A Kiss Gone Bad (17 page)

‘Wrestling? She ever watch Joltin’ Jabez Jones?’ Claudia asked.

Mrs Ballew brightened. ‘Oh, yeah, the guy who became the preacher? Sure, she watched his show. She was a big fan of his.’

The Honorable Whit Mosley curbed the impulse to put the small-claims hearings on a kitchen timer. Watching the Augustine brothers
bicker was like rewinding a moment from his own rowdy family’s past, where the six brothers routinely waged war over who scarfed
down the nacho chips and who erased the Super Bowl tape and who spread lard across a brother’s bedsheets.

The division between the Augustines – who seemed to be sharing IQ points – was a homemade barbecue grill. Each side had laid
out the facts of their case in a style that would have won them admirers on the tabloid talk-show circuit.

‘Let me get this straight,’ Whit said. ‘Tony, you built the grill using your own labor, correct?’

‘Damn straight. Sir.’ Tony Augustine nodded. He was a year older than Whit and had been a minor bully in junior high, and
now realized he might pay for past transgressions. ‘Sweat of my own brow. Judge.’

‘But you used Cliff’s materials, correct?’

‘That’s right. Your Honor,’ said Cliff Augustine. He had never pushed anyone out of the lunch line and suspected he had the
moral high ground. ‘I spent all the money on the materials: the bricks, the racks, the wiring, all of it.’

‘And, Tony, because there would be no grill without your high level of craftsmanship’ – the sarcasm was not lost on Judge
Mosley’s clerk, the constable, the Augustines, or the few spectators waiting to argue their own cases – ‘you now want it back.’

‘Well, yeah.’ Tony gulped. ‘I mean, we were gonna
share it, but now our wives ain’t getting along. It’s a real sweet grill, makes the best ribs you’ve ever put in your mouth.’
A hint of bribery honeyed Tony’s voice. Whit believed a plate of the heavenly meats might anonymously arrive at his doorstep,
if all went Tony’s way.

‘It’s ridiculous that two grown brothers can’t resolve this,’ Whit said. ‘You’re wasting this court’s time, boys. So call
me Solomon. I’m ordering that the grill be divided equally. Right down the middle. You get the right half. Cliff, and you
get the left half, Tony.’

‘That’ll destroy it!’ Tony exploded.

‘Are you nuts?’ Cliff demanded.

‘Watch it,’ Constable Lloyd Brundrett, who served as bailiff in Whit’s court, rumbled.

‘Sorry, Your Honor,’ Cliff said in sudden meekness. ‘I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.’

‘Or option B is you two resolve this peaceably right now,’ Whit said. Neither Augustine spoke.

‘Fine, that’s my judgment. The sheriff’s deputies will execute this order at their earliest …’

‘Wait!’ Cliff yelled. ‘Please. Please, Judge. Wait. All right, Tony built it. He can have the grill. I don’t want to see it
ruined.’

Tony pumped his fist in the air in a redneck jig.

Whit rapped the gavel and pointed it at Tony. ‘Stop that celebrating. Right. This. Minute.’

The hand dropped; the hips ceased their victory sway.

‘Tony, if your brother is letting you have the grill, I strongly suggest you work out a plan to reimburse him for the cost
of his materials, over time and either with cash or barter. Maybe you could feed him and his family some of that barbecue
you bragged about. You need to be a good brother. Understood?’

Tony finally nodded, surprised and still pleased.

‘Fine. Case dismissed.’

His clerk handed him the file for the next case. Neighbors bickering over ownership of a lawn mower. In the next hour he adjudicated
four more cases. Patsy Duchamp slipped in and sat in the back row of the courtroom. When he completed the last case and the
courtroom emptied, Patsy approached the bench and slid him a folder.

The news clippings on Corey Hubble you wanted, Whit,’ she said.

Thanks. The margaritas are on me.’

‘Sure could use a good quote for the Hubble story.’

‘I’m sorry. Patsy, not yet. I should hear from the ME’s office real soon.’ He tucked the file under his arm and promised to
call her as soon as there was news.

Whit ducked down the hall into his office, relieved to have the day’s docket done. Five cases in justice court resolved in
barely an hour. The voters could not say justice wasn’t damned swift in Encina County. Maybe he ought to make that a mainstay
of his campaign.

