08-A Thousand Bones, page 22
Kenneth Snider stated he and his father were setting off on a hunt when a buck unexpectedly entered their location. Kenneth Snider Jr. stated he aimed and fired just as his father stepped into his sights. Kenneth Snider Jr. appeared distressed and emotional. He was extremely cooperative and willingly accompanied me to the sheriff’s office. See attached statement from second witness.
A second witness? Joe sifted quickly to the second page.
Witness name: Roland J. Snider. Age: 16.
Relationship to deceased: Son.
Roland? Ken Snider’s brother? Joe moved quickly to the accordion file to get Kenneth Snider, Sr.’s death certificate. It took her a moment to find it: name of decedent’s husband/wife: Mary Trader Snider. Roland had taken his mother’s maiden name. Why?
She went back to the accident report and found the witness statement Roland had given to Deputy Miller:
Witness name: Roland J. Snider. Age: 16.
Relationship to deceased: Son.
Roland Snider stated to me he and his father and brother were heading to the woods when suddenly he heard a shotgun blast. He heard his brother scream and saw his father lying on the ground, bleeding from the face. Roland Snider stated his brother notified the sheriff’s department by CB radio. Roland Snider was distraught and tearful and for most of the interview, incoherent. When I asked them if either had knelt next to or held their father’s body, they stated they had not. I confiscated two Remington 870 pump shotguns, one identified as the weapon Ken Jr. was carrying, the other identified as the father’s gun. End report.
She went to Mike’s desk. “Rafsky.” she said. “Wake up.”
He lifted his head and blinked.
“Roland Trader is Roland Snider,” she said. “They’re brothers.”
He wiped his nose and picked up the report she had set in front of him. Her eyes cut back to the jail-cell monitor. Snider was huddled under his blanket.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“Downstairs.”
“You can’t question him.”
“I know.”
The cold air hit her as soon as she descended the stairs. Holt had asked if he could bring a space heater down for himself and the other officers who sat watch, but so far no one had bothered.
The two cells were on the left side. Everything was gray—bars, walls, blankets, and bunks. The only windows were narrow panes of glass high on the walls. Holt had told her that when it snowed, the windows got blocked, making the basement feel like a cave sunk deep into the earth.
She paused at the small desk and pretended to be looking for something. Behind her, she heard the shuffle of feet, then a sniffle.
“Hey,” Snider said.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”
“Can I have another blanket?”
She pulled a blanket off a storage shelf and handed it to him through the bars. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and stepped back, his face pasty, his eyes empty.
“Have you seen my lawyer?” he asked.
Roland Trader still hadn’t put in an appearance at the station, and Joe wondered if he was still sitting outside the Collier cabin. She couldn’t tell Snider she knew Roland was his brother. One wrong comment, and Roland Trader would claim they were interrogating him without counsel.
A sound drew her eye to the stairs. Holt was coming down. Roland Trader was two steps behind. Snider saw Roland, shrugged off the blanket, and came to the bars.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Quiet,” Roland said. His eyes lasered to Joe. “You’re not supposed to be talking to my client.”
“You mean your brother?” Joe said.
A flicker of surprise passed over Roland’s eyes and was gone. “My client,” he said evenly.
Holt was staring at Roland dumbfounded.
“I need to speak with my client alone,” Roland said. He focused on the TV monitor. “With that off.”
Joe reached up and switched the camera off. When she turned to Roland, he was looking around at the cells. It struck her how wrong her first impression of the man had been. Back in Inkster, she had guessed Roland Trader to be in his thirties. But a quick mental calculation told her he was in his mid-twenties.
Damn. Probably not old enough even to be a lawyer.
“You want to talk inside the cell or out?” Joe asked.
Roland glanced back at the cell. “Inside.”
Holt unlocked the door. Roland moved inside, and Holt locked the door behind him, the clunk of the heavy lock echoing in the basement.
“Just press that button when you’re done,” Joe said, motioning to the alarm on the wall.
Roland looked at her through the bars. The thin fluorescent light gave his brown eyes a dull, liquidy sheen, as if things were moving beneath but unable to get out.
“Please leave us alone,” he said.
32
He could smell the drifting scent of sewer water from the drain on the floor. And the stink of sweat and mildew from the thin mattresses on the bunks. There was something familiar about it all. He did not like being here.
Roland turned slowly, taking in the rest of the cell.
The walls were cinder block, newly painted gray. The light was fluorescent but softer than he was used to seeing, as if they hoped the gentleness of it would work to calm their prisoners. His eyes stopped on Ken, perched on the edge of the bunk, hands clasped between his knees.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ken demanded. “You leave me sitting here for four days all alone?”
Roland looked back at the stairs. He wondered if the cops were up there, listening. He should have asked for a conference room, but he wasn’t sure the rooms upstairs weren’t bugged. He didn’t trust cops.
“Roland,” Ken said, “talk to me.”
Roland came back to his brother.
