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Authors: Rachel Howzell Hall
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nodded and shook their heads.
“Y’all are as sharp as marbles.” I swiveled and pointed to the SUV in the driveway. “You search it yet?”
“Not thoroughly,” Pepe said. “Zucca sprayed the inside, but he didn’t find any blood. Nothing but old soda spills, Skittles, and hard-ass french fries.”
“Let’s take another look,” I said, pulling gloves on as we stepped over to the car.
“We did grab a few things from Chatman’s Jag,” Pepe said as we walked. “A CVS drugstore receipt from December tenth, which was yesterday. A botanical-gardens ticket from December tenth, which was yesterday. And a charger and cell phone hidden in the compartment beneath the driver’s seat.”
“Ooh,” I said. “Secret cell phone stashed in the secret seat cache.”
“We found some pain meds in the Jag’s glove compartment,” Pepe continued. “Hydrocodone prescribed for Mr. Chatman. And we found an EZ-Mail invoice for personal mailbox service for November. And that’s about it.”
“That phone gets me hot,” I said. “We’ll need warrants to pull phone bills, to get voice-mail messages and texts.” I popped the truck’s rear compartment to see those three suitcases.
“Were they going on a trip?” Pepe asked.
I opened the hard-shelled, hot-pink Hello Kitty suitcase. “Girls’ shirts, panties, calf-length Cons, skinny jeans. Chloe, I’m guessing.”
Next, I opened the battered black piece covered with shoe prints and skateboard bumper stickers. “Games for a Nintendo DS, checkered skinny jeans, three pairs of clean socks, and… a Bic lighter.” I pointed at the Bic. “Cody.”
“Oh boy,” Pepe said, taking pictures of that lighter.
Then, I opened the last suitcase, a newish Louis Vuitton piece with no nicks or scratches. “Obviously Mrs. Chatman’s. Designer blue jeans, stiletto boots, two bras, lots of panties, T-shirts, and… a box of bullets for the Smith and Wesson.”
More pics taken of the bullets.
My eyes combed the rest of the SUV’s compartment. “Do y’all see what I don’t see?”
Pepe, Luke, and Colin scanned the cabin.
“Two kids and a lady,” I pointed out. “Where’s
his
bag?”
We searched the SUV again.
No suitcase for a man.
“Anybody see a suitcase in the house?” I asked. “Maybe he hadn’t put his in the trunk.”
Luke shook his head. “We would’ve noticed that.”
Pepe turned the key in the ignition. “The gas tank is full. Wherever she and the kids were going, she wasn’t planning on stopping soon.”
“Or for Daddy Bear to come along,” I said.
“Oh boy,” Luke and Pepe said together.
“Okay, so let’s backtrack,” I said. “ ‘
Something, something
kill me.’ And she died holding a gun.”
“She had been scared of something,” Colin said.
“Or someone,” Pepe added.
“So scared,” I said, “that she purchased that gun, filled the car’s gas tank, and packed up the kids. But before they could escape, before she had a chance to fire that gun and drive four hundred miles east to wherever, she had been stopped.”
“By what?” Luke asked.
“By whom?” Pepe wondered.
“The fire?”
“Her husband?”
My body went cold. “Or both.”
10
BENEATH THE DECEMBER MOON, BENEATH A SKY STILL SMOKY FROM FIRE AND ASH , the Chatman house resembled the
War of the Worlds
plane-crash movie set found on the Universal Studios lot—random wood boards strewn across the property, plaster and wallpaper hanging off walls like dead, burned skin, dirty insulation dripping from the eaves like broiled intestines. All of this but without the crashed 747 on the front lawn. Hard to believe that a family had lived here. But as I surveyed the destruction, I found it easy to believe that a family—three-quarters of it anyway—had perished.
