Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  Leo gave Barker a thin smile.

  “Who said I’m going to ask him to volunteer it? There are plenty of ways to get DNA.”

  Barker crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the index cards. He picked up his pencil and wrote a question to add to the pile: Is Bellows Vinny’s father?

  Leo stared at the words, knowing the question would need to be answered before they could present the far-fetched theory to the police. Circumstantial evidence was never as convincing as DNA.

  Leo let his eyes fall on his mother’s name, and a disturbing thought floated through his mind.

  If Bellows killed Natalie to silence her, where does that leave my mother’s case? Why would Bellows kill my mother?

  “My mother didn’t start working at the community health center until 2002,” Leo said, almost to himself. “She may not have even met Bellows.”

  Barker looked up in surprise.

  “So, now you’re thinking the two cases aren’t connected?”

  Leo shook his head, not wanting to give up on the idea that he could find his mother’s killer by following the clues in the Natalie Lorenzo case.”

  “I don’t know. It seemed to make sense that a serial killer on the loose in Willow Bay may have chosen two victims he’d encountered at the community center. But if Natalie’s murder wasn’t a random attack, if there was a personal motive, then the connection starts to fall apart.”

  Barker cocked his head and frowned down at the index cards.

  “It still seems strange. Too much of a coincidence to give up on so easily if you ask me.”

  Leo nodded, his face grim.

  “When you looked through the files at Nessa’s house, did you see Adrian Bellows listed as one of my mother’s co-workers at the community center?”

  Barker shook his head.

  “I don’t remember seeing his name in either file. And I don’t remember talking to him as part of the Lorenzo investigation, but maybe Ingram handled that interview. I can ask him.”

  “If the investigators talked to Penelope, you’d think they would also talk to the other people that worked or volunteered there.”

  Barker nodded in agreement. He picked up a blank card and wrote Did Ingram or Vanzinger talk to Bellows?

  “Who’s Vanzinger? Why does that name sound familiar?” Leo asked, reading the card upside-down.

  “He was Reinhardt’s partner back then. He worked your mother’s case. I’m sure you must have met him.”

  Leo tried to think back to the nightmarish days after his mother’s body had been found. So many people had spoken to him, so many pitying faces had stared at him.

  “I don’t remember him,” Leo finally said, but he had a vague image of a man’s face in his mind. The man’s weathered skin and chapped lips had left the impression of an outdoorsman.

  “Tucker Vanzinger grew up in Willow Bay and joined the WBPD right out of school. Was in uniform for quite a while before moving up to detective. He’d been working in the Violent Crimes unit for a year or so when he and Reinhardt got called out to your mother’s…scene.”

  Leo felt Barker’s eyes on him, but he kept his eyes on the table, his face impassive. He couldn’t afford to get emotional every time his mother’s murder was mentioned. He needed to focus on finding her killer. Only then could he allow himself to give in to the grief. And maybe then he’d be able to find some sort of closure.

  “A few weeks later Vanzinger just up and quit,” Barker continued. “Disappeared from Willow Bay before the case had been closed.”

  Leo bent down and wrote Tucker Vanzinger on one of the cards and placed it on the table in front of Barker.

  “He’s got to know something about my mother’s case. Something that made him quit the force.”

  Leo walked to the window and looked out, trying to hide the frustration that was taking hold.

  “Well, the case was Vanzinger’s first violent homicide. Maybe he couldn't handle it,” Barker said, his voice cautious. “Or maybe he'd had issues with Reinhardt.”

  Leo stiffened at the name of the dirty cop that had tried to kill Nessa. The corrupt detective had been capable of trafficking young girls, dealing drugs and working with an organized crime syndicate to pay off gambling debts. Leo was sure Reinhardt would have been capable of covering up a crime or sending an innocent man to jail.

  The thought brought a lump to Leo’s throat; he swallowed hard. How could anyone have believed his father had been a killer? The naked agony on his father’s face that night had been too real and too raw to fake. Ken Steele had been devastated. He’d never gotten over losing Helena, and he’d eventually decided he didn’t want to be in a world without her.

