“Couldn’t you at least let me shower before we do this?” I asked it of the patrol Captain from the Georgia State Police.
“I called your friend at the GBI and he said to get the prelems all done, while they are in route from Atlanta. I’m sorry I know you are uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, I’m wearing about a pint of someone else’s blood. I would say that makes me uncomfortable.” I agreed. It was time for the truth, but I didn’t want anyone telling it until the GBI was on scene. There were just too many details to trip us up. I had put the call in to Jen, she should be on her way down. In the meantime I told everyone to ask for food and water otherwise to say nothing.
I fully expected that we would all spend a night in jail. As Martin and I had both said before, it would make great TV. The Georgia State Police didn’t want to book us, so we sat around the station’s lobby waiting for the GBI. If I had been booked me, I could have at least gotten a shower. I rally needed to get the blood off, it was freaking me out.
They kept Martin, Mike, Gwen and me in seperate areas of the building. I knew it was to prevent story matching and manufacturing. The GBI blew in around midnight. It took them another hour to catch up, before they could begin to question us. They began with me for some reason known only to them.
“So Ms. Stone, what exactly happened?” Marshal asked.
“You know most of it, but sure why not do it all again. We were posing as a criminal gang to get information on The Atwood brothers. We did that for our client so that they could be prosecuted and finally something would stick to them. We were employed by a lawyer in Aster, I gave the State Police her name.”
“Yes, I have that, so go on,” Marshal said.
“We arranged the meeting through the local chief of police, who is on the Atwood brothers payroll.” I said. I waited to see if Marshal would advise me that the Chief was dead. He didn’t, so I went on. The chief decided to cooperate and gave us a complete breakdown of the Atwood operation as he knew it to be. I had Mike send the information to your office in Atlanta. Did you get it?” I asked.
“I did, go on please,” he said.
“When I arrived at the ball field, I was not armed. I had instructed the chief to inform Blain to also be unarmed. However Martin, aka the Irishman had posted himself on top of the concession stand with a sniper rifle. His job was to make sure Blain didn’t murder me. When Blain arrived he walked across the field to me and position himself so that I was between the concession stand and him. Martin had no shot. He also informed me that his brother Thomas had killed Martin. Thomas Atwood, according to Blain Atwood had sent him a text message, saying that it was safe to come to the meet. He also informed him that I was unprotected.
Blain forced me to walk to the pitcher’s mound, which also kept me between him and the concession stand. It didn’t seem to matter since we both thought Martin was dead. He forced me to take my clothes off. Once I was nude and shivering, he force me to perform oral sex on him. He also told me that he would kill me, when he was ready to orgasm. It sounded a lot like Ted Bundy to tell the truth. I knelt which gave Martin a clear shot, but Martin hadn’t heard the conversation between Blain and me. He didn’t know that I was in imminent danger until Blain raised the pistol. It was at that time that he had a reasonably clear shot. He also knew that I was in imminent life threatening danger, so he killed Blain Atwood. And I for one am damn glad he did.”
“So it is your statement that both Thomas and Blain Atwood died at the hands of Martin, aka The Irishman, and that both were justifiable homicides?” Marshal asked.
“That is indeed my statement.” I said.
“It is also your statement that there is audio and video recordings the verify your statement?” Marshal asked again.
“It is, except that we were not filming when Thomas tried to kill Martin with a knife, I’m told.” I said.
“So you can’t really say how Thomas died,” Marshal asked.
“No, but it’s what Martin told me, when he ran to see if I was alive. I think they call that excited utterance. It might not hold up as a legal statement, but I think any Jury will understand it.”
“What do you know about the man killed at the house you rented?” he asked.
“Again Martin told me that Mike killed one man with a shotgun and a second man ran away. That is all I know. I have no idea who they were, except that Blain told me he had sent the cook and one of his friends to kill Mike and Gwen. I think his plan was to have us all disappear and the chief of police would say we just moved on.”
“You went to that meeting unarmed. You must have a lot of faith in this Irishman fellow?”
“Yes I do and it seems to be well placed.” I said seriously.
“So I guess you can go home and take a shower now. I’m going to interview your friends and then I will send them on along.”
“I didn’t drive to the meet, could I get a ride home?” I asked. Sure but I have to keep your pistol.
