A Shred of Evidence (16 page)

Ellen heard the front door close and Guy’s footsteps moving in her direction. He walked into the living room and sat next to her on the loveseat.

“What in the world possessed you to raise your voice to the police chief?”

“I don’t know. The more he talked about the case, the madder I got. It’s beyond me how the system can fail a helpless child. Then when he implied maybe I had something to do with Sarah Beth’s disappearance, I lost it.”

“Back up and tell me everything.”

Ellen relayed the conversation to Guy exactly as she remembered it. “Chief Seevers came over here with the sole intention of tripping me up.”

“Honey, he’s just doing his job. When you reacted, his antenna went up. Now he’s probably racking his brain to figure out why you’re so ouchy.”

“Ouchy? Is that what you call it? When was the last time someone implicated you in a crime, Counselor?”

“Ellen, he asked you a simple question, and you turned it into a counteroffensive. You’ve got nothing to hide. Don’t act like you do.”

“Well, thanks for your support.”

“Whatever happened to your resolve not to decide Ross Hamilton’s guilt or innocence until there’s sufficient evidence? You were all over that reporter for jumping the gun. Now you’re doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s not as though I’m putting it in print.”

Guy’s face softened and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly “I
was
impressed that you held your own with Chief Seevers. You haven’t been on your soapbox like that since you worked for the newspaper.”

“I’m glad you’re amused.” She felt Guy staring at her and
smiled without meaning to. “Why can’t I just blow things off like other people?”

“I don’t want you to be like other people. Just don’t antagonize the good guys, okay? I’ve got to get back to work. You all right?”

“I’m fine. I think I’ll go take a brisk walk and let off some of this steam. I’m even more upset about Sarah Beth than I realized.”

Ellen carried her sandals and strolled along the wet sand, letting the waves wash up over her feet and the breeze tussle with her hair.

“Lord, why am I so intense about everything?” she mumbled. “Life would be so much easier if I didn’t care.”

Ellen strolled another hundred yards and approached an elderly man kneeling in the sand, his skin dark from the sun, his thin white hair blown in all directions.

“Hello,” she said. “Sorry to intrude on your quiet.”

“I’m glad for the company” the man said. “You’re probably wondering why a grown man’s out here all alone, building a sandcastle. It’s good therapy. Keeps me out of trouble.”

Ellen smiled. “Sounds like what
I
need.”

The man looked up at her, his blue eyes nearly as faded as the denim cutoffs he wore. “Why don’t you sit for a spell? The name’s Ned Norton, but please just call me Ned. Makes me feel old when a pretty young lady addresses me as mister.”

“Nice to meet you, Ned.” She flopped down in the dry sand, putting a comfortable distance between her and the stranger. “I’m Ellen Jones.”

“Name suits you. You live around here?”

“Yes, my husband and I have a house just up the hill.”

Ned’s eyebrows went up. “Some stately old homes up there.”

“We chose this area because of the flowering trees and live oaks. Neither of us wanted to buy a new place and wait for all the
foliage to grow up.” Ellen smiled. “And because it has the neatest widow’s watch I’ve ever seen. I’ve turned it into an office.”

Ned took a scoop of wet sand and began to form what appeared to be a tower on the top of his sculpture. “What do you do?”

“I was a newspaper editor before we moved to Seaport last year. Now I’m trying to write a novel—at least I was until I mashed my fingers.” Ellen held out her right hand. “If they don’t heal soon I may be forced into early retirement. I feel the momentum of the story waning.”

Ned smiled at a brown pelican that landed on the beach, just a few yards from him. “I always thought I’d like to be a writer. Ended up being a high school teacher instead.”

“Have you always lived here?”

“Born and raised. I remember when the docks down in Old Seaport were the busiest place in town—freighters coming and going all the time. Now the docks are deader than a doornail, and retail construction is generating all the excitement.”

“I understand the population has doubled in the past five years. That must be a culture shock for a native.”

Ned took his index finger and carved a door into the front of the sculpture. “I’ve come to accept it. Don’t like the traffic, though. Most of the time I walk or ride my bike.”

“Do you have family here?”

“Not any more. My wife passed away a few years ago. I have a son in Atlanta who just retired. He suffers with arthritis and isn’t able to get down here often. I’ve got two grandsons, one in Alaska and the other in Saudi Arabia. Hardly ever get to see them. What about you?”

“My husband Guy is the only relative I’ve got in Seaport. He’s a partner in a law firm in Tallahassee. My two sons live in Raleigh. Brandon is single, and Owen recently married, so I also have a sweet daughter-in-law, Hailey. We see the boys a few times a year. That’ll probably increase when they start having kids.”

Ned glanced over at the pelican, then opened a pouch and took out a small fish and held it between his thumb and index finger. “Come and get it, Porky. Mind your manners. We have a lady visitor.”

The pelican waddled over and snatched the fish from his fingers, gulped it down with one swallow, and stood staring at Ned.

“Okay, I’ve got two left, then you’re on your own. It’s a lot cheaper for you to go fishing than for me to buy you baitfish.”

Ellen laughed. “So is Porky one of your beach buddies?”

“Yeah, he’s a rascal. Knows right where to find me.”

“You must really love it out here. This end of the beach is almost secluded.”

