Undercurrents

by Mary Anna Evans

  He said his good-byes to the men around him. As he did so, he painstakingly began to sow confusion.

  Chapter Forty

  “Spring Break?”

  McDaniel was shaking his head. “Are you saying that these women were killed while they were on vacation? Is Corinth, Mississippi, a hot spot I don’t know about?”

  “No, but the killer could be on a school schedule.”

  “A teacher. Are you talking about Walt Walker?”

  “Yes, maybe. Or a student. Or, I suppose, somebody who just happens to kill during school vacations.”

  She watched him mentally sort through his suspects. Unless he was keeping some of them to himself, all the people on it were with them now. Several of them lived their lives by the academic calendar.

  Faye’s suspect list ranged wider than McDaniel’s, taking into its grasp people she didn’t know who lived in Birmingham, St. Louis, Nashville, and beyond, but it also encompassed people right here in Memphis. Her suspects included everyone McDaniel had put on his short list because they knew Frida personally.

  Mayfield. Linton. Walt. Richard. Armand. Reverend Atkinson. Even Jeremiah, who seemed earnest about helping the men and women who worked for him, fit the profile.

  Kali had described a big man, and they were all big. Walt was a teacher, and Richard and Jeremiah were students, so they had school vacations off, generally speaking. Walt volunteered at the playground, but she didn’t have the impression that he was there every day. Jeremiah took contract work like the job they were doing for Faye, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t had any clients since the university ended its spring semester. Richard was working now, but she had no knowledge of any other jobs that would have kept him busy during school breaks. Armand worked for himself. She had no idea what schedule Reverend Atkinson kept, nor Mayfield and Linton.

  It made Faye antsy to realize that she could throw a rock and hit several people whom she and McDaniel both thought were capable of murder. But had all of them been in the Memphis area for that long? Jeremiah had lived in Memphis all his life. He and Armand seemed to go way back. Richard had said that he’d visited his grandmother in the summers. Linton was definitely newer to town than the rest of them. She didn’t know about Walt Walker, but he seemed established in the community.

  McDaniel’s thoughts were tracking closely with hers.

  “Students,” he mused. “Your data went back twenty years. That’s a long time to be a student. It’s even a long time to be a teacher. How old is Walt Walker?”

  “Old enough to have been a teacher for twenty years. Maybe twenty-five years. But that’s beside the point. Look at Windom’s data again. We’re not talking about twenty years. The elevated murder rate in March only goes back six years.” She could see him doing math in his head so she did the same math out loud. “That means that those killings started happening when Richard was about fifteen. Fifteen? Really? Do we keep him on the suspect list?”

  “Yes.” On this point, McDaniel tone was crisp and sure. “He’s the youngest man we know about who has a long history of being around Frida. He could have met her that long ago when he was visiting his grandparents. And he’s been on a school schedule for the entire six years. If we’re going to take your serial killer theory seriously, we have to keep Richard on the suspect list.”

  Faye was dubious. “Most serial killers start in their twenties, so fifteen would be unusual. In their teens, they’re usually still dismembering stray cats, but I guess the data are all over the map.”

  “What about Mayfield and Linton? Are they off your suspect list because they’re not in school? They’re not off mine.”

  She shook her head. “I might have let Linton off the hook if somebody told me he hadn’t been in town that long, but he has. Sylvia said so. The six-year window may actually point to him, since that’s around the time he left the Navy and moved here. As for the school schedule pattern, we don’t know enough about Mayfield’s and Linton’s employment histories. Maybe one of them was unemployed at the times when the killer would have had to drive for hours to do one of the killings. Or maybe one of them works an odd shift schedule that matches the killer’s pattern. Just because the database has uncovered data points that look like the killer is constrained by the school year doesn’t mean it’s the right answer. Either of them could even have been working at an after-school program during those years.”

  “They’re in their late twenties, so they’re certainly old enough.”

  “Jeremiah and Armand are also pushing thirty,” she agreed. “They’re all easily old enough to have committed a six-year string of killings.”

  “Richard and Jeremiah both work for you. It doesn’t bother you to cast blame on your employees?”

  “I met them on Friday. I like them, but I know nothing about them.”

  Joe thanked the convenience store cashier, who had reassured him that he was on the right path.

  “People been asking for directions all day, looking for the funeral of the girl that got killed. GPS signals are iffy out here. Can’t nobody believe that people drive all the way out here to go to church, but they do. It’s a real pretty place. I think that’s why they come. Sad thing about that poor girl.”

  Joe had agreed with him and bought a pack of gum to be polite, then he’d headed back out to his car. The cashier had said he was nearly there.

  When his phone rang, he was pulling out of the parking lot, past the pumps and the empty metal shell where the pay phone used to be. He answered and his daughter’s voice said, “Dad?”

  Her tone of voice was off, and it made him want to push the accelerator to the floor. Everything about today said that he needed to get to his wife. Or maybe back to his daughter. Or maybe even to his son in Florida. Joe was a sheepdog at heart. He didn’t like it when his herd was strung all over creation.

