Husband and Wives (9 page)

‘Well, no, sir, in this case you don’t. I understand Mrs McKinsey has an eyewitness account that might be crucial to my investigation of the murder of Mary Hudson.’

‘My wife doesn’t know anything about Mary Hudson,’ he said, and started to shut the door.

I almost hesitated putting my boot-shod foot in the door, but a man has to do what a man has to do. So I did.

‘Ow!’ I said.

‘Then move your foot, Sheriff,’ he said.

‘Mr McKinsey, you’re gonna make me come back here with a warrant? It’s just gonna waste my time and this psychiatrist’s time,’ I said, pointing at Jean behind me. ‘And your time too, if you took time off work. I mean, you’d barely get back to work before we had a deputy out there pulling you into the station so your wife can talk to us. I understand she doesn’t speak without you present?’

‘Damn right she doesn’t. And you know what?’ he said.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You’re right.’ He opened the door wider. ‘I don’t really give a crap about your time or her time, but I do about my own. So come on in and get this over with.’

Rachael McKinsey was already sitting in the living room, an immaculate room with no personality at all. All the furniture looked generic in shades of brown and beige. The only adornment on the walls was a cross over the mantle, and under foot was a thin beige carpet.

The lady sitting on the brown sofa was the only woman in this sect I’d seen with shortish hair. It was still long by most standards, but not by the standard that seemed to be set by the women I’d seen. Her dress was beige, totally covering her body from head to foot. The only spark of color in the entire room was the bright red shape of a handprint on her right cheek.

I wasn’t surprised that Michael McKinsey was a hitter. I made a mental note to check with Charlie Smith, police chief of Longbranch, when I got back to the sheriff’s department. See if there’d been domestics called on this house. With all the land around it, and the stifled demeanor of the woman sitting on the sofa, it was a good bet she didn’t make much noise when he abused her.

‘Mrs McKinsey,’ I said, addressing the woman on the sofa who still hadn’t looked up from her folded hands in her lap, ‘I’m Sheriff Milt Kovak, and this is Dr Jean McDonnell, a department consultant. I understand you witnessed a confrontation between Sister Mary Hudson and Dennis Rigsby last Thursday after a social at the church. Is that correct, ma’am?’

She said nothing. Just sat there staring at her hands.

‘Ma’am?’ I said again.

Still no answer.

I looked at Michael McKinsey. ‘Would you ask your wife to answer us, please?’

‘I said you could talk to her. I didn’t say she’d talk back,’ he said, as a smile played across his mouth.

I stood up. ‘OK, then, Mrs McKinsey, looks like you’re what they call a hostile witness and I’ll have to take you into custody until I find out what happened.’

I walked over to her and pulled her up by one arm. She flinched, bit her lip, but stood up. I loosened my grip on her arm. Who knew what kind of bruises that ugly beige dress covered.

‘OK, Rachael, we’ll be seeing you,’ Michael said.

Tears were streaming down her face, but she still said nothing.

‘Mommy!’ wailed a young voice, and a little girl of about four came running from the back of the house. Her blonde hair was shorn almost to her scalp. She wore a black dress that was too long for her and she tripped as she ran. Her little fists pounded my leg. ‘You can’t take my mommy! You can’t! You can’t!’

‘Emily!’ McKinsey shouted. ‘Come get this kid!’

A young woman, whose age I was definitely going to check, came out of the hall and took the child. She didn’t look more than fifteen or sixteen, but she wore the same kind of band on her ring finger as Rachael. Her carrot-red hair hung down to her waist and her pale blue dress was cut the same as Rachael’s. I was startled to see the look she gave Rachael – a half-hidden smile and a look of triumph. The child beat at the young woman, trying to get away from her. I let go of Rachael’s arm.

‘Mr McKinsey, who is that young woman?’ I asked.

‘My sister-in-law,’ he said, a smile on his face.

‘I’m going to be back in the morning and I want to see her birth certificate and your wife Rachael’s birth certificate and, just for the hell of it, birth certificates for every child in this house. Anybody who doesn’t have one will be going into custody. And yours too, you big-boned asshole son-of-a-bitchin’ mother––’

Jean had my arm by then and was hauling me out the door, which was rude. I had a lot more to say.

She got me outside and I asked her, ‘You got a camera in your telephone, right?’

‘Yes,’ she said, staring hard at me.