“You said these cops up here were stupid,” Ken said. “You said they wouldn’t find out anything, you said—”
“The only thing they’ve found out is that we’re brothers,” Roland said. “That was inevitable.”
“But why are we even doing all this?” Ken asked. “Why couldn’t I just tell them back in Inkster I didn’t kill anyone? Why didn’t you let me take the lie detector test?”
Roland glanced at the bunk opposite Ken, then decided instead to sit next to Ken so they could keep their voices lower.
“Because anything can come up on those things,” Roland said. “Lies can be truths, and truths can be lies, and the cops only see what they want to see. And a polygraph isn’t admissible anyway. What’s the point of a good test result if a jury never sees it?”
Ken nodded slowly, but Roland could see the fear in his eyes. Roland knew fear was a funny thing sometimes. It ate away at the mind’s ability to reason and react, and maybe right now, for Ken, that was the best thing that could happen.
“Besides,” Roland said, “the evidence against you in Ronnie’s murder is very circumstantial.”
“What evidence?” Ken asked. “You haven’t even told me what they arrested me on! All I know is that they found her—”
Roland placed a hand on Ken’s shoulder. He could feel the rush of Ken’s panicked breaths, almost feel the race of blood through his veins.
“Calm down, Kenny,” Roland said.
Ken hung his head, quiet.
“This is what they have,” Roland said. “Ronnie’s charm bracelet was found up here in the woods. The charm you gave her, that heart-shaped one, was found in your drawer.”
“But she gave that charm back to me,” Ken said.
“Yes, I know that,” Roland said.
Ken put his head in his hands. “I would never have hurt Ronnie over that damn charm. Or anything else.”
“They also found a bloody hammer with hairs on it,” Roland said.
Ken’s face shot up.
“They found it in the basement with some other old tools,” Roland said.
“You knew this in Inkster and you didn’t tell me?” Ken stood up quickly, took two steps, and spun back. “I don’t understand this. First the hoist is missing, and now—”
Ken stopped himself, shaking his head.
Roland thought Ken had that look on his face that he used to get when he didn’t understand his geometry homework and he’d just sit and stare at it, trying like hell to figure something out for himself before he’d ask Roland for help. Sometimes he did figure it out. Most times he didn’t.
“Roland,” Ken whispered, “how did blood get on that hammer?”
“Maybe I used it to kill a rat.”
“Even I know the cops can tell the difference between animal blood and human blood,” Ken said. “If it came from an animal, we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“You’re right,” Roland said. “It is human.”
“Whose is it?”
“Ronnie’s.”
Ken stared at him, his eyes glazed with shock. “You killed Ronnie?”
Roland held up a hand. “Keep your voice down.”
Ken came closer, leaning over him. “You killed Ronnie?”
Roland grabbed the blanket and pulled him back down onto the bunk. Ken sat rigid, looking at him, waiting.
“It was an accident,” Roland whispered.
“Jesus,” Ken said, “but what—?” He shook his head. “Jesus, Jesus. How? What happened?”
Roland wiped his face, listening for the sounds of footsteps or voices on the stairs. He heard nothing but a soft, steady drip of water.
“She came back to the house to get her clothes,” Roland said. “You were at work, and I didn’t want to let her in, but you know what a bitch she was. She practically shoved her way inside.”
Ken was shaking his head, his eyes glistening.
“She…” Roland paused, hearing a hollowness in his voice. He cleared his throat and went on. “You know how she used to hang her underwear on the clothesline in the basement, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She went down there, and I was helping her, you know, taking things off the line and tossing them into this cardboard box she had brought.”
“Go on,” Ken said, his voice strained.
“I look up, and I see her staring at me,” Roland said. “It was the same look she used to have when you brought her home from the bowling alley drunk. But that day she wasn’t drunk. She took the panties down off the line, and she came over to me and started touching me.”
“What?”
“Ken—”
“Fuck, Roland.”
“Ken, please, listen to me.”
“I don’t fucking believe this. I don’t fucking believe this…”
“She was touching me, rubbing herself up against me.” Roland pulled in a deep breath. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “I didn’t know what to do, Kenny. I was only sixteen, for God’s sake.”
Ken was quiet. Roland’s eyes found the drain on the floor, and he stared at it. It was the same kind of drain they had in their basement back in Inkster. The hole in the floor where he used to sweep the water from the washer overflow. The same hole he had to piss in sometimes when he was locked down there too long. The same hole Ronnie’s blood had run into.
“I got scared,” Roland said. “I never even kissed a girl before and here she was, clawing at me like some kind of animal who needed…” He looked up. “I pushed her away.”
“She got mad?” Ken asked.
Roland nodded. “And she started screaming. She was calling me a loser, saying I was just like you. Saying that’s why she was dumping you.”
Roland heard Ken draw a deep breath, and he looked over at him. His eyes were closed.
“She was throwing things and screaming that she hated the way her clothes always smelled like the basement and that you…”
Roland stopped.
“Go on, Roland. Finish.”
