Blood of the Lamb

Since I couldn’t work where Nicole’s blood still stained the floor, Merrill and I went into the staff chaplain’s office, which was vacant now and would be until we actually got funds appropriated to hire a staff chaplain.

Merrill was sweating heavily, and the dark skin of his face and arms glistened under the harsh flourescent light. When he sat down, his large frame dwarfed the chair across from the desk, and he looked like a parent sitting down to a child’s tea party.

I opened the bottom right drawer of the desk, withdrew a couple of paper cups, and poured orange juice from a can into them.

“So,” he said. “You know whodunit yet?”

I shook my head.

“I can’t even get my mind around a motive,” I said. “I mean the most obvious would be sexual-”

“She been messed with?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen the prelim autopsy report yet, but- ”

“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout her murder,” he said.

I had been so focused on her murder, I hadn’t even considered that she might be the victim of molestation, which would be a powerful motive.

“Bobby Earl?” I asked.

He nodded.

My mind began to race.

“Whacha thinkin’?” he asked.

“That if a public figure wanted to kill his adopted daughter because she was about to tell the world his dirty little secret, bringing her inside prison to do it would be… brilliant.”

“Nobody said Bobby Earl was stupid,” he said. “If he was messin’ with her-”

“Which is a very big if, but certainly something we need to file away for consideration if the autopsy shows-”

“What’s this we shit, white boy?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’ve got to interview them,” I said.

“When you talkin’ about Bunny, you can say we.”

I laughed.

“You notice the way Bobby Earl’s handling the death of his daughter?” he asked.

“You mean in as public a way as possible?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Now, I hate to be cynical, but I bet he receive one hell of an outpouring of well-wishes and financial support because of it.”

“Word on the compound is he had a very large life insurance policy on her, too,” I said. “And that he’s mobbed up and in need of a quick stimulus package for his struggling economy.”

“If he brought that little girl in our house to kill her for money… for any reason…” he began, but was unable to finish.

“I know,” I said.

“Just do me a favor and don’t be askin’ me to give the motherfucker mercy.”

I didn’t say anything.

My religion, what little I practice of it, is compassion. Merrill’s if he has one, is justice. More often than not, they compliment each other, but occasionally they throw us into conflict. I couldn’t imagine this would be one of those times, but when they came they almost always surprised me.

“Could it have been anybody else?” he asked. “I mean really.”

I nodded. “I can think of a couple of ways it could be one of the inmates or staff members that were here.”

He nodded. “I almost hope it is somebody else.”

We both grew silent a moment, retreating into the disturbing thoughts inside our heads, comfortable with each other’s quiet company. I thought about what he had said about mercy, and realized I wasn’t feeling any at the moment either. I wondered if I would before we caught whoever committed this unimaginably dark deed.

“Cedric Porter says he was Nicole’s real father,” I said.

“You believe him?”

“Looking into it,” I said. “Says Bunny was a chapel secretary at Lake Butler and they had an affair. That’s where she met Bobby Earl.”

“He saying Bunny was her mother?”

I nodded. “Says Bobby Earl just found out and that’s why he killed her and now he’s trying to have him killed.”

Looking off in the distance as he thought about it, Merrill took another big swallow of his orange juice. It was the way he did everything. Without meaning it to be, most everything Merrill did was big. It wasn’t bravado or for show, it wasn’t even conscious. Noticing the way the paper cup was nearly completely hidden in his huge hand, I realized again that it could not be otherwise.

“I realize I ain’t no ecclesiastical sleuth,” he said with a smile, “but I don’t see how anybody but Bobby Earl benefits from her death.”

“We’ve got to figure out a way to interview him,” I said.

“Big Easy ain’t far from here,” he said. “Just ride over and pay him a little visit.”

“Got no jurisdiction over there,” I said.

“If he killed that little girl, fuck jurisdiction,” he said.

“Good point,” I said.

“And it ain’t like we got any jurisdiction here.”

“An even better good point,” I said.

The phone on my desk rang. I picked up after two rings and no one was there. I hung up and it started ringing again. This time someone was there. But no one I would’ve ever expected.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said, and within the split second of recognition came a flood of old familiar feelings. It was as if a secret door somewhere in my heart had been unlocked and all the vanquished spirits it held had rushed out at once.

The ‘me’ of, “Hey, it’s me,” was my ex-wife, Susan.

“Hey,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she said, pausing awkwardly before adding, “Really.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s good. Really.”

We both laughed small, slightly nervous laughs.

I looked over at Merrill. I was sure he could read the awkwardness in my expression and voice, but he gave no indication, just sat there staring at nothing.

Susan and I had shared a life together once, but that had been a lifetime ago.

“How long’s it been?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “At least a year. I’ve been down here that long.”

“It doesn’t seem like that long,” she said. “Does it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it doesn’t… but in some ways it seems a whole lot longer.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re right, I guess. I’ve been going to an ACOA support group for about nine months now.”

I was shocked. It hadn’t been my drinking as much as my sobriety that had ended our marriage. The child of an alcoholic, Susan knew how to cope with addiction. It was recovery, the absence of problems, that had given her the biggest problem. To hear now, a year after our marriage had ended, that she was in a recovery group of her own left me stunned, my mind reeling.

“Really?”

“Really,” she said, adding with a laugh. “I’m not lying.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, though of course I did. “It’s just… I’m so… surprised.”

“No one’s more surprised than me. I’ve been in an ALA-NON group, too.”

“That’s really great,” I said.

We were silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said.