Twenty-One Detective Olivia Newhouse #2
We didn’t find a criminal record. What’s up with this reaction to a visit from the cops? So maybe Patricia Shelby has already called the others and warned them that she spilled at least part of the beans.
My heart is pounding as I grow closer and closer to her. The woman clearly runs regularly. I have been ignoring my workout routine lately, and it shows.
Just as I draw within reach of her, she apparently runs out of steam and slows to a stop.
We both bend over and struggle to catch our breath.
“You’re not in trouble,” I repeat between gasps for air.
Walt trudges up to where we are huddled. “No offense, ma’am,” he complains breathlessly, “what the hell was that about?”
“I did it, okay?”
Walt and I exchange a look, then stare at her. Is the woman admitting that she kidnapped Carl Fanning? Or only that she took whatever step she was supposed to take?
“What did you do, Ms. Hardeman?” I ask.
She flops down on her butt on the ground, puts her knees up, and wraps her arms around them. “I followed him around. Harassed him. I’m not ashamed of what I did.”
Not exactly a confession to murder.
“At any time did you touch him?” Walt asks, his voice still breathy.
“I didn’t lay a hand on that son of a bitch. I just heckled him. I made sure that the customers at every store he went into knew what he was. I followed him through each department, shouting to all who would listen until he left the store empty-handed. I hoped he would starve to death.”
It’s hard to shame a woman for heckling the man who raped her as a child. “Did he ever speak to you?” I ask.
Walt goes down on one knee, his forearm braced on his thigh.
He’s obviously struggling to catch his breath.
His face is pale, and beads of sweat slip down his forehead.
I drop into a crouch as if to catch my breath as well, but mostly I just want to be at his level so I can better assess his condition.
“He wouldn’t even look at me,” Melanie says, drawing my attention back to her.
“No matter how often I showed up, he tried to ignore me. He pushed his cart around, reaching for whatever was on his list. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore, and he abandoned his cart and left.
I never followed him outside. I wasn’t quite that brave. ”
“Did you ever see him with anyone?”
She shakes her head at Walt’s question. “He was always alone.”
“Did you notice anyone else following him or watching him?” Walt pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and scrubs it over his face. If possible, it’s even whiter than it was before.
I start to ask him if he’s okay but figure I better wait until we’re finished here. Men don’t like to have their weaknesses pointed out. Not even smart guys like Walt.
Melanie appears to consider his question. “I can’t remember anyone, but I was always so angry and focused on him that I can’t be sure I was really looking, either.”
“Did he ever show up at your house?” I ask. “Try to turn the tables on you?”
She shakes her head. “I thought about that later, after I’d already harassed him a couple of times. But thank God he never came around.”
“Are you certain he recognized you?” Walt asks.
Good point. If he thought she was someone else, he might have gone after the wrong person.
“I told him who I was.” She raises her chin in defiance. “I wanted him to know I was no longer afraid of him.”
“This,” I say, “was your part?” The startled look on her face warns she wasn’t aware we knew about their little plan.
“We’d like you to tell us about when and how you got together with the others to make this plan.
” Before she can respond, I explain, “We already have statements from other victims. We know there was a plan.” This might be a slight exaggeration, but if it works, it’s worth it.
She exhales a big breath. Almost looks relieved. “As soon as the news broke about his release, we got together. Janie Hyatt set up the meeting. We were all there.” A shrug and then she goes on. “Except for the ones who moved away or are dead or in prison.”
“Why don’t you list the names just so we’re clear,” Walt suggests, his voice hoarse. He still looks as if he’s struggling for air.
I pull out my phone. This is a bit unorthodox, but I set it to record. “We’ll record this as part of your official statement.” Not exactly by the book. I state her name as well as ours, and the time and date for the recording.
“Janie Hyatt, Dana Reeves, Patricia Shelby, Andrea Donnelly, Shelley Martin, and I met at that steakhouse over on Eighth to discuss the news.”
Walt and I exchange a look. No Sanchez?
“What did you decide?” I ask.
“We decided unanimously that we wanted to do something. Something to see that real justice was done.”
As much as I hate to do this, I can’t ignore where this is going. “Ms. Hardeman, before you say more, it would be better if I explain your rights.”
“I know my rights.” She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to explain them to me. I waive my rights or whatever.”
I look to Walt and he nods. “All right, go on then.”
“A week later we met again. There was a list of steps that needed to be taken. Surveil him. Harass him. Make his work life miserable. Stuff like that. The final step was to make him disappear. All the steps were written down, folded up, and put into a basket. Then we all drew one. We were to look at it, remember it, and eat the paper. No one was ever to tell who got what step.”
Again I consider this is all so very spy novelish.
“I notice,” Walt says, “you didn’t mention Mario Sanchez.”
She nods. “He wasn’t at the first meeting, but he was at the second.”
“He drew from the basket,” I inquire, “just like the rest of you?”
She nods. “But I can’t tell you what part he got.”
Another look between me and Walt. The idea that Fanning’s remains are now somewhere in Mexico feels all the more likely.
“What other steps do you recall?” Walt is breathing a bit easier now.
“There was one about damaging his car. You know, flatten the tires, crack the windshield. Another that involved trying to run him off the road.”
Damn. These folks were not playing.
“Oh, and to leave dead things at his door. You know, like you see driving down the road. Roadkill.”
Well, that explained the carcasses at his house.
“Have you been in contact with the others since that meeting?” Walt asks.
She shakes her head. “There were rules. We would all draw a step. We would do it. We would never speak of it again. We would never speak to each other again.”
I stop the recording. “Thank you, Ms. Hardeman,” I say.
“This has been very helpful. I would advise you to be watchful since Fanning remains unaccounted for. Keep your doors locked. We’ll be contacting you again, but until then, if you need to speak with anyone about what you’ve just told us, make it an attorney. ”
She nods. “Is that what happened?” She looks from me to Walt and back. “Did one of us take him?”
“We don’t know the answer yet,” Walt tells her.
I stand, offer her my hand.
She pulls up, dusts off her bottom. “Sorry I ran. I guess I got scared and panicked. But I’m not sorry for what I did.”
I smile but keep my thoughts on that one to myself. No matter that Fanning doesn’t deserve any better than whatever he gets, there are laws. I’m supposed to uphold those laws.
I offer Walt my hand next, but he waves me off and pops up like a man half his age.
He reaches into his pocket for a business card and hands it to Melanie.
“Sorry you felt compelled to run and then we scared you with our chase.” He chuckles and swabs at his face again.
“The way you ran, we were worried you had a kilo of blow or something in that bag of yours.”
Melanie’s expression freezes.
Oh hell. I shake my head.
She shrugs. “It’s only a gram.”