Page 127 of Poison Wood
No wonder everything was in place for his release even before Heather was identified. She sent the letter to him after the skull was found. Everything seems to come back to that.
“Did you tell anyone else about the letter after you got it?”
He shakes his head. “Only my sister.”
I wonder how long it takes for mail to get from Miami to Angola. Would three days have been enough time for Johnny to get the letter, tell Rosalie, and then for a sister to travel to Miami to confront the woman responsible? She could have followed the trail to Laura Sanders through the checks she was receiving. But there’s also another scenario, one that may be even darker. Rosalie already knew, allowed her brother to stay in prison, while blackmailing Heather. And when Heather’s conscience finally showed up, Rosalie went down to Miami to confront her.
Maybe. Rosalie did admit to following me.
“Your sister has been following me,” I say.
“She just wanted to keep an eye on you and your father,” Johnny says.
“She ran me off the road.”
“That was an accident. She’s protective of me. I grabbed the wheel—”
“You were in the car with her?” I sigh and shake my head.
“It’s not going to happen again,” he says.
But now he and his sister know where my father lives.
“Maybe we should take a break for a minute,” Grant says.
“What was in the coat pocket?” I say to Johnny, ignoring Grant.
“Or not,” Grant says.
Johnny runs his hand over his smooth head. “There was blood all over it. That girl must have put up a fight. But she wasn’t the only girl that got hurt.”
“What was in the pocket?” I repeat.
His eyes lock on mine. “A fistful of blond hair, pulled out at the roots.”
I shut my eyes, exhale, open them. Not Rosalie’s. Not Katrina’s. Not mine. Not the staff’s. There was only one blond on campus that week. “The police have it?”
“Yes.”
I look at Grant. “Any word on DNA?”
He shakes his head.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Johnny says.
“We know that, Johnny,” Grant says. “Heather obviously didn’t die that night years ago. She took off and left you to take the fall.”
“No, not her,” Johnny says. Grant and I exchange a look; then Johnny adds, “The other one.”
“Crowley,” I say.
“Johnny,” Grant says. “Nobody is saying you had anything to do with that.”
“I need to make a call,” I say. “Is there a place out here I can get a good signal?”
Johnny points to the back of the cabin. “Outside.”
I sling my tote onto my shoulder, and Grant follows me outside. “I need to get going. I’ll be in Baton Rouge tonight and most of tomorrow—then I’ll be back up. You good?”
