by Todd Morgan
“It didn’t happen in the States.”
“I can’t trust my natural instincts. I know you’re a killer,” Randall shrugged, “but when I look at you, I don’t see it.”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“What about Trey and his boys? They come looking for you and end up on the wrong end of things, you and Nero making them disappear?”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“What’s the difference?” he asked. “Between the two?”
I didn’t have the answer.
Chapter Forty-Two
I pulled the Jeep into the circular lot. A couple of blocks from downtown, I could have left the SUV in the sheriff’s lot and walked. Except it probably would have been vandalized.
The gravel crunched beneath my feet. The sun was out, cold yet bearable. Antebellum homes lined both sides of the street. Fine old brick and wooden houses, wrap around porches, shingles hanging from most of them. I climbed the steps and opened the door. A bell jingled. I was in what had once been a parlor, a leather sofa on one wall facing a desk, plastic fern in the corner. The secretary looked up.
“Hey, Bees.”
“Afternoon, Paula. How you doing?”
“Not too bad.” Paula Bainbridge had graduated a year behind me, her chestnut hair shoulder length, wearing a professional looking pants suit. At one time, she had been a phenomenal kisser. “How’s your little girl?”
“Mean as a snake.”
She giggled.
“The big man in?”
“Yeah, go on back.”
“Thanks.” I walked through the kitchen, sink on the left next to the refrigerator, a long oak table that was now used more for meetings than meals. The big man sat at his desk in the converted bedroom.
“Hey, Beason. We put your check in the mail this morning.”
“How much?”
“Five grand.”
Which was about four thousand and five hundred more than I expected. Enough to keep the wolves at bay a little longer. “Maybe you should’ve kept it.”
“What’s up?”
“I think I need a lawyer.”
Eric Hendricks was not a big man. Physically. He was about five foot eight, a hundred fifty pounds dripping wet, mostly bald. White shirt, dark tie, his suit jacket hung on the coat tree. He took the rimless glasses from his face, carefully laid them down with the stack of papers on his desk.
“Why?”
His visitor’s chairs were padded, made for people to feel comfortable and linger. As opposed to mine, which I had found downstairs in the sock factory and used for the opposite effect. State your business and go.
“They found my wife and partner at the bottom of a lake.”
His trimmed eyebrows slid up his forehead. “I’m sorry, Beason.”
“They also found my lover at the bottom of the same lake.”
“Oh, my.” Eric pulled a fresh legal pad from his desk. Pen in hand, he said, “Tell me about it.”
I did. Starting with Steven Noble coming to the hotel and making a scene, to his coming to my office and enlisting my services. My search for Amber leading to my search for Stella. All the way to the gravel pit and the glint of light where I found them. To the interview with the detectives and the search warrant.
Through it all, he made careful notes, not interrupting until I was finished. “What do they have?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong. They’ve got your wife and lover in the same lake. Both in cars, both in the trunk. How can you explain that?”
“I can’t.”
“You may have to.”
The question had been floating at the back of my mind since Randall had informed me of the bodies. “The only thing I can think of is coincidence.”
“Coincidence?”
“Yeah. There aren’t that many places you can dump a car in this county—that you can easily dump a car in this county. A well known place.”
Eric made a face.
“I know.”
“What else do they have?”
“That’s it.”
Eric shook his head. “Think, Beason. I know you’re in shock, but you need to think like an investigator now. What questions did they ask you?”
“Why I was there.”
“Which was?”
“Coincidence. I went there to think and saw the reflection.”
“What else?”
I closed my eyes, going back to the interview room. Larry Coleman smelling of beer. Randall Rodgers exhausted. I opened my eyes. “Life insurance.”
“Life insurance? What about it?”
“They wanted to know if Stella had any.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah.”
Eric gently put down the pen. “How much?”
I shrugged.
“Do you need the money?”
“I could use it,” I said, quickly adding, “but the premium hasn’t been paid since she left.”
“If the account was current when she died,” he explained, “the beneficiary will still get the money. I assume that was you?”
“I assume so.”
Another headshake. “They are going to say you killed her, put Stella and Adrian in the lake and when you experienced financial difficulties, you conveniently found her.”
My turn for the headshake. “No insurance company in the world would pay off under the circumstances.”
“Probably not. Doesn’t matter, though. You have motive.”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“You have motive for doing it. She was having an affair. And you have a reason for discovering the bodies. What about this other woman? Amber Noble?”
“What about her?”
“Were you serious?”
