“What’s it to you?” Tom said, stepping closer to Hud, his fists balled.
“That’s probably a bad idea, Tom,” Tilt Evans offered. “Goldie’s not here. I haven’t seen her at all for a few days. If you’re worried about her, I’d check with her father or go to the police. There’s no cause for any trouble here, now is there?” He laid an aged, well-worn billy club gently on the counter of the bar.
“You tellin’ me to leave, Tilt?” Tom said.
“That’s probably a good idea, Tom.”
Hud didn’t break eye contact with Goldie’s current husband. He had a few reasons for restraining himself. One, he was battered enough the way it was, and two, the last thing he needed was to get into a fistfight, draw more undue attention to himself from Burke, and end up owing Tilt damages for the destruction that would surely come in its wake. It took all he had not to engage Tom, but he’d caught Tilt’s drift, too. He wanted him out of the bar as soon as possible.
Tom exhaled and stepped back. “All right, but if you see Goldie, you tell her to call me.”
“I’ll do that,” Tilt answered stoically.
“And you,” Tom said, pointing his finger at Hud, “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t like your attitude. Another time and place, I might just show you . . .”
Hud nodded, as he watched Tom back out of the bar. “Yeah,” he said. “Another time and place.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I
could have handled that guy,” Hud said to Tilt, as he wrapped his hands around a big hamburger.
“Sure you could’ve. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”
Hud shrugged. “I’ve got skills you haven’t seen.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate Tom Tucker if I were you.”
Grease dribbled down Hud’s chin as he swallowed a bit of the burger. He watched Tilt put the billy club back under the counter, then glanced away, caught his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He didn’t exactly inspire confidence at first glance.
“I’ve seen his handy work,” Hud said. “He got into a fight with Goldie. He obviously doesn’t have a problem with pushing her around.”
“Maybe not, but if he figures out you’ve been sleeping with her, then it might be a little worse than pushing around for you both.”
“Who said I was sleeping with her?”
“I’m old, but I’m not stupid,” Tilt said. “How’s the burger?”
“Best one I’ve ever had.”
“Sure it is.”
“Okay, maybe not, but it’s up there with the best. Should I be looking at Tom Tucker a little closer? What’s his story anyway?” Hud bit into the hamburger again and watched every flick and flinch of Tilt’s weathered face. It wasn’t the original question that he had intended to ask Tilt, but it made sense. “I’m more than a little concerned about Goldie, myself. She was gone this morning when I woke up. I wasn’t really concerned about it until Tommy boy came in. We both have things going on.”
Tilt stopped halfway down the bar and started walking back to Hud. “Tom Tucker’s a small-time bully. Nothing more, nothing less. He’s no killer, at least not the kind of killer you’re looking for.”
“And what kind is that?”
“A methodical one. There’s a point. A score to settle. Something to stop,” Tilt said.
“That’s pretty good. I agree.”
“It doesn’t take much to see it, at least when you put it against someone like Tom Tucker. The day he kills anyone will be because of rage. He’ll push the wrong way, hit back a little too hard. He’ll kill from lack of self-control, react. He won’t think. Those kind of cells don’t exist in that thick head of his, the kind to plan, to think ahead, to hunt. You asked me. I think you’d be chasing your tail if you spent any time at all looking at him. But that’s just my opinion. I’m not in the advice-giving business, remember? Especially to a detective.”
“Point taken. I just don’t know anything about him, and I should, all things considered.”
“Tom’s lived off Goldie from day one. He thought he hit the jackpot, but him and Old Man Flowers didn’t see eye to eye. Most likely because Goldie married a trailer-trash thug just to piss off her daddy. That was easy for all of us to see.”
“It worked,” Hud said, finishing up his lunch, sliding the plate to Tilt.
“Might’ve worked a little better than Goldie intended.”
“So, that’s the break between the two of them?”