Ned picked up another handful of wet sand and added it to the base of what was starting to look like a work of art. “I spend a good part of my days building sandcastles that won’t last long—a good reminder not to get hung up on the here-and-now.”

“Are you a religious man?”

“Religious sounds sanctimonious. I’m a sinner saved by grace who loves the Lord.”

“So am I! I’ve been a Christian almost three years now.”

“It’s been more than fifty for me. After my wife died, I wondered why the Lord kept me alive down here when everything I’d been living for was up there. I felt old and useless, like I had nothing to contribute anymore. But He gave me a new way of looking at things. When I build my sandcastles, my mind is free and I can do a lot of intercessory praying. You know, Ellen, it’s amazing how connected you get to people when you pray for them—people you don’t even know.”

“Can you explain what you mean?”

Ned sat cross-legged in the sand and looked at her. “I pay attention to people I see around town or read about in the newspaper or see on the news—victims, criminals, political figures,
terrorists, nice folks, nasty folks. Doesn’t matter. Some stand out more than others and those are the ones I pray for. Before long, I start to really care what happens to them. I can’t explain why, but praying for people makes me feel connected to heaven
and
earth—and it’s something I look forward to when I wake up and realize I’m still here.”

“This is a whole new concept for me.” Ellen sat quietly for a moment. “Ned, do you pray for Ross Hamilton?”

“Sure.”

“Doesn’t it matter to you whether or not he’s guilty?”

“Kind of hard to sit in judgment when I’m asking the Lord to touch his heart.” Ned drew a cross in the wet sand. “What matters to me most is that he might be unsaved.”

“Do you pray for his wife—and for Sarah Beth?”

“Everyday. Sometimes three or four times.”

“You put me to shame,” Ellen mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, I was just thinking how much more spiritually mature you are than I am. I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t once prayed for Ross Hamilton—just his wife and daughter. I guess I figured he’s so despicable he doesn’t deserve the time of day. How Christian is that?”

Ned looked up and held her gaze. “Maybe you just need a little time building sandcastles. Never know what it might do for your perspective.”

Chief Will Seevers walked into his office and saw Special Agent Bryce Moore sitting at his table.

“Oh, sorry,” Bryce said. “I was taking you up on your offer to borrow your office. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Stay put. Let me fill you in,” Will said. “I went to see Ellen Jones.”

“And?”

“She’s livid about Ross Hamilton, but I don’t think she had anything to do with his daughter’s disappearance. You should’ve seen the blank stare she gave me when I mentioned RISK.”

“She could’ve been faking.”

“I don’t think so. She lost her cool right off the bat. If she was hiding something, she wouldn’t have let me have it with both barrels.”

Bryce smiled wryly. “She told you off?”

“It wasn’t personal. She’s in a real lather over Hamilton’s history. Afraid he’s going to get off again. Her concern for Sarah Beth is genuine, but other than her emotions, I don’t think she’s mixed up in this.”

Bryce folded his arms and let out a sigh of exasperation. “Well, this won’t make your day either. The tip on the RISK safe house in Tallahassee turned out to be a dead end.”

Will’s phone rang and he reached over and picked it up. “Seevers.”

“Chief, it’s Rutgers.”

“Yeah, Jack, what’s up?”

“You might wanna come out to the Hamilton’s house and take a look. I think we’ve got a
situation.”

P
olice Chief Will Seevers waited for police officers to clear the street of angry protestors, then pulled his squad car into the Hamiltons’ driveway and turned off the motor.

He got out of the car and saw a row of flowers, candles, notes, and stuffed animals along the bottom of the fence, and a yellow ribbon tied around one of the posts. He turned and faced the crowd, aware that someone was standing next to him.

“It’s gotten worse since I called,” Officer Jack Rutgers said. “We don’t have enough manpower if this thing gets out of hand. More than half our force is working with the FBI.”

Will took a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off his forehead. “Who organized this?”

“We haven’t determined that,” Rutgers said. “All I know is they gathered in front of city hall and marched over here. The media’s already jumped on it—and some pushy reporter from Biloxi. There … the blond in the blue dress.”

“Yeah, I see her. I’ll try talking to them. Maybe I can persuade them to back off and save us all a lot of grief.”

Will walked to the edge of the driveway and stood quietly until all eyes were on him and the shouting died down to a whisper.

“Most of you know me. I’m Police Chief Will Seevers. Do you have a spokesperson?”

Will heard scores of people hollering at the same time and raised his hand to silence them.

The lady in the blue dress stepped forward. “I’m Valerie
Mink Hodges of the
Biloxi Telegraph
, and I demand to know why you haven’t arrested Ross Hamilton.”

“Ma’am, how about you holding off on your questions and let me talk to the citizens of Seaport since this is
our
community business?”

“Well, I’ve written articles about Ross Ham—”

“Again … I’d like to hear from the people of
this
town first.”

Officer Rutgers came and stood next to the chief, his feet planted firmly on the edge of the driveway, his arms folded across his chest.

Ms. Hodges took a step backwards, her lips pursed, her eyes defiant.

“Okay, folks,” the chief said, “can somebody explain to me what it is you’re protesting?”

“We want that pervert out of here!” a man shouted.

The crowd started hollering again, and Will couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. He looked out at a waving sea of picket signs and scanned the sentiments written on the placards: