by Diane Capri
“You’re running late, aren’t you?” Nina asked after the kiss. “Problems?”
He swept his palm across his sweaty face and stepped back to watch the printing for a few moments. “The army has sent a guy to investigate Bonnie Nightingale’s death. They think she was killed.”
Nina looked startled. Her eyes opened wide and her lips formed a little “O” just before her palm flew up to cover her mouth. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Bonnie killed herself, didn’t she?” Redmond asked. “Walked in front of the train, I heard.”
“Major Hammer says not. He says the autopsy found her throat had been cut before she was hit by the train.” He draped his arm around Nina’s waist to catch her if she fainted. “Pentagon’s worried that a Ranger might’ve done it. Someone from Kelham.”
“Well, that’s a problem right there,” Redman said. “Didn’t some guys ship out the next day after Bonnie died? How do we know it wasn’t one of them?”
“They don’t know anything yet. They don’t know if the killer was active or retired or not even military. Could’ve been a vet. Or a hunter. Lots of possibilities at this point,” he paused to inhale and exhale deeply. “They just don’t want Kelham to get a black eye that’ll interfere with closing it down. You know how the army is about schedules. We’re set to close just before dawn. Last man out will turn off the lights. End of an era and all that. Pentagon doesn’t want anything getting in the way.”
Nina was crying now. He held her awkwardly and allowed her to bury her tears in his neck while he tried to conceal impatience with her theatrics. If she hadn’t opened her mouth and spilled the beans to Bonnie about the trip to New York, he wouldn’t have needed to slit her throat.
Bonnie’s death was on Nina.
But there was no point in making an issue of it. He didn’t have the time.
“Where’s Hern?”
Redmond tilted his head in the right direction and said, “He’s in the other room packaging up the new bills. We got the hearse from a dealer in St. Louis and repainted it. We should be able to get all of the bills inside the coffins. We’ll be ready to ship them out as planned.”
Nina had managed to pull herself together, although she was still sniffling into a wet tissue. He patted her shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest. I know the news about Bonnie is a shock. It was a shock to me, too. But there’s nothing we can do about her now. We’re running out of time. We have to keep going.”
“I can’t believe this. My closest friends in the world. Carolyn…and Bonnie.” Nina sniffled and dabbed and her eyes widened again. “I guess Bonnie died first, didn’t she?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you think Jasper might have killed Bonnie? Where is he? Maybe that Major Hammer should talk to him, too. I never liked Jasper. I told Bonnie not to go out with him, but she wouldn’t listen to me…” Her voice trailed off into more sniffles and tears.
Time was short and marching relentlessly forward, and he was rapidly losing his patience. He tried to keep his anger under control. “Nina, just go home. You’re too upset. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t tell anyone about Bonnie. The last thing you want is to be involved in a murder investigation. Trust me on this.”
“Right, but—” Nina began.
“Nina! Stop!” he shouted angrily.
She startled and then stared at him, shocked.
He gentled his tone. “That’s enough. Don’t upset yourself further. Go home. I’ll come by later after I’m finished here. We can talk then. Right now, I have a lot to do and not much time to get everything done.”
“I have to work—” she argued.
He calmed his tone and tried to persuade instead of issuing orders, or shooting her on the spot, which was what he itched to do. “I’ll call your brother. I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well. He can handle the casino without you today.”
“Come on, Nina. I’ll walk you out.” Redmond grasped her bicep and coaxed her toward her truck.
He shook his head as he watched her stumble forward. He hoped she was calm enough to drive home. She climbed into her truck, started it up, and turned it around. He watched as the truck moved slowly toward the road.
Redmond came back inside. “She’s pretty shaken up. You think we can trust her to keep her mouth shut until we bug out?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. What do you think?”
“Hard to say. She had Bonnie to confide in before. Now, she’s got no one except us. Not sure that’s enough,” Redmond replied and paused a few beats. “Anyway, this is the last batch of fifties. We’re out of paper, and we can’t get more. Our supplier is tapped out.”
“Okay.”
Redmond said, “When we’re done here, I’ll destroy the printers and what’s left of the supplies.”
“Good. I’ll go check on Hern,” he said, turning toward the packing room where the hearse was parked.
He was a dozen steps away when Redmond said, “Hell of a thing about Bonnie, though. You think Jasper killed her? That why he was so hell-bent on doing that crazy stunt yesterday? Was he feeling guilty?”
“Hell, I don’t know anymore. I guess we’ll have to ask him.” He shook his head and ran a weary hand over his close-cropped hair.
Redmond cocked his head and shoved both hands into his back pockets. “You haven’t heard, then?”
“Heard what?”
“Jasper died last night in the hospital. Too banged up from that crash yesterday, I guess. He didn’t make it,” Redmond said quietly, scuffing the toe of his boot on the dusty floor.
“Ah, crap,” he whispered, swallowing hard before he turned and walked away, satisfied that everything was falling into place despite the screwups.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
11:45 a.m.
“I’m dying to know. What’s the one thing you recall so clearly about Reacher?” Kim prompted Perry after a short silence.
