“Time of death?”
Frizetti shrugged.
“Don’t shrug, Jerry,” Doug said. “It’s your job to know.”
Frizetti retrieved the sandwich from his pocket, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “I’m not a genie, Doug. It got cold last night, slows everything down.”
“Give me your best guess. You can guess, can’t you?”
Frizetti took another bite. He chewed thoughtfully, staring at the body of Clint Efforts. The gray, chalky skin of the trucker turned Doug’s stomach. He’d seen his share of dead bodies over the past thirty years and never got used to it.
“Before midnight.”
“And it was most likely after full dark. So what, between eight and midnight?”
Doug looked around and found Peevey by his patrol car, writing something on his steno pad. “Peevey.”
Peevey looked up.
“Get over here.”
Peevey jogged over. “Yeah, Chief.”
“Who found the body?”
“Trucker from North Carolina, Art Spinotsky. Said he got up this morning and went around the back of his truck to check the tires, found Efforts there on the ground. I got his full statement and let him go. These truckers, you know, they run a tight—”
“I know. Did you talk to anyone else?”
“No. No one else here. They’d all pulled out before sunrise.”
“Did this Spin-whatever guy know Efforts? Ever have a run-in with him?”
“No. Said he’d never even seen Efforts before.”
Doug doubted that. These truckers knew each other, ran the same route every day or every other day and made the same stops. Hailey’s was a popular rest spot.
“Okay. Get the surveillance footage, credit card receipts, talk to whoever was working last night. Find out who was here, how long they stayed, who ate what, how much they spent, who used the john, all of it. Then start questioning. Somebody had to see something. And see if anyone saw Fabry around here. I want a close eye on him.”
Peevey nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And Peevey?”
“Chief?”
“Don’t cut any corners, all right? I want this done by the book.”
“Yes, sir.”
Doug turned to Frizetti. “There’s gonna be more.”
“I guess we can hope he’s spelling red.”
“That’s not funny, Jerry.” He sipped at his coffee. “I hate this, you know?”
“The coffee? Where’d you get it?”
“No, this.” Doug ran his finger in a circle above his head. “He’s out there somewhere laughing at us. A couple of jerk small-town cops in way over their heads.”
“You’re the cop,” Frizetti said. “I’m just a coroner.”
“You used to be a cop.”
“That was a long time ago. Why don’t you go back to the office, see what you can do there, and I’ll finish up here.”
“Good enough. See ya ’round.” He turned to leave.
“Let’s hope not.”
“Yeah,” Doug said over his shoulder.
Jackie Hale was still at the tape, notepad and pen in hand. “Who is it?”
Doug crossed the police line and took a swig of coffee. “Clint Efforts, a trucker. Out-of-towner.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Georgia.”
“Any connection with the Cousins murder?”
Doug looked at her and frowned. “I can’t comment on that.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“No comment.”
“Was it another stabbing?”
Doug walked to his car, Jackie following. “Jackie, I don’t want to cause any hysteria around here, you know what I mean?”
“I’m not out to cause hysteria, you know that. I’m out to just report the news.”
At his truck Doug downed another sip of coffee and tossed the rest on the grass by the parking lot. He made a complete turn, taking in the parking lot, the diner, the gas station, the woods on either side and across 81. “Yes, a stabbing.”
“Any distinguishing features?”
He opened the truck door. “No comment.”
“Are you gonna do a press conference?”
One leg in the truck, Doug paused. “Now why would I want to do that when I have you to talk to?”
Hale smiled.
Doug sat in the truck and before shutting the door said, “You be good, Jackie. Handle this one with care.”
He pulled the door closed and started the engine. The killer was out there, close, and yes, he was laughing at them. And Doug hated being laughed at.
Chapter 29
DESPITE LOUISA’S BEST efforts to persuade him to make waffles and ice cream again, Jim made himself and Louisa a healthier breakfast of eggs and toast, even a sliced banana on the side. Louisa didn’t complain but instead ate the meal like she hadn’t filled her belly in days. When her plate was cleared and all the chocolate milk had been drained from her glass, she sat back, satisfied, and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Boy,” Jim said, lifting his fork. “I’d never take you for an eggs and toast type. You came across more as a doughnuts and ice cream type.”
“I love eggs, Mr. Jim,” she said, still slightly out of breath from gulping the chocolate milk so quickly.
“You remember that?”
“I think so. Yes. Scrambled eggs are my favorite, with lots of cheese.”
“Just the way I made them.”
“I know. They were delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Did it bring back any other memories, anything else you like or don’t like?” Jim hoped the trigger of one memory might start a chain reaction of recall. Maybe the memory of liking eggs would lead to the memory of who made those eggs for her or where they were eaten or even the store they were bought in.
“Well.” Louisa glanced at the empty glass. “I really liked the chocolate milk too but can’t remember if I’ve always liked it or just like it now.”
Jim smiled. “Most kids like chocolate milk. Most grown-ups too.” He stood and set his plate in the sink. “Hey, Louisa, you wanna bring your plate over here and put it in the sink?”
She scooted from the seat and crossed the kitchen. “Mr. Jim, why doesn’t Miss Amy ever eat breakfast with us?”