Whit opened his office door and found Sam Hubble sitting in front of his desk, head bowed, hands in lap.

The boy stood slowly. ‘Hi, Judge Mosley. You got a minute?’

‘Sure, Sam. How are you?’

‘Holding up. I’m kind of freaked about my dad.’

‘That’s understandable.’ Whit’s tongue felt thick and oily. He sat behind his desk, smoothing the black robe. Trying not to
let the thought
I’ve been screwing your mother
play across his face. ‘I know this is a tough time for your whole family.’

Wow, what next can I pull out from the bag of clichéd platitudes?

‘I wanted to talk to you about my father. Stuff … I couldn’t say with Gram and Mom around. If you want,
we can call them after I’ve said what I got to say.’ His tone was resolute. He looked like Pete: broad-shouldered, tall,
lanky, with a shock of brown hair. He’d inherited Faith’s eyes, hazel and direct, and a thin slice of a mouth that reminded
Whit of Lucinda.

Then let’s talk.’

‘I’m sorry for what I did,’ Sam said, and Whit’s stomach dropped. ‘My dad killed himself. I know because … I found the body.
First. Not that girl.’

Thin light slanted through the half-shut blinds, and in the bars of shadow Sam reminded Whit not of the other Hubbles, but
of lost Corey, hunched, beaten down.

‘I didn’t want anyone to know,’ Sam said. ‘But I can’t do this to Gram, let her think … maybe Dad was murdered.’ He swallowed.
‘I went back to the boat Monday night. To see my father.’

‘Did he know you were coming?’

‘No. I just wanted to talk with him. It felt weird sometimes, knowing he had been gone most of my life and yet he was now
just a few miles away.’

‘Did you get along with him?’

Sam shrugged. ‘He wasn’t as bad as I thought he would be. But he abandoned Mom and me. I wasn’t ever going to forgive him.
Yeah, I could get along with him okay, but forgive, never. I think he knew that.’

Sam pulled a folded paper from his pocket and laid it on Whit’s desk. ‘I went to go see him about eight-thirty. The boat was
dead quiet. So I went aboard and I found him.’ The boy’s voice quavered. ‘I freaked. I tried to wake him, but he was clearly
dead. His skin … it was still warm.’ He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I, like, froze, I didn’t know what
to do. Then I saw the note. It was on the nightstand table.’

‘So you weren’t at home with your mom, like you said in your statement?’

‘No. I snuck out; there’s a trellis by my window. It’s a quiet climb. Mom didn’t know I was gone. I’m sorry I lied on the
statement. I didn’t know what to do.’ Sam’s voice broke. ‘Because of what my father wrote.’

Whit took a tissue from a box and carefully unfolded the note. It was written in typeface, from a computer printer:

I came home thinking I could fix what was broke in me and I can’t. Mama, I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and what I
did to Corey. I killed him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. We argued over his drug use all those years ago, and I hit him and
he fell and hit his neck funny against the stair banister. He was dead in less than a minute and I panicked. Before you came
back to town I took his body out past Santa Margarita Island and weighed it down good and dumped it. I didn’t know what else
to do. I have tried to deaden the pain of this for years with all the wrong things in life and I just can’t go on. This way
is better. Sam and Faith, please forgive me. I love you both. Velvet – I don’t have the words. Be good. Mama – good luck in
the election and I hope me ending my pain doesn’t mess up things for you. You haven’t had an influence on me in years so no
one should blame you. I am just really unhappy about the person I am. Sam this has nothing to do with you at all. You are
aces and I love you. I am so so sorry and please forgive me. Pete.

Whit set the letter down on his desk. A tremble of nausea touched his stomach.

‘You’re going to have to give the police a revised statement, Sam.’

‘I know. But I came to you first … My mom said you decided whether or not it was suicide. Will you go with me to talk to the
police?’

‘Sure. But I’d like to know why you kept the note, why you didn’t say anything right away. There was a marina full of people
there you could have told.’

‘I know. I just … I didn’t want everyone to know he’d done what he said to his brother. I didn’t – I was worried about Gram’s
election, what this would mean. My grandmother … she’s gonna kill me for this. Not helping out right away. Telling a lie.’

‘What happened after you found the’ – Whit nearly said
body
and managed to edit midstream – ‘after you found the note?’

