WHEN THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER CAME OUT WITH THE DETAILS IT was all anyone could talk about. Deputy murdered sometime in the middle of Thursday night. With his own pistol, which was not at the scene. No witnesses. No trace of evidence. No idea what he was doing where they found him. Nothing certain but that he was dead. They talked about it over coffee and they talked about it in the grocery store aisles and they talked about it in the waiting room in the hospital and they talked about it while they pumped gasoline. During the morning church services the Baptists and the Methodists and the Catholics and the Episcopalians and everyone in between had moments of silence. Said prayers for the fallen deputy. Prayed for his soul. Prayed for his family. Prayed for justice and for mercy on the wandering evil that was capable of such godless violence. Women in dresses cried that there were such monsters alive in their community and men in suits shook their heads that there seemed to be no clue as to what had actually happened. When the amens were said across the town and the congregations poured out and onto the front steps some people said that they were amazed that something like this could happen around here. And some people said they weren’t.
36
ANNALEE FOLLOWED CONSUELA INTO THE HOUSE AND RUSSELL AND Maben got in the truck with Maben carrying the pistol wrapped in a pair of socks. Mitchell stood in the yard and watched them drive away but he didn’t wave back when Russell waved to him.
“He don’t want us out here either,” Maben said when they hit the highway.
“He don’t care.”
“Looks like he does.”
“He doesn’t.”
She held the pistol between her legs and she kept her legs closed. Russell drove through town and passed over the interstate and in a few miles he left the highway and turned onto a road that was something between asphalt and gravel. The windows were down and Maben’s hair was wild in the wind and Russell reached behind the seat and grabbed a Peterbilt cap and handed it to her. She put it on and pushed her hair behind her ears. Away from town and away from other cars she took the pistol from underneath her legs and set it on the seat between them. At a stop sign he looked over the weeds growing headhigh along the fence line on each side of the road and turned left. Maben rode along without talking, tapping her fingers on her leg to the song in her head. There were more twists and turns and then the road wasn’t much more than a sidewalk and the trees thickened and reached over the road to one another and it seemed as if they had driven into a tunnel. The air was cooler beneath the trees and flowery vines of something purple grew thick in the shade and ran along with the road. The road turned left into a wide and looping curve and then it straightened and went uphill and Russell slowed down as he got closer to the top of the hill. Maben sat up and leaned toward the dashboard. When the truck reached the top Russell stopped. At the bottom of the hill sat Walker’s Bridge.
The truck idled roughly. An afternoon breeze gave a rustle through the trees. She stared. Russell stared. Waited to see if she would say something.
She pushed back the bill of the cap. Her lips parted.
But she didn’t say anything.
He eased on. Rolled down the hill. Stopped in the middle of the bridge. Metal rails had replaced the rotted wooden rails. Initials and hearts and a smiley face and a pentagram had been spray-painted on the rails.
“You need to get rid of that thing,” he said.
She looked out her window and across the creek. Sunlight glared across the wet rocks and ripples. The banks were overgrown with heavy green brush and on down a little ways a tree had fallen across.
“I’m not throwing it out here,” she said. A tremble in her voice.
He got out of the truck and walked around to her side and opened the door. Get on out he said and he turned to look at the water. She took off the cap and set it on the seat. Dropped her head and when she raised it she wiped her eyes. And then she stepped onto the bridge. They stood at the rail, looking down into the water and across into the woods. The hole created by the crashing vehicles had long since been filled in with new growth.
“What made you think to come out here?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
She looked him up and down.
“Am I supposed to know you?”
Russell pointed toward the hilltop and said a few years back or more than a few years back I didn’t have nothing else to do one night so I started riding around. Ended up drinking some. Met this girl in town and we messed around for a little while and that got me to feeling even better. So after I dropped her off at her car I kept on riding and kept on drinking. By myself. Killing a night. That was all. Somehow though I ended up pretty drunk. Ended up coming over that hill. Ended up in a bad wreck right here.
He pushed his hands into his pockets.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“No.”