Jim leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “You remember what I told you about our baby?”
Louisa looked up at him with those glistening blue eyes, and for a moment Jim felt like she was his daughter, that their baby had survived, and their daughter, their sweet, precious daughter, had grown up and was now standing before him. But as quickly as it came, the feeling waned.
“That she died,” Louisa said.
A great sadness washed over Jim then, sadness for Amy and her pain of never being able to hold her child, cuddle her and feel the smoothness of her cheeks, smell her sweet breath; sadness for himself that he hadn’t been able to meet his wife’s deep needs; and sadness for Louisa, a girl lost, adrift in a great void with no direction, no past, and no future.
Tears pushed behind his eyes and tightened his throat. “Yes. She died.” Jim swallowed hard and sniffed. “Well, ever since then Miss Amy hasn’t quite been herself. She sleeps more and doesn’t really like being around other people too much.”
“But she can have another baby.”
“Not according to the doctors, sweetie. She’ll never have another baby, and even if she could, a new baby couldn’t replace the one we lost.”
Louisa seemed to mull that over for a few moments. Finally she said, “Miss Amy’s like a broken doll, isn’t she?”
The lump was there again in Jim’s throat. “That’s exactly right.”
“But broken dolls can be fixed.”
“Sometimes.”
She tilted her head and looked him right in the eyes. “All the time if you believe.”
Jim put his hand on Louisa’s head and was about to speak when he was interrupted by a knock on the
front door. He arched his eyebrows. “Wonder who that could be?”
Louisa shrugged. “Maybe the chief or Mr. Tucker again.”
“Maybe.”
Jim crossed the living room and opened the door. On the other side stood a middle-aged couple and a young girl about Louisa’s size. Jim recognized her immediately as Audrey Murphy.
Audrey’s father, a big man, with broad shoulders, a deep chest, and a full beard, stuck out his hand. “Jim Spencer?”
Jim took his hand and shook it. “Yes. You’re the Murphys.”
“I’m Jeff, and this is my wife, Shawna.”
“And we know Audrey.”
Louisa came to Jim’s side.
Audrey’s face lit up like fireworks, and she almost squealed. “That’s her, Mom. That’s Louisa.”
Immediately Shawna Murphy began to cry and dropped to one knee, taking Louisa’s hands in hers. She was a big woman, and her movements were anything but graceful. “We can’t thank you enough, you sweet, precious child.”
Not wanting to cause a scene, Jim stepped aside. “Would you folks like to come inside?”
Jeff Murphy helped his wife to her feet as she wiped tears and smeared makeup across her face. Jim shut the door behind them.
“We just wanted to stop by and say thank you,” Jeff said. He smiled at Louisa. “You gave our daughter a whole new life.”
Shawna Murphy was back on her knees, holding Louisa’s hands. The tears flowed again, dragging mascara down her cheeks. “What did you do, dear? How did you do it?”
Jeff put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Dear, please, don’t interrogate the child.”
“I’m not interrogating.” She sniffed. “I just want to know, was it a miracle? Did you perform a miracle?”
Louisa glanced at Jim, obviously uncomfortable with the big woman’s behavior and questioning.
Jeff must have noticed it too, because he reached for his wife’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Dear, please.” He turned his head to Audrey. “Honey, get your mother a tissue, please.”
While Audrey dug through her mother’s purse, Shawna sniffed again and said, “Will it last? Will she be . . . whole the rest of her life?”
Louisa glanced at Jim again then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Tears flowed from Shawna’s eyes more heavily now. Audrey handed her a tissue. “You don’t know? Well, what did you do?”
“I just prayed for Audrey.”
“You just prayed for her? That’s it?”
Jeff wrapped an arm around Shawna’s shoulders and rubbed her arm. “Easy, dear.”
“Jeff,” she said, “we’ve been praying for years and nothing has happened.”
“I know, but it’s happened now.”
“Folks,” Jim said. He saw the need to change the subject, steer the conversation in a new direction. “We’re all thrilled about Audrey’s healing, but Chief Miller asked me to keep this quiet for a while . . . for obvious reasons.”
“He spoke to us, and we agreed to do the same,” Jeff said. He frowned and glanced at his wife. “But he was too late.”
“Well, it’s a miracle, Jeffrey,” Shawna said, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue. “My little girl can walk and run. How do you expect me to keep that quiet? What was I supposed to tell our family, our neighbors, the people at church?”
Jeff patted his wife’s arm. “We should get going, dear. Leave these folk alone now.” Then to Jim, “We’ll do our best to not bring any more attention to it.”
“Thanks,” Jim said.
Audrey stepped forward and hugged Louisa. “Thank you for praying for me.”
Louisa smiled and touched the girl’s face. “You’re welcome, Audrey.”
The Murphys left, and Jim closed the door behind them and leaned against it, shut his eyes.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Jim?” Louisa said.
Jim opened his eyes. “Nothing.” But even as he said the word, he couldn’t help but feel as though a low-hanging line of black thunderclouds hovered just over the horizon, promising to bring trouble.
