Chapter 17 - THE HOUSE BEFORE GERALD
The farmhouse had been empty for twenty-three years.
It belonged to Patricia’s mother before unpaid taxes transferred it to the county. The roof had collapsed over one bedroom, but the kitchen remained standing behind warped boards and thorn-covered fencing.
Carmen obtained a warrant based on Patricia’s statement, Richard’s call, and the possibility that evidence connected to Stephen’s death remained inside.
I did not attend the search.
That decision felt unnatural after months of trying to stand beside every piece of evidence. Dana reminded me that being the victim’s mother and Richard’s threatened relative did not make me an investigator.
James and I stayed with Lily.
She was building a hospital for Daisy from cardboard blocks when she asked whether the man near her preschool was another grandpa.
“No.”
“He had Grandpa’s snake.”
“He had a belt that looked like Grandpa’s.”
“Why?”
“Because some adults teach each other bad ideas.”
She placed Daisy inside the block hospital.
“Did he teach Grandpa to hit?”
“Yes.”
The answer was true enough for her age.
It did not require me to tell her Patricia had once been the child behind the door.
At the farmhouse, investigators removed the pantry wall in sections. Behind red-painted boards, they found a narrow storage cavity.
Inside were two leather straps, a stack of family photographs, an eight-millimeter film reel, and a receipt from a custom metalworker dated forty-four years earlier.
TWO RATTLESNAKE BUCKLES
ONE LARGE
ONE SMALL
The larger buckle matched the one Patricia hid behind the cooler.
The smaller one matched the buckle Richard wore outside Lily’s school.
The film showed summer gatherings at the farmhouse. Children ran through sprinklers. Adults drank beneath an oak tree. Nothing on the first two reels appeared criminal.
The third reel began inside the kitchen.
A young Patricia stood near the red pantry door, crying silently. Richard, still a teenager, held the narrow belt. Gerald was visible near the sink.
No beating appeared on the film.
Whoever operated the camera lowered it before anything happened.
But the final seconds captured Gerald smiling while Richard threaded the belt through his hands.
The image did not prove what occurred after the camera lowered.
Patricia’s childhood medical records supplied context.
At six, she was treated for bruising across both legs after an alleged fall through a porch railing. At seven, she required stitches near her shoulder. At eight, a teacher documented that she refused to sit after returning from summer vacation.
Each explanation had been provided by an adult.
None named Richard.
Inside the wall, investigators also found Stephen Dalton’s handwriting.
A folded page contained three sentences.
RICHARD STARTED IT.
GERALD LEARNED IT.
PATRICIA THINKS SURVIVING MEANS MAKING THE NEXT CHILD QUIETER.
My mother read a copy through her attorney.
“I never saw this.”
“Do you recognize Stephen’s writing?” Carmen asked.
“Yes.”
The reverse side contained a drawing of the warehouse platform. One support column was marked with an X.
Beneath it, Stephen had written:
IF THEY MOVE THE RECORDER, CHECK UNDER THE OLD COMPRESSOR LINE.
A search team returned to Hutchinson Home Supply.
The building had been closed since Gerald’s arrest. Electricity was disconnected, and the insurance receiver had inventoried the visible equipment.
The old compressor line ran beneath the maintenance platform where Stephen died.
When investigators removed a corroded steel plate, they found a plastic pipe sealed at both ends.
Inside lay a recorder wrapped in oily cloth.
Beside it was a ledger listing stolen building materials and cash payments.
The last entry bore two initials.
T.H.
R.V.
Before the evidence could be transported, Carmen received an alert from the patrol unit watching Patricia’s apartment.
My mother had left through the rear stairwell.
Her court-supervision phone remained on the kitchen counter.
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Across its screen she had written:
RICHARD SAYS HE WILL TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO STEPHEN.
