The Dying Room: A Faces of Evil Novel

by Webb, Debra

  Buddy ignored his body’s foolish reaction to Sylvia’s name and the word sex in the same sentence—even one coming out of another man’s mouth. “Aren’t you a little young for a family?”

  “I don’t think so. My mom and dad got married when they were younger than me.” He shrugged again. “I love kids. I’ve been saving for a house since I graduated high school. I don’t know, maybe I’m old-fashioned.”

  Buddy clapped him on the back. “Old-fashioned can be a good thing, Cook. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “Thanks.” The guy ducked his head.

  “So is this the one? Does she want to get married, too?”

  Cook considered the question for a bit. “We have a lot of the same goals and ideas on what family means. I think she really feels something for me but nobody’s mentioned the L word yet.” He grinned. “I did take her to meet my parents last Sunday.”

  “Wow. This sounds serious.” Buddy frowned. “So what brought your girl all the way to Alabama?”

  “She lost her parents a couple years ago. She doesn’t have any family left. As soon as she finished her nursing program, she wanted to come here and find her roots.”

  Buddy shot him a confused look. “I thought you said she doesn’t have any family left.”

  “She was adopted. Her birth mother lives here.”

  Buddy scratched his head. “You don’t say.”

  Cook nodded. “She hasn’t worked up the nerve to talk to her yet, but she knows who she is.”

  “Do you know who she is?” Buddy didn’t see how that was possible.

  “She’s keeping that to herself for now. Addi really wants to break the ice with her before she brings anyone else into the picture. I can understand. She’s not ready to share such a tender spot just yet. You know what I mean? She’s just getting used to the idea of having a different mother from the one who raised her. She needs space to deal with this on her own. If she told me about her mother and I knew the woman, I might say or do something that would influence how this goes down. Neither of us wants to make the next step any more complicated than it’s already going to be.”

  The guy had no idea just how complicated the next step was going to be for both of them. “She sounds like a nice girl.”

  “She really is, Mr. Corlew. She cares about people. The people who raised her taught her to be kind and giving. She’s amazing.”

  Buddy gave him another clap on the back. “I’ve held you up long enough. Thanks for giving me the lowdown on your lady.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Buddy watched Cook hurry away. Damn but this guy was about to get his heart broken. No matter how nice Miss Addison Devers was, she would not want to continue a relationship with a man who’d made love to her mother.

  This was not going to end well.

  Chapter 21

  Birmingham Police Department

  SPU Office, 1:00 p.m.

  “The senator is doing an outstanding job of dodging me,” Jess complained as she ended the call that had gone to voicemail.

  Sylvia frowned. “I told you he’s hiding something.” She shook her head and turned back to the case board. “Whatever it is, I’ll bet my inheritance it has something to do with these men.”

  Jess moved around her desk and studied the list they had spent the morning narrowing down. “Two are dead by the same MO, making them a given. We just need to figure out how the tall thin man is connected to them.”

  Pratt’s computer had revealed nothing useful. His cell phone records, on the other hand, had proven most helpful. Since those records were already a part of the ongoing case against him, getting an update from his carrier hadn’t been a problem. During the past week, Pratt had spoken to the same people on several occasions: Senator Robert Baron, Samuel Baker, Isaiah Taylor, and Congressman Craig Moore. All the digging Jess, Lori, and Sylvia had done this morning had connected Rutledge’s name to the group as well as the names Wilson Hilliard and Alexander Carson—the movers and shakers consistently in the headlines and who had frequently associated over the past four or so decades.

  “Congressman Moore is in Puerto Vallarta on spring break with his wife and daughter,” Lori pointed out. “That leaves Senator Baron, former Mayor Wilson Hilliard, former Alabama Attorney General Samuel Fitzgerald Baker, former Alabama Supreme Court Justice Isaiah Aaron Taylor, and steel magnate Alexander Carson.”

  Sylvia moved closer to the board to study the photo of Moore. “Who has spring break this early? At Brighton our breaks were scheduled with Mountain Brook Schools’ calendar.”

