The Evidence Room: A Mystery

by Cameron Harvey

  “You think so?” Bobbie leaned back in the chair. “She was the most precious child. Raylene and Wade just could not get enough of her. I told them, that baby’s never gonna learn to walk if y’all don’t put her down. They carried her everywhere, just like a little queen.” She sat back up. “And why are you asking questions now?”

  “We have reason to believe that Wade might not have been the one who took her life.”

  She covered her mouth with a hand. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she said. “I always thought the story didn’t make sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I knew Wade,” she said. “We were sweethearts before he met Raylene. Nothing serious—we were just kids. But he was a good man.”

  Josh thought about the police report. “I saw a lot of domestic violence reports in the file,” he said quietly.

  “I ain’t saying he was perfect. They fought, for true. Raylene wasn’t no shrinking violet, either. But when they had Aurora—it changed him. Wade came in here, he stood right where you were standing, and he told me, ‘That little girl is the reason I was put on this earth. I’d die protecting her.’” She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the dish towel. “A man doesn’t say those things lightly, Detective Hudson. Do you understand that?”

  Josh thought about Jesse. “I understand,” he said.

  “I wanted to take her,” Bobbie said, and the pain in her voice sliced through Josh. “I wanted to raise Aurora like my own child. That little girl, all by herself.”

  Josh reached for her hand across the counter. Behind her, outside the window, rain began to shatter the bayou’s silken surface. “You can still help her, Miss Bobbie. Tell me something that might help us solve this case. Anything.”

  “Raylene was afraid,” she said.

  Above them, the lights in the store hissed and flickered, and outside a trembling finger of lightning split the bayou in half.

  “Who was she afraid of?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. We used to talk about everything. My ex, Tim, he’d go out to his daddy’s fishing camp with Wade, and Raylene and I would stay on the boat. We talked about our husbands all the time. Wade wasn’t the problem.”

  Josh thought about the file, the litany of domestic violence calls. “Bobbie, the police were out there at the house a lot. You have to understand why people think Wade’s the one who done this.”

  “He wasn’t the problem,” she repeated. “I know what you’re saying about him, and you’re right. He was an asshole when he drank. But I’m telling you, Josh, that little girl changed him. Being around Hunter changed him. He was doing better.”

  “So who do you think it was that Raylene was afraid of?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t like the people Wade was working for. You know the Crumplers. You can’t trust any of their kin. I know Raylene was mad about them cutting up those gators. She loved those damn animals.”

  “How do you know she was afraid?”

  Bobbie walked over to the screen door, and the hound wriggled in, shaking his mottled fur free of raindrops before settling at Josh’s feet. Bobbie smiled. “Looks like Cyrus remembers you,” she said. “We lost him last year. He got spooked and ran behind the boat rental place. And you’re the one who brought him back.”

  So that was why the dog looked familiar. The memory clicked into focus: Josh crashing through the underbrush, the dog crouched in a tangle of dying flowers, terrified. It was Josh’s first year as a patrolman in Cooper’s Bayou.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do remember.”

  “You’re a good man.” Her words vibrated through him, as though someone had plucked a single string deep inside. It wasn’t true, but he saw in her face that she believed it.

  “I’m just trying to help out a friend,” he said.

  Bobbie fingered the tiny gold cross that rested in the hollow of her throat. “She knew something was coming, Josh. She saw it. And it wasn’t that bayou voodoo, neither. She told me someone was following her. Threatening her. God help me, I don’t know if I could have done something to help her.”

  Josh’s mind lit up with the possibilities. Was someone angry with Raylene for protecting the alligators? It was big business on the bayou; people had been killed for less. He was going to have to go back to the Crumplers for answers.

  “You are helping her now, Miss Bobbie.” Her face was shiny with grief, the weight of a long-carried burden etched in the skin underneath her eyes.

  The bell above the door jangled, and Boone filled the doorway.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bobbie. Detective Hudson.” What was he doing here? Josh felt a sickening jolt to the gut. The game was up; Rush had found out about his little investigation, and now he was going to be fired.

  “It’s sure been nice chatting with you, Miss Bobbie,” Josh said. “I do hope I’ll see you soon.”

  “Y’all take care,” Bobbie said, collecting herself and hurrying back behind the counter.

  Outside they stood under the awning, the silence heavy between them.

  “So you following me around now, or what?” Josh attempted a joke, but Boone’s mouth remained set in a straight line.

  “Josh, I have some news. Your dad is a free man. I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  “How long ago?” He hadn’t thought the parole board would be dumb enough to recommend release, but if anyone could sell bullshit, it was Doyle Hudson. This was going to make the search for Liana more complicated.

  The storm was picking up steam now. The Jesus statues rattled like chattering teeth against the window behind them.

  “This morning.” Boone laid a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I tried to have the guys keep tabs on him, but he’s in the wind. I’m sorry, Josh.”

  Josh looked out over the bayou, over the tops of the cypress trees to the towns beyond, where somewhere his sister waited, probably unaware that her father was out there, free. There wasn’t a damn thing Josh could do about it. He would try Pea, but what good would that do now?

  “Thanks, man,” he mumbled to Boone, and pulled his collar up against the rain.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Boone said. “This Atchison thing.”

  Josh stared at him.

  “Relax. I’m not going to turn you in, buddy.” They descended the stairs together.

  “So what’s your take on it? The Atchison case?”

  Boone frowned. “It’s a long time ago. These cold cases, I mean, I don’t know. Some stuff just never gets figured out, you know? Nobody’s got a one hundred percent solve rate.”

  “Damn,” Josh swore. “Boone, your work ethic is just blowing me away right now.”

  “Seriously, man.”

  “Just because something happened a long time ago doesn’t mean it stops being important,” Josh told him. He thought about the boxes, stacked high in the evidence room. “You can’t just give up.”

  “You’re right. Absolutely. Just be careful.”

  “Yeah. See ya.” Josh pulled up his hood and faced the rain.

  “Josh. Wait a second.” Boone reached into his waistband and handed Josh a gun. “It’s my personal one,” he said. “Until you get yours back,” he explained. “Keep it on you. I have a feeling you might need it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Royce Beaumont, the attorney whom Luna Riley had recommended, worked out of an office above a kiddie playland called Baboon Jack’s.

  Aurora stood in the blistering heat next to a man in a frog costume who was chain smoking on the front steps.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Do I go around back to get to Royce Beaumont’s office?”

  The frog man shrugged off the felt green hood of his costume and glanced up at her with mild interest. “Only way out is through,” he said, pointing to the kiddie park. “They just got done with the glitter ponies carnival. Watch your step.”

  “Thanks.” The guy wasn’t kidding. Inside, glitter and streamers surrounded one traumatized-looking pony standing in the middle of the r
oom. Aurora made her way down the main hallway to the staircase at the back. On all sides, children shrieked and darted among arcade games and pits filled with brightly colored plastic balls. In the corner, a pink stereo blared a tune that sounded like it was being played at twice the normal speed. Everything shimmered with glitter. She wondered if she had ever come here as a kid.

  Aurora wound her way up the back steps to an office door and pressed a buzzer. It was amazing that anyone could hear with the insistent thump of the music below, but miraculously someone pulled the door open.

  A woman in her forties with feathered bangs and cat’s eye glasses smiled at Aurora and beckoned her inside. “Aurora Atchison. I can’t believe it’s you.” Aurora was getting used to the stares she got around town, but this was something more.

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Beaumont.”

  The woman took both of Aurora’s hands in her own. “Oh, sugar. You’re just as pretty as your mama. You don’t remember me, do you? Miss Pearline?”

  She was too young to have been one of Raylene’s friends, not much older than Aurora. A childhood playmate? Aurora smiled. “I’m so sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “Well of course you don’t! Oh honey, I prayed for you so many times. I’m the one that found you that night your mama went to be with the Lord. At Margie Belle’s.”

  This was the woman who had called the police. Her rescuer. Aurora reached back into her memory of that night, but there was only Doc Mason and the morgue, and before that a terrible blank space. This woman could not have been more than a teenager that night; she must have been terrified. Aurora squeezed her hands.

  “Thank you,” she said, the words painfully inadequate. “For what you did, for helping me that night.”

  “Oh, honey,” Pearline began, but she was interrupted by the screech of the phone. She tottered back around the desk.

  “Mr. Beaumont’s just finishing up a conference call.” She pointed to a shiny leather couch. “Y’all make yourself comfortable. This phone’s been ringing off the damn hook all day!”

  Aurora took a seat by the window next to an older woman reading the newspaper. Above the bayou, clouds were beginning to gather in gray spirals. From here, the mini-mart and boat dock were barely visible through the fog. She imagined her father carrying her there, leaving her on the steps to be found. Why had he spared her? And if Doc Mason was right, was he completely innocent? She’d spent her entire life coming to terms with the fact that her father was a murderer, fitting this horrendous fact into the confines of her life, and now it was possible that he wasn’t. More questions cropped up at every turn. She could feel a headache coming on, something in her brain beginning to pulse along with the beat of the music from Baboon Jack’s. Aurora leaned back on the couch and glanced upward, where a framed row of records decorated the walls.

  “He was real famous, you know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Beaumont,” the woman said in a half-whisper, peeking around the newspaper. “You ain’t never heard his song ‘Where I’m Bound’? It went to number seventy-one on the country music charts. He went to the Grand Ole Opry and everything when he was just an itty bitty thing. That man had a voice sweeter than honey when he was a little boy.”

  “Now, Pearline, you’ve got to stop bragging on me,” a male voice said. “You’re going to scare away all my clients.”

  Royce Beaumont was what Nicky would have called a silver fox. A tall man in his fifties, he wore a brown cowboy hat and a large belt buckle. He could have played the role of a cowboy if they needed an extra at Baboon Jack’s.

  “Royce Beaumont,” he said, pumping her hand with enthusiasm, his voice deep and manicured. “And you must be Miss Atchison. Forgive me for staring, ma’am. You are just as lovely as your mother.”

  “Thank you,” Aurora said. She would never get used to hearing this compliment, and she would savor it every single time. “Congratulations on those records.”

