by Jen Blood
The kids stared at me. The youngest, Willa—a little tow-headed girl with thickly lashed blue eyes—plunged her thumb in her mouth and blinked at me, swinging her feet under the table. Super. I was questioning Cindy Lou Who.
“We’re afraid Danny might be in some trouble,” I continued, undeterred. “If you remember hearing anything, or seeing anyone, it could help him a lot.”
They looked at Casey. She nodded. “Go on—y’all won’t get in trouble. Just say what you saw.”
“Danny was in the garage,” Dougie said after another second’s hesitation. “I went out and he showed me a couple chords—I know I was s’posed to be in bed,” he added, looking at Casey. “I couldn’t sleep a lick, though.”
Casey didn’t look pleased, but she waved him on.
“Me and Danny got to talking,” he continued, “but then we heard somebody comin’. I figured it was either you or daddy, but either way it didn’t mean nothin’ good. So Danny told me to get in the cubby—where we keep the drums?” Casey nodded her understanding. “We figured if it was you, Danny’d just smooth it over before you knew I was there. And if it was daddy…”
“You’d just hide till he got in and passed out,” Casey guessed.
“Yeah,” the boy agreed. “But it weren’t neither of you. It was some girl.”
“Did you recognize her?” I asked.
“I didn’t get a look at her,” he said slowly, like I was a moron. “I was hiding, remember?”
“Did you recognize her voice?” Casey asked.
“Nah, but it was low—like she was being all slinky like they do on TV. She got Danny to go on outside with her. I figured he’d only be gone a minute. But then I heard him start up the truck, and he never come back. I went on back to bed, and I didn’t wake up again till you got home and daddy took—”
Casey stopped him with a killing glare. It was all right: I got the picture.
“Can we back up for a minute? You said you heard him take the truck… but it was in your father’s spot when he got back from work,” I said to Casey.
“He must’ve brought it back after wherever it was he went,” Casey said. “After that’s anybody’s guess. All I know is, I got back at one o’clock, Danny’s truck was in the driveway, Danny was nowhere in sight, and my daddy was fit to be tied.”
I turned my attention back to the little boy. “And you say you heard a girl with a low voice talk to Danny, and he took off with her. Is that it? Did Danny say anything to you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “He said he was pretty sure somebody was following him.”
“You couldn’t have started with that?” Casey demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just remembered,” he said defensively. “He said he just got a feeling. And somebody carved up on his truck.”
“The cross,” I said. “Do you have any idea who might have done something like that?” I asked Casey.
She shook her head, but I noticed she avoided my eye this time. “Danny’s the kind of guy everybody likes, you know? Especially the girls—but even the guys don’t mind him so much. “
I’d gotten good information from her, but there was still something she was holding back. I pulled a business card from my bag. “Well, if any of you think of anything else, just give me a call, okay?”
At the door, just before we rejoined the guys, I stopped and looked around the house.
“Is it just you and your dad and the kids?” I asked.
“My mama died in a car wreck a couple years back. But we do okay.”
“I’m sure you do. But if you need anything while I’m in town… I mean, you know. To talk or…” I trailed off, not even sure what I was offering. However awkward I may have felt about it, Casey nodded with an unexpectedly shy smile.
“I’ll do that. And could you call when you find out about Danny? He’s a pain in the butt sometimes, but he plays a mean guitar.” A flicker of vulnerability touched her pretty eyes. “It’d be hard to replace him, you know?”
I agreed to keep her in the loop, and we parted ways.
When we got to the police station, Agent Blaze had already commandeered a tiny conference room in the back of the building to serve as headquarters. In addition to Diggs and me, there were only the four agents—including Juarez—plus Sheriff Jennings, Deputy Buddy, and a couple of other local cops, everyone gathered around a cheap-looking conference table with a pitcher of water and paper cups in the center. Somehow, Blaze still managed to lend a sort of dramatic, official flair to the whole scene. She pulled Juarez aside as soon as we were there so they could debrief each other, and I think I did a damned good job of ignoring the way her hand lingered on his arm when she led him outside. Or the fact that she was friggin’ gorgeous.
