Six Cats a Slayin'

THIRTY-THREE

“That doesn’t look much like it could be worth risking arrest for,” I said as I led the way to the kitchen.

“It must be,” Kanesha said, “because he did risk it, and got caught.”

“What’s in it?” Melba asked.

“Let’s find out.” Kanesha turned to me. “Would you mind laying down a couple of clean paper towels for me to put this on?”

“Of course,” I said. As I was placing the paper towels on the table, Azalea returned to the kitchen.

Mother and daughter eyed each other. Kanesha spoke first.

“Hello, Mama, how are you?”

“Fine,” Azalea replied. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Kanesha said.

Melba and I exchanged glances. Watching these two women reminded me of two lionesses circling each other, one waiting for the other to make a false move. Kanesha had not softened her stance on her mother’s chosen employment, and Azalea had not given in on her right to work however she saw fit.

This standoff could go on for a while. I coughed, and Kanesha’s gaze shifted to me. “Can we see what’s in the notebook?” I asked.

I looked down at the ragged old thing, frayed around the edges. It was really more of a tablet, now that I got a better view of it.

“That looks like those tablets we used to take to school in first grade,” Melba said. “Remember them? And those big pencils we learned to write with?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” The red cover had faded badly, but if you peered at it closely enough, you could see the words Big Chief and the design of a Native American in a feather headdress on it.

Using the tissue, Kanesha drew back the cover, and we all bent to see the words written there. The first page was covered with one sentence, line after line: I am Jerry Albritton.

Kanesha flipped a page. The same thing: that one sentence written over and over in childish printing. She kept turning the pages. The writing began to change, the printed letters becoming more precise, more to scale. Eventually the print gave way to cursive writing. Every single page, however, contained nothing but that one sentence, line after line.

I glanced at Melba, and I could see the tears ready to flow. I knew how she felt. That poor little boy, doing what he could to hold on to his identity. I could only imagine how he felt, being ripped from his family and given to strangers. He was old enough to remember his own name, though he immediately was given a new one. From the evidence of the tablet, with the handwriting changing over time, Jerry had been determined never to forget who he really was. It was heartbreaking.

Melba sank into a chair and delved into her purse for tissues. While she dabbed at her eyes, I pulled out my handkerchief to wipe my own.

“This means something to you both,” Kanesha said. “Is it related to what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’d better sit down.” I pulled out my chair and settled back, handkerchief curled up in my right hand. Diesel, from the first moment he sensed Melba’s emotional state, had moved to her side, rubbing against her legs and meowing occasionally. She smiled gratefully down at him and rubbed his head.

She looked up for a moment. “Charlie, will you tell Kanesha the story? I don’t think I could get through it right now.”

“Sure.” I first explained the source of Melba’s information, then launched into the story. I pruned as many unnecessary details as I could, but it still took several moments to relate. Kanesha had her notebook and pen ready from the moment I started, and she jotted things down throughout my retelling of the tale. When I finished, she put down her pen and stared broodingly at the tablet.

Azalea, who had hovered in the background the whole time, suddenly blew her nose, startling all of us.

When I glanced her way, I could see she was upset. Kanesha got up, apparently concerned, and approached her mother. “Mama, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Azalea nodded. “That’s such a sad story,” she said. “I remember that boy Ronnie. Every time I saw him, I knew he had a sad heart. I never saw real joy in him.”

Melba began to cry again, and I struggled not to get emotional myself. Even Kanesha seemed to be affected. She stared at her mother, and Azalea reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek. Kanesha sighed, Azalea’s hand fell away, and Kanesha resumed her seat.

No one spoke for a moment. Kanesha closed the tablet and put it back into the evidence bag. To break the mood, I decided to ask a question.

“Did Billy Albritton say anything about this?” I gestured toward the notebook. “I’m wondering how he even knew about it.”

“Didn’t say a word,” Kanesha said, “even though the officer caught him with it in his hands. It will have his fingerprints on it, so he can’t deny having it in his possession.”

“Do you think Gerry showed it to him?” Melba asked. “Maybe that was why they were arguing that day when you heard them.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “She must have shown him. Where did she keep it?”

“In a dressing case with a false bottom,” Kanesha said. “He had to have known ahead of time where it was. The officers who searched the house had overlooked it. I checked it, and it would have been hard to spot unless someone knew what to look for.”

