He cleared his throat. 'I remember so clearly thinking that maybe everything would be okay. Maybe he'd finally outgrown whatever it was that possessed him. Jayne had a grand time at her party, and she decided to take our old hound dog, Snaggle-tooth, out for a walk. She wanted her picture taken, and we did that. Among the pecan trees. Then we all went back into the house except her and Temple.
'He came in around suppertime and I said to him, «Where's your sister?»
'He replied, «She said she was going horseback riding.»
'Well, we waited and we waited, and she didn't come back. So Luther and I went out to hunt for her. We found her horse still saddled up and wandering about the stable, and she was there on the ground with all this blood everywhere.'
He wiped his face with his hands, and I could not describe the pity I felt for this man or for his daughter, Jayne. I dreaded telling him his story had an ending.
'The doctor,' he struggled on, 'figured she just got kicked by the horse, but I was suspicious. I thought Luther would kill the boy. You know, he didn't win a Medal of Honor for handing out mess kits. So after Jayne recovered enough to leave the hospital, Luther took her back home. But she was never right.'
'Mr. Gault,' I said. 'Do you have any idea where your daughter is now?'
'Well, she eventually went out on her own four or five years ago when Luther passed on. We usually hear from her at birthdays, Christmas, whenever the mood strikes.'
'Did you hear from her this Christmas?' I asked.
'Not directly on Christmas Day, but a week or two before.' He thought hard, an odd expression on his face.
'Where was she?'
'She called from New York City.'
'Do you know what she was doing there, Mr. Gault?'
'I never know what she's doing. I think she just wanders around and calls when she needs money, to tell you the truth.' He stared out at a snowy egret standing on a stump.
'When she called from New York,' I persisted, 'did she ask for money?'
'Do you mind if I smoke?'
'Of course not.'
He fished a pack of Merits from his breast pocket and fought to light one in the wind. He turned this way and that, and finally I cupped a hand on top of his and held the match.
He turned this way and that, and finally I cupped a hand on top of his and held the match. He was shaking.
'It's very important you tell me about the money,' I said. 'How much and how did she get it?'
He paused. 'You see, Rachael does all that.'
'Did your wife wire the money? Did she send a check?'
'I guess you don't know my daughter. No way anybody is going to cash a check for her. Rachael wires money to her on a regular basis. You see, Jayne has to be on medicine to prevent seizures. Because of what happened to her head.' —
'Where is the money wired?' I asked.
'A Western Union office. Rachael could tell you which one.'
'What about your son? Do you communicate with him?'
His face got hard. 'Not a bit.'
'He's never tried to come home?'
'Nope.'
'What about here? Does he know you're here?'
'About the only communicating I intend to do with Temple is with a double-barrel shotgun.' His jaw muscles bunched. 'I don't give a damn if he is my son.'
'Are you aware that he is using your AT amp;T charge card?'
Mr. Gault stood up straight and tapped an ash that scattered in the wind. That can't be.'
'Your wife pays the bills?'
'Well, those kind she does.'
'I see,' I said.
He flicked the cigarette into the mud and a crab went after it.
He said, 'Jayne's dead, isn't she? You're a coroner and that's why you're here.'
'Yes, Mr. Gault. I'm so sorry.'
'I had a feeling when you told me who you are. My little girl's that lady they think Temple murdered in Central Park.'
'That's why I'm here,' I said. 'But I need your help if I'm going to prove she is your daughter.'
He looked me in the eye, and I sensed bone-weary relief. He drew himself up and I felt his pride. 'Ma'am, I don't want her in some godforsaken pauper's grave. I want her here with Rachael and me. For once she can live with us because it's too late for him to hurt her.'
We walked along the pier.
'I can make certain that happens,' I said as wind flattened the grass and tore through our hair. 'All I need is your blood.'
18
Before we went inside his house, Mr. Gault warned me that his wife did not have good coping skills. He explained as delicately as he could that Rachael Gault had never faced the reality of her offsprings' blighted destinies.
'It's not that she's going to pitch a fit,' he explained in a soft voice as we climbed the porch steps. 'She just won't accept it, if you know what I mean.'