By 10:00 a.m., the parking lot at Lamb & Son Funeral Home was full, and cars lined both sides of the street. The mourners, dressed in their Sunday best, formed a line that began at the front door and ran three and four abreast1 through the small lawn, down the street, and around the corner. They were sad and angry, tired and anxious, and uncertain about what was happening to them and their quiet town. The sirens, fireworks, gunshots, and urgent voices from the street had finally subsided2 not long before sunrise, allowing a few hours of rest. But no one expected the streets to return to normal on Friday or over the weekend.
They had seen the eerie3 face of Travis Boyette on television, and they had heard his poisonous confession4. They believed him because they had always believed Donte. So much more of the story had yet to be told, and if Boyette really had killed the girl, then someone would pay a heavy price.
The Slone Police Department had eight black officers, and all eight volunteered for the assignment. Though most had not slept in hours, they were determined6 to pay tribute. They secured the street in front of the funeral home, directed traffic, and, most important, kept the reporters at bay. There was a pack of them, all neatly7 cordoned8 off and barricaded9 a block away.
When Hubert Lamb unlocked the front door, he greeted the first wave of mourners and asked them to sign the register. The crowd began to move slowly, in no hurry. It would take a week to bury Donte, and there would be plenty of time to pay proper respects.
He was on display in the main parlor10, his casket open and draped with flowers. His senior class photo had been enlarged and sat on a tripod at the foot of his casket--an eighteen-year-old in a coat and tie, a handsome face. The portrait had been taken a month before he was arrested. He was smiling, still dreaming of playing football. His eyes were full of expectation and ambition.
His family stood near the casket, where they had been for the past hour, touching11 him, weeping, trying to be strong for their guests.
At the campsite, Robbie described the scene to Carlos and the others. Bryan Day wanted to get to the grave immediately and record everything before the police arrived, but Robbie wasn't so sure. They argued, though both knew Robbie would make the decision. Fred Pryor was on his cell phone trying to locate the sheriff of Newton County. Martha Handler was talking to Aaron on her cell phone and taking notes. Suddenly there was a shriek12, an anguished13 cry, as Boyette fell to the ground and began trembling violently. Keith knelt over him, and the others gathered to watch helplessly. Quizzical looks were exchanged. After a minute or so, the seizure14 seemed to pass, and the shaking and jerking subsided. Boyette clutched his head and whimpered in pain. Then he seemed to die. His body went limp and was perfectly15 still. Keith waited, then touched his shoulder and said, "Hey, Travis, can you hear me?" Evidently, Travis could not; there was no response.
Keith stood and said, "He usually blacks out for a few minutes."
"Let's put him out of his misery," Robbie said. "One quick pop to the head. There's a grave not far from here that's about to be empty."
"Come on, Robbie," Keith said.
The others seemed to like Robbie's idea. They backed away and were soon occupied with other matters. Five minutes passed. Boyette had not moved. Keith knelt down and checked his pulse. It was steady but faint. A few minutes later, Keith said, "Robbie, I think this is serious. He's unconscious."
"I'm not a brain surgeon, Keith. What do you want me to do?"
"He needs attention."
"He needs a funeral, Keith. Why don't you take him back to Kansas and bury him?"
Keith stood and walked a few steps to where Robbie was standing16. He said, "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry, Keith. There's a lot happening right now, in case you haven't noticed. Boyette's health is not one of my priorities."
"We can't just let him die out here."
"Why not? He's practically dead anyway, right?"
Boyette grunted17, then shook from head to toe, as if an aftershock were rumbling18 through. Then he was still again.
Keith swallowed hard and said, "He needs a doctor."
"Great. Go find one."
Minutes dragged by, and Boyette was not responsive. The others didn't care, and Keith almost persuaded himself to get in his car and leave, alone. But he could not bring himself to ignore a dying man. The security guard helped Keith load Boyette into the rear seat of the Subaru. Fred Pryor walked from the direction of the creek19 and said, "That was the sheriff. I finally got him, finally convinced him that we're for real, and that we've found a dead body in his jurisdiction20. He's on his way."
As Keith was opening his car door, Robbie approached him and said, "Call me when you get to a hospital, and keep an eye on Boyette. I'm sure the authorities here will want to talk to him. There's no open investigation21 at this point, but that could change quickly, especially if Boyette admits he killed the girl in this state."
"His pulse is almost gone," the security guard reported from the rear seat.
"I'm not planning on standing guard, Robbie," Keith said. "I'm done. I'm outta here. I'll drop him off at a hospital, God knows where, and then hustle22 back to Kansas."
"You have our cell numbers. Just keep us posted. As soon as the sheriff sees the grave, I'm sure he'll send someone to see Boyette."
The two shook hands, not sure if they would see each other again. Death binds24 people in odd ways, and they felt as though they had known each other for years.
As the Subaru disappeared into the woods, Robbie checked his watch. It had taken about six hours to drive from Slone and find the body. If Travis Boyette had not delayed, Donte Drumm would be alive and on his way to a quick exoneration25. He spat26 on the ground and quietly wished Boyette a slow and painful death.
