“No,” Will told her. “I’m not in charge of that part. I just file my report. There’s bound to be some political involvement with your city council and various other civilian boards. As for whether or not you’re suspended pending the outcome, I would assume Chief Wallace is the one who gets to decide what to do with you.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “I think he’s already decided.”
Will felt oddly conflicted. He knew that Lena had screwed up, but she wasn’t alone in this debacle. The evidence in the garage told a story that she could use to get herself out of this mess, or at least lessen some of the pain. He felt compelled to ask, “Are you sure about this?”
“Tommy was my prisoner. He was my responsibility.”
Will couldn’t argue the point. “Why did you call Marty Harris after you talked to me?”
She hesitated, and he saw some of her old slyness come back. “I wanted to know the details.”
“Which were?”
She gave him a halfhearted account of the same story Will had heard from Marty Harris an hour ago. She told Will, “I got Jason’s contact information and called his mother. She lives in West Virginia. She didn’t seem too concerned that the police were calling about her son.”
“How were you sure about the victim’s identity?” Will realized the answer before he finished the sentence. “You went to the school.” She must have called Will from the building, a detail Lena had seen fit to leave out. “Well?” he asked.
“I was already there checking Allison’s school records when Marty called me.” She shrugged. “I needed to see if it was the same killer.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. It makes sense. Jason was Allison’s boyfriend. They both turn up murdered within a day of each other. Tommy doesn’t fit into the puzzle anymore.”
That at least explained part of her sudden turnaround. Tommy was dead before Jason was killed. Lena would know that he was innocent of the first crime because he couldn’t have committed the second one. “Did you close the window in Jason’s dorm?”
“I used a glove. I didn’t want the rain to wash away any trace. I also covered my shoes and hair. I was careful, but you can get my rule-out samples at the station. They should be on file with the GBI.”
Will wasn’t going to waste time berating her. “What did you find out at the school? You said you were going through Allison’s records.”
She took out her spiral-bound notebook and thumbed to the right page. “Allison was taking four courses this semester. I won’t bore you with the details—chemistry stuff. I managed to talk to three of her professors. One on the phone and two in person. They say Allison was a good student, kept her head down, did her work. They never noticed her hanging out with a particular group. She was a bit of a loner. Her attendance was perfect. No missed days. Her grades were A’s and high B’s. Campus security didn’t know her name. She’s never filed a report with them or been the subject of a report.”
“What about the fourth teacher?”
“Alexandra Coulter. She’s out of town for the holiday. I left a message on her cell and home.”
“Any other known associates?”
“None of them knew about Jason, but it makes sense. He was a couple of years ahead of her, taking graduate classes. She was undergrad. They wouldn’t mix except outside of class. She didn’t have friends. I tossed around the name Julie Smith because you brought it up earlier. She’s not a student.”
“Did you get a warrant for searching Allison’s records?”
“No one asked for one, so I didn’t volunteer.” She added, “I also talked to Tommy’s boss at the bowling alley. I showed him Allison’s picture. He says he’s seen her around with another kid—male, dark hair, chubby, obviously Jason Howell. Tommy was giving them free games, but the manager put a stop to it when he found out.”
“At least we know they’ve all met each other,” Will said. “What else?”
“There aren’t any Julie Smiths in town. I checked the phone directory. There are four Smiths—three in Heartsdale, one in Avondale. I called all four numbers. None of them know a Julie or are related to a Julie. Are you going to tell me who she is?”
“No,” Will said, but only because he didn’t know the answer himself. “Have you heard from Allison’s aunt yet?”
“Nothing. I called the Elba detective a few minutes ago. He seemed annoyed to hear from me again, said he’d call when he had something to say.”
“Annoyed because he thought you were pushing him?”
“He doesn’t strike me as the type who likes a woman telling him what to do.”
He should try Will’s job. “What else?”
“I’ve talked to the neighbors, everybody but Mrs. Barnes, who lives there.” She pointed at the yellow ranch house across the street. There was an old Honda Accord parked by the mailbox. “There’s no mail in the box, her newspaper’s been taken in, and her car isn’t in the carport, so I assume she’s out doing chores.”
“What about the Accord?”
“I looked in the windows. It’s spotless. I can run the tag through the computer.”
“Do that,” he told her. “What did the other neighbors say?”
“Exactly what our guys found when they canvassed the street yesterday. Tommy was great. Allison was quiet. None of them socialized; this is a pretty old street. Not a lot of kids.”
“Any criminal activity?”
“Not a lot. There are two foreclosures. The kid at the end of the block was caught joyriding in his mama’s Cadillac two weeks ago. Two houses over, there’s an ex–crack addict living with his grandparents. He’s been clean as far as we know. Three doors the other way is a Peeping Tom who’s in a wheelchair. He doesn’t get out as much as he used to since his father took the ramp off the front porch.”
“And this seemed like such a nice neighborhood.”
“Only two people were home when Brad got stabbed.” She pointed to a house two doors down from the Barnes residence. “Vanessa Livingston. She was late for work because her basement flooded. She was waiting on her contractor and looking out the window right when Brad was stabbed.”
“And she saw …?”
