Further out from the center of town, Craftsman gave way to cheap clapboard and asbestos siding, and although the yards were marginally larger, they lay along narrow side streets that were nothing more than clay and gravel. The address listed on Matt Wentworth’s license proved to be a small board-and-batten ranch-style house in no worse condition than its neighbors. In fact, it struck Dwight as being a little neater, a little better cared for. A bush beside the front door sported multicolored Christmas lights, but the house itself was dark.
This was the worst part of his job, waking survivors out of a sound sleep to tell them bad news. Victor Wentworth had served a couple of prison terms for armed robbery and deadly assault, but even jail-hardened criminals can have parental feelings.
There was a doorbell and it actually worked for he could hear it pealing somewhere inside.
A narrow slit in the curtains drawn over the front windows let him see that someone had switched on a light. A moment later, a light over the windowless front door came on and a woman pushed back the curtain and looked out at him.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Colleton County Sheriff’s Department,” he said, holding his badge so that she could see it.
“What do you want?”
“Ma’am, if you could open the door?”
She motioned for him to hold his ID closer, and after she had studied it carefully, she let the curtain fall back into place and he heard the door being unlocked.
“Mrs. Wentworth?” he asked.
“Yes. If you’re looking for Victor, though, he’s not here.”
The door led directly into the living room and she gestured him toward a chair, then picked up a half-smoked cigarette from a nearby ashtray that was otherwise immaculate, lit it, and inhaled deeply. A hint of air freshener covered up the smell of smoke and he couldn’t help noticing how tidy the room was. A small artificial tree stood in the corner and a few wrapped gifts were piled around the base.
“I’ve not seen him since the week before Thanksgiving and all I want for Christmas is to hear that you’ve found him and put him under the jailhouse.”
She was barefooted and wore an oversized Duke sweatshirt that came down to mid-thigh. Rather shapely thighs, actually. Mid-forties, he guessed, with shoulder-length brown hair that was streaked with gray. Her face had the worn quality of someone who had smoked too many cigarettes and stayed out in the sun too long.
“Why would we do that, ma’am?”
She sat down on the blue couch across from him. “Aren’t you here about those checks he stole?”
She did not speak with a Southern accent and her diction was better than any of the Wentworths he’d dealt with in the past eight years since coming back to Colleton County to be Sheriff Bo Poole’s second in command.
“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know anything about stolen checks.”
“You’re not working with the Raleigh police?”
“No, ma’am. I’m here about your sons Jason and Matt.”
“Stepsons,” she said. “What’ve they done now?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but they’ve both been killed.”
All the color drained from her face, leaving it a pasty gray.
“How?”
He didn’t sugarcoat it.
She crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned her head back against the couch to listen silently. When he finished, she said, “Those poor little bastards. I hope to hell he’s satisfied.”
“Ma’am?”
“Victor. I knew his first wife died, but he didn’t mention any kids till after I married him. He’d already kicked Hux out of the house, but Jason was thirteen and Matt was eleven. All three of those boys were wild as turkeys and Hux was just plain mean. Had a nasty temper, but Jason and Matt could’ve been saved. I wanted to be a mother to them, but Victor wouldn’t back me up. He let them get away with murder and just laughed at me when I tried to give them some discipline. He disrespected me and let the boys diss me, too.”
She opened a drawer in the coffee table, took out a crumpled pack of menthol cigarettes, and lit one. “Of course, it didn’t help that I was still drinking back then. I know I’m partly to blame, but I found Jesus and I’ve been sober for three years now. I tried, Major Bryant. I really tried. It was probably too late for Jason, but I thought I was starting to get through to Matt. He wanted to quit school and I talked him out of it.”
She glanced at the slender little tree in the corner. “I got him some new clothes and that cell phone he’s been dying for. The one with a slide-out keyboard.” Tears leaked from her eyes and glistened on her cheekbones. “And he put something under the tree for me last week. First time ever. Oh, damn you, Victor Wentworth! All three of your sons killed? I hope you fry in hell!”
A box of tissues sat on one of the end tables and Dwight got up and brought it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m okay now.”
She wiped away the tears, pushed her hair back away from her gaunt face, and stood up. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. You want some?”
“Yes, please. And I wonder if I could look at Matt’s room?”
“Down the hall, on the left,” she said, gesturing with her chin. She set the tissues back in place and went out to the kitchen.
