Beverly Connor: The Night Killer

“I hope so too,” he said.

They drove up to the house. It took less than three minutes from where he had picked her up on the road. The water and chocolate were doing some good. Diane was feeling better.

“I went in as far as the dining room door,” she said. “Short, straight path. I didn’t deviate from the path on my way back out after I found them. I tried the phone near the door. It was dead.”

He nodded his head. They got out of the Jeep and walked up the steep steps.

“I didn’t hear anyone in the house,” said Diane, “but I didn’t search it either.”

“You did right,” he said.

Deputy Conrad took his gun out of his holster and approached the door. He eased it open with one hand while holding his gun in the other. He slowly walked into the house.

Diane sat on the porch steps to wait. She clenched her teeth and listened. Just a few steps to the dining room.

“Oh, Jesus. Roy? Oh, God. Ozella? No.”

Diane hadn’t imagined it. It was true. They were sitting at the table, heads resting at odd angles, long gashes in their throats. Dead. Diane started to rub her eyes with the tips of her fingers, but stopped and looked at her hands in the dim light. She heard the floor creak and guessed that Deputy Conrad was searching the house.

She looked out into the night and watched the lightning bugs blink. Mosquitoes were biting and she put her arms under the poncho. She felt the knife. It weighed heavily on her conscience. But not enough to hand it over just yet. The sheriff might not have it examined for blood. It would be clear to him that a stranger out on a rainy night with a knife must be the killer.

Diane wondered if the killer was the man who attacked her on Massey Road. That seemed more likely. Although he and the Barres weren’t close neighbors, Diane imagined their property adjoined. The Barres’ property was very large, about fifty thousand acres, Diane had heard. That might cause a lot of friction. Many people fought over land ownership and property-line disputes.

In a few minutes Deputy Travis came out and sat down. He put his head in his hands.

“Jesus, lady, I was hoping you were crazy,” he said.

“Me too,” said Diane.

“I got to get more deputies out here.” He jumped up and rushed behind a large tree. Diane heard him retching. He came back, wiping his mouth with a bandanna.

“Shit. Daddy’ll never let me live this down,” he said.

“Leland Conrad is your father?” asked Diane.

“Yeah. That’d be him,” he said. “He’s out of town. Put me in charge. What a time to be in charge.”

He went to the Jeep. Diane heard him calling on the police radio.

“Jason, you and Bob get up here to Roy Barre’s place right now.” There was a pause and static. “I don’t give a shit if it does leave the office empty. Call Shirley and tell her to get her fat ass out of bed and come answer the phone. Get over here, now. Both of you, and I mean now.” There was another short pause. “No, it’s not about the skeleton in the tree. It’s something else. Now get over here.”

He came back to the steps and sat down next to Diane. “We’ll have to wait for them to come. I don’t want to leave the house unguarded. When they get here, I’ll take you to get your car. While we wait, you want to tell me the story about the skeleton?”

Diane explained about the tree falling in the rain and the human skeleton slamming against her windshield. She told him about the man grabbing her.

“That sounds like Slick Massey,” he said. “He’s usually harmless. Lives in that run-down house with his girlfriend. Raises huntin’ dogs. Walker hounds, I think.”

Diane showed him her scratched arm. “This happened when I was trying to get out of his grasp,” she said.

“Damn, that looks sore. I’ll have a talk with him. But I have to tell you, I don’t know about a skeleton in a tree. That just sounds crazy. Are you sure?”

“I’m a forensic anthropologist,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, but. . Anyway, we’ll see what ol’ Slick has to say for himself.”

Diane told him about the trek through the woods and about meeting the stranger. Deputy Conrad’s attention perked up.

“There’s some stranger running around in the woods, taking pictures, you say?”

“He said he was camping in the national forest. I think he was the one who called you. I asked him to. He offered to take me to the sheriff, but I declined.”

“That was probably wise. So, do you think this guy could have been the killer?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He was helpful. Gave me this rain gear,” she said, indicating the poncho. “He took my jacket to try to fool the dogs. He knew they were Walker hounds. He said his uncle raised them. He said he recognized the voices.”

“They do have a twang to their bark, that’s for sure,” he said.

When the other deputies drove up, Deputy Conrad stood up to meet them. Two men got out of a Jeep that looked much like Conrad’s. He introduced them as Jason and Bob. Jason was a slender man and, although he looked to be in his mid-twenties, had severely thinning hair. Bob, older by ten or fifteen years, had a thick head of dark hair, was cadaverously thin, and had a slight kyphosis of the spine that gave him a permanent slouch. Diane wondered if his hair was a wig.

“What’s this about, Travis?” asked Jason.

“Roy and his wife’s been murdered,” said Conrad.

“What? Murdered? No. We just saw him. You and me, at the Waffle House, yesterday.”

Bob looked over at the house. “Murdered? Here? The two of them?”

“Look, I want the two of you to guard the house until I get back. I’m taking Miss Fallon to get her car and find out what’s up with Slick Massey,” said Deputy Conrad.

“You want us to guard the house?” said Bob. “From what?”

“Trespassers, murderers, raccoons-anything. We don’t want anybody coming in. We especially don’t want Roy Jr. to decide to pay his folks a midnight visit and find them. Now do what I say. And don’t you go sitting in their den watching TV while they’re sitting at the dining room table with their throats cut,” said Conrad.

“We wouldn’t do that,” said Jason, looking hurt.

“Throats cut?” said Bob. “Somebody’s done cut their throats? I don’t know, Travis. What if they come back?” Bob put a hand to his own throat.

“Then you arrest the son of a bitch. It’s what you get paid for. I’ll be back in a little bit.” Travis Conrad turned to Diane. “Now let’s go see Slick Massey.”

Diane shuddered at the thought of facing Slick Massey again. She tried to calm herself as she and Deputy Conrad walked to his Jeep and climbed in. Diane looked back at the Barre house. She saw the deputies sitting on the porch with flashlights trained out to the front yard. She wanted to ask Conrad if his deputies would be okay there by themselves, but thought better of it. Instead, she approached another, more controversial topic.

“You know,” she began, “this is the kind of crime the Georgia Bureau of Investigation can be a big help with.”

“We’re gonna have to call the GBI. Daddy’s gonna balk, but we ain’t had no killings like this. We’ve had wife killings and bar killings-the kind of homicide you don’t have to work up a sweat to solve-the kind where we know the guy who did it and where to find him.” He shook his head. “But this is the kind of thing you see on crime shows. We just ain’t had nothing like this here. You saw Jason and Bob. They’re good guys and they mean well, but. .” He shook his head. “Bob mainly does the paperwork, and Jason, well, he’s Jason.”

He paused and Diane didn’t say anything-relieved that he was open to getting outside help. She wanted the Barres’ murderer caught, and she didn’t think the current constabulary here in Rendell County had the know-how to go about finding the killer, unless he left a trail of blood they could follow.