Birdie Jean’s glasses seemed to magnify her astute eyes. “Right when we first heard about Russell’s death, I recall that some people around here suspected Angus Morehouse. That was before Terry Paul Richards was arrested, of course.”
“Angus Morehouse hasn’t been mentioned in any of the reading I’ve done.”
“He was Russell and your mother’s nearest neighbor. A difficult man. Quick to anger. He and Russell had some disagreements about the property line between them, and they came to blows one night at a party over your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Russell accused Angus of making advances on Caroline.”
“Had he been making advances?”
“No one knows.”
“How long before Russell’s murder did this fight occur?”
“Several months before.”
“Did the police question Angus after Russell’s death?”
“I believe that they did. As far as I know, though, not a single piece of evidence tied Angus to the scene. It’s a far leap to assume someone who’s willing to fight with another would be willing to kill another. There are plenty of men around here who are willing to fight.”
From what she could tell, Russell had been one of them. He’d broken lamps and a mirror when defending himself from the Shoal Creek Killer.
“Some years after Russell’s death,” Birdie Jean said, “Angus had an altercation with a co-worker and injured the man so badly that Angus was sent to jail. When he was released, he moved back to town and worked as a welder. He’s been in a fight or two since then, but for the most part, he’s settled down and kept to himself. He’s retired now.”
“Is he still living in the house near the one my mother lived in?”
“Yes.”
Genevieve nodded. “Do you have any memories of my mother, either before or after Russell died?”
“I have no recollection of her before Russell’s death. She’d only been in Camden a short time, and she and Russell lived a good ways outside of town. I did see her a few times after Russell’s death, though. At his funeral. And once, walking into the grocery store.”
“What were your impressions of her?”
“She looked very sad, certainly. Lovely woman. After Russell’s death, she didn’t mix with the community much. As soon as she could, she moved away, and we understood why, of course. Caroline was young and her people didn’t live in these parts.”
“Do you know what became of Russell’s family?”
Her forehead creased. “I’m close in age to Russell’s mother, Alice. We didn’t go to school together because, in those days, schools were segregated. I was on a committee with her once, though. We were both women of faith, and we talked about that a few times. She and the rest of her family were active in this town up until Russell’s death. After that, like your mother, they moved away. To Atlanta, I believe.”
The Atwells’ oldest child had been stolen from them with swift finality. Years later, her mother would come within inches of having her own children taken from her as irrevocably as her first husband had been. “Thank you,” Genevieve said.
“You’re welcome. Call again, should you like to come back.”
They said their good-byes, and Genevieve returned to her Volvo. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she pulled out her phone and scrolled to the photo she’d taken of the very first newspaper article about the killing. The house where Russell and Mom had lived looked small, well kept, rural.
She hunted through her photos and located the picture she’d taken of Russell’s death certificate. She enlarged it until she could make out the address given for the location of his death.
47130 Farm Road 481, Camden, Georgia.
An inaudible voice was calling her toward her mom’s old house.
Apall settled over her when she pulled to a stop in front of the home her mother and Russell had lived in as newlyweds.
For a protracted moment she sat, peering through her side window, before turning off her ignition and exiting the car. The orderly brick house immortalized in the newspaper picture had fallen into disrepair. The roof sagged. Weeds choked the foundation. Today’s moody gray sky highlighted the somber temperament of the place. The windows bore cracks that reminded her of spider webs and holes that reminded her of open mouths.
Clearly, the structure had been abandoned long ago. Immediately after Russell’s death?