“She told me she never loved you, that she was just with you until someone better came along.”
Ken got up slowly and walked to the other side of the cell. He pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders and leaned his head against the bars.
Roland looked back at the drain. The basement stench was stronger now, and he pulled in a breath, keeping the smell in his nose to mix in his memories. Something else was there, too, something familiar, a feeling. He was getting aroused, and for a moment, he shut his eyes and let himself enjoy it.
“How did you do it?” Ken asked without turning around.
Roland opened his eyes, using the drain to tighten his focus and will the erection away.
Ken faced him. “Roland?”
“I grabbed the hammer and hit her with it,” Roland said. “I only meant to hit her once, but I couldn’t stop myself. Then suddenly, I was standing there, looking down at her. She was dead.”
“Oh, God, Roland.”
“I put her in the trunk of Dad’s car, that old Chevy we had back then. And I cleaned up the basement. I burned her clothes in a can out back. And you never knew.”
“How did her bracelet get all the way up north?” Ken asked.
“The next day, it was the day after Valentine’s Day, remember?” Roland said. “I told you I was staying overnight at Danny’s house? I lied. I brought her up here and dumped her in the woods.”
“Why up here, why Echo Bay?”
Roland looked up. “You know why, Ken.”
Roland didn’t blink as Ken stared at him. And when Ken finally came back and sat down on the bunk next to him, Roland was careful not to move. They sat, elbows on their knees, heads down. Roland glanced at Ken, another memory easing its way back.
Cold. A sleety snow. The house on Avondale quiet, their father’s empty bedroom, holding only boxes of his clothes, bowling trophies, and three pairs of old leather shoes. From Ken’s bedroom, the grunts and groans of rushed sex. His brother’s voice. I love you, Ronnie. I want to marry you, Ronnie.
Roland wondered what Ken was thinking now. Wondered if after everything Ken had done for him, could he do this one last thing?
“Roland,” Ken said quietly, “the cops, when they were searching the house, they mentioned other names. Did you kill other girls?”
Roland shook his head. “I don’t know anything about other girls.”
“Tell me the truth, Roland.”
“You know how hard those years were for me, Ken. And you always thought it was because of Dad dying, but it wasn’t. It was her and what I did. I’ve always hated myself for what I did.”
Ken hid his face in his hands.
“It was only Ronnie, Ken. I swear it. I’d never lie to you. You know that.”
Ken finally looked at him, his face drawn with pain and confusion. “I don’t know what to do here, Ro,” he said. “You know I’d do anything for you. But they’re talking life here.”
“Listen to me,” Roland said. “You won’t have to go to prison. I understand the law, and you have one thing going for you. It’s really hard to get a conviction without a body.”
“They don’t have Ronnie’s body?”
“No,” Roland said. “And they never will.”
“Why not?” Ken asked. “Did you bury her?”
Roland shook his head slowly. Ken was staring at him, and Roland knew he was seeing things he didn’t want to see, because Ken understood the woods and animals and what they did when they were hungry.
Ken’s head dropped lower, and his hands came up to his face. He gave out a soft sob, and Roland stayed quiet, letting his brother have his tears and his memories of Ronnie, a part of him bothered by the fact Ken did not see the beauty of Ronnie dying the way she did.
“I need you to trust me on this, Kenny,” Roland said. “I know if we can just hang tough a little longer, we can get out of this. There’s not a judge in the state who will take this to trial without a body, especially on the other evidence they have.”
Ken was staring at the floor. “You need to turn yourself in, Roland,” he said softly.
“Kenny.”
Ken looked up, his eyes catching the light streaming in from the small window outside the bars. The fear was gone, replaced by disbelief and disgust. Disgust for him and what he had done. Roland needed to get the fear back.
“I can’t turn myself in,” Roland said. “I will never survive in prison.”
Ken held his gaze, silent.
“When we were little, you always protected me, Kenny, because you were the strong one,” Roland said. “Now you’ve got to let me protect you because I’m the smart one.”
Ken was still quiet. The fear was back in his face. And it was there in his body now, in the broken way he slumped back to the bunk. Roland could almost feel it against his own skin.
“So what do we do?” Ken asked.
“We wait,” Roland said. “When they can’t produce the evidence at the hearing, we’ll walk. Or even if they get enough to take it to trial, we ask for bail. Then we run.”
The cop named Holt came downstairs to let him out. Roland went upstairs and down the hall to the main office. He paused in the doorway, coat over his arm, briefcase in hand. They hadn’t noticed him, and he took those few seconds to study them.
There was an Italian-looking deputy leafing through a magazine. A nobody.
Roland looked to the tall man seated at the desk, head bent over some paperwork. Roland had seen him in Inkster and again at the cabin this morning. Roland couldn’t see a badge, but he knew the man was a state investigator. He wondered if the rumpled hair and wrinkled clothes were from self-neglect or simply the result of long hours. Roland guessed it was the latter, and that gave him a small measure of respect for the cop. He liked tenacity.