“No. It was…a fling.”
“A mistake is what it was.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Can anybody else testify that it wasn’t serious?”
“As far as I know, her best friend, her sister, and her mother were the only ones who knew about it.”
“What did Amber tell them about it?”
“From what I can gather, just that we were seeing each other. It was over anyway.”
“Over?”
“Yeah. That night at the hotel was it. She even called it one for the road.”
“She was breaking it off with you.”
“It was mutual.”
One last shake of the head, this one heavier than the rest. “You’re right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You definitely need a lawyer.”
***
“Is it true?”
“Felicia? Is what true?”
“The policeman just left my house. Is it true? Is my baby…dead?”
“I’m sorry.”
“The detective kept asking about life insurance. What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why would anybody want to kill her? How could anybody want to hurt her? Who killed my baby?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
***
I gave the unmarked car the two finger wave as it drove past. Detective Rodgers did not return it. I continued down the street, turning into my driveway. It would never feel the same. I sat in the garage, in no hurry to get out of the Jeep. My wife was gone and now I knew without a doubt she wasn’t coming back. I wondered if subconsciously that had been part of the reason I had clung so stubbornly to our home. That if Stella ever wanted to return to her family, she wouldn’t have to search for us.
I needed to go inside, have the talk with my daughter. We needed to turn the page and get on with the rest of our lives. I had fought and held on as long as I could and it simply was not enough.
I finally got out of the SUV. Instead of going inside, it was my turn to walk across the yards. Part of it was buying time and part of it was striking while the iron was hot. I climbed the front steps. Randall would have g
one to the front door. I was betting it was still unlocked. The door opened beneath my hand. My third time inside this house. The first a quick trip with Amber, the second hiding my daughter from gangsters. I followed the hallway. There was an opening on my left.
The formal dining room. Long antique table, matching dark hutch, it reminded me of the restaurant. Steven Noble was sitting at the head of the table. An open bottle of wine, fancy glass. If I hadn’t liked him before, this sealed it. What kind of man drinks wine when he learns his wife is dead?
Steven looked up. He was dressed for work, black pants, black button down. I wondered if he wore one of those white chef’s hats when he was working. Or a hairnet. Amazing what the brain focuses on when it’s trying to avoid something.
“What do you want?”
“You killed her.”
“What?”
“You found out your wife was cheating on you and was planning on leaving. You waited until she left the hotel and you grabbed her.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Camp,” he said. “You weren’t the first and you wouldn’t have been the last.”
“Bullshit. I talked to her friends. She was never with anyone before me. You couldn’t stand it and you killed her.”
“Is that the kind of thing you tell your friends? You’re cheating on your spouse?”
“You tell me,” I said. “You’re the expert.”
Steven shook his head.
“Amber told her friend about me. Why shouldn’t she mention any others?”
An ugly smile. “You stupid bastard.”
“What?”
“Of course she talked about you. The brazenness of fucking the next door neighbor. That is the kind of thing she would have bragged about.”
“You killed her.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“And I’m going to prove it.”
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re off the case.”
“You never paid me.” I laughed. “You can’t fire me.”
“Stay away from me.”
“If you didn’t do it, why wouldn’t you want me looking for who did?”
He cocked his head at me. His eyes were red. I had seen many people like this under similar circumstances. Sometimes they reacted with tears, some went hysterical. Some went completely blank. “Because, Beason, according to the cops you’re the number one suspect.”
“What?” My turn for shock. “They told you that?”
“Not in so many words. But I could tell from the questions they were asking, they’re going after you.”
“Questions? What kind of questions?”
A single nod. “I don’t want you out there mucking up their investigation, trying to put it on me.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Oh, yes, I can.”
“How?”
Another look, this one predatory. “Keep out of it or I’ll tell the cops about the other night. You busting in here with Madison and Sarah and then the gunshots.”
My daughter’s voice echoed in my head. Daddy, I had a bad dream.
“This isn’t over.”
“Yes, Beason,” he said. “It is.”
***
“Are you at work?”
“No. Why? You finally going to take me out for a proper date?”
“Have you talked to your brother-in-law?”
“Steven? Not lately.”
“You need to get to your mother’s house.”
“You’re starting to worry me, Beason. What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
“Unless you’re in my driveway, you’re going have to. What is it?”
“I’m not sure how to say this.”
“Just say it.”
“They found Amber.”
“What? Where? Is she okay?”
“I’m sorry, Madison.”
“What happened?”
“They found her in her car.”
