Holland Sr. put out a hand, like a crossing guard directing traffic, as though to stop the questioning. “Who says she was murdered?”
Makarowicz sighed. “Sir, her skeleton was found buried in an abandoned septic tank. The skull had blunt force trauma. Common sense says she didn’t bash her own head in and then bury herself and pull a heavy cast-iron manhole cover over herself.”
“We don’t know anything about any of that,” Dorcas insisted. “And I can tell you that our son had nothing to do with whatever happened to that woman.”
“Are you telling me you weren’t aware that he was having sex with the wife of his high school football coach?” Mak asked, looking directly at Dorcas Creedmore.
Her husband answered for her. “We found out that Holland and some of his friends were having parties at the house, without our knowledge or permission. Typical teenaged boy stuff—drinking, and I suppose, they were smoking dope. Girls were involved too.
“As soon as we found out, we put our foot down. We had a talk with Holland, let him know we were disappointed, and that it had to stop,” Creedmore said. “We changed the locks on the house, and we assumed that put an end to things.”
“But you assumed wrong,” Mak said. “Did you know Holland was in a relationship with Lanier Ragan?”
Dorcas grew agitated. “We should have had her arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor! Who do you suppose bought the booze? She was an adult in a position of authority. Holland was a minor. What she did was criminal.”
“I understand he was nineteen at the time the relationship was initiated,” Makarowicz said, “so technically, he wasn’t a minor. You still haven’t actually answered my question. When did you find out they were in a sexual relationship? And what did you do about that?”
“I found a roll of condoms in the pocket of his jeans,” Dorcas said reluctantly. “I didn’t know who the girl was.”
“We were just glad he was taking precautions,” Holland Sr. said. “Another boy we knew, the son of a family friend, he got a girl pregnant his sophomore year of college. He dropped out of school and married the girl. Holland knew the boy. We talked about what a mess he’d made of his life. My wife was upset when she found the condoms, but I told her I thought he was just doing the responsible thing.”
Makarowicz was having a hard time keeping his temper in check. “Again. When and how did you find out your son was sleeping with Lanier Ragan?”
Holland Sr. glanced at his wife. “Dorcas saw some text messages. On his phone.”
“Mrs. Creedmore?”
“That whore! I couldn’t believe the filthy things she was texting him. I wanted to call the school and have her fired, but Holl wouldn’t let me.”
“When did you find the texts?”
“Thanksgiving weekend,” she said. “We were out at the beach house. For the oyster roast. Holland went out for a run and left his phone in his room. I knew something was going on, and I suspected that it had to do with a girl, so while he was gone, I went into his room and got the phone and went through the text messages. When I read what she wrote, I wanted to vomit. What kind of a woman sends those kinds of filthy messages to a teenaged boy?”
“Did you confront him?” Makarowicz asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
She pointed an accusatory finger at her husband. “His father wouldn’t let me. I said we should put our foot down, do whatever it takes, but Holland absolutely forbid me to speak to our son about her.”
Makarowicz blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Look. Frank Ragan did everything in his power to help our boy get recruited and signed to a Division One school,” Holland Sr. said. “He took him to the right showcases, worked out a summer conditioning program for Holland. Stayed on him about his grades. He sent game films to every major school on the East Coast, at his own expense. He was responsible for getting Holland signed to play at Wake Forest. How would it have looked if word got out that Holland was messing around with Frank Ragan’s wife?”
“So you did nothing?”
Creedmore shrugged. “We agreed that was the best plan. Holland never kept the same girlfriend for very long. We thought the affair would burn itself out.”
“We agreed on nothing,” Dorcas said with a withering sideways glance at her husband. “I told you that woman was trouble. I told you she would ruin his chances, ruin his life, but, oh no, the great and wise Holland Creedmore knew better.”