Revenant (16 page)

I got a tray of food and sat down. Instead of grace, I thanked my lucky stars that gaming wasn't my vice, or I'd be sunk. The casinos didn't bring gambling to the Gulf Coast. They just legalized it and turned it into entertainment.

The chicken was crisp and moist. I ate slowly, knowing I had lots of time to kill. I drank my tea, and the waitress came around and refilled it. When I finished my meal, I ordered coffee and scanned the faces of those involved in their food. I had once known a lot of people on the Gulf Coast. I didn't recognize anyone in the vast room.

“Carson Lynch!”

I looked behind me to see Justina Cooley, a girl with whom I'd gone to high school. She looked tired and very much alone. “Would you like to join me?”

She took the chair and pushed her tray aside. To my surprise, she blinked back tears.

“Justina, what's wrong?”

“Mama has cancer. Your brother-in-law operated on her two weeks ago. They called him in because it had spread from her ovaries to her liver.”

I swallowed. I knew the prognosis. “I'm sorry.”

“It's about to kill me. I guess you don't know that Gary and I divorced. My son is over here staying with his dad. I'm supposed to get him later. I didn't have anything else to do, and I thought if I came here with all these people I couldn't fall apart. It's, uh, not working as well as I planned.” She sniffed.

“Can I do anything?” Her mother was near the same age as mine, in her mid-sixties. It seemed impossible. I remembered Mrs. Cooley in black slacks and bright sweaters with her slender feet in flats with jewels across the vamp. She'd been the epitome of style in 1980s Leakesville. Fear spiked through me.

Justina pulled herself together with grim determination. “I'm sorry, Carson. I heard you had enough grief of your own.”

“There's plenty for everyone.” I sipped my coffee.

“Tommy did everything he could do for her. It's a good thing Dorry married him and got him to stay in this part of the country. I've heard he's had offers from Cedars of Sinai and Johns Hopkins, but Dorry said no. We've had a real problem keeping good doctors around. The income just isn't there.”

“Neither are the lawsuits,” I said. “Folks around here still view those in the medical profession as lesser gods.”

She stared at me, trying to read the underlying tone of my words. “Are things okay with Tommy and Dorry?”

“You tell me,” I said. Justina looked down at the table. “If you know something, please share.”

“There's a nurse. She just made me…uncomfortable. She was sort of proprietary, if you know what I mean.”

I did. I'd seen it before. The good doctor's little helper who turns adoring eyes on him at every occasion and wins his attention, then has to be sure that no one else ousts her. Tommy had an ego. A big one. He was as prone to eager adoration as any other egomaniac. But he got plenty of it at home.

“How uncomfortable did it make you?” I asked.

“Pretty much. She was brushing her ass against him at every chance, and he wasn't backing away.”

“Thanks, Justina. Did you get her name?”

“I didn't. She was a surgical nurse, though, because I haven't seen her since Mama was taken off the surgery floor.” She rearranged her napkin for the tenth time. “Don't tell this to Dorry. I don't have anything conclusive, and this kind of rumor can ruin a marriage.”

“I wouldn't dare go home with a nasty tale about Tommy. No one would believe me if I had pictures.”

Justina smiled sadly. “Your mother picked him out for Dorry. I remember when they were both at college and he dumped Dorry for that other Dixie Darling. He'd go with one for a while and once she started pressuring him, he'd dump her and go back to the other.”

“Dorry should have left him then,” I said, remembering my sister's face streaked with tears. “She married him and dropped out of college. That was what he wanted, a stay-at-home wife to provide comforts while he was in medical school. Dorry's youngest is only nine.” Dorry was effectively stuck.

“Have you seen Gary since you've been on the coast?” She didn't look too eager as she asked.

“No. I doubt our paths would cross.” I remembered her husband as a golfer who liked mahogany bars with waiters in white jackets.

“I hear Gary's out every night when he doesn't have our son.” She smiled, a tired attempt at being blasé. “I just don't have it in me to get dressed up to go out.”

“I haven't seen Gary, but I have seen Michael.”

She grinned, and I saw the teenage girl who'd encouraged me to date Michael Batson. “He's a good man,” she said. “Polly's a fool. He always loved you, anyway. Wouldn't it be something if—?”