  Lori grinned. “One of the other hoity-toity private schools in the city.”

  “I guess I walked right into that one,” Sylvia mused. She moved on to the photo of the tall thin man taken from his visit to the prison. “So this may be our guy.”

  “He’s the only suspect we have just now,” Jess admitted. She considered the seven men whose names they feared were on the man’s list. “Since Mr. Carson doesn’t have the eagle tattoo, “ Jess said, “let’s take him out of the group for the moment.”

  Alexander Carson was the father of Elliott Carson, a victim in a series of murders Jess and her team had worked last summer. He remembered Jess and was happy to be interviewed. He agreed without hesitation to Sylvia’s examination of his scalp. The same went for Isaiah Taylor. His son had been a victim of the same killing spree. He had agreed to an appointment with Jess for two this afternoon. Hilliard hadn’t been found as of yet and Baker was dodging Jess as the senator was. Baker didn’t like Jess. He’d taken offense at her investigative tactics when his son was murdered and hadn’t forgiven her even though she’d brought the killer to justice.

  The door opened, drawing their collective attention in that direction. Chad Cook entered the room.

  He grinned. “Afternoon, ladies.” He nodded toward Jess. “Chief.”

  Jess raised her brows at him. “I’m not a lady?”

  His face turned beet red. “Sorry, Chief. Course you’re a lady.” He shuffled over to his desk as if in hopes of dodging anymore embarrassing moments.

  Sylvia strutted right up to him. “Chad Wade Cook, I know that look you’re wearing.”

  His face brightened to a more crimson shade of red. “Excuse me?”

  Sylvia’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Jess exchanged a look with Lori. And here she’d been so happy that Sylvia and Cook didn’t seem to hold any grudges after their breakup nearly five months ago.

  Jess opened her mouth to intervene but Cook spoke up. “I do.” He grinned. “She’s almost as pretty as you.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Sylvia gave him with a quick hug. “I am so thrilled. Please tell me she’s your age.”

  “Two years younger,” he confirmed. “She’s a nurse over at UAB. I met her when I went to see my doc the last time. She’s new in town and has her first job.”

  Sylvia turned to Jess and Lori. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Lori said, hands up stop sign fashion.

  “That makes two of us,” Jess piped up.

  Chad was the one holding his hands up now. “Okay, you guys don’t go ganging up on me just because I’m the only male in the room.”

  After a good laugh, they got back down to business. Hayes was keeping surveillance on Senator Baron, and Harper was at the morgue following up on Pratt’s autopsy.

  “The only one we haven’t been able to track down,” Jess returned to the case board, “is Wilson Hilliard.”

  “Former mayor, investment banker,” Lori said. She went to her desk and sat down at her computer. “I may have something from some of the feelers I put out before lunch.” She tapped a few keys. “Yep. Let’s see,” she leaned closer to the screen as she read, “Wilson Hilliard. Seventy-nine. He had a stroke and was in a state operated institution for the mentally ill until six months ago.”

  “He was in a mental institution?” Jess indicated the
line-up of photos. “What happened to him after he left the institution? He was among the richest men in Birmingham in his day. Where’s his family?”

  “I can tell you a little about Wilson Hilliard,” Sylvia propped a hip on the edge of Jess’s desk.

  “We’re all ears.” Jess took the extra chair that sat in front of her desk.

  “Wilson’s father and grandfather were the ones who helped launch the development of iron ore in Birmingham. The Hilliard family had money. Big money and major influence. They invested heavily in the production of iron ore as well as in railroads, and, as you both know, the Magic City was born.”

  “How did he end up in a state facility?” Most with means preferred a private facility.

  “I’m getting there,” Sylvia explained. “For decades, the Hilliard family grew richer and richer. Then the crash happened. More and more steel production went overseas and the bottom fell out of things here. Hilliard and his father lost everything their forefathers had built. His father committed suicide. Wilson managed to get by for a few more decades with his investment banking. He even survived a couple of crashes there, but then he had a stroke and dropped out of society all together. Until today, I hadn’t heard his name in years.” She shrugged. “I thought he was dead.”

