“You’re wrong! I’m not sure I ever loved you. But you talked to me about marriage, remember? You talked about building a house for you and me. Instead I found out about your engagement to somebody else in the newspaper. Why’d you do that? Why, Chase!”
“C’mon, Kya. It was impossible. Ya must’ve known it wouldn’t work. What’s wrong with how things were? Let’s go back to what we had.” He reached for her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
“Let go of me!” She twisted, tried to yank away, but he gripped her with both hands, hurting her arms. He put his mouth on hers and kissed her. She threw her arms up, knocking his hands away. She pulled her head back, hissing, “Don’t you dare.”
“There’s my lynx. Wilder than ever.” Grabbing her shoulders, he clipped the back of her knees with one of his legs and pushed her to the ground. Her head bounced hard on the dirt. “I know ya want me,” he said, leering.
“No, stop!” she screamed. Kneeling, he jammed his knee in her stomach, knocking the breath from her, as he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down.
She reared up, pushing him with both hands. Suddenly he slugged her face with his right fist. A sick popping sound rang out inside her head. Her neck snapped back, and her body was thrown backward onto the ground. Just like Pa hitting Ma. Her mind blanked for seconds against a pounding pain; then she twisted and turned, trying to squirm out from under him, but he was too strong. Holding both her arms over her head with one hand, he unzipped her shorts and ripped down her panties as she kicked at him. She screamed, but there was no one to hear. Kicking at the ground, she struggled to free herself, but he grabbed her waist and flipped her over onto her stomach. Shoved her throbbing face into the dirt, then reached under her belly and pulled her pelvis up to him as he knelt behind.
“I’m not lettin’ ya go this time. Like it or not, you’re mine.”
Finding strength from somewhere primal, she pushed against the ground with her knees and arms and reared up, at the same time swinging her elbow back across his jaw. As his head swung to the side, she struck him wildly with her fists until he lost his balance and sprawled backward onto the dirt. Then, taking aim, she kicked him in his groin, square and solid.
He bent double and rolled on his side, holding his testicles and writhing. For good measure, she kicked him in the back, knowing exactly where his kidneys lay. Several times. Hard.
Pulling up her shorts, she grabbed the knapsack and ran to her boat. Snapping the starter rope, she looked back as he rose to his hands and knees, moaning. She cussed until the motor cranked. Expecting him to chase after her any second, she turned the tiller sharply and accelerated away from the bank just as he stood. Her hands shaking, she zipped up her pants and held her body tight with one arm. Wild-eyed, she looked out to sea and saw another fishing rig nearby, two men staring at her.
40.
Cypress Cove
1970
After lunch, Judge Sims asked the prosecutor, “Eric, are you ready to call your first witness?”
“We are, Your Honor.” In former murder cases, Eric usually called the coroner first because his testimony introduced material evidence such as the murder weapon, time and place of death, and crime scene photographs, all of which made sharp impressions on the jurors. But in this case, there was no murder weapon, no fingerprints or footprints, so Eric intended to begin with motive.
“Your Honor, the People call Mr. Rodney Horn.”
Everyone in court watched Rodney Horn step onto the witness stand and swear to tell the truth. Kya recognized his face even though she’d seen it for only a few seconds. She turned away. A retired mechanic, he was one of them, spending most of his days fishin’, huntin’, or playin’ poker at the Swamp Guinea. Could hold his likker like a rain barrel. Today, as ever, he wore his denim bib overalls with a clean plaid shirt, starched so stiff the collar stood at attention. He held his fishing cap in his left hand as he was sworn in with the right, then sat down in the witness box, hat on his knee.
Eric stepped casually to the witness stand. “Good morning, Rodney.”
“Mornin’, Eric.”
“Now, Rodney, I believe you were fishing with a friend near Cypress Cove on the morning of August 30, 1969? Is that correct?”
“That’s ’xactly right. Me and Denny were out there fishin’. Been there since dawn.”
“For the record, that would be Denny Smith?”