“We can't go back to prom night,” I said, regret edging my voice. Sometimes it was so easy to slip the bonds of time and float in the free space of youth.

“Few people get a second chance, Carson. I never knew your husband, but from what I hear he was a fine man.”

My skin was suddenly warm. “He is.”

She studied me. “You still love him, don't you?”

“Probably.”

She reached across the table and patted my hand. “When did everything become so complicated? One minute Gary and I were in love, and the next, it was like we'd shut down those feelings. We didn't dislike each other. There just wasn't any passion there. When we decided to divorce, it was simply exhausting. I couldn't even work up the energy to get angry. I just wanted it over. That was four years ago.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” I asked.

She shrugged, her gaze falling on the plate of food she hadn't touched. “I date, but it's like something inside me has died. I can't work up enthusiasm for anyone. I don't blame Gary—I think it's me.”

“Sometimes your body goes numb to protect itself.”

“My life is slipping away from me, and I'm in some twilight state.” She shook her head. “I owe my boy more than that.”

“What about a rest?” I asked. “Maybe a spa or someplace where you could go and be tended to. I suspect it's been a while since anyone met your needs in that way.”

“A long while,” she said. “But I can't now. I'm sitting with Mother at the hospital during the day. She's in a lot of pain.”

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't imagine sitting with someone I loved and watching him or her suffer and die. “You should eat,” I said, nodding at her plate.

“I'm not really hungry.”

“I've heard that,” I said. “But you should eat something, anyway.”

She took a bite of her vegetables. “How is it at the paper?”

“It feels good to be writing again.”

“Those murders have been awful,” she said. “Those girls were being abducted and killed, and we were running around Leakesville gossiping about our first kiss. That killer could have been in Leakesville as easily as Biloxi.”

What she said was true, and a door opened in my mind. Why were the girls taken from the Biloxi area? What was the killer doing here in 1981? What job brought him to town and what took him away? At least it was a lead, something to look into.

“Carson? Are you okay?”

“I was thinking about the killer and the Gulf Coast and why this location.”

“Keesler brought in a lot of strangers. Remember, back in Leakesville everyone knew everyone else. Our parents knew every boy we dated or even talked to. Strangers just didn't come to town and talk to the local girls.”

What she said was true. Of course there were bars, legal or illegal, as Greene County went wet and then dry again. But these were places where everyone knew everyone else. Strangers were closely watched.

“How different could the coast have been?” I asked.

“Some. It drew tourists. Strangers were welcomed instead of suspected. Add the airmen to that, and you had a fair mix of people who weren't natives. There were the college kids, too. They'd come to the coast for the weekend from Hattiesburg or New Orleans. Biloxi and Gulfport had that kind of allure. Folks remembered when Jayne Mansfield was decapitated.”

I'd forgotten that story. The actress had been riding on the back of a convertible when there had been an accident. It had happened back in the '50s, but it was still legend, though the details were now disputed. Peculiar what events become tourist attractions. Tragedy is a big draw.

Justina pushed her plate away. “I guess I'll go get my son. We have a bit of a drive back to Leakesville.”

“I hope things improve.” It was an empty statement.

“Thank you.” She stood and leaned down to hug me, the light fragrance of perfume in her hair. “Come see me, Carson. When this is over, maybe we could go to that spa together. Drink margaritas and paint our toenails cherry-red.”

“Sure,” I said, and then watched her walk out the dining room and slowly disappear on the escalator. I walked out after her and stood in the parking lot, deliberating my next move. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Kevin Graves at home, knowing I could leave a message. Instead of a machine, I got him.

“Kevin, are you still doing PI work on the side?” I asked.

“Sure. It pays better than police work.”

“I need to hire you. A surveillance case.”

“Sure.” He was curious. “Who, where and when?”

“Dr. Tommy Pritchard. I'll check his schedule and see what time he's supposed to get off today. It would be good if you could do this tonight.”

“What do you suspect Dr. Pritchard of doing?” he asked.

“Cheating on his wife.”

“I'm sorry, Carson. I have to tell you, though, Dorry's not going to appreciate you meddling in this. If he is screwing around on her, she probably knows already. She won't want to hear it coming from you.”

“I may not tell her. I just want to know the score myself.”

“Okay, sure.” He sounded dubious, and with good cause. Kev had gone to high school with Dorry. They'd dated their junior year, before she became infatuated with Tommy. Kev knew the rivalry between me and my sister.

“I'll mail a check, just tell me how much. Or I can drive over to Mobile and deliver it.”

“Don't worry about it until we have something to show for our efforts. Any idea where he might be going when he isn't headed home?”

“I understand he's very friendly with a nurse.”

“Must be those sexy white stockings and shoes.”

I had to laugh. Kev had a way of putting things in perspective. “I'll call you back and leave the particulars.”

“I don't want to be around when you tell Dorry.”

“Right.” Kevin would do an excellent job, and he would be discreet. Tommy would never know he was being followed.

I called the University of South Alabama Medical Center and was switched to the surgical ward when I said I was Tommy's wife. I got a nurse to tell me that Dr. Pritchard had finished surgery at ten and had gone to his office to see patients. I called his office and was told that I couldn't speak to him. He was with a patient—and would be until he finished at four. His nurse would return his calls then.

“Actually, I need to speak with his surgical nurse,” I said sweetly. “My mother had surgery two weeks ago and I have a question. I don't want to bother the doctor. I'm sure the nurse can help me.”

“She'll call you this evening or in the morning.”

“Is her name Susan?”

“No. It's Debbie Leigh.”

“Please ask her to call when she has time. I know how busy she is,” I said, sounding suitably cowed and in awe of the power of a surgical nurse. I left a fake number and hung up. Getting to talk to the president of the United States was easier than getting Tommy on the line. He had a barricade of women, and they would sacrifice themselves to keep him away from his patients. No wonder doctors were sued all the time.

I called Kev back and gave him what I had.

“I'll check in when I have something.”

“Thanks.” I hung up feeling only a little sick. My mother and sister thought nothing of butting into my life. Why was I suddenly nauseous at my own ability to interfere? Because if I found out something definite, I'd have to take action. I thought of what Justina Cooley had told me. I wasn't the kind of person to sit around and let my sister be abused by an egomaniac husband and a bitch with an itchy ass.

O
f all the coastal cities, Gulfport's downtown was the largest with several blocks of multistory brick buildings. McBeth's was located on the ground floor of what had once been a mercantile. I entered and took a seat at the bar. My order of a Diet Coke was met without curiosity. A bartender's bar was one place where a nondrinker wasn't an oddity. Plenty of bartenders drank, but plenty didn't.

I recognized Stella Blue the instant she walked in. She was only a few years older than me, but she looked like a million dollars. Babette had called her the prettiest woman on the coast back in the '80s. I wasn't sure she didn't still hold the title. She had thick blond hair cut in a straight shag and Tina Turner legs that were well displayed in a slit cocktail dress that spoke of a time when elegance was expected. Her waist couldn't have been larger than twenty-two inches, and her hips and bosom swelled with a lushness that made every man in the bar swallow hard.

She saw me looking at her and walked over. “You're the reporter, aren't you?”

I introduced myself. “Babette called to warn you?”

“That's what friends are for, sugar baby.”

“She tell you I was going to ask about those dead girls?”

“Yep.” She took the drink the bartender handed her, a Harvey Wallbanger. “So, ask.”

“Do you remember them?” I pulled out the pictures.

“That one for sure.” She, too, pointed to Maria. “And those two.” Charlotte and Audrey. “Can't say, but the other looks familiar. You have to understand, I was a little busy back then. I had choreographed some dance numbers that required a lot of concentration.” She had blue eyes that crinkled at the corner with good humor.

“Do you remember any men who hung around these girls?”

She didn't blow off the question. She thought a moment. “That one—” she pointed at Audrey “—had a regular guy. The only reason I remember is because he always tipped me with a ten-dollar bill. He said his fiancée sent it to me, then he'd point at her. He was a looker, too. Hard body, short hair, classic pinger. You know, Keesler airman.”

“Do you remember ever seeing him after Audrey disappeared?”

She shook her head. “I don't.” She put the picture on the bar and sipped her drink. “He was trouble, I can tell you that. He liked to fight. But I never got the idea that he was anything other than devoted to his fiancée.”

“Why would you remember that?”

“In that job I saw a lot of couples, and I got where I'd make bets with myself about how long they'd last. I got pretty good at it, and I remember thinking that they were mismatched, but that they'd make it for the long haul. There was something in the way he looked at her. Fierce and protective, like she was the most special thing he'd ever seen. That's the only kind of love will hold a guy like that.”

