Rude Awakening (20 page)

‘Well, I'm not a doctor like you are, but if what I saw was depression, then God help us all. She's in Emmett's office. Would you go see her?'

‘Of course,' Jean said. Then she added, ‘If you're going back in there with Holly, go easy. The girl really doesn't know anything, Milt.'

‘She was just a pawn in Mr Smith's game, is that what you're saying?' I said, quoting Dalton.

My wife just looked at me, then said, ‘If you're into the melodramatic, I'd have to agree.'

I headed back into the interrogation room.

Holly liked talking to Jean, the sheriff's wife. She was a nice lady, and real pretty, which made it a shame, Holly thought, that she was crippled and all.

She couldn't help wondering, sitting there all this time, what was happening to Eli. He was such a good little boy, really. She wanted to have kids some day, and if she did, she decided, she'd want a son just like Eli – but without the asthma. That, she felt, was a real pain in the ass. Holly liked things simple. She'd had enough complications in her own young life. Having to carry around something to help you breathe, or walk on crutches, like the sheriff's wife, was just more than she could bear to think of.

As Holly sat in the interrogation room of the sheriff's office, waiting for yet another drill by the sheriff, she had to wonder where her life would take her from this place. Back to Tulsa? Maybe. Maybe not. Tulsa seemed to be a bit of a dead end for Holly. Holly decided she needed new horizons. She just didn't know where they were.

TWELVE

C
harlie checked his computer access to city hall records and found a marriage license issued to Kevin Holcomb and Carolina Canfield on May 12, 2003. He also checked for domestic disturbances at the address in the Meadowbrook subdivision. There were none. Checking DMV records for former addresses on Kevin Holcomb, he found one at an address he knew was The Swallows, the nicest apartment complex out of the three in Longbranch. Police had been called to a domestic there on January 20, 2006. Neighbors had called in the complaint. A woman on the scene had bruises on her right arm and there was a broken dining-room chair. The woman said she bruised herself when she fell over the chair. She claimed the people who called in lived below them and complained if they walked too hard. No charges were brought.

Charlie looked at Milt's file on Albert Canfield, wishing he had information on the domestic file mentioned in 1983.

What were the chances, Charlie thought. Mother and daughter both abused, maybe, and both their husbands dying when they mixed the same damned chemicals? Zero. Zip. Those were the chances, Charlie thought. This was murder. Carolina Canfield Holcomb had killed her husband, just like dear old mom.

There were no hits on AFIS on Holly Humphries. All we could confirm was that she had been in the Oklahoma Foster Care System, had aged out five years before, and had held a series of minimum-wage jobs, only one of which had required her to be fingerprinted, which had put her in
our
system.

I went back into the interrogation room. ‘Miz Humphries,' I said, and she looked up. ‘I want to thank you for cooperating with us in this investigation. I don't have any more questions for you at this moment, but I need you to stay in town if you can. Do you have any place to stay?'

The girl shook her head. ‘No, Sir, and I don't have any money. Or anything. My purse and all my stuff are still in that barn. So if y'all find it, could you get my stuff for me?'

‘Sure thing,' I said. ‘Meanwhile, why don't I have my wife take you to the Wal-Mart and get some essentials, all on the county, of course, and then take you to a motel to stay until we get this all figured out.'

‘Really?' Holly said, standing up, a smile lighting up her face something fierce. I gotta admit, she was a real pretty girl when she smiled.

I smiled back. ‘Yes, Ma'am,' I said. ‘You're gonna need a change of clothes,' I said. Then added, ‘Or two.'

I thought that if the circumstances hadn't been as grim as they were, the young lady would have jumped up and down with joy.

I went back out front to talk to Jean, who was just coming out of Emmett's office. She pulled me down the hall, toward the side door that only sheriff's personnel used, as it was the only place right now, besides the jail cells, that wasn't jam-packed with people.

‘Milt, I need to get Mary Ellen admitted to the hospital. She's close to a catatonic state. She needs medication immediately.'

