by Terri Reed
They walked in silence through the park toward where he’d parked the truck. They entered an unlit side alley that would lead them directly to their vehicle, when a deeper shadow moved against the building. Roman halted, pulling Leah behind him.
A man slowly rose from where he’d been sitting on the stoop of a shop’s side door.
“Can you spare some change?” a gravelly voice asked.
The stench of alcohol wafted on the humid air. A drunk. Roman relaxed slightly and continued walking with Leah at his heel. “No.”
They passed the wobbly man, who followed closely behind. They had just reached the other end of the alley, when the moon’s light illuminated them and the drunk gasped, “Oh, no!”
Roman swung around. The drunk was now visible, as well. His hair stuck up in all directions and his clothing hung off his thin frame, but it was the way the guy’s face, craggy from too much drink and exposure, grimaced in fear and panic as he stared at Leah that made Roman step forward to grab the man by the arm.
“Who are you?”
The man tried to shake off Roman’s grip. “No, please, no. She’ll kill me.”
“Who?” Roman couldn’t ignore that fact that the drunk’s gaze never left Leah. “Who will kill you?”
The drunk’s gaze swung to Roman. “If I say anything, she’ll kill me, too. Just like she did the others. Please, please, let me go. I need protection.” His glassy-eyed gaze shifted back to Leah. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Leah moved closer, confusion clear in her dark eyes. “Do I know you?”
“Please, please, let me go,” the drunk whimpered, and struggled to get away from Roman.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Roman said, his voice low and soothing. “Tell me who you’re talking about.”
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Gesturing to Leah, Roman asked, “Do you mean her? Has she threatened you?”
The drunk shook his head. “The lady with red hair. She’ll kill me just like she did Angelina.”
“Angelina?” Leah repeated the name. She grabbed Roman’s arm. “The other murder victim. I remember her.”
A jolt of anticipation rocked through Roman. “You do?”
From somewhere down the street, the sound of an engine turning over echoed in the quiet night. Roman’s attention swung in the direction of the sound just as the drunken man yanked free of his grasp and ran back down the alley to disappear into the dark night.
“Let’s go,” Roman said, and hustled Leah to the street.
As they crossed the road, a car peeled away from the curb with squealing tires and bore down on them. Roman pushed Leah aside seconds before the red sports car roared past.
The same car that had been after them before.
As the car braked at the corner, the license plate glowed red in the taillights as the car zipped away.
Hurrying to where Leah had landed in a heap, Roman helped her up. “Are you hurt?”
“A little skinned up.” Her voice shook. “How did he find us?”
“I don’t know, but I got the plate number.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, it’s good.” He hustled Leah into the truck.
Leaving the lights off and keeping a vigilant eye out for the sports car, Roman drove down Main Street and toward the Peel house. “What about this Angelina woman?”
Ducking low so as not to be seen, Leah said, “We read an article that she’d been murdered and her body found in the swamp. But when that man said her name, something flashed in my mind. I could picture her and me, and I remember we were arguing but…Ugh, I can’t recall why.” She pounded the seat with her fist. “This is so frustrating. All these bits and pieces but nothing adding up to a clear picture.”
He reached over and covered her fist with his hand. “It will come in time.”
“Yeah, if I’m not murdered first.”
Anxiety hit Roman squarely in the gut. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
He only hoped they would have enough time to solve this mystery before the police figured out Leah was in town and that Roman was hiding her. Protecting her was serving justice; keeping her out of jail and alive was the only option to uncover the truth behind the murders. The risk to himself was worth the price if justice would be served.
But deep inside a little voice warned that the price he’d pay might be not only his career, but also his heart.
SIX
The next morning, Roman left early to pay the local sheriff a visit. Taking precautions not to be recognized by their would-be assailants, he changed from his normal attire and instead borrowed clothes from the bedroom closet, clothes left behind for obvious reasons, in his opinion. The loud Bermuda shorts, tourist T-shirt with the name of a local swamp tour company blazoned across the front, baseball cap and sunglasses virtually guaranteed he wouldn’t be recognized by whoever was after Leah. So not his style.
Last night he’d sent his ex-partner on the Baton Rouge police department the license number of the red sports car. Roman expected information to be forthcoming. And then he’d pay a little visit to the driver.
But for now, his visit to the sheriff required his attention.
The old sheriff’s station house stood on the corner just down the street from the Loomis Christian Church. In keeping with the town’s motif, the station house was a square brick building with white-trimmed windows. The American flag and the state of Louisiana flag flew from posts out front.
Roman pushed through the outer double doors. Cool air blasted him in the face. Roman’s T-shirt, wet from the humid air outside, cooled and stuck to his back. He made his way to the desk sergeant and asked for Sheriff Reed. Within a few minutes, Roman was shown into a glass-walled office where Sheriff Bradford Reed sat behind a wide oak desk.
The sheriff tipped back in his chair and spat tobacco into a small can. “What can I do for y’all?”
Roman had debated how best to play this and decided that going in with as much of the truth as possible would better serve his purposes. “Name’s Roman Black. I’m a bounty hunter hired by Dennis Farley, Earl Farley’s brother, to track down Earl’s killer.”
