On the third floor of St. Francis Hospital, Mrs. Aurelia Lindmar was recovering from gallbladder surgery and doing well. Keith spent twenty minutes with her, ate two pieces of cheap, stale chocolate mailed in by a niece, and managed to make a graceful1 departure when a nurse popped in with a syringe. On the fourth floor, he huddled2 in the hallway with the soon-to-be widow of Mr. Charles Cooper, a stalwart member of St. Mark's whose bad heart was finally giving out. There were three other patients Keith needed to see, but their conditions were stable and they would live until tomorrow, when he would have more time. On the second floor, he tracked down Dr. Herzlich, who was eating a cold sandwich from a machine and reading a dense3 text as he sat alone in a small cafeteria.
"Have you had lunch?" Kyle Herzlich asked politely as he offered a chair to his minister. Keith sat down, looked at the puny4 sandwich--white bread with a thin slice of some brutally5 processed meat in the middle--and said, "Thanks. I had a late breakfast."
"Fine. Look, Keith, I've managed to snoop a bit, got as far as I can go, actually, you do understand these things?"
"Of course I do. And I did not intend for you to pry6 into private matters."
"Never. Can't do it. But I've asked around, and, well, there are ways of gleaning7 some of the facts. Your man has been here at least twice in the past month, lots of tests, and the tumor8 thing checks out. Not a pretty prognosis."
"Thanks, Doctor." Keith was not surprised to learn that Travis Boyette was telling the truth, at least about his brain tumor.
"Can't say any more than that." The doctor managed to eat, read, and talk at the same time.
"Sure, no problem."
"What's his crime?"
You don't want to know, Keith thought. "A nasty one. Career boy, long record."
"Why's he hanging around St. Mark's?"
"We're open to the public, Doctor. We're supposed to serve all God's people, even those with criminal records."
"I suppose. Anything to worry about?"
"No. He's harmless." Just hide the women and girls, and perhaps the little boys too. Keith thanked him again and excused himself.
"See you Sunday," the doctor said, his eyes glued to a medical report.
Anchor House was a square, boxlike building of red brick and painted windows, the type of structure that could be used for anything, and probably had been since it was hastily constructed forty years earlier. Whoever built it had been pressed for time and saw no need for involving the architects. At 7:00 on Monday evening, Keith entered from the sidewalk off Seventeenth Street and stopped at a makeshift front desk where an ex-con was monitoring things. "Yes, sir," he said without a trace of warmth.
"I need to see Travis Boyette," Keith said.
The monitor looked to his left, to a large open room where a dozen or so men were sitting in various stages of relaxation9 and gazing at a very loud, large television, enthralled10 with Wheel of Fortune. Then he looked to his right, to another large open room where a dozen or so men were either reading battered11 paperbacks12 or playing checkers and chess. Boyette was in a wicker rocker, in a corner, partially13 hidden behind a newspaper. "Over there," the man said, nodding. "Sign here."
Keith signed in and walked to the corner. When Boyette saw him approach, he grabbed his cane14 and scrambled15 to his feet. "Didn't expect you," he said, obviously surprised.
"I was in the neighborhood. Got a few minutes to talk?"
The other men were taking casual note of Keith. The checkers and chess went on without interruption.
"Sure," Boyette said, glancing around. "Let's go to the mess hall." Keith followed him, watching the left leg as it paused slightly with each step, causing the shuffle16. The cane jabbed the floor as they clicked along. How awful would it be, Keith asked himself, to live each minute with a grade-four tumor between your ears, growing and growing until your skull17 seems ready to crack? As miserable18 a person as he was, Keith couldn't help but feel sorry for him. A dead man.
The mess hall was a small room with four long folding tables and a wide opening at the far end that gave way to the kitchen. The cleanup crew was making a racket back there, slinging19 pots and pans and laughing. Rap music came from a radio. It was the perfect cover for a hushed conversation.
"We can talk here," Boyette said, nodding at a table. Crumbs20 of food were scattered21 about. The thick smell of cooking oil hung in the air. They sat down across from each other. Since they had nothing in common but the weather, Keith decided22 not to waste time.
"Would you like some coffee?" Boyette asked politely.
"No, thanks."
"Smart move. Worst coffee in Kansas. Worse than prison."
"Travis, after you left this morning, I went online, found the Web site for Donte Drumm, and spent the rest of the day lost in that world. It's fascinating, and heartbreaking. There are serious doubts about his guilt23."
"Serious?" Boyette said with a laugh. "There should be serious doubts. The boy had nothing to do with what happened to Nikki."
"What happened to Nikki?"
A startled look, like a deer in headlights. Silence. Boyette wrapped his hands around his head and massaged24 his scalp. His shoulders began to shake. The tic came and went and came back again. Keith watched him and could almost feel the agony. The rap music thumped25 mindlessly from the kitchen.
