You Can Run

by David Banner

  “Save it.” The detective sighed. “I’ve heard it all before.”

  The two made their way back to Virginia’s car, climbed inside, and shut the doors. She sat there with her hands pressed against the steering wheel, going over and over everything he’d said. He was the worst kind of person, and she was going to do her best to bring him to justice.

  “So, this Connie and Clyde thing . . . it’s a revenge plot?” Taylor asked.

  “Looks like it.” Virginia started her car. “Now we just need to look at all the people Miller, Maynor, and Mont have wronged. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THURSDAY, 4 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “Wait here,” Virginia said, focusing on the soft blue of Taylor’s eyes. “I need to speak to Hindle alone. He doesn’t like the idea of outside help.”

  “You mentioned.” Taylor smiled, revealing a pair of dimples Virginia hadn’t really noticed until then.

  She knew how this was going to go, how she would have to play this thing off if she was going to make it work. Jacob Hindle liked facts, hard, cold facts he could write down on a piece of paper and come back to later if need be.

  What he didn’t like were things like hearsay and suspicion, which happened to be all Virginia Nixon really had at the moment. Still, she needed this to happen if she were going to have any hope of getting near Patrick Maynor.

  “Virginia,” said the chief as she entered his office.

  “Chief,” she said, “I need a warrant.”

  She’d always found it best to lay the facts out straight when dealing with Hindle. For as much as he hated the lack of factual evidence, he hated beating around the bush even more.

  “A warrant?” He raised his eyes from his computer screen.

  “Patrick Maynor. We have reason to believe he’s involved in the Connie and Clyde murders and that he’s withholding evidence. We—”

  “We?” His head tilted slightly.

  “My team, I mean . . .” she corrected herself, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  It wasn’t unheard of for detectives to take on outside help or consultants. At least not in most places. It was just common practice to run them through a vetting process and let your superiors know. That, however, would have taken much longer than Virginia would have liked.

  “Go ahead.” He nodded.

  “Patrick Maynor. He operates an accounting firm that has come up in my investigation several times. I’ve paid him a couple of visits and am convinced he knows more than he’s letting on.”

  “What has you so sure?”

  “Just his attitude in general. Things he says. It’s a feeling, but I know I’m right.”

  “Feelings don’t hold up so well in my department. You know that. Give me facts, Detective,” he said, frustration rising in his voice.

  “Both Maria Juarez and the most recent murder victim worked for him. One current employee and one former found dead. Aside from that, I have a hunch that either Connie or Clyde used to be somehow involved with his company too.”

  “I don’t like the ladder.” He took a pen from its holder. “What did he say about his employees being killed?”

  “He was pretty tight-lipped. He’s a coward. But he’s protective over his reputation, so the threat of being arrested might just do the trick in getting him to speak.”

  “So you don’t actually plan on bringing him in, then?”

  “I doubt it will come to that,” Vee answered, finally taking a seat. “His client base is made up of some pretty high-profile people. Not the kind that like to have their money involved in any kind of legality. I’m sure that reminding him of that will spur a more helpful side.”

  She’d seen this look before. The one of deep contemplation on her chief’s part. He was studied and careful, never one to jump the gun. His eyes slowly drifted back and forth between his computer screen and Virginia. She knew he trusted her, that he knew she was capable and competent. Still, this was his department. His mistakes to answer for once made.

  “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll work on getting you what you need. In the meantime I’m going to need a detailed workup of where you are so far.”

  “All right.” She nodded.

  “I’m also going to need you to involve your team a little more.”

  “Chief, I—”

  “I’m gonna stop you right there. Police work is a team effort, Virginia. No investigator works alone. I don’t want you out in the field with no one to talk to and no one to catch you if you fall.”

  “I’m good,” she said, Taylor’s face flashing through her mind.

  “What about that officer you went out with a few—”

  “Chief.” She stopped him. “I don’t see how my personal life has anything to do with—”

  “Yes, you do.” He locked eyes with her. “I’m not foolish enough to think anyone keeps personal business separate from work. One part of life bleeds into another, Virginia. There’s no way to stop it. Like I said, I don’t like seeing you alone.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but believe me, I’m fine.” She stood, a strand of brown hair falling into her face.

  “Don’t,” he said as she went to brush it away. “It looks nice down.”

  “The warrant,” she said as she headed for the door. “Let me know when you have it.”

  Chief Hindle nodded from his chair as she left the office. She couldn’t help but let his words weigh on her, though she kept assuring herself that she was alone by choice. Relationships were complicated and messy. She had been through enough of them to know it wasn’t something she needed at the moment. She was fine. She had her work and that was enough.

  Virginia caught sight of Taylor as she stepped off the elevator. He sat in the lobby of the police station with his head tilted back against the wall and his eyes closed. Her eyes scanned his body, looking at him in a way she was only comfortable with from a distance.