During the forty-five-minute drive from the campsite, complete with at least four stops to ask for directions, Boyette had not moved and had not uttered a sound. He still appeared to be dead. At the emergency room entrance, Keith told a doctor about Boyette's tumor27, but little else. The doctor was curious as to why a minister from Kansas was traveling through Joplin with a gravely ill man who was neither a relative nor a member of his congregation. Keith assured him it was a very long story, one he would happily tell when they had the time. Both knew they would never have the time and the story would never be told. They placed Boyette on a stretcher, with his cane28, and rolled him down the hall for examination. Keith watched him disappear behind swinging doors and found a seat in the waiting area. He called Dana to check in. His wife had received his updates with a growing sense of disbelief, one shocker after another, and she seemed to be numb23 to anything new. Fine, Keith. Yes, Keith. Sure, Keith. Please come home, Keith.
He called Robbie and told him where they were at that moment. Boyette was alive and being examined. Robbie was still waiting for the sheriff to arrive at the site. He was anxious to hand over the crime scene to the professionals, though he knew that would take time.
Keith called Matthew Burns, and when Matthew answered, Keith began with a happy "Well, good morning, Matt. I'm now in Missouri, where an hour ago we opened the grave and saw the remains29 of Nicole Yarber. Top that for a Friday morning."
"So what else is new? What did she look like?"
"All bones. Positive ID, though. Boyette is telling the truth. They executed the wrong man. It's unbelievable, Matt."
"When are you coming home?"
"I'll be there for dinner. Dana's freaking out, so I won't be long."
"We need to meet first thing in the morning. I've watched the coverage30 nonstop, and there hasn't been a word about you. Maybe you've slid under the radar31. We gotta talk. Where's Boyette?"
"In a hospital in Joplin, dying, I think. I'm with him."
"Leave him, Keith. Maybe he'll die. Let someone else worry about him. Just get in your car and haul ass5."
"That's my plan. I'll hang around here until I hear something, then I'm on the road. Kansas is just minutes away."
An hour passed. Robbie called Keith with the news that the sheriff had arrived and Roop's Mountain was now crawling with police. Two state policemen were on their way to the hospital to secure Mr. Boyette. Keith agreed to wait for them, then he was leaving.
"Thanks, Keith, for everything," Robbie said.
"It wasn't enough."
"No, but what you did took courage. You tried. That's all you could do."
"Let's keep in touch."
The state troopers, Weshler and Giles, were both sergeants32, and after terse33 introductions they asked Keith if he would fill in some gaps. Sure, why not, what else was there to do in an ER waiting room? It was almost 1:00 p.m., and they bought sandwiches from a machine and found a table. Giles took notes, and Weshler handled most of the questions. Keith began with Monday morning and hit the high points of this rather unusual week. As he told his story, they seemed to doubt him at times. They had not been following the Drumm case, but when Boyette went public with his claim of guilt34, and mentioned the body being buried near Joplin, phones started ringing. They tuned35 in, and they had seen Boyette's face and performance several times. Now that a body had been found, they were smack36 in the middle of a growing story.
A doctor interrupted them. He explained that Boyette was stable and resting. His vital signs were near normal. They had X-rayed his head and confirmed the presence of an egg-size tumor. The hospital needed to contact a family member, and Keith tried to describe what little he knew about Boyette's relatives. "There's a brother in prison in Illinois, that's all I know," Keith said.
"Well," the doctor said, scratching his jaw37, "how long do you want us to keep him?"
"How long should he be kept?"
"Overnight, but beyond that I'm not sure what we can do for him."
"He doesn't belong to me, Doc," Keith said. "I'm just driving him around."
"And this is part of the very long story?"
Both Giles and Weshler nodded. Keith suggested the doctor contact the doctors at St. Francis Hospital in Topeka, and perhaps the little group could devise a plan for dealing38 with Travis Boyette.
"Where is he now?" Weshler asked.
"He's in a small ward39 on the third floor," the doctor said.
"Could we see him?"
"Not now, he needs to rest."
"Then could we station ourselves outside the ward," Giles said. "We anticipate this man being charged with murder, and we have orders to secure him."
"He's not going anywhere."
Weshler bristled40 at this, and the doctor sensed the futility41 of arguing. "Follow me," he said. As they began to walk away, Keith said, "Hey, fellas, I'm free to go, right?"
Weshler looked at Giles, and Giles studied Weshler, then both looked at the doctor. Weshler said, "Sure, why not?"
"He's all yours," Keith said, already backing away. He left through the ER entrance and jogged to his car in a nearby parking garage. He found $6 in his dwindling42 cash reserves, paid the attendant, and gunned the Subaru onto the street. Free at last, he said to himself. It was exhilarating to glance over at the empty seat and know that he, with luck, would never again be near Travis Boyette.
Weshler and Giles were given folding chairs and took their positions in the hallway by the door to Ward 8. They called their supervisor43 and reported on Boyette's status. They found some magazines and began killing44 time. Through the door, there were six beds, each separated by flimsy curtains, all occupied by people suffering from serious afflictions. At the far end, there was a large window that overlooked a vacant lot, and next to the window was a door the janitors45 used on occasion.
The doctor returned, spoke46 to the troopers, then stepped inside for a quick check on Boyette. When he pulled the curtain by bed 4, he froze in disbelief.
The IVs were dangling47. The bed was neatly made with a black walking cane across it. Boyette was gone.
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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cordoned
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| v.封锁，用警戒线围住( cordon的过去式 ) | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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exoneration
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| n.免罪，免除 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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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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29
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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coverage
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| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
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radar
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| n.雷达，无线电探测器 | |
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sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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supervisor
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| n.监督人，管理人，检查员，督学，主管，导师 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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janitors
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| n.看门人( janitor的名词复数 )；看管房屋的人；锅炉工 | |
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46
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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47
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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