'The next one.'
'Right, the next one. Every other Friday, I'd go to the games. I never sat in the same place twice, never wore the same clothes. Used different caps. You learn these things when you're tracking someone. She became my whole world, and I could feel the urges getting stronger and stronger. I knew what was about to happen, but I couldn't stop it. I can never stop it. Never.' He took a sip of coffee and grimaced.
'Did you see Donte Drumm play?' Keith asked.
'Maybe, I don't remember. I never watched the games, didn't notice anything but Nicole. Then, suddenly, no more Nicole. The season was over. I got desperate. She drove this hot little red BMW, the only one in town, so she was not too hard to find, if you knew where to look. She liked the usual hangouts. I saw her car parked at the mall that night, figured she was at the movies. I waited and waited. I'm very patient when I have to be. When the parking space next to her car became vacant, I backed into it.'
'What were you driving?'
'An old Chevrolet pickup, stole it in Arkansas. Stole the tags in Texas. I backed into the parking space so my door was next to hers. When she walked into the trap, I jumped her. I had a gun and a roll of duct tape, and that's all I ever needed. Not a sound.'
He rattled off the details with an unaffected detachment, as if describing a scene from a movie. This is what happened. This is how I did it. Don't expect me to make sense of it.
The tears were long gone. 'It was a bad weekend for Nikki. I almost felt sorry for her.'
'I don't really want those details,' Keith said, interrupting. 'How long did you stay in Slone after you killed her?'
'A few weeks, I guess. Through Christmas, into January. I was reading the local paper, watching the late-night news. The town was in a frenzy over the girl. Saw her mom cry on television. Real sad. Every day there was another search party, with a television news crew chasing after it. Fools. Nikki was two hundred miles away, sleeping with the angels.' He actually chuckled at the memory.
'Surely, you don't think this is funny.'
'Sorry, Pastor.'
'How did you hear about the arrest of Donte Drumm?'
'There was a little greasy spoon near the motel, and I liked to go there for coffee early in the morning. I heard 'em talking, said a football player had confessed, a black boy. I bought a newspaper, sat in my truck, read the story, and thought, What a bunch of idiots! I was stunned. Couldn't believe it. There was a mug shot of Drumm, nice-looking kid, and I remember staring at his face and thinking that he must've had a screw loose. Why else would he confess to my crime? Kinda pissed me off. The boy had to be crazy. Then the next day his lawyer came out strong in the paper, yelling about how the confession was bogus, how the cops tricked the kid, overwhelmed him, broke him down, wouldn't let him out of the room for fifteen hours. That made sense to me. I've never met a cop I could trust. The town almost blew up. The whites wanted to string him up on Main Street. The blacks felt pretty strongly the boy was getting railroaded. Things were tense. Lots of fights at the high school. Then I got fired and moved on.'
'Why were you fired?'
'Stupid. Stayed too long in a bar one night. The cops busted me for drunk driving, then they realized the truck and tags were stolen. I spent a week in jail.'
'In Slone?'
'Yep. Check it out. January 1999. Charged with grand larceny, drunk driving, and whatever else they could throw at me.'
'Was Drumm in the same jail?'
'Never saw him, but there was a lot of talk. Rumor was they'd moved him to another county for safety reasons. I couldn't help but laugh. The cops had the real killer, they just didn't know it.'
Keith made notes, but had trouble believing what he was actually writing. He asked, 'How'd you get out?'
'They assigned me a lawyer. He got my bond lowered. I bailed out, skipped town, and never went back. I drifted here and there and then got arrested in Wichita.'
'Do you remember the lawyer's name?'
'You still fact-checking, Pastor?'
'Yes.'
'You think I'm lying?'
'No, but it doesn't hurt to check the facts.'
'No, I don't remember his name. I've had a lot of lawyers in my life. Never paid 'em a dime.'
'The arrest in Wichita was for attempted rape, right?'
'Sort of. Attempted sexual battery, plus kidnapping. There was no sex, didn't make it that far. The girl knew karate. Things didn't go the way I planned. She kicked me in the balls and I puked for two days.'
'I believe your sentence was ten years. You served six, now you're here.'
'Nice job, Pastor. You've done your homework.'
'Did you keep up with the Drumm case?'
'Oh, I thought about it off and on for a few years. I figured the lawyers and courts would eventually realize they had the wrong boy. I mean, hell, even in Texas they have higher courts to review cases and such. Surely, somebody along the way would wake up and see the obvious. Over time, I guess I forgot about it. Had my own problems. When you're in max security, you don't spend a lot of time worrying about other people.'
'What about Nikki? You spend time thinking about her?'
Boyette did not respond, and as the seconds limped along, it became obvious that he would not answer the question. Keith kept scribbling, making notes to himself about what to do next. Nothing was certain.
'Do you have any sympathy for her family?'
'I was raped when I was eight years old. I don't recall a single word of sympathy from anyone. In fact, no one raised a hand to stop it. It went on. You've seen my record, Pastor, I've had several victims. I couldn't stop. Not sure I can stop now. Obviously, sympathy is not something I waste time with.'
Keith shook his head with a look of disgust.
'Don't get me wrong, Pastor. I have a lot of regrets. I wish I hadn't done all those terrible things. I've wished a million times that I could be normal. My whole life I've wanted to stop hurting people, to somehow straighten up, stay out of prison, get a job, and all that. I didn't choose to be like this.'
Keith deliberately folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. He screwed the cap onto his pen. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Boyette. 'I guess you're willing to sit by and let things run their course down in Texas.'
'No, I'm troubled by it. I'm just not sure what to do.'
'What if they found the body? You tell me where she's buried, and I'll try to contact the right people down there.'
'You sure you want to get involved?'
'No, but I can't ignore it either.'
Boyette bent forward and began pawing at his head again. 'It's impossible for anybody else to find her,' he said, his voice breaking up. A moment passed, and the pain eased. 'I'm not sure I could now. It's been so long.'
'It's been nine years.'
'Not that long. I went back to see her a few times after she died.'
Keith showed him both palms and said, 'I don't want to hear it. Suppose I call Drumm's lawyer and tell him about the body. I won't give your name, but at least someone down there knows the truth.'
'Then what?'
'I don't know. I'm not a lawyer. Maybe I can convince someone. I'm willing to try.'
'The only person who can possibly find her is me, and I can't leave the state of Kansas. Hell, I can't leave this county. If I do, they'll bust me for parole violations and send me back to prison. Pastor, I ain't going back to prison.'
'What difference does it make, Travis? You'll be dead in a few months, according to your own words.'
Boyette became very calm and still and began tapping his fingertips together. He stared at Keith with hard, dry, unblinking eyes. He spoke softly, but firmly. 'Pastor, I can't admit to a murder.'
