Revenant (17 page)

“Only the stories in the paper where they were offering a reward for information. I knew something awful had happened. I spent the next four months going to every bar, looking for her, asking questions, showing her picture. But no one had seen her. When the other girls disappeared, I knew someone was killing them. I went to the police again, but they just laughed at me and told me to mind my business at Keesler. Then I was transferred to Germany. I married while I was over there.”

“You were right, as it happened,” I told him. “Those girls were killed. All four of them. And there's a fifth body, too. One that hasn't been identified.”

“How was Audrey killed?” he asked.

Based on what happened to Pamela Sparks, Audrey's throat had been cut. But I had no evidence of that, and no need to leave him with that image in his mind. “The police don't know for certain. They believe it was a quick death.”

“Shit.” It was a terse whisper. “She was such a sweet girl. Who would kill her?”

“That's something we'd all like to know. Where were you last Friday night?” I asked.

“Me? Friday night? Why?” He put it together fast. “There's been another girl taken?”

“Where were you?”

“Here, at the base. I teach geographic weather and some other weather-related courses. Has someone else been hurt?”

“Do you have anyone who can validate your alibi?”

“Of course. It's a military base. Everything is documented. Besides, I have thirty students. Tell me what's happened.”

His alibi would be easy to check out, and besides, I believed him. “Another young girl was taken and murdered. The police feel the MO is the same as that used when Audrey was killed.”

“Do the police know who it is?”

“They have some leads, but no one has been arrested.”

“The bastard who killed Audrey is still out there, killing again?” His voice was hard with fury and I remember what Sheila Picket Bellington had said about him, how he liked violence.

“You can help by trying to remember the night Audrey disappeared. Was there anyone watching her, someone who paid particular attention to her?”

He took a moment to collect himself, and I knew what such restraint must have cost him. “There was a guy,” he said. “I remember, because he was looking at Audrey. We were arguing, and she got angry and was pulling at the engagement ring. It was tight and she was having trouble getting it off. She was crying and yelling at me, saying she wasn't going to let me browbeat her after she'd lived her whole life with her father dominating her.” His voice broke. “God, I'm so ashamed. I
was
bullying her. I thought I was loving her.”

“Captain Welsh, you were doing what you thought best, trying to get her to break free of her parents.”

“I saw that guy staring at her. He was sitting by himself at the bar, with a drink. But he was staring at her like he was afraid of her. It pissed me off so bad, I smacked him.”

“You hit him?”

“Slapped him. That really set Audrey off. She screamed at me and threw the ring. The guy flipped out. He jumped down from the stool and ran out the door. Audrey yelled at me again and went outside to cool off.”

My heart was pounding. “Can you describe the man?”

“He was dark haired. Dark eyes, I think. About six feet tall. He was strong looking, but he didn't fight back. He just sort of cowered, then ran. I thought that was odd because he looked like he could hold his own in a fight. I mean he wasn't a pussy. I didn't go around hitting ninety-pound weaklings, you know.”

“Is there anything distinctive about him that you can remember?”

“Man, it was dark in the bar. I didn't get a good look at him. I was blinded by anger. You think he took Audrey because I hit him?” His voice rose high on the last word.

“No, I think he took her because she was convenient.”

“You think that man could be the killer?”

“I think there's a chance. I'm going to call Detective Avery Boudreaux of the Biloxi Police Department. He may ask you to work with a police sketch artist. Would you do that?”

“If I have to, I can fly back to Keesler.”

I was nodding as I made quick notes. “Detective Boudreaux will be in touch, Captain. Thank you.” I hung up and called Avery. There was no time to consider if I was pimping for the police. I didn't care. What mattered was that Adrian Welsh might actually have seen the man who'd killed five, maybe six young women. I felt the dragnet beginning to tighten at last.

T
he newsroom was quiet when I went to get a cup of coffee. As I walked across the room, I was greeted by at least three smiles, and to my surprise, I smiled back. I went into my office, closed the door and dialed the number I'd dug up for Eddie Banks. It was a branch of the Ohio National Bank in a town called, unbelievably, Metropolis. Eddie was assistant bank manager. He came on the phone quickly, and when I told him who I was, he already knew why I was calling. Someone had sent him clippings of the newspaper stories about the dead girls.

“It's just impossible to believe that Sarah is dead,” he said. He'd been in the Midwest long enough to tame his accent, but it wasn't completely gone. If he was upset over his ex-fiancée's death, he was handling it.

“Where were you last Friday night?” I asked.

“Home, with the wife and kids. We have five. The youngest is eleven. Martha's a good bit younger than me, you see. I guess you could say we got a late start on the family.”

He seemed to have lost touch with the fact that a young girl who'd once been in love with him was dead. She'd never been married or had a chance to have a child. She'd been buried under a parking lot instead.

“Congratulations on your ability to reproduce,” I said, regretting the sarcasm the minute it was out of my mouth.