‘I stayed with him, for a few minutes.’ Sam lowered his eyes. ‘I know, it sounds weird, but I didn’t want him to be alone.
It seemed wrong to leave him. I thought of calling the police, but I thought maybe, what with Gram’s election coming up, maybe
I shouldn’t be in the news. So I just left, left the boat and left the marina.’ He wiped his dripping nose. ‘Pretty shitty,
huh? Am I in big trouble?’

‘Let’s call the police and call your mother.’ Whit picked up the phone and dialed the station. Claudia wasn’t in, but he was
transferred to Delford.

Delford blew out a long sigh. ‘Now, here I was telling y’all it was suicide, and Jesus if you and Claudia bickered with me
the whole way.’

‘Sam is here, but his mother needs to be present if he’s going to give a statement.’

‘Of course. I’ll give Lucinda and Faith a call right now.’

‘Thanks. We’ll walk across the street in a minute,’ Whit said and hung up.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said.

Whit placed the suicide note into a manila folder.
Outside the sky was a sweet blue smear and the Gulf wind whipped Whit’s robe around his legs. Sam shaded his eyes against
the unclouded sky.

Two questions occurred to Whit. ‘Did you notice whether your dad’s laptop was on the boat?’

Sam shook his head. ‘I didn’t notice a computer around.’

‘And did your father ever discuss a new film project with you?’

Sam shook his head. ‘He didn’t talk about his work to me. Did you know he made movies for driver’s ed?’

‘Yeah,’ Whit said, ‘I knew.’

They crossed the street and went inside to the police station.

‘Quite the development,’ Whit said after Sam had gotten settled in the chief’s office. The Hubble women had not yet arrived
but were on their way over. He and Delford had retired to the kitchen.

Delford filled a coffee cup with a shaking hand. ‘God. Relief. I’ll sleep better tonight.’

Whit folded his arms. ‘You’ll have that note tested for Pete’s fingerprints, right?’

‘Showboating is over, Whit.’

‘It’s typed, not handwritten. And his computer is still missing. Am I supposed to believe he typed a suicide note, then tossed
his laptop into the marina?’

Delford started to argue, then shrugged. ‘Damn, you’re difficult. Fine. I’ll tell Gardner.’

‘Why not Claudia?’

‘The case is Gardner’s now,’ Delford said through tight lips. ‘Not that there’s much of a case now, partner.’

Delford was right. Whit left. He didn’t want to see Faith right now. He walked to his car, shrugging out of
his robe. He tossed it in the backseat and drove a half block to the ice cream store he once managed. He was halfway through
a chocolate-almond double scoop when his pager beeped. The Nueces County medical examiner’s office calling.

‘This doesn’t have to be awkward,’ David said. He smoothed his damp hair with the flat of his palm.

Claudia’s fingers tapped against the computer keyboard. ‘Of course not. But it is.’ She finished her report and saved copies
to the hard drive and a diskette.

‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,’ he said.

She popped the diskette from the computer. ‘You’re not.’

‘So what’s bothering you?’ He palmed his hair again. ‘When you get mad, you don’t vent. You keep it all locked inside. But
I know you’re steamed.’

He’s not your husband anymore, and you don’t have to skirt an issue to keep the peace.
‘I felt like you were using that interview with that poor woman as a reason to see me.’

He laughed. ‘Well, don’t we think well of ourselves?’

‘Am I wrong?’

‘I didn’t steer her to you. She wanted to talk with PLPD, and Delford said you. But I’m not sorry to see you.’

‘David, aren’t you hurt? Doesn’t it bother you I didn’t want to be married to you anymore?’

‘Did you want to hurt me?’

‘Of course not.’

His mouth thinned. ‘Sure. Yeah. It hurts bad. I miss you awful fierce when I get home and it’s just me and the TV. But, like
you said, we’re still gonna run into each other.’

The casual sweetness of his tone prickled her skin. ‘Well, I think it’s just best we don’t overdo our time together. The point
of a divorce was to be apart.’

‘Was it all bad? Did you just hate me, or what?’ He blinked. ‘I would really like to know. I want to fix … whatever’s wrong
with me.’

She touched the back of his hand. ‘Oh, David. No, it wasn’t all bad, and no, I don’t hate you,’ she said. ‘I feel like we
got married because everyone said we were such a cute couple. It’s not enough. I know some woman’s going to scoop you right
up, because you’re a great guy, and I’ll still be a moping loner. But I wasn’t right for you.’