  He was attractive, there was no denying it, and as she watched his chest rise and fall in slow breaths, she heard her chief’s words again, reminding her that she was alone.

  “Okay,” she said, softly knocking her foot against his. “He’s working on it. What do you say we get some lunch?”

  “I’ve been asked out on dates in better ways, but sure.” He smiled.

  “Get up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THURSDAY, 5 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “I thought you worked at a really fancy place?” Virginia said as the two stepped into a small diner.

  “I do.” He smiled, his dimples once again visible under the bright fluorescent lights. “But I work here on my off days. The owner also owns my apartment building. I do this for him and he makes sure my rent isn’t an issue. It’s a fair tradeoff.”

  “I’ve never even noticed this place.” She took a seat at the bar. “I haven’t seen one of these in a while.”

  Virginia looked around at old stone walls and a woefully unbalanced staircase perched in the rear corner. Like so many other places on Savannah’s famed River Street, the place had a character all its own. It seemed almost stuck in time somehow, as though if she looked hard enough, she could still see the past playing out before her eyes.

  It reminded her of her father, in some ways. She missed him . . . that is, when she allowed herself to think about him. Dwelling on the past wasn’t really her thing, though, preferring to focus on the here and now, on getting the job done.

  “This place doesn’t open on Thursdays.” Taylor stepped behind the bar.

  “Then why are we here?” she asked, her finger tracing the tattered stone edges of the bar.

  “Because. We make the best whiskey milkshakes in Savannah.”

  “You mean bourbon milkshakes?”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “I mean whiskey. Kentucky whiskey. They were bourbon when I started, but like I told you before, nothing tastes like Kentucky. It took a little convincing, but I got th
e owner to let me make a batch. Since then, it’s whiskey all the way.”

  “All right,” Virginia said. “I’m game.”

  “Something told me you would be.” Taylor grinned.

  “Tell me about Kentucky.”

  “Not much to tell.” He removed a tall metal cup from the shelf.

  “I doubt that.” Vee leaned forward, her arms resting on the bar. “Everywhere has stories.”

  Taylor paused for a beat, the sweet grin slowly melting from his face.

  “Okay. I was born in a little place called Mount Sterling. It’s about forty-five minutes east of Lexington, if you know where that is.”

  “I don’t.”

  “There isn’t much there. Lot of mountains. More hollers than roads, and no real flat ground.”

  “What do you mean, no flat ground?”

  “It’s just a place full of mountains. It seems like everywhere you stand, you’re standing on a hill. Some big, some small, but nothing flat.”

  “When did you leave?” Virginia began picturing the small town in her mind.

  “When I was twenty-one,” he said. “That’s when I left for good. I’d left once when I turned eighteen, but that didn’t take. Turns out you need money to live on your own, and being a small town Kentucky boy, I didn’t have much. So . . . I came back, saved up, and left again.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “No,” he said a little too quickly. “I guess maybe there are things I miss about it, but I wouldn’t say I miss that place, no.”

  There was something familiar in his voice, and Virginia found herself drawn to it more than she expected. It wasn’t loneliness, really. It was more of a sense of solitude, one she’d found herself growing more and more comfortable with over time, one she’d managed to see as a safe place.

  “What about girls?” She gave a coy smirk.

  “There were a few.” Taylor didn’t look up, instead keeping his focus on the milkshake in front of him as he slowly and carefully poured two shots of Kentucky whiskey.

  “I bet.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, calling out the look on her face.

  “It just means . . . I bet you had a lot of girlfriends.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “Come on.” She chuckled. “A sweet country boy like you. I bet you brought them in from every county within miles. I mean, look at you.”

  “So, that’s it, huh? I’m a small town guy who looks like this, and suddenly, I had nothing better to do with my time than hook up with everybody around? Nice, Vee. Real nice . . .”

  “Am I wrong?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, you are.” He gave the milkshake one final stir and slid it across the counter. “I lived in Montgomery County for over twenty years, and in that time, I dated exactly four girls.”

  Virginia Nixon didn’t like to admit when she was wrong, nor did she like to admit when she was surprised. What she hated the most, though, was admitting she was both. After all, it wasn’t out of the bounds of reason for her to think what she’d thought. Taylor Clarke was a good-looking guy who could have likely had any girl he’d wanted. How was she to know only four girls had made the cut?

  “Must have been long relationships,” she said, trying her best to salvage the conversation.

  “One was.” He took a seat behind the bar, watching as she took the first sip of the milkshake he’d so carefully crafted. “Becky Bremers. We dated for a while. Sometimes on, sometimes off, but we always ended up back together. I guess I just don’t like Christmases alone. At least, I didn’t then . . .”

  “Time changes a lot.” Virginia took a sip of the milkshake.

  He was right, the sweet darkness of straight Kentucky whiskey complimented the cherry vanilla milkshake in wonderful and complex ways. The flavors danced across her tongue, playing out an intricate melody of creamy flavor.