“Yeah, I guess that wasn't very thoughtful. It was just such a long time ago with Sarah. And we'd broken up and everything.”

“Because you were cheating on her.”

There was a pause. “Yeah. I cheated on her. I was twenty. I was too young to settle down, but Sarah wouldn't consider having sex unless we were going to be married.”

From the little I knew of Sarah Weaver, she'd deserved a lot better than Eddie Banks. “So you lied to her and told her you wanted to marry her.” I was bearing down on him hard, and he began to rationalize his actions.

“Guys do it all the time. Girls are supposed to know that. It's just how it works.”

“Right. So your wife will corroborate your alibi for last Friday.”

“My wife and my neighbors. They came over for some venison stew my wife cooked up. I can give you their names.”

I took them down. “When you were dating Sarah, do you ever remember anyone watching her, paying special attention to her, something like that?”

“I saw her the night she disappeared.” There was a pause. “She was a pretty girl. Guys looked at her all the time, but she didn't look back at them. She was shy.”

“Where did you see her?”

“At a bar called Lobos. And then she went to the Gold Rush.” He paused. “I followed her. I was thinking about making up with her, but I didn't. She was with some friends, and I knew they'd give me a world of grief if I tried to talk to her.”

“You didn't talk to her at all?”

“Not in the bar. She went outside to get something out of the car, and I followed her. I tried to talk to her. She just screamed at me and told me to leave. So I did. I didn't want trouble with the law, and she was acting like I was trying to kill her.”

“She was loud.”

“Loud? Like a cat yowling in a fight.”

“What did she yell at you?”

“She called me a creep and a liar. What do you think? She was mad at me.”

Eddie Banks wasn't my idea of a prize, but he sounded as if he was telling the truth.

“You left then?”

“I was a little hot under the collar. Sarah made me feel…guilty. I was mad at her. So I went to Spider's, a bar down the highway, and had a few beers. I stayed out most of the night, and when I got home, there was a call on my answering machine from her friend, Peggy Adams. She wanted to know if Sarah had left the bar with me.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

“I did, but folks had seen me at Spider's and later at the Jungle Room, and then later at Sambo's for breakfast. I was with a couple of friends. My time was accounted for, and I guess the police didn't realize something bad had happened to Sarah.”

“Is that what you figured?”

“I knew something bad had happened to her, but I didn't know what to do about it.”

I could only pray that my fate would never rest in the hands of someone like Eddie Banks. “Thanks, Mr. Banks.” I hung up.

I wrote my copy and turned it in. To my surprise, Brandon wasn't hovering over my desk prodding me to put a dash of sensationalism in my stories. When Hank walked into my office and closed the door, I looked up with concern.

“The stories are fine. I just got a call from Brandon. He's bringing the CEO of the chain in Monday morning. He wants us all to spiff up a bit.”

“Did he direct that at me personally?” I asked.

“Yes.” Hank grinned. “Wear your Daisy Dukes and carry a bottle.”

“Right. I'm so employable already.”

His smile faded. “Will you stay if they buy us out?”

“I don't know. I don't know if they'll have me.”

“You've done some terrific stories.”

I shook my head. “Don't go out on a limb for me, Hank. I'll be fine, whatever happens. You need this job. You have a wife and responsibilities.”

“I need my self-respect more.”

He spoke quietly and I gave him a weak smile. “What about Jack? Has he said anything?” Jack had been noticeably absent from the office. He'd rush in, write his story and fly out the door.

“I'm worried. Something's not right with Jack, but he won't talk about it.”

There it was again. I suspected, but it wasn't my place to speculate. “I'll try to run him down this weekend and talk to him away from here.”

“Thanks, Carson. What do you have going on the social calendar?”

I couldn't be certain if he somehow knew, but I wasn't going to lie. “I'm going to dinner with Mitch tonight.”

His grin was puckish. “Who's bait and who's the fisherman? That's all I want to know.”

“I'm not sure,” I said, laughing. “Maybe we're just two lonely adults who want someone to drink with.”

“Maybe you should learn to lie better.”

“I'm gone, anyway.”

“Yeah, spruce up for your date, and be on time Monday. If Brandon sells, I want you to stay on. You're the only good thing about working here.”

 

I was underdressed for the Cloister, a lovely old restaurant in one of the antebellum homes of Pass Christian. Pass Christian was old money, culture, the highest waterfront property and Old World class. Highway 90 along the coast was a promenade of beautiful homes and landscaping. The ride in Mitch's convertible had whipped my hair into a tangle, and my mascara was blurred with tears brought on by the cold wind. It was magnificent, and we walked, smiling, into the elegance of chandeliers and candles.

He'd reserved a table in a small private dining room, and I was impressed. I'd gone to the Brown Raisin for anonymity; his choice was one of the coast's favorite dining establishments.

When we both had drinks in front of us, he cleared his throat. “I know I said no business, but I have to thank you for calling Avery about Captain Welsh.”