He carefully put his hat back on his head. She saw wetness glimmer in his eyes – he had never cried in front of her – and
he said, ‘Okay, thanks. I really did just want to know.’

David bumped into a smiling Eddie Gardner as he left, the two men exchanged friendly hellos, and Eddie dumped a photocopied
piece of paper on Claudia’s desk.

‘Suicide note. With prints from Hubble and his son,’ he said. ‘And it clears up the Corey Hubble case, too.’

Claudia read. ‘My God. Are they going to look for Corey’s body?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘The Hubbles asked we not release the note to the press. I suppose the Coast Guard or maybe the parks department
will look for remains, but that’s gonna be a waste of time. Mosley’s inquest is gonna be just a formality now.’ He smiled
and sat. ‘Man, I love clearing cases.’

‘Congratulations.’ Claudia turned back to her paperwork on two burglaries she had cleared on Friday, wishing she could slap
the smirk off his gaunt, ten-dollar-tan face.

An hour later, Eddie left for drinks at the Shell Inn with most of the day shift. He invited her to go, but she declined with
a polite smile.

‘Hey, no hard feelings, right?’

‘Of course not,’ she said. He grinned, slapped an Astros
cap on his head, and sauntered out, whistling ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise.’

She waited until he was gone for ten minutes and headed down the hall.

The old files of the Port Leo Police Department moldered in a locked back office. It was quiet now at six p.m. None of the
other detectives were here, most of the clerks had headed out, and the patrol shift was out cruising Port Leo.

Unlocking the ink-black storeroom, she pulled on a chain to click on a naked lightbulb. The room smelled of old paper, damp
brick, and, oddly, garlic. She went to a wall of cabinets. The files were organized by year, and then in turn by case number.
Only a few major cases had not been cleared. She wondered what murderers still walked free, with the warm sun of Port Leo
aglow on their faces, full of easy confidence that they would never pay.

Claudia pulled Corey Hubble’s file. It was thinner than she expected. The disappearance of a state senator’s son surely would
mean a thick, bulging file. This file was starved for data.

She scribbled her name in the sign-out book along with the file number and returned to her office.

An old file was simply a snapshot of a tragedy. No papers in here could capture the boy that Corey Hubble had been: what was
his favorite TV show, did he like chicken or beef wedged in his enchiladas, which local jetty did he think had the best fishing?
All these fading papers represented was bureaucratic eulogy.

Delford Spires had been the detective on the case, one of his last before being promoted to police chief. She noted the year
of Corey’s disappearance and did some quick math: Delford had been with the Port Leo police for fifteen years at that point.
She began to read.

Senator Hubble had reported Corey missing on July 21. She had gone to a Democratic women’s group meeting in Houston, leaving
sixteen-year-old Corey and twenty-one-year-old Pete at home. Pete and Faith were recently married, Faith finishing college
at Texas A&M in College Station, a few hours distant. Faith had not been home that weekend. She had been at summer school,
completing her degree.

Someone had typed out a rough chronology, based on Delford’s interviews. Thursday, July 19, Lucinda had left for Houston.
The boys spent time at their jobs: Pete working for a video store, Corey for a florist as a delivery boy. Friday, July 20,
Corey planned to spend the night at a friend’s house, the friend being Jabez Jones, the son of the minister at the God’s Coast
Evangelical Church.

Pete claimed that he had last seen his brother on Friday, shortly after lunch. Corey acted upset but would not discuss what
the problem was. Claudia looked through the papers for Pete’s statement and found the corroborating quote:
Corey came back from being at his job and he was furious. Pissed. Upset. I asked what about and he wouldn’t tell me. But he
said that he was going to go fix what was wrong. I asked him what he meant and he just said he’d teach her.
No hint that Pete might have beaten his brother to death at that point.

The chronology went on. Pete worked that afternoon at the video store, then went out for hamburgers and barhopping with three
male friends. He got home shortly after midnight. Corey was not there, having planned an overnight stay with Jabez Jones.
The next morning Pete worked all Saturday at the video store, starting at nine, and he did not get home until after five that
afternoon. His brother was not at home, but Pete did not consider that unusual – his brother was often out. Pete fixed himself
dinner and his mother arrived home unexpectedly, a
day early from her conference. She wanted to know where Corey was, and when Pete didn’t know, she started calling friends.
They were unable to find him. She then reported him missing to the police at nine o’clock that night.