‘I want you to go back in and take a record of Rachael’s bruises. Count ’em if you have to. I just wanna make sure he knows we know and that there better not be any more in the morning!’ I said, breathing hard. I was so mad I could’ve gotten physical with Michael McKinsey, which would probably have gotten me killed; but I gotta say, that first punch of mine woulda felt
so
good.

‘There’s no way that woman will strip in front of me,’ Jean said. ‘She doesn’t want anyone to know he beats her. And the other one – the, excuse the expression, ‘sister-in-law’ – she won’t help. Milt, we need to just leave here, OK?’

‘He’s gonna beat her again!’ I said.

‘Come on, honey,’ Jean coaxed, pulling me by the arm. ‘There’s nothing we can do here. You know that. You have to actually see him assault her, or have someone call—’

‘I know, I know!’ I snapped, shaking off her arm and going on my own to the Jeep. ‘Just pisses me off!’ I said, once we were both in the car.

‘I know, honey,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to take it out on you.’

‘You didn’t. I know how you feel. Impotent.’

The word stopped me. ‘You mean like I can’t do anything about McKinsey, right?’

Jean smiled and traced my cheek with her index finger. ‘Yes, honey. You are definitely not impotent any other way.’

‘Damn straight,’ I said, as I started the car.

Jean Mcdonnell – Wednesday

I knew how Milt felt. He dropped me off at the hospital and I stood in the foyer, considering what I could do. One thing was screaming at me loud and clear. Michael McKinsey had another punishment for his women other than beating. The length of Rachael McKinsey’s hair, and the shorn state of the rambunctious little girl’s hair, reminded me of a documentary I’d seen in med school. A documentary that depicted resistance fighters cutting the hair or shaving the heads of women who had slept with Nazis during World War II. In a sect like the one we were dealing with, this kind of punishment went to the very core of their womanhood. Women in this sect never cut their hair, and even after marriage kept their hair loose, hanging down their backs. To cut their hair showed the other women how ‘bad’ this one had been, and was a lesson to them all.

The whole thing made me want to puke. I felt like I’d been taken in by Jerry Hudson and his clan. Lured into a false sense of security. The true story lay in the clan of Michael McKinsey. Something had to be done for Rachael and her small daughter. And I decided that I was probably the one to do it.

Milt Kovak – Wednesday

After I dropped Jean off at the hospital, I figured there was nothing to it but to do it. Go to the source. I headed to The Branches to have a serious talk with Dennis Rigsby.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t home, but his mother was.

‘Dennis is not home at the moment, Sheriff,’ she said upon opening the door. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Could you tell me where I could find him, Mrs Rigsby?’ I asked.

‘He’s at work, of course. Come in, Sheriff. Let me get you a glass of lemonade.’

‘No, ma’am, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry. Could you tell me, please, where Dennis works?’

‘Oh, no, I can’t do that, Sheriff,’ she said. ‘You can’t go disturbing him at work! They’re just awful to him there, and a visit by the police would just be the excuse they need to fire him!’ She welled up. ‘Oh, no, you just can’t do that!’

I checked my watch. It was getting close to five o’clock. ‘Ma’am, what time does he get off?’

‘His shift ends at five,’ she said.

‘Well, it’s almost that now. If it’s close, I can run by and catch him as he gets off. Won’t have to actually bother him at work at all. Now, where is it he works?’

She sighed. ‘Just don’t get him fired!’ she pleaded.

‘I won’t,’ I assured her.

‘At the Jack-in-the-Box on Rancho Road.’

I had to wonder what Dennis Rigsby, whose back was so bad he was on social security disability benefit and relied on Jerry Hudson for the rest of his keep, was doing with a job. And if social security knew about it. I thought I might bring this up when I talked to him – if I thought he didn’t kill Mary Hudson. A little social security fraud was nothing compared to murder.

Rancho Road where the Jack-in-the-Box was located was the main strip of Bishop and the Jack-in-the-Box franchise had to get special permission to put their trademark box up in the air. Most everything on Rancho Road was made of red rock and Mexican tile, save the Jack-in-the-Box and McDonalds.

I found Dennis Rigsby, all dolled up in his Jack-in-the-Box get-up, getting into a navy blue and rust Honda Civic, vintage 1989–90, somewhere around there. I pulled up next to him and motioned for him to get in the passenger seat of my Jeep. He did. He smelled like French fries. Not a bad smell.

‘Hey, Sheriff,’ he said on sliding in. ‘What can I do you for?’

Witty, I thought. ‘Got some questions for you, Dennis.’

‘Well, I’ll check and see if I got answers.’

