A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  “So turn him over to the state police. Let them sort it out.”

  He shifted in his seat and stared at me with cold, ruthless eyes. “Do you have any idea what can of worms would be opened if I did that?” He snorted. “No. This is a Drum problem, and it needs to be taken care of in Drum.” Tilting his head to the side, he studied me as if I were a conundrum he wasn’t sure how to handle. “So you’re claimin’ you heard them but didn’t see their faces?” He leaned forward until he was halfway across the table, his face only a couple of feet from mine. I could smell tobacco on his breath. “You’re telling me that you didn’t look out the window?” A grin cracked his lips. “You expect me to believe that? You seem like a curious kind of gal.”

  “The lighting in the parking lot sucks,” I said, my pulse pounding in my head. “Their faces were covered in shadows. But I know their voices. Cecil was definitely one of them. I recognized his voice straightaway when he broke into Seth’s room.”

  Bingham studied me for a moment. “So you’re sayin’ you’d recognize their voices if you heard them again?”

  I didn’t answer, but he seemed pleased as punch. He sent off a quick text, then laid his phone facedown on the table.

  I sat back and crossed my legs, giving him a hard look of my own. “I have something you want, and you expect me to just hand it over after you set me up for Dwight Henderson’s murder?”

  He laughed. “I didn’t set you up for Henderson’s murder.”

  “Then why does Detective Daniels have a hard-on to link me to these murders?”

  He flicked a gaze to the bar behind me, then landed on my face. “Why do you think?”

  “Bart Drummond.”

  He grinned again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Rumor has it he’s working on a multi-million-dollar project to revive the town. A resort and spa.”

  “And two murders aren’t good for potential business,” I said, stating what I’d already guessed. “Better to pin it on the outsider, otherwise the town looks unsafe.”

  Maybe they were the ones who’d gotten ahold of my gun and keys too, through someone who’d been near the scene.

  I only hoped that Max hadn’t been involved in that.

  He winked. “You sure you’ve only been in this town for a few days?”

  I pushed out a breath, wondering if I was about to work out a deal with the devil. “I need help getting Bart Drummond off my back.”

  He let out a belly laugh. “Not my problem.”

  “It’s your problem when I hold information you want.”

  He leaned forward again. “Tell you what. I’ll help get the monkey off your back if you tell me the numbers written on Seth’s hand.”

  From the way Bingham had acted earlier, I’d believed he already had them. “If you don’t have the numbers, how’d you find out about them?”

  “Henderson.”

  “He told you before you killed him.”

  He pressed his hands to his chest. “I didn’t kill him, but I did interrogate ’im.” He cast a lingering glance at his two men before turning back to me. “Wilson’s got a taste for violence. He got carried away, and the man died before I could get everything I needed.” He shrugged, yet the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t happy with his lieutenant. But surely this was good news for me. If Dwight had been beaten to death, it had to be obvious that I wasn’t the killer.

  “Seth told me he had evidence, but he never said what,” I confessed. “And while I did see something written on his hand, I was too busy freaking out and trying to save his life to pay attention.” Then, hoping to convince him I didn’t remember, I added, “But I intentionally looked for them when I took Hank to the funeral home, and someone had burned them off.”

  He scowled. “That was Henderson’s doin’.” He was lost in thought for a few seconds, then said, “Do you remember any of them?”

  “There had to be eight or ten of them,” I said. “I think it started with a 673, but I don’t remember the rest.” It was a huge risk lying to him, but there was no way I was telling him that code. That video was the only way to expose the corrupt sheriff’s deputy. “I have no idea what they stand for. A bank account number maybe?”

  A grin played on his lips. He knew what they stood for, and thankfully he seemed to accept my supposed ignorance.

  The front door opened and a man walked in. He stopped at the entrance, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Bingham. He sauntered over but hesitated when he saw me.

  It was the guy in the first photo Bingham had shown me.

