Flashpoint (34 page)

“We let Mapplethorpe stay.”

“Been lynched in Calib County.”

“I take your point, Deputy. How'd the family manage to swing it? Money?”

“You birth a football player, it puts you in the catbird seat.”

“Come on, I don't get this.” Sonora tickled Clampett just under his left ear. “Nobody's going to cover up a murder because somebody's kid plays good high school ball.”

“And you looked so intelligent, too.”

“Explain it better,” Sonora said.

Smallwood rocked back in his chair. “I'm not saying who the family talked to, or where the pressure connected. Could have been local, could have been the sheriff. Could have been somebody at the university, some alumni. All I know is, the death of Donnie Hillborn becomes a tragic traffic fatality, and Vaughn gets pretty serious about going with UK.”

“And did he? Might give you a clue as to who put pressure on who.”

“We'll never know. Six weeks later, he was dead too.”

Sonora lifted her head. “Of what?”

“Accident, out on the farm. Hillborns had a little place, way out from town. Barn caught on fire. Vaughn was inside, trying to get his horse out. Ironic, isn't it?”

“It's crap, and you know it.”

Smallwood looked at her. “They found a cigarette butt.”

“Kid played football, he didn't smoke.”

“It's Kentucky, everybody smokes.”

“So what did you do, Smallwood, you leave it alone?”

Clampett jumped off the couch and put his nose on the deputy's knee. Smallwood rubbed the dog on the side of the neck.

“Believe me, I tried, and I caught hell for it.” Even now, five years later, Sonora could hear the frustration in his voice. “The thing is, these people never went anywhere, except to Lexington now and then to shop at the malls. Hillborn was a good kid, studied hard, worked the family farm. I've looked at every face in town, more than once, and I can't make sense of it. I thought at first it was some kind of nutcase passing through, but Vaughn died too, so that don't hold up.”

“What did Donnie Hillborn look like?”

“Big guy, solid. Six-two.”

“Dark curly hair and brown eyes?”

Smallwood looked at her. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like my girl's involved.”

“I thought so, that's why I'm here. What do you know about her?”

“Selma Yorke. Small, wavy blond hair. Never smiles.”

“That's it?”

“Watching men burn up in their cars brings her to sexual highs. She takes pictures.”

“Where would she run across Hillborn and his brother?”

“She likes brothers.” Sonora's throat closed. She swallowed.

Smallwood's look was full of pity. “I've never seen anybody like that in Calib County, and I'd know.”

“You said Vaughn went into Lexington. Maybe he caught her eye there.”

“I checked. He'd been doing recruiting trips for months, training, studying, and working on the farm. He hadn't been to Lexington since Easter, and the only place he went was Sears, to get some Craftsman tools and his taxes done at the H and R Block.”

“Why didn't you call me three weeks ago?”

“You're not listening, are you? The case is closed and I'm not here, and the investigation does not go on. But I have copies of the investigation reports in the trunk of my car, and if you want them they're yours.”

“I'm not working the case. Why don't … Hold up a minute. You said he went to Lexington around Easter?”

“Yeah.”

“To get his taxes done?”

“Yeah, at H and R Block. At the Sears.”

“Sears. Hell, yes, next to the Allstate booth. Ashley Daniels works for Allstate, in a mall. It's
taxes
. April fifteenth. It's not Easter at all, it's the tax thing. It's H and R Block.” Sonora put a fist under her chin. “Be interesting to find out how many of Selma's victims got their taxes done there.”

“Don't mind my look of confusion, honey, but have I helped you out?”

“Yeah, you've helped me. Thank you very much, Deputy Smallwood. I didn't see you, I didn't talk to you, and you can clean up my living room anytime you want.”

He shook her hand warmly. “Your rocking chair is real comfortable, and I'm nuts about this dog.”

54

The office was familiar and strange—her desk unnaturally clean, no messages on the answering machine. Sonora smelled old coffee and felt like she'd left yesterday and a hundred years ago.

She ducked into Crick's office before anyone saw her.

