Turning Angel

family he’d worked so hard to build and sustain-erased her from the world?

No. The boy I grew up with, had he committed such a heinous act, would have owned up to it and taken his punishment like a man, as the archaic phrase goes. That may be a quaint and sexist notion these days, but some of what is best about the South is archaic. The tragedy is that it should be so.

If Drew didn’t kill her,says a voice in my head, then why didn’t he call for help when he found Kate’s body?

”He’s a doctor,“ I say aloud. ”He knew she was already dead. All he would have accomplished by reporting the body was the destruction of his family.“

But what if he didn’t mean to kill her? What if they were playing a sex game, and it simply got out of hand?

”He would have told me that,“ I mutter. ”He would have.“

When you start talking to yourself in a graveyard, it’s time to go home.

As I turn toward my car, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Caitlin, calling from the newspaper. I haven’t spoken to her since last night. My phone showed a missed call from her when I woke up this morning, but she’d called from the paper and hadn’t left a message, so I didn’t call her back. She must be desperate to question me about all the murders, but she’s trying hard to preserve the illusion that she won’t exploit our relationship in order to write a better story.

”Hey,“ I answer, looking down the hill toward Jenny Townsend and Reverend Herrick.

”Where are you?“ Caitlin asks.

”The cemetery.“

”Oh. Can you talk?“

”Yeah. Go ahead.“

”I’ve got bad news and bad news.“

No mention of last night, just straight into our old banter. ”Give me the bad first.“

”The cops just located the spot where Kate Townsend died. The actual crime scene.“

”Where?“ I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

”They’ve been searching St. Catherine’s Creek ever since they found Kate’s cell phone. About two hours ago, they found human blood and hair on the edge of a wheel rim that was half buried in the sand. They say it’s where the edge of the creek would have been on the day she was killed. It was flooded, apparently.“

”Yes. I think the rain slacked up about an hour before Kate died.“

”The blood they found is the same type as Kate’s. They’re going to send it for a DNA test, of course. But the hair is a perfect match.“

My shoulders sag. ”Was this anywhere close to where they found Kate’s cell phone?“

”About fifty yards away. Right between Pinehaven and Sherwood Estates.“

Right between Drew’s house and Kate’s house, and exactly where he told me he discovered her body. If Kate bled heavily there, she probably died there-which means she didnot die far upstream at Brightside Manor. Cyrus White suddenly looks a lot less guilty than he did thirty seconds ago. And the chances that the police will tie Drew to the actual murder scene with physical evidence just went up astronomically.

”I know that’s bad for Drew,“ Caitlin says in a careful tone.

”He’ll be okay. Who found the blood? The sheriff’s department or the police?“

”The police.“

Thank God for small favors.”Hm.“

”The FBI is in town now, though. DEA, too. They’re setting up a multi-jurisdictional task force in the old Sears store at Tracetown Shopping Center.“

”Good.“

”So maybe all the evidence will be shared from now on.“

”I wouldn’t assume that.“

Caitlin is silent. She wants more information about Drew, but she’s not going to push for it.

”What’s the other bad news?“ I ask.

”Ten minutes ago, Mayor Jones officially resigned. He’s no longer the mayor of Natchez.“

I close my eyes and reach behind me for somewhere to sit down.

”Jones issued his statement to me personally. The Wilson murders were the last straw. This poor guy was trying to do chemotherapy and run the city at the same time. It might have been possible during normal times, but now…it’s sad, really.“

I can’t quite get my mind around this. A decision I’d thought I had at least a month to ponder will now have to be made within days, and maybe within hours.

”Are you there, Penn?“

”Here.“

”Are you picking up Annie today?“

”Mia’s bringing her home.“

”Oh.“ A little coldness in the voice? ”Penn, now that Jones has stepped down, there’s going to be a special election in less than forty-five days. That’s the law.“

”I know.“

”Well, you’ve made some oblique comments about pursuing that job yourself in the past month.“

”I know.“

”Well…if you’re going to run, you’ll have to announce in a matter of days.“

”I know that, too, Caitlin.“

I hear her breathing, slow and steady. ”Are you going to do that?“

This isn’t the time or place to reveal anything, but I can’t deceive her. ”I’m not sure. But right now, I’m leaning in that direction.“

More silence. Then she speaks in a falsely chipper voice. ”If Mia’s keeping Annie after school, let’s try to get some early dinner. We can spend some time with Annie later at your house.“

”That sounds good.“

”Good. Planet Thailand?“

”Ah…no privacy. How about the Castle?“

”Okay. Call me.“

”I will.“

I put the phone back in my pocket, then turn and sit on the brick wall behind me. I’ve come to the proverbial fork in the road. I began my adult life as a private practice lawyer. Then I became a prosecutor. When I could tolerate that life no longer, I started writing about it instead of living it. That career has been good to me. But has the time come to leave it behind and take up yet another profession? Or would I necessarily have to leave writing behind? Would running this city require every waking hour of my days and nights? Of course it would, says my inner censor. You’re not talking about taking on a new job. You’re talking about a cause, a mission, a crusade-trying to save the town that bore you, to lift it out of a paralysis caused by economic stagnation and persistent racism. And no one’s going to thank you for the effort. You’re going to pay a price, and losing Caitlin may be part of it. And the biggest joke of all? You could spend every ounce of time and energy you have and not make a bit of difference-

A slamming car door snaps me back to reality. Down in the Zurhellen Addition, Jenny Townsend and Reverend Herrick are finally leaving. It’s time for me to go, too. But something holds me here. For the first time, Kate Townsend and I are completely alone. I wish she could speak to me. If she could describe her last minutes, a lot of people’s lives would be simplified, and justice might actually be served. But she can’t speak, and in her muteness she will become the center of a political storm that will be a trial only in name.

After a silent prayer for Kate, I jog down the hill to my car, then pull onto Cemetery Road. An overloaded log truck is rumbling toward me. Last week I might have tried to squeeze around it, but after Chief Logan’s tale of drivers who drink beer in the cab all day, I pull onto the grass beside the cemetery wall to let it pass. The ground shudders as the big truck roars by me, but after it does, I pull back onto the road and head toward town.

On my right, the Mississippi River cuts inexorably through the continent, rolling down toward Baton Rouge and New Orleans like Time Incarnate. As I clear the steep slope of Jewish Hill on my left, the Turning Angel comes into