As a homicide detective, I regularly entered the homes of slain victims. There, I smelled tobacco caught in the curtains; smelled spilled beer and whiskey fumes in the rugs and wafting from the mountain
“Y’all are as sharp as marbles.” I swiveled and pointed to the SUV in the driveway. “You search it yet?”
“Not thoroughly,” Pepe said. “Zucca sprayed the inside, but he didn’t find any blood. Nothing but old soda spills, Skittles, and hard-ass french fries.”
“Let’s take another look,” I said, pulling gloves on as we stepped over to the car.
“We did grab a few things from Chatman’s Jag,” Pepe said as we walked. “A CVS drugstore receipt from December tenth, which was yesterday. A botanical-gardens ticket from December tenth, which was yesterday. And a charger and cell phone hidden in the compartment beneath the driver’s seat.”
“Ooh,” I said. “Secret cell phone stashed in the secret seat cache.”
“We found some pain meds in the Jag’s glove compartment,” Pepe continued. “Hydrocodone prescribed for Mr. Chatman. And we found an EZ-Mail invoice for personal mailbox service for November. And that’s about it.”
“That phone gets me hot,” I said. “We’ll need warrants to pull phone bills, to get voice-mail messages and texts.” I popped the truck’s rear compartment to see those three suitcases.
“Were they going on a trip?” Pepe asked.
I opened the hard-shelled, hot-pink Hello Kitty suitcase. “Girls’ shirts, panties, calf-length Cons, skinny jeans. Chloe, I’m guessing.”
Next, I opened the battered black piece covered with shoe prints and skateboard bumper stickers. “Games for a Nintendo DS, checkered skinny jeans, three pairs of clean socks, and… a Bic lighter.” I pointed at the Bic. “Cody.”
“Oh boy,” Pepe said, taking pictures of that lighter.
Then, I opened the last suitcase, a newish Louis Vuitton piece with no nicks or scratches. “Obviously Mrs. Chatman’s. Designer blue jeans, stiletto boots, two bras, lots of panties, T-shirts, and… a box of bullets for the Smith and Wesson.”
More pics taken of the bullets.
My eyes combed the rest of the SUV’s compartment. “Do y’all see what I don’t see?”
Pepe, Luke, and Colin scanned the cabin.
“Two kids and a lady,” I pointed out. “Where’s
his
bag?”
We searched the SUV again.
No suitcase for a man.
“Anybody see a suitcase in the house?” I asked. “Maybe he hadn’t put his in the trunk.”
Luke shook his head. “We would’ve noticed that.”
Pepe turned the key in the ignition. “The gas tank is full. Wherever she and the kids were going, she wasn’t planning on stopping soon.”
“Or for Daddy Bear to come along,” I said.
“Oh boy,” Luke and Pepe said together.
“Okay, so let’s backtrack,” I said. “ ‘
Something, something
kill me.’ And she died holding a gun.”
“She had been scared of something,” Colin said.
“Or someone,” Pepe added.
“So scared,” I said, “that she purchased that gun, filled the car’s gas tank, and packed up the kids. But before they could escape, before she had a chance to fire that gun and drive four hundred miles east to wherever, she had been stopped.”
“By what?” Luke asked.
“By whom?” Pepe wondered.
“The fire?”
“Her husband?”
My body went cold. “Or both.”
10
BENEATH THE DECEMBER MOON, BENEATH A SKY STILL SMOKY FROM FIRE AND ASH , the Chatman house resembled the
War of the Worlds
plane-crash movie set found on the Universal Studios lot—random wood boards strewn across the property, plaster and wallpaper hanging off walls like dead, burned skin, dirty insulation dripping from the eaves like broiled intestines. All of this but without the crashed 747 on the front lawn. Hard to believe that a family had lived here. But as I surveyed the destruction, I found it easy to believe that a family—three-quarters of it anyway—had perished.
As a homicide detective, I regularly entered the homes of slain victims. There, I smelled tobacco caught in the curtains; smelled spilled beer and whiskey fumes in the rugs and wafting from the mountain
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