  “Dad, turn on the radio. Ninety-eight point nine.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it about your mother?”

  “Maybe. They’re saying that there’s a little girl missing. She’s the daughter of a woman who was murdered last week. Dad, that has to be the woman Mom dug up. Her name was Frida, right?”

  Joe grunted yes.

  “They say that the little girl went missing in the woods behind the church where her mother was being buried. That’s where Mom is, right? And it’s where you’re going?”

  He gave another affirmative grunt.

  “They’re saying that witnesses watched the little girl run away and then, poof. She was gone. Dad, that doesn’t make any sense. Something’s wrong. Somebody grabbed that child. And Mom’s out there in the middle of it.”

  “I’m almost there.”

  “Great. Just charming. Then both my parents will be in the middle of it. I should have stayed in foster care. It was way more stable than this.”

  Joe gunned the engine and scratched out of the parking lot. “We’re stable enough. And your mother’s not going to be in the middle of this for long. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  McDaniel wasn’t often impressed, but Faye Longchamp-Mantooth had impressed him. He had followed her line of reasoning as she described her work with Phyllis Windom, albeit just barely. If the archaeologist and the retired big data guru had accomplished the things Faye claimed they had over the course of an afternoon, some police department should put them on the payroll. Or maybe even the FBI should hire them.

  Speaking of the FBI, he was going to have to call them, now that Faye had given him a reasonable basis to suspect that Frida’s killer was working across state boundaries. That should be a fun conversation.

  So what physical evidence do you have that these murders are all related, Detective?

  And his answer could only be, None? I guess? Unless you count a few flowers so dried-up and dead that they look pretty much like dirt. But I think you should send somebody down here to check it out a
nyway.

  You’ve got witnesses? A solid suspect?

  Nope. And nope.

  Then what in the hell have you been doing for the last few days? I guess we’ll send somebody down there to clean up your mess.

  Charming. Just charming.

  Laneer was perched on the bumper of his car, using his handkerchief to clean the mud off Kali’s face when Walt approached.

  “Mr. Walker. Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but Linton said that the detective wants to talk to Kali about what she saw on the day when her mama got killed. I told him I’d come over here and get her because…you know…” All three of them knew that the thing he didn’t say was “I came over here to get Kali for Linton, because he knows how much you two don’t like him.”

  Laneer pocketed his handkerchief and leaned forward to hoist himself off the car bumper. His first effort failed, so he tried again.

  “Keep your seat,” Walt said, stretching a palm out to both Laneer and Sylvia to indicate that they should both stay where they were. “Nobody should suffer what you two just did. I saw you two running around, doing your best to find this child. I’ll walk her over there.”

  “You’re a good man,” Sylvia said, “taking care of little Kali the way you do.”

  Walt reached out his hand, and Kali took it.

  Faye was shifting her weight on the bench. McDaniel thought she looked like a woman who wanted to take action but wasn’t sure what action to take. Suddenly, she sat up ramrod straight and looked at him. “Phyllis Windom seems uncommonly good with incomplete data.”

  McDaniel didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so he watched over her shoulder while she turned her entire attention to writing a text to Windom.

  We can’t track all the suspects for all of the past six years, but we know something about where some of them were in school. Or teaching it. I’ll send you what I can find. See if you can eliminate anybody based on school schedules. Thanks!

  Faye pressed “Send,” then went to work on a text giving Windom the websites of Jeremiah’s college, Richard’s community college, and Walt’s school system. She couldn’t find a thing to help Windom track the comings and goings of Mayfield, Linton, or Armand, but this information would be a start.

  “If this works,” McDaniel said, “you’re building the prosecution’s case for them. You know that?”

  “It’s not my first priority, no, but I’m happy to help put this murderer away.”

  She looked for the gaggle of suspects gathered in the parking lot, but they’d each gone their own way. “Did you see where those guys all went?”

  McDaniel nodded to his right. “Armand’s over there by his car. Don’t see the rest of them.”

  “While Phyllis Windom is working her magic, I kinda want to keep my eye on the lot of them.”

  “Not sure how it will help, but I’m with you.”

  McDaniel stood and headed right. Faye went left, and they stepped into the parking lot, which had emptied quickly after Kali was found. She fought the urge to check her phone every few steps to see whether Phyllis Windom had worked a miracle.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Faye found Linton as he exited the church. He said he had been in the bathroom, and maybe he had. Jeremiah was sitting in his car, enjoying the air conditioning. From a distance, she could see McDaniel speaking to Mayfield, who was tugging nervously at the knot of his tie. Armand was standing at the rear of his car, looking for something in his trunk. Where was Walt Walker?

  She stopped to speak to Sylvia and Laneer, who were sitting together in the front seat of Laneer’s car. Both were dozing, eyes closed and heads lolling. They’d had a hard day. No, they’d had a hard week, actually, and the years ahead didn’t look easy. Even with the help of a loving candy lady, Laneer was well past the age when he could have expected to be responsible for a girl who was growing up.