Jack Benny he wasn’t. ‘I been hearing some stuff about you and Mary Hudson,’ I said.

His hands went up in a defensive gesture. ‘I swear I never laid a hand on the woman!’ And then he laughed.

‘Now why would you say that?’ I asked.

‘What?’ he said, hands now down and a frown on his face.

‘That you never laid a hand on her. How about a meat tenderizer?’

‘Oh, jeez!’ he said, a frightened look on his face. ‘Ah, no, Sheriff! Really, I was just teasing! I thought you were insinuating that me and her – that you know, were, like, doing it or something.’

‘Were you?’ I countered.

‘Oh, God no! That’s why it was a joke, see? Like, I would never, ever touch that woman! Ever,’ he said. Then ended with a sincerely spoken, ‘Never ever.’

‘Wasn’t your type?’ I said.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Hardly!’

‘So what were the two of you fighting about after the church social last week?’

That pulled him up short. He just stared at me. Then he said, ‘Church social? When was that?’

‘The Thursday before she was killed on Monday.’

‘Gosh, it must not have been important, Sheriff. I can’t even remember talking to her that–– Now wait!’ he said, and I gotta say, the guy was a lousy actor. ‘I believe we did speak for just a moment that evening. About the boys! My oldest nephew Ben and her son Jason. They’re both fourteen and they’ve been acting out. Mostly it’s Jason, Ben’s just following along, you know, and I wanted her to rein Jason in—’

‘Isn’t that something the mothers would handle?’ I asked, not buying this for a minute.

‘Carol Anne didn’t know about this incident. And I didn’t want her to know. That’s why I went to Mary about it and she got a bit defensive. You know,’ he said, in a conspiratorial aside to me, ‘all mother-hen stuff. It might have looked like we were fighting, but that’s all it was.’

‘Uh huh,’ I said. ‘What were the boys doing that you felt compelled to keep it from your sister and run to Mary about it?’

‘I don’t think I have the right to tell you, Sheriff. The boys have since owned up to it and taken their licks, and it’s not something anyone in the family would want to tell the authorities about.’

‘Well, tell you what. Nobody else in the family needs to know about this. Just you, me, and the boys. I’ll follow you back to your house, we’ll get the boys and go have a talk. How does that sound?’

‘The boys have after-school activities . . .’

‘Let me call Carol Anne and check,’ I said, getting out my cell phone.

Dennis sighed. ‘It wasn’t about the boys,’ he said.

‘Then what was it about?’ I asked.

‘Why don’t you arrest me, Sheriff? ’Cause I’m not telling you. It had nothing to do with her getting murdered.
I
had nothing to do with her getting murdered. I’ve never harmed anyone in my life! But what Mary and I said to each other was private. And that’s all I’m gonna say.’

I stared at the whiny little bastard. I could take him in, make him stew in a jail cell for a couple of days. Doubt if he could take it. But I thought about his mother and her worry that just me talking to him would get him fired. Hell, if he landed in jail for a couple of days they surely would fire him. Even though he was on disability, and living off Jerry Hudson.

‘So why you working at Jack-in-the-Box?’ I asked. ‘I thought if you were on disability, you weren’t supposed to have a job.’

‘It’s part-time. And they let me sit on a stool while I work. Social security says it’s OK if it’s part-time and I’m paid under a certain amount of money.’

But Jack-in-the-Box? You had to wonder. Well, that was judgmental, I thought. Who am I to decide how a person lives or how much they need to live on? Maybe he had to take lots of meds and it cost a lot. Or maybe he was paying off hospital bills for him and his mama. Hell, I didn’t know.

Did I think he killed Mary Hudson? No. I really didn’t. But damned if now I didn’t want to know what he and Mary were talking about – and I wanted to know real bad.

I sighed. ‘Look, Dennis, I don’t want to cause you problems with your job or your mama or your sister or anybody, OK? I just want to know what you and Mary were talking about.’

He shook his head, mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key. Real grown-up, this guy.

‘Just go home,’ I said, as I started the Jeep. He got out and I burned rubber getting out of there.

Nita Skitteridge – Wednesday

It was getting dark when I let the Boy Scouts go. They’d gotten there at three thirty that afternoon and I’d done a grid for the search, starting half of them at the street level by Rene Hudson’s house, the other half at street level by Carol Anne Hudson’s house. Since we had eighteen Scouts, that meant nine on each side, walking arm’s length from each other, from the fence at the back of each property to the sidewalk in front of each property.