  “This is pretty damn good,” she said, taking another sip. “You didn’t want one?”

  “I usually only drink one a week. You know . . . gotta keep this body looking good for that endless line of Kentucky women at my door.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought . . . I don’t know what I thought, actually. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he answered. “You’re not the first person in the world to make a snap judgement, right?”

  “What happened with Becky?” the detective asked.

  “We lost touch after I left. I hear she got married to that Rogers boy from Salt Lick and popped out a couple of kids.” He shrugged. “I’m sure she’s happy enough.”

  It was an odd statement. The words ‘happy enough’ spoke more about the man than he probably realized, and for the first time since meeting him, Virginia felt like she understood him. At least in some way.

  “Let’s go,” she said, looking down at her phone. “He’s got the warrant.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Hindle and the judge are old golf buddies. I didn’t expect it to take too long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THURSDAY, 7 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “Wait here,” Virginia said, leaving Taylor behind in her office. “And don’t mess anything up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, plopping himself down in her chair.

  A few quick phone calls brought Patrick Maynor into the interrogation room as he waited for Virginia to make it back. She found herself rather excited by the idea of finally getting to interview the man in a proper setting and hoped he would be able to shed some light on the situation.

  That excitement quickly deflated once she stepped into the interview room to find not only Patrick Maynor but also his attorney. Somehow, in the rush of things, she’d managed not to think of his lawyer. Now, though, standing in the doorway and staring them both in the face, the thought of interviewing a man like Patrick alone seemed ridiculous.

  Of course he wouldn’t come alone. No one with that much money and that much to lose would ever be so stupid. She gathered herself, trying her hardest not to look anything other than fully prepared.

  “Mr. Maynor,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

  “Ms. Nixon.” He nodded. “This is Tim Myers, my attorney.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Tim said, his face void of any emotion. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you’ve called us here?”

  It was a power tactic, one she recognized and often used herself. Take control of the conversation before anyone else has the chance. Not only did this let everyone else know you were ready for them, but it also served as a way to say you couldn’t be trampled on, that you weren’t up for the idea of being the submissive one in the conversation.

  “I brought you here to talk about your client’s involvement with a string of murders attributed to the serial killer duo Connie and Clyde.”

  “And what makes you think my client has anything to do with that?”

  “For starters, two of the victims were employees of your client’s firm. One current and one former. Then there’s his name. I’m hearing it a lot in my investigation.”

  “Coincidences, all,” Tim scoffed.

  “Twice is a coincidence. Anything more is evidence,” Virginia said, opening a small folder and laying the contents out on the table in rows.

  “There is nothing you can say, no empty threat you can make that will force my client to speak on a case in which you have no proof of his involvement,” Tim answered.

  He was a tall, lumbering kind of man. The kind you see coming from a mile away and wonder to yourself how they ever find clothes that fit. A large swoosh of black hair fell across his head from right to left, reminding Virginia of a caricature of a man more than a man.

  Her nose wrinkled at the overpowering scent of his cologne. Like most men, he wore way too much, and the detective could already feel her head beginning to ache from the fumes. It always puzzled her as to why anyone would want to wear so much of a scent. Why not just a light spritz? Why drown yours
elf in the stuff?

  She wouldn’t get anywhere playing good cop, though, that much was sure. People like Patrick Maynor responded best to one thing. Fear. She needed him to see just how fragile he truly was, just how much he really had to lose.

  “What is that?” Patrick asked.

  “These are some of your highest-profile clients, Mr. Maynor. The kind of people with a lot of money tied up in your firm. Everything from rappers to restaurant moguls. Something tells me these aren’t the kind of people who like the idea of legal worries.”

  “Are you threatening my client?” Tim asked wide-eyed.

  “I’m simply passing along a theory. The theory that these kind of people wouldn’t take kindly to losing money. Nor would they take kindly to the idea of their funds being frozen due to a murder investigation.”

  “What do you want?” Patrick asked.

  It was a simple question with a simple answer. Virginia Nixon wanted her case to end. She wanted to find the people responsible for taking innocent lives from this world and leaving behind nothing more than memories. She wanted the same thing she had since first stepping foot into that hotel. She wanted justice.

  “Information,” Virginia said. “I’ll ask you once. Are you willing to talk?”

  It was as though someone had sucked the oxygen from the room. As though in that moment, the world had stopped spinning and everything around them had fallen silent. She could hear his breath, the slow rise and fall of his lungs as he considered his options.

  “Fine,” he said finally. “Ask your questions.”

  She’d done it. She’d managed to find the perfect threat, the magic bullet that forced his words. Now all there was left to do was ask the right questions, the kind of questions that provided the answers she needed to bring Connie and Clyde out of the shadows and into the light.

  “When did you last—”

  “Ms. Nixon,” A deep voice cut through the air. “My name is Special Agent Dennis Wood. Please stop the interview. We’ll be handling it from here.”