I nodded my head and escorted my wife back out to the big area, where Clovis Pettigrew and Rodney Knight sat. Both of the other children had gone with their brother into the kitchen to be fussed over by Gladys.

‘Mr Knight,' Jean said, ‘I've been talking with your wife, and I'm afraid there's a very big problem. I believe Mary Ellen is bipolar and at the moment she's in a deep depressive state. Unfortunately, there does appear to be some suicidal ideation . . .'

Little Clovis Pettigrew jumped to her feet. ‘What is this nonsense?' she demanded. ‘There is nothing wrong with my daughter! She needs a good night's sleep is all!'

‘Mr Knight,' Jean said, trying like hell to ignore the mother, ‘I highly recommend a thirty-day commitment to the hospital. She needs medication and therapy—'

‘She needs sleep! If doofus here ever took care of the children for more than twenty minutes, maybe my girl could get some rest!' Clovis all but shouted. ‘I told her and told her she shouldn'ta married you, but would she listen? Hell, no!'

‘Miz Pettigrew,' I said, taking her by the arm, ‘Dalton wants to talk to you.' I led her back to my office, where Dalton still sat in one of my two visitor chairs. I opened the door and handed Clovis Pettigrew inside. ‘Dalton, your mama wants to talk to you,' I said, and shut the door.

Back in the big room, Gladys was busy receiving faxes and giving them to my wife, who was handing them over to Rodney Knight to sign. I heard the side door open and looked down the hall to see two EMTs coming in with a wheelchair. Even on crutches, when my wife moves, she
moves
.

‘Can she say bye to the children?' Rodney asked, a tear in his eye.

‘I think that would be a good idea,' Jean said. She went to Emmett's office and brought Mary Ellen out, while Gladys went to the kitchen area to bring out Mary Ellen's three children.

I took that moment to go check out what was inside Emmett's office, as I'm not real big on emotional scenes like that. By the time I came out, Mary Ellen and the EMTs were gone and Rodney Knight was packing up his children to take them home.

‘Sheriff,' he said, ‘my car's still at your house. If I could get a ride . . .' He looked down the hall toward my office, where his mother-in-law was currently, one could only assume, reading the riot act to her youngest.

Jean picked up her purse. ‘I have my car here. I'll take you to the house. Rodney, Jr can use my son's car seat.'

‘Thank you so much,' Rodney said, hurrying his children out the door.

Jean had barely started her car when Clovis Pettigrew came out of my office and down the hall toward me. I could see no escape.

‘Where's my daughter?' she demanded.

‘At the hospital. Her husband had her committed for thirty days . . .'

‘Well, I'll put a stop to that!' she said, rushing toward the front door.

I caught her arm. ‘Miz Pettigrew, stop just a damn minute!' I said.

She stopped all right. Then she turned to face me, looked first at my hand on her arm, and then stared daggers at me. ‘If you let go of me right now, Sheriff, I won't press charges,' she said in a very tight voice.

I let go. ‘Look, Ma'am, you gotta let Rodney do what's right for his wife . . .'

‘That doofus wouldn't know what's right from what's left! He's as stupid as a bag of rocks—'

‘Clovis Marie!' came a voice from behind me, and Miz Pettigrew and I both turned. Gladys was standing there with her arms across her chest, and that do-or-die look on her face was directed at Clovis and not at me. Thank the Lord.

‘For once in your life, let it go! This is not your fault. You've done everything you could to raise these children up good and right. And you've done a bang-up job of it. Threepee was a fool for leaving you, and you and I both know it. But you did better without him than you ever would have with him. Now trust your children, trust yourself. Mary Ellen's having a hard time. It's not you. It's not Rodney. It's not the kids. It's something chemical in her brain. That's what clinical depression is. I should know, I've been on antidepressants for the last ten years, and thank God for 'em, is all I can say. Let Dr Jean do what she knows how to do, Clovis. Thirty days in the hospital will give Mary Ellen the rest she needs, the medication she needs and the therapy she needs to learn how to handle her depression. This is not your fault!'

