Dance of the Bones

S.D.: How did you and Mr. Myers meet?

C.H.: We were both homeless and living in a tent city up on the hillside just east of I--5. A shelter had been cobbled together using old tarps and pieces of canvas. There must have been twenty of us or so living in camp at the time, but I didn’t really notice Kenny until we were standing in line for a Thanksgiving dinner offered by the Salvation Army. It was cold and rainy. It was nice to be inside, out of the weather, and to have a hot meal for a change. We got our food, sat at the same table, and then started talking.

S.D.: What happened then?

C.H.: We hit it off and started hanging out together—-and drinking together, too. We were both drinkers then. -Eventually we started to trust each other, but I don’t think either of us ever expected to fall in love. A homeless camp doesn’t sound very romantic. (laughter) But it was for us. -People teased us and said that we walked around in a funny little bubble.

It turned out Kenny and I had a lot in common. We’d both come from broken and abusive homes; we’d both dropped out of high school our sophomore year. We’d both done time. There’s nothing like spending time in the slammer to give you something to talk about. (laughter) After I got out on good behavior, I couldn’t find work. That’s how I ended up in the camp—-me and plenty of others. Just because you get out of jail doesn’t mean you get your life back.

S.D.: What did you get sent up for?

C.H.: I’m sure you’ve got my record right there in front of you.

S.D.: Tell me anyway.

C.H.: Domestic violence. Manslaughter. I killed my ex. Ray came home drunk and was beating the crap out of me. He tried to choke me. I kicked him in the balls hard enough that I got loose. He liked to play ball with the guys, and his baseball bat was standing in the corner of the living room, behind the front door. I grabbed that and bashed his skull in.

We’d both been drinking that night. I had enough cuts and bruises that it should have been considered self--defense, but I had a worthless defense attorney, and the prosecutor argued that I had hit him more than once after he was down. Which was true. I hit him way more than once.

Taking a deep breath, I had to stop reading for several long minutes. I couldn’t continue, not when I knew what had happened to Sue much later. I found myself once again reliving her last moments frame by frame, fighting it out with her enraged and fully armed ex--husband in a battle that had ended with both of them dead.

Throughout the Calliope Horn interview I read enough between the lines to realize that Sue suspected Kenneth Myers, like Calliope’s first husband, had died as a result of domestic violence. I couldn’t help wondering if she had some inkling at the time—-some premonition—that a similar fate awaited her. Probably not. My problem was that I had no such luxury. The curse of hindsight was slamming into every fiber of my being as I read those bare--bones questions and answers.

Finally gathering my roiling emotions, I returned to the text.

C.H.: Now I get it. That’s what this is all about and why I’m here, isn’t it. You think that just because I bashed Ray’s head in that I killed Kenny, too? Am I a suspect? Do I need a lawyer?

S.D.: You’re not under arrest, Ms. Horn. You’re free to go anytime you wish. We’re hoping you can help us locate Mr. Myers’s next of kin. So you were both living in the homeless shelter at the time he disappeared?

C.H.: Yes.

S.D.: Did Mr. Myers have a beef of any kind with someone from the camp?

C.H.: No, he didn’t, not at all. I wasn’t the only one who thought he was a good guy. So did everyone else.

S.D.: Did you have any ex--boyfriends hanging around at the time?

C.H.: No, I didn’t. Nothing like that—-no boyfriends of any kind.

S.D.: At the time Mr. Myers left, did you report him as missing?