All of which led me to this 1960s-era converted garage, which I’m sure is worth about $600,000 plus. It nests in the winding waterways and trees of Turtle Creek, a famous, wealthy old Dallas neighborhood where Indians used to camp. I love the play of light on hardwoods, the gracious white brick fireplace with a grate covered in ash, even the concentric coffee rings near the open laptop on the coffee table. The art, not so much. It matches these pillows.
Bill appears with two St. Pauli Girls in his hands. I want to think this means he took note of my favorite beer and stocked it.
“In case you’re wondering,” he says, gesturing with his beer, “I’m a squatter. My dad enjoys flipping town homes after retirement, which I guess is better than playing baccarat at Choctaw. My mother decorates. So I’m just here making it look lived in until it sells.” He takes a swig and settles on the couch directly across from me.
“I have to confess,” he says. “Kayley called to warn me you were coming.”
“So you could get your gun out.” I smile.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he says.
I switch the subject back to Terrell. “How many times have you won a reprieve in a death penalty case?”
“A reprieve? Five or six. That’s the real goal most of the time. To extend life as long as possible, because if you’re sitting on Death Row in Texas, you are most likely going to die on that gurney. I’ve only worked one case with a Capra-esque ending. Angie was the lead. I don’t do this full time. But you know that.”
“That one time… you must have been… elated,” I say.
“Elated isn’t exactly the right word. It doesn’t change that the victim died a horrible death. There’s a family out there who might always feel like we set a killer free. So I’d say, more like very, very, very relieved. Angie insisted we did our high-fiving in private.” Bill pats the side of the couch. “Come here. You’re too far away.”
I get up very slowly. He pulls me down into his arms and drags a kiss along my mouth. “Lie down.”
“I thought this wasn’t a good idea.”
“This is a very good idea. We’re going to sleep.”
The fierce pounding rocks both of us upright and fully awake.
Bill jumps from the couch, leaving me gracelessly sprawled against the pillows. He’s already peering through the peephole before my feet touch the floor. In a second, I’m beside him. “Go into the kitchen,” he orders, “if you want to keep us a secret.”
I don’t budge, and he turns the knob.
I’m blinded by lime green. A ski jacket meant to stand out to rescue helicopters on a snowy slope. Jo’s head is sticking out of it. She pushes her way into the room like she’s been here before.
She’s quickly figuring out what my presence means. “Tessa? Why…?” She shakes her head. “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter. You should know, too.”
“Know what?” I’m awkwardly smoothing my hair.
“About Aurora.”
“Is something wrong? Is she hurt?” Or dead?
“No, no. It’s her DNA. We found a match. It’s bizarre.”
“Come on, Jo. What’s up?” Bill, impatient. Watching my face.
“We have a DNA match from Aurora to the fetal bone from the Black-Eyed Susan grave. They shared the same father. They would have been half-sisters.”
“A DNA match to… Lydia’s daughter?” Bill is asking the incredulous words while I’m trying to catch up. To let go of the picture of Lydia and a high school boy in a naked tangle.
Lydia slept with the killer. Or she was raped.
I’m the one with the answers, a Susan whispers.
Bill’s phone begins to bleat. He pulls it out of his pocket, annoyed, and glances at the screen. His face is suddenly locked down.
“I have to take this.” He points a finger at Jo and me. “Hold off saying more until I’m off the phone.”
Jo guides me by my elbow back to the couch. The Susans are whispering very low, like the wind humming through that tiny hole in my tree house.
That night, the Susans come to me in my sleep. They are frenzied, running around, a blur of youthful limbs and bright swirling skirts, more alive than I’ve ever seen them. They are searching for my monster in every nook and cranny as if their mansion in my head is about to explode. As if it is for the very last time.
They are shouting and cursing at each other, at me.
Wake up, Tessie! they are shrieking. Lydia knows something! They are spreading out like Army men. Opening and slamming closet doors, tearing off bedcovers, dusting cobwebs off chandeliers, ripping weeds out of the garden. Merry, sweet Merry, is falling to her knees to beg God’s mercy.
A Susan calls out. Over here! I’ve found the monster! She’s telling me to hurry, hurry, hurry because she can’t hold him down for long.
I teeter on the edge of consciousness. The Susan is planted on top of him, her red skirt swirled over his body like blood. She is using every last bit of strength to twist his neck around so that I can see. A worm is gyrating out of his mouth. His face is caked with mud.
I wake up sobbing.
My monster is still wearing a mask. And Lydia knows exactly who he is.
September 1995
MR. LINCOLN: I think we’re all done, Ms. Bell. Thank you for your testimony. I’m sorry it’s been a difficult day for you.
MS. BELL: It wasn’t difficult. I have one more thing. It’s about Tessie’s journal.
MR. LINCOLN: I wasn’t aware she had a journal.
MR. VEGA: Objection. I know nothing about this journal. It is not in evidence, your honor, and I don’t see its relevance.
JUDGE WATERS: Mr. Lincoln?
MR. LINCOLN: I’m thinking.
JUDGE WATERS: Well, while you’re thinking, I’m going to ask the witness a few questions.
MR. VEGA: Objection. I believe you are overstepping a little here, your honor. We only have this witness’s word that it exists.
MR. LINCOLN: I believe I have to object as well, your honor. I’m walking a ledge just like Mr. Vega here, not knowing its contents.
JUDGE WATERS: Thank you for your united interest in pursuing the truth, gentlemen. Look at me, Ms. Bell. I need you to speak very generally. Did you bring up the journal because you think there is something in it pertinent to this trial?
MS. BELL: Most of it was running times, personal stuff. Sometimes she’d read to me from it. A fairy tale she made up. Or show me a little sketch she did. Or…
JUDGE WATERS: Hold on, Ms. Bell. Did Ms. Cartwright let you read her journal?
MS. BELL: Not exactly. When she was acting funny, I would, though. And I’d go through her purse or drawers to make sure she wasn’t hoarding Benadryl and stuff. That’s what best friends do.
JUDGE WATERS: Ms. Bell, I need you to answer my question with a yes or a no. Do you believe there is something in the journal that is pertinent to this trial?
MS. BELL: That’s hard to say but, you know, like, I wonder. I never read the whole thing. I skimmed. We used to do our journals together. It was one of our things.
JUDGE WATERS: Do you know where Tessie’s journal is?
MS. BELL: Yes.
JUDGE WATERS: And where is that?
MS. BELL: I gave it to her psychiatrist.
JUDGE WATERS: And why did you do that?
MS. BELL: Because it had a picture she drew when she was blind of a red-haired mermaid jumping off her grandfather’s roof. You know, killing herself.
Part III: TESSA AND LYDIA