The Secrets on Chicory Lane: A Novel(57)
After Jones and Carter left, Eddie and Dora moved from the house to the bomb shelter. There, death metal music played on the stereo system. It was unknown what took place prior to the killing. Seabolt suggested that the couple participated in a black mass, a ritual for their Satanic cult. Seeing that the date was Christmas Eve, it was to be a symbolic act of irreverence and blasphemy.
Crane objected, saying that Seabolt’s statement was prejudicial and merely speculation. The judge, surprisingly, overruled it. The fact that the fallout shelter was painted black and contained a huge inverted pentagram on one wall and other iconography of the Satanist movement originally founded by Anton LaVey went a long way toward supporting Seabolt’s contention. Still, there was no proof that a “Satanic ritual” had taken place. I doubted that the jury would consider that.
If Dora had ingested the Rohypnol in the house, it would not have taken very long for her to pass out. Seabolt suggested that the couple had immediately moved to the fallout shelter after she had had her juice. Whether there had been a ritual or not, it was fairly clear what happened next. Dora fell unconscious. Autopsy reports were inconclusive on the matter, but the medical examiner testified that she had “most likely” been strangled to death before Eddie took the blades to her.
He used large butcher knives—very sharp, very strong. Bathrobes, presumably worn by the couple to traverse from the house to the shelter, lay on the floor in a lake of blood. Seabolt suggested that Eddie had removed the robe from the dead victim and then proceeded with the evisceration. Bloody tracks and trails led from the bomb shelter door across the lawn to the side of the house, through the gate, and into the front lawn. Eddie had carried or dragged Dora’s body and the aborted fetus and then used an easel to prop them up, assembling the parts into a Madonna-and-child tableau.
Once the deed was done, Eddie apparently went back to the bomb shelter, sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited for the police to arrive. Seabolt testified that Eddie never resisted arrest and didn’t say a word.
When the prosecution rested, I was so shaken and disturbed that I had to go back to my father’s apartment with a bottle of tequila. I had a whole weekend to drown my shock and horror before the defense began its case on Monday.
23
The Best Western hotel clock reads 4:22 in the morning. I actually attempt to stop the documentary film that is playing in my brain and at least pretend to get some sleep, but it’s useless. After getting out of bed, going to the bathroom, and staring at the bags under my eyes in the mirror, I curse aloud. I really don’t want to face Eddie at the prison without a night’s sleep, but now it’s unavoidable. I’ll just have to arm myself with a shitload of coffee beforehand. I will certainly crash afterward. I just hope it’s not on the drive back to George Bush International for my flight to Limite, where I’ll attend the park dedication. But I will catch an hour on the plane, I imagine, and surely sleep well tomorrow night. It might have been a better idea to spend another night in Livingston, but I pictured wanting to get out of town as quickly as possible after seeing Eddie. I’ll be all right. It won’t be the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter, though it’s not a lot of fun at my age.
Nevertheless, I crawl back in bed and let the images, recordings, and memories float across the screening room in my mind. The end of the movie is almost at hand, so I figure I might as well finish it.
Mr. Crane launched his defense after the weekend, and I dutifully sat in the courtroom to observe. The demand for seats hadn’t diminished; in fact, it seemed as if even more journalists and curiosity seekers had crowded the halls in an attempt to get inside. They’d come from all over the country. More than one news outlet reported my presence at the trial. There were a couple more interview requests, but I declined all of them.
Throughout the trial, Eddie never looked at me again. He wouldn’t turn his head to see who might be in the room. He sat at the table, practically comatose, staring straight ahead. Rarely would he lean over and whisper anything to his lawyer; usually, it was Crane who, every now and then, imparted something into Eddie’s ear. Eddie would nod or not respond at all. I wondered if he’d been given a sedative; he seemed to be drugged. At any rate, he appeared very calm throughout the proceedings.
Mr. Crane’s first witness was Wade Jones, making a repeat appearance.
After preliminary refresher questions to remind the jury of the man’s relationship to Eddie, Crane quickly got to the point. “Mr. Jones, is it true you attended the monthly ‘services’ at my client’s home, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. They were in The Temple.”
“You are referring to the bomb shelter in the backyard?”
“That’s right.”
“Please tell the jury about those services. What was the content? What went on there?”
Jones provided a detailed description of Eddie’s beliefs regarding atheism and Satanism. The Temple was, of course, inspired by Anton LaVey, and Eddie structured his black masses along the same lines as those of the Church of Satan in San Francisco. The mention of LaVey reminded me of the man’s death in 1997, which I had read about in the news, recalling to my mind Eddie’s fascination with the Satanist and his tenets. Jones went on to describe every blasphemous step of the black mass, which was indeed a wicked parody of a Catholic mass. The jury was beyond shocked.