Six Cats A Slayin'

“That looks like those tablets we used to take to school in first grade,” Melba said. “Remember them? And those big pencils we learned to write with?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” The red cover had faded badly, but if you peered at it closely enough, you could see the words Big Chief and the design of a Native American in a feather headdress on it.

Using the tissue, Kanesha drew back the cover, and we all bent to see the words written there. The first page was covered with one sentence, line after line: I am Jerry Albritton.

Kanesha flipped a page. The same thing: that one sentence written over and over in childish printing. She kept turning the pages. The writing began to change, the printed letters becoming more precise, more to scale. Eventually the print gave way to cursive writing. Every single page, however, contained nothing but that one sentence, line after line.

I glanced at Melba, and I could see the tears ready to flow. I knew how she felt. That poor little boy, doing what he could to hold on to his identity. I could only imagine how he felt, being ripped from his family and given to strangers. He was old enough to remember his own name, though he immediately was given a new one. From the evidence of the tablet, with the handwriting changing over time, Jerry had been determined never to forget who he really was. It was heartbreaking.

Melba sank into a chair and delved into her purse for tissues. While she dabbed at her eyes, I pulled out my handkerchief to wipe my own.

“This means something to you both,” Kanesha said. “Is it related to what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’d better sit down.” I pulled out my chair and settled back, handkerchief curled up in my right hand. Diesel, from the first moment he sensed Melba’s emotional state, had moved to her side, rubbing against her legs and meowing occasionally. She smiled gratefully down at him and rubbed his head.

She looked up for a moment. “Charlie, will you tell Kanesha the story? I don’t think I could get through it right now.”

“Sure.” I first explained the source of Melba’s information, then launched into the story. I pruned as many unnecessary details as I could, but it still took several moments to relate. Kanesha had her notebook and pen ready from the moment I started, and she jotted things down throughout my retelling of the tale. When I finished, she put down her pen and stared broodingly at the tablet.

Azalea, who had hovered in the background the whole time, suddenly blew her nose, startling all of us.

When I glanced her way, I could see she was upset. Kanesha got up, apparently concerned, and approached her mother. “Mama, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Azalea nodded. “That’s such a sad story,” she said. “I remember that boy Ronnie. Every time I saw him, I knew he had a sad heart. I never saw real joy in him.”

Melba began to cry again, and I struggled not to get emotional myself. Even Kanesha seemed to be affected. She stared at her mother, and Azalea reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek. Kanesha sighed, Azalea’s hand fell away, and Kanesha resumed her seat.

No one spoke for a moment. Kanesha closed the tablet and put it back into the evidence bag. To break the mood, I decided to ask a question.

“Did Billy Albritton say anything about this?” I gestured toward the notebook. “I’m wondering how he even knew about it.”

“Didn’t say a word,” Kanesha said, “even though the officer caught him with it in his hands. It will have his fingerprints on it, so he can’t deny having it in his possession.”

“Do you think Gerry showed it to him?” Melba asked. “Maybe that was why they were arguing that day when you heard them.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “She must have shown him. Where did she keep it?”

“In a dressing case with a false bottom,” Kanesha said. “He had to have known ahead of time where it was. The officers who searched the house had overlooked it. I checked it, and it would have been hard to spot unless someone knew what to look for.”

“Dressing case?” Melba said. “Not many people use those anymore. I don’t.”

“It’s an antique one,” Kanesha said. “Heavy and not too practical, if you ask me, but it’s well-used.”

“One thing I still don’t understand,” Melba said. “Charlie wouldn’t talk about it much, but maybe you can answer it. Why was Ronnie Halbert going around pretending to be a woman?”

I wondered if Kanesha would come clean with Melba. I watched the deputy as she regarded Melba with her usual cool detachment.

“She wasn’t pretending,” Kanesha said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Ronnie Halbert went through a gender reassignment operation twenty years ago or more.”

The revelation obviously shocked Melba. She now appeared incapable of speech. Not a state she often found herself in, I knew. She stared at Kanesha and continued to stroke Diesel’s head.