“No.” I hesitated, then said, “I’d bet good money that Bingham killed him. He told me to be careful or I’d end up like Henderson.”
His jaw tightened and fury filled his eyes. “Bingham threatened you? When? Here?”
“No,” I said. “The library.”
He got to his feet, looking like he was about to rush out the door and hunt Bingham down.
I jumped up and grabbed his arm to keep him in place. “He dropped by to get his ten minutes in a public place.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had less than ten minutes now before I had to report for my shift. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about the night Seth died.” When he didn’t react, I added, “He told me that he found evidence.”
His eyes flew wide. “What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Then he shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter. You need to trust me at your own pace.”
“I was worried if I told you, you might not meet your source in Ewing. Did you find out anything that will help?”
Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “He never showed.”
“Does that mean anything? Is your source reliable?”
“I’m not sure what it means.”
“There’s something I held back from you. I want to tell you now.”
In the scheme of things, it doesn’t matter when you tell me. I’m just relieved you trust me.”
Did he really mean it? Jake had told me things like that during our engagement, saying that we’d learn to love each other, that we could set our own pace, and praising and thanking me with every step closer to a real relationship, especially the physical side. What if Wyatt was doing the same now?
Tears filled my eyes.
“Hey,” he said reassuringly as he cupped my face. “I’m not mad, okay? I’m grateful.”
I nodded and looked down. “Seth showed me a string of numbers written on the palm of his hand. There was a digital video camera in that motel room, so I can’t help but think the numbers are the password or PIN to access the footage. What else could it be?”
He grimaced. “That doesn’t do us much good since we don’t know where the footage ended up.”
“And that’s presuming the camera had internet access.”
“Max’s wifi reaches to the motel. He likely hooked up to it.”
“I think I know where to find the footage,” I said. “I was searching through the clothes on Seth’s floor, and I found a slip of paper in the pocket of a pair of his pants with the web address for a video cam site. All we need is the login name. Any ideas what it could be?”
He frowned. “Maybe. But I really don’t want to look at it here. I’d rather use the computer in the garage.”
“I’m not waiting,” I said. “I’ve logged into my VPN, and we’ll be sure to clear the search history.” Something I had neglected to do with his computer.
His face wavered with indecision. “Just give me the code and I’ll look it up at my garage.”
Was he really just being careful, or did he intend to look at the footage without me? For one awful moment, I wondered if he’d been pumping me for information all along. But something deep inside of me rejected the notion. Even though I’d learned to question my own instincts, I truly believed I could trust this man. Even so, I had promised Seth I’d guard his secrets. I wasn’t going to hand them off to someone else.
“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not letting you do it without me.”
Disappointment filled Wyatt’s eyes. “You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not that. Seth gave the code to me. I have to be the one to use it.”
“You don’t trust me,” he repeated, more firmly.
“Shelve your stupid pride, Wyatt Drummond,” I snapped. “I made that boy a promise, and I aim to keep it. Me. I’m not passing the buck. Now what’s the username?”
He watched me for several seconds before he said, “Sit down and go to the website.”
I plopped back into the chair and quickly pulled up the page. When the sign-in screen appeared, I glanced up at Wyatt.
“[email protected],” he said.
“His email address?” I asked. Of course it was.
“Not his main one. Most people don’t know about this one. It stands to reason that’s what he’d use.”
I entered the email, said a quick prayer, and plugged in the code. I held my breath as the site decided whether to give me access.
The screen changed, and a page popped up with several thumbnails of videos.
Wyatt leaned over me, studying the screen. “You did it,” he said in awe.
I looked over my shoulder at him. “We did it.”
He grinned, but any sense of celebration quickly faded as we turned our attention back to the page. Reaching around me, Wyatt put his hand over mine on the mouse and clicked on the last video.
My stomach knotted as the video began to play. The image was bad due to poor lighting, but it was clear enough that we could tell it had been taken in a motel room. Based on the floor plan of the room I’d been assigned, the camera was propped on the bathroom counter, along the wall opposite the door. A few seconds in, the door burst open and two men rushed in. They searched the room, then began to toss things around, obviously looking for something. One of the men opened a closet door and jerked a figure out of his hiding place.
“That’s Seth, isn’t it?” I asked, feeling nauseated.
“Yeah,” he said in a tight voice. “I think so.”
One of the men moved toward the camera before he moved out of view, giving us a clear view of his face.
“Do you know him?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“No,” he said. “I don’t. But he looks familiar.”
“He’s a deputy sheriff,” I said. “Timothy Spigot. I saw his photo while I was looking for information on the internet. He was involved in the shooting death of Barb’s boyfriend.”
“Shit,” Wyatt bit out.
“We can take this to the state police,” I said. “With what I witnessed and this video, we can go above the sheriff’s department.”
He nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Let me call my attorney and get his advice about how to proceed, but we might not be able to go to the state police until tomorrow.”