  “What about a wife and children?” Surely there was someone Jess could track down to find the man.

  “His wife died when I was in high school,” Sylvia said. “They never had any children.”

  Jess glanced at her watch. “We should head to the appointment with Mr. Taylor.” She stood and turned to Lori. “Lori, you and Cook locate Mr. Baker and keep an eye on him until—”

  “Until,” Sylvia cut in, “Jess and I finish with Taylor. I’ll make sure Baker sees us then.” She smiled at Jess. “There isn’t a Baker in this county who would dare turn down a request from Senator Baron’s daughter.”

  “Looks like having you on the team is going to be more advantageous than I realized,” Jess said hopefully.

  “I have my skills.” Sylvia grabbed her bag as well as Jess’s. She made a face. “Christ, what do you carry in here?”

  “Don’t go there,” Lori suggested as she and Cook headed for the door. “She might tell you.”

  Canterbury Road, Mountain Brook, 2:10 p.m.

  Isaiah Taylor resided in a stately home near Jemison Park. Though the entry hall and great room were quite opulent, the home had a comfortable, lived in feel about it. Maybe it was the owner more so than the home. Seventy-six, tall and fit, Taylor’s dark hair was heavily streaked with gray but it didn’t detract from his good looks one little bit. Like the son he’d lost last summer, he was a very handsome man.

  Once the pleasantries were out of the way, Jess turned to business. “Mr. Taylor, we appreciate your time this afternoon.”

  He gave a nod. “As I told you on the phone, my son’s murder might still be unsolved if not for your hard work, Chief. I am more than happy to help.” He shook his gray head. “Frankly, I’m stunned by the news of Joe and Harmon’s murders. They both made their share of enemies, who hasn’t, but to be murdered?” He moved his head from side to side again. “It’s difficult to believe.”

  “Sir, beyond their successful careers, Mayor Pratt and Judge Rutledge shared a distinct mark.” Jess hoped he would be as amenable about having his scalp examined. “We believe this has something to do with the reason they were selected as victims.”

  Taylor looked confused. “What’re you saying, Chief?”

  Before Jess could respond, Sylvia blurted, “She’s saying they both had a small eagle tattoo. We need to know if you have one.”

  Jess sent Sylvia a look she hoped reminded her who was in charge here. The fact that Taylor at first looked startled and then stared silently at the two of them was answer enough to the question.

  “I take it you have the same tattoo?” Jess ventured. No use beating around the bush.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I do.”

  “May I—” Jess and Sylvia started at the same time.

  At Jess’s sharp look, Sylvia snapped her mouth shut. “May we have a look, sir? Just to confirm we’re talking about the same mark.”

  “Why not?” The resignation on his face told Jess he’d hoped to avoid this moment.

  Sylvia reached into her bag and withdrew a pair of gloves.

  “Will you tell me how you came to share this mark with the victims?”

  While Sylvia fingered through his hair, Mr. Taylor held very still. As soon as she gave Jess a nod, he began to tell his story.

  “It was a very long time ago. I’d graduated from law school, I had a wife and a new son, and my career hadn’t taken off as I’d expected.”

  Jess pressed a hand to her belly. “Having a child changes everything.”

  “Indeed.” He gave a somber nod. “My family was one of some means, but not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. I suppose the worst part was that I graduated at the top of my class. I knew I had the intellect and the skill, I only needed the opportunity.”

  Jess remembered those days. She’d worked extra hard to ensure she made her way into the FBI’s intern program. She’d spent nearly two decades there before returning home to the man she’d always loved and joining the BPD. Some things were just meant to be and Jess was absolutely certain this was where she was supposed to be.

  “Wilson Hilliard was at the top of his game in investment banking at the time,” Taylor went on. “He asked for a meeting with me late one night after a long day at the law office where I had yet to make partner.” He smiled, the expression faint. “Wilson said he recognized the fire and determination in me. He wanted to help me become what he knew I could be. He said the exact words I’d been harboring in my heart: All you need is an opportunity. You’re going to be the power in this city.”