“Do you remember anyone who set your teeth on edge?”

“Other than Alvin's buddies who thought they could grab and fondle me?”

“Maybe one of them.”

She shook her head. “None of them killed those girls. They were old, fat white men who liked to cop a feel, but they weren't into killing girls.” She eased down on the bar stool beside me. “Let me think about it. Since no bodies were found I guess I wanted to assume those missing girls had simply left. I wasn't thinking about a killer. There were some strangers at the bar, geeks and losers, guys who had to pay for a look at a pair of tits. But a killer?” She frowned. “I'll have to think. Did you talk to Alvin?”

“He wasn't very helpful.”

“I'll bet if you could get his sentence reduced he'd have a better memory.”

Mitch would have to work that angle. “There's a good chance the killer targeted each of those girls at the Gold Rush. While you're dredging up memories, you might try to remember another girl that would be like these four. The police haven't identified the fifth body yet.”

“It could be one of a thousand girls. Rich girls, Yankee girls, sorority girls or ones that came in wearing their one good dress like Cinderellas praying Prince Charming would find them.”

I nodded. “Just think about it.”

“Why are you so certain those girls were taken at the Gold Rush?”

“Just a hunch,” I said. “I could be wrong.”

“Beats me how Alvin didn't notice someone was digging in his parking lot. Five bodies buried there, you'd think someone would have caught on.”

Stella was nobody's fool, and we shared that sentiment. Alvin might have turned a blind eye, and he might not know what someone was burying in his parking lot, but he knew something was going on. He was guilty, but to what degree we'd probably never know. “Do you remember anything about that?”

“Most of the time Alvin sent a car to get me. They'd let me out right at the back door so I could get into my costume. I was the featured dancer then.” She smiled a slow, lazy smile. “I was a star. I made two grand a week working two hours a night. That's not counting another grand in unreported tips.”

“I heard you were good.”

“I could make men want me to the point that they didn't care about money. I studied the Vegas acts and created my own costumes. Feathers, balloons, you name it.”

Sex appeal was indeed a talent. Stella still had a lot of it left if she chose to use it. “I'm not trying to be rude or imply anything, but did any of the gentlemen ever request anything odd?”

“Like I should wear a bridal veil?” she asked. “No. I didn't date after the show. A lot of the girls who danced did, but I didn't. I made that clear with Alvin before I took the job. Whorin' wasn't my thing, and I was making a lot of money dancing. I had a steady man, and he was plenty for me. I knew I had something waitin' at home and nothing hanging in that club could compare.” Her smile revealed strong white teeth. “Sugar, when you got the candy man, you don't go lookin' for a gumdrop.”

I couldn't help laughing. “Are you still with him?”

“No, he played the blues, and that kind of life depends on travel and sadness. I'm basically a happy person, so I didn't want to stay sad. That man could fuck the kinks out of me, but he never learned to laugh. I heard he died last year. Alcohol.”

Death was all around me, tapping the shoulders of everyone I talked with. “Did any of the other girls talk about a kinky guy?”

“No, and they would have said something about a guy with a bride fetish. I mean there were the normal requests for a three-way or domination or a little slap and tickle, but nothing like bridal veils. Tell you what, though, I'll make a few calls.”

“Thanks, Ms. Blue,” I said.

“Sure, but call me Stella. And remember, you can't use any names if some of the girls do talk. We're older now. That was a long time ago. Most everybody has family.”

“No problem,” I said, giving her my card. “Just give me a call.”

 

Hank had ordered me home, but it was pointless. I couldn't relax. The phone was in my hand and I called Mitch.

“Any luck with the fifth body?”

“No,” he said. “We know it's a female, and she's a real mystery. We just don't have anything to check her against because there were no other missing girls. Our regional check hasn't produced anything that matches her dental records. We'll broaden our scope to a national hunt, but the records from 1981 are going to be sketchy to say the least. Anything else?”

“Have there been any convicts released lately with records of the type of violent criminal past that would lend themselves to these murders?”

“Two. Avery has already checked them out and they have alibis the night Pamela Sparks was killed. Solid alibis. Avery said he believes them, which is rare. He seldom believes anyone.”

