Carol O’Connell - Stone Angel

“And you think the sheriff had a hand in that? Screw Babe Laurie.”

And now, time for a little therapy, my old friend.

“If you’re on Mallory’s side, everyone else is the enemy. I know you bought into that, and look what it’s done to you. You can’t recognize an honest man anymore.” Riker stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re a blind man now. That’s what it cost you to stand by Mallory.”

He was lying of course. The truth was less flattering. The blinding of Charles Butler was the damage just for getting in Mallory’s way. She had succeeded where Riker had failed in his own attempt to maim this man.

“The only criminal thing about Jessop is that he never got over Cass Shelley’s death. He just couldn’t get past it.” Riker watched his cigarette smoke curl up to the ceiling. “Poor bastard. And you thought he could’ve been part of a murder? Maybe a cover-up? You suspect Augusta of something, too, don’t you? Who’s next? Henry?”

Charles’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Mallory had rendered him sightless, and Riker had struck the man dumb. But he was not done yet.

“Here’s the real kicker, Charles. Even Mallory – who trusts nobody – Mallory would tell you this idea of yours is bullshit. How do I know that?” He leaned forward for the last shot. “It might take her more time than most, but even that amoral brat can recognize an honest man, and God knows she’s no Diogenes.”

Charles sank down in the chair, deflated and defeated.

And now Riker believed there might be a future in the miracle business, for lo and behold, the blind man could see once more.

Praise the Lord.

Ah, but wait – there was a downside to this healing trade. The sad giant was seeing too clearly now.

“It worked out for the best, Charles. You stood by her, and now the kid finally gets a little justice for her mother. That must be some consolation.”

But the big man was unconsoled.

“What do you want, Charles? You want absolution? Well, you got it.” Riker waved his cigarette to make the sign of the cross in the air.

Jane was standing at the cafe window when the silver Mercedes pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office. The two men from New York City were helping somebody out of the backseat. Was it a man or a boy? He had a jacket pulled up over his head – just like the celebrity murderers on the evening news.

The cashier, Charmaine, joined her at the window in a cloud of cheap knockoff perfume. “Well, who is that?”

Jane shook her head, wishing Charmaine would go away. She turned to the empty porch of the bed and breakfast. Betty would probably be in the cemetery with her little troop of tourists by now. So this event belonged to Jane alone.

The man in the middle of the trio was slender and small – that narrowed it down some. And now that he had cleared the body of the car, she could see the red shirt below the hem of his pulled-up jacket. Oh, and now she had a clear view of the trademark red socks. Now, don’t that beat all. Who would’ve thought – “Well, that’s the idiot,” said Charmaine, stretching her neck and seconding her employer’s unvoiced opinion. “Is he under arrest?”

“Looks that way, don’t it?” said Jane. “The man with the bad suit is a New York City detective.”

“I wonder what that idiot’s done. That mother of his – letting him roam around town at will, bringing him in here for lunch every day like he was normal. Didn’t I tell you he was dangerous, didn’t I, Jane?”

“Yes, Charmaine, I believe you did mention that.” Twenty times or more, you slovenly, bleach-blond bitch. “What do you suppose he’s done?”

“It wouldn’t be Christian to speculate. Poor Ira. And my heart just goes out to his mother.” Jane’s smile conveyed no such charitable sentiment as she walked over to the buffet line and began to load up a tray. “I think the new prisoner will be needing his lunch.”

“But it’s not even eleven o’clock.” Charmaine was looking at her watch, which she swore was gold, but it wasn’t. “Kind of early for lunch, isn’t it?”

Well, Charmaine always had been a bit slow.

The sheriff followed his deputy into the reception area to greet Charles Butler and Detective Riker. Another man was sitting on the bench behind them. A denim jacket covered his head. Well, aren’t you the shy one.

Tom Jessop decided to let the man sit for a while, let the fear ripen a bit. And he did not mind dragging this out a little longer. For the past seventeen years, anticipation had been everything to him.

“Me and my deputy was wondering when you were gonna bring in the witness.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” said Riker. “You’re takin‘ all the fun outta this.”

“You can blame Lilith for that. She was in the cemetery last night – saw the whole show. Is Kathy coming in?”

“Well, technically,” said Riker, “she’s still a fugitive from justice.”

“I guess she’s better off at Augusta’s.”

Charles Butler smiled. “Sheriff, is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know how you made that statue fly.” He lightened up on the sarcasm for his deputy’s benefit.

Lilith Beaudare turned on him. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling you, I saw it.”

It was a hard story to swallow, even given his past history with her father. Guy Beaudare had never conjured anything so imaginative as an avenging angel rising off the ground, stone wings flapping to beat the devil, and attacking a man with the wrath of God. But it was a good story, and Guy would be proud of his daughter.

But Charles Butler seemed stunned, and now Jessop had to wonder if there might be something to the story.

Lilith gave Charles a pleading look. “The sheriff says the trick can’t be done, not even with wires. Please tell him how you did it. He thinks I’m crazy.”

Charles and Riker exchanged glances, as if debating this question of Lilith’s sanity. The detective shrugged, deferring to the larger man in all things magical.

“I do it with mirrors,” said Charles, as if bringing stone to life were an everyday thing with him, and not worth a bit of Lilith’s wonder.

“Right,” said the sheriff, turning to his new prisoner. “Well, let’s see what we got here.” In the spirit of opening a long-awaited present, he pulled the jacket away from the man’s head and stepped back. It took a moment to see past the disguise of different clothes, the barbered hair and beardless face. Jimmy Simms was all dressed up like a normal person on the verge of rejoining the world.

Tom Jessop felt suddenly very tired. This was the last thing he had expected. “You were right, Lilith, he’s got the Laurie family resemblance all right. This is Babe’s nephew.”

Jimmy bowed his head to hide his face.

The sheriff put one hand on the younger man’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “You saw that killing, and you never said a word to me?”

“He was part of it,” said Riker, holding out a bulging manila envelope. “It’s all here. A signed confession and all the names.”

The sheriff waved the envelope away and backed off from the prisoner. “I want to hear it from him. Lilith, take the boy into the conference room.” The man was thirty years old, but Tom Jessop would always see him as a runaway boy, and he didn’t trust himself to touch Jimmy Simms, not yet.

They all filed down the hallway and through the last door. The sheriff remained standing while the others sat down in metal folding chairs pulled up to the long table. This back room lacked the antique warmth of the reception area. The walls were cold white and held contemporary maps and bulletin boards with papers dangling by pushpins. Riker was seated at the head of the table, flanked by Lilith and Charles. Jimmy Simms sat alone on the other side.