“What?”
“Well, even though she’s in her fifties now, for a minute there I believed that he really thought I was my mother.”
Laredo ran his eye over her. “Well, you do look like some supermodel type.” He added quickly, “I mean, you know, dressed up like that.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “I’m definitely not a supermodel type. I can squat nearly five hundred pounds. My thighs are bigger than a typical supermodel’s body.”
Laredo glanced at her long, muscled bare legs and then he quickly looked up. “I only know you with a gun in one hand and a badge in the other and I’m leaving it at that.”
“Lineberry is really rich. Has his jet and this huge house. And a former Secret Service guy as head of security.”
“So?”
“So a guy like that, if he wanted to find someone, couldn’t he hire the best PI firm around and let them loose trying to find her? How hard would it be? My mom didn’t even change her name from when she lived in Andersonville. And I was making a name for myself with weightlifting. How many Atlee Pines are out there? I have a frigging Wikipedia page somebody put up that talks about my sister’s disappearance.”
“I know. I saw it.”
“I had nothing to do with making that page, Eddie.”
“I know that, too.”
Laredo took a sip of his cocktail while he thought about this. “So he could have found you and/or her easily enough but he obviously didn’t. So the question becomes why.”
“So you think it’s strange, too?”
“Everything in this place is strange. They’ve been trying to feed me something called ‘grits’ with my breakfast ever since I got here.”
“I never appreciated your humor before, Eddie.”
“I’m being serious, Atlee.”
“I can tell.”
“So what’s the deal with your assistant, Blum?”
“What do you mean?”
“She gave me the third degree when I first met her. Wanted to know what had gone on between us.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That it was none of her business. And then she told me she’d done a 411 on me.”
Pine laughed. “Boy, she really did pull out all the stops on you.”
“You really think that’s funny?”
“Don’t you?”
Laredo finally chuckled. “I guess. Anyway, she said I checked out all right.”
“Obviously she failed to talk to the right people.” But Pine tacked on a smile to show she was joking.
Laredo finished his gin and tonic and held his hand up for a second and Pine ordered another Bud.
“Getting back to Jack Lineberry,” he said when the drinks had arrived. “I actually did a 411 on him.”
“What? On Lineberry? Why?”
“He’s a really rich guy and he’s close by here.”
“You think he’s going around killing people and laying them out in old clothes?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So what did your 411 turn up?”
“That he is really rich. His investment business is totally legit. He gives a lot to charities. He’s well liked.”
“When did he come to Andersonville, or was he born here?”
“He wasn’t born here, at least the records I looked at don’t show that.”
“Where then?”
Laredo’s expression turned puzzled. “Not entirely clear.”
“How can that be, Eddie?”
“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. But then again, not everybody has a birth certificate, or knows where they’re born.”
Pine reflected on this. She hadn’t known where she was born until she had seen her birth certificate that she needed to get her passport.
“He’s in his sixties, so we’re looking at him being born sometime in the fifties. If it was in a rural area and he was born at home or with a midwife instead of in a hospital?”
“It’s possible. But to the extent we could track his past, the guy’s never been in trouble with the police.”
“So he came here at some point and started working at the bauxite mine in management.”
“Right. That’s what I found, too.”
“Did it say when he first came here?”
Laredo took out his phone and scrolled through some windows.
“Sometime in the 1980s. I don’t have an exact date. We could get one, I suppose.”
“Probably doesn’t matter.”
“You think he had something to do with what happened to your sister?”
“It’s possible but not really probable. He seems to genuinely care for my family, particularly my mother. And he was going to offer my father a job in his investment firm. He was on his way to meet with my father when he found his body.”
“Damn. That must have been a shock.”
“My mother told me it happened in Louisiana. It was Virginia, according to Lineberry. I was nineteen at the time. In fact, he killed himself on my birthday.”
“Wow, I’m sorry, Atlee. That must have been rough.”
She sipped her beer. “It was…not easy. The biggest thing I felt was anger. That I wasn’t there to talk him out of it. That maybe he thought I didn’t love or care about him. It should never have happened.”
“It’s hard to get into the head of someone who’s contemplating killing themselves. But don’t think that you need to shoulder the blame. If someone really wants to kill themselves, they’ll find a way. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yeah, I know it when the person isn’t my father.”
Laredo lifted his drink to her. “Point taken.”
They had another round and when some of the patrons started to hit the dance floor, Pine said, “You want to?”
He looked confused. “Want to what?”
She answered by gripping his hand and pulling him up.
Before they took to the dance floor, Pine slipped off her heels and put them on her chair.
She looked up at Laredo and smiled. “Feel better now?”
He grinned. “Hey, what can I say? You’re intimidating at any height.”
They danced for a while, apart for most of it, dipping, swirling, and spinning to the tunes that were mostly country.
“You move pretty well for an FBI agent,” noted Pine.
“Growing up in Queens, my main ambition was to become a member of a boy band. It seemed the straightest path to money and girls.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t carry a tune. I was pretty bummed.”
“Do I remember something about you doing track in college?”
“Full ride based on how fast I could run. Sweet deal.”
The next song was a slow one. They drew closer, hesitantly. His arm encircled her waist, and Pine’s went over his delt.
She breathed in his scent and she assumed he was doing the same to her. She started to rest her head against his chest but then thought better of it.
They would glance at each other and then away.
When the song ended Pine said, “It’s late. We should get back.”
“Right.”
They walked to the Cottage. It was warm and humid. Pine carried her shoes in her hand, and the pavement felt cool to her feet. They didn’t pass anyone; the street was mostly dark, with only the moon providing illumination.
“They need some more lights out here, if just to stop people from bumping into stuff,” said Laredo.
“Small towns aren’t big cities.”
“No they are not.”
When they got back to the Cottage they walked up the stairs.
“Where’s your room?” Pine asked.
Laredo pointed to his right. “Just down there.”
“I’m the other way. Just down there.”
He nodded. So did Pine.
“Well, good night, Eddie. Thanks for a nice evening.”
“It was nice, Atlee. Good night.”
She looked at hi
m, sensing disappointment in his features, but maybe that was just her take.
They went their separate ways.
She looked back once, but Laredo never did. He went to his room and slipped inside.
When Pine’s door closed behind her, another opened.
Carol Blum looked out of her room, first glancing toward the direction of Pine’s room and then Laredo’s. Her look was more or less inscrutable, sort of between a smile and a frown.
She closed the door and all became quiet.
Pine slipped off her dress, hung it up, and stood in the middle of her room in her bra and underwear. She looked toward her door and then shook her head.
I didn’t have enough to drink to make that stupid a decision.
But Laredo had been sweet and contrite. And maybe he had changed. And he had seemed disappointed that maybe she hadn’t invited him to her room, and her bed, or offered to go to his. But that was his problem, not hers. And you didn’t lead him on, Atlee. Not really.
However, she wasn’t sure she entirely believed that.
Chapter 45
THE WORKMAN ANGLE is a dead end,” said Wallis.
He, Pine, Laredo, and Blum were sitting in the breakfast room at the Cottage. It was the following morning. Lauren Graham had served them all coffee before departing.
Wallis continued, “We could find no one that saw him. And there’s no video footage.”
“Same as Hanna Rebane,” noted Laredo.
“Looks like our perp knows the gaps in coverage,” suggested Pine. “And he had Rebane’s condo key and key card so he could come and go at will. What did you find out about the porn company that Rebane and Clemmons worked for?”
Wallis brightened. “We did get lucky there. Turns out that Layne Gillespie also worked as an actor for that same production company.”
“Did he appear in films with Rebane and Clemmons?” asked Laredo.
“Both. They sent me a video file of them in a threesome,” said Wallis, his face turning pink. “I, uh, I watched enough of it to confirm that it was all three, for sure. Gillespie used the name ZZ Shaft. At least that’s what I could gather from the credits.”
“Creative,” said Pine drily.
Laredo said, “So that puts the production company in the spotlight. That’s the only connection we have right now.”
“And that production company is turning out to be a little hard to pin down,” said Wallis. “It’s a shell company organized in Bermuda. All the information I can get so far adds up to a big fat zero. I’ve made calls and sent emails and texts and I’ve gotten nothing except silence in return.”
“What about the actual people working on the films?” asked Blum.
“The actors, apparently, know nothing. The producer I got on the phone could only give me the name of the company. He’s never met an actual person. Money to fund the films and pay the actors comes in through wire transfers from offshore. The distribution of the films is made through a third-party firm that looks legit. The profits go offshore into a black hole. I’m just a local cop. We’re not set up to penetrate that sort of shield.”
Laredo and Pine looked at each other. Pine said, “It’s not so easy for the FBI, either. Everyone thinks the Feds are the eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Go ask the IRS who has more resources, them or some billionaires they’re chasing. It’s no contest. The rich sweep the field.”
“There might be a connection to Andersonville,” said Blum. “I mean, that’s where two of the bodies were found.”
“That is certainly possible,” said Pine. “And whoever is behind this has to have some connection to porn films.”
Laredo chimed in. “It could be they’re antiporn and this is their way of showing their disapproval, by murdering actors in that field.”
“By why dress them up in those getups?” asked Wallis. “What would be the point?”
“A veil and a tux,” mused Pine. “Bride and groom, obviously. That has to be worked into the scenario somehow. It was important to the killer.”
“Which means we’re back at square one,” said Wallis. He rose, his expression troubled. “I’ve got to get back to the office and report in to my superiors. Not something I relish doing, since I’ve basically gotten nowhere. Let me know if anything occurs to you.”
After he left, Laredo looked at Pine. “I got a text from Stan Cashings this morning.”
Pine’s face was inscrutable, while Blum’s eyes widened a bit.
“Okay,” said Pine.
“Cloak and Dagger?” prompted Laredo.
“How do you know Stan?”
“I’ve worked with him. Thought you knew that.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why do you want to know about something called Cloak and Dagger?”
“I think it was a bar back in New York, in the eighties. I think my father might have worked there. Why would Stan have contacted you about that?”
“Because he transferred down to DC last year. WFO,” he added, referring to the FBI’s Washington Field Office.
“Then maybe I called the wrong person. He didn’t mention that on the phone.”
“No, he was a good source. He knows New York as well as anybody. If this place existed, he’ll be able to find out about it.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he would call you.”
“Because I told him where I was going and that you were going to be there.”
“He also didn’t mention that.”
“Stan plays things close to the vest. It’s the FBI way. It’s not like you and I don’t share that attribute.” The two stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.
Blum cleared her throat and said, “So, getting back to the murders here.”
Pine said, “We’ve got to run down this connection to the porn films. The killer had to know intimate details of the actors, their real identities, where they live.”
“So you think they knew him somehow?” said Laredo.
“Rebane had some man in her life, Clemmons told us. We haven’t learned the same about Gillespie but it’s possible he had some relationship with the killer. He could have brought them here under some pretext, killed them, and laid them out for us to find. Then he gets cold feet for some reason about Clemmons, maybe because she could tell us the connection between Rebane and Gillespie, and that’s why she had to die.”
“Maybe someone could have seen them together somewhere,” said Blum.
“That’s an awfully big task for a few people to track down,” pointed out Laredo.
“You’re not expecting any reinforcements from the Bureau?” said Pine.
“Not at the present, no. The Bureau is stretched thin as it is. Lots of stuff on the burners.”
“Three murders aren’t chump change,” Pine retorted.
“Preaching to the choir, and I’ll ask for help. Just don’t hold your breath.”
They heard the sound of feet rushing down the hall, and Graham burst into the little breakfast room. Her face was pale, and her features held a stark terror that made Pine and Laredo rise at the same time, their hands near their guns.
“What?” barked Pine.
“You’ve got to…come. Hurry! Oh my God. Hurry.”
She turned and fled back down the hall, with the three in pursuit.
They quickly hit the main street and hurried after Graham, and soon she stopped in front of one of the buildings.
It was the Drummer Boy Civil War Museum, a gray painted brick structure with black shutters on the windows and a metal roof over the porch overhang. Out front was the Confederate flag, and large wooden cutouts of figures in blue and gray uniforms and smaller versions of drummer boys in uniform. The faces were blank holes, allowing visitors to fill them with their own countenances and have their pictures taken. You could do the same thing with the cutout of a lady in a hoop skirt.
A woman in her forties with wavy brown hair, wearing a navy blue dress with low heels and nylons, was standing outside, looking even more d
istraught than Graham. She had one hand against the brick, apparently to keep herself upright. Her other hand was pressed against her chest.
“Lily,” called out Graham. “I brought the FBI folks.”
Laredo and Pine strode past Graham and swiftly moved over to the woman named Lily.
“What happened?” said Laredo, his hand on the butt of his pistol.
In answer, Lily pointed weakly in the direction of the museum.
“It’s…it’s in there,” she said breathlessly.
Laredo’s and Pine’s gazes swiveled to the front of the entrance.
“‘It’?” said Pine.
“In the back. In…in the uniform. Oh, it’s so very awful.”
She buried her face in her hands and started to sob.
Pine eyed Blum and motioned her over to stay with Lily.
She and Laredo opened the door to the museum and entered. The space was filled with Civil War and other memorabilia. There were glass display cabinets and weapons hanging from the walls. In the middle was a large-scale model of Andersonville Prison complete with double stockade walls, prison figures, guard towers, tents, and sandy dirt.
Against the walls and behind black railings with framed information plaques were mannequins dressed in military uniforms. Against another wall was a woman dressed all in black with a bonnet-style hat and a black parasol. Next to her was a soldier wearing his hat, gold sash, and sword.
Pine was the first to see it, and even her hardened nerves took a jolt.
Laredo looked where she was staring and let out a hiss. “Damn, is that…?”
They walked over to the spot. Behind another set of black railings there were two adult mannequin soldiers, muskets held at shoulder arms, with Confederate flags on the wall behind. Pine barely looked at any of this. She was riveted on a small figure standing between them. She supposed it was the eponymous drummer boy, dressed in rebel gray with his drum hanging from a white support band over his shoulder and twin drumsticks in his hand. Only unlike the other display figures, this one had once been a living, breathing person.
Chapter 46
THE WINDOWS WERE COVERED with brown paper to block sight lines into the museum. Police tape had been stretched across the front. A small group of people was milling around outside. Some spoke with the policeman on duty at the door. Everyone looked worried and upset.
A Minute to Midnight Page 24