Stupid super agents.
Diggs and I took our seats, and before long Agent Allie took her rightful place at the head of the table. Behind her, there was one of those nifty new computers with the giant screen where you can just slide things around and make them bigger with the touch of a finger. Much cooler than writing on the wall, which is what Diggs and I always did in our meetings. Blaze cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her.
“Our primary focus continues to be locating Reverend Jesup Barnel,” she began. She touched a photo in the corner of the screen, dragging it to the center and enlarging it: Reverend Barnel, in all his glory. “Our last confirmed sighting of Barnel was last night at approximately twenty-three hundred, when he fled the scene after his son, James Barnel, was killed.”
“You make it sound like he was runnin’,” Jennings interrupted. “The man was bleeding, and just watched his boy get gunned down. I asked him what I needed to ask, and then I sent him on home.”
“Another example of fine police work from the Justice brain trust,” Diggs murmured to me.
Diggs doesn’t murmur nearly as quietly as he thinks he does.
Jennings’ eyes flashed, but Blaze shut him down with a look and plowed on.
“Marx, Jameson,” she said to the other two Feebs, “you’ll go with Sheriff Jennings to the Barnel compound. Initial reports have indicated the entire camp has cleared out. We’ll need confirmation, and I’d like you to do a sweep for any information on Barnel’s plans.”
Marx and Jameson, a nondescript, fair-haired pair wearing standard-issue FBI suits, nodded.
“Has anyone spoken with Jenny Burkett?” Diggs asked. Agent Blaze looked at him blankly. “The wife of the other victim—Roger Burkett. Burkett was alone at his place when we found him, just him and his dog. The wife and the goats were nowhere to be found. She’s the last person to see both Wyatt Durham and her husband alive, as far as we know. There’s no sign of her?”
“She dropped the goats off to Evie Raddick’s place day after Wyatt died,” Sheriff Jennings volunteered. “Then she said she was leaving town.”
“And you didn’t think to stop her?” Diggs asked. “She plays a key role in two homicides.”
“Don’t raise your voice to me,” Jennings said. “Jenny Burkett didn’t have anything to do with this. I told her to get out of here while the gettin’ was good.”
“Brilliant move,” Diggs said.
“We all know who done this,” Jennings said. “Danny Durham—”
“Sheriff Jennings, if you don’t mind,” Blaze said coolly. “I’ll handle this. We are currently looking for Jenny Burkett, but so far we haven’t been able to track her down,” she said to Diggs. “Trust me, we recognize the importance of questioning her.”
“Thank you,” Diggs said.
“And now, if I may continue,” the agent said. She brought up a second picture. I sat up in my seat, feeling Diggs tense beside me.
“We’ve received information indicating that this boy is now a person of interest in the Barnel shooting,” she began.
“He didn’t have anything to do with it,” Diggs said.
“The hell he didn’t,” Jennings said. He stood. “A crime was committed last
night—two good men were shot in cold blood, and y’all have been treating it like the reverend’s the criminal here. It ain’t right.”
“Sit down, Sheriff Jennings,” Blaze said.
“Yeah, Harvey. Sit down,” Diggs said, cold as ice.
“You keep your mouth shut, boy,” Jennings said. The table separated them, but he looked ready to leap across it. I eyed the gun in his holster uneasily. “I got fifty people who’ll swear they saw Danny Durham’s truck tearing away from the tent meetin’ last night right after those shots were fired. You know as well as I do the kid’s got a temper. Everybody at his daddy’s funeral heard him threaten the reverend.”
“Because the son of a bitch was preaching the end times while he was trying to bury his father, you idiot!” Diggs said, on his feet now.
