Missing

by Bill Noel

  He turned toward the walk. The view was blocked in front of us, and he twisted his head more toward the ocean end of the trail. He pointed to where the steps from the beach rose to the wooden walk. He didn’t say anything.

  “How about where the guy grabbed her?” I asked. I looked where he had pointed and then scanned the path of the walk.

  “I think it was right at the corner where the restroom building begins?”

  “You think or you’re sure?” I asked. Two large shrubs blocked the view to that part of walkway.

  He looked down at his feet. “Pretty sure,” he said.

  He was clearly uncomfortable. “It was almost dark,” I said. “It would’ve been hard to see everything, wouldn’t it?” I nodded my head and paused to give him a chance to collect his thoughts.

  “Yeah … umm, maybe I sort of didn’t see everything as clear as I thought,” he said in a low voice.

  I put my arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go over it again,” I said. “Perhaps you’ll remember things better now that we’re here. I know I have a hard time describing something when I’m not looking at it.”

  He looked up from his shoes. “Umm, okay.”

  “You definitely saw the girl, right?” I said. “You remembered the bikini.” I smiled.

  Samuel smiled. “Yeah, a red one.”

  “Didn’t think you’d forget that,” I said.

  He blushed. “She had long, brown hair too. It was wet like she’d been in the ocean. She was walking up the stairs by the beach.” He pointed at the steps.

  “And you noticed a guy over by the restrooms?”

  “Barely. I wasn’t paying much attention. He was sort of thin, wasn’t too tall, and had long dark hair.”

  Now the moment of truth. “Did you see him grab her?”

  He turned toward me but avoided eye contact. He then turned toward the restroom building. “Guess I didn’t,” he mumbled.

  “That’s okay,” I said and again put my arm around his shoulder. “It would have been hard to see anything at the building and the parking lot from here. What did you see?”

  He looked back down at his shoes. “I’m not sure I saw anything, Mr. Landrum.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I knew if I said what happened no one would think anything of it. I know something bad happened.”

  “It’s okay.” I tried again. “What exactly did you see?”

  “I couldn’t see the girl after she got behind those bushes,” he said and pointed to the shrubs beside the walk. “I turned to walk back by the Villas.” He hesitated. “Then I heard a scream. It sort of sounded like it came from behind the building, but I couldn’t tell for sure. She only screamed once.” He hesitated. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  He started up the road toward Ashley Avenue. I followed.

  He stopped in the middle of the road and pointed ahead. “Then I saw the big car I told you about.”

  “The one that looked like an unmarked police car?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It flew past heading toward town. I hadn’t seen anyone else near the walk, restrooms, or parking lot, so I figured it had to be the long-haired guy. The girl was gone, so I figured she was with him.” He turned and finally made eye contact. “She screamed, Mr. Landrum. She wasn’t playing. They weren’t horsing around. He took her.”

  CHAPTER 23

  CHARLES AND I WERE AT THE LOST DOG CAFÉ. IT WAS Monday morning, and we had arrived after the first wave of diners. I would have preferred to have been an hour earlier, but Charles wanted to walk Melinda to Folly Curls so she could have them do whatever to her hair—or, more accurately, to her wig.

  “He lied about seeing an abduction,” said Charles. “What makes you think you can believe him?”

  “A gut reaction,” I said.

  This was the first time I had seen Charles since my unpleasant conversation with the mayor and my discussion with Samuel about the night of the alleged abduction. Charles had asked about Samuel, so I had started with that story. Besides, I wasn’t sure how much of the mayor’s conversation I wanted to share. Charles wasn’t a fan of Lally, and I was afraid that if I told him everything he might go after the mayor with his cane flying.

  He took a bite of eggs, set his fork on the side of the plate, and held up his index finger. “First, Samuel lied to you—and, oh yeah, to the police.” Now he added his middle finger to the index finger. “Second, he has a history of imagining things. Third,” he said but didn’t add another finger, “he’s a teenager. Reality ain’t part of their reality.”

  “I can’t argue with any of that,” I said. “There are good reasons not to believe him.”

  “Correction,” said Charles, who now picked up the fork and pointed it at me. “Those are three things that you would have thrown at me if I had said I believed the fifteen-year-old.”

  Now I was confused. “What’re you saying?”

  “I’m saying that if I was saying what you were saying, you would have said he imagined it. You would tell me to drop it.”

  I followed most of that. “And then what would you have done?” I asked.

  “I would have said you didn’t know what you were talking about. I would have believed Samuel and waded right in to finding out what happened. That would result in a big mess. You would have to save me from myself. Then I would have to save you from some bad person, and then … hell, I don’t know what then.”

  And he thought Samuel had an inflated imagination.

  Before Charles could further confuse both of us, we were interrupted by Brian Newman. I don’t know how much he had heard, but he towered over our table shaking his head. Charles asked if he wanted to join us. Normally he would have said no, so I was surprised when he motioned for Charles to slide over to make room.

  The chief was in his usual uniform, a Tommy Bahama light blue camp shirt and light gray dress slacks. He apparently had as many of the loose, straight-cut, short-sleeved shirts as Charles had college logo T-shirts.

