“Don’t we all? If she knows something about the murder, you can shake it out of her. I wouldn’t put anything past your sister. For all you know, she might have killed Ainsley.”
I let Libby’s words absorb into me and weighed their truth. Delaney was a lot of things—but a murderer? “You’re forgetting the most important point here,” I said slowly. “Delaney had no motive to kill Ainsley.”
“That you know of.”
A hollow laugh rattled in my throat. “This is ridiculous.”
“Isn’t it worth a shot? What have you got to lose?”
I gently patted the bald patch on my scalp. This was what happened when you crossed Delaney or didn’t jump to do her bidding. How far would my sister go if she discovered I was deliberately trying to sabotage her plans—if she indeed harbored such a scheme?
“Come on, Violet,” she said gruffly. Libby’s fingers dug into the chair’s armrests, and she watched me with an unnatural intensity in her heavily mascaraed eyes.
Suspicion skittered down my back. Slow I might be, but I eventually caught on. “What do you have against my sister?”
“Nothing.” Libby shrugged, but I caught the flash of guilt in her eyes.
“Out with it.”
“Okay, okay. She might have stolen an old boyfriend. But that was a long time ago. I’m over it.”
Libby had a personal agenda. That was why she’d befriended me so quickly and unexpectedly that day in the drugstore. That was why she fed me misgivings on Delaney’s character. And that was why she wanted to turn me away from my sister.
I rose. “No, you’re not over it. Never were. You’re trying to use me to get back at Delaney.”
“That’s not true. I swear it isn’t. Okay, maybe at first, but not now.”
I grabbed my purse and rushed out the door. On the porch, I picked up my umbrella but didn’t bother opening it. What did I care if the rain soaked me through and through? Maybe a good soaking would wash away some of my stupid.
“Hey, don’t leave like this, Violet.” Libby followed me out to the porch. “Come back, and let’s talk.”
I trudged to the car and got in without a backward glance. Should have known from the get-go that Libby’s sudden friendship was fishy. I was a damn pariah in the town. Nobody wanted shit to do with me. I gunned the car’s motor. Through the windshield wipers, I spotted a glimpse of Libby standing on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, staring forlornly into the darkness.
A momentary twinge of sympathy surged through me, but I suppressed the urge to return to Libby’s house with its offer of false comfort and false friendship.
Tires squealing, I peeled out of her driveway, reckless as the storm. Was it possible Delaney had killed Ainsley? If so, why? Pure meanness? Images of my sister exploded in my mind in a dizzying series, illuminated like flashbulbs against a black canvas—Delaney holding out a pill bottle to Dad, handing me the glass of herbal tea, the rage in her eyes as she’d grabbed my hair, sneaking in shopping bags from her trip to Birmingham, throwing a stone at the crow. Suspicion unearthed something dark and long suppressed within me. The string of tiny bells dangling from the front interior window jangled like a warning. The windshield wipers swished to and fro, split and splat. I fell into a mild road trance.
Split splat. Get Delaney back.
Splat split. Give Delaney fits.
Whatever else I thought of Libby, she was right. I was sick of playing the pawn in my sister’s schemes and had been pushed to my limits. Time for a little pushback. In psycho-speak, time to sharpen my assertive skills. Who knew what buried secrets might be unearthed? Delaney was a well of deception.
Mind trickery. After all my years living with Alabama’s most crazy, this should be a snap. I’d break Delaney like a twig and pry the truth from her lying lips. If she was the one who’d really killed Ainsley . . . I’d make her pay. Serve up my own dish of southern-fried justice.
And I knew just how to start the process.
Chapter 26
BOONE
Present day
This was a fool’s errand Josh and I were on. In his zeal to solve the Dalfred case, Josh had insisted we drive out to question an old suspect in the disappearance.
Unless he’d moved without notifying local law enforcement—which in itself was a parole violation for sexual offenses—Gerald “Dinky” Stedmyer still lived at the end of a pothole-riddled dirt road that abutted the Alabama River. The farther Josh and I drove, the narrower the road became, until low-lying tree limbs scratched the vehicle. The high-pitched grating of metal chafed my already dour mood.