“As far as I know, but it’s not a big break. Bill Flowers is no idiot. Goldie knows too much about his business to totally sever their ties. She was his right hand for a long time. He’ll welcome her back to the fold once she apologizes, dumps Tom, and comes to her senses. If I know Goldie, she’s got a plan.”
Hud nodded, but said nothing. Goldie had told him she still got a monthly check from her father. Was it hush money? For what? “Exactly. She’s a thinker. Tom Tucker doesn’t seem like her type,” Hud said.
“Sure, if you say so. If you haven’t noticed, things have changed a lot around here since you were a kid. Got rough is what they did, and Goldie Flowers is no exception. You should stay as far away from her as you can. She’s trouble, Hud, that one is. Always has been. You just never got close enough to see it . . . If I was offering advice, that is.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hud said.
Tilt picked the plate off the counter, put it in a dish tub, and headed back to the kitchen. “I’ve got a few things to take care of in the back. You need anything else?”
“No, nothing at all. I’m good,” Hud answered as he watched Tilt disappear through the door that led into the kitchen.
He was glad to have a moment to himself, to think about what he’d just witnessed and what Tilt had told him. It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to hear, but somehow he wasn’t surprised. And it wasn’t as if he and Goldie were going to ride off into the sunset together. They barely knew each other, but Hud had thought there was something there to hold onto. He’d hoped so, anyway. He liked being with her. At least between the sheets.
The urge for an after-meal cigarette quickly came over him, and he pushed off the bar stool then glanced back at the door Tilt had gone through. He’d have to go outside to smoke. No problem there, though he longed for the old days when he could drink and smoke in the same place. Old habits come back fast. But Tilt’s pictures and memorabilia on the shelves behind the bar caught his eye. He’d never looked at them closely. Curiosity and admiration propelled him forward, gave him reason to walk behind the bar and examine them fully.
The pictures were angled behind water skiing trophies and old equipment like rope handles and leather gloves. Most all of the pictures of Tilt’s glory days were black and white, but some were color, faded from the sun and time. Hud had noticed them before but never really looked at them. He knew Tilt’s story, was aware of his victories, but what he hadn’t thought about too much was the attraction that a local celebrity had to the vacationers—and to the full-timers. There were the expected pictures of Tilt accepting trophies and ribbons from nameless buxom blondes—those had caught Hud’s eyes before—and then there were other pictures of Tilt, mostly at the hotel with Herb and Millie Vance and a whole crew of people. Gee called those people the upper crust and it was easy to see why. The men were all dressed up in black ties and tuxedos, and the women were in long evening dresses with their hair piled a foot high. They had martini glasses in their hands or cigarettes or both.
Hud felt his heart skip a beat, then start to race, and he started searching like he always did, hoping beyond hope to find that one familiar face that always alluded him. The pictures were grainy, smoky, faded, so he had to take his time going from one person to the next. His fingers trembled, then went numb. His mouth dried out, and it felt as if he had fallen into an oven. A faucet dripped in the bar sink behind him. A watery heartbeat that threatened to come to a boil. And his ears began to ring, drowning out every tho
ught but one: Are you here?
And the answer was yes. He saw her, and the world stopped spinning.
His hand trembled as he picked up the picture, the oils on his fingers gripping the dust and possibilities so hard that the glass threatened to shatter in his hand. She was sitting at a table, cheesing at the camera. Her eyes were bright and happy, freshly exaggerated with the mascara and eyeliner that was popular in the day. She wore her hair up, like everyone else, and she was dressed like a debutant coming out for all of society to see. Georgia Mae Matthews looked alive, happy, like anything was possible. She looked like a queen, and it was all Hud could do not to cry. She really did exist. He bit his lip, fought back the tears, and didn’t dare take his eyes off of his mother. He had never seen this picture before.
She was with someone. There were two people sitting at a table, drinking, smoking, laughing, partying like there was no tomorrow—because there wasn’t. It was his mother in all her glory, and the man was somebody he recognized, too. It was Burke’s father. Sheriff Paul Burke Sr. himself.