  “My father killed himself in jail after being falsely convicted,” Leo said, wanting Barker to hear the truth, needing to say it out loud. “And I’m going to find the real killer. I’m going to clear my father’s name, and I’m going to avenge both my father and my mother.”

  “I hear you, Leo, and I want to help.”

  “Then help me find Vanzinger. He must know something. Maybe he even knows who the killer is. If Reinhardt let the killer go free, or if he just didn’t chase up the case properly, maybe Vanzinger will know. Maybe he’ll want to help us make things right.”

  Barker looked doubtful, but he nodded.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I think he and Jankowski were close back when they were both in uniform. I’ll ask him to help.”

  Leo rolled his eyes at the mention of Nessa’s partner. He wasn’t sure he trusted the beefy detective. The guy always looked pissed off, unless he was looking at Eden. An unfamiliar wave of jealousy washed through Leo, but he pushed it away. He didn’t need any more distractions. He needed to be sharp and focused.

  “Fine, ask him about Vanzinger, but I don’t want to involve Jankowski further unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m not sure we can trust him.”

  Barker looked ready to protest, but then shrugged and nodded when he saw the stubborn set to Leo’s chin.

  “I’ve got to go,” Leo said, walking to the door. “I want to check in with Eden to see if she’s heard anything from Kara Stanislaus. And I need to prepare. Frankie’s being questioned again at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. No need to get up. I’ll let myself out.”

  He turned and walked out, leaving Barker surrounded by his growing stack of clues and questions.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The sky was starting to spit rain as Frankie stood outside the Willow Bay police station waiting for Leo. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and stuck one of his hands in the front pocket of his faded jeans. The other hand held a lit cigarette to his mouth. He inhaled deeply, hoping the rush of nicotine would help calm his jittery nerves, but instead he started coughing and sputtering. He looked up with red eyes just in time to see Leo exit the parking garage and walk toward him.

  “It’s almost nine, man, where the hell have you been?”

  “This is a first.” Leo patted Frankie on the back and guided him toward the station entrance. “You’re on time for once and I’m the one running late.”

  “Hold on, man, I’m not done with my smoke.”

  Leo snorted and plucked the cigarette out of Frankie’s mouth. He chucked it into the receptacle by the door as he entered the station. Frankie stared after him with narrowed eyes, tempted to walk away.

  “I don’t need this crap, Leo,” Frankie said, following the lawyer inside and pushing back his hood. “I’m in this mess because I was trying to help your ass.”

  Leo sighed and looked over, motioning for Frankie to be quiet. He greeted the desk officer in a friendly voice.

  “Good morning, Officer Eddings. We’re here to see Detective Ainsley. We’ve got an appointment at nine.”

  The young cop in the uniform turned away to use the phone, and Leo faced Frankie, raising his hand in a placating gesture.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure when we have a chance to go through all the facts with th
em they’ll have to admit you didn’t kill Penelope.”

  “I hope you’re sure enough to bet my life. Cause Florida’s got the damn death penalty. If they don’t believe me I could end up riding Old Sparky.”

  “Florida doesn’t use the electric chair for executions anymore. Unless you specifically request it,” Leo said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Now it’s lethal injection, but I’m not sure which drugs they use.”

  “That’s real reassuring, man. Thanks for nothing.”

  Frankie looked toward the doors, wondering if he had time to get through them before the detectives showed up. He felt Leo’s hand on his arm and turned to see Nessa waving them into the back.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Nessa said, her southern drawl reminding Frankie of his mother’s family up in Memphis. “We’re gonna’ be in the third room on your left.”

  Frankie’s heart sank when he saw Detective Jankowski waiting for them inside the little room. The brawny detective didn’t smile as Frankie sat down, and he maintained a sullen eye contact that quickly turned into a staring contest.

  Leo broke the silence just as Nessa joined them at the table and opened up a notepad.