“You sure you know where you’re going, Kimbrel?” Josh asked, frowning as he looked out the passenger window.
“Lived here all my life,” I muttered, swerving to avoid a pothole large enough to do serious fender damage. This road was even worse than I remembered. That, or time had deteriorated the already appalling road conditions. Moss-laden trees encroached upon the area, and the packed dirt of the road had eroded to the point that it was almost unnavigable.
“How much further? Maybe we should ditch the car and walk the rest of the way.”
“Can’t stop now,” I answered, not without a bit of petty satisfaction. “No way to turn the car around until we reach the clearing by the river.”
“How much further?”
“Can’t rightly say. Could still be a ways to go.” I glanced at Josh, who was sharply dressed for fashion and not for comfort. “This was your idea,” I reminded him.
Now that Ainsley’s remains had been found and Josh was reviewing the old files, my rookie partner was insistent on becoming a hero and solving this case. I suspected that meant pinning the blame on the most convenient target. Which was why I found myself on this ridiculous drive. Josh had leaped at the theory that Dinky Stedmyer was a prime candidate for the murder. Upon learning of a recently released sexual offender around the time of Ainsley’s disappearance, Josh had seized on the notion that I had been incompetent in my initial interviews with the suspect and had overlooked some vital clue that would establish his guilt.
“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in about my suit.” Josh shrugged out of his jacket and undid another button on his neatly pressed oxford shirt.
It had been all I could do not to grin outright when Josh had arrived at the office this morning, eager for his first murder-investigation interview. Instead, I’d merely quirked a brow at this rookie behavior. “You going to be mighty hot and uncomfortable before the day’s end.”
Ker-thunk.
My stomach dropped as if I’d nosedived on an amusement park ride. The unmistakable sound of scraping metal followed the thump. Our fender was toast. “Shit!”
“Sounded bad,” Josh offered unnecessarily.
Well, now, wasn’t my partner the observant one?
“Want me to get out and take a look?”
“No point. Car still runs.” Dan Thornell was going to have a fit when the automotive-repair bill crossed his desk later.
Carefully, I rounded a bend in the path—it could hardly be called a road at this point—and abruptly landed in a small clearing. An ugly cement block house awaited us. It was painted a garish turquoise that was covered with large splotches of mold. Its dark windows winked at me like giant black eyes. An old fishing boat lay partially covered in weeds. Rubbish was strewn willy-nilly about the place, and a rusting Chevy truck was parked by a haphazard plywood structure. “What the hell,” Josh mumbled. “Didn’t know outhouses even existed today.”
“You’re the one who wanted to interview Dinky,” I reminded him.
“Yeah? Well, if I’d known he lived in squalor, I’d have summoned him to our office instead of driving out here.”
“You think this is bad—wait until you get a gander inside the place. That is, if anyone still lives here.”
Without waiting to hear Josh’s response, I got out of the car and walked to the door, kicking junk out of my path as I went.
A car door slammed behind
me, and Josh momentarily appeared at my side, a bit breathless. “If he’s home, maybe we should conduct the interview outside. Might be more sanitary.”
Ignoring his helpful suggestion, I knocked on the door. “Mr. Stedmyer?” I called out. “We’re with the police department. Open up.”
A stirring sounded behind the entryway. I concentrated on the rustling noises, trying to ascertain if it was scampering rats or a human shuffle. The door squeaked open, and it took all my resolve not to take two steps backward at the stench.
I looked down. Gerald Stedmyer wasn’t even five feet tall, and I barely recognized him from my encounter with him eleven years ago. He hadn’t looked chipper then, but now his skin was deeply wrinkled and an unhealthy ash color. Open sores marred his face and arms. He threw a hand up over his eyes, squinting as if he hadn’t seen the sunlight in quite some time.
“Whadda ya want?” He sounded more bewildered than disturbed to find us on his doorstep.