Sheriff Reed’s gray eyes stared at him from beneath his heavy brows. “A bounty hunter. You don’t say.” His gaze narrowed. “Seems I remember you from years back. You grew up here in Loomis, didn’t y’all?”
Not surprised that the sheriff remembered him from his rebellious teenage days, Roman inclined his head. “That’s right, Sheriff. I’d like to ask you some questions about the recent murders that have taken place here.”
“Thought you said you was hired to find Farely’s murderer. What’s the interest in the other deaths?”
“I was hoping you could tell me if the deaths were connected.”
Sheriff Reed shrugged his wide shoulders. “Could be. Maybe not. We’re still working every angle.”
“What do you know about the red-haired woman?”
A small tic appeared near the sheriff’s eye. “What red-haired woman would that be?”
“I’ve been told that a red-haired woman was seen at one of the crime scenes,” Roman stated, stretching the drunk’s words slightly.
Sheriff Reed sat up. “Where did you hear this?”
“An anonymous tip. Do you think this red-haired woman could be behind Earl’s death?”
Reed stood. His paunch butted up against the edge of his desk. “I think y’all best leave this investigation to the authorities, Mr. Bounty Hunter.”
Interesting reaction. Defensive or hiding something? “Do you know of any reason why Earl Farley would have blackmailed Dylan Renault?”
The sheriff scratched his chin, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Like I said, y’all best leave this alone.” Warning echoed in the sheriff’s voice.
Had Roman made a tactical error in revealing himself to the sheriff? Was the sheriff himself behind Leah’s disappearance? Time for Roman to retreat and rethink his strategy. Maybe ca
lling the FBI would be a wise decision.
Reed came around the desk and motioned for Roman to leave his office. Careful to keep his face hidden beneath his baseball cap, Roman passed through the station and made eye contact with one deputy in particular, Roman’s contact within the Loomis department. The deputy gave a small nod of acknowledgment, and Roman continued on his way out the door. Once he was outside, the humid air reclaimed him and the sweet smell of the jasmine growing along the sidewalk filled his senses.
He slowly walked down the street toward the church, his posture slouched slightly and head down. The sheriff was stonewalling him. Because he was territorial about the case or because he was part of the problem? Rumor had it the sheriff was lazy, just wanted to retire. But there had definitely been a re-action to the mention of the red-haired woman. An investigation into the sheriff was definitely needed. Roman’s friend Karl would be able to pick apart Sheriff Reed’s life and see if the man was dirty.
Just as Roman reached for his BlackBerry to e-mail Karl with the request, the device buzzed at his waist, letting him know he had an incoming text. He glanced at the ID. Deputy Olsen texted that he’d meet Roman inside the church in fifteen minutes. Roman continued walking toward the church’s side entrance.
Remembering that he’d told Leah he would ask Clint about Dr. Pierce, he tried Clint’s cell phone. The voice mail picked up. He quickly left a message for Clint to call him.
Behind the church, a playground surrounded by a wooden fence marked the boundaries of the Loomis Preschool and Daycare area. No children were out in the yard at the moment.
The church’s redbrick structure with its white-trimmed arched windows and steepled bell tower hadn’t changed a bit since he lived in town. Not that he’d attended services. He hadn’t much believed in God back then, but now he did. Earl’s brother, Dennis, was a man of strong faith, and he had helped Roman find the truth in the Bible that God loved him. And Leah was helping him feel God’s presence by her quiet faith.
Roman glanced around to reassure himself he wasn’t being watched before entering the church. Thankfully, the town wasn’t too busy on this already-hot late morning, and the few people braving the heat paid him no mind.
The cool interior smelled of lemon polish and candle wax. The wooden pews lined the red carpeted aisle that led to the altar. Roman slipped into the back corner pew. Since he had a few moments, he closed his eyes and silently prayed for not only guidance, protection and success in finding the truth about the tragedy Leah was embroiled in but also for success in finding the man who had hurt his mother. All he wanted was peace—peace and justice.
The door to the sanctuary opened and Deputy Olsen slipped inside and sat beside Roman. “I couldn’t get the file,” Olsen said, his voice low. “Sheriff’s got it under lock and key since Mrs. Renault has been by almost every day demanding to know what’s being done to find her son’s killer.”
“I’ll bet.” Roman would have liked to have seen the official report so he could get a better idea of how the investigation was proceeding. “Tell me about the sheriff. Do you think he could be involved in these deaths?”
Olsen’s eyebrows rose. He let out a scoff. “Bradford can barely get out of his own way. He may be a bit of a buffoon, but he’s not a murderer. Besides, he’s so close to retirement, I doubt he’d do anything to screw that up.”
Roman wasn’t convinced, but he let it go for now. “So what can you tell me?”
“Not much more than I already have. As I said, the mucky mucks are keeping things pretty close to the vest.”
“What do you know about the red-haired woman?”
Olsen’s eyebrows rose, and he peered down his thin nose at Roman. “How do you know about the red hair?”
Deciding to keep his own information close, he shrugged. “Just heard a rumor.”
Olsen snorted. “This town. I tell ya what. Gossip and rumors abound without any regard to propriety.”
