Lucas erased the victims names, then put them up again horizontally. He consulted the folders and wrote the names of the children on the board underneath each of their murdered parents’ names. When he finished, twenty-two children had been listed. He leaned on the edge of his desk and sighed. More than half of the brothers and sisters had different last names. So many broken families.
This is stupid, he thought. Without any physical evidence, finding connections among the victims was all he could hope for. But after two years of investigation, he’d found none. Were their kids connected? He didn’t know what to think.
Juvenile was downstairs in the basement. Lucas called and asked for Mack Bryson. If anybody could tell him something about the kids in the county, it would be Mack.
Bryson arrived five minutes later. “Seen the paper?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Made the headlines again. First time since the colonel got it at McCarty’s Creek. I guess eight poor folk equals one McCarty’s Creek.”
Eight of the nine murders had occurred in impoverished settings like the one from the night before — two from Elysian Fields, three from Stoney Bottom, one from Rat Row, and two from other isolated points of poverty. Two were women and seven were men. The fourth murder, the one from McCarty’s Creek, was different.
McCarty’s Creek was a new development of expensive homes designed to attract people from Atlanta to Teal County’s pastoral setting. Lucas was surprised when the GBI’s ballistics report came back positive. The shell was fired from the same gun as the others. He had figured that one was an anomaly.
“I could do without headlines,” Lucas said as he moved to the blackboard. “Quick question.” He pointed to the children’s names. “You recognize any of these?”
Mack answered immediately. “One big time. The rest, no.”
“Who’s big time?”
“Coulter. Bad news. Drugs mostly, but that got him involved in other stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I heard satanic.”
Lucas shifted his eyes toward the board. A moment passed. “Nobody else?”
“Nope. What’s the deal? Anything I should know?”
“Nah,” Lucas said as he sat in his chair again.
Mack was at the door. “I’d like to know about Coulter. Word is he’s improved a bunch since his daddy got it. I’d like to know if he’s backsliding. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Let you know.” As soon as I know something, Lucas thought with a sense of hopelessness.
The Teal County High School secretary sat behind a counter that was surrounded by students. Lucas squeezed between them to capture the harried woman’s attention.
“I’d like to talk to you privately,” Lucas said.
The secretary pushed her cat-eye glasses up her nose. “Gladly.” She motioned for Lucas to follow her to a room filled with file cabinets.
Lucas nodded toward the crowded counter. “What’s going on?”
“Pep rally this afternoon. Happens every time we have one. They want to check out. I have to talk to their parents before they go.”
“Why don’t they want to go to the pep rally?”
“No school spirit,” she said in disgust.
Lucas closed the door so he could hear. “I’m Detective Anderson. I need to talk to somebody about Joe Coulter.”
The secretary curled her lips. “Devil worshiper.”
“I heard he’s changed.”
“Those kind never change. Once Satan’s got ’em, it’s too late.”
“Who can I talk to?”
She pushed her glasses up again. “Probably his counselor. Coulter’s a ‘C’ so it’ll be Dan Rooker. Dr. Rooker, that is. He’s got A through F.”
“A through F?”
“Last names.” The secretary opened the door and pointed the way. She didn’t want to talk about Joe Coulter.
Dan Rooker leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a well-worn maroon sweater vest, maroon and silver striped tie, and brown Hush Puppies. His full beard was flecked with gray.
Lucas put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “I’m Detective Anderson.”
“Yes. I’ve read about you in the Herald. You’ve become the proverbial legend in your own time.”
Lucas buried his embarrassment and said, “I want to know something about Joe Coulter.”
“He in trouble?”
“No. Not at all. I’m investigating his father’s murder.”
“Stepfather,” Rooker corrected.
Lucas furrowed his brow. “His name was Coulter, just like Joe’s.”
“Mr. Coulter had an affair with his brother’s wife. He ended up marrying her.”
“So, he was Joe’s stepfather and...”
“... uncle.”
The two sat in silence for a moment. “Anyway, like I said, I’m investigating the murder.”
Rooker cupped his face in his right hand. “Probably the best thing that ever happened to Joe.”
“His stepfather being murdered?”
“Proof is in the pudding. Joe’s doing much better.”
“Tell me about him.”
Rooker pulled on his beard. “He’s a good kid.”
“The juvenile authorities have a different opinion.”
“Look, Detective. Joe comes out of a bad situation. Terrible background. His stepfather was rotten. That’s why Joe did all those things.”
“What’d his stepfather do to Joe?”
Dr. Rooker didn’t respond.
“What did he do?” Lucas repeated.
“Have you heard of a code of ethics?” Rooker asked.
This time Lucas didn’t respond.
“I am a counselor.” Rooker waved his arm. “What goes on in here is private.”
“We’re talking murder.”
“Get a court order,” Rooker said curtly.
That was the end of the conversation. Lucas walked out of the counselor’s office and stood in the hall. He hadn’t gotten Jink Jarvis without perseverance. If the counselor wouldn’t help, or couldn’t, maybe the principal would.
The principal did talk. He made it clear he wanted to get rid of the kid. “Panthers’ spots don’t change,” he said.
“Panthers are black,” Lucas said. “They don’t have spots.”
“Same thing.” He called Coulter from class to prove it.
Joe Coulter was pasty white. He had fine but curly hair worn in a bush that fell on his shoulders. Homemade tattoos of hypodermic needles and pentagrams had been etched onto his arms. The sleeves were cut off his jean jacket.
Lucas identified himself and asked the boy about his stepfather who was also his uncle.
“I know who you are. You think I did it. You think I killed him.”
Lucas responded instinctively. He figured this was a kid he couldn’t mess with. Coulter would be on top of mind games in a second. Lucas just shrugged.
“I didn’t off him, but I’m glad the bastard’s gone.”
“Watch your language, young man,” the principal said. He shrank in his chair at Coulter’s look.
Lucas said, “It’s my job to find out who killed him. Got any ideas?”
Coulter put his hands behind his head and intertwined his fingers. “Somebody who can shoot.” He put his hands before him as though he were holding a rifle. “Boom.”
Lucas questioned the teenager for another half-hour. Too much time had passed since his stepfather’s murder to establish Coulter’s whereabouts on that night. Instead, Lucas asked where Coulter had been the previous night, during the time of the latest killing. He’d been home alone. His mother worked the second shift at the mill. Did he know the children of the other victims? He said he’d seen them around, but that was all. Did he hunt? Coulter said he used to. He hunted narcs. That’s the way it went.