  He jerked awake when Faye’s shadow fell on his face, and she was sorry to disturb him. She went ahead and asked her question anyway. “Have either of you seen Walt Walker?”

  Before they could answer, she checked the back seat and said, “And where’s Kali?”

  “She went with Walt,” the old man said. “He said the detective needed to talk to her.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Sylvia said, completely awake and Sylvia-like in her drive for accuracy. “He said that Linton said that the detective needed to talk to her. That ain’t the same thing.”

  Faye scanned the parking lot looking for McDaniel and Sylvia saw her.

  “We told him.”

  “You told—”

  “The detective was just here a minute ago, and we told him that Linton told Mr. Walker to take Kali to him, but they must have just missed him.”

  Faye’s mouth didn’t want to work, but she managed to say, “I’m sure they did.”

  She looked around her for Linton, but she didn’t see him. She didn’t see Walt Walker, either. She did spot McDaniel speaking to Armand and Richard. There was no child at his side.

  McDaniel’s patience was visibly frayed. Maybe past frayed. Maybe it was, like Faye’s, ripped apart at the seams.

  “Tell me one more time,” she heard him say. “Who said what?” Then he stood silently and listened to the two men tell confusing, contradictory stories.

  “Mayfield told us that Mr. Walker said that Kali needed to talk to you,” said Armand. “He said that she must know something about who killed Frida, and she needed to tell you everything right now.”

  “Linton said he’d go find her,” Richard said.

  “No, he didn’t. It was Mr. Walker that said he’d go find her. Linton wanted to go, but Mr. Walker didn’t trust him to do it.”

  “He didn’t say that.” Richard had taken a step back from Armand, as if to get a better look at him or to get out of his reach.

  “He didn’t say it, but he thought it. Nobody that trusts Linton lives to be happy about it.”

  “What about your friend Jeremiah?” Richard said, standing still, alert, hands at the ready. “He agreed that Mr. Walker should be the one to go get the girl.”

  Armand bristled. “Because only a fool trusts Linton. Everybody knows that. What’ve you got against Jeremiah?”

  Faye saw that McDaniel’s own hands were ready, if this disagreement escalated to something physical, but she was glad that he was holding back. She needed to hear the story these men were telling, and so did McDaniel.

  Why the confusion? Maybe it was a coincidence that neither of these intelligent men could remember the details of a conversation they’d just had. Maybe one or both of them was lying or trying to confuse the detective, but Faye thought something else was at play. She thought that someone had set out to deliberately confuse them.

  Laneer and Sylvia had not seemed confused. They had been very clear that Walker had come to fetch Kali, so Faye considered their recollections to be fact. Now Walker was nowhere to be seen. They were also very clear that Walker had said that Linton sent him. Now Linton was nowhere to be seen, either.

  It made no sense for Walker and Linton to be working together, so one of them had the girl and was using the other one for cover.

  Faye looked around her one more time.

  No Walt Walker.

  No Linton.

  And no Kali.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Faye was pretending that she was Joe. She had successfully tracked Kali once, so she was trying to do it again, but she didn’t have Joe’s magic eyes. Nevertheless, she was scouring the ground between Laneer’s car and the church for footprints, while keeping an eye on where all the key players were. Linton and Walt were nowhere to be found.

  Neither was Kali. Faye doubted that Kali had run away again. Walt was the last person seen with her and he would have sounded an alarm if she’d gotten away from him. Faye’s gut said t
hat somebody had the child, and Walt Walker was the obvious suspect.

  But what about Linton? Why was he missing? Did he take Kali from Walker, perhaps to stake a claim as her stepfather? But again, Walt had sounded no alarm. Was Walt missing because he was trying to get Linton to give Kali back to Laneer? Or, worse, was he missing because he was trying to keep Linton from killing again?

  McDaniel had been questioning witnesses and his face said that those witnesses had been no help at all. He hustled across the parking to see what Faye knew. “Linton?”

  “I saw him coming out of the church a few minutes ago,” she said, gesturing at the door behind her. “I don’t see him anywhere now.”

  “I’ll search the church. You just showed me what you can do as a tracker. Until my officers get here with their dogs, you’re all I’ve got. Find that girl.”

  He threw the church’s side door open, the same one where Kali had fled her mother’s funeral. Reverend Atkinson was standing on the other side, and McDaniel almost mowed him down as he hurried inside the church.

  Reverend Atkinson joined Faye where she stood searching the ground for new footprints. His face was as distraught as hers.

  “Did you find her? I’ve been inside praying for Sister Frida and hoping that maybe one of you forgot to come in and tell me that the little girl was safe. Then I got to the point that I couldn’t wait any longer. I know I’m doing Kali more good by praying for her, but I just have got to know something.”

  His eyes raked over Faye’s frantic face, and he said, “Ah. I see. You don’t have any good news for me.” Looking up at the darkening sky, he said, “It’s getting too late to lay Sister Frida to rest today. Maybe it’s providential. We’ll have to delay the burial.”

  Faye asked, “What do you mean?”