“Exactly what I saw. Brad was chasing after Tommy. Tommy turned. He had the knife here.” She held her hand at her waist. “Brad was stabbed.”
“And the second neighbor?”
“Scott Shepherd. Professional gambler, so he’s on the computer all day. He didn’t see anything until after the fact. Brad on the ground. Me beside him.”
“Frank apprehending Tommy?”
She pursed her lips. “You want to talk to Shepherd?”
“Is he going to tell me that Frank was beating Tommy or is he going to tell me that he can’t remember?”
“He told me that he didn’t see Frank. He went into the house and called the station.”
“Not 911?”
“Scott’s a volunteer fireman. He knows the direct number for the station.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Yeah, I feel really lucky right now.” Lena flipped her notebook closed. “That’s all I’ve got. Gordon says there’s a spare key under the mat. I guess I should go home and call around for a lawyer.”
“Why don’t you help me instead?”
She held his gaze. “You just told me I’m going to lose my badge.”
“You’ve still got it in your pocket, right?”
“Don’t bullshit me, man. There’s only two other days in my life I can think of that were worse than this one—the day my sister died and the day I lost Jeffrey.”
“You’re a good detective when you want to be.”
“I don’t think that’s going to matter anymore.”
“Then what’ve you got to lose?”
Will walked up the driveway, listening for Lena’s steps behind him. He didn’t really need her help, but Will hated to be lied to. Frank Wallace was knee-deep in this crap, and seemed content to let one of his officers take the
fall for his own bad leadership. Will didn’t feel any loyalty to Lena, but the thought of a drunk, crooked cop running this town’s police force did not sit well with him.
Will found the key under the front doormat. He was opening the door when Lena joined him on the porch steps.
He asked, “Have you heard anything about Detective Stephens?”
“No change. I guess that’s good.”
“Why didn’t you call Chief Wallace about the body in the dorm?”
She shrugged. “Like you said, I’m only a good cop when I choose to be.”
Will pushed open the front door. Lena went in first. Her hand was high on her side, a motion she probably didn’t realize she’d made. Will had seen Faith take this same stance many times. She’d been a beat cop for ten years. There were some things your muscles couldn’t unlearn.
The living room was right off the entrance. The furniture was old and sad, duct tape keeping the stuffing in the cushions. The carpet was an orange shag that went into the hallway. Will could feel it clinging to his shoes as he walked back to the kitchen. The carpet gave way to yellow linoleum. Gordon hadn’t bothered to update anything except the stainless steel microwave that rested on top of an old Formica table.
“Dishes,” Lena said. Two plates, two forks, and two glasses were in the drainer in the sink. Allison had shared a meal with someone before she died, then cleaned up after herself.
Lena pulled a paper towel from the roll and covered her hand so she could open the refrigerator. There was a line of blue painter’s tape down the middle. Store-brand sodas filled each shelf. There was no food except for a dried-up orange and a Jell-O pudding cup. Lena opened the freezer. The same taped line split the compartment, but the moisture had weakened the adhesive. One side was stacked full of frozen dinners. The other had a box of Popsicles and some ice cream sandwiches.
Will used the edge of his palm to raise the lid on the kitchen trashcan. He saw two empty boxes of Stouffer’s French bread pizza. “I’ll ask Sara about stomach contents.”
“Tommy would’ve had more time to digest.”
“True.” He used the toe of his shoe to push open a pair of louvered doors, expecting to find a pantry but finding a toilet, small shower, and even smaller sink. The bathroom was by the back door. He assumed this was the toilet tenants used when they rented the garage. It certainly looked like a young man had used the facilities. The sink was filthy. Hair clogged the shower drain. Towels were strewn on the floor. A pair of dingy-looking briefs was wadded up in the corner. There was one sock on the floor, a footie that went up to the ankle. Will imagined the other sock was slowly making its way through Pippy’s digestive track.
Will realized Lena wasn’t behind him anymore. He walked through the dining room, which had a glass table and two chairs, and found her in a small study off the family room. The room looked hastily abandoned. Stacks of papers lined the floor—magazines, old bills, newspapers. Gordon must have been using this as a dumping ground for all the paperwork associated with his life. Lena checked the desk drawers. From what Will could see, they were piled with more invoices and receipts. The lone bookshelf in the room was bare and dusty except for a plate that contained a moldy, unrecognizable piece of food. A glass was beside it, the liquid dark and murky.
The carpet showed tracks from a vacuum cleaner but it still had the same grungy feel as the rest of the house. There was an ancient-looking computer monitor on the top of the desk. Lena pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Will leaned down and saw that the thing was not connected to a power supply. Or a computer.
Lena noticed this, too. “He probably took the computer to Jill June’s. That’s his girlfriend.”
“Did you see a laptop in the garage?”
She shook her head. “Could Tommy even use one?”
“He probably ran the machines at the bowling alley. That’s all computer controlled.” Will shrugged because he didn’t know for certain. “Gordon disconnected the landline. I doubt he was springing for Internet service.”
“Probably.” Lena opened the last drawer in the desk. She held up a sheet of paper that looked like a bill. “Fifty-two dollars. This place must be better insulated than it looks.”
