Scott Pratt - In good faith

“I love you, man,” I said, and I grabbed his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Monday, November 10

“Y’all better be careful,” a deep voice said from behind me. “People will say you’re in love.”

I turned around to see the face of Wild Bill Hickok, back from the dead in the form of Jim Beaumont. Beaumont bowed stiffly and tipped his hat. Today’s string tie was made of rawhide with a round piece of polished turquoise mounted on the platinum clasp at his neck.

“I hate to interrupt your affair, Mr. Dillard, but I have a very important matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

I told Fraley I’d catch up with him later to form a strategy for dealing with Natasha, and turned back to Beaumont.

“Let’s walk,” he said.

We started walking leisurely up the brick sidewalk, past the International Storytelling Center and the Eureka Hotel towards the west end of Main Street. The unpredictable November weather had changed yet again, and the past few days had been warm and pleasant.

“News from the investigators already?” I said.

“No, not yet. There are some things I need to tell you. I wish I could have done it sooner, but I was bound by the rules of ethical conduct and client privilege. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Of course.”

“Now that Mr. Boyer has expired, I believe I’m no longer bound by privilege,” Beaumont said. “I’ll start by telling you that you were right about Miss Natasha Davis. She was deeply involved in all six murders.”

“Then why can’t we find any evidence?” I said.

“Being mad doesn’t make her stupid. She wasn’t at the first crime scene, but she ordered Boyer and Barnett to commit the murders because Mr. Beck attempted to share his faith in God with her.”

“What were they doing down on Marbleton Road?”

“It started at a rest stop on the interstate. They’d been to Knoxville for some kind of Goth festival. On the way back, their car started overheating, so they pulled into the rest stop to let it cool down. Mr. Beck approached Natasha; she became angry and gave the other two the order to kill the family. She drove the car back to town and the boys took the Becks down to Marbleton, shot them, and drove their van back to Johnson City.”

“You said she ordered them. Why did she have so much control?”

“Boyer said she controlled them in a variety of ways, but I think it was primarily with two things: she was generous with sex, and she was generous with drugs. She’s also an attractive young lady, or at least Boyer believed she was. Beyond that, she put the two of them in a position where they were competing for her attention and affection. She played them against each other. She introduced them to Satanic rituals and philosophy and used that as a means to gain further control. Boyer believed the first murders, the Becks, were a test. She was testing their loyalty. He said shooting everyone in the right eye was Barnett’s idea. Apparently there’s some kind of painting or print of the eye of providence in Natasha’s home. She hated it, so Barnett shot everyone in the right eye as a symbolic gesture to Natasha.”

“And the inverted crosses and running over their legs?”

“Boyer’s way of keeping up in the competition.”

“What about the Brockwells?” I said. “Why did they kill them?”

“Natasha allowed Boyer to pick their next victim. Boyer said he hated Mr. Brockwell because Brockwell humiliated him when he expelled him from school. They did surveillance on the house for a couple of days and then went in and did the deed.”

“Was Natasha there?”

“She killed Mrs. Brockwell with an ice pick.”

“Boyer saw her do it?”

“Yes. She also accompanied them to the woods where Mr. Brockwell was shot. She gave the order.”

“Any chance Boyer told you where Natasha hid the ice pick?”

“I asked him. He said he didn’t know. Don’t you have any other physical evidence?”

“Nothing solid,” I said, “but with what you’ve told me, if you’ll sign a sworn affidavit, I might be able to get a warrant to get a DNA sample from her. We’ve got some hairs from the Brockwells’ place that we haven’t been able to match up with anyone.”

“I’ll have to make an inquiry with the Board of Professional Responsibility first, but I’ll do it no matter what they say,” Beaumont said.

“Screw the BPR. They’re nothing but a waste of space and oxygen.”

“I agree, but I’ll give them the courtesy of a call anyway. It wouldn’t surprise me if they tell me I have to remain silent, even if it allows a murderer to go free.”

“All right, just let me see if I’ve got this straight,” I said. “Natasha manipulates Boyer and Barnett into forming a sort of mini-Satanic cult. She shoves the dogma and ritual down their throats in what appears to be a successful effort to gain control of them. They run into the Becks randomly at a rest stop, where Mr. Beck approaches Natasha and wants to talk to her about God. She gets angry and orders her boys to kill them. A couple of weeks later, they decide they liked it and they kill the Brockwells. Is that pretty much it in a nutshell?”

“Almost,” Beaumont said.

“What did I miss?”

“There are two other things I need to tell you. First, Boyer said Natasha took a necklace from Mrs. Brockwell after she killed her. It was a twenty-four-karat-gold cross on a gold chain.”

“We searched her house. Didn’t find it,” I said.

“Maybe she’s wearing it.”

I tried to picture Natasha in my mind the day I confronted her in the courtroom, but I couldn’t remember whether she was wearing a cross. Mrs. Brockwell’s family hadn’t said anything about a missing necklace, which meant it was either new or she didn’t wear it often. If it was relatively new, and if she purchased it with a credit card, we might be able to identify it. If Natasha was wearing it, which I doubted.

“Thanks, we’ll check it out,” I said. “And what’s the last thing?”

“Do you remember the article in the paper after the Brockwells were killed in which you referred to the killers as cowards?”

“There were a lot of articles. I said a lot of things.”

“Well, apparently the comment didn’t sit well with Mr. Barnett. Boyer said the night they were arrested at the motel, Natasha told Barnett it was his turn to pick the victim. They were on their way to your house.”

Monday, November 10

As I was walking back up the steps towards the office my cell phone rang. I looked down and recognized my mother-in-law’s cell phone number.

“Her fever’s getting worse,” Melinda said. “And she’s talking like she doesn’t know where she is. I’m taking her to the emergency room.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I turned and ran back down the stairs and out to my truck. I called Rita Jones on the way to the hospital and told her where I’d be, and I called Fraley and told him everything Jim Beaumont had shared with me. Fraley said he’d get hold of Beaumont, draft an affidavit, and take care of the warrant himself. I was glad to be free of it for a while, because suddenly I didn’t care about Boyer or Barnett or Natasha. All I cared about was Caroline.

I raced to the hospital, breaking nearly every traffic law ever written along the way. I saw Melinda’s car in the emergency room parking lot, got out, and rushed inside. I found Melinda pacing in the waiting room.

“Where is she?”

“They took her back as soon as we got here,” Melinda said. Her face was drained of color, her eyes darting nervously around the room.

“Can’t we go with her?”

“They told me to wait out here. I think it’s serious. They mentioned something about an infection.”