“Dressing case?” Melba said. “Not many people use those anymore. I don’t.”

“It’s an antique one,” Kanesha said. “Heavy and not too practical, if you ask me, but it’s well-used.”

“One thing I still don’t understand,” Melba said. “Charlie wouldn’t talk about it much, but maybe you can answer it. Why was Ronnie Halbert going around pretending to be a woman?”

I wondered if Kanesha would come clean with Melba. I watched the deputy as she regarded Melba with her usual cool detachment.

“She wasn’t pretending,” Kanesha said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Ronnie Halbert went through a gender reassignment operation twenty years ago or more.”

The revelation obviously shocked Melba. She now appeared incapable of speech. Not a state she often found herself in, I knew. She stared at Kanesha and continued to stroke Diesel’s head.

Ronnie Halbert. I didn’t know why it had taken me so long to make the connection, but I suddenly figured out the use of the name Ronni Halliburton. Close to Ronnie Halbert, but different enough so that people probably wouldn’t connect the two. Unless they happened to know who Ronnie Halbert really was, I decided.

“Is this story going to help your case?” I asked.

“It’s filled in the major gaps in Gerry Albritton’s history,” Kanesha said. “Now that I have the name Ronnie Halbert, I should be able to dig up more information and find out where he was for all those years.”

“I wonder if Ronnie joined one of the armed forces,” I said. “That was apparently the speculation at the time he disappeared.”

“We’ll search military records, too,” Kanesha said. “The most important point about this backstory, however, is the connections it gives me to the suspects.”

Melba finally seemed to have recovered from the shock of learning about Gerry’s sex change. “Are you any closer to making an arrest?”

“Maybe,” Kanesha said. “I’ll be questioning Mr. Albritton about breaking into his sister’s house. He has a lot of explaining to do. I found two more witnesses from the party who say they also saw him briefly.”

“His other sister was there, too,” Melba said.

Kanesha nodded. “Yes, I’ve been tracking her movements as well, based on witness statements.”

“His other sister?” I asked, puzzled. I remembered Melba had mentioned this sister several times, but I couldn’t recall if she had mentioned a name.

“You know her, Charlie,” Melba said in a chiding tone. “She lives down the street from you.”

When I still looked blank, Kanesha said, “Mrs. Betty Camden. Married to the lawyer.”

Light dawned. Betty Camden. Now I remembered Melba mentioning a sister named Betty when she said she wanted to talk to Billy Albritton. She hadn’t told me that she was Betty Camden, of all people.

“Honestly, Charlie, you don’t know anything about the people who live around here,” Melba said.

“For the most part I know what I need to know,” I replied with some asperity. “I’m not a walking genealogy of everybody in Athena like you are, for Pete’s sake. I was gone from here for thirty years, remember?”

Melba grimaced at me, but evidently she decided to let the remark about being a walking genealogy pass without comment.

I turned to Kanesha. “I had never even considered Betty Camden as a suspect,” I said. “You must have, since you knew the connection.”

Kanesha nodded. “Yes, I was aware of that, and frankly, I thought you knew, even though you never mentioned it. Otherwise I would have said something about it.”

I shrugged. “That’s okay. I guess I’m going to have to start paying more attention to who’s related to who in this town. You can get tripped up pretty easily if you don’t know.”

“You certainly can,” Melba said. “I never dreamed you didn’t know about her.”

“I remember you said you don’t like her, and she doesn’t like you,” I said. “You never said why, though.” I thought for a moment. “She’s got to be several years older than us, so surely it wasn’t something to do with high school.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Melba said. “Chip Camden was a widower, about twenty years ago, and I went out with him for six months. Then Betty Jones—she was a widow—started chasing him. He dropped me for her, and she went around bad-mouthing me, saying she had saved Chip from a terrible mistake.”

That all this still rankled, even after two decades, was obvious. Melba wasn’t usually one to hold a grudge, but I could understand why she held on to this one. What a nasty thing to do.

Kanesha had listened to this without reaction. Once Melba stopped talking, the deputy looked at me for a moment.

“Since you weren’t aware that Mrs. Camden and Mr. Albritton are siblings, you might also not be aware of Mrs. Camden’s background in education.”

“I know she is a retired teacher,” I said. “But I have no idea what she taught.”

“Yes, she retired three years ago,” Kanesha said. “She taught high school chemistry and biology for twenty-five years before that.”