Chapter 13

It was Sunday night before Bryant got the chance to talk to Barry Chumley, the deputy sheriff sergeant from Gallia County, Ohio.

The man had disappeared after the hearing before Bryant could get next to him. With no other recourse, he called the phone number Stan Williams had secured.

"Deputy Chumley?" Bryant asked when the phone was answered.

"Who's this?" the voice asked.

"I'm Bryant Hawkins," Bryant replied. "We met today. Well, not actually met but we were in the same room."

"How did you get this number?" Chumley asked.

"From your BOLO on the Shrekengost family," Bryant said. "We pulled some strings to get what we could on the Gallia Crew."

"Those little fucking low-lifes," Chumley muttered.

"Are you still in Cincinnati?" Bryant asked.

"Yeah," Chumley asked warily.

"Let's me treat you to dinner – on Emerald Cove, S.C.," Bryant offered. "We can compare notes and talk about what's next."

"What do we have to talk about?" Chumley asked.

"About why the Shrekengost family ran away," Bryant answered. "And about your thoughts on Mark Shrekengost."

"He had nothing to do with what went on down there," Chumley said. "You have my word on that."

"No, we figured that much out," Bryant said. "He was already gone by then. He disappeared the summer before. But I would love to have him testify. I think he and his mother disappeared because he didn't want to be a part of what was going on."

"That's about it," Chumley said. "OK, let's have dinner. I'll tell you what I know."

It turned out that Chumley knew little more than Bryant about Mark and Moira Shrekengost's whereabouts. But he was able to fill Bryant in on the background of the kids from Gallipolis.

"They were the stars," Chumley said. "They played football, baseball and basketball. They were the kings of the school – mostly because of Mayfield's money. His family runs almost everything in Gallia County. He owns a dozen car dealerships. He is part owner of the bank. He is on the hospital's board of directors. He was on the County Commission for ten or fifteen years. He owns the police department and the sheriff and the judges. He raised that boy to do whatever he wanted. The others, Straight, Adams and Currence, have been Mayfield's friends since birth. They all live in a ritzy subdivision. Mark got involved because he was a good athlete. I've known Moira since we were teenagers. She went off to college, got pregnant and came back to Gallia when her husband died. She worked at a coffee shop so she didn't have a bunch of money to throw around. But Mark was a good kid."

"Where do you fit in?" Bryant asked.

Chumley studied his food and blushed.

"Oh," Bryant replied. "Does she know how you feel?"

Chumley shook his head.

"Moira was a cheerleader and a soccer star," he said. "I was a fat geek with acne. I've always just worshiped her from afar."

Bryant nodded.

"And Mark has had nothing to do with the rapes?" Bryant asked. "You're sure of that?"

"I'm positive," Chumley replied. "Look, he came to me with the information. As soon as the first one happened, he came to me with the information. He told me all about Lucy Jones. She was the first one. She dated Mayfield for a while and then she had the guts to break up with him. He caught her alone one night and attacked her. She was a good kid, Bryant. She went to the cops but it got buried. The crime took place in the county so she came to the sheriff. He played her along but we never investigated. Then his father put the squeeze on the Jones family to keep it quiet."

"Where is she now?" Bryant asked.

Chumley shook his head.

"The whole family was killed in a home explosion," he said. "They said it was a gas leak. They killed her a week before she was supposed to leave for the Air Force. I guess he worried that once she was out of the county, he'd lose control over her."

"What about the Brockleman girl?" Bryant asked.

"I only know of one connection," Chumley said. "That's Mark Shrekengost. They dated for a while in high school but broke up before Mark graduated. He was biding his time, working for the Mayfield family. He was trying to get information for me. I've been investigating this since the first one. I thought I got a break when the Delaney girl was attacked and Meigs County caught the case. But they called us for help and we did nothing. I was tickled to death when I heard that the Adams boy was shot to death. I've thought about doing it that way myself."

"Me, too," Bryant admitted. "In fact, if things hadn't played out like they had, the Cincinnati cops would be investigating Mayfield's death this morning. I'd been ordered home tomorrow."

Chumley nodded sadly.

"I should have just killed them all," he said. "It would have saved the Brockleman girl; it would have saved the Zimmerman girl from being attacked again; it would have saved the Sulfridge girl in Columbus from seeing Joey Straight every time she turned around."

"Is she from Gallia?" Bryant asked.

