“It’s sort of a work in progress,” I say. “I’m just not sure what we’re progressing towards.”
“This is not such a bad place to live, you know?” he says.
“You mean except for the part where people kill lawyers?” I ask.
“You know what I mean,” he says. “There’s crime everywhere, but this place sure has less than most. I’m just saying it’s a nice community, and you could do worse, if you decided to stay here when this is over.”
“I’d go absolutely insane, and within a year I’d kill myself,” I say.
He smiles. “But that’s really the only downside.”
Laurie calls right after lunch to tell me that she confronted Mrs. Barlow with the latest news about Eddie but that the woman continued to deny any knowledge of him or his relationship with her daughter. I’m sure she’s lying, and I continue to be amazed that she would be so resistant to finding out the truth about her daughter’s death.
With jury selection rapidly approaching, I head home to start preparing for my opening statement. I jot down little notes and phrases that pop into my head, but I resist the temptation to actually write out the statement. I like to make it as extemporaneous as possible; I feel I connect better with the jury that way.
Kevin, as is his practice, gives me a lengthy memo presenting his view of what should be included in the opening statement. It is a perfect example of why Kevin and I complement each other so well.
If Kevin has a weakness as an attorney, it is that he’s too detail-oriented. This fourteen-page memo brings up every imaginable nuance in the case but perhaps lacks a “big picture” approach. A fair criticism of Kevin, as evidenced by the memo, might be that he doesn’t see the forest for the trees.
I, on the other hand, have a tendency to see only the forest, without even noticing that there are any trees. I pay far too little attention to detail, which is a substantial weakness. Fortunately, it is amply compensated for by Kevin’s working alongside me.
Another of my weaknesses is that, while I make some effort to prepare in advance for things like this opening statement, I find it hard to get really serious about it until it is imminent. So after spending an hour or so at it tonight, my mind wanders and I wind up falling asleep on the couch while watching an NBA game on ESPN. Tara’s head rests on my leg as she sleeps, and that’s how we wake up in the morning.
The phone is ringing when Tara and I return from our morning walk. I rush in to pick it up, and I get it simultaneously with the answering machine.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Carpenter, this is Eddie Carson.”
I’m shocked at this piece of news, but I attempt to conceal that and talk calmly. “Eddie… I’ve been looking for you.”
He speaks haltingly, apparently nervous. “I know… I’m sorry I ran away… but I didn’t know who you were. I thought Drummond might have sent you.”
I have a thousand questions I can ask him, including why he might be afraid of Drummond, but I don’t want to ask him over the phone. I know so little about what is going on that I’m afraid I could stumble upon a question that could scare him off. My sole priority now is to get Eddie in a room.
“When can we get together?” I ask. “All I want to do is talk to you.”
“Okay… yeah… I’m ready to do that. I’m gettin’ real scared.”
“Where are you?”
“You’re the only one coming?” he asks, obviously wary.
“I’ll bring my associate along, if that’s okay. He’s a lawyer like I am.”
A pause, then, “okay.”
He tells me the name of another motel, on a highway about four hours from here. I’m getting a little tired of driving all over Wisconsin looking for this guy, but there’s no alternative. “Just wait for me, okay? I’ll be there around one o’clock.”
He promises that he will, and gives me his room number. Kevin comes into the house as I’m getting off the phone, and I tell him what just happened. As I’m doing so, I get out the map, to figure out what our route will be.
“I’ll call Marcus,” Kevin says, heading for the phone.
“I told him I’d just bring you,” I say.
“Well, you just changed your mind,” says Kevin, and I don’t argue. He calls Marcus and tells him where we are going.
I speak to Kevin while he is still on the phone with Marcus. “Tell him to follow us at a distance.” I want it this way so that Eddie doesn’t see Marcus with us, since that could easily get him to run away again. I also don’t want to have to listen to classical music for four hours.
Kevin and I are in the car within fifteen minutes. I don’t see Marcus, but then again I never do. I trust that he will be there if we need him, but my hunch is that this time we won’t.
This time Eddie has come looking for us.
Luckily, the weather today is fine, if one doesn’t mind freezing cold, so the drive is much easier. I’m also anxious to get there before Eddie can change his mind, so my foot is a little heavier on the gas pedal than last time.
The motel that Eddie has directed us to is the Peter Pan Motor Hotel, a two-story establishment that makes the Parker Motel look like a Ritz-Carlton. As with the Parker, the parking lot wraps around the place so that guests can park in front of their rooms. My guess, based on the classiness of the place, is that many of their guests only take their rooms for an hour or so in the afternoon.
Eddie told us his room number, so there’s no reason for us to stop off at the front desk. We park near the outdoor staircase, since his room is on the second floor. I look around for Marcus but can’t find him… business as usual.
Kevin and I walk up the stairs and then around the building toward the room. I feel a flicker of nervousness at what is about to happen. It’s unlikely that Eddie would be leading us into a trap, but there is always that possibility. Kevin was absolutely right to call Marcus.
We reach room 223, and I knock on the door. As I do so, I see that it is only half closed and can be pushed open. I wait for someone to answer, but no one does. I hope Eddie has gone out, maybe for a bite to eat, and will be back soon. I’ll be really pissed if he’s bailed out on us again.
I push open the door and call out, “Eddie?”
No answer, so Kevin and I enter the room. The bed is unmade, there are some papers on the desk, but no sign of Eddie. I go toward the open bathroom door and look in.
There is a skylight in the bathroom, with a metal latch. One end of the rope is tied to this latch, and the other end is tied to Eddie’s grotesquely twisted neck as he gently swings, his feet about eighteen inches above the bathroom floor.
• • • • •
I’VE SEEN DEAD bodies before, both murder victims and otherwise, but it’s not something I’m likely to get used to any time soon. For some reason the image of Eddie’s shoes, slowly drifting in the air, is one I believe that I will never forget.
Kevin comes to the door to see if I’ve discovered anything. “Holy shit,” he says, mostly to himself.
I close the door with us on the outside of it. I ask Kevin to call 911 as I look around the room, and it doesn’t take long to find the note sitting on top of the desk.
It’s a rambling two-page letter, in longhand but legible. I’m careful to just nudge the edges of the pages so as not to smudge any fingerprints, but there is no way I’m not going to read this. It consists of a confession of guilt to the murders of Liz Barlow and Sheryl Hendricks, as well as an apology to the victims, the victims’ families, and God, for what he has done.
Included are three paragraphs in which he describes the murders as having been committed because Liz broke off their “engagement” and he just went “crazy” at the prospect of a life without her. His last paragraph is a specific apology to Jeremy for the pain he has caused him. He acknowledges burying the bodies on Jeremy’s property, as well as putting specks of the victims’ blood in Jeremy’s truck, which he says was parked in Center City.
Kevin and I wait outside the room for the local police to arrive, since we have neither a desire to contaminate