  Kim, a new waitress, was quick to the table and took Brian’s order. She headed to the kitchen, and he turned to me. “Got some news you’ll be interested in.”

  I leaned closer to the table.

  “Got a positive ID on the second victim,” he continued.

  “How?” I said. “Who is she?”

  “I’d like to say it was good police work,” said Brian. “But it was pure luck.” He took the small, well-worn notebook out of his shirt pocket and flipped through a few pages. “Name’s Kendra Corman-Eades—Caucasian, age twenty-eight, five foot three, from Athens, Georgia.”

  “Luck?” said Charles.

  Brian sipped his water and then turned to Charles. “Her sister’s birthday was four days ago, and she called us the day before yesterday. It seemed that Kendra called her every year on her birthday. She never failed—until this year. Her sister knew something was wrong, terribly wrong. If it hadn’t been for the birthday, no one would have thought anything about not hearing from her.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She’d never been married. She had several relationships with guys, but, and this is according to her sister, she’d begun to question her sexual orientation. She had a history of disappearing for weeks and even months. No one would’ve been concerned if they didn’t hear from her.”

  “How did her sister know to call here?”

  “Didn’t,” said the chief. “Kendra told the sister that she was going to get away and ‘figure things out.’ All she said was that she was going to the beach near Charleston. We were the third beach community she called. Pure luck.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?” I asked.

  “Yeah, her body was in fairly good condition, and her sister gave the ID.” He looked around the room and then took another sip of water. “It was so sad. Her sister brought a photo album. Kendra was a lovely young lady. She had a degree
from Athens Technical College and had won several beauty contests. Her sister said she would have made a career of contests if she could have. She loved nice clothes and working on her appearance; she barely ate to keep her trim figure. Sad.”

  “Any idea where she stayed?” I asked.

  “Not sure she did. I’m having my guys ask around to see if anyone saw her. Her sister had a better photo, but it was still a couple of years old, and her hair was different.”

  “Could I get a copy of it?” asked Charles.

  I didn’t like the sound of that but remained silent.

  Brian’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Charles. “Don’t think so.”

  That wouldn’t stop Charles, but I remained silent.

  Kim arrived with Brian’s fruit parfait and refilled my coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was much more soothing than the conversation. I had a captive audience and decided to tell the chief about how Samuel and I were treated by one of his officers. I shared how Officer O’Hara had been dismissive and condescending and acted like he was doing us a favor by listening to Samuel’s story.

  Brian shook his head. “Wish that was the first time I’d heard that about O’Hara.”

  “Going to fire his ass?” asked Charles.

  Subtlety is not Charles’s strong suit.

  Brian smiled and then looked around the room. “Guess who thinks Officer O’Hara is the best cop in South Carolina?”

  “Association of Rude Police Officers?” offered Charles.

  “Mayor Lally,” I said.

  Brian frowned and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “How’d you know?”

  He had almost twisted my arm, so I proceeded to recount my un-lunch with the new mayor. Charles stopped short of emitting steam from his ears. He pounded the table so hard that two customers at the next table stopped and looked our way. Charles looked at them and said, “Darn gnat. I got it.”

  Brian handled it more professionally, but he was peeved. He asked a few clarifying questions and then asked me to repeat the parts that could be construed as threatening.

  Charles wanted to know if the mayor had actually called me a “rogue citizen” and said if I was a rogue, he couldn’t imagine what that made him. I couldn’t tell whether I was being complimented or insulted.

  Brian finished eating and neatly folded his napkin and placed it on the plate. “This isn’t your battle,” he said. “Sorry he chose to drag you into it. I’ll take care of it.”

  Charles’s hands shook. “It most certainly is our battle,” said Charles. “If the mayor wants to take you on, he’ll have us to deal with us. Exclamation point.”

  Brian had known Charles for many years and knew the less said to him the better. He wouldn’t be dissuaded by words alone. “Let’s get back to what Samuel saw. Tell me about it.”

  The original police report was now worthless, so I told Brian the revised version of Samuel’s story. He asked if I believed Samuel. I said that I wasn’t certain but that the youngster was convinced.

  Charles, said, “You bet we believe him. I think the girl he saw was Ms. Corman-Eades.”

  Brian pushed away from the table and started to the exit. He paused and then returned. “You fellows sure can make a parfait interesting.” He looked down at Charles. “I’m wasting words, but try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Of course, Chief,” said Charles, his best angelic look affixed on his weathered face.

  Brian had almost made it to the exit when Charles reached for my cell phone, scrolled through the saved numbers, and punched call.

  “Hi, Cindy. No, it’s not Chris; your caller ID fibbed. Yep, it’s his handsome and much younger friend, Charles … What’s so funny? Whatever.” He glanced at me. “Listen, your boss—yeah, Chief Newman—was just here … oh, the Dog … he said you had a photo of the woman who was buried in the sand … Yes, that’s her. Anyway, he said I could borrow it for Chris to make a copy … Okay, that’d be great. We’ll be here.”

  He punched end call and set the phone back on my side of the table.