He was frowning at a computer printout, but when he saw her he smiled.

“Home from the wars,” he muttered and motioned to a chair. “How are your children?”

She sat down. “Taking it so well it scares me.”

“Kids are tough. How are you progressing on the nervous breakdown?”

She laughed. Realized she hadn't in a while. “Very well, thank you, sir.”

“I see you're wearing a clean shirt and tie. This mean you want to ease back into some work time?”

Sonora nodded.

“Good. You know you can't do active work on the Daniels case, but we can use you to consult. Or you can wash your hands of the whole thing, and nobody'd blame you a bit.”

“You know better. Get prints, anything off the pictures?”

Crick shook his head. “We've been watching Selma's house, but there's no sign anybody goes there. We're trying to get a court order to search the premises. So far judge says no go.”

“I've had to get my kids out of town, my brother got torched, and the judge says no go?”

Crick's face was expressionless.

“What happened to Molliter's big witness?”

“Got a body turned up at the morgue, looks like it may be her. Molliter had court today. He'll ID it tomorrow.”

“I could go. I saw her in interrogation.”

“That would help.”

They looked at each other.

“Would a cup of coffee help you work your nerve up, Sonora?”

“Sir?”

“So you can say whatever it is you've got on your mind.”

Sonora tilted her head sideways. Took a deep breath. “You remember that conversation we had in Keaton Daniels's bathroom?”

Crick's eyelids drooped slightly, but he stayed quiet.

Sonora sat on the edge of her chair and looked at the floor. “I slept with Keaton Daniels, and used his shower. The physical evidence you got out of the bathroom—it could be her or it could be me.”

“I see.”

“Selma was out there. Watching. She knew I spent the night. She called and said she'd pay us back, both of us.”

Crick looked at her.

“That's why she showed up at my house. And his.”

He placed his fingers together, carefully. “No wonder you were worried.”

“Still am.”

“Sonora. It's a wonder she didn't take your babies out with your brother.”

She gritted her teeth. “Not a minute goes by, I don't think about it. Maybe she's getting a conscience.”

Crick pointed a finger at her. “Pay attention. They never,
ever
, get a conscience. She didn't kill your kids because it didn't suit her at the time. Maybe it didn't fit in with her fantasy. Because that's what these killings are, they're her fantasy. That's why she does what she does, she's acting it out. And she's got no limits on what she'll do to make it happen. Make no mistake. If she'd felt the slightest urge to kill them, she would have, without a second thought.”

Sonora nodded, sat back in her chair. “There's more.”

“I don't want details, Sonora.”

“I had a visitor. A deputy from a remote part of Kentucky who had a story to tell me.”

“He slept with Keaton too?”

“Selma hit there. Two brothers, both dead in fires, one burned up in his car. A few months before it happened, one of them had his taxes done at H and R Block.”

“So?”

“So. H and R Block in a booth at Sears. These booths are usually located next to the Allstate counter, or they used to be. You following me?”

Crick frowned. “Not really.”

“Daniels's wife, Ashley, is an Allstate agent. Her booth is right next to the H and R Block office every year. I checked. These killings happen in the fall, but it's usually after a few months of phone calls and stalking. Keaton said his calls started in April. And Selby, that guy in Georgia, that's when his started. April. Think April fifteenth. Taxes. H and R Block. You get it?”

“You saying she's some kind of tax accountant? Works for the IRS?”

“For H and R Block. Not hard to get on there, it's seasonal, they train people. Perfect for her psychological profile—intermittent, undemanding employment. When tax season is over, she's got time and a long list of possible victims. Name, address, income. Deductions.”

“Yeah.” Crick rubbed his chin. “Ties in with that weird thing she has with numbers. What is it, threes and nines?”

“Threes are evil, ones are shy.”

“Obviously not your average bear, this girl.”

Sonora looked at him. Waited. “Crick, drop the shoe, will you? Yell at me now, please, and get it over with.”

He leaned back in his chair, gave her a sad smile. “Normally I'd transfer your ass, the very least. I'm cutting you a lot of slack. I think you've had enough grief, Sonora.”