Will guessed she had found a power or gas bill. “Or Allison kept the heat turned down. She grew up poor. She was willing to live in the garage. She probably wasn’t big on wasting money.”
“Gordon’s pretty cheap himself. This place is a dump.” She dropped the bill on the desk. “Moldy food on the shelf. Dirty clothes on the floor. I wouldn’t walk through this carpet with my shoes off.”
Will silently agreed. “The bedrooms are probably upstairs.”
The design of the house was a typical split-level, with the stairs running off the back of the family room. The railing was coming loose from the wall. The carpet was worn to the backing. At the top of the stairs, he saw a narrow hallway. Two open doors were on one side. A closed door was on the other. At the mouth of the hall was a bathroom with pink tile.
Will glanced into the first room, which was empty but for some papers and other debris stuck into the orange shag carpet. The next room was sparsely furnished, slightly larger than the first. A basket of folded clothes was on the bare mattress. Lena pointed to the empty closet, the opened drawers in the chest. “Someone moved out.”
“Gordon Braham,” Will supplied. He looked at the basket of neatly folded clothes. For some reason it made him sad that Allison had done the man’s laundry before she died.
Lena slipped on a latex glove before trying the last room. Her hand went up to her gun again as she pushed open the door. Again, there were no surprises. “This must be Allison’s.”
The room was cleaner than the rest of the house, which wasn’t saying much. Allison Spooner hadn’t been the neatest woman on the planet, but at least she managed to keep her clothes off the floor. And there were a lot of them. Shirts, blouses, pants, and dresses were packed so tightly into the closet that the rod bowed in the middle. Clothes hangers were hooked on the curtain rod and the trim over the closet door. More clothes were draped over an old rocking chair.
“I guess she liked clothes,” Will said.
Lena picked up a pair of jeans in a pile by the door. “Seven brand. These aren’t cheap. I wonder where she got the money.”
Will could hazard a guess. The clothes he’d worn as a kid generally came from a communal pile. There was no guarantee you’d find a good fit, let alone a style you liked. “She probably had hand-me-downs all her life. First time away from home, making her own money. Maybe it was important to her to have nice things.”
“Or maybe she was shoplifting.” Lena tossed the jeans back onto the pile. She continued the search, lifting the mattress, sliding her hand between clothes, picking up shoes and putting them back in place. Will stood in the doorway, watching Lena move around the room. She seemed more sure of herself. He wanted to know what had changed. Confession was good for the soul, but her newfound attitude couldn’t be solely traced back to her revelation about Tommy. The Lena he’d left this morning was ready to burst into tears at any moment. The one thing she was sure about was Tommy’s guilt. Something else had been weighing her down, but now it was gone.
Her certainty was making him suspicious.
“What about that?” Will pointed to the bedside table. The drawer was cracked open. Lena used her gloved hand to open it the rest of the way. There was a pad of paper, a pencil, and a flashlight inside.
“You ever read Nancy Drew?” he asked, but she was ahead of him. Lena used the pencil to shade the paper on the pad.
She showed it to Will. “No secret note.”
“It was worth a try.”
“We can toss this place, but nothing’s jumping out at me.”
“No pink book bag.”
She stared at him. “Someone told you Allison had a pink book bag?”
“Someone told me she had a car, too.”
“A rusted red Dodge Daytona?” she gu
essed. She must have heard about the BOLO Faith put on the car this morning.
“Let’s try the bathroom,” he suggested.
He followed her up the hallway. Again, Will let her conduct the search. Lena opened the medicine cabinet. There was the usual array of lady things: feminine aids, a bottle of perfume, some Tylenol and other pain relievers as well as a brush. Lena opened the packet of birth control pills. Less than a third of the pills remained. “She was current.”
He looked at the prescription label on the birth control. The logo at the top was unfamiliar. “Is this a local pharmacy?”
“School dispensary.”
“How about the prescribing doctor?”
She checked the name and shook her head. “No idea. Probably from her hometown.” Lena opened the cabinet under the sink. “Toilet paper. Tampons. Pads.” She checked inside the boxes. “Nothing that shouldn’t be here.”
Will stared at the open medicine cabinet. Something was off. There were two shelves and space at the bottom of the cabinet that served as a third. The middle shelf seemed devoted to medication. The birth control packet had been wedged in between the Motrin and Advil bottles, which were shoved to the far end of the shelf close to the hinge. The Tylenol was on the opposite side, also shoved to the end. He studied the gap, wondering if there was another bottle that was missing.
“What is it?” Lena asked.
“You should get your hand looked at.”
She flexed her fingers. The Band-Aids were looking ragged. “I’m fine.”
“It looks infected. You don’t want it getting into your bloodstream.”
She stood up from the cabinet. “The only doctor in town rents space at the children’s clinic. Hare Earnshaw.”
“Sara’s cousin.”
“He wouldn’t exactly welcome me as a patient.”
“Who do you normally see?”
“That’s not really any of your business.” She pulled back the cheap mini-blind on the window. “There’s a car parked in Mrs. Barnes’s driveway.”
“Wait for me outside.”
“Why do you—” She stopped herself. “All right.”
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