Делия Оуэнс - Where the Crawdads Sing

“Then, those two young’uns that found Chase, well, they heard the sheriff say thar weren’t no footprints at the scene. Nary a one. Like somebody done rubbed out evidence. Them boys been yappin’ all over town ’bout it.”

Jumpin’ told her when the funeral would be but knew Kya wouldn’t go. What a spectacle that would be for the sewing bees and Bible study groups. For sure, the speculation and gossip would include Kya. Thank tha Lawd she’d been in Greenval at the time ’a his death, or they’d’a put this on ’er , Jumpin’ thought.

Kya nodded at Jumpin’ and churned home. She stood on the mud bank of the lagoon, whispering one of Amanda Hamilton’s verses:

“Never underrate

the heart,

Capable of deeds

The mind cannot conceive.

The heart dictates as well as feels.

How else can you explain

The path I have taken,

That you have taken

The long way through this pass?”

49. Disguises

1970

Stating his name as Mr. Larry Price—a man with curly white hair, cut short, and dressed in a blue suit that shone cheaply—and that he drove the Trailways bus on varying routes in this area of North Carolina, the next witness was sworn in. As Eric questioned him, Mr. Price confirmed that it was possible to bus from Greenville to Barkley Cove and back again on the same night. He also stated that he was driving the bus from Greenville bound for Barkley Cove the night Chase died, and none of the passengers looked like Miss Clark.

Eric said, “Now, Mr. Price, you told the sheriff during his investigation that there was a skinny passenger on that bus who could’ve been a tall woman disguised as a man. Is that correct? Please describe this passenger.”

“Yeah, that’s right. A young white man. Reckon he was ’bout five ten, and his pants just hung on him like sheets on a fence post. He wore a big bulky cap, blue. Kept his head down, didn’t look at anybody.”

“And now that you’ve seen Miss Clark, do you believe it’s possible that the skinny man on the bus was Miss Clark in disguise? Could her long hair have been hidden in that bulky cap?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Eric asked the judge to request that Kya stand up, and she did so with Tom Milton by her side.

“You can sit back down, Miss Clark,” Eric said, and then to the witness, “Would you say that the young man on the bus was the same height and stature as Miss Clark?”

“I’d say ’bout exactly the same,” Mr. Price said.

“So all things considered, would you say that it’s likely that the skinny man on the 11:50 P.M. bus traveling from Greenville to Barkley Cove on the night of October 29 of last year was in fact the defendant Miss Clark?”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s very possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Price. No further questions. Your witness.”

Tom stood in front of the witness stand and, after five minutes of questioning Mr. Price, he summed up. “What you’ve told us is this: one, there was no woman who looked like the defendant on the bus from Greenville to Barkley Cove on the night of October 29, 1969; two, there was a tall, thin man on the bus, but at the time, even though you saw his face very close, you didn’t think of him as a woman in disguise; three, this idea of disguise only came to you when the sheriff suggested it.”

Tom continued before the witness could respond. “Mr. Price, tell us how you’re sure the thin man was on the 11:50 P.M. bus of October 29? Did you take notes, write it down? Maybe it was the night before or the night after. Are you one hundred percent sure it was October 29?”

“Well, I see what you gettin’ at. And, when the sheriff was jogging my memory, it seemed like that man was on that bus, but now, I reckon I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”

“Also, Mr. Price, wasn’t the bus very late that night? In fact, it was twenty-five minutes late and didn’t arrive in Barkley Cove until 1:40 in the morning. Is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Mr. Price looked at Eric. “I’m just trying to help out here, do the right thing.”

Tom reassured him. “You’ve been a great help, Mr. Price. Thank you very much. No further questions.”

• • •

ERIC CALLED HIS NEXT WITNESS, the driver for the 2:30 A.M. bus from Barkley Cove to Greenville on the morning of October 30, a Mr. John King. He testified that the defendant, Miss Clark, was not on the bus, but there was an older lady, “. . . tall like Miss Clark, who had gray hair, short with curls, like a permanent wave.”

“Looking at the defendant, Mr. King, is it possible that if Miss Clark had disguised herself as an older lady, she would have looked similar to the woman on the bus?”

“Well, it’s hard to picture it. Maybe.”

“So it’s possible?”

“Yes, I guess.”

On cross, Tom said, “We cannot accept the word guess in a murder trial. Did you see the defendant, Miss Clark, on the 2:30 A.M. bus from Barkley Cove to Greenville in the early morning of October 30, 1969?”

“No, I did not.”

“And was there another bus from Barkley Cove to Greenville that night?”

“No.”

50. The Journal

1970

When Kya was led into the courtroom the next day, she glanced toward Tate, Jumpin’, and Mabel and held her breath at seeing a full uniform, a slight smile across a scarred face. Jodie. She nodded slightly, wondering how he’d learned of her trial. Probably the Atlanta paper. She tucked her head in shame.

Eric stood. “Your Honor, if it please the court, the People call Mrs. Sam Andrews.” The room breathed out as Patti Love, the grieving mother, made her way to the witness stand. Watching the woman she’d once hoped would be her mother-in-law, Kya now realized the absurdity of that notion. Even in this sullen setting, Patti Love, dressed in the finest black silks, seemed preoccupied with her own appearance and importance. She sat straight with her glossy purse perched on her lap, dark hair swept into the perfect bun under a hat, tipped just so, with dramatic black netting obscuring her eyes. Never would she have taken a barefoot marsh dweller as a daughter-in-law.

“Mrs. Andrews, I know this is difficult for you, so I’ll be as brief as possible. Is it true that your son, Chase Andrews, wore a rawhide necklace hung with a shell?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And when, how often, did he wear that necklace?”

“All the time. He never took it off. For four years I never saw him without that necklace.”

Eric handed a leather journal to Mrs. Andrews. “Can you identify this book for the court?”

Kya stared at the floor, working her lips, enraged at this invasion of her privacy as the prosecutor held her journal for all the court to see. She’d made it for Chase very soon after they met. Most of her life, she’d been denied the joy of giving gifts, a deprivation few understand. After working for days and nights on the journal, she’d wrapped it in brown paper and decorated it with striking green ferns and white feathers from snow geese. She’d held it out as Chase stepped from his boat onto the lagoon shore.

“What’s this?”

“Just something from me,” she had said, and smiled.

A painted story of their times together. The first, an ink sketch of them sitting against the driftwood, Chase playing the harmonica. The Latin names of the sea oats and scattered shells were printed in Kya’s hand. A swirl of watercolors revealed his boat drifting in moonlight. The next was an abstract image of curious porpoises circling the boat, with the words of “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” drifting in the clouds. Another of her swirling among silver gulls on a silver beach.

Chase had turned the pages in wonder. Ran his fingers lightly over some of the drawings, laughed at some, but mostly was silent, nodding.