Claudia dug down for a statement from Jabez Jones. It was there, but added nothing to what Delford had already noted. Corey
had called and canceled the sleep-over. And then apparently vanished.

The rest of the reports and interviews painted an increasingly grim picture. School counselors called Corey manipulative,
unstable, and attributed his behavior to his father’s painful cancer death five years earlier. The boy seemed to have few
friends willing to talk to the police. One of Corey’s teachers described him as ‘talented but erratic’ and mentioned he had
gotten into trouble twice for fighting in school. The teacher said that
Corey has a somewhat twisted view of the world being in place to primarily serve his needs. His dad died, so the world owes
him. Clearly this idea is not sustainable. With change in life being inevitable Corey will face some real challenges. I worry
that he has a not well-developed regard for the rights of others to have lives separate from his.

Another note in Delford’s scribble:
Some rumors that he is sexually active but only when he can be rough with the girl. Cannot yet get anyone to confirm this.
He might have left if he roughed up some girl but have not been able to find anyone who would admit to sleeping with him.
Pete said Corey dated Marian Duchamp, will check.

Whit had mentioned that Patsy Duchamp claimed her cousin had slept with Corey and gotten slapped around for the trouble. There’d
also been the rumor of animal torture Whit had mentioned to her, but she found no notes regarding that subject.

Corey Hubble stood out in her own mind as a kid who lounged in the smoking area at the high school, always slightly apart,
not quite fitting in with the roughnecks, not hanging in with the populars (where she remembered Pete dwelling in splendor),
not clustering with the geeks for collective security. She remembered he had blue eyes, wide, sad-looking. Several pictures
of Corey Hubble lay stashed in the file, a school photo where he glared dourly at the camera, and several family photos. In
them, Lucinda and Pete always smiled, Corey always frowned. There was only one picture of him smiling, sitting with his wasting
father in a lawn chair, touching his father’s pasty arm. Mr Hubble smiled with the thin certainty of the dying.

She paged through the rest of the file. An immediate search of the county turned up nothing except the boy’s car, parked in
a grove of windswept oaks not far from Big Cat Beach, found the day after he was reported missing. A detailed report on the
car and its condition indicated no sign of foul play. An interview with one of Corey’s friends indicated the vintage Mustang
was Corey’s pride and joy. He couldn’t imagine that Corey would leave it behind if he was cutting out from town. St Leo Bay,
Aransas Bay, Copano Bay, and St Charles Bay were searched for his body; nothing. The investigation widened, to San Patricio
and Matagorda counties, to Corpus Christi, to South Padre Island, to Houston, to Austin, all places a runaway teen might find
attractive. Nothing. The task force disbanded five months after Corey Hubble vanished, although the file stayed open and assigned
to one detective: Delford Spires.

Periodic updates followed: a possible sighting in Houston, one from Dallas, one from San Antonio. Nothing resulted in a real
lead. He was banished to the limbo of
milk-carton photos, pictured on direct mail pieces as a public service. Nothing.

There was little indication in the notes that the FBI or Texas Rangers had proffered much help, although with Lucinda being
a state senator one would think every agency in the state would be hunting Corey Hubble. Apparently not, or they had no more
success than Delford.

Not a single thing to suggest that Pete Hubble had done away with his brother in the heat of an argument. No physical evidence
in the house. No physical evidence in the Hubbles’ small fishing skiff. Nothing.

She stuffed the file in her heavy purse and headed out the door. On the way she talked to Nelda, the dispatcher and main Guardian
of the Files. Being a Baptist, Nelda hadn’t gone to happy hour with the others. ‘Do you remember any citizens phoning or asking
for information about this case recently? The Corey Hubble file?’

Nelda nodded. ‘Yeah, a guy stopped by. Big guy, late thirties, tall, kind of muscled up some. I remember he wore a lion’s-head
chain around his neck, not so classy-looking. I told him to talk to Delford.’

Claudia thanked her. So Pete Hubble, murderer of his own brother, wanted to see the file on Corey.

Why would he need it if he already knew the truth?