Page 14

Vernon Hamilton’s car radio spurts—dispatch is calling.

“Four-Six in South Division requests you attend Memorial, Code Three.”

“What does he have?”

“Stand by.”

Vernon inventories recent calls his people handled in SD: two traffic stops; a hiking injury in Wild Pines Forest; a possible burglary in Tagallet Mobile Home Park. Did he miss anything? Keying his microphone, he responds.

“Ten-four, on my way… Seventy-Five to Four-Six, what do we have?”

Seconds later Bob Ellerd, the deputy in Unit Four-Six, texts: Carrie taken to Memorial.

That’s all it says.

His engine roars, fear knifing through him. His daughter—the only family he has left. He arrives in minutes, trotting through Emergency, the smell overwhelming, the PA system announcements ringing in his ears. He spots Ellerd, face taut with concern, telling him Carrie’s going to be okay. A doctor takes him aside, unable to explain what happened, telling him Carrie has a concussion, multiple fractures, lacerations, contusions. She’s in shock.

“But she’s stable.”

Seeing her unconscious in bed, bandaged, bruised…tubes, monitors blinking… Vernon holds her hand, his heart twisting. What happened? He steps into the hall, joining Ellerd in the corner with a man in his fifties who has mussed hair, a blanket draped over wet clothes. Leon Bryant, a mechanic, is repeating what he knows as Vern stands over him.

“I was fishin’ in the big creek in Wild Pines when I heard screams. Upstream I saw something big coming down the water to me, knocking against the rocks. Lord, I think, it’s a woman, a girl—I’m thinking she’s hiking and fell in. I pulled her onto the grass. She was bleeding and banged up good, but she was breathing and I called 911.”

Vern asks: “Did you see anyone near?”

“No, sir, I was concentratin’ on the girl. I pray she’ll be okay.”

Vern pulls Ellerd aside.

“Take Bryant to the office. Get detectives to run him, question him, search his vehicle, verify his story. Get more people to search the woods. I’ll get out there as soon as I can.”

***

Ice clinked as Vern sipped whiskey from his glass, tasting the smoky sweetness. He was home alone at his desk, thinking back to that day, thirteen years ago.

Preferring cool darkness, he’d closed the shutters. His face was lit by his computer screen, which threw soft light on the paneling of his study. The light reached his wall-mounted guns, citations and plaques, his shelves lined with books on investigative techniques of homicides, FBI studies, serial crimes and criminal histories. The light also reflected off his glasses as he looked at his wife, Doreen, smiling from the photo beside his monitor. Next to it, bottles for his prescriptions, and another photo of Carrie, Luke and the baby. He loved that picture and was looking forward to watching Emily this weekend while Carrie and Luke went to the Smiths’ party. More time with his granddaughter meant the world to him. It warmed him to have them all home, and he appreciated the big step they’d taken.

It was important. Because time was slipping away.

But it was also terrible that they were here, because part of him did not want Carrie back in Texas. Not now.

He resumed opening computer files with his notes, copies of recordings on the murders of Erin Eddowes and Abby Hall. These were not the official case files. These were personal files he’d made back when he was sheriff.

Leon Bryant’s version of events had checked out and detectives had cleared him. Leon was a good man who’d saved Carrie’s life, and at that time, Vern had thanked him.

But there were still many unanswered questions. Back then, detectives were hoping Carrie could help them fill in the blanks after she’d recovered.

But they’d hit a wall.

Her injuries included a fractured skull, with bone nicking her brain causing some bleeding. Her recovery took longer than expected. And after her release from hospital, she still couldn’t remember details about that day. At that time, Ben McGraw, one of the county’s lead detectives, advocated various avenues, including hypnosis, which yielded little information. They poly-graphed Carrie twice and each time the results were inconclusive. Vern soon learned that some investigators had begun to quietly regard Carrie not as a victim who’d escaped, but as a suspect who’d fled. It was about this time that the district attorney cautioned him.

As sheriff, you have a role in this case. But ultimately you have to let your investigators do their work and keep your emotions as a father out of it, Vern. Yes, you can oversee it, but keep your hands off. Do not taint or sway how this goes.

Vern had ensured that while he was sheriff, the investigation went by the book.

Now he pushed through his notes. Abby, Erin and Carrie were from the same high school, but Carrie was a junior. Abby and Erin were seniors who traveled in popular social circles, trafficking in fashion and gossip for status, according to school friends who knew them. They’d said Carrie hung out with a low-key group and was quiet, especially after her mother’s death. Some said Carrie gave off “a narc vibe” because her dad was sheriff.

