending to the wound.

“We might just have a home invasion. Those are going around.” Everett grinned at Diane with nicotine-stained teeth.

“Apparently,” Diane said. “Sometimes, though, it doesn’t play out the way you expect. You’ve made some assumptions that aren’t supported by the facts. Now, you can tell me to shut up, like Tyler did. But I’m the one with the knowledge of all the crimes and what the police actually have. That’s why you sent the assassin to my house, isn’t it? To kill the person who could make the connection.”

Diane heard someone suck in a breath.

“Everett,” said Wendy, “this has gone too far. Look what you’ve done to my son. Don’t you have any conscience?”

“Shut up, woman.” He didn’t even look at her when he spoke, but stared at Diane.

“She got a text message on her phone,” said Tyler. His face was streaked with blood and tears, even though he made an effort to wipe it with his sleeve.

“Text message? Is that something we should be concerned about?” said Everett.

“There is so much you don’t know,” said Diane. “Yes, it is something you should be concerned about. But first, you need to tell Tyler how you played him. Tell him the truth . . . that he didn’t kill Ellie Rose.”

Diane attracted all their attention, including Kingsley’s. It was Marsha who recovered first.

“What? You mean Ryan Dance is guilty after all? After all this! Just what are you playing at?”

“Ryan is not guilty,” said Diane. “What Colton said is true, to a point. I tried to explain, but Tyler threatened to shoot me if I spoke. Mr. Walters, you need to tell Tyler the truth.”

Diane had a plan in mind. It wasn’t a particularly good one, but it seemed like very few of her plans were, in this kind of situation. Rushing either one of them was out of the question, so she would try the old
divide et impera
approach. It had worked for the Romans.

“What?” said Tyler. He rocked back and forth, still holding his leg, trying not to cry.

“Tyler raped Ellie Rose,” continued Diane. “He choked her to unconsciousness and she was badly hurt. She hit her head in a fall, I suspect, while Tyler was fighting with her. But then Tyler called his grandfather for help, and Everett Walters came, prepared with a hatchet, just in case he got the chance. And he did. When Ellie was trying to get up, he struck her down.”

“Oh,” whimpered Marsha. “Oh God.” She put a hand over her mouth and rocked forward. Her husband reached out to her.

“When he got rid of her body,” said Diane, “he struck her head against a rock to disfigure the wound—using blunt-force trauma in an attempt to hide the evidence of the sharp weapon that killed her.”

Diane stared Everett in the eyes. “You tried to make it look as if her head were injured when Dance threw her body down the embankment. And fortunately for you, Gainesville had a brand-new medical examiner with a track record of making wrong calls. But another medical examiner recently analyzed the photos of the autopsy and saw the sharp cuts in the skull that you tried to obscure.”

“You bastard,” said Wendy. “You freaking bastard—all this time . . .”

“Just your ME’s word against ours, seems like to me,” Everett said. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Tyler needs to listen. He can redeem himself,” said Diane. “It’s not too late.”

“You got nothing,” Everett said. He pulled a straight-back chair from its place near the wall beside the fireplace, sat down, crossed his legs, and looked very smug.

“You saying I didn’t kill El?” groaned Tyler.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Diane.

“Don’t listen to her, boy. She’d say anything,” said Everett. “She’s desperate.” He grinned at Diane.

She could see her plan had little chance. Tyler was in too much pain, he was only half listening, and his grandfather had a big hold over him.

“What was the text message?” said Tyler. “What does it mean? Someone please get me some painkillers?”

“Please,” said Wendy. “Samuel, you must have something. Give him something.”

“He can take the pain for a little while,” said Everett. “Just until we figure this thing out. Everybody stays in the room so I can see them.”

“Pour him a drink,” said Kingsley. He nodded toward the bar in the corner where Wendy poured Marsha’s drinks.

Everett nodded and Wendy got her son a bottle of vodka and poured him a drink, which he downed in one gulp.

“Now, what’s this about the text message?” said Walters. “The boy seems to think it’s important.”

“The Athens police department executed a search warrant on Tyler’s residence. In the closet they found incriminating evidence.”

“Of what?” said Everett. “They found nothing.”

“A sequin that matched my dress,” said Diane. “You stepped on it when you attacked me at Marcella Payden’s house and carried it back on the bottom of your boot.”

“That’s nothing,” said Everett. “Just as I thought, you got nothing.”

“Granted, the sequin alone, it could be argued, is just a coincidence. Even the matching fibers could be considered a coincidence. They’re common. However, they also found a broken piece of pottery,” said Diane.

Everett laughed. “You got nothing.”

“On the contrary,” said Diane. “You broke a pot on the way to your vehicle.”

“A broken piece could have come from anywhere,” said Everett.

“You stole pottery that Dr. Marcella Payden made. She does archaeological research. Do you know what a histological examination is? It’s a microscopic inspection of stuff, like tissue, broken pottery kind of stuff. The point is, we can match that piece with the broken pieces of her property. We can place Tyler at Marcella’s house at the time of the second attack.” Diane stopped a moment to let it sink in.

“Tyler. Not me,” said Everett.

Good
, thought Diane,
be the self-centered bastard you are
.

“I don’t have the results of the search of your premises yet,” said Diane.

His eyes narrowed and his gun wavered in her direction. “You won’t find anything,” he said.

“That remains to be seen. You seem to be ignorant of how trace evidence works. Which brings me to boots.”

Everett winced at her words. Diane could see he didn’t like being called ignorant.

“Boots?” whispered Tyler. He moved toward the table.

“What you doing, boy?” said Everett.

“Getting their guns,” he said, “so they don’t make a grab for them. You said they’re desperate. I see that guy, Kingsley, eyeing them.”