“Do you have cloud storage?” I asked. “The file is too big to email, and I really don’t want to download it to Max’s computer.”
He hesitated. “Yeah, but I rarely use it. I hope I remember how to access it.” He directed me to his account, and after three attempts at the password, we got in and I started the download.
“Okay,” I said once the download was complete. I shut down the page and logged out of the VPN. Next I cleaned out the search history so no one would be able to see what I’d been doing.
“The funeral’s tomorrow,” he said softly. “Goin’ to the state police will likely take all day.”
“Are you saying we can’t go to the state police because of the funeral?” I demanded, my temper rising as I swung around to face him. “Isn’t getting justice for Seth more important than laying him to rest?”
“Do you really want to leave Hank all alone?” he asked. “Because I’m not lettin’ you do this by yourself.”
He was right. We needed to be here for Hank, but surely we could at least send them the video in advance. I could give my interview after the funeral, or on Saturday. Why was he acting so hesitant?
Perhaps he’d realized what was just now dawning on me. If I went to the state police, my picture might be published or circulated. I could be found.
Either way, I had to do it. I had to get justice for Seth.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m not the enemy here, Carly. I want to nail the bastards who did this as much as you do, okay?”
Tears stung my eyes. He was right, and truth be told, he had more emotional investment in this situation than I did.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to go to work. Are you going out to relieve Ginger with Hank?
”
His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t want to leave with you upset with me. I don’t want to leave you alone at all.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Max, and Ruth, and Tiny.”
Wyatt still looked worried, but he nodded.
I grabbed my shirt out of my purse and stood.
“I’ll be back to pick you up at midnight,” he said. He started to reach for me, then stopped.
I smiled up at him. “Okay.”
I was tempted to kiss him, but there were too many uncertainties right now. I needed to put my time and energy into making Seth’s murderers pay.
I left the room, with Wyatt on my heels, and nearly collided with Jerry on my way to the bathroom. When he saw me, he hightailed it into the dining room.
“Is there a problem?” Wyatt asked when he saw my reaction.
“No,” I said, because I had no real proof of anything. I didn’t have as much as a hunch he was doing anything wrong… he just seemed to be everywhere I was in town. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”
Worry filled his eyes, and he nodded. “If you need me, call me at Hank’s. I’ll come straightaway.”
“Thanks.” I went into the restroom and changed in a matter of seconds, then emerged from the bathroom to see Bitty coming around the corner from the office with my dirty dishes. She shot me a glare as she headed to the kitchen.
“I was going to bring them back,” I called after her, but she ignored me.
I still had to figure out how to win her over, but I had bigger fish to fry. I needed to make it through my shift without getting arrested. Or murdered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The dinner shift was busy, and stayed that way well past eight and into the much less popular, but still well-attended, Thursday Night Football. The Cowboys were playing the Broncos, and the sides were evenly divided in the room.
The crowd was mostly some of the first group of patrons from Monday, but around nine, Bingham and a couple of his cronies showed up. Bingham’s gaze searched me out straightaway, and he gave me a knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
My heart leapt into my rib cage. He was here for his answers.
Bingham sat at a table by the windows in Ruth’s section—away from the crowd huddled in front of the TV. When she went to take his order, he loudly insisted over the hum of the crowd that he wanted to be waited on by the new girl.
I was taking another customer’s order for beer and wings, but I cast a glance at an flummoxed Ruth, who gave me a shrug.
Max wasn’t as nonchalant. “Carly,” he called out. “Can I see you for a moment?”
I glanced back at Bingham before I slipped behind the bar. He looked pretty pleased with himself. It was becoming increasingly clear that Bingham wasn’t a fly-under-the-radar kind of guy, despite his relative lack of footprint on the internet.
“You do not have to wait on him,” Max said when I reached him, his jaw set. “In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t.”
“He’s here to see me, Max,” I said. “If we get this over with now, maybe he’ll leave.”
He wrapped a hand around his still sheathed knife handle. “I could force him to leave.”
Bingham wasn’t a guy to be tangled with, and I couldn’t risk Max or Tiny getting hurt or killed on my account. “He’d just track me down later.”
“Wyatt can handle him,” Max said, although it looked like it pained him to admit it.
“I’d just be putting off the inevitable.” And risking the lives of the people I’d begun to care about. I gave Max a reassuring smile. “I can do this.”
“Do I need to remind you about Dwight?”
The crowd roared at the TV, half of the men groaning while the others cheered.
“Dwight was an impulsive hothead,” I said, leaning closer so he could hear me. “Bingham loves control too much to do anything in here.”
Max leveled his gaze on me. “And how do you know Bingham’s temperament? He wasn’t exactly in control on Monday night.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve had a run-in with him outside of here, haven’t you?”
“I’m okay, Max.”
“You don’t have to go over there, Carly,” Max pleaded. “I’ve got Carson workin’ on it.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
Max leaned into my ear. “I told you I had an ace up my sleeve. My father still has pull in the county.”
