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"Of course," I said, surprised. I didn't know Abe Madden. I didn't have to be careful of his feelings or his reputation. "If his attitude toward the vanishing boys was really the one I've heard described, then of course it had a bearing. Possibly if the investigation had gotten under way quicker, we'd have a few more kids walking around alive."
"But will assigning blame make this any easier?" Doak asked rhetorically.
I decided to take the question literally. "Yes, it will, for everyone but Abe Madden," I said. "Assigning blame does help people feel better, in a lot of ways. At least in my experience. Plus, if you can correct the behavior that led to the problem, the problem might not repeat itself." I shrugged. Maybe, maybe not.
I'll say this for Doak Garland, he didn't just whip out a platitude, as some men of the cloth were prone to do. He mulled the idea over. "There's a lot in that," he said. "But really, Ms. Co
I thought in my turn. "Okay, there's something to that, too," I admitted. "But there is blame to be assigned here, and the former sheriff should shoulder at least some of it."
"As he did," Doak Garland said. "In fact, it would be a good idea if I dropped by to see him. He may be thinking the same way you are."
I wondered if the pastor was trying to make me feel guilty in turn, but I didn't. I don't like to see people get depressed or shu
We didn't have any more to say, I felt. I raised my eyebrows at Tolliver, and he said, "Pastor, we've got to be going." Without further conversation, we rolled up our windows and pulled out of the parking lot.
"Where are we going?" Tolliver asked. "I mean, I can drive around aimlessly, but since there are still patches of ice…"
"I'm hungry, what about you?" I asked, and that was easy to answer. All the businesses in Doraville appeared to be open now, and people were going about their affairs with an air of relief. I felt relieved, too. We could get out of here just about any time now.
"What if we just left?" Tolliver said. "We could be on the interstate going in the right direction in an hour. We could find twenty restaurants."
I was surely tempted. We were sitting in the parking lot of the McDonald's again, and I stared at the golden arches, trying to feel something besides resignation.
"We have to return the key," I said, stalling.
"Yeah, a five-minute delay."
"Will they let us?"
"‘They' being the SBI guys? Sandra Rockwell?"
"Any of the above."
"What could they want us for?"
"We haven't signed a statement about yesterday."
"Yeah, true. We might need to stop by the police station for forty-five minutes and do that. Okay, let's go get a burger, and then we'll tie things up."
I wanted to leave, really I did, but there was something nagging at me, or maybe two or three things nagging at me. But I kept reminding myself I wasn't a police officer, and I wasn't responsible. On the other hand, if I suspected something, I should mention it to someone who'd take me seriously.
I hardly registered standing in line with Tolliver, whom I had to stop thinking of as my brother. We were way past that now. And I realized that now I could touch him in public. Now he knew how I felt. He felt the same way. I didn't have to hide it anymore. It was awful how strong the habit of standing away from him, not touching him, not watching him, had become once I was afraid of losing him if he realized that I loved him. Since the ice storm, I could watch him all I wanted, and he would enjoy it.
"Do you remember us talking yesterday about what Xylda said in Memphis? That in the time of ice, we would be so happy?" I asked him.
"She did say that. We agreed that Xylda wasn't a fraud, at least not all of the time."
"I think that as she got older, she got closer to the bone," I said.
"I don't know if that daughter of hers will ever believe it."
"Rain just wants everything to be normal," I said. "Maybe if I'd been brought up by Xylda, with all her ups and downs and spiritual moments, I'd be the same way."
"I think the way we were brought up was bad enough."
He was right about that. Being raised by Xylda would have been a cakewalk compared to living in the trailer in Texarkana.
I thought again of the sacrifice Chuck Almand had made as I sat alone at our table, waiting for Tolliver to bring our order. I'd gathered the napkins and straws with one hand, transported them, and returned to get the ketchup packets. I stared down at the table, which was clean, and wished I never had to go into another fast-food place in my life, before I returned to the subject of Chuck, niggling at the puzzle of his behavior.
Tolliver put the tray on the table, and I began taking my food off. At least I could eat this food one-handed. Without asking, Tolliver tore open three ketchups for me and squirted them on my French fries.
"Thanks," I said, and went back to thinking. But this was no place to tell Tolliver what I was worried about, even if I could put it together—not here, where every soul in Doraville who wasn't at school or at work was crowded in together sharing germs and eating food that was bad for them. I lost my appetite quickly, and piled my trash back on the tray.
"What's wrong?" Tolliver asked. He did care, but I could hear the undertone of anxiety, maybe of irritation. He wanted to leave. Doraville gave him the creeps and the deaths of all those young men was giving him nightmares.
"After we leave here, let's go out to the death site," I said. "I'm really, really sorry," I added when I saw the expression on his face. "But I need to."
"We found the bodies," he said, in as low a voice as he could manage. "We found them. We did what was required. We got our money."
We so seldom disagreed, or at least we hardly ever felt so strongly about our disagreements. I felt sick.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "Can we just leave here, and talk about it?"
In a stiff silence Tolliver dumped our trash into the receptacle and thumped the tray down on top. He held the door for me when we left, and unlocked the car and got in the driver's side, of course, but he didn't start it up. He sat there waiting for an explanation. He'd almost never done that before. Usually, whatever I said went. But now our relationship had changed in deep ways, and we didn't yet know the new balance. It had shifted, though. Now I had to explain, and I accepted that. It hadn't always been comfortable, being Queen of the World. I'd gotten a little too used to it, too.
In the past, I would simply have told him I needed to see the site again, and he would have driven me there without asking me any further questions. At least, most of the time. I pulled my left leg up on the seat and twisted so my back was to the passenger door. He was waiting.
"Here's my thinking." I took a deep breath. "In the story we've got now, the way it looks, Chuck Almand was helping his dad secure the boys. His dad was bringing him along in the family business by showing him how to kill cats and dogs and other small animals, so Chuck would grow up into a big serial killer like Papa Tom. Right?"
Tolliver nodded.
"But that thinking is wrong," I said. "If Chuck was helping his dad, if we accept the idea that it would take more than two people to subdue the boys—"
"Gacy worked alone," Tolliver said.
That was true. John Wayne Gacy had tortured and killed boys in the Chicago area, and he'd acted alone. Plus, in the pictures I'd seen, he hadn't looked like any really fit guy. "He got them to put on handcuffs, right?" I said. "Told them they were trick handcuffs and he'd show them how to take them off, and then they turned out to be real?"