Traceless

by Debra Webb

  Ray had sent Mike Caruthers to pick up Clint from the repair shop and bring him in for questioning. Ray hated like hell to do it, but he didn’t have an option. The whole town would consider Clint a prime suspect. Hell, any chief of police worth his salt would be a fool not to.

  Except that Ray knew things that no one else did.

  Troy and his buddies were being rounded up as well. Everybody at Violet’s party had been talking about the tension between Troy and Keith. Usually Troy knew where Keith was at all times. Violet had said she’d called Troy last night and he claimed he had no idea what Keith was up to. Sounded damned fishy to Ray.

  That was the thing. When a rich guy like Keith went missing, you worried about kidnapping and ransom. Sometimes kidnappings went wrong. But Ray knew in his gut that money had nothing to do with this. This was about the past.

  Shouting outside his door jerked Ray’s head up. The door flew open and Granville Turner stormed in, Mary Alice right behind him trying hard to talk him out of interrupting.

  Too late.

  “It’s okay, Mary Alice.”

  She nodded, then closed the door as she left.

  “There’s nothing else I can tell you right now, Granville.” Ray pushed to his feet, feeling immensely sorry for the man. Despite all the water that had gone under the bridge between them, and there had been plenty, Ray couldn’t help the sympathy he felt.

  Granville towered in front of Ray’s desk. Wouldn’t have sat down had he invited him to. “You can tell me if you’ve hauled Clint Austin in yet. I want to know if that bastard has an alibi.”

  “Mike is on his way in with him right now. I’m going to question him as well as anyone else who associated with Keith on a regular basis and who might have had some idea what he was doing at the quarry.”

  “It’s Austin,” Granville said, his usual boisterous voice a dull roar. “I know it’s him. I want you to get that sonofabitch, Ray; I don’t care what it takes.”

  “I’ll question him just like everybody else of interest to this case.”

  “You told me you would take care of this.” Granville’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “That I had nothing to worry about. Now my son is dead.” He shook a finger at Ray and blinked away all signs of vulnerability. “I own you, Ray Hale, lock, stock, and barrel; don’t you forget it. I saw that you moved up the ranks … got the position of chief. You owe me.”

  That was truer than Ray would have liked to admit, but there were things that Ray knew, too. Things that could take Granville back down a notch or two, but not now. This was too personal and too painful for Ray to take that hard line with the man under the circumstances.

  “I will find out how this happened,” Ray promised, “and when I do you’ll be the first to know.”

  “There’s no way that bastard could have known … .”

  Granville didn’t have to complete the sentence. Ray knew what he meant.

  “No,” Ray assured him. “No one else knows.” No one needed to. It was too late to right that wrong.

  He’d been telling himself that for over ten years; maybe eventually he would believe it.

  “I thank God his mother didn’t live to endure this.” Granville’s voice went shaky on the last.

  Ray nodded. Nothing he could say would be enough. This was the kind of tragedy no parent wanted to face. With a final warning to stay on top of this investigation, Granville left with a little less theatrics than when he’d arrived.

  The intercom on Ray’s desk buzzed, followed by, “Chief, Deputy Caruthers is waiting with Clint Austin in the interview room.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  2:15 P.M.

  Clint had declined to have his parole officer present; he’d been advised of his rights and left to sweat in the same interview room where he’d been questioned after Heather Baker’s murder. Only this time he wasn’t sweating. He’d done nothing wrong, and no one could place him at the scene.

  He wasn’t the same man he’d been back then, either.

  Right now he was a little unsure about a lot of things, but taking any grief from Pine Bluff’s finest wasn’t one of them.

  The smell of Emily’s skin … images from yesterday morning flashed through his mind. She’d still been a virgin and she’d ruined herself with him … goaded him into taking her like that. He shouldn’t have allowed it … but he hadn’t been strong enough to walk away. He couldn’t think about that. Just another line he’d crossed that would get him nowhere. Being with her that way had damaged him somehow … had made him powerless in a way that he didn’t ever want to be again.

  Not that he had to worry. She’d run away so fast his head was still swimming. She wouldn’t be back. She’d been too good for him at seventeen, and she was too good for him now.

  If the not knowing how it felt to touch her had been pure misery … the knowing and not touching her was an agony he couldn’t hope to gauge.

  The door opened and Ray Hale walked in with two cups of coffee. He placed one on the table in front of Clint and kept the other for himself.

  He dropped into the chair opposite Clint and rubbed at his eyes as if he’d seen too much that morning.

  “I need you to tell me if you know anything about Keith Turner’s death.” Ray took out his trusty notepad and pencil.

  He didn’t call it a murder. Probably waiting for the official autopsy results. “I don’t know anything about it. I saw Turner Saturday night, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “What about Troy Baker?”

  Clint shook his head. “Not since they showed up at my place drunk as skunks and acting stupid.”

  “I’m not going to find any evidence that you were at that quarry,” Ray pressed, after jotting down a couple of notes.

  “No way. I was home all day yesterday and all night.” He saw the skepticism in Ray’s eyes. “Until the insurance company gets the temporary trailer out there tomorrow or the next day, I’m staying in the barn.”

  “If you want to sleep in a bed and have a hot shower,” Ray said, the hard, edgy lines of his face softening, “there’s the shelter at the Methodist church … and that old hunting cabin you know I never use. It’s pretty rustic, but there’s running water and a bathroom.”

  Clint didn’t need Ray feeling sorry for him. “I’m fine.” He started to ask Ray if he took such an interest in all his suspects, but that would only piss him off.

  Ray stared into his cup as if the answers he sought were bound to make an appearance. “You know.” He lifted his gaze to Clint. “Most folks are going to think after the remark you made about Keith and the fight with his buddies that you were the one who killed him. It would be nice if someone could confirm your alibi. The coroner estimated the time of death between ten and eleven yesterday morning.”

  Ten and eleven … that was when he and Emily …

  “I was at my place alone. Any more questions?”

  Ray heaved a weary sigh. “Let me see your hands.”

  Clint flattened his palms on the table. “I got those skinned knuckles in the fight Saturday night. The scratches are scabbed over already. They wouldn’t look like that if I’d done them yesterday.”

  Ray studied him a moment. He didn’t have to say anything. Clint knew what he was thinking. Things in this town had gone downhill since Clint’s release. People had gotten out of sorts. Lives had been disrupted. Well, tough shit. Clint’s life had been disrupted, too. He’d lost over ten years. Like Ray himself had said, Clint had done his time. He had a right to be here the same as anyone else.

  “Just stay out of the public eye as much as possible until we get a lead on this,” Ray suggested. “I don’t want any more trouble.”

  Clint pushed away from the table and stood. “You won’t get any from me.” He hesitated before heading for the door. “I still want to see those files, Ray. I don’t know why you’re putting me off.”

  “I’m not putting you off, Clint. Yesterday was Sunday and I’ve been a little busy this mornin
g.” Ray stood, looked anywhere but at Clint. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find. That case is over and done with. Like I told you before, there wasn’t a trace of evidence to indicate anyone but you and Emily Wallace were in that room that night. Those files won’t help you. It’s best to move on.”

  “Is there something you’re hiding from me, Ray? Is that the problem with me seeing the case files?” The vehemence in Clint’s voice startled him. Startled Ray, too. Dammit, Clint hadn’t meant to lose control like that. He’d lost too much control already. But he’d seen the guard go up in Ray’s eyes. Clint knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something.

  The door opened. Caruthers stuck his head inside. “Everything all right in here?”

  Clint looked from the nosy deputy to his chief.

  “We’re good,” Ray confirmed.

  Caruthers closed the door, but not before he gave Clint one last hard look. That was the way things were in this town. Clint would always be the bad guy … even when he wasn’t. But then he’d known that before he’d come back.

  “Look, Clint, I’m not trying to put you off.” Ray presented an understanding face that lacked any substance. “All the files ten years old or older were moved to permanent storage in the basement of the courthouse. I’ll need time to find that one … if it wasn’t damaged beyond salvaging in that water leak a couple years back. But you have my word that I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sounded like an excuse to Clint. “You do that.” Ray had no intention of allowing him anywhere near those files.

  When Clint reached the door, Ray stopped him with one last question: “Any chance Emily Wallace was watching your place yesterday?”

  “No.” Clint started to leave it at that, but he hesitated, decided to make things perfectly clear. “I don’t think she’ll be coming around my place anymore.”

  She’d learned a hard truth. Had felt guilty. So she’d come to pay her penance. He understood that yesterday was nothing more than a pity fuck.

  She wouldn’t be back.

  2:45 P.M.

  Ray dreaded this one about as much as he had Clint’s.

  Getting through it was necessary.

  Mike would question Larry Medford, and Fitzpatrick would handle Perry Woods.

  Ray entered the interview room where Troy Baker waited for him. That was one of the perks of being chief. The jobs no one else wanted were always yours.

  “Troy.”

  He didn’t look up. Sat at the table, his head bowed as if he were praying.

  Ray sat down across from him and opened his notepad. Someone had already brought Troy a cup of coffee. He hadn’t touched it.

  “I need some answers, Troy. Why don’t you start with the last time you saw Keith,” Ray suggested when Troy still didn’t look up.

  Troy lifted his head. One cheek was bruised and scraped. His nose was swollen; both eyes were black. “You know when I saw him last.”

  Ray had expected Troy to be upset. Keith had been his best friend. But where was the anger? The need for vengeance? This resignation was not typical Troy behavior.

  “So you didn’t see him at all after Saturday night when Violet dropped you off at home?”

  Troy shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Where were you yesterday morning?” Ray didn’t like that blank look on Troy’s face. He liked Troy’s lack of emotion even less. This was wrong somehow.

  “Passed out in my truck in my own front yard.” He met Ray’s eyes again. “Ask Patricia. She came home from church and found me. I’d climbed in the truck after Violet took me home. That’s where I slept it off.”

  That still left him with no alibi until noon yesterday. But why would Troy kill Keith? There was tension between them because of Austin. But enough to commit murder? Ray just couldn’t swallow that.

  “I need to see your hands, Troy.”

  He flattened his hands on the table. Bruised and scratched.

  “Did you do all that Saturday night?”

  Troy nodded. “Where else? I told you I was dead to the world after that.”

  “You don’t know of anyone Keith was having trouble with?”

  Troy shook his head. “Nobody except that bastard Austin.” Hatred glinted in those dull eyes for a beat or two before he looked away again.

  “What about suicide? Was Keith having any trouble that might have made him want to end his life?” Ray couldn’t see that. This was a small town. If Keith and Violet were having any real problems, he would have heard about it.

  “Can’t think of a thing.”

  Ray couldn’t put his finger on the problem, but there was definitely a problem. Troy looked hungover as hell; that was true. But there was more, deeper. A defeat of some sort.

  “Any more questions?” Again Troy didn’t look at him.

  “That’s all for now.”

  Troy pushed out of his chair and walked to the door.

  “You let me know,” Ray said, “if you think of anything that might help with this investigation.”

  His hand on the door, Troy didn’t look back. “Sure.”

  Ray rubbed his chin and thought about Troy’s reaction for a bit. Definitely off. As badly as Troy had to be hurting, he hadn’t launched a verbal attack as he usually did.

  Maybe Ray would get lucky and the ABI would find some usable physical evidence at the scene.

  But so far luck had been looking the other way in Pine B luff.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  3:30 P.M.

  Emily was summoned to City Hall. Ray wanted her to come in and answer a few questions.

  Keith was dead.

  She couldn’t believe it. God, Violet and the kids would be devastated.

  Emily hadn’t left her room since returning from Clint’s place the day before. Part of her kept hoping her parents would call and invite her home. Maybe she should have taken the first step, but she hadn’t. She’d tinkered with her lists some more, finally had them in shape to turn over to Ray. Outside that, she’d spent a good deal of time trying to banish the confusing episode in the barn. She couldn’t say she regretted what she’d done. But she felt uncertain about herself … about everything.

  The chief’s secretary wasn’t at her desk, so Emily went straight to his door and knocked.

  “Come on in!”

  Emily steeled herself and opened the door.

  Ray pushed to his feet and offered his hand across his desk. “Thank you for coming, Emily.”

  She walked straight over, shook his hand, and wilted into the chair he indicated. “I can hardly believe it. I’m sure Violet is inconsolable.”

  Ray nodded and resumed his seat. “She’s pretty torn up.”

  “And his father.” Keith had been an only child. Granville had doted on him nonstop. The poor man would be grief stricken.

  “You can imagine,” Ray offered.

  She could.

  “That’s why I called you here, Emily,” he explained. “We want to be as thorough as possible.”

  “Of course. Anything I can do.”

  “You’ve spoken with Violet recently. Did you pick up on any trouble between them?”

  What was he saying? “Surely you don’t consider Violet a suspect?”

  “We have to consider the spouse as well as anyone close to the victim.”

  Emily exhaled a weary breath. “I’m sorry. Of course you do. But, in answer to your question, I haven’t been that close to anyone since … Heather’s murder. So I’m not really the best person to ask.”

  “You’re not aware of any encounters between Clint and Keith? I know you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on Clint.”

  Now she understood what this was about. “Is Clint a suspect?” Dumb question. Sure he was.

  “Right now most anyone who knew Keith is a suspect.” Ray leaned back in his chair.

  He didn’t mention Heather’s murder. Or Emily’s father’s visit.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that Clint held Troy or Keith
responsible for the fire?”

  “No.”

  Ray stared at something on his desk for a long moment. Was there something more he couldn’t tell her? Something that implicated Clint?

  “Where were you between ten and eleven yesterday morning?”

  “Is that when you think he died?”

  “It’s an estimate. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  Evidently Clint hadn’t told Ray he’d been with her. “Did you question Clint?” She was sure he had.

  Ray hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

  “Then you should know where I was.”

  The confusion on his face confirmed her deduction.

  “I was with Clint.”

  Ray’s expression turned wary. “He didn’t mention it.”

  “If the estimated time is right, Austin does have an alibi.”

  “He claims he was home, alone.”

  “He was home,” Emily agreed, “but he wasn’t alone. I was with him.”

  All reaction had been banished from Ray’s face now. “Why would he withhold that information? Having confirmation of his alibi would be very important for Clint.”

  Emily moistened her lips, tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. “Maybe to protect me; I don’t know.” She looked directly into Ray’s eyes. “I have no reason to lie for him.”

  She would prefer Ray didn’t ask for details. Memories, too vivid to ignore, kept filtering through her head, reminding her of what she’d done.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with what your father told me yesterday, does it?” Ray eyed her closely. “If you’re feeling guilty because of the information your father withheld, you shouldn’t.”

  He did think she was lying! How could he believe that? Of course she should feel guilty. So should he! She reached for her purse. Whether it served any purpose or not, she wanted him to see what she’d come up with.

  “There are things about Heather’s murder that—”

  “That investigation is over.” He cut her off. “Closed.”

  “Wait.” She looked up, surprised at his sharp tone. “If he’s innocent—”