Although I knew Max wanted to help, I wouldn’t be surprised if his father was partially behind my person-of-interest status. “While I appreciate the offer, I still need to talk to him.”
Before I could change my mind, I strode over to Bingham’s table.
He was as cocky as the only rooster in a henhouse as I approached him. He saw this exercise in intimidation as a win.
“Have a seat, Carly Moore,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair at the table.
“We’re having this conversation here?” I asked, slightly incredulous.
The crowd released a string of curses and cheers.
“That’s what happens when you meet in a public place. You have witnesses,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.
I wanted to argue but decided not to waste my breath. I sat in the open chair directly across from him. Gesturing toward his men, both of whom I recognized from Monday night, I said in a firm voice, “I want them to leave the table.”
Bingham gave me a cold stare. “We don’t have any secrets.”
“So fill them in later. You don’t see me bringin’ my friends over to hold my damn hand,” I taunted. It might be a stupid move, but I could tell he was using his men’s presence as an intimidation tactic.
Bingham looked at me for what felt like ten minutes but was probably only ten seconds. Finally, he flicked his hand. “Go watch the game.”
One of the men got up and walked away without complaint, but the other guy gave me a look that suggested he’d shoot me on the spot if he could get away with it.
“Wilson,” Bingham snapped, and the man got up, throwing his chair back several inches in a fit of temper before he stomped off.
I worried Max or Tiny would rush over to my defense, but Bingham had positioned my chair so that my back was to the bar, which I was certain was intentional.
“I’ve been doin’ some investigatin’,” Bingham said with a satisfied smirk. “I think I know who the other two guys might be.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise.
The crowd roared again as he pulled out his phone and tapped his photo app. A crisp image filled the screen. A rough-looking man was sitting on a dirt bike, wearing a white shirt covered in splotches of mud. “Does he look familiar?”
“I didn’t see the men in the parking lot, Bingham,” I said, sounding as exhausted as I suddenly felt.
His eyes turned cruel as his gaze pinned on me. “The time for lyin’ is done,” he snarled. “Your life just might depend on it.”
I swallowed down my fear and waited for him to continue.
Bingham swiped his screen, pulling up a new photo. “What about him?”
He held up the screen for my perusal.
The image was of a man in camo with a rifle slung over his shoulder, holding up the head of a deer carcass by the antlers.
That was Deputy Timothy Spigot. And suddenly I knew where I’d seen him before, aside from the video and the news article.
Bingham’s eyes lit up. “He’s one of them.”
I lifted my gaze to fully meet his. “I didn’t see his face in the parking lot. I meant what I said, I didn’t see any of their faces.”
Anger distorted his features, and it was clear that he was about to chew me out.
I placed a hand on the table and leaned closer. “If you lose your temper,” I said in a no-nonsense tone, “Max will kick you out in a heartbeat, so I suggest you rein it in. Now.”
His face reddened. “I’m gonna need you to cut the shit, Ms. Moore. Did you see this man outside your motel room or not?”
“For
the last time, I’m telling you that I didn’t see any of their faces.” Then, before he could erupt, I said, “But I heard them.”
Bingham went still and several long seconds passed before he finally said in a much calmer voice, “But you recognize the last man?”
I nodded, licking my bottom lip. Was this the right thing to do? Could I hold Bingham off for one more day so I could share my information with the state police?
But the cold hard truth was, I was unlikely to be alive tomorrow unless I appeased Todd Bingham, and the time for stringing him along was done.
I nodded. “I saw him the morning of the shooting. He was at the hospital in Greeneville. He was getting on the elevator on Hank’s floor while I was getting off.”
Bingham held up the phone again. “This man? You’re certain?”
Tears stung my eyes. “Yes.”
I knew the full weight of my admission, and it was heavy on my soul.
His grin was the thoroughly pleased look of an asshole who was used to getting everything he wanted. I’d seen it on my father’s face more times than I could count. Bingham wasn’t just pleased I’d caved—he was getting off on my tears too. He’d broken me, and my emotions were feeding his sick need to control everything and everyone.
That thought straightened my backbone. I was done kowtowing to men like my father. Men like Todd Bingham.
Grow a fucking spine, Carly Moore.
And in that moment, I let Caroline Blakely go. What was left of her was flung into the universe, and Charlene Moore took charge.
“I might have seen him in that elevator, but that’s hardly proof of his involvement,” I scoffed, leaning forward as I eyed him with disdain. There was no way I was letting him know about the videos. “He is a sheriff’s deputy. He could have been there on official sheriff business.”
Surprise filled his eyes as he took in my change in countenance. He shook his head. “He was off duty Tuesday morning.”
“Just because he was off duty doesn’t mean he was one of the murderers,” I said.
He released a bitter laugh. “Spoken like an innocent.”
“Turn him in,” I said. “Let the law take care of him.”
A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series Page 30