Chapter 30
ALICIA SIMPSON PUNCHED out at the Food Lion and headed for her car. Outside, the sky was gray and furrowed clouds threatened rain, and not just a steady, soaking rain either, but thunderstorms, violent and forceful. The town of Virginia Mills would soon be under attack by some of nature’s most vicious weaponry. In the distance, miles away, thunder growled and rumbled across the heavens. A flash of silent lightning stuttered through the western sky. Seconds later more thunder barked, this time louder and closer.
Alicia hurried to her car and got in as the first raindrop landed on the windshield, leaving a quarter-sized splash of water. Then another hit, and another, and within moments the car was under a barrage of marble-sized raindrops.
Alicia started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Her mind was not on getting home for dinner; it was on Derek and her need to get out of the relationship. No longer did she feel as though she needed him, as though she wasn’t good enough for any other man. No longer did she loathe herself for who she was or what she had to offer. Instead she hated that she’d stayed with him for so long, endured his verbal insults and violence.
On the drive home, while the wipers pushed bucketfuls of water from the windshield and the car endured a constant shelling from above, she thought of how she would tell him, how she would confront him. Or did she need to confront him at all? He hadn’t been home in a few days. She could just pack her things and leave, not tell him or anyone else where she’d gone.
But where would she go that he couldn’t find her? She had no one but her mother, and she was too far away and too preoccupied with her new boyfriend. Without Derek she was alone, an island in the middle of a vast ocean. Derek was her only connection to the world and, despite his abuse and faults, the only one who cared about her. Her life minus Derek would be safer and less painful, yes, but it would be as empty as a used beer can, drained and tossed to the side without thought.
Alicia stopped at a red traffic signal and massaged the steering wheel. Rain beat on the windshield with such fury the wipers could barely keep up. Droplets, the size of grapes now, pelted the roof and hood of the car like the thick, stubby fingers of giants drumming out a death beat.
For Alicia it seemed there was a choice to make: endure the physical pain of Derek’s temper, or live with the emotional pain of having no one to share life with.
But what was it that girl had said? Her image and voice had been in Alicia’s thoughts since their encounter in the diner. She’d touched Alicia’s hand, such a soft, tender touch too, so honest and simple, so sincere.
“You’re never alone. He’s with you.”
She was speaking of God. Alicia hadn’t thought of God, but for some reason she believed the girl, believed her so thoroughly and so genuinely that at that moment she would have given her own life for the truth of the girl’s words.
Alicia had run the conversation through her mind a thousand times since it happened just two days ago. She’d said that God didn’t know about her pain. She didn’t believe the words, not really, but said them to convince herself of their truth. Because if God knew of her pain, why did He let her endure it? Why did He leave her in this nightmare with no method of escape?
“He does know, and He hurts with you. He loves you more than you could ever love Him back.”
The traffic signal turned green, and Alicia pressed the accelerator. The tires slipped a little on the wet asphalt then found purchase.
Alicia believed the girl’s words; she had no reason not to. But still the questions were there. If God loved her so much, why didn’t He intervene? Why didn’t He stop Derek from hurting her?
“You’re so full of light. You shine goodness and kindness. God wants to use you. He will use you. His love will heal your sores and give you new life and purpose. But you need to let Him . . . because if you don’t . . . ”
And that’s when the girl’s countenance had changed, w
hen the confusion had clouded her eyes. And Alicia had had a vision, a horrible, grisly image, so quick she could hardly tell what it was, but she knew Derek was there, and blood, lots of blood, and a murderer. She still wasn’t sure if the vision was a revelation or just her brain playing tricks, conjuring images from various points in her life and, under stress, splicing them together. But she was sure the girl had seen the same thing and that’s what darkened her face and pierced her eyes with such astonishment. How it was possible, Alicia had no idea, but evidently the girl had seen what Alicia saw.
Lightning jumped and streaked from the clouds above in a brilliant flash, followed immediately by a crack of thunder as loud as a mortar shell.
Alicia made the final turn into the apartment complex’s parking lot and found a space near the front door.
Once inside the foyer area she shook the excess water from her jacket and hair and headed upstairs to the apartment. She still didn’t know what she’d do or where she’d go, but she was sure she had to do something.
At the door the key slipped into the lock and turned without resistance. It was already unlocked. Derek was home. Alicia turned the knob and pushed open the door, her muscles involuntarily tensing.
Derek was on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn on his lap and a book in his hands. He looked at her, chewed, swallowed. “Hey, I was waiting for you to come home.”
He put the bowl and book on the table, stood, and crossed the room. Alicia tensed even more, an involuntary response.
“What’s the matter with you?” Derek said. “You act like you’re not happy to see me.”
Alicia made herself move and shut the door. The sound of the dead latch engaging the strike plate was like a gunshot in the silence of the apartment. “Where’ve you been?”
“What do you mean, where’ve I been? I’ve been working. We’re short this week, and I’ve been pulling a double shift.” He wrapped his arms around her and began kissing her cheek, her nose, her jawline.
She pushed away from him and took a step back, her heart thumping, fear suddenly blooming inside her.
Derek’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong with you? We haven’t been together in days. We have catching up to do.”
Fearless Page 13