  “Oh, that was a long time ago,” he joked, but he beamed at her, obviously enjoying the praise. “Please come in, away from all that racket.”

  Aurora sat across from him in a red wingback chair. “It’s not the best location for an office,” he continued, “but it’s better than my old spot above Tee Tim’s bar. Especially on quarter beer night.”

  “Different crowd here,” Aurora agreed.

  “You’d be surprised at the amount of overlap,” Royce said with a smile. “Now, you’re here about your grandfather’s estate, correct?”

  Aurora rummaged in her bag. “Yes. Luna Riley gave me your name. She said you could help me, file the will and all of that.”

  He reached for the papers. “Well, sure. Luna’s kin are from Kervick County, and I met her down here at a conference. She’s a great lady. I’ll take a look at all this paperwork. I’m not surprised Hunter knew what he was doing when it came to this stuff. Smart man, your grandpa. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Aurora gave the stock response and felt the familiar burn of her grief rising up in her throat.

  “And what about this property? Spotted Beebalm Drive?”

  “I spoke with a few Realtors, and I decided to go with Renee Trosclair. She’s going to help me sell it.”

  Royce laughed. “Renee’s been wanting to sink her teeth into that property for months. I’m sure she won’t have any trouble. Have you been staying over there? It’s a beautiful house.”

  Except for the person threatening me. “It is,” she agreed. “I wish I could stay.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Royce said. “I’ve tried to leave this place a bunch of times. Something about the bayou, it always brings you back.”

  “Are you from here?”

  “Born and raised up the bayou,” he said. “Went out to Nashville for law school and opened up shop here. Just can’t get enough of this place.”

  He clipped the papers and wrote something on a sticky note. “I should be able to get these filed tomorrow, then we can go from there.” He stood up and reached for her hand. “It was really a pleasure, Miss Atchison. I’ll be in touch as soon as this gets taken care of.”

  “I appreciate it, Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Please. Royce.”

  She hesitated at the doorway. “Royce, can I ask you something?”

  “Anything at all, Miss Atchison.”

  “You knew my mother—and did you know my father too?” It was the first time she had asked anyone about Wade. Everyone in this town had information that might help as long as she was bold enough to ask.

  Royce nodded. “I knew them both. Your mother was a real Southern belle—she was the prettiest girl in the room, but she could shoot and haul shrimp nets too. She was something else.”

  “And my dad?”

  He paused, as though searching for the right words. “If you’ll excuse my language, Miss Atchison, I hope that son of a bitch is dead for what he did to her. He was a piece of garbage.”

  The venom in his voice surprised her, and it looked as though Royce noticed. He straightened up to his full height. “I hope you’ll excuse my manners, Miss Atchison. All these years later, and—well, I don’t have to tell you. A lot of people around here still miss her.”

  “That means a lot to me,” Aurora said, and it was true.

  He walked her to the door.

  “There’s an emergency exit around back,” he said. “In case you got enough of Baboon Jack’s the first time around.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  She opened the door into the sunshine and found herself a few steps away from the bayou, now almost completely shrouded in mist, the view of the boat dock obscured. She had settled the will; the house was about to be sold. She had taken care of what she needed to do here. There was no reason not to return to New York on the next flight.

  She took a few steps down the bank and stretched her feet down to the earth-colored water. Royce Beaumont was right, the bayou did draw you back. She’d started as
king questions, and she wasn’t leaving until she had the answers.

  She started her car and began to drive towards the morgue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I need to know Doyle Hudson’s room number.”

  The man behind the glassed-in front desk at the Sweet Salvation Motel ignored Josh and dug the earbuds further into his ears. Two miles east of town, the Sal had been the place Doyle holed up with his mistress during the summers when they came to Cooper’s Bayou. A flamingo pink atrocity that attracted the seedier element, the city council had been trying to shut down the Sal for years, but Josh knew half of those guys had been here with a woman at some point in their lives, and so the place persisted. Blackmail was almost as powerful as voodoo around these parts.

  Josh remembered his dad bringing him and Liana and Jesse here as kids, rolling down the windows of the Oldsmobile and telling them to play in the car while he went to a “business meeting.” Back then, the place had seemed almost glamorous to Josh, with its waterslide and luminescent soda machine. Liana had known what their father was doing but hadn’t let on, telling Josh and Jesse that the car was a spaceship, making up stories about the people who walked by, peering in the windows. The Sal had always been one of his father’s favorites. He was here, Josh was sure of it.

  “Hey. Wake up. I’m a cop.” He slammed his police ID up against the protective glass, and the man sat up straight. “Where’s Doyle?”

  “Never heard of him,” he smirked, his eyes glued to the screen of his cell phone.

  “You know, I think I saw a couple of hookers, couple of drug deals going down in the parking lot out there. Why don’t I just make a call? I can have this place swarming with uniforms in five minutes flat. That should be great for business, right?”

  “All right, all right, man. Let me check our guest registry.” He ran a finger down the seam of a coffee-stained ledger. “Hudson. Room 203.”

  “Great.”

  He took the stairs. His father had had nothing but time in prison, time to find Liana, the person who had put him there. What if Josh was too late?