  “Have a seat, Thomas,” Bingham said good-naturedly.

  Thomas put his hand on the back of the chair to my left and kept it there for a moment, as if deciding whether he wanted to follow orders. Ultimately, he sat.

  Bingham leaned forward and directed his attention to his man. “What’s the latest word on the sheriff’s investigation into Henderson?”

  The guy scrubbed his face, his hand shaking slightly. “Uh… The detective in charge of Chalmers’ murder was assigned to Henderson’s case too.”

  It was him. He was the second guy. The triumphant look in Bingham’s eyes when he saw my reaction was confirmation that he knew it too.

  Thomas cast a quick glance at me. “He seems determined to pin it on her, but Sheriff Fletcher ain’t buyin’ it.” He huddled in, lowering his voice. “Should we be talkin’ about this in front of her?”

  “Why not?” Bingham asked with a shrug. “She won’t be in the position to tell anyone.” An evil grin played on his lips.

  Did that mean he planned on killing me after all?

  Somehow—call it intuition—I suspected he didn’t. He was playing Thomas like a fiddle and I was the bow.

  “So who does the good sheriff like for Henderson’s murder?” Bingham asked.

  Thomas gestured to Bingham. “They think you beat ’im for information.”

  “Is that so?” Bingham asked with a knowing grin. “Looks like you’re in the clear, Ms. Moore.”

  “Not necessarily,” I countered. “They won’t let it rest until they arrest someone, and if you’re responsible, it’s not like you’ll be turning yourself in.”

  Bingham looked pleased I hadn’t admitted that I knew he was responsible. What was he up to?

  “And Chalmers’ murder?” Bingham asked Thomas. “What’s the word on that?”

  “They can’t find any evidence to pin it on her.”

  “The bullet casings at the scene?” Bingham asked.

  “They weren’t the same caliber of bullets that killed the boy.” He leaned closer, looking worried.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Bingham asked, his voice turning hard.

  I was prepared for him to say they were from another gun—my gun—but he surprised me. “They were the same caliber that killed George Davis.” He paused and licked his lip as though debating whether to continue. His back straightened and a resolve filled his eyes. “Fired from the same gun.”

  “Barb Chalmers’ boyfriend?” I blurted out in shock.

  “One and the same,” Bingham said, and I could see the wheels in his head spinning as he tried to make this puzzle piece fit.

  But I didn’t need to take any time. “Deputy Spigot killed George Davis.”

  He’d killed George, although not because he was bashing downtown Drum. He’d killed him to keep him quiet. To cover up his own involvement in the drug enterprise.

  Had someone picked up the casings at George Davis’s murder scene and planted them at Seth’s? Or did they have access to Deputy Spigot’s gun? One of Bingham’s men? Was it the person who’d taken my gun and key fob?

  Thomas tried to sit still, but nervous energy rolled off him.

  “Someone planted those casings,” Bingham said. He pinned Thomas with a hard gaze. “Any idea who might have done that?”

  A sheen of sweat broke out on Thomas’s forehead. “Some of the casings were missing from the scene of Davis’s murder. No one ever knew what happened to
them.”

  The quirk of Bingham’s brow suggested this wasn’t new information. He was prodding Thomas to release it for my benefit…and likely to make his newly revealed traitor squirm.

  It was working.

  “I bet Spigot’s shittin’ his pants,” Bingham said with a grin. He was loving every minute of this.

  My horror grew, and it took everything in me to stay in my seat, knowing what Bingham had in store for the man next to me.

  “Yeah,” Thomas conceded.

  Bingham nodded. “That’ll be all.”

  Thomas got up and shot toward the front door.

  “So?” Bingham asked with a satisfied grin. “Still worried about your imminent arrest?”

  “That doesn’t clear me,” I said.

  “But it seems highly unlikely a woman who had never been to Drum before would have the casings from the gun of a Hensen County sheriff’s deputy.” A frown crossed his face. “And as loath as I am to admit it, Bart Drummond didn’t play a part in this.” He tilted his head toward me. “He doesn’t have Detective Daniels in his pocket.” A grin spread across his face.

  I felt like an idiot. “You do.”

  He’d used Daniels to pressure me to talk. And he’d pretended he was connected to Bart Drummond to make me feel helpless.

  His grin spread and he looked ready to spring up from his seat. “Me, own a sheriff’s deputy?” He laughed. “That, my dear, would be illegal.” His smile faded, but he didn’t look as intimidating as before. There was a hint of kindness in his gaze that caught me by surprise. “You have my word that you’re safe from the sheriff’s department.”

  “And you’ll take care of the others?” I felt nauseated.

  He snorted. “Thomas is already halfway out of the county.”

  “What?”

  He leaned forward until our faces were about a foot apart. “Too many dead bodies poppin’ up begins to look suspicious. I’ll let him run. Spigot too. And trust me, they’ll run.”

  “Why do I have trouble thinking you’ll just let them go? Seems like you’d want to make an example of them.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes you need to know when to cut your losses.” His eyes took on an almost wistful look. “And sometimes you need to know when to bide your time.”

  He stood and extended his hand to me.

  I slowly rose, not trusting him, but I took his hand anyway.

  He had a firm grasp on my hand as he shook. “Ms. Moore. It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you.”

  Then he winked as he released my hand and strode out the door, his two men hot on his heels.

  Bingham had insinuated this was over, but how would he feel when I released Seth’s videos to the state police? Because justice may have been served in his eyes, but I had to disagree.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I headed back to the bar, where Max and Ruth stood staring at me, but just before I made it, Wyatt burst through the back door like his pants were on fire. He bolted to me and grabbed my upper arms, scanning me up and down for signs of injury.

  “I’m fine,” I said as I jerked free. “Really Max?” I asked in a withering tone. “You called Wyatt?”

  He didn’t look apologetic. “I didn’t know if we’d need backup.”

  “I handled it on my own. I’m fine.” I knew none of this was his fault, but I was still shaken up. It was time to come clean with some of what I knew. “Bingham knows who murdered Seth,” I said, my adrenaline crashing. “Thomas—the guy who came in and left—was one of them. Cecil Purdy was another. Deputy Spigot pulled the trigger, and it looks like Dwight Henderson probably drove the getaway truck.”

  Max’s eyes about bugged out of his head. “Bingham told you all of that?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I helped him puzzle it out.”

  I still felt sick over that.

  “What about the bullet casings they found on the ground?” Max asked.

  “They came from Deputy Spigot’s gun. The one that killed George Davis.”

  “Barb’s boyfriend?” Wyatt asked in surprise.

  I nodded.

  “Spigot was stupid enough to leave behind bullet casings tying him to Seth’s murder?” Max asked in disgust.

  I didn’t correct him and tell him it was a different gun. I probably shouldn’t have told them so much, but I was so sick of secrets and lies.

  “What about Daniels?” Max asked. “He’s still after you.”

  “Bingham said he’d take care of it.”

  “And how’s that?” Wyatt asked skeptically.

  I gave him a knowing look, and his lips pursed as understanding filled his eyes.

  “So it’s over?” Ruth asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, even though I still had to turn the videos over to the state police. “It’s over.”

  We were silent for a long moment, all of us feeling the gravity of the situation.

  “Carly,” Max said in a tone that brooked refusal. “Go home.”

  My mouth dropped open in my dismay. “You’re firing me?”

  “What?” he said. “No! I just think it would be better to go home and get some rest. Stay with Hank tomorrow, and I’ll see you at the funeral. You can work tomorrow night.”

  I nodded and tears stung my eyes. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch about calling Wyatt. You were just looking out for me, and I bit your head off.”

  “Hey,” Max said with a smile. “We’re good. I know you’re not really mad at me. You’re just upset over all of it.”