  “Frankie wants to clear this up quickly and be on his way.” Leo looked at Nessa and raised his eyebrows. “A hurricane warning was issued last night. Coastal evacuations have already started. He’ll need to help his mother secure her home and prepare to leave if needed.”

  “That’s assuming he’ll be leaving here today at all,” Jankowski said, frowning at the lawyer and leaning forward to prop both his elbows on the table. “And that’s a pretty big assumption.”

  “You don’t think the results of the lie detector test proves he’s telling the truth and clears him of any wrong doing?”

  “How did you get the results?”

  Jankowski turned to Nessa, clearly aggravated.

  “Did you share the results with him? Was it your buddy Barker?”

  Leo interrupted, clearing his throat and raising his voice.

  “No one told me the results. But I’m one hundred percent sure Frankie couldn’t have killed anyone. I know the results prove that.”

  “Lie detector tests aren’t conclusive proof,” Jankowski insisted, but Frankie thought he saw doubt in the detective’s eyes. “We still need to understand why he was there, and what happened.”

  Frankie opened his mouth to respond, but Leo stopped him.

  “As I said yesterday, he went to talk to Penelope because I asked him to. He’s helping me investigate the old Lorenzo and Steele cases, and Penelope Yates came up as a possible link.”

  Jankowski crossed his thick arms over his chest and leaned back in the metal chair.

  “Refresh my memory. How was she linked to the cases?”

  “Penelope worked at the old community health center with my mother. They were both social workers. Around the same time Natalie Lorenzo enrolled in one of the center’s treatment programs.”

  Jankowski looked over at Frankie, his face tense.

  “So, you talked to Penelope. What did she tell you?”

  Frankie cleared his throat, tried to wet his dry lips.

  “You got some water?”

  Nessa stood and left the room. Within minutes she was back carrying a Styrofoam cup of water. She set the cup on the table and looked at Frankie with an encouraging nod.

  “What did Penelope tell you, Frankie?”

  Frankie sipped the water. He looked at Nessa, keeping his eyes on hers, noticing for the first time how blue they were.

  “She didn’t say much,” Frankie admitted, wishing he had more to tell them. “She busted me for following her to the bar. When I asked her about Natalie she got all upset. Started chugging whiskey sours.”

  “Why was she upset?” Nessa asked. “Did she say?”

  “She felt guilty she hadn’t gotten to Natalie in time to save her.”

  Frankie remembered the tears in Penelope’s bright gray eyes, and the words she’d used.

  “She said she still had nightmares about it.”

  Something clicked in Frankie’s mind; something else Penelope had told him.

  “Penelope didn’t believe Natalie had been turning tricks, even though that’s what the cops told her. She said Natalie was getting straight and had found her kid’s father. She was going to hit the guy up for money so she could get the kid back.”

  Leo inhaled sharply and turned to Frankie.

  “You never told me that.”

  Leo’s eyes were intense as he searched Frankie’s face.

  “She told you Natalie was going to confront her son’s father? That she knew who he was? Knew where he was?”

  “Yeah, but Penelope said that Natalie wouldn’t tell her anything about the guy. It was some big secret I guess.”

  Nessa leaned toward Leo, her brow furrowed.

  “What’s going on, Leo? What does all this mean?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Jankowski said, banging his hand on the table. “They’re just trying to come up with an alternative theory. Someone else to blame. Don’t you know that’s how defense attorney’s work?”

  “No, it means that whoever killed Natalie might have killed Penelope to try to shut her up,” Leo said, not looking at Jankowski. “And if Natalie was threatening to expose the man who fathered her son, he could be a suspect. Especially since she was only sixteen when she got pregnant. If he was an adult he’d have a lot to lose.”

  Frankie watched Nessa’s face, suspecting she was his only hope of walking out of there a free man.

  “So, if your theory is correct, how are we supposed to figure out who this man is?”

  Nessa’s question prompted Jankowski to stand and push his chair back in frustration; she ignored him, keeping her eyes on Leo.

  “Do you have any idea who this man could be?”

  Leo also stood, and this time he aimed his words at Jankowski.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. We’ve identified a man who worked at the community health center when Natalie got pregnant. He then returned as a volunteer twelve years later, just before she was killed.”

  “Does this man have a name?” Nessa asked, her pen poised over her notepad. “Is he still in town?”

  “His name is Dr. Adrian Bellows, and he owns his own private practice in Willow Bay. He also volunteers at Hope House.”

  It was Frankie’s turn to stare over at Leo. His mind was reeling.

  “You didn’t tell me that, man! This doctor guy is Vinny Lorenzo’s father? You think he’s the one that killed Penelope?”

  Jankowski spoke before Leo could respond to Frankie’s question.

  “Is this the same Dr. Bellows that Eden Winthrop has accused of being involved in Kara Stanislaus’ disappearance?”

  Frankie gaped at the detective, his eyes wide.

  “Wow, this doctor dude must really get around.”

  “Yes, he’s the one,” Leo said. “I spoke to him on Saturday but he denied even knowing Natalie or my mother.”

  Jankowski stared at Nessa, as if trying to gauge her reaction to the unexpected news, then turned back to Leo.

  “Did you ask Dr. Bellows if he knew Penelope Yates?”

  Leo thought, then shook his head. Jankowski pointed his finger in Frankie’s face.

  “Did you asked Penelope if she knew Bellows?”

  “Nah, I never heard of the guy until today,” Frankie admitted. “But I did ask her if she knew anyone who’d want to hurt either Natalie or Helena. She couldn’t think of anybody, but she was pretty wasted by then, so I gave her my number and told her to call me if she remembered anything.”

  Frankie felt a little queasy at the memory of the almost-kiss at Penelope’s door. Maybe if he had tried something she’d still be alive.

  Or maybe I’d be over there in the morgue with her.

  He looked over at Leo wondering if it was the right time to ask for reimbursement for the drinks he’d bought Penelope. But the look on Leo’s face told hi
m it wouldn’t be good timing.

  Leo had locked eyes with Jankowski and the two men stood toe to toe in the little room; the tension between them thick in the air. Finally, Jankowski spoke, his voice a low growl.

  “Your client is free to go. For now. But I’d advise him not to leave town. He’s still a person of interest, and the last person to see Penelope Yates alive.”

  “Uh, technically whoever killed her was the last person to have seen Penelope alive,” Frankie said, standing and inching toward the door. “And I hope you guys find him soon, because he sounds like a sick fuck.”

  Leo followed Frankie to the door, turning back to speak to Nessa.

  “Talk to Adrian Bellows. Ask him about Natalie and Penelope. Request a DNA sample and see if he’s Vinny Lorenzo’s father.”

  When Nessa didn’t answer, Leo shook his head and sighed.

  “Don’t just sit on this, Nessa; other women could be killed. Their blood will be on your hands.”

  Frankie heard only silence as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tucker’s Truck Stop was too far off the interstate to be convenient for people travelling southwest to the beaches or northeast to the theme parks. But the hurricane had caused a run on every gas station and convenience store in the area, and the parking lot was jam-packed with cars, buses and RVs as locals and tourists hurried to get enough gas and supplies to see them through the worst of the impending storm.

  Jankowski circled the parking lot a few times before spotting an empty space under the battered Truck Repairs Here sign. He parked his black Dodge Charger and climbed out, narrowly avoiding being run over by a lifted pick-up truck with oversized wheels. The driver of the truck continued talking into a cell phone as he barreled out of the lot, ignoring Jankowski’s extended middle finger.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he winced when he saw Gabby’s number on the display. Tempted to ignore his ex-wife’s call, he sighed and swiped, determined not to let her get under his skin.

  “What do you want, Gabby? I’m busy.”

  “This isn’t a social call, Simon,” Gabby said, her voice dripping with disdain. “I need to know where you’re at with the Penelope Yates homicide investigation. Mayor Hadley is asking, and the press is hounding me for an update. I want to send out a press release before we evacuate city hall.”