Revenant (26 page)

“You've got to handle your own problems.” I couldn't offer Jack more money, and I knew he wouldn't ask. But there was the possibility of a bank loan. “My banker—”

“Stop it.” He grimaced as a sudden pain struck. “I already owe you money.”

“I was going to suggest a loan.”

“No banker in his right mind will loan me anything. That's not your problem, Carson. Let's keep it that way.”

“Okay.” There was nothing else to say. “I'll be back to check on you.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. I think it surprised him as much as it did me. I winked. “You owe me a dinner when you get out.”

“Only if you drive.”

An orderly appeared with a lunch tray, and I left. I drove to Bucky's Bistro and into the society lunch crowd of tennis ladies and a scattering of men in polo shirts and slacks. This wasn't my scene, and I would never have suspected it was a hangout of Avery's, but he'd done the choosing.

He wasn't in sight so I went to the hostess. “I'm meeting Avery Boudreaux.”

“Yes,” she said, her flawless face revealing nothing. “The back room.”

I followed her to a white wooden door. She opened it and stepped aside. I walked into the room and stopped. Avery was nowhere in sight, but Jimmy Riley was sitting at the only table in the room watching me with distaste.

R
iley had once been a handsome man, but liquor had taken its toll. Ruptured blood vessels in his nose and cheeks gave his flesh a bluish tone. Pale eyes were nearly covered in swollen folds of skin, and his neck bulged over his shirt collar. He was sixty pounds overweight and unhealthy.

“Where's Avery?” I asked from the doorway. I had no intention of meeting with Riley alone. I hadn't even brought a tape recorder.

“He'll be along directly.” He frowned. “Where's that waiter? I need a beer.”

He had a plate of raw oysters in front of him and he'd worked through half of them. He picked one up on a fork, dipped it in sauce and swallowed it whole.

“Avery said you wanted to talk to me.” He swallowed another oyster, wiping the cocktail sauce from his chin with a crumpled napkin. “Something about back when I worked security.” He pushed the oysters back, leaving two uneaten. “I don't mind talking about the Gold Rush, but folks associate a lot of negative things with Alvin Orley.”

“Things like murder.”

“Yeah. Things like that.” He waved at a chair. “Are you gonna sit down and eat or just stand there? Don't get the oysters. They aren't the freshest around.”

I couldn't figure Riley out. Either he was an incredible actor or dumb as a post. Either way, he'd piqued my curiosity. I walked to the table and eased into a chair. I'd planned on an interview with a backup witness, but I sensed it was now or never. I didn't have time to wait for Avery. Riley picked up the menu and studied it.

“I was at Bebop's at three, as
you
requested,” I said again.

He lowered the menu. “What are you talking about? The place don't open till four.”

“You said three, and I was there.”

“I never said anything to you. This is the first time I've talked to you, and I can tell you it wouldn't be happening now if Avery hadn't asked as a personal favor.” He looked at the empty doorway. “Where the hell is he?”

I decided to try another tactic. “I got the present you left for me.”

“I didn't leave anything for you.”

“At Bebop's,” I insisted.

“What is this about that bar? I never told you to go there, and I haven't been there in weeks.”

I had to give the man credit. He was convincing, but I wasn't ready to let it drop. “I don't normally accept such intimate gifts, but I'll make an exception this time.”

A frown passed over his face. “I don't know what you're talking about. Where's that damn waiter?” He slammed his empty water glass on the table. “Look, either eat or get on with your questions. I told Avery I'd talk to you, but I haven't got all afternoon to hold your hand.”

He was insulting and not even aware of it. Or maybe he truly didn't care. “How long did you work for Alvin Orley?”

“From around 1979 through 1983. I worked there about four nights a week, patrolling the parking lot and making sure the girls got in their cars without being hassled by the drunks. It was a pretty simple job and it paid well.”

“You were a patrolman then?”

“Yeah, a rookie. I'd just signed on to the police department. A policing career pretty much meant starvation. My fiancée had expensive taste, and I wanted to be able save so one day my kids would go to college. So I worked a second job. So what?”

“I hear your father was CIA.”

That stopped him. “My father doesn't really figure into this.”

“Was he CIA?”

“I don't have a certificate to prove it, but that's what he said. Is there a point to these questions?”

There was, but I wasn't ready to reveal it. “Were you working the nights those girls disappeared?”

He shook his head. “I couldn't say. I rotated with two other guys, so we never worked regular nights. Sometimes I worked the weekends, sometimes during the week. I could've been there, or not.”

“Surely there are pay records.”

He stared at me. “Alvin paid us cash. He didn't keep records and he didn't care who was there as long as some muscle appeared if he needed it.”

“That's very convenient.”

The redness in his cheeks intensified. “I don't have to sit here and listen to your insinuations. I'm here because Avery Boudreaux asked me to talk to you, but I don't have to take shit from you.” He put his napkin down, and the corner of his right eye twitched uncontrollably.

I'd hit a nerve. “Did you walk the parking lots during your shift?”

“Naw. There wasn't a need for that. Alvin had this storage room where he put us a coffeepot and a desk. We could sit there and look out the window to the front door of the club. When a woman came out alone, I got up and went out to escort her to her car. Other than that, I stayed mostly in the shack. It had a little heater and a window air conditioner, and Alvin didn't want us running off his business, if you get my drift. We were there strictly to watch out for the girls. Otherwise, we kept out of the way.”

“Do you remember anyone suspicious, a man who seemed to lurk around the club?”

“Like the man in the drawing?” He laughed. “Only about two thousand of them. Guys were at that club every night. Those young men from Keesler, hell, they were nineteen and horny. They were like dogs sniffing after the girls. I didn't necessarily consider it suspicious.”

“Were you after any of the girls?” My question was spoken softly.

He leaned forward suddenly. “That is none of your damn business. I was engaged. Happily engaged and looking forward to a good life with Yvonne. I didn't need to chase women. I had all I could handle in my own bed.”

I wondered exactly how much Riley could actually handle. “You had a necklace back then. Human ears.”

His eyes narrowed and he grew very still. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Folks don't forget something like that, Riley. Most people don't have souvenirs made of human body parts.”

“That belonged to my father.”

“But you kept it, and you showed it around like it was something special.”

“I was young and trying to impress folks. It was stupid, a dumb kid thing to do.”

“Where is that necklace?”

“I haven't seen it in years.”

“You know about the fingers severed from those girls.” I saw in his face that he did. “Someone is taking trophies. Fingers, ears, