He was speechless, his anger seething beneath the fiery surface of his skin.
“I’m overcome, too,” I said. “Let me see if I can find us a tissue.”
CHAPTER 39
When we were all seated inside Stone’s office, he said, “I’ll make this brief. Inspector, Chaplain, you are no longer to investigate the murder of Nicole Caldwell.”
“We can’t just stop,” Fortner said. “We’re too far in. Getting too close to finding the killer.”
“That’s my job,” Daniels said. “I appreciate what you’ve done, Pete, and I’ll use it, but you can’t work on this one anymore.”
Fortner started to continue his protest, but Stone stopped him by raising his hand. “I didn’t call you in here to discuss it,” he said. “Merely to inform you. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but Fortner shook his head. “Do y’all want the killer to get away for some reason? Is he a family member, something like that?”
The sudden rage from Stone was palpable, but he spoke very calmly. “If it matters,” he said, “this was not my decision. I’m confident in your abilities. Both of you.”
“But—” Fortner began again.
“The media attention changes everything. This is coming from the top,” Daniels said. “And not just of the department. Your warden’s dangerously close to losing his job. If you want to join him, then persist in your insubordination. If not, back off and stay the hell out of my way. Both of you.”
Fortner nodded and Daniels looked over at me. “Understand?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I’m not playing here,” he said. “Don’t nod your head in here and then go out there and fuck up my investigation. I’ve been empowered to fire and or file criminal charges against anybody who gets in my way on this thing. So don’t fuck with me.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” I said with a smile, and Fortner laughed out loud.
“I mean it,” Daniels said angrily.
“Me, too,” I said.
When no one else said anything, I looked over at Stone. “Are you doing this to protect DeAndré?”
He looked genuinely perplexed. “If it turns out that Bobby Earl is guilty—and I seriously doubt it will—DeAndré can find another job.”
You’re either a very good liar or your love makes you clueless, I thought, wondering which was more likely.
When we had left Stone’s office, Pete stopped me out in front of the gate.
“Did you see Nicole with a coloring book and crayons when she was here?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “She colored a picture for me.”
“Coel said she had them that night,” he said. “Carried them in your office to color while she was waiting for Bobby Earl to preach his sermon.”
“Yeah?”
“They weren’t in the stuff we inventoried from the crime scene,” he said.
“What?” I asked in shock.
“They’re not still in your office, are they?” he asked.
“Well, I’m the last person who wants to be investigating when I’ve been ordered not to, but let’s go have a look.”
We walked through the sally port, down the sidewalk, and into the chapel.
Several inmates were seated in the chapel library listening to tapes, reading books, pestering my clerks, and by the anxious look on a few of their faces, waiting to talk to me.
After greeting the rest of the inmates and the officer who was babysitting them for me, Pete and I walked into my office. It was the first time since the night of Nicole’s murder I had been inside.
Before I turned on the light, the still, stale air of the room was as dark and dank as a tomb. The wet copper smell of blood was in the air and breathing it in left a bad taste in my mouth.
I felt a presence in the room. As it swept past, its touch felt like the shredded gown of a gothic ghost floating above us, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I wondered if Pete sensed it. No longer was this room my sanctuary from the insanity and brutality of prison, but a haunted and defiled death chamber, and turning on the light did nothing to vanquish the spiritual and psychological pain echoing through it.
“My God,” Pete said. “It’s worse now than when it happened.”
We spent the next few moments in silence looking around the room, trying to breath shallowly and only through our mouths.
It didn’t feel like my office anymore. It looked pretty much the same—especially if you avoided the blood-stained carpet, but it wasn’t, and I wondered if it ever could be again.
“We found her body there,” he said, indicating the bloody outline on the floor. “The envelope and cash next to it there,” he continued, “the card there, and the candy there.”
“That’s just where they were when I came in,” I said.
“Still no coloring book and crayons,” he said.
The statement was so obvious I couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t sarcastic, so I didn’t say anything.
“You think the killer took ’em?” he asked.
“If he did,” I said, “it tells us a lot about him.”
“Whatta you mean?”
“Many sexual murderers and serial killers take something belonging to the victim in order to relive the experience over and over again.”
He shuddered. “That would point away from Bobby Earl to Register or one of the other inmates.”
“Or it could point to someone close to her,” I added. “Were Bobby Earl and Bunny searched before they left the institution that night?”
“No,” he said. “They had just lost their daughter. They were victims at that point, not suspects.” He shook his head. “The stuff could’ve been inside Bobby Earl’s Bible cover.”
I moved past him, edging around my desk to take a better look under it, but froze when I reached its corner.
“What is it?” Pete asked.
“Look,” I said, pointing to the piece of paper on the floor. It was another page Nicole had colored and removed from her book.
“What the hell?” he said in shock. “That wasn’t here before, was it?”
I shook my head, still pondering what it meant.
“And there’s no way we’d’ve missed it,” he said.
I didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at the picture.
“It’s not the one she did for you, is it?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“You think it was in here somewhere—bookshelf, desk, chair, and fell down after we left?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” he said. “I’ll be damned.”
We were quiet a moment. I stepped around the picture and searched the desk and bookshelf thoroughly. No crayons. No coloring book. Nothing.
“This means someone’s been in here since we have,” he said.
I nodded.
“Her killer?”
“Possibly.”
“Well,” he said, “it was pretty damn dumb. Now we know it had to be a staff member with access to keys.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “See how close it is to the door? It looks like someone could’ve slid it right beneath the door.”
“But there again, that points away from the Caldwells,” he said. “Bobby Earl hasn’t been here.”
“No,” I said, “but DeAndré has.”
CHAPTER 40
I found Theo Malcolm sitting at his desk grading papers, his inmate orderly, Luther Albright, standing behind him with his arms folded like a bodyguard. From a boom-box in the corner, the aggressive sounds of gangsta rap polluted the air in the room. When he had said, “Enter,” and I walked in, he briefly looked up, shook his head, and looked back down at his papers.
“You don’t seem happy to see me,” I said with a big smile.
“I’m very busy,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The rapper was rapping about killing white policemen in the war of the streets—about takin’ his nine and smokin’ the pig’s
cracker ass until they were all just traces on the pavement.
I shook my head.
“If you don’t like our music,” Albright started, but Malcolm held up his hand.
Our music? Was Albright an orderly or a buddy? Getting overly familiar with an inmate was a dangerous decision to make. I had seen more than a few careers destroyed because of it, and I wondered if Malcolm realized how foolish he was being.
“You probably think that African Americans believed OJ was innocent,” he said.
“Actually,” I said, “I don’t.”
“Well, we didn’t,” he said, as if contradicting me. “We’s not’s dumb as y’alls thinks we is,” he said in his best slave dialect, before gliding smoothly back into his regular condescending tone. “We knew he was guilty. We didn’t care. We were glad he got away with it. Killing a white woman and a white man—even a cop—can’t come close to the multitudes of young black men y’all’ve killed.”
Albright smiled.
I shook my head. “Are you for real?”
“An eye for an eye, brother,” he said.
“Leaves everybody blind,” I said.
“It’s very good that you know the quote, though the quote itself is naive,” he said, “but do you know who said it?”
“Dr. King. Will that be on the final?”
“Well, if you all really believed it, I guess you wouldn’t have shot him down like a dog, would you?”
“Actually,” I said, “I had nothing to do with it.”
Malcolm stood, walked over, and stopped the music. When he turned to face me again, Albright put his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I’m really busy. If you need something, you better ask now.”
“Have you been back to the chapel or my office since the night Nicole died?”
“No, why?”
“I found something in my office that wasn’t there before,” I said.
“Well, I haven’t been back,” he said. “Is someone saying I have?”
Ignoring his question, I said, “On the night Nicole was killed, why’d you stop by the chapel? I mean beside to check the program for racism.”
“I was there to see Bunny,” he said.
“What?”
“We worked together at Lake Butler,” he said. “We’re just friends.”
“Did you see her?” I asked.
He shook his head. “She was on the stage singing, so I left.”
“Did you see Officer Coel standing at the sanctuary door?”
He shook his head.
“Did you see anyone in my office?” I asked.
“Just Nicole,” he said. “And she was fine when I left. If you suspect me of her murder, you’re wasting valuable time you could be using to find the real killer.”
“You sound like OJ,” I said.
“Look—” he began angrily, but I cut him off.
“What’re you trying to hide?” I asked.
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Why was I attacked right after I talked to you last time?” I asked. “And why were you the only suspect they told me to stay away from?”
Before he realized what he was doing, he glanced at Albright.
“I thought I recognized your voice,” I said to Albright.
He didn’t say anything, just glared.
“I’ll be in the chapel if you want to give it another go,” I said.
“We know where to find you,” Albright said.
“And vice versa,” I said.
When I got back to my office, I called Chaplain Rouse at Lake Butler again.
“Chaplain Rouse,” he said after the second ring.
“Where’s your secretary?” I asked.
“I’m in between secretaries at the moment,” he said.
“You have two?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I wasn’t sure if he didn’t get it or didn’t approve of the humor, so rather than taking the risk of being sued for sexual harassment, I let it go.
“They’ve been promising me one for about a year now,” I said. “A staff chaplain, too.”
“Can’t imagine where the state gets the reputation of being mired down in bureaucracy,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Tell me what you can about Theo Malcolm,” I said.
“Don’t know him.”
“Says he knows Bunny from working with her there,” I said. “He’s a teacher.”
“Well, he hasn’t taught here,” he said.
“Angry young black man,” I said. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” he said.
“Maybe he had a different job,” I said.
“What’s he look like?”
I told him.
“Nope,” he said. “Never worked here.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Wonder why he’d make that up?” he asked.
“Why indeed?” I said, then sat there and thought about it for a long time after he had hung up.
I could come up with only one reason—to hide his real purpose for being there that night, and if he wasn’t there to see an old coworker, what was he doing?
CHAPTER 41
“Couldn’t Malcolm know Bunny from somewhere else and just say it was Lake Butler?” Anna asked.
It was late afternoon, the inmates had returned to the compound and the chapel was empty. Anna and I were alone in my office.
“It’s possible, I guess,” I said, “but why?”
She shrugged.
“Abdul Muhammin also said he knew Bobby Earl from Lake Butler,” I said.
“But he did,” she said.
“Uh huh,” I said.
“Uh huh what?” she asked, puzzlement on her face.
“Muhammin would know that Bunny worked there,” I said, “and could have told Malcolm.”
“For a cover story,” she said. “Which shows a connection between them and that they have something to cover up.”
“Unless Malcolm heard it somewhere else,” I said, frowning and letting out a long sigh. “It’s thin. Maybe they’re not connected.”
I shook my head.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I didn’t say anything.
Eyes narrowed in concern, she stared at me for a long moment.
“I’m worried about you,” she said. “I got some information about the Stone Cold Killer case off the Internet. You should’ve told me there were children involved.”
“Probably,” I said. “But I never thought it was him. Still don’t. The crimes were too different. And how many serial killers do you know kill adults and children?”
“But you worked a case in which children were killed?”
I nodded.
“And this case has dredged it all up again?” she asked.
“It’s never very far away,” I said.
“And you’ve been dealing with it all alone?”
I shrugged.
“You are so alone down here, aren’t you?” she asked.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, but I thought, not just here. I had yet to find a place where I really fit.
“And having someone in your life…” she started and then stopped, letting it float between us like a wish tied to a balloon, “wouldn’t change that, would it?”
Having you would change everything, I thought, but said, “No, probably not.”
We fell into a silence pregnant with all that was left unsaid between us.
Eventually, I told her about still being married to Susan.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t she sign them?” she asked.
I told her.
“She trying to manipulate you in some way?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “She really seems different. She came down to Mexico Beach and we went out last night.”
“What?” she asked in shock.
“She’s in an ACOA support group, and—”
“A what?”
“Adult Children Of Alcoholics,” I said.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I couldn’t be more shocked.”
Oh, I bet you could, I thought, but decided not to tell her about sleeping with Susan.
“I have no right to feel the way I do,” she said. “I have no claim on you, but…”
“I could say the same thing,” I said, but we know differently.
We were quiet again, and I began to think about the women in my life, and like a Polaroid image finally coming into focus, I realized how much Susan resembled Anna—physically anyway.
She was the woman in my life. The woman by which all other women were judged, to which none could compare.
My phone rang, breaking the silence, and as I answered it, Anna whispered, “I’m going to the restroom.”
I nodded to her and then said into the receiver, “Good afternoon. Chaplain Jordan.”
“Chaplain Jordan, it’s your wife,” Susan said.
Heart pounding, heat spreading across my face, I felt as if I had been caught cheating, and was glad when Anna stood up and left the room.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because I don’t have one.”
“It’s a long story, but you do.”
“Well, supposing I do,” I said. “How is she?”
“Actually, she’s wonderful,” she said. “She’s still after-glowing.”
“Wow,” I said. “Her husband must really be amazing.”
“He has his moments,” she said.
I heard a noise from the hallway like someone bumping into the wall and then a scream.
“Can I call you back?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, but I was already dropping the phone and running out of the office.
CHAPTER 42
In the hallway, I looked around. No one was there. Nothing was out of place. To the right, through the glass of the double doors, I could see that the sanctuary was dark and still. To my left, the chapel library was dark and empty as well. In front of me, a narrow hallway led to the restrooms, kitchen, and fellowship hall.
I ran down the hall and without stopping, burst into the women’s bathroom. I hit the door hard and it slammed into the wall behind it. I held my gaze wide, trying to take in the whole room, so that any movement, no matter how small would be perceptible. Nothing. I looked around. I still saw nothing.
Blood of the Lamb (a John Jordan Mystery) Page 19