Shame

Kip.
    “And it wasn’t that long ago when sideshow exhibits displayed the bodies of executed criminals. But luckily, those days have passed.
    “Incidentally, Dave, the rumor about Parker and his supposedly gargantuan organ isn’t anything new. The same stories were told about John Dillinger. It seems that every generation wants its villain to be some sort of superman. Why that is, I don’t know.”
    “Thank you,” Dave said.
    He sounded sort of breathless, Elizabeth thought. She hated to think what might be exciting him.
    “In the pursuit of science,” Kip said, “I think I should take this opportunity to offer a twenty-five-dollar reward to anyone who can produce Gray Parker’s penis in a bottle. It’d make a hell of a centerpiece at a
cock
tail party I’m having next week.”
    Kip gave Elizabeth his best “Ain’t I a bad boy?” look. She mentally added another five minutes to her long-awaited bath.
    “And now,” Kip said, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to kill a little time with a commercial. Stay tuned for more of Elizabeth Line and true crime.”
    Kip patted Elizabeth on her knee, took off his headphones, and stood up. The removal of his headphones caused his toupee to tilt. “Got to powwow for a minute with Chief Engineer,” he said.
    Elizabeth didn’t tell him it looked as if he had already been scalped. He patted her shoulder before leaving the room, and she began to reconsider her stand on the death penalty.
    The broadcast room was in semidarkness. Elizabeth didn’t know whether the Kipper liked to do his show in a dimly lit studio or whether the lights were low for her benefit. She rolled her head but couldn’t get a crick out of her neck. With a sharp movement of her head, she was able to produce a resounding crack. It was a good thing the sound hadn’t been broadcast, Elizabeth thought. Chiropractors would have been flooding the lines. She closed her eyes and felt the tiredness in her body. It was her job, she reminded herself, to remain upbeat, to sound as if every question was new to her. She was supposed to be a professional cheerleader. Give me an
M
, give me a
U
, give me an
R...
    “Miss me?” asked Kip.
    D, E, R,
she thought.
    He didn’t wait for an answer, merely settled into his broadcast paraphernalia, signaled the engineer, and started talking.
    “We have the pleasure of hosting the Queen of True Crime tonight, Ms. Elizabeth Line. She’s here to talk about her latest book,
A Magnolia Hanging.
It’s the story of a young Kentucky woman found hanging in a small town’s showcase magnolia tree. The circumstances of this woman’s death are, to say the least, mysterious. No one’s quite sure whether she hung herself or went unwillingly to the noose. But there she was found one June morning, swaying in the midst of all those resplendent magnolia blossoms.
    “You stayed for a time in the town of Little River, Kentucky, where all this happened, didn’t you, Elizabeth?”
    “I was there for six months,” she said. “Whenever I write a book, I always include a lot of background and history of the area.”
    “The local color,” said Kip.
    “That,” she said, “and more. Sometimes there are histories and patterns to certain locales that seem to repeat themselves. It’s almost as if people get caught up in webs they’re not even aware of.”
    Kip’s eyes glazed over. There was no way
he
was going to be drawn into some metaphysical discussion. He changed the subject, offering a safer question.
    “What did people think of you, an outsider, coming in and nosing around?”
    “Most of them realized I was there to do a job. On the whole the citizens of Little River were very accommodating to me.”
    “Well, we have a lot of listeners waiting for you to accommodate them, Elizabeth. Here’s Ken calling from the city of angels, Los Angeles, California.”
    “Hello, Ken.”
    “You’re attracted to the rough stuff,” he said, “aren’t you?”
    Ken’s voice was gravelly, making his question sound all the more harsh. His words were slightly slurred.
    Another caller emboldened by alcohol, Elizabeth thought. “Violence is unfortunately a fact of life in this country,” she said. “There are over twenty thousand homicides in America every year, and at any given moment the FBI estimates there are more than thirty-five serial killers out there trolling for victims. That’s my beat, so to speak, and yes, it is a rough one.”
    “Ever stop to think a lot of