Keith slowly reached into his coat pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and slid it across the table. "Recognize this girl?" he asked. It was a copy of a black-and-white photo printed from the Web site, a photo of Nicole Yarber, posing in her cheerleader outfit26, holding a pom-pom, smiling with all the innocence27 of a sweet seventeen-year-old.
At first, Boyette did not react. He looked at Nikki as if he'd never seen her before. He stared at her for a long time, then the tears came without warning. No gasps28, no sobs29, no apologies, just a flood of moisture that ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He made no effort to wipe his face. He looked at Keith, and the two men stared at each other as the tears continued. The photo was getting wet.
Boyette grunted31, cleared his throat, and said, "I really want to die."
Keith came back from the kitchen with two cups of black coffee in paper cups, along with some paper towels. Boyette took one, wiped his face and chin, and said, "Thanks."
Keith resumed his seat and said, "What happened to Nikki?"
Boyette seemed to count to ten before saying, "I've still got her."
Keith thought he was prepared for every possible answer, but in fact he was not. Could she be alive? No. He'd spent the past six years in prison. How could he keep her locked up somewhere? He's crazy.
"Where is she?" Keith asked firmly.
"Buried."
"Where?"
"Missouri."
"Look, Travis, these one-word answers will keep us here forever. You came to my office this morning for one reason, and that was to finally confess. But you couldn't muster32 the courage, so here I am. Let's hear it."
"Why do you care?"
"That's pretty obvious, isn't it? An innocent man is about to be executed for something you did. Maybe there's time to save him."
"I doubt it."
"Did you kill Nicole Yarber?"
"Is this confidential33, Pastor34?"
"Do you want it to be?"
"Yes."
"Why? Why not confess, then make a full admission, then try to help Donte Drumm? That's what you should do, Travis. Your days are numbered, according to what you said this morning."
"Confidential or not?"
Keith took a breath, then made the mistake of taking a sip35 of coffee. Travis was right.
"If you want it to be confidential, Travis, then it is."
A smile, a tic. He glanced around, though they had yet to be noticed by anyone else. He began to nod. "I did it, Pastor. I don't know why. I never know why."
"You grabbed her in the parking lot?"
The tumor expanded, the headaches hit like lightning. He grabbed his head again and weathered the storm. His jaws36 clenched37 in a determined38 effort to keep going. "I grabbed her, took her away. I had a gun, she didn't fight much. We left town. I kept her a few days. We had sex. We--"
"You didn't have sex. You raped40 her."
"Yes, over and over. Then I did it, and buried her."
"You killed her?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Strangled her with her belt. It's still there, around her neck."
"And you buried her?"
"Yes." Boyette looked at the photo, and Keith could almost see a smile.
"Where?"
"South of Joplin, where I grew up. Lots of hills, valleys, hollows, logging trails, dead-end roads. She'll never be found. They never got close."
A long pause as the sickening reality settled in. Of course, there was a chance he was lying, but Keith could not force himself to believe that. What could he possibly gain by lying, especially at this stage in his miserable life?
The kitchen lights went out and the radio was turned off. Three burly black men made their exit and walked through the mess hall. They nodded and spoke41 politely to Keith, but only glanced at Travis. They closed the door behind themselves.
Keith took the copy of the photo and turned it over. He uncapped his pen and wrote something on it. "How about a little background, Travis?" he said.
"Sure. I have nothing else to do."
"What were you doing in Slone, Texas?"
"Working for a company called R. S. McGuire and Sons, out of Fort Smith. Construction. They had a contract to build a warehouse42 for Monsanto, just west of Slone. I hired on as a laborer43, just a grunt30, crappy work, but it's all I could find. They paid me less than minimum wage, in cash, off the books, same as the Mexicans. Sixty hours a week, flat rate, no insurance, no skill, no nothing. It won't be worth your time to check with the company, because I was never officially employed. I was renting a room in an old motel west of town, called the Rebel Motor Inn. It's probably still there. Check it out. Forty bucks44 a week. The job lasted five or six months. One Friday night I saw the lights, found the field behind the high school, bought a ticket, and sat with the crowd. Didn't know a soul. They were watching football. Me, I was watching the cheerleaders. Always loved the cheerleaders. Cute little butts45, short skirts, dark tights on underneath46. They bounce and flip47 and throw each other around and you see so much of them. They want you to see. That's when I fell in love with Nicole. She was there for me, showing it all. I knew from the first moment that she was the one."
"The next one."
"Right, the next one. Every other Friday, I'd go to the games. I never sat in the same place twice, never wore the same clothes. Used different caps. You learn these things when you're tracking someone. She became my whole world, and I could feel the urges getting stronger and stronger. I knew what was about to happen, but I couldn't stop it. I can never stop it. Never." He took a sip of coffee and grimaced48.
"Did you see Donte Drumm play?" Keith asked.
"Maybe, I don't remember. I never watched the games, didn't notice anything but Nicole. Then, suddenly, no more Nicole. The season was over. I got desperate. She drove this hot little red BMW, the only one in town, so she was not too hard to find, if you knew where to look. She liked the usual hangouts. I saw her car parked at the mall that night, figured she was at the movies. I waited and waited. I'm very patient when I have to be. When the parking space next to her car became vacant, I backed into it."
"What were you driving?"
"An old Chevrolet pickup49, stole it in Arkansas. Stole the tags in Texas. I backed into the parking space so my door was next to hers. When she walked into the trap, I jumped her. I had a gun and a roll of duct tape, and that's all I ever needed. Not a sound."
He rattled50 off the details with an unaffected detachment, as if describing a scene from a movie. This is what happened. This is how I did it. Don't expect me to make sense of it.
The tears were long gone. "It was a bad weekend for Nikki. I almost felt sorry for her."
"I don't really want those details," Keith said, interrupting. "How long did you stay in Slone after you killed her?"
"A few weeks, I guess. Through Christmas, into January. I was reading the local paper, watching the late-night news. The town was in a frenzy51 over the girl. Saw her mom cry on television. Real sad. Every day there was another search party, with a television news crew chasing after it. Fools. Nikki was two hundred miles away, sleeping with the angels." He actually chuckled52 at the memory.
"Surely, you don't think this is funny."
"Sorry, Pastor."
"How did you hear about the arrest of Donte Drumm?"
"There was a little greasy53 spoon near the motel, and I liked to go there for coffee early in the morning. I heard 'em talking, said a football player had confessed, a black boy. I bought a newspaper, sat in my truck, read the story, and thought, What a bunch of idiots! I was stunned54. Couldn't believe it. There was a mug shot of Drumm, nice-looking kid, and I remember staring at his face and thinking that he must've had a screw loose. Why else would he confess to my crime? Kinda pissed me off. The boy had to be crazy. Then the next day his lawyer came out strong in the paper, yelling about how the confession55 was bogus, how the cops tricked the kid, overwhelmed him, broke him down, wouldn't let him out of the room for fifteen hours. That made sense to me. I've never met a cop I could trust. The town almost blew up. The whites wanted to string him up on Main Street. The blacks felt pretty strongly the boy was getting railroaded. Things were tense. Lots of fights at the high school. Then I got fired and moved on."
"Why were you fired?"
"Stupid. Stayed too long in a bar one night. The cops busted56 me for drunk driving, then they realized the truck and tags were stolen. I spent a week in jail."
"In Slone?"
"Yep. Check it out. January 1999. Charged with grand larceny58, drunk driving, and whatever else they could throw at me."
"Was Drumm in the same jail?"
"Never saw him, but there was a lot of talk. Rumor59 was they'd moved him to another county for safety reasons. I couldn't help but laugh. The cops had the real killer60, they just didn't know it."
Keith made notes, but had trouble believing what he was actually writing. He asked, "How'd you get out?"
"They assigned me a lawyer. He got my bond lowered. I bailed61 out, skipped town, and never went back. I drifted here and there and then got arrested in Wichita."
"Do you remember the lawyer's name?"
"You still fact-checking, Pastor?"
"Yes."
"You think I'm lying?"
"No, but it doesn't hurt to check the facts."
"No, I don't remember his name. I've had a lot of lawyers in my life. Never paid 'em a dime62."
"The arrest in Wichita was for attempted rape39, right?"
"Sort of. Attempted sexual battery, plus kidnapping. There was no sex, didn't make it that far. The girl knew karate63. Things didn't go the way I planned. She kicked me in the balls and I puked for two days."
"I believe your sentence was ten years. You served six, now you're here."
"Nice job, Pastor. You've done your homework."
"Did you keep up with the Drumm case?"
"Oh, I thought about it off and on for a few years. I figured the lawyers and courts would eventually realize they had the wrong boy. I mean, hell, even in Texas they have higher courts to review cases and such. Surely, somebody along the way would wake up and see the obvious. Over time, I guess I forgot about it. Had my own problems. When you're in max security, you don't spend a lot of time worrying about other people."
"What about Nikki? You spend time thinking about her?"
Boyette did not respond, and as the seconds limped along, it became obvious that he would not answer the question. Keith kept scribbling64, making notes to himself about what to do next. Nothing was certain.
"Do you have any sympathy for her family?"