  “Thank you, Max. For everything,” I said as I gave him a hug.

  “I meant what I said the other night,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re one of us. I hope you’ll stick around.” Then he gave me a tight smile and headed out to the tables to slap hands with his customers.

  Ruth had hung back, watching us, but I reached for her and gave her a hug too. “Thank you.”

  “I would have fought the bastard if he’d tried to take you out of here,” she said.

  I laughed. “I know, and you have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

  “Don’t forget the clothes I left you for the funeral, on top of the lockers.”

  I smiled, so grateful to have found these people. On top of that lookout, I’d mused to myself that lightning couldn’t strike twice, but it had.

  I headed to the back, but not before I noticed Jerry at a table in the corner, watching me with open interest. Ignoring him, I grabbed my things out of my locker. Wyatt was waiting in the hallway to the back door, a grave expression on his face.

  “I would have thought you’d look happier now that we’ve identified the killers,” I said as he ushered me out the door.

  He was silent as he led me to his tow truck, opening the passenger door and shutting me in. When he got behind the wheel, he still didn’t say anything.

  “You’re scaring me, Wyatt.”

  That shook him from his stupor. Turning to me, he grabbed my hand and cradled it between both of his. “I’m sorry. I never want you to be afraid of me.”

  “I’m not a afraid of you,” I said. “But it’s obvious that something’s wrong.”

  He stared into my eyes, clearly wrestling with something.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Someone deleted the videos.”

  My mouth dropped open, and it took me a moment to speak. “But we were the only ones who knew how to get into the site.”

  “After I left you, I went to the shop and helped Junior with a car. Ginger told me that she and Hank were good, so I logged in to the website in my office to look at the other videos. I planned to see if Seth had anything else before I called my attorney, but they were gone.”

  “What about the one we downloaded to your cloud?”

  He grimaced. “It’s corrupt. I’m sorry.”

  I slowly shook my head, my eyes burning. “No.”

  “We need to figure out who else had access.”

  I continued shaking my head. Now Seth wouldn’t get justice at all
.

  I’d failed him.

  “Carly. Who could have done this?” he asked, snapping me out of my shock. If I’d had even a niggling suspicion that he might have done it himself, his tone would have convinced me otherwise. “Bingham?”

  “No. Bingham didn’t know the numbers. He knew of them from Dwight, but he didn’t get the full code.”

  “Did you tell him the numbers?”

  “No,” I said, not taking offense. “I told him I didn’t remember but I thought they started with a 673.”

  “You’re sure he wasn’t playin’ you?”

  “I watched him play Thomas, and while he’s skilled at it, in this instance, I think we can clear him as a suspect.”

  “What about Max?” Wyatt asked.

  My eyes widened. “You think Max would betray me?” When he didn’t answer, some of my outrage deflated. “Your father.”

  “He has deputies on his payroll. He wouldn’t want to risk that getting out.”

  “It couldn’t be Max. He didn’t even know about the numbers. The only people I discussed them with are Hank, Bingham, and you.” I paused. “But Dwight Henderson had them. He burned them off Seth’s hand.”

  “And he could have given them to anyone.”

  “But he was killed sometime between last night and noon today. Don’t you think it’s a big coincidence that whoever accessed Seth’s page did it after we did? Why not earlier?”

  Wyatt’s body tensed. “You think they got the information from Max’s computer?”

  “I don’t see how,” I insisted. “I logged out of everything. I cleaned the history. There was no trace of any of it.”

  “An expert could have accessed it,” Wyatt said. “Someone who knew what they were doin’. Does Max still leave his office unlocked?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but it doesn’t seem likely. How many people in this town have that kind of skill?” A new thought hit me. “Jerry.”

  His eyes went wide with surprise. “Jerry Nelson? You think he’s a computer expert?” he asked in disbelief.

  I’d never heard his last name before. “The guy who lives in Max’s motel?”

  “That’s him. Jerry couldn’t hurt a fly.”