“It’s Loomis,” Roman replied in an attempt to explain the less-than-favorable behavior of its residents.
“Right.” Olsen shook his head in disgust. “There were red fibers found at both the Earl Farley and Dylan Renault crime scenes. At first, the fibers appeared to be strands of long red hair, but according to the FBI’s forensic team, they believe they may have come from a wig rather than from an actual head, even though the fibers were human. But—” Olsen lifted a shoulder “—that hasn’t helped solve the cases.”
“Any witnesses to any of the deaths?”
Olsen shook his head. “Not a one. Whoever is doing this is very clever.”
Roman’s heart rate picked up speed. Maybe not clever enough, because there was a witness.
The town drunk.
Now all Roman had to do was find him and make him talk.
Roman contemplated revealing this information to Deputy Olsen but decided he wanted to have a chance to question the witness before he handed him over to the sheriff’s department. Roman rose. “Thanks for the info, man. I appreciate it.”
Olsen held up a hand. “One thing. You might want to talk with Leah Farley’s friend, the librarian, Shelby Mason.”
Roman sat back down. “Thought you said there were no witnesses.”
“She’s not a witness to the murders, but she had some interesting things to say that would definitely give Leah Farley motive to kill her husband and Dylan Renault.”
Feeling as if he’d just been hit with a sledgehammer to the chest, Roman said, “Tell me.”
“She reported that she and Leah were drugged during a Renault Christmas party—”
A door near the altar opened and the pastor walked out.
“She’ll have to tell you the rest.” Olsen rose and quietly slipped out of the church.
Dread seized Roman’s gut. Seemed there was one more person in this town Roman needed to find. The local librarian had a tale to tell.
One that could put Leah behind bars.
Imprisoned by their need for secrecy, Leah sat inside the shuttered and stifling-hot Peel house on the hard blue-and-gold living-room settee, trying desperately to remember something, anything. But nothing pierced the black void she used to be grateful for.
There had to be a way for her to remember what went on before she’d been kidnapped and left in that ditch. She needed help.
She stilled. That was the answer. Professional help.
What was the name of the doctor on the wall plaque by the office last night? Price? No, that wasn’t it, but close. Pierce. Yes.
Jocelyn Pierce. Why was her name so familiar? Had they only been neighbors, or had they been friends?
Leah needed a phone book. She searched through the drawers in the kitchen and the sideboard in the hall. Finally, she unearthed a thick phone book on the top shelf of the hall closet. She quickly flipped to the white pages and found the number for Dr. Jocelyn Pierce, child psychologist.
Leah wrote her number down and prayed she could trust this woman.
She contemplated calling the counselor now but decided she’d wait for Roman to return. She didn’t want to break his trust by revealing her presence in Loomis without his agreement.
To keep herself busy, she spent the next hour cleaning the house while listening to Colleen read stories from the various magazines that Mort had brought home from the store. As she mopped the kitchen floor, it came to her where she’d read Jocelyn’s name. Dr. Pierce had been the woman quoted in an article Leah had read. Jocelyn had called Leah her friend. Surely, she’d help Leah now.
When Roman finally returned, Leah immediately told him her idea of seeing the psychologist and of the doctor’s statement in the paper.
His expression turned thoughtful. “Might be a good idea. We’d have to figure out a way to get you there without being seen. Our friend in the sports car could be anyone or anywhere.”
A shiver of apprehension skated over her skin. She couldn’t forget last night’s near miss. Whoever was after her had been staking out the pawnshop.
Would they be watching the doctor’s office, as well? It was a risk she was willing to take.
“What did you learn while you were out?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Enough to know we need to find that bum and question him,” he replied.
“Were you able to talk with Clint? Is Sarah seeing Dr. Pierce?”
“I left him a message.” He indicated the sideboard where the phone sat. “You should make the call.”
Leah swallowed back the sudden trepidation clogging her throat. What would she say? Hi, I’m an accused murderer and need help remembering if I really killed my husband so I’ll know if I can ever return to my child? Should go over real well.
She reached for the phone and dialed.
A woman answered. “Dr. Pierce.”
Leah cleared her throat. “Yes, um…” Should she reveal herself so quickly? “I’d like to make an appointment.”
“Have you been seen by this office before?”
Leah frowned, concentrating on the doctor’s voice. If only she could remember how close they were. Leah could only hope some memories would rise up once she and the doctor were face-to-face. “No. I’d be a new patient. I think.”
Dr. Pierce gave a small laugh. “You think?”
Leah smiled, already liking the warmth in the other woman’s tone. “No, I know. I’d be a new patient. Do you have time to see me this afternoon?”
“Yes, I do. Though, you realize I specialize in children?”
“I do.” She latched on to the simplest excuse available to her. “But there doesn’t seem to be any other psychologist in town.”
Would this woman really be able to help her, or was she grasping at straws? More important, was this doctor helping her daughter?
“True. Could you come to my office at two this afternoon?”
“Two o’clock?” Leah looked to Roman for confirmation of the time. It only gave them an hour to prepare. He nodded. “Yes, two would work,” Leah said into the phone.
“Wonderful. And your name?”