"I was raped when I was eight years old. I don't recall a single word of sympathy from anyone. In fact, no one raised a hand to stop it. It went on. You've seen my record, Pastor, I've had several victims. I couldn't stop. Not sure I can stop now. Obviously, sympathy is not something I waste time with."
Keith shook his head with a look of disgust.
"Don't get me wrong, Pastor. I have a lot of regrets. I wish I hadn't done all those terrible things. I've wished a million times that I could be normal. My whole life I've wanted to stop hurting people, to somehow straighten up, stay out of prison, get a job, and all that. I didn't choose to be like this."
Keith deliberately65 folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. He screwed the cap onto his pen. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Boyette. "I guess you're willing to sit by and let things run their course down in Texas."
"No, I'm troubled by it. I'm just not sure what to do."
"What if they found the body? You tell me where she's buried, and I'll try to contact the right people down there."
"You sure you want to get involved?"
"No, but I can't ignore it either."
Boyette bent66 forward and began pawing at his head again. "It's impossible for anybody else to find her," he said, his voice breaking up. A moment passed, and the pain eased. "I'm not sure I could now. It's been so long."
"It's been nine years."
"Not that long. I went back to see her a few times after she died."
Keith showed him both palms and said, "I don't want to hear it. Suppose I call Drumm's lawyer and tell him about the body. I won't give your name, but at least someone down there knows the truth."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. I'm not a lawyer. Maybe I can convince someone. I'm willing to try."
"The only person who can possibly find her is me, and I can't leave the state of Kansas. Hell, I can't leave this county. If I do, they'll bust57 me for parole violations67 and send me back to prison. Pastor, I ain't going back to prison."
"What difference does it make, Travis? You'll be dead in a few months, according to your own words."
Boyette became very calm and still and began tapping his fingertips together. He stared at Keith with hard, dry, unblinking eyes. He spoke softly, but firmly. "Pastor, I can't admit to a murder."
"Why not? You have at least four felony convictions, all related to sexual assault. You've spent most of your adult life in prison. You have an inoperable brain tumor. You actually committed the murder. Why not have the courage to admit it and save an innocent man's life?"
"My mother is still alive."
"Where does she live?"
"Joplin, Missouri."
"And her name?"
"You gonna give her a call, Pastor?"
"No. I won't bother her. What's her name?"
"Susan Boyette."
"And she lived on Trotter Street, right?"
"How'd you--?"
"Your mother died three years ago, Travis."
"How'd you--?"
"Google, took about ten minutes."
"What's Google?"
"An Internet search company. What else are you lying about? How many lies have you told me today, Travis?"
"If I'm lying, then why are you here?"
"I don't know. That's an excellent question. You tell a good story and you have a bad record, but you can't prove anything."
Boyette shrugged68 as if he didn't care, but his cheeks turned red and his eyes narrowed. "I don't have to prove anything. I'm not the accused, for a change."
"Her gym card and student ID were found on a sandbar in the Red River. How does that fit into your story?"
"Her phone was in her purse. As soon as I got her, the damned thing started ringing and wouldn't stop. Finally, I got mad, grabbed the purse, and threw it off the bridge. I kept the girl, though. I needed her. She reminds me of your wife, very cute."
"Shut up, Travis," Keith said instinctively69, before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath and patiently said, "Let's keep my wife out of this."
"Sorry, Pastor." Boyette removed a thin chain from around his neck. "You want proof, Pastor. Take a look at this." A gold class ring with a blue stone was attached to the chain. Boyette unsnapped the chain and handed the ring to Keith. It was narrow and small, obviously worn by a female. "That's ANY on one side," Boyette said with a smile. "Alicia Nicole Yarber. On the other side, you have SHS 1999. Dear old Slone High."
Keith squeezed the ring between his thumb and his forefinger70, and stared at it in disbelief.
"Show that to her mother and watch her weep," Boyette said. "The only other proof I have, Pastor, is Nicole herself, and the more I think about her, the more I'm convinced that we should just leave her alone."
Keith placed the ring on the table and Boyette took it. He suddenly kicked his chair back, grabbed his cane, and stood. "I don't like being called a liar71, Pastor. Go home and have fun with your wife."
"Liar, rapist, murderer, and you're also a coward, Travis. Why don't you do something good for once in your life? And quick, before it's too late."
"Just leave me alone." Boyette opened the door, then slammed it behind him.
收听单词发音 |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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gleaning
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| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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enthralled
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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paperbacks
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partially
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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decided
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guilt
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massaged
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thumped
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outfit
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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pastor
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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jaws
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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42
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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43
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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44
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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45
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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48
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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50
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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51
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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52
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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56
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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larceny
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| n.盗窃（罪） | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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bailed
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| 保释，帮助脱离困境( bail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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karate
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| n.空手道(日本的一种徒手武术) | |
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64
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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67
violations
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| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
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68
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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