She stared at the floor. “You don't seem surprised. I take that to mean I'm a lousy liar.”

“Not at all. It's her that convinced me. Something set her off enough to stalk you, and kill your brother. Could be the cop angle, could be more than that. I thought there might be more. Your kids came damn close to the edge there. If it gives me nightmares, God knows what it's doing to you.”

Sonora chewed her knuckles.

“Look, Sonora, it's good your kids are out of town, but they can't stay away forever. We need to keep Flash stirred up and angry. We need to keep her off balance.”

“You want me to sleep with Keaton again?” The look he gave her made her sorry she'd said it.

“Radio call-in show, remember? We decided to let Sam take your place, but you know it'll work a hell of a lot better with you. Problem is, this business with your brother. It'll draw a lot of attention.”

“That's what you want, isn't it?”

“Might not be what you want.”

“What I want,” Sonora said. She let her hands rest between her knees. “What I want is to catch her.”

55

Sonora walked carefully on the freshly mopped tile floors, watchful of wet spots. The morgue was quiet, the lights off in most of the offices. From somewhere came a voice that sounded like Eversley.

“Yeah, sure, another mysterious disappearance. First my chicken coupon, now this. You telling me the DBs are taking this stuff?”

Sonora passed the refrigeration unit. The thermometer showed a temperature of fifty-five degrees. Inside the viewing window, she saw the forlorn body of Sheree La Fontaine, lying like a ramrod on a gurney, a towel balled around her feet.

Marty stood patiently beside her. “Hate to say it, Detective, but we've had DBs in here that looked healthier than you do.”

“I'm in the right place then, aren't I?”

He inclined his head toward the body. “That her?”

“That's her. Sheree La Fontaine. Working girl from the other side of the river, hails from North or South Carolina.”

“Wasn't she a suspect in that Daniels thing?”

“Not anymore. I take it cause of death would be the stab wounds to the throat?”

“We'll make a pathologist out of you yet.” Marty made a notation on a chart. “Sign.”

Sonora scrawled her signature.

“I thought Molliter was coming in.”

“His day off and he had to be in court, so they're already paying him time and a half, plus I was in the neighborhood. On my way to do a radio thing, call-in show. I'm a celebrity expert. Cop and victim.”

Sonora sat back in the chair, loosened the high heels on her feet, decided that when she got home she would throw them away. She looked out the window. It was dark. She had talked to the kids right before she left. They were fighting with each other and enjoying the beach.

She took a sip of water and wondered if there was time to go to the bathroom.

A man in blue jeans and an olive green pullover sweater sat behind a board of controls. He smiled at her. He knew she was nervous, and he'd been working hard to do the impossible and make her feel at ease.

He stroked the thick black mustache over his lip. “Don't forget the ten little words we can't say on the air.”

“You'd just lose your license, I'd lose my job.”

He looked reassured. “Here we go, then. If you have an uncontrollable urge to cough or throw up or something, just hold up one finger and I'll cover. Ready, two, three … and this is Ritchie Seevers on the air tonight with Specialist Sonora Blair of the Cincinnati Police Department's Homicide unit. Specialist Blair is … I'm right, aren't I? The lead detective on the Mark Daniels murder investigation?”

“I was the lead detective, yes. Not anymore.”

Seevers touched His forehead. “Of course. For those of you who've been living in a vacuum, Specialist Blair's brother was the latest victim of the Flashpoint killer. Detective Blair is here to talk to us about the ongoing investigation of the truly heinous murder of Mark Daniels, who, as you likely remember, was burned alive in his car. She's also going to give us guys some safety tips.” He laughed here, at the notion of men needing safety tips. “And if any of
you
out
there
have questions for Specialist Blair, be sure and give us a call.”

Seevers paused, and Sonora wondered if she was supposed to make a comment. She could not think of anything particular to say.

Seevers smiled and went on. “Detective Blair, do you … let me interrupt myself, I think we have someone on the line.”