Chumley shook his head.

"No, Joey lost his plaything to suicide two years ago," Chumley said. "A girl named Brandi Barrows. She overdosed on pills when she realized that she was in danger for the rest of her life. She was only a sophomore in high school."

"Fuck," Bryant muttered.

"Yeah," Chumley agreed. "That's when I first started to seriously think about putting them all in the ground. But I was too big a pussy to do it."

Bryant considered the man across from him.

"We might have a lead on the Shrekengost family," he said finally. Chumley's eyes shot up.

"Where?" he asked.

"Bedford, Pennsylvania," Bryant said. "We got a hit off the Brockleman's phone records from right after Mary Beth's death. It came from a cell phone in Bedford. My guy down in South Carolina called the number. The guy who owns it said he had no idea who used it. He's a day laborer working at some of the apple orchards in the area. He said he often took his jacket off and he always left it in the pocket. He said it could have been any of the day laborers."

"He probably already told them and they're on the run again," Chumley said.

Bryant shook his head.

"He's in Georgia working at a peach orchard," Bryant replied. "He goes up and down the East Coast. My guy drove over to Atlanta to speak to him in person. We showed him a picture we have from Shrekengost's old driver's license. He wasn't positive but he thought Mark might be one of the full-time workers there. I'll give you the address so you can let them know the Gallia Crew is out of business."

The men shook hands as they parted.

"If you want, think about coming down to work for us," Bryant offered. "It might be a good place for Mark and Moira to set up shop, too, since they won't have to be on the run."

Bryant pulled into the Seafarer Inn, his home since his arrival in Emerald Cove, after eight in the evening. He lugged his bags into the room and plopped down on the bed.

He wanted to put his belongings away but simply laying on the bed felt too good. He had started to doze when someone knocking on the door. Figuring Jan had wandered down, Bryant just yelled for her to come in. Instead of finding Jan entering, it was Allyson.

"What's up?" Bryant asked, sitting up.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to catch a late supper," she said. "I can see you're already sacked out."

Instead of getting up to leave, she took a seat in a chair next to the bed.

"Tell me what you meant when you said you were willing to handle Mayfield differently," she said, learning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

Bryant just looked at her for a moment.

"You know what I meant," he answered. "I've handled things that way before."

Allyson shook her head.

"You have not handled things that way before," she said angrily. "Yes, if he would have posed an immediate danger to you or others, you would have done what's necessary. But you have never plotted out the death of someone before."

Bryant laughed mirthlessly.

"Hell, Ally, I've plotted out your death before," he said, "probably a dozen times."

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I mean, hell, I don't know what I mean. But I can't believe you'd murder a man."

"You used to believe that I was capable of murder," Bryant said simply. "I believe you actually accused me of murdering that meth-head with the shotgun."

Allyson blushed and looked at her shoes.

"Yes and I was wrong," she said. "I was wrong about so many things back then. We've never really talked about it but I want to tell you how miserable my life has been since I got my head screwed back on straight."

"Is that what happened?" he asked. "Or are you just a really good actor? I've wondered if I was just the stupid sap you picked out to help you on your way."

"Bryant!" Allyson said. "Is that what you really think?"

Bryant shrugged.

"I used to wonder about it," he admitted. "Finally, I decided it didn't matter. What was done was done and the rationale didn't matter."

Allyson let out a long breath.

"When we first met, I thought you were the sweetest man ever," she said. "You were so much fun. I started to hope you'd ask me to marry you probably six months before you got around to it. I told my Mom right after our first Christmas that you were the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Then I got to law school. If I had to do it all over, I'd pick a different career.

"Law school is incredibly competitive. You know that. I got caught up in making myself look better than the other students. That carried over when I got hired at Cheney and Yost. When I first started to work there, I met a few of the other families. I started to think that I wouldn't be able to keep up if I kept you."

"You made that decision before you started at C&Y," Bryant told her. "You decided that I wouldn't fit into your world right after you had your first internship."

"Probably," she admitted. "I remember when we were at the picnic. I saw the other young lawyers married to bankers and to doctors. Then there was you. I'd already been told I couldn't work criminal law with a cop for a husband. I could work in the prosecutor's office but I didn't think that was good enough for me. I thought I deserved more. Then I got exactly what I thought I wanted."

She felt tears on her cheeks and she wiped them away.