“Yeah, me ’n’ Denny.”
“All right. I would like you to tell the court what you saw that morning.”
“Well, like I said, we been there since dawn, and it was near ’leven I reckon, and hadn’t had a nibble for some time, so we was ’bout to pull our lines and head out, when we heard a commotion in the trees over on the point. In the woods.”
“What kind of commotion?”
“Well, there was voices, kinda muffled at first, then louder. A man and a woman. But we couldn’t see ’em, just heard them like they was fussin’.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, the woman started hollerin’, so we motored over to get a better look. See if she was in trouble.”
“And what did you see?”
“Well, by the time we got closer, we seen the woman was standin’ next to the man and was kicking him right in the . . .” Rodney looked at the judge.
Judge Sims said, “Where did she kick him? You can say it.”
“She kicked him right in the balls and he slumped over on his side, moanin’ and groanin’. Then she kicked him again and again in his back. Mad as a mule chewin’ bumblebees.”
“Did you recognize the woman? Is she in the courtroom today?”
“Yeah, we knew ’er all right. It’s that ’un there, the defendant. The one folks call the Marsh Girl.”
Judge Sims leaned toward the witness. “Mr. Horn, the defendant’s name is Miss Clark. Do not refer to her by any other name.”
“A’right, then. It was Miss Clark we seen.”
Eric continued. “Did you recognize the man she was kicking?”
“Well, we couldn’t see him then ’cause he was writhin’ and wigglin’ around on the ground. But a few minutes later he stood up and it was Chase Andrews, the quarterback a few years back.”
“And then what happened?”
“She came stumblin’ out toward her boat, and well, she was partway undressed. Her shorts ’round her ankles and her knickers ’round her knees. She was tryin’ to pull up her shorts and run at the same time. The whole time shoutin’ at him. She went to her boat, jumped in, and zoomed away, still pullin’ at her pants. When she passed us by, she looked at us right in the eyes. That’s how I know ’xactly who it was.”
“You said she was shouting at him the entire time she was running toward her boat. Did you hear exactly what she said?”
“Yeah, we could hear her plain as day by then ’cause we were pretty close.”
“Please tell the court what you heard her shout.”
“She was screamin’, ‘Leave me alone, you bastard! You bother me again, I’ll kill ya!’”
A loud murmur shot through the courtroom and didn’t stop. Judge Sims banged his gavel. “That’s it. That’ll do it.”
Eric said to his witness, “That will be all, thank you, Rodney. No further questions. Your witness.”
Tom brushed past Eric and stepped to the witness stand.
“Now, Rodney, you testified that at first, when you heard those muffled but loud voices, you couldn’t see what was going on between Miss Clark and Mr. Andrews. Is that correct?”
“That’s right. We couldn’t see ’em till we moved up some.”
“And you said the woman, who you later identified as Miss Clark, was hollering as if she was in trouble. Correct?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t see any kissing or any sexual behavior between two consenting adults. You heard a woman shouting like she was being attacked, as if she was in trouble. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“So, isn’t it possible that when Miss Clark kicked Mr. Andrews she was defending herself—a woman alone in the woods—against a very strong, athletic man? A former quarterback, who had attacked her?”
“Yeah, I reckon that’s possible.”
“No further questions.”
“Redirect?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Eric said, standing at the prosecution table.
“So, Rodney, no matter whether certain behavior was consensual or not between the two of them, is it accurate to say that the defendant, Miss Clark, was extremely mad at the deceased, Chase Andrews?”
“Yeah, plenty mad.”
“Mad enough to scream that if he bothered her again, she would kill him. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah, that’s how it was.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
41.
A Small Herd
1969
Kya’s hands fumbled at the tiller as she looked back to see if Chase was following in his boat from Cypress Cove. She motored fast to her lagoon and limp-ran to the shack on swelling knees. In the kitchen, she dropped to the floor, crying, touching her swollen eye and spitting grit from her mouth. Then listened for sounds of him coming.