“Enough!” Blaze shouted, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Sit the hell down, or I’ll toss both of you in a cell and you can sort it out on your own.”
They faced off for a second more before both men sat. Blaze took a moment, her eyes on both of them, before she continued.
“As I was saying… Danny Durham is currently wanted for questioning in the matter of the Barnel shooting. He was last seen at approximately twenty-two hundred hours, here.” She pulled up a map of Justice, with a red X over Casey Clinton’s house. Another red X marked Miller’s Field, where Barnel’s tent meeting had taken place. “A truck matching Danny’s make and model was seen leaving the Barnel shooting at twenty-three hundred hours. We recovered that truck this morning, and it’s currently being analyzed for evidence. An inverted cross like the one on the previous murder victims—Marty Reynolds, Wyatt Durham, and now Roger Burkett—was found carved on that truck.”
She doled out assignments and dismissed everyone but Diggs, Juarez, and me. Once we were alone, she shut down the computer, sat, and looked at us.
“Ms. Solomon, I’d like you to ride with Agent Juarez today. We have some members of Barnel’s church that I want to interview, and it may help to have your perspective on the responses.” In other words, I was being benched. “And Mr. Diggins.” She looked at Diggs with an arched eyebrow. His jaw hardened. Diggs really hates being called Mr. Diggins. “You’ll come with me. I’d like to go back to the Durham house and speak with Danny’s mother, see if there’s anything more we can get there.”
Diggs frowned. “She’s already been questioned—Juarez just talked to her. Trust me, no one there knows anything else.”
“They may not realize they have information,” Blaze said “This is now a key part of our investigation, whether you like it or not. Since you have a relationship with the family, Mrs. Durham may be more likely to open up to you, which is the only reason I’d like you along with me.”
“Right,” Diggs said shortly. “You’re the boss.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Once that was resolved, we went to our separate corners: Diggs with Agent Blaze, while I followed on Juarez’s heels. There was no mistaking Diggs’ annoyance when he left the station.
I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t all that crazy about being relegated to the sidelines myself.
Chapter Thirteen - Diggs
Special Agent in Charge Blaze had big, wet brown eyes and that delicately browned skin that always brings to mind hot nights in the tropics. Her dark hair was tied back, but I could tell it would be wild when it was loose—thick and curly and impossible to tame. The kind of hair that drives me nuts in the right situation. This definitely was not that situation.
We were on the road fifteen minutes before Blaze spoke. “Brooding won’t help, you know.”
“I’m not brooding.”
“All right—sulking, then.” She reached over me to the glove box, one hand on the steering wheel, and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?”
“I quit.”
“Mind if I smoke?” She asked it as she lit up, clearly not really asking at all. “So, you were married to the first victim’s sister?” she asked after she’d breathed in deep. I took a reflexive sympathy breath and fought the urge to ask for one from her pack.
“Wyatt would be the second victim, wouldn’t he?” I asked. “I mean, if we’re looking at Marty Reynolds as the first vic, back in ’02.”
She conceded the point with a nod. “All right, then—you were married to the second victim’s sister.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She obviously already had that information, since I assumed she had a complete dossier on me somewhere. I let it slide.
“Three years.”
“And you were close to the rest of the Durham family in that time?”
“Yeah.”
She frowned. “How close?”
I thought back to nights on the front porch with George; holidays with the whole family gathered around the table; kids racing up the stairs and out the door and underfoot; Pop Warner with the boys…
“Close,” I said shortly. “I coached the boys’ football team. We had Sunday dinners together. Wyatt would crash on our couch when Mae was pissed; I’d crash on theirs when Ashley was pissed.”
“I bet you spent a lot more time on their couch.”
“True.” I scratched my chin and tried for a normal breath and an even tone. “Why the questions? What’s this have to do with anything?”
She glanced at me, then back at the road. “I’m trying to figure out how well you knew the victim. Did you stay in touch after the divorce?”