“You're welcome.” I sipped my martini. “I'm not the enemy of the police. I'm not even an adversary. It sounded as if Welsh might have seen the killer. I wasn't about to surprise Avery and the investigation by sitting on that until the paper ran it.”

“It was good work. Avery's team should have been there before you, though.”

“It isn't a competition,” I said. “Let's just hope you get a good likeness of the killer from the captain.”

“Do you think he really saw the killer?”

I ate the last olive in my drink. “He's the best lead we have,” I said. “He saw someone watching Audrey.”

“And he said Audrey was angry and verbally abusive?”

“Obviously, you can't wait until tomorrow's paper for the details.”

“I'm sorry.” He sipped his drink. “We can talk about something else.”

“The captain said he and Audrey were arguing loudly. She was upset with him because he was pressuring her to confront her family and tell them she was engaged. She wanted to elope, sort of sneak away. He's more of a confrontational kind of guy. He felt slighted that she wouldn't stand up and say she loved him.”

Mitch nodded. “And the guy he saw in the bar, what did he look like?”

“The description we're running in the paper isn't very specific. Dark hair, brown eyes, nice build. That describes a lot of men on the coast.”

“Including me,” he said, a frown marring his forehead. “Or at least I had lots of dark hair back then. Now it's getting gray.”

“Does your department have that computer that progressively ages a photograph or drawing?”

“We have access to one.”

“As soon as you get the composite, I'd like to run it, along with the one that's been aged. Maybe for Sunday's paper.” That would give me the best excuse possible not to go to Leakesville.

“Captain Welsh is flying in here tonight. They may have something by tomorrow. I promise to call you. In this instance, I think Avery will agree that the media can help us more than anyone else.”

“If you give it to the television station Saturday, I'll skin you alive.” I wasn't kidding. “Hold it for them until Sunday after the paper comes out.”

“They'll accuse me of playing favorites.”

“You wouldn't have that lead if it wasn't for me.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Carson, but you have my word.”

“I never doubted I'd get it.” I grinned. It was nice to have someone I couldn't run over, yet I could trust Mitch to do the right thing. So far.

“Enough shop. I hear you have a fan in Jill Boudreaux. She's a great kid. She gives her father a rough time.” He laughed. “She's beautiful and smart and headstrong.”

“Sounds like great journalism material to me.”

“Avery is certain that it's some kind of karmic boomerang from another life. He thinks he may have been Attila the Hun, and Jill going into journalism is his payback.”

I laughed out loud. “Life has a funny way of sending us exactly what we need. Avery has such a dim view of journalists, maybe if his daughter becomes one, he'll have to change his thinking.”

“You're already changing his thinking. He actually likes you, and it's killing him. He's developed a new interest in my social life since he found out we've been on a couple of dates. He'll probably be sitting on my doorstep when I get home for a rehash of the night.”

“I'm glad to know that,” I said. “I don't kiss and tell, and I certainly don't want the police involved in my social life.”

Mitch grinned. “I can just make it up to suit me, you know. I am a lawyer, after all. In the surveys I've seen, lawyers tied with journalists for the title of professional liar.”

“Just remember, my mama lives right down the road, and she still thinks I'm a lady.”

We ordered and ate, chatting about the coast and a couple of his cases that had been in the paper. When my cell phone rang, I almost didn't answer it, but it was Dorry. Concern about my dad's heart shot through me. She didn't even give me a chance to say hello.

“Carson, you are coming to Emily's birthday party Sunday, aren't you? She's counting on you. We're having a tea party at the Crazy Lady Tea Shop. Emily will die if you aren't there.”

I felt Mitch's gaze on me as I tried to frame an excuse. “I'm really busy, Dorry. I—”

“Emily loves you, Carson. She wants you there. I know it must be difficult. I look at her and think about Annabelle…”

“Dorry, I'm having dinner.”

“Then say you'll be there. At eleven.”

“I'll be there.” By the time I hung up, Mitch had paid the check.

He drove me back to Ocean Springs with the top still down. I snuggled into my leather jacket and enjoyed the smell of the water and the glitter of the stars. Even the neon was crisply beautiful as we passed the casinos. Progress was inevitable. Gambling, in many ways, was the cleanest industry Mississippi could have gotten. Across the state line, Mobile sweltered with chemical plants and oil refineries. The environmental damage would take decades to undo. Sure, pawnshops had come, hanging on to the coattails of the casinos. And drugs. And the desperation of those who were perpetually drawn by the promise of a big win. But desperation wasn't the calling card of only the casinos. It had always been a way of life in a state that was perpetually on the bottom economic-educational rung.

“I had a good time,” I said when Mitch stopped in my driveway. We were surrounded by azalea bushes that towered above the car, a magic tunnel of vivid flowers interspaced with the fragile wands of the white bridal wreath. The flowers reminded me of the dead girls. “Thank you, Mitch.” I got out of the car and closed the door.