  “Did I miss something in the conversation with Brian?” I asked. “Something about you not getting the photo?”

  “Guess so,” said Charles with a straight face.

  CHAPTER 24

  OFFICER LAMOND SAID SHE WOULD BRING THE PHOTO to the Dog, but it would be a few minutes before she could make it. Charles then asked Kim to clear the table and bring us two fresh jars of water. She smiled and said something about Charles being a big spender. He winked at her.

  She left to rustle up our big order, and Charles stared at a photo of two basset hounds on the wall beside our table. “I’ve got a question,” he said.

  I assumed he was talking to me and not the dogs. “And it is?”

  “Do you find it interesting that no one knew where the girls were going or where they were staying?”

  I looked at the photo of the two dogs and then at Charles. “Could be a coincidence. Neither was married. Both headed this way to ‘find themselves.’ A lot of unattached people in their age group are here all the time.”

  “They’re usually not dead, though,” he said. “Didn’t the chief say that Kendra had been in beauty pageants?”

  “Yeah,” I said, wondering where he was going with this.

  “Didn’t Cindy say that the first girl, Nicole something, had also been in some pageants? Do you think that’s another coincidence?”

  “Nicole Sallee,” I said. “Don’t know. I assume you’re trying to say that there are similarities between the two.”

  Charles nodded. “Yep.”

  “There were differences too,” I said. “One was white, the other black. One was murdered and—whoa, here’s a big difference. There’s no indication that Nicole was murdered.”

  “She was,” said Charles with a degree of confidence usually reserved for statements like “the sun will come up tomorrow.”

  Cindy LaMond walked in before I asked why he was certain. I moved over to make room in the booth. She smiled at Kim, asked for a glass of tea, and then slid in beside me. She had a sheet of paper in her right hand and placed it face down on the table.

  Cindy focused her attention on Charles. “Tell me again how the chief wanted me to give you the photo.”

  Charles waited until the waitress delivered Cindy’s tea. “I’m not certain I remember the exact words,” he began. I rubbed my eyes and didn’t look at Cindy or Charles. “I’m getting old, you know; I might not have this exactly right.”

  Cindy took a sip of her drink, frowned in the direction of Charles, nodded, and then smiled. “Do your best, gramps.”

  “He said something about you having a copy of the photo and I, being a good, concerned citizen, asked if I could get a copy. Might jar something in my memory that could help the police.” He stopped and then gave a big nod.

  “And then the chief thanked you for your burning desire to help the police,” she said, looking toward the ceiling and then back at Charles. “He said he would be glad to supply you with the photo and to call me to get the copy.”

  Charles glanced at me, and I started staring at the photo of the dog. “Something like that,” he said.

  Surely he meant to say “nothing like that,” but I didn’t correct him. By now, I wanted to see the picture.

  She slid the paper to Charles’s side of the table. “I left my crapometer in the car,” she said. “So I’m sure that’s what the chief said. And I’m sure that if I ask him, he’ll confirm your story—right?”

  “Umm, of course,” said Charles.

  I sat back in the booth and smiled. Cindy wouldn’t ask the chief, but she would let Charles know that she didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth.

  “Learned anything new about her death?” I asked.

  “Nothing other than it was dumb luck that she was identified. Her prints were
not on file anywhere, and if one of our resident bums hadn’t been searching for doubloons, gold nuggets, mint julep cups, or whatever in hell he was using his magic metal finder for, there wouldn’t have been a body to not be able to identify.”

  “What about Nicole what’s-her-name?” asked Charles. “Any news about how she was murdered?”

  Cindy grinned at Charles. “Don’t know she was murdered. You know something we don’t, or are you fishing again?”

  “You’ll let us know when you find out how she was killed, won’t you?” said Charles as he ignored her questions.

  “You know it,” she said. “Keeping you informed is what I live for.”

  “You’re wise beyond your years, Officer LaMond,” said Charles.

  I would have used another word after wise, but no one asked me.

  She laughed. “I’ll leave on that lie,” she said and slipped out of the booth.

  “I’ll get your drink,” said my generous friend.

  She sighed and then walked toward the exit.

  Charles looked down at the photo. “She’s pretty,” he said and then pushed the paper over to me.

  I glanced at it. “A beauty queen,” I said.

  “Think Samuel would recognize her?”

  I smiled. “Not without a red bikini. His attention wasn’t on her face.”

  Charles took the photo back and asked me what time it was. The room was one table shy of full, and we had overextended our welcome. He asked if I wanted to walk with him to see if Melinda was done at the beauty shop. My appointment calendar had a couple of holes in it, and I told him I would if we would be done by Friday morning. He looked at his imaginary watch and said he thought we’d make it. It was Monday.

  We had walked a block before Charles spoke. “Think Cindy would have a photo of the first dead woman?”

  “Nicole Sallee,” I said. “I don’t know if Cindy would, but since she’s been identified, I would think her hometown paper would have run one. We can check the Internet. Why?”

  “Just curious,” he said and then spoke to a heavily tattooed, middle-aged gentleman walking a pug.