It was one of our favorite places.
My eyes fell to a written caption beneath the young woman on the bench. It said, “She knows. Come tomorrow.”
It had been twenty-two days since the Becks were murdered, a week since the Brockwells. The agents had interviewed nearly a hundred people and followed up on dozens of false leads that had come in through hotlines set up by the TBI. The local newspaper editorialized that the police were incompetent. One editorial demanded a task force. Someone let it leak that the district attorney had already proposed a task force, but the idea had been vetoed by Joe Dillard, the prosecutor who would handle the case when it went to trial and was guiding the investigation. The paper pointed out that Dillard was also the newest member of the DA’s office and that he had virtually no law enforcement experience. I didn’t bother to confront anyone who’d been in the room during the discussion about a task force. It didn’t matter.
On Monday morning Caroline, Jack, Lilly, and I drove to the medical center in Johnson City. Caroline was scheduled for exploratory surgery, the first stage in her treatment. The surgeon was to open Caroline’s breast, measure the tumor, and cut out a small section of skin above it and some of the surrounding tissue. He’d also remove what he called the sentinel lymph node. He’d send sections of the tumor, the skin, the tissue, and the node to the lab. They already knew the tumor was malignant, but the lab would tell the doctor whether the samples from the node and the skin contained cancer cells. If not, he’d remove the tumor and a portion of the surrounding tissue, and Caroline might be faced with only six or eight weeks of radiation therapy. That was the best case. If the tumor was large, however, or if there was cancer in the node or the skin, the treatment would be much different.
We sat in a waiting room in the surgery center until ten a.m., nearly two hours after they wheeled Caroline away on a gurney. By that time, we’d been joined by Caroline’s mother and two of her friends whose names I didn’t know, Sarah and her boyfriend-neither of whom spoke to me-a couple of Lilly’s friends, and a man I’d never laid eyes on. It turned out he was from Caroline’s mother’s church. He put his hand on Caroline’s forehead and prayed over her just before she was taken off to surgery. He asked the Lord to free her from this terrible disease. I didn’t have much faith in his ability to rid Caroline of cancer, but I didn’t object to his praying over her. I wouldn’t have cared if a painted medicine man came in and danced circles around her. Anything that might help, I was up for it.
Jack and I were just walking back to the waiting room from a trip to the cafeteria when my cell phone rang. It was Fraley.
“You need to come out here,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“To the park. The girl in the picture. She’s here. She wants to talk to you.”
I’d called Fraley and taken the picture to him Sunday afternoon after I found it on my windshield. Both of us were skeptical, but he said he’d follow up.
“What?” I said. “Now?”
“As soon as you can.”
“Caroline’s in surgery. Can’t it wait a few hours?”
“I guess it could, but we take a chance on her changing her mind or leaving.”
“Where exactly is she?” I said.
“Near the pavilion. Right where you said she’d be. I’m holding the drawing in my hand and it looks exactly like it. It’s weird.”
I hung up the phone and looked at Jack. “I have to go,” I said. He gave me a bewildered look. “We may have a witness in the murders. She wants to talk to me. Your mother will be in surgery for at least another hour; then she’ll be in recovery for a while. As soon as the surgeon comes out, call me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Winged Deer is a two-hundred-acre park located on the eastern outskirts of Johnson City. The upper half of the park contains baseball and softball fields and a hiking trail that winds through a five-acre patch of dense forest. The lower half skirts the Watauga River. Along the river are more walking trails, a boat ramp, a board-walk, and a large, covered pavilion that people rent for outdoor gatherings and picnics. There are also a few benches scattered around beneath the oak and maple trees that dot the riverbank. I spotted Fraley’s car in the lot and parked next to it. I found him pacing back and forth near the pavilion, nervously sucking on a cigarette.
“Sorry about this,” Fraley said as soon as I walked up. “How’s the wife?”
“Don’t know yet. She’s still in surgery, but thanks for asking.”
“This one’s strange,” he said.
“How so?”
“You’ll see.” He nodded towards the river.
I started walking down the hill in the direction of the nod. My view of the bench was obscured by the tree at first, but then I saw her. It was as though the drawing I’d held in my hand the day before had come to life. I approached slowly. The dress she was wearing was antique white and ankle length. Her feet were covered by sandals, her head by a finely woven straw hat that fluttered gently in the light breeze. A white crocheted shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she appeared to be looking out over the river, serenely contemplating the universe. I could see dark red hair curling softly down her back and shoulders all the way to her waist. As I approached, she turned towards me and lifted her chin. Beneath the brim of the hat was a young, smooth face with high cheekbones and a jawline that melted into a slightly dimpled chin. Full lips were curved into a pleasant smile. Her nose was small and delicate. A flesh-colored patch, which was secured by a length of what appeared to be nylon, covered her right eye. Her left eye was the most brilliant, clear blue I’d ever seen.
“I’m Joe Dillard,” I said as I stood uncomfortably over her. The eye was beautiful, but at the same time, it was unnerving.
“Someone you love deeply is very ill,” she said in an even tone. Her voice was calm and appealing, like that of a well-trained stage actress.
“What’s your name?” I said.
“I see pain in your eyes. I sense regret. You’ve done things you’d like to forget.”
“Who hasn’t? I was told you have some information for me, Miss… What did you say your name was?”
“You’re skeptical of me.”
“Comes with the territory. Do you mind if I sit down?”
She nodded, and I sat down at the other end of the bench. I looked out over the river. It was placid, a vivid green. Some of the trees on the opposite bank were beginning to change to their fall colors of orange, yellow, and red. The sky was azure, the temperature warm.
“You did the drawing?”
She nodded again.
“You put it on my car?”
“You needed it. It was there.”
“Why a drawing? Why not a phone call?”
“I thought the drawing was more likely to get your attention.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
There was an aura of calmness about her, a sense that she was perfectly at peace with herself and everything around her. She looked back out over the river.
“It’s cancer,” she said, “your wife.”
Lucky guess. Coincidence. She knows someone who knows me and she’s heard about it from them.
“No,” I said. “My wife doesn’t have cancer.”
“You lie poorly. She’s very strong, isn’t she?”
“I don’t have time for-”
“And so are you, but you draw much of your strength from her.”
“I’m sorry, but you still haven’t told me your name. You know, I could probably have you arrested just because of what was in the drawing. Would you like to continue this conversation at the police station?”
