"Did anyone tease him yesterday?" I ask.
"That very well could be. They're all in Sunday School together. And there's been a lot of talk, you know, about those killings in the area." She pauses again. She doesn't want to continue down a path that leads to a subject both foreign and aberrant to her.
"The two men killed right before Christmas?"
"Uh huh. The ones they say were cursed, because that's not how America started, you know. With people doing things like that."
"Cursed? Who says they were cursed?"
"It's the talk. A lot of talk," she goes on, taking a deep breath. "With Jamestown being just down the road. There's always been stories about people seeing ghosts of John Smith and Pocahontas and all the rest of it. Then these men are murdered right near there, near Jamestown Island, and all this talk about them being, well, you know. Being unnatural, which is why someone killed them, I guess. Or at least that's what I hear."
"Did you and Benny talk about all this?" My heart is getting heavier by the moment.
"Some. I mean, everybody's been talking about those men killed and burned and tortured. People've been locking their doors more than usual. It's been spooky, I must admit. So Benny and I've discussed it, yes we have. To tell you the truth, he's been a lot moodier since all that happened. So maybe that's what had him upset." Silence. She stares at the tabletop. She can't decide which tense to use when she talks about her dead son. "That and the other boys calling him pretty. Benny hated that, and I don't blame him. I'm always telling him, Just wait until you grow up and are handsomer than all the rest. And the girls are just lining up. That'll teach 'em." She smiles a little and starts crying again. "He's real touchy about it. And you know how children can tease."
"Possibly he got teased a lot yesterday at church?" I guide her along. "Do you think maybe the boys made comments about so-called hate crimes, about gays and maybe implied…?"
"Well," she blurts out. "Well, yes. About curses against people who are unnatural and wicked. The Bible makes itself very clear. 'God gave them up to their own lust,' " she quotes.
"Any possibility Benny's been worried about his sexuality, Mrs. White?" I am very gentle but firm. "That's pretty normal for kids entering adolescence. A lot of sexual identity confusion, that sort of thing. Especially these days. The world's a complicated place, much more complicated than it used to be." The phone rings. "Excuse me a minute."
Jack is on the line. Benny is ready to be viewed. "And Marino's in here looking for you. Says he's got important information."
"Tell him where I am." I hang up.
"Benny did ask me if those men had those awful things done to them because they're… He used the word queer," Mrs. White is saying. "I said that very well may have been God's punishment."
"How did he react to that?" I ask her.
"I don't remember him saying anything."
"When was this?"
"Maybe three weeks ago. Right after they found that second body and all the news came out about them being hate crimes."
I wonder if Stanfield has any idea how much damage he has caused by leaking investigative details to his goddamn brother-in-law. Mrs. White is chattering nervously as dread builds with her every step down the hallway. I escort her to the front of the office and through a door that takes us into the small viewing room. Inside are a couch and table. There is a painting of a peaceful English countryside on the wall. Opposite the sitting area is a wall of glass. It is covered with a curtain. On the other side is the walk-in refrigerator.
"Why don't you just sit and make yourself comfortable," I tell Mrs. White and touch her shoulder.
She is tense, frightened, her eyes riveted to the drawn blue curtain. She perches on the edge of the couch, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. I open the curtain and Benny is swathed in blue, a blue sheet tucked under his chin to hide the ligature mark. His wet hair is combed back, eyes shut. His mother is frozen on the edge of the couch. She doesn't seem to breathe. She stares blankly, without comprehension. She frowns. "How come his face is all red like that?" she asks almost accusingly.
"The rope prevented the blood from flowing back to his heart," I explain. "So his face is congested."
She gets up and moves closer to the window. "Oh my baby," she whispers. "My sweet child. You're in heaven now. In Jesus' arms in paradise. Look, his hair's all wet like he's just been baptized. You must have given him a bath. I just need to know he didn't suffer."
I can't tell her that. I imagine when he first tightened the noose around his neck, the roaring pressure in his head was very frightening. He had begun the process of terminating his own life, and he was awake and alert long enough to feel it coming. Yes, he suffered. "Not long," is what I say. "He didn't suffer long, Mrs. White."
She covers her face with her hands and weeps. I draw the curtain and lead her out.
"What will you do to him now?" she asks as she woodenly follows me out.
"We'll finish looking at him and do some tests, just to see if there's anything else we need to know."
She nods.
"Would you like to sit for a while? Can we get you anything?"
"No, no. I'll just go on."
"I'm very sorry about your son, Mrs. White. I can't tell you how sorry. If you have any questions, just call. If I'm not available, someone here will help you. It's going to be hard, and you'll go through a lot of things. So please call if we can help."
She stops in the hallway and grabs my hand. She looks intensely into my eyes. "You're sure someone didn't do this to him? How do we know for a fact he did it to himself?"
"Right now, there's nothing to make us think someone else did this," I assure her. "But we'll investigate every possibility. We're not finished yet. Some of these tests take weeks."
"You won't keep him here for weeks!"
"No, he'll be ready to go in a few hours. The funeral home can come for him."
We are in the front office and I escort her through a glass door, back into the lobby. She hesitates, as if not quite sure what to do next. "Thank you," she says. "You've been very kind."
It isn't often I am thanked. My thoughts are so heavy as I return to my office that I almost run into Marino before I notice him. He is waiting for me just inside my doorway and has paperwork in hand, his face radiating excitement. "You aren't going to fucking believe this," he says.
"I'm to the point of believing just about anything," I grimly reply as I almost fall into the big leather chair behind my piled-up desk. I sigh. I expect Marino has come to tell me that Jaime Berger is the special prosecutor. "If it's about Berger, I already know," I say. "An AP reporter told me she's been appointed to get me indicted. I haven't decided if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Hell, I can't decide if I even care."
Marino has a puzzled expression on his face. "No kidding? She is? How's she gonna do that? She pass the bar in Virginia?"
"Doesn't have to," I reply. "She can appear pro hoc vice" The phrase means for this one particular occasion, and I go on to explain that at a special jury's request, the court can grant an out-of-state lawyer special permission to participate in a case even if that person is not licensed to practice law in Virginia.
"So what about Righter?" Marino asks. "What will he be doing during all this?"
"Someone from the commonwealth's attorney's office will have to work with her. My guess is he'll be second chair and leave the questioning to her."
"We've had a weird break in The Fort James Motel case." He gives me his news. "Vander's been working like hell on the prints he got inside the room, and you aren't gonna fucking believe it," he says again. "Guess whose popped up? Diane Bray's. I'm not shitting you. A perfect latent by the light switch when you first come in the room_her latent, Bray's damn fingerprint. Of course, we got the dead guy's prints, but no hit on any others except Bev Kiffin, as you'd expect. Her prints are on the Gideon Bible, for example, but not his, not Matos's. And that's kind of interesting, too. It's looking like Kiffin might have been the one who opened the Bible to whatever it was."