I flashed my badge. “Officer Kimbrel. Do you remember me? We spoke years ago about a young girl’s disappearance near here. Ainsley Dalfred.”
“Dunno her.”
At my nod, Josh opened a folder and pulled out an old black-and-white photo of the victim. Rather than stepping forward and offering it to Dinky, he held the photo at arm’s length. “Does this jog your memory?” he asked.
“Nah. Never seen her.”
Josh’s face hardened. “Look again.”
Dinky leaned toward the photo. Josh’s mouth slightly dropped open, and his nostrils pinched. I hid a smile behind my hand. The kid was trying not to breathe through his nose.
“Dunno her,” Dinky repeated.
“Mr. Stedmyer,” I interrupted. “This has gone from a missing persons case to a murder. Ainsley Dalfred’s remains were found a couple miles from here, at the bottom of the lake.”
“Why ya asking me ’bout her?” He glanced back and forth between us, apparently befuddled.
“Why do you think?” Josh snapped. “You’re a registered sex offender on parole for raping a thirteen-year-old girl.”
Dinky cowered against the doorway. “That was a long time ago.”
“Once a pervert, always a pervert,” Josh said, carefully returning the photo to his folder.
He whimpered like a scolded puppy. “I been good.”
“Then you won’t mind if we search your house?” I asked.
“I-I don’t like people messin’ with my stuff.”
“Just a quick walk-through, then. What do you say?”
Dinky shrugged and moved away from the entry, waving us inside. “I guess that’d be all right.”
Josh slanted me a “You’ve got to be kidding” glare. With a sweep of my arm, I gestured to the open door. “You first.”
I thought he’d refuse, but he took a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and then plunged inside. I followed, similarly bracing myself.
“It’s kinda messy in here this morning,” Dinky warned.
The stench of rot was strong but not unbearable. I’d expected worse. Like its owner, the place was old and falling apart. Cheap, worn pieces of furniture—obvious dumpster finds—were strewn helter-skelter, and piles of dirty, chipped dishes lined the tables and floors.
Dinky hurried by me, gathering up a stack of magazines from the frayed couch. He stuffed them under a chair, but not before I had a chance to see the covers. Some type of nudie mags. Dinky gestured at an old chair with a suspicious yellow stain on its seat cushion.
“Wanna have a seat?” he asked in a surprising show of hospitality.
“That’s okay. We’ll just do a quick walk-through, if you don’t mind.”
“I guess not.” He shifted his feet from side to side, clearly nervous.
It took all of thirty seconds to walk from the main room, through a kitchen, and then to a bedroom. I took only a cursory glance at the stacks of junk. After all this time, there would be nothing here to implicate Dinky in the Dalfred murder, even if he had been the killer. Which I knew was impossible. The only item Stedmyer could possess that would allow us to bring him in would be an object physically linked to Ainsley—such as a piece of the clothing she’d worn the night she vanished, or the missing necklace and braided friendship bracelet her parents claimed that she’d always worn.
None of that had been found with the girl’s remains. The clothes and the bracelet would have disintegrated long ago from water, but the necklace had never been recovered. Most likely the current had washed it away, or the cheap metal had rusted, broken off, and sunk deep into the lake’s sediment.
This whole trip was a pointless waste of time.
Josh picked up a piece of cardboard on the kitchen counter, disturbing several cockroaches, which scurried to the nearest crack in the wall. He squealed like a girl, and this time I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He shot me a dirty look and strode back to Dinky, who rubbed his arms like he was under siege from scurvy.
“You want to finally come clean, Dinky?” Josh asked, jabbing his finger near the man’s chest. “Set your conscience straight after all these years? Must be unbearable to carry so much guilt for so long.”
“I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“Ah, c’mon.” Josh brandished his folder in the air. “I got your rap sheet right here. You’ve been in and out of one institution or another since age eleven, when you inappropriately fondled your six-year-old foster sister.”
Stedmyer swallowed hard, and his crusty lips trembled. But to his credit, he didn’t try to defend himself.
