Page 105 of The Killing Plains

Avery’s face darkened. “Adam thought he was the coolest. He was from out of state, so he seemed different—more sophisticated, I guess. Even in high school. He’d talk about Montana. And England, where his dad came from. Adam loved listening to him, and Shaw liked having his own personal fan club. Even at my age, I could see it.”

“That’s why you don’t like him?”

“Shaw’s an asshole. He’d let Adam tag along on his fishing trips and be his gofer—but not really his friend. He made that clear. Adam always came home depressed after being with him.”

“We’re getting off track. What happened the night of the fire?”

Avery looked away. It had been a typical evening, she said. During dinner, her father had lost his temper and started beating her mother over some little something—the tuna casserole was too hot, or not hot enough. Adam was twelve, big for his age. He’d begun to intervene more assertively in recent months.

“Adam actually pulled a knife on my dad that night,” Avery said. “And it worked. The old man backed off.” Their mother, shaken and in pain from the beating, went straight to bed. “I guess she took sedatives, but I didn’t know that, then.” Avery sighed. “Dad went out to the Blue Moon after supper, as usual. That was our favorite time of day, Adam and me. He had an old Nintendo Mom found at the thrift store. We played Donkey Kong till pretty late. Finally, Adam said we should go to bed since it was a school night. He got into his pajamas, but I was being a brat, dragging my feet.” She swallowed. “That’s when the old man came home.”

Several hours of heavy drinking at the saloon had not improved Budd Parker’s temper. He walked through the door spoiling for afight, and when he saw dirty dishes and congealed casserole still on the table, he exploded.

“He came into our room screaming and went after me with the belt,” Avery said. “Adam jumped in to stop him. Dad was still pissed about what happened at dinner, I guess. He yelled, ‘I’ll teach you to pull a knife on me, you little bastard.’ He dropped the belt and started punching Adam, kicking him, hitting him with anything he could find. Finally, he grabbed the belt, but instead of flogging Adam with it, he started choking him. I was crouched down between my bed and dresser. I saw the whole thing. The old man was holding him up off the ground, and Adam was thrashing, clawing at the belt. I watched his face turn red, then purple. His tongue was sticking out, all fat, like a sausage.” Avery hesitated. “Then he stopped thrashing, and his arms dropped. He was looking right at me when he died.”

Colly realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled sharply. “Your father murdered Adam.”

Avery nodded. She was staring at her fingers plaited in her lap. “Mom slept through the whole thing.”

A thousand questions flooded Colly’s mind, but she set them aside. “Then what?”

“It’s a little fuzzy—I must’ve been in shock. I remember my father dropping Adam in a heap, like a rag doll. He wasn’t angry anymore. He just stood there. Then he nudged Adam with his boot and said, ‘Enough playacting. Get up,’ or something. He was drunk—I guess it took a while to sink in.”

When he finally realized what he’d done, Budd Parker shifted into self-preservation mode. “He stripped off Adam’s pajamas and put his clothes back on him,” Avery said. “It’s hard to dress a dead body. He wanted me to help, but I couldn’t move. Then, he threw my brother over his shoulder. He grabbed my arm and dragged me along. He carried Adam to the truck, and he told me to get someold chains out of the toolshed. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. I thought he might kill me, too. He put the chains in the truck, and he made me get in. I don’t know why. Maybe he was scared I’d call 911 if he left me at the house. I asked where we were going, but he didn’t answer. We drove up the highway, swerving like crazy. I can still see the yellow centerline waving like a ribbon. If a cop had stopped us, maybe...” Avery shrugged. “We ended up at the stock pond. The old man wrapped the chains around Adam and waded out to the middle. He pushed my brother under and watched to make sure he stayed down. Then we drove home. On the way, he said if I ever told anyone, he’d kill me and my mother, both. He said when people asked, I should say that Adam was in the house when I went to bed, and when I woke up, he was gone.”

Avery stopped and looked up. Her eyes were dry, her expression dazed and vacant. She seemed stupefied with the effort of reliving that night’s events.

“I’m sorry,” Colly said gently. “Look, I get why you kept quiet as a kid. But Russ said your dad’s been dead for years. YouknewWillis was innocent—of murder, anyway. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Your story would’ve gotten him a new trial, at least.”

Avery twisted her fingers miserably in her lap and said nothing.

Colly felt a surge of weary irritation. “This changes everything. I’ve been investigating under the assumption there’s just one killer, and you knew that isn’t true.”

Avery remained silent. As Colly sat wondering what to do or say next, the crime-scene photos on the coffee table caught her eye. A sudden thought struck her. “How did the fire start?”

Avery stiffened. Her eyes darted to Colly’s.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You torched the house,” Colly said.

She could see the pulse pounding in the younger woman’s throat. After a minute, Avery gave a barely discernible nod.

“Tell me.”

Avery nodded again but seemed unable to start.

“You got back from the stock pond,” Colly prompted. “Then what? Your mother was still asleep?”

“Yeah.” Avery cleared her throat. “The old man drank a few stiff ones and was out cold on the couch in fifteen minutes. By then it was three a.m. I went back to my bedroom. It was a wreck, broken stuff everywhere. Adam’s pajamas were still on the floor. They were wet. The room stank of urine.

“As I stood there, some switch flipped in my brain. I hated my father—I wanted to hurt him like he hurt Adam. I remembered seeing the gas can in the shed when I got the chains out. I didn’t think—I just ran outside and got the can. It was half-full. I poured it all over the living room.”

Avery’s mouth was dry. She licked her lips. “My father’s lighter was on the coffee table. I—I lit it and tossed it on the floor. Then I picked up the empty gas can, and I ran.

“I stood outside, watching the flames through the living room window. I could hear the smoke alarm shrieking. And that’s when it dawned on me that my mother was trapped in there, too. I’d been so focused on revenge that I’d blocked everything else. I banged on her bedroom window, but nothing happened. So I ran back inside. I made it partway down the hall, but the smoke was so thick. Fire was everywhere.” She touched her scarred cheek. “Everything went black. Next thing I knew, someone was carrying me outside. It was my father. He laid me on the grass and ran back into the house. I guess he tried to get my mother, but the place was an inferno by then. When he came out, he rolled in the dirt, screaming. That’s all I remember till sirens woke me up, and we were in the ambulance.”

“You never told anyone?”

Avery shook her head slowly.

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