Tammy, Terri realized, felt the need to tell her story. Settling back in her chair, she inquired. "What's she like?"
"Which second? Girl's got moods like mercury." Eyeing Terri, Tammy gave her a slow smile. "You had a long day, too, I imagine. So I'll spare you the gibberish and cut to the lucid moments. You don't have my boundless patience."
* * *
After an hour, Athalie Price flashed Tammy a sudden, startling grin. "You still here?" she asked.
Tammy smiled. "Sure," she drawled. "Got nowhere to go, and nothing to do."
Athalie's smile vanished. "Like me, I guess. Nowhere to go. Been like that ever since I met Vernon, and then Payton got born."
"Was Vernon your first man?"
"You mean," Athalie inquired with mild incredulity, "did he teach me sex?"
"Someone had to, right?"
"Someone did. Not Vernon, though—my granddaddy." Athalie's tone sounded matter-of-fact. "Used to give me a quarter for stand-up sex, sliding up and down his thing. Vernon just gave me Payton. That and a beating or six."
* * *
Tammy poured herself more coffee. "Near as I can make out," she said to Terri, "Vernon was physically and sexually abusive—got hard for Athalie to tell the difference between a beating and a fucking. All as random as the payoff from a slot machine."
"Did she give a reason for staying?"
"Does a woman that damaged need one?" Tammy asked. "Sometimes the most powerful weapon an abuser has is sheer unpredictability—you never know when you're going to get it. And in the amazing world of human hope, it sometimes takes damned little to keep a woman coming back for more.
"Athalie's just smart enough to know she's not right—not just disturbed but probably retarded. Whereas Vernon was crazy and controlling." Tammy's tone was grim. "And smart enough to know exactly what he had—a woman he could torment till the day he died."
"What about Payton and Rennell?"
"The kids were just a sidelight." Tammy placed the cup in front of her. "But with Rennell, if you believe his mama, Vernon started early."
* * *
"Rennell?" Athalie repeated with the same sardonic smile. "Vernon didn't even bother waiting for that boy to be born."
"How do you mean?"
Athalie touched her face. "Didn't just hit me in the head no more. Used to kick me in the stomach."
"You mean when you were pregnant."
"Uh-huh. Said he didn't want this baby to get born." The words were tinged with a brittle triumph Tammy could not fathom. "But he got born, didn't he. He got made, and he got born."
"What happened to him after that?"
Athalie did not acknowledge the question. She lay her head back in the worn chair, eyes losing their focus, a deranged woman in a bare, green room in a mental institution, yet suddenly a thousand miles away.
* * *
"She'd come and go," Tammy said. "Like she was in a trance, then wake up and see I was still there, and start talking again like nothing had happened. Mostly this Delphic kind of disconnected nonsense, with nuggets of sense."
Terri scribbled a note to herself, "Prenatal trauma—organic brain damage?" "Still," she said, "a developing fetus is vulnerable to the same abuse his mother gets—a uterine wall is not much more of a barrier to trauma than it is to alcohol."
"Sure. But try putting Athalie Price on the witness stand. All I can do is claim to have understood her—for whatever a judge may think it's worth."
"What did she tell you about Rennell?"
"Disjointed phrases, mainly." Tammy flipped open her notebook. "I made some notes in the parking lot. The words she used were 'sad,' 'slow,' 'clumsy,' 'picked on.' Said he 'couldn't tie his shoes' and 'always took the blame.' String them all together, and it paints a picture. But that's seven and a half hours' worth."
"What about the abuse?"
Tammy put down her notes. "Athalie's fine with killing her husband," she answered. "But some things make her feel ashamed."
* * *
The subject of abuse to Rennell, it seemed to Tammy, caused his mother to shut down. Her eyes were blank, and it was hard to know how much she still remembered.
"Back then," Tammy offered, "we didn't know how to protect our babies. Remember the time Rennell fell off the curb and you took him to the hospital? You were trying to protect him then, weren't you?"
Athalie shrugged—whether out of indifference or avoidance, Tammy could not tell. Softly, she asked, "Was that Vernon's doing, Athalie?"
Athalie did not answer. "Sometimes," Tammy continued, "things happen to us when we're kids, and we promise ourselves we'll never let them happen to our kids. But sometimes they do anyway. Maybe it was like that being Rennell's mama."
Athalie said nothing. The only sign that she had heard Tammy's voice was that she turned away.
"Those burn marks on Rennell's backside," Tammy said, "did Vernon do that?"
Athalie froze. Studying her silent profile, Tammy briefly thought that tears might have caused her eyes to blink.
"After he got born," Athalie murmured, "boy always cried at night. Pissed Vernon off so bad he spanked him, and Rennell just a baby in diapers."
"What did you do?"
"Put beer in his bottle. Made him sleep better."
* * *
"That was how she protected him," Tammy said. "Feeding Budweiser to an infant. Not very good for the cerebrum, I wouldn't think."
Terri made a note. "But nothing about abuse beyond the crib."
"Nothing." Tammy gave an ironic smile. "When I tried to push her, something else came out. You could say it's the difference between Payton and Rennell."
* * *
How, Tammy wondered, could she get Athalie Price to tell her what she needed?
The woman before her had receded into the silence of the insane, so profound that her essence seemed to have vanished. The husk who remained, face turned toward the wall, was preternaturally still. "Were you afraid," Tammy inquired gently, "that Rennell might turn out to be like Vernon?"
At first, Athalie did not seem to hear. Then, to Tammy's astonishment, the woman slowly shook her head.
"Because Rennell was different?" she asked.
" 'Cause his daddy was different." Athalie Price turned to her, a tight smile of anger lighting her eyes. "I got my revenge on Vernon Price. Rennell's daddy was a boy from down the street—real slow, but real sweet. Just like Rennell."
* * *
Listening, Terri felt a psychic shiver.
Only blood of mine you'll ever get.
"She wouldn't give me a name," Tammy concluded. "But if you believe her, Rennell's father was someone else. Maybe retarded himself."
"We need to try and find him." Terri rubbed her temples. "Athalie thought Vernon didn't know. But for sure he suspected, and Rennell became his scapegoat."
"If you ask me," Tammy answered, "he still is."
FOURTEEN
EARLY MORNING FOUND THE SAME CONFERENCE ROOM OCCUPIED by Anthony Lane, Tammy Mattox, Johnny Moore, Carlo Paget, and Teresa Peralta Paget, the last running on three hours' sleep.
"So," Terri asked Lane bluntly, "is our guy retarded?"
Lane rested both elbows on the table. "The state will say no. I need to do more work, but my tentative answer is yes. The biggest problem we've got is Rennell's IQ."
"Which is . . ."
"Seventy-two, according to our test. Seventy's the standard, of course. With a standard deviation of five points either way, Rennell's IQ falls within a range of sixty-seven to seventy-seven—"
"Seventy-two," Carlo interjected, "is dismal."
"Maybe to you," Lane answered. "But we're dealing with a death row population whose IQ , on average, is in the eighties."
Carlo shook his head in disbelief. "Are you telling me the State of California's going to execute Rennell Price for being two points too smart?"
"Not necessarily. Remember that IQ is only one of three indicators. The second is age of onset—there it's clear Rennell had problems from early childhood. As for the last, adaptive functioning, he's got problems in basic life skills all across the board. Which is why Payton looked after him: Rennell's brain just doesn't work right."