“Good thinking, boy. We can figure this out. You just hang in there. Feeling that vodka yet?” said Everett.

“A little,” he said. He groaned as he reached for the guns. He got hold of them, put them in his lap, and scuttled back, leaning against a wall. “Mom, throw me a pillow.”

Wendy took a decorator pillow from the couch and tossed it to her son, who put it under his leg with a yelp. He took another swig of vodka.

“What about the boots?” said Tyler.

He looked pale and his leg was still seeping blood. She had better hurry.

“Your Garmont hiking boot,” said Diane.

Wendy sucked in her breath. “I gave you some—”

“Shut up, you damn fool,” said Everett.

Tyler set the bottle down and looked at Diane. “What about them?”

“We identified the make of shoe by the tread pattern that we collected from the floor at Marcella’s house. We can match the boot prints to individual boots because of the nicks and wear patterns. We already have.”

“Again, Tyler,” said Everett.

“We have a warrant to look for your size ten and a half Oliver steel toe safety boots,” said Diane, locking her gaze with his.

She had surprised him. He was startled, but recovered quickly and started to speak, but Tyler beat him to it.

“Put down your gun, Granddad, or I’ll shoot.”

“What the hell you talking about, boy?” said Everett.

Tyler held the gun straight out in front of him, pointing it at his grandfather.

“I don’t like the way you been saying that all the evidence is on me. Put it down or I’ll shoot. You been telling me I need to be strong. This is me being strong. Put down the gun.”

“I could shoot you before you could shoot me,” said Everett.

“Go ahead, risk it.” Tyler sniffed.

“That’s liquor courage, boy. It ain’t real,” said Everett.

“It’s real enough. Now put it down,” he said.

“Better think about what you’re doing, boy,” Everett said. “We’ll get out of this.”

“I am thinking. I want to hear more about how I didn’t kill Ellie Rose. All these years you been holding it up to me,” said Tyler.

“Can’t you see what she’s doing? She’s lying,” said Everett.

“This is the last time. Put it down on the floor,” said Tyler. “If she’s lying and I sense it, you can have it back.”

Everyone looked back and forth between them as if they were watching a tennis match. Tyler’s hand wavered and Diane thought his grandfather was going to shoot him. Tyler steadied his hand.

“I could shoot you, boy,” said Everett.

“I could shoot you, old man,” said Tyler.

“It looks like we got ourselves a Mexican standoff,” said Everett.

Wendy jumped suddenly with astonishing speed and tackled Everett, knocking him over in the chair.

Diane heard the gun fall but didn’t see where it went. She started to rise.

“If anybody moves, I’ll shoot,” said Tyler. “You people better start taking me seriously.”

Diane relaxed back in her seat.

Tyler’s voice was high-pitched and strained, but his words weren’t slurred. And although his skin was pale, his eyes were bright. For the short term, he was okay. For the long term, if they couldn’t end this soon, he would pass out, which would be fine if Everett was disarmed.

Diane knew Everett had planned to kill them all and blame it on Tyler. She heard it in his talk, saw it in his eyes. He was thinking that all the evidence pointed to Tyler. He didn’t quite believe the boot prints implicated him—or he thought he could get around it—perhaps by saying he gave them to one of Tyler’s friends, some guy he didn’t know—maybe Ray-Ray or his cousin. Diane needed Everett to see that his plan wouldn’t get him off the hook. She needed to tell him how deep in alligators he really was. She didn’t think Everett knew about the discoveries in the well. She doubted seriously he knew about their visit to his sister. It was time he knew.

The scuffle hadn’t lasted long. From the look on Everett’s face, it surprised him that a mere woman could overpower him. But he hadn’t counted on the anger that the much-younger Wendy had toward him. Diane saw the gun. She saw Everett start to reach for it right before Wendy kicked it under the couch.

Now, instead of being in the clutches of both a madman and a wounded, intoxicated kid with no moral center, they were in the clutches of only the kid. Diane thought that was better. She thought Tyler could be reached.

“Now, Granddad, pick up the chair and sit down. I can shoot you before you make it to the door, and I will. Mother, thanks. You sit down too,” said Tyler. “I want to hear more about my innocence. So that means I want all of you to put your hands in your lap and keep them there. If you so much as scratch, I’ll shoot. I don’t have a lot of options anymore and damn little patience.”

“You do have options,” said Diane. “We know that you were present at all the crime scenes, but not that you killed Stacy Dance or Mary Lassiter, or that you attacked Marcella Payden.”

“What?” said Wendy. “Tyler, who are these people? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Shut up, Mother.” Tyler rubbed his eyes. “God, there’s so much you don’t know,” he mumbled. “You and Dad are so clueless.”

His grandfather was watching him, waiting for a chance. Diane stared at him a moment. He moved his right leg forward a fraction.

“Your grandfather has a gun strapped around his ankle,” said Diane.

“I know,” said Tyler, “but if he keeps his hands in his lap, it won’t be a problem.” He held out his gun toward his grandfather and took another drink of vodka.

“Very well, then, Tyler,” said Diane. “Please, let me tell you what we have. You have a way out of this.”

“That little creep doesn’t deserve a way out,” spat Marsha.

Diane locked gazes with her. “If he isn’t at fault, he does deserve a way out,” said Diane.

She hoped she could telegraph to Marsha to keep her mouth shut and not infuriate the little creep holding the gun on all of them. Her husband seemed to get the message. He reached over to her.

“I said not to move,” said Tyler.

“I’m just holding my wife’s hand,” said Samuel evenly.

Diane saw him squeeze it and put his own back in his lap. Kathy Nicholson glared at her. She and Colton kept quiet.

“You see what they’re doing, don’t you, boy?” said Everett.