“Where?”
“At the bottom of a lake.”
Pause.
“A detective is on his way to tell your mother. I think you need to be there.”
“Who could do something like that? Put her in a car and drive it into a lake?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
***
I put the phone in my pocket. I couldn’t think of anything else I could do, anybody I could talk to, somebody to call. I took a deep breath and pushed through the front door.
Sarah was on the couch, watching television. “Hey, daddy.”
“Hello, baby.”
“I didn’t go to school today.”
“I know.” It struck me that this was the conversation my little girl would carry with her for the rest of her life, something she would share with her children, grandchildren and—God willing—her great-grandchildren. “We need to talk.”
“What did I do?”
You weren’t there, daddy.
“Nothing, honey.” I knelt on both knees.
She gently put both hands on the sides of my face. “Are you crying?”
That’s why I was afraid.
“Yes, baby.”
“I didn’t think you ever cried. Are you sad?”
That’s why I was afraid.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I didn’t like that.
“It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?”
I don’t wanna ever wake up and you be gone.
“She is not coming home. Ever.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The word got out and the casseroles came in. I had finally chased Gus back to his family. Dad sat napping on the couch, waiting on the phone to ring. He and I had reached a solution. He would answer the landline and I would take the cell. Older friends and family called the house phone, that number written down years ago or easily looked up. The people I was in regular contact with called the cell, because somebody always answers a cell. Usually. Erin had long ago barricaded herself in the master bedroom and I didn’t blame her. Cousins I couldn’t place or remember the relation stopping by to offer condolences, every one wanting to hug my sister’s daughter and tell her how much she favored her mother. Sarah was sleeping. Hopefully.
A tapping came from the front door, not loud enough to wake dad—or even Blondie who was snoring in his lap. I opened the door to find an old friend on my porch.
“Beason, I’m so sorry.” Hannah Strange wrapped one arm around my body. Her hair smelled of fruity shampoo. “I came as soon as I could.”
I stepped aside and closed the door behind her. I took the casserole dish from her as she shrugged out of her long black coat and hung it on the tree. I put a finger to my lips and we crept past the sleeping man and dog into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator. It was a problem I couldn’t remember facing; finding enough room for another dish. I pushed and pulled plates of fried chicken, tuna casserole, hash brown casserole, beef stroganoff, until there was space.
Hannah was standing over the kitchen table, hands on her hips, looking down at the bottle of rum, two liter coke, and lime juice.
“You want one?”
She frowned, finally said, “Why the hell not. You better let me make it, though. One of yours and I’ll end up under the table.”
I took a fresh glass from the cabinet, a tall one, and filled it with ice. Hannah splashed about two drops of rum into it and topped it off with coke. We sat across from one another.
“How is Sarah?”
“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “Someone she doesn’t know suffered a fate she cannot fathom.”
“You need to try and make everything as normal for her as you can.”
“I’ll try.”
“And how are you, Beason?”
I shrugged.
“I’ve known you for your entire life. Don’t even try that tough guy shit. You can tell me.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know how I feel.”
She nodded wisely, sipped her drink, and made a face. “When Rodney left, I had these horrible thoughts of him in a car crash or having a heart attack or…something. Yet if it happened, I’m not sure how I would have felt.”
“Yeah.”
“We were together a long time. Some good—a lot of bad—but we were…connected. We share a child.”
I nodded. Unwisely. “I was devastated when Stella left. I knew she was unfaithful and I loved her still. Every day that went by, I loved her less, thinking she had traded what we had, our home, our daughter—us—for some other guy. Now, though, I realize that might not have been the case.”
“She was leaving you, Beason.”
“I know. But she could have changed her mind. We could have had a shot at being a real family. Sarah could have known her mother.”
“Would you have taken her back?”
I shrugged.
“Do you think the marriage would have survived? Could have survived? She was what she was. Could Stella have changed?”
I took a sip of my drink. Much more than two drops of rum. Mostly rum, truth be told.
“We’ll never know.”
***
I walked Hannah out. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and went down the walkway. As she reached her minivan, a pair of headlights flashed over her and a sedan pulled in. Hannah and the driver exchanged words over the hood of the car and she climbed into the vehicle and drove off. Another old friend came up the steps.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Lawyered up, did you? Can’t say that I blame you,” Randy said. “Who did you get?”
“Eric Hendricks.”
“Smart move.” Randy had changed out of his coat and tie and into jeans and a sweatshirt. “I’m not here in my official capacity.”