“From there you moved on to other young girls, until it finally escalated to kidnapping and rape.”
“I done served my time fer it.”
Josh made a move as if to step forward but abruptly changed his mind—evidently not wanting to get too near the possibly disease-ridden Dinky.
“If you did this—and we will get to the bottom of this matter—we’ll show no mercy. Unless, of course, you want to confess and cut a deal now.”
Dinky whimpered, and tears spilled down his filthy cheeks. “I don’t wanna go back to prison. They were mean to me.”
I shuddered to imagine how the other felons had preyed upon the man. Inmates were reputed to hold a special hatred for child molesters. That, combined with Dinky’s small size and his obvious mental disabilities, made him the perfect target for the more sadistically inclined prisoners.
Josh pounced on Dinky’s vulnerable admission. “Confess, and I’ll try to arrange matters so that you don’t get sent back there. If you’re declared mentally incompetent, the judge can send you to a psychiatric hospital.”
“But I ain’t crazy neither.”
Josh smiled with no humor. “Your record says otherwise. And take a look around this place. It’s disgusting. Unfit for human habitation. No person in their right mind lives like this.”
His lips wobbled. “But it’s mine. I come and go as I please.”
“Wouldn’t you rather live in a nice room with your own TV? Where all your meals are delivered and your every need is met? Plus you’d be around others and have people to talk with.”
“It do get a mite lonely out here,” Stedmyer agreed in a small voice.
My annoyance with Josh grew to an active dislike. He was too ambitious. He’d reviewed the Dalfred files and fingered the weakest link in the chain, the one person he might manipulate into a confession. Wouldn’t surprise me if he had a statement already printed and in his folder, ready for Dinky’s signature.
“What do you say we end this charade, right here, right now? Tell us how Ainsley ended up at the bottom of Hatchet Lake, and I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
Dinky cast me a desperate look. However reprehensible I found his character, the man was innocent—of this crime, at least. I couldn’t stand by and watch my partner browbeat him into a false confession.
Or could I?
The possibility sparkled in front of me like a shiny Christmas package, wrapped and delivered. One t
hat would solve all my problems. It meant Violet would be free of the dark cloud that plagued her mind and heart, and her reputation in the community restored. And the biggest blemish on my career—never capturing Ainsley’s abductor and killer—would be wiped clean.
All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and let Josh reel Stedmyer in.
“What do you say, Dinky? Have we got a deal?” Josh extended his hand in a show of affability.
Dinky’s right arm twitched by his side, as though he was seriously considering shaking Josh’s hand and agreeing to a verbal deal.
I stepped between them. “No dice. Thanks for letting us look around. We’ll be going now.”
Dinky collapsed on the sofa and pushed his long, ratty hair back from his face. His relief was palpable. On the other hand, I felt the heat of Josh’s glare as I walked past him and stepped outside.
I breathed in great gulps of pine-scented air and strode to the rear of my police vehicle to survey the extent of the fender damage.
“Why the hell did you let him off the hook?” Josh bellowed from behind.
I shook my head at the sight of the twisted metal and then got in the car.
Josh entered, slamming the passenger door. “What the hell?”
“Watch your mouth,” I answered calmly, though I was stewing inside. “I’m your supervising officer, and I won’t stand for it. You want a letter of reprimand in your file?”
Josh’s lips thinned to a straight line, but he shut up and buckled his seat belt. The little shit wanted no blemish on his record, nothing to slow his chase to the top of the law enforcement hierarchy.
I started the motor, and cold air blasted from the vents, chilling the sweat on my arms and forehead. Dinky appeared in the doorway and waved at me. I rolled down the window. “What is it?”
He motioned me over. Probably wanted to speak with me alone and be reassured he wasn’t going to be arrested and hauled off to the county jail. I exited the car, leaving the motor running. Josh opened his door, and I shook my head, gesturing for him to stay where he was. Josh scowled and slammed his door shut. It was going to be a long ride back to the office.
I walked to Dinky, stopping several feet away from where he stood.
Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1) Page 17