But no one knew why the three girls were in Wild Pines Forest that day. And other than circumstance, the investigators had no solid evidence linking Carrie to the double homicide. Only Vern and the detectives knew the key evidence that was never made public, information only the killer would know—which they held back to protect the case, and to assess the tips they’d received and suspects they looked at.

And they looked at a lot of suspects.

Austin police pointed them to a taxi driver from their city who’d allegedly harassed and stalked women. Austin detectives said he’d moved to Clear River. The man was located, questioned and ruled out. Clear River County detectives looked at recently released violent felons and registered sex offenders. All were alibied. They looked hard at Abby Hall’s uncle, who, a month before the tragedy, allegedly groped Abby at a family gathering. Abby’s young cousin stepped forward to say she’d witnessed it; Abby had slapped her uncle, making him so furious “he clenched his jaw and turned red.” The uncle told detectives he was drunk and being playful, then proved he was in Galveston on business at the time Abby and Erin were murdered.

Vern took another sip, angry, and fearful, at what came next as he opened another file.

In the weeks that followed, conspiracies swirled about Carrie: she was faking her injuries; there was a cover-up because her dad was sheriff. What about the sudden death of Carrie’s mother years earlier? What did Erin Eddowes and Abby Hall know about Carrie? Relatives and friends of the murdered girls wanted an arrest. Carrie received threatening anonymous emails and calls.

Local, state and national news outlets covered the tragedy, which remained enveloped in mystery.

Carrie’s face, and Vern’s, appeared with those of Abby Hall and Erin Eddowes on news sites under headlines like: SURVIVOR CAN’T REMEMBER WHO KILLED HIGH SCHOOL TEENS ; SHERIFF’S DAUGHTER SOLE SURVIVOR OF DOUBLE HOMICIDE ; and TEXAS MURDERS ENSHROUDED IN MYSTERY . The Dallas Morning News , Houston Chronicle , Washington Post , CNN, NBC News and USA TODAY were among those who profiled the case.

Time passed.

Through it all, Carrie struggled, but she managed to finish her senior year.

Given what Vern knew about the case, his concern for Carrie’s safety did not diminish. He was happy to arrange her move to Los Angeles to live with Pearl. It broke his heart to see Carrie go, leaving him alone with ghosts, but he took comfort in getting her out of Texas so she could get on with her life.

Carrie graduated from college, got a job and set out on her own as the case grew cold.

Then they got a break.

It was close to four years after Carrie left.

Donnie Ray Hyde, a thirty-year-old drifter, was convicted of murdering sixteen-year-old Jenna Dupree in Tyler, Texas. Jenna was heading home from work when Hyde killed her in a wooded area. Hyde received the death penalty but was later linked to the murders of Erin Eddowes and Abby Hall after investigators in Tyler placed him near those crimes. But the evidence was circumstantial and Hyde denied involvement, most likely to aid his appeals against the death penalty for murdering Jenna Dupree.

That was then.

Vern took another drink.

He knew that inmates waited on death row in Texas for years. Hyde’s time was growing much shorter because his appeals, even one that went to the US Supreme Court, had failed. Vern went online and called up the latest news report on Hyde’s status from the Tyler Morning Telegraph .

Hyde’s execution date was this month.

Through his attorney, Hyde had turned to the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles, seeking to have his death sentence commuted to life. His last chance.

The board’s decision was expected anytime now.

Rubbing his chin, Vern sat up, reached for his phone and called an old friend, Cam Holloway, a lawyer who was a board member.

“Hey, Vern, you old sonofagun. I heard about your condition. Damn, I’m sorry.” Holloway sounded like he was outdoors.

“You play the hand you’re dealt. Say, Cam, where are you?”

“Houston. On a fairway with a view of the skyline.”

“I won’t keep you from your game, but I want to ask you which way the board is leaning on Donnie Ray Hyde’s petition for clemency in the Tyler murder.”

“We have to be confidential about cases before the board.”

“I’ll keep it confidential.”

A long silent moment passed.

“As a favor,” Vern added. “You’re going to be deciding soon.”

Another moment passed before Holloway broke it.

“This is confidential?”

“Absolutely.”

“The governor’s office has indicated that the governor has seen no new evidence to challenge the jury’s verdict that Hyde is guilty. His death sentence should be carried out.”

“What are his chances with the board?”

“He has no chance of a favorable decision from the board.”

“None. That’s it?”

“That’s it. In fact, Hyde will be notified very soon, and our decision will be posted.”

“Thanks, Cam.”

“Take care and God bless, Vern.”

After the call, Vern sat forward, thinking of what he needed to do. He decided the next call he’d make would be to someone he knew with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. He needed to get in touch with Donnie Ray Hyde’s spiritual advisor.

Vern needed to talk to Hyde before it was too late.