“Not at first,” I admitted. It was oddly comforting knowing I didn’t have to fill in the blanks for her—she had the files. No doubt she knew about my addiction and my brother’s death and my time with Jesup Barnel. I chose not to think of all the other sordid details she might have gathered about my life.
“Once I got sober,” I continued, “I made amends to the family. Wyatt and I started talking again after that.”
Blaze put out her cigarette when it was only halfway gone, and I directed her to the road leading to Wyatt’s place.
“Is there something you’re not telling me about Wyatt?” I asked. “Something that would explain why he was killed?”
She pulled up in front of the house, put the car in park, and cut the engine. “Let’s just ask a few questions here first,” she said. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet.”
“Confirmed about what?”
She considered whether or not to tell me whatever it was she clearly knew. Ultimately, she decided against it, shaking her head. The frustration I’d been feeling since I got back to town swelled. “Let me get some more facts,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you everything I’ve heard.”
I would have argued the point, but she was already gone.
Rick gave me a look like I’d drowned his puppy when we got to the door. He called for Mae.
“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Mae said to Blaze, who nodded.
“Often in these situations, the family knows much more than they realize,” the agent said. “If we’re going to find your son and get to the bottom of your husband’s death, this is a necessary step. I’m just here to jog your memory.”
Right. Mae led us to the kitchen. She poured coffee and set a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the center of the table. Blaze scowled at them like they were a mortal enemy, choosing the smallest from the bunch. Solomon had eaten at least ten in a sitting the night before. Mae sat.
“What can I tell you?”
Blaze didn’t hesitate. “What kind of relationship did your husband have with Jesup Barnel?”
“He was a believer,” Mae said. She didn’t look at me. I remembered a night on George’s porch with Wyatt, after I’d published my first piece on Barnel. You oughta be more careful with that man, Diggs. I don’t trust Jesup Barnel as far as Mae could throw him. There’s somethin’ not right about him.
Had things really changed that much since I left Justice five years ago?
“He knew the reverend had some ideas not everybody took to,
” Mae continued, “but he’d also seen firsthand the good the reverend could do.”
“Was he active in the church?”
This time, Mae paused. “He had been. Not so much these last few months, though.”
“Why not? What changed?” Blaze asked.
“He just got busy. And the reverend stopped doing regular services, only did his tent meetings every so often. We always went to the Justice Baptist church, anyway—that got to be enough.” Something in her eyes told me that wasn’t the whole story. Blaze picked up on it, too.
“How did Reverend Barnel feel about that?”
Mae didn’t say anything, worrying at a spot on the tablecloth. Blaze looked at me.
“Mae,” I said as gently as I could. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but if we’re gonna find Danny, we need you to be straight with us.”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “I don’t know what happened. Reverend Barnel and Wyatt had a fallin’ out, though—he said something to me once, about how Wyatt had crossed a line. Gone against the Lord.”
“What was your husband’s relationship with Sally Woodruff?” Blaze asked, with no preamble. I looked at her sharply. Mae tensed. I hadn’t heard Sally Woodruff’s name in years. And I’d never heard it in conjunction with Wyatt Durham before.
“That lady who gives the abortions out on the town line?” Mae asked. “I’m not sure what you’re askin’. We don’t go near that place. Don’t have nothin’ to do with that woman.”
“All right, thank you. Can you tell me a little more about your history with Jesup Barnel?” Blaze asked, switching subjects yet again.
“I grew up in Reverend Barnel’s church,” she said. “That’s where me and Wyatt met. Wyatt wasn’t his biggest fan back then, of course…”
I stood while Mae was still mid-sentence. “Listen, if you don’t mind I’m just gonna step outside for some fresh air, stretch my legs. You mind?”
Blaze studied me for a long minute, eyes narrowed. For a second, I thought she would say no. Finally, she shook her head. “Don’t be gone long—I want to get back on the road shortly.”