“Wow. I'm impressed.” And I wasn't being sarcastic. “The Thorazine. Has any been reported stolen?”

“Not from the coast. We're checking the Jackson area and over in New Orleans. It's a long shot, but we have to try it.”

I thought of the things that Dr. Richard Jennings had told me. “What about mental institutions? Has anyone gone missing?”

There was a pause. “Avery doesn't have any reports locally, but we're still checking.”

“I guess that's everything I have to ask right now. Thanks, Mitch. See you later.” I hung up and realized I was smiling. I'd never really considered that I might enjoy dating the district attorney, but it was hard not to like Mitch Rayburn.

I drove back to the office and typed up the answers I'd gotten from Mitch for a brief story updating the investigation. Then I wrote a story about Stella Blue, and a time when the coast was a place where girls in sequins and feathers dancing on a runway seemed like a scandal. I set the scene for the last place I believed the five young women were seen alive, and then I got on the phone and began tracking down Adrian Welsh and Eddie Banks.

Captain Adrian Welsh wasn't that hard to find. He was stationed in Colorado Springs, Colorado, a career military man working with the air force weather station there. It took three phone calls and several transfers before I got him on the line. It was only nine o'clock there.

This was a part of my job that I hated. I asked if he'd spoken with the Biloxi police recently, and when he said he hadn't, I could hear in his voice that he knew.

“It's Audrey, isn't it?” he asked. “They found her.”

“Yes, I'm afraid she's dead.”

“She never disappeared—she was killed, wasn't she?”

“Yes. Probably the night she disappeared. I'm sorry to have to tell you this.”

There was a pause. “My God, you can't imagine the times I've thought about her. I called her parents again and again and again. They hated me. They blamed me. Saw me as the bad influence. They told me she'd gone away to school and never wanted to see me again. I knew they were lying, but I couldn't find out anything. Then they reported her missing in the newspaper and I knew something terrible had happened. I called the police, but nothing ever came of it.”

I made a note to check the old police records to see if Adrian really had called. If those records still existed.

“Do you have any idea who might have killed her?”

“I have some thoughts,” he said. “I had five years or so to think about it before I finally gave up on hearing from her. I sort of always hoped that she'd call me one day, maybe saying that her folks had locked her in her room and wouldn't let her use the phone, but that she'd finally escaped. It didn't happen.”

Most people live on improbable dreams and fantasy, and Adrian Welsh, career military man, was no exception.

“I understand from her friend Sheila that she went outside for some air the night she went missing. Can you tell me what happened?”

He took a deep breath. “It's my fault.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I was putting pressure on her to wear my ring. She'd agreed to marry me, and accepted the engagement ring, but she'd only wear it when she was away from home. She didn't want to tell her parents. She wanted to run off, you know, elope. But I thought that lacked honor. I wanted her to tell them so I could confront them and prove that I was going to be a good husband. I loved her to the point of desperation.”

“Why wouldn't she tell her parents?”

“She was afraid her father would lock her in her room. Really. He was like that. But I wanted her to break the hold he had over her and her mother. I should have eloped with her and done it her way. Everything would be different now. My life would be so different.”

Adrian spoke like a man who'd let a lot slip through his fingers. “So that night, you were arguing,” I prompted.

“About the engagement. She'd signed herself up at some bridal registry. It was a big deal to her to do that. She said she was taking it one step at a time, and when it was right she'd tell her folks. When I got angry because it wasn't enough, she said she was going to get some air. It was smoky in the Gold Rush and I was pissed off. She walked outside and I went to the bar and got a beer. I guess about fifteen minutes went by before I got concerned. I went outside to check for her, but she wasn't there. Her friends were worried, too. Sheila went looking for her and we hunted all over the parking lot. We asked the security guy, but he hadn't seen anything. So we all went home. Sheila was afraid to call the Coxwells, because if Audrey was in trouble, it would only make it worse. Sometimes Mr. Coxwell would beat Audrey with a leather strap.”

There was a silence on the line. “What did you do?”

“I called the Coxwells about forty times. Her dad hung up on me, until he finally told me that she'd gone away to school and never wanted to see me again. I went over there and pounded on the door, and he called the police on me. They told me at Keesler that if I went back to the Coxwells' I'd be arrested and discharged. I didn't have another career to go to.”

“You never heard anything else?”