There was a minute's silence, then Clovis Pettigrew burst into tears, something I would never have thought possible. Gladys went up to her and put her arms around her and walked her back to the kitchen, just as Dalton came out of my office.

‘Did I hear my mama out here?' he asked.

‘She's in the kitchen with Gladys, talking girl talk. Best leave 'em be. You OK?' I asked.

‘Yes, Sir,' Dalton said. ‘Mama's pretty pissed, though.'

‘Yeah, I figured as much.' Then I had my brainstorm. ‘You're on duty now, right?'

‘Yes, Sir,' Dalton said.

‘Well, I've got an assignment for you.'

Holly had never been in a police car for any reason before, but it was nice that her first ride in one was for a trip to Wal-Mart and not to jail. It's not like Holly had never done anything illegal – she had shoplifted once in high school and had smoked marijuana when she was with Joshua. She'd also broken into a defunct amusement park in the middle of the night with some of her girlfriends and tried to ride rides that wouldn't work without electricity. For a drunken stunt, it hadn't been a lot of fun. It was actually so boring that one girl sobered up.

But for all of her felonies and misdemeanors, she had never been caught; thus, she had never ridden in a police car.

Dalton was really quiet on the way to the Wal-Mart, which was out on the highway, away from the town of Longbranch, which she had yet to see. He parked close to the front and got out, still not saying a word.

A little disgusted, Holly said, ‘You don't have to go in with me.'

‘Yes, Ma'am,' he said. ‘I gotta. Need to pay.'

Holly got a cart and headed first to the health and beauty section. She needed the works: deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, a hair brush, and hairdryer, toothbrush and toothpaste, floss and mouthwash (one of the ‘dads' in one of her foster families had been a dentist), body conditioner, soap, a pair of nail clippers and a package of emery boards, and she gave herself a little present of a knock-off bottle of the perfume, Obsession.

Dalton just walked along, not saying a word, mostly looking away whenever she put anything in the cart, as if her purchases embarrassed him. Holly thought about throwing in a box of tampons to really embarrass him, but knowing she was nowhere near her period, she decided not to charge the county for that particular non-necessity.

‘I need to go to the clothes now,' Holly told Dalton.

‘'Kay,' he said, and followed along silently.

All the clothes she now had were the jeans and T-shirt she was wearing, along with the flip-flops that hadn't been a big help while running through the forest, thank you very much. She also had on a bra and panties, but she'd been wearing them for so long, she thought they were probably expendable. So she headed first to the lingerie section, noticing that Dalton didn't even follow her off the tile and onto the carpet. He just stayed in the main aisle, looking off toward housewares. She bought a package of three different-colored cotton bikini panties, a new bra, and then headed for the good stuff.

If truth be known, Holly loved clothes. She just never had the money to buy any. She did all of her shopping at thrift stores, and usually only bought things like deodorant and stuff at places like Wal-Mart. The last time she'd had clothes from Wal-Mart was during the short period she worked for them, when she got a 10 per cent discount. So she took her time, looking at the pants and tops and even dresses and skirts hanging on the racks.

When she caught Dalton looking at a pretty, silk-looking top, she said, ‘Hey, that's nice.' She walked up to him, noticing the red infusing his face. ‘What size is it?' she asked.

‘Dunno,' he said, turning redder, his hand off the top and in his pockets.

Holly took the top off the rack, saw it was actually her size, and turned to smile at Dalton. ‘Hey, it's my size!' She held it up in front of her, close to her body. ‘What do you think?'

‘It's OK,' he said and turned away.

Upset, Holly put the top back on the shelf. She'd already found two bottoms in her size – another pair of jeans and some khaki Bermuda shorts – and two tops – a baby-doll sleeveless top in light blue, and a short-sleeved camp shirt in white.

‘OK, I'm ready to check out,' she told Dalton.

‘Ah, you wanna get a dress or something?' Dalton suggested.

‘Why?' she asked.

His faced turned crimson again and he looked away from her. ‘Don't know how long you're gonna have to be here. Might have to go out to dinner or something,' he said.