“Everything starts with a hunch, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve never discounted those kinds of things. You just have to work a little harder to connect the dots, to make those gut feelings make sense, be true. You have to prove them to yourself, and then to the world.”
“And that was your intention?”
“I wanted to be able to bury her in a proper grave. Is that too much to ask?”
“I suppose not. And the rest?”
“You’re assuming again.”
“Assuming what?”
“That I had a plan all along. That I was up to something other than that one simple ambition.”
“Don’t forget that I don’t believe a word you say.”
“I wouldn’t believe me, either, if I were in your shoes.”
Tilt walked out of the kitchen carrying a green plastic rack full of clean glasses. He stopped suddenly, as soon as he saw Hud behind the bar. The glasses clinked together like a distant alarm.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had this picture?” Hud said, still gripping the picture.
“You didn’t ask.” Tilt looked unsure of what to do, so he stood frozen.
“I didn’t think I had to. Are there more with her in it?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
Hud took a deep breath, looked away from Tilt and back at his mother. “Why was she with Burke’s dad?”
Tilt looked down at the glasses. “You don’t need me to answer that question, Hud. You really don’t.”
“Yes, I do. For once in my goddamned life I need someone to tell me what the hell is going on instead of figuring it out for myself. You knew them all, Tilt. You were in the thick of it. These pictures validate that. Tell me why my mother was sitting with Sheriff Burke.”
“Those were different times, Hud.”
“My mother up and disappeared one day. That has nothing to do with the times. It has to do with right and wrong. Was she with him? Is he the one?” Hud said, gasping for air. He was always on my list . . .
Tilt sat the glasses on the bar with a look of confusion on his face. “The one?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s a yes or no answer, Tilt. Please . . .”
He nodded his head. “Yes. She was with him.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Burke wasn’t in his office. The lights were off, and the blinds on the window were halfway closed. It had been a quick trip from the Demmie Hotel to the station. Nothing could have deterred Hud once he’d seen the picture of his mother. He had to talk to Burke. He just didn’t quite know what he was going to say or how he was going to say it.
“Where’s Burke?” Hud said to Sloane. She was sitting at her desk, staring at the computer.
Tina Sloane didn’t flinch, didn’t look up at Hud. “Not here,” she said.
Her shortness was hard to mistake. She wasn’t happy to see him. “Obviously,” Hud said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Check with dispatch.”
Hud started to walk away, but he stopped a half step before exiting. “Is there a problem, Sloane?”
“Why would you think something like that?”
“I know pissed off when I hear it, and I sure as hell know it when I see it.”
Sloane finally looked up at him, her face hard as the wall behind her. “You left me here. We have a twenty-four-hour hold on Jordan Rogers, and I look up and you’re gone. We were in there together. I needed you, and you were gone.”
That wasn’t the first time Hud had heard those words. “I needed to get cleaned up. I took your car. Burke knew I left. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Do you ever stop to think that you’re not the only one on this case? We’re all on it, Hud. Me, you, Lancet. The whole damned department. We have three people dead, and the killer is still out there. People are nervous, and you’re off changing your damn clothes.”
Hud put up his right hand. “Save me the lecture, all right. Burke’s good enough at that. Lancet’s had his say, too. I know where I’m not welcome. You don’t have to make it worse than it already is. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something to you. I shouldn’t have just left. It’s a bad habit.” He was starting to like Sloane and didn’t want to alienate her, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d come back to talk to Burke, not get more of the same attitude from Sloane.
“You were right, by the way,” Sloane said, never taking her eyes off him.
Hud had started to walk away. He sighed heavily and stopped. “About what?”
“About Kaye Sherman.”
“Really. Tell me . . .”
Sloane relaxed, glanced back at the report she had been working on on the computer, then back at Hud. “I talked to the doctor’s nurse at the office where Kaye worked. I asked her if Kaye Sherman had access to any drugs, and the answer was yes. Kaye had to approve the on-hand inventory every month and sign off on the orders to restock the samples or accept them from the pharma salespeople who called on the office. I asked the nurse, a Lucy Platt, to check the actual inventory against Kaye’s last report, and . . .”
“It was short,” Hud said.
“Yes. Short of OxyContin, and two other opioids. Everything else was in line with the report.”
“A little or a lot?”
“A lot. She was covering something up.”
“Nobody suspected anything?”
“No, there wasn’t any redundancy in the office to double-check her.”
“That wasn’t too bright.”
“They trusted her.”
Hud flashed a smile, then let it fall away. He let Sloane’s words linger between them for a long moment. It was a victory. At least a marker in the right direction. “Good work, but we need to check who else had access before we take this too far.”
“Thanks. I agree. I asked the nurse to email that list. I’m waiting on it.”
Hud nodded. “Any connection to our boy Jordan and Kaye Sherman?”
“Nope, not that I can find yet. No contact between the two of them shows up on his phone list. I’m still waiting for email and anything to do with his computer.”
“We have it?”
“Moran and Varner brought it in a little while ago.”
“Good. Do you have that phone list?”
“Sure,” Sloane said. She reached over to a three-tier plastic tray and handed a printout to Hud.
It was a one-page document with a list of names and the dates phone calls had been made and received on Jordan Rogers’s cell phone. It also had the numbers and names of the people who had called him in the last month, if that information was available; some were marked unknown. Of course, Pam Sizemore’s name and number were there. Hud had expected that. But he saw another name that he knew. Tom Tucker. Somehow he wasn’t surprised.
He handed the paper back to Sloane. “We need to bring Tom Tucker in for questioning.”
“Why’s that?”
“I had a run in with him a little w
hile ago. He’s Goldie Flowers’s soon-to-be-ex-husband. Tilt Evans said he came from the hard side of the lake. He’s got an air of desperation about him. I want to know what business he had with Jordan Rogers. My guess is they weren’t fishing buddies.”
“I don’t think that’s enough.”
“His name’s on this list. That’s enough. If you still don’t think he’s worth checking out, do it anyway. I’ll take the heat for it.”
“Sure you will. Like that boat you hijacked and left Moran on the hook for.”
“I suppose she’s pissed at me, too.”
“You need to take one of those courses, Hud,” Sloane said. “You know, how to win friends and influence people.”
“Yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind when I’ve got the free time to work on my personality flaws.”
Dispatch said Burke hadn’t left the building. Hud began to hunt for him one room at a time. It didn’t take long to find him.
Burke was exiting an office near the front of the building. Along with the county sheriff’s department, the building also housed the Child Protective Services, the county welfare office, and the township administration offices; the clerk, assessor, and the trustee offices. All of the government offices in the county had been combined into one building in the early 1960s, and it looked as if nothing had changed from the day that had happened. Time in a bottle. Every piece of furniture was made of plastic and chrome. Hud was surprised they had a functional IT department.
Burke walked out of CPS with a woman Hud recognized immediately. Linda Dupree. Pam Sizemore’s son stood next to her, in her shadow, his arm touching her long ratty coat as if he needed a rope to hold him up, to hang on to. The boy looked down at the floor—the linoleum was so highly waxed it looked like he was standing on a mirror—and his shoulders slumped right along with his head; it was difficult to tell whether he was sad or weak. Hud couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy. He looked lost. His coat, like Linda Dupree’s was two sizes too big and hung on him like a sheet.
Hud stopped thirty feet down the hall from the trio. Burke saw him, glanced away from Linda Dupree for a second, acknowledged his presence with a nod. A hard stare warned Hud off, told him to stay right where he was. Hud didn’t need to be told to hold off. He wasn’t going to interfere or inject himself into their conversation. The last time he’d crossed paths with Linda Dupree hadn’t worked out too well.
Where I Can See You Page 18