"I started to feel guilty even before I left Chicago," she continued, shifting in her chair so she could gaze up at the ceiling tiles as she remembered. "I didn't understand it. I mean, I didn't recognize it. I thought I was just disenchanted with my life there. So I went to Seattle. Cheney & Yost had a branch there so I transferred out there. I stayed there less than a year. I decided I didn't want to work for someone else. So I went to Los Angeles and opened up my own practice. I dated a publicist out there and he got me some celebrity referrals. It was the Wendy Wright thing that got me thinking. I realized that I was the one who had lost my 'moral compass.' I know I accused you of that but it was me."

The tears fell freely from her eyes.

"That poor family," she said in a choked voice. "I might as well have driven the car myself. I closed my practice the next day and moved down here. I helped take care of dad and I realized that I had thrown away the only person who would help me that way if I wound up like Dad. I started a trust fund for the family that Wendy killed and another for the family she only maimed. I had made a lot of money in Los Angeles – most of it legitimate. I had planned to find a new profession. Then I got a look at how screwed up the system was here. If you thought it was bad when you got here, you should have seen it when I arrived."

"The judge was completely corrupt," she said, leaning forward again. "The police were wholly incompetent. The City Council acted like the only reason they had citizens was to support their whims and the whims of their friends. I decided I needed to get involved – to do what you would do and try to make things better for everyone."

Bryant scoffed at the characterization.

"You do," she insisted. "Since you came down here, it's like when we first met. Do you remember how we met?"

"Of course," Bryant said, smiling slightly. "You came to the station house to pick up one of your friends. She got arrested at a protest somewhere."

"You were standing outside the lockup," Allyson put forth. "I still don't know why."

"We were worried the protestors would try to make a scene at the holding center," Bryant explained. "I think they were protesting the arrest of some South Side gang banger."

Allyson blushed.

"We didn't know about that," she said. "We just saw a video of the police slamming a black man against a police car."

"Because the kid was out of his head on meth and kept trying to reach for a gun he had strapped to his ankle," Bryant pointed out. "The asshole who took that video and posted it should be held responsible for the damage your friends did."

"We jumped to a conclusion," Allyson admitted. "But that wasn't what I was talking about. I was talking about how friendly you were. I was with four or five others. We weren't there when the arrests were made. Anyway, you were standing out front and everyone was scared of you. I decided that I would just walk right up to you.

"You smiled down at me and asked how you could help me. I told you I was there to pick up my friend and you directed me inside and even held the door for me. I couldn't believe it when you held the door for the rest of them. I was actually a little jealous. I had expected the police to be hateful and uncooperative. Instead, you were courteous and helpful."

"I was stationed there for that purpose," Bryant said. "We knew that a bunch of liberal do-gooders would be showing up to pick up the people who vandalized and destroyed $500,000 of private property for no apparent reason. The duty sergeant and I were picked because we were both military veterans. We had both been stationed places where we had to deal with hostile locals in a professional manner. If you had been met by the normal duty sergeant at that station, you'd have gotten hostility. One of the businesses vandalized belonged to a friend of his. He would have given you attitude."

"I didn't know that," Allyson admitted. "I didn't destroy anything there. You know that, right? I left when it turned in that direction."

"I know when you left," Bryant said with a smile. "I checked the security videos before I called you for a date."

"I can't believe I gave you my phone number as we left," Allyson said with a blush. "My friends gave me ten tons of crap over that. They changed their tune when the truth came out about Knox Coleman. Now you tell me you checked me out before you called."

"I had to," Bryant admitted. "I couldn't have gone out with you if you were going to face criminal charges. Whatever happened to your friend ... Joan, wasn't it?"

"Oh my God!" Allyson said. "She was charged with destruction of property and assault on a police officer. Her mom was in the state legislature and she completely cut off the funds. She made her transfer to Illinois State and live at home. That's the thing. All of us were poor little white kids. We came from two-parent, upper-middle class families. My dad would have gone crazy if I had been arrested protesting the arrest of a drug kingpin."

"I think he would have gone crazy if you had set fire to something protesting anything," Bryant pointed out.

Allyson nodded.

"He still has his good days, you know," she said softly. "Some mornings, it's like nothing is wrong. He always apologizes to Mom for putting her through this. He understands some of it. He knows something is wrong with his mind. Sometimes he remembers things from years ago. I told him that you would be around to see him soon. You know what he said?"