“One thing? Hard to name just one…” He seemed to consider the question seriously before a big grin split his face when he figured out the answer like he’d just saved the universe or something. “Reacher wasn’t afraid of anything. Partly because he was so huge. Not many guys could best him in any kind of fight, and most never even tried.”
Kim deadpanned. “Which explains why he wasn’t afraid.”
Perry cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. She waited while he figured it out. “You mean because he always won any kind of fight he got into? Yeah, I guess that’s partly true.”
“What’s the untrue part?”
“I mean, sure, he expected to win,” Perry said slowly. “But it was also like he accepted that there would come a time when he would lose. And that was okay, too. Like he could handle defeat, should it happen.”
“So he was a fatalist?” she asked with a grin.
Perry shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t know the guy that well. I’m just telling you what I heard. What got passed around about him.”
“What else got passed around about him?” She chewed a forkful of spinach while he talked.
“He was weird about owning stuff. He said don’t own a car. Or a house. Or rent an apartment. You could be traced,” Perry cocked his head and squinted as if attempting to see his memory better. “I took it that he was a guy who didn’t want to be found, so he’d worked out the best way to be invisible. Thinking it over, maybe I’m wrong about him. Maybe he’s not dead after all. Maybe he’s just not findable.”
Kim said nothing while she ate several bites of her salad and considered what he’d revealed.
A few minutes later, Libby picked up the dishes and brought Perry’s pie. She changed out the empty coffee pot for a full one and scurried toward the kitchen for more food. The lunch service was in full swing now and she was running herself ragged.
Perry poured more coffee for both of them and tasted his pie. “You were right. This is really good
.”
“I’m told her mother does the baking,” Kim replied, tilting her head toward Libby.
He took another bite of the pie. “Well, she’s really good at baking.”
Kim said nothing.
“Now it’s my turn to ask the questions. What do you know about Bonnie Nightingale?” Perry said while giving the pie the attention it deserved. “Could have been an accident, couldn’t it?”
“Definitely not,” Kim replied.
“Ignoring the autopsy report, I mean. You shouldn’t even have those results, and I’m not clear on why you saw them. Regardless, we’re keeping that quiet for the moment,” he offered a meaningful look.
She nodded.
He continued, “Because without the autopsy report, it could have been accidental death or suicide. Either would have made sense.”
“Not at all.” Kim shook her head. “Doesn’t make any kind of sense. Not in the least.”
“Why not? We need some breathing room here to investigate without spooking her killer. If the autopsy wasn’t in the mix, either option works with these facts,” Perry said with an annoyed frown.
“Accidental death is not possible. You’re wasting your breath with that.” Kim shook her head, emphatically. “She didn’t commit suicide, either. I have no idea why anyone around here would say that.”
“But people are saying it. Because, like I said, it’s plausible.” Perry cocked his head.
“According to Janine. She’s the desk clerk at Toussaint’s Hotel. She claims people are saying it was suicide. Janine seems to know everything about everyone around here,” Kim replied. “You’ll want to talk to her. See what you think of her reporting skills.”
“Okay. I’ll bite.” He scraped the filling off the pie plate as if he wanted to lick every last crumb. “Why don’t you think Nightingale killed herself?”
The vivid images from Kim’s dream flashed to mind, and a shudder ran through her body from toes to scalp. Once again, she felt the rumbling of the earth and heard the wailing of the wind. The warning bells and lights flooded her senses. The train rushed toward her until she realized she was trembling again.
She shook off the terrifying flashback and sipped coffee to cover her lingering uneasy reaction. “No way either theory makes sense. Not for anyone who lives here. Or knows the first thing about that midnight train.”
Perry cocked his head. “Why’s that?”
“Have you seen that train? Stood near the tracks at midnight while it passes?” The visceral rush from her nightmare was pulsing through her body, setting every nerve ending afire.
Perry said, “I’m planning to do that tonight. Want to come with?”
Get a grip. Kim squared her shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. “Bonnie Nightingale had lived in Carter’s Crossing most of her life. People who live here know everything about that train. They know how fast it comes up on you and how hard it slams anything and everything unlucky enough to be sitting on the tracks when it passes. And they know how that velocity and volume destroys everything the train touches. How it would batter a human body.”
She shivered again. The nightmare had been so vivid, so fresh. She couldn’t shake it.
Softly, Perry said, “So if you lived here, and if you knew all of that, and if you wanted to kill yourself, and if you had anyone you cared about who was still alive…you wouldn’t want to leave them with that mess to clean up.”
Kim didn’t reply. The uneasiness she’d felt when she’d awakened last night adhered to her as if she’d been slathered with it.
Not only the nightmare had her spooked.
The terrified screams she’d heard afterward through her open window added its own horror.
Kim shook herself off, cleared her throat twice, and then sipped the coffee to wet her vocal cords to strengthen her tone. “If I were you, I’d want to know how that suicide theory got started and who spread it around. Even if relying on it helps to buy you some time.”
Perry arched his eyebrows. “I plan to leave the rumor out there as long as I can. But why should I spend any time investigating a false lead like that?”
Kim replied, “Because whoever started that story already knew Bonnie Nightingale never stepped in front of that train either accidentally or on purpose. He knows exactly how she got there. And he knows why she got herself killed, too.”
She glanced up just as the diner’s front door opened, and Sheriff Greyson came inside. He glanced around, taking in the crowded tables before he made a beeline toward them.
He approached the table casually, removing his hat on the way. He glanced at the empty dishes on the table. “Perry. Otto. Looks like you’re about done here.”
He pulled one of the empty chairs and sat with his back to the kitchen. He rested his forearms on the table and leaned in, speaking quietly. “I’ve got a situation.”
“What kind of situation?” Perry asked.
Greyson gave him a solid stare. “The kind I don’t want to talk about here. Too many people around. If you’re both done, I’d like you to come with me.”
“We haven’t paid for our lunch yet,” Perry replied.
He didn’t seem particularly cooperative, which was unusual for a military cop, and Kim wondered why.
“Happy to help, Chief.” Kim pulled two twenties from her pocket and tossed them on the table. She pushed her chair back and stood.
Chief Greyson flashed an irritated look toward Perry and led the way to the door. Out on the sidewalk, Greyson moved toward his SUV and Kim followed. Before they reached the vehicle, Perry caught up.
Chief Greyson gave him a sneer. “Didn’t want to miss anything huh, Major?”
Perry scowled and climbed into the back of the car. “Where are we going?”
“To the morgue.” Chief Greyson started the engine and backed away from the curb. He pointed the SUV northward.
“I’m surprised this town has a morgue and a pathologist on staff,” Perry replied, clearly interested now. “You have that much violent crime in this county? Enough autopsies required to warrant the expense?”
“Not exactly. We’ve got a part-time coroner, which is all we need.” Chief Greyson inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “Most people die here of old age or an obvious farming accident or even a car crash. Maybe a bar fight goes bad every dozen years or so. Lately, we’ve had more bodies to process than we’re used to.”
“And we’re on our way to the morgue because now you’ve got another one,” Kim said from the passenger seat.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
1:15 p.m.
Chief Greyson drove along Main Street, past Toussaint’s Hotel, beyond the point where the McKinneys had stopped to fight. He passed the courthouse and approached a white plantation-style building, which might have been a home once upon a time.
The façade, complete with columns and a two-story covered porch, was set back from the street. On each side of the double entry door were six tall and narrow windows accented by black shutters, making the windows seem even taller and narrower than they were.
Surrounding the building were deep green lawns, expertly trimmed and bordered by flower beds overflowing with blossoms.
The sign out front said Baker’s Funeral Home. On the right side, a covered drive was attached. An empty hearse waited on the driveway.
Chief Greyson turned onto a side street and drove around to an equally empty parking lot in the back.
“Why are we here, Chief?” Perry asked again. He’d asked basically the same question twice before and received the same stony silence in response.
“Let’s take a look first. See what the coroner has to say. Then we’ll talk,” Greyson replied. He parked the cruiser and they stepped out into the steamy midday heat.
Greyson led the way to the back entrance. He pressed a bell and waited, feet wide apart, hands on his belt until a middle-aged woman came to the other side.
She peered from behind the glass, giving each of them a thorough once-over. Kim wondered whether they’d had break-ins and that’s why she was so cautious.
Finally, she turned a deadbolt and opened the door.
“Chief Greyson. Come on in,” she said as if welcoming a guest for dinner.
“Thanks, Mabel. We’ll just go down to see Donnie if it’s okay with you,” Greyson replied, continuing through the door.
“Sure,” she said, although Greyson didn’t give her a chance to object or stick around to hear her gripes. She seemed like a woman who would have a litany of complaints ready for all occasions. No doubt he’d heard them all before.
Greyson led the way, followed by Kim and Perry to a door under the stairs. Greyson opened it, ducked to avoid the transom, and headed down. Kim cleared the low ceiling easily, of course. Perry also had to duck.
At the bottom of the stairs, the basement opened up into one huge room with a standard eight-foot ceiling. Kim wondered if the basement had been added long after the plantation days when most homes would have had nothing larger than a root cellar under the house.
She caught a whiff of disinfectant, formaldehyde and the unmistakable odor of decaying human flesh. She wrinkled her nose.
The space was cool and quiet. Bright overhead fluorescents washed green hues over everything down to the shiny clean beige tile covered floor. The walls were lined with stainless steel supply cabinets, their doors closed and locked.
One end of the cavernous room was set up like a smaller version of every morgue Kim had ever seen. Two stainless steel wheeled mortuary tables stood in the middle. A drain in the floor tiles between them served both. A sprayer was attached to the ceiling above each table.
Blindingly bright lights that could be switched on and off as needed during procedures hung on stainless steel cables. Mounted on the wall closest to the tables were large stainless steel sinks. Bottles of chemicals lined open shelves above the basins.