  He fell silent for a moment before continuing. Thankfully Sylvia kept her lips sealed as did Jess.

  “You see, Wilson had the influence and the power. The man had connections like no one else. Knowing what I know now, I suspect he built those connections the same way ours came about. Every man has a price, Chief. If not in dollars, in desire for something else he doesn’t possess. Wilson made sure the right doors opened for me. He put in a word for me where needed and, eventually, I became a Supreme Court Justice of Alabama. It was the proudest day of my life next to my son’s birth. I was so very thankful my father lived to see that day.”

  “So this tattoo,” Jess offered, “it was Hilliard’s way of marking you somehow?” Hilliard certainly wouldn’t be the first power hungry man to mark his followers.

  Taylor nodded. “Oh yes. The eagle represents power, influence, and greatness. He wanted to make sure we remembered where our success came from. The location for the tattoo was his way of ensuring we never tried to distort or remove it.”

  “What did Mr. Hilliard ask in return for his help?” Jess held her breath.

  “There’s always that,” Taylor said sadly. “At one time I would have ignored that question—the whole concept for that matter. Who cared what it cost? It was worth it, wasn’t it?”

  Jess understood the question was a rhetorical one.

  “Occasionally, he would make it a point to meet with me and discuss a vote coming before the Court. He never asked, but I knew what he wanted. Frankly, what he seemed to want was what I felt compelled to support. It all seemed perfectly right and just for many years. But then, when his financial world started to crumble, he asked for favors with which I didn’t agree.”

  When he remained silent a little longer than the last time, Jess prompted, “What did you do?”

  “At first, I thought about doing as he asked. But, eventually, I refused him. When he threatened to expose me, I tendered my resignation citing health reasons. I would not taint the office.”

  “How did Mr. Hilliard react?”

  “I don’t know what he might have been capable of doing, but a debilitating stroke prevented him from taking any measures against
me.”

  “When was this?” Jess asked.

  “Ten years ago. His finances were in tatters by then. The last I heard he was institutionalized. I believe Judge Rutledge made sure that order was signed.”

  Well, well. The pieces of the puzzle started to come together. “Were you aware that others had this same tattoo? That Pratt and Rutledge, for example, had likely received the same sort of support from Hilliard?” Jess was reaching, but it was the only logical conclusion.

  “Not at first.” He braced his elbows on the arms of his chairs and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Who would want to share such a thing? Each of us prefers to believe we arrived at our career pinnacles on our own merit.”

  “But eventually you did,” Sylvia nudged, speaking for the first time since Taylor began.

  Taylor looked at her. “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “Yes. He wouldn’t tell me how the tattoo came about or who else might be involved.”

  “We had decided to attempt to take care of this ourselves, but,” Taylor smiled sadly, “as soon as he called and told me the police would be asking questions, I made the decision to cooperate if approached. As much as I’d like to believe we could handle this ourselves, I’m not so sure now.”

  Jess and Sylvia shared a look. At least now they knew who the senator had called last night. Rather than ask how they had intended to resolve the matter Jess held her tongue in hopes he would keep talking.

  “There were six of us that I know of,” Taylor went on. “Besides Joe and Harmon, there was your father, Sam Baker, and Craig Moore. Wilson told us all the same thing, we were going to be the most powerful and influential people in Birmingham. I believe our hard work and abilities were part of it, but there’s no denying he ensured our careers advanced the way we’d hoped.”

  He fell silent a moment before going on. “The six of us have pretended his support never happened, but we all knew. As soon as we learned the details of Joe’s murder, Craig took his family and went to Mexico. He’s the youngest of us and has a young family. I could hardly blame him. I sent my wife to stay a few days with our daughter in Denver. Sam’s wife is in Montgomery. I spoke to Robert last night,” this he directed to Sylvia, “he said he couldn’t leave because of you. Apparently, your mother is headed to New York to visit Nina.”