“Damn Marshal, you have more of my weapons than I do.” I said angrily.
“Have your lawyer submit a request. I expect a couple of weeks to pass first, but then you should be able to get them returned.”
The Georgia state police officer dropped me at the empty house. I flipped the switch and nothing happened. I had forgotten that they somehow killed the power. It was deathly quiet in the house and the darkness made the quiet oppressive. I managed to find my Bowie knife wrapped in a towel in my bag of dirty laundry. I sure as hell hoped I wouldn’t need it.
I sat alone in the dark house and wondered who would be the next one released. I had my money on Gwen. For some reason the house was warm even with no power. I supposed that the propane heater didn’t need a blower to heat the small house. Since it was warm, I decided to take a shower. Getting Blain’s blood, and whatever else flew from the head shot, off me seemed like a good idea. So I grabbed a clean pair of panties and a clean thermal tee, then went into the shower. Yes, I did take the Bowie knife with me. After the events of the last few hours, it didn’t seem paranoid at all to me. The shower scene from psycho kept running through my mind.
I took the shower with no concern at all about leaving hot water for the others. My one regret was that the burn on my side began to hurt from the water sting. I cursed to myself as I patted myself dry sooner than I would have liked.
I was finished and toweling my wet hair, when I heard the front door close. It was dark and quiet so unless they had been in the house for some time they might not know I was home. Since I wasn’t sure how many thugs the Atwoods had on their payroll I was careful. I dressed in my panties and thermal top. I didn’t bother with a bra or even a sweater. I had the knife out of the case and by my side, when I opened the door to the bathroom. I could smell his aftershave, but I didn’t recognize it. Whoever he was, he must have heard he bathroom door open. I dropped to the floor instantly, expecting a gunshot at any second.
Fortunately he couldn’t see any better than me, so I slipped away as best I could, being as quiet as possible. I slipped into the kitchen and curled into a corner of the room between the appliances. I know you think hiding is cowardly and it is. I just didn’t feel up to hunting the hunter.
He must have gotten tired of looking for me in the dark quiet house. Men have a patience problem, the have none. “I know you are here bitch. I saw you get out of the cop car. I should have killed you then. Why don’t you come on out and we can end this now. Otherwise I am just going to have to hunt you. I was watching from the woods, when they got your friends. They stripped the house clean, when they took them away. So unless they gave you a gun at the police station you are unarmed. If you had a gun, you would have used it by now, so I guess I have the only one.” He had one evil laugh.
“I bet you wonder who the hell I am don’t you bitch. Well honey pie, I am Samuel Atwood. Those two pussies are my nephews. I reckon you killed them both, so I have to give you credit for that at least. I expect it was that Martin fellow who did the killin’ women don’t have no stomach for killin’. he said.
Don’t count too much on that you old fuck, I thought He had been wandering around the house while he talked to me. He didn’t have a clue where I was, but I knew where he was from the sound of his voice.
“You know, people around here think I’m a hermit or maybe dead I expect. I travel a great deal these days. Just disappear for long periods of time. When I come back, I catch up on things then go again. Those two boys run things for me and they do a good job most of the time. But I knew one day they was gonna’ run into a problem. One that they couldn’t handle was inevitable. I been cleaning up after them for years. I knew one day I would just be too late and sure enough along you came. All full of yourself and one hard bitch. I knowed you was from the first time I seen you coming out of the Farmer Exchange. You just got a way of walkin’ that says I just don’t care what you do to me, I ain’t leaving. Them boys didn’t get it, but I did. They should have left you to me, but they wanted to prove they was men. Pussies that’s what they was.”
“Ah there you are,” he said standing in the kitchen. He was about ten feet away based on his voice. “I can smell your cunt.” He laughed. “I know corny, I saw that in the movie with Anthony Hopkins.”
“Stand up girl, it time to meet your maker.” He said all pleased with himself.
What he didn’t expect was an attack from a mere girl. Not a girl launching herself at him from a crouched position on the floor and coming at him like a spear with a bowie knife for a tip. I felt it sink into him as I heard the blast from his shotgun beside my head. I twisted the knife and pulled it up. I could smell blood and feces as the knife opened his intestines. There was a flash of light, then it was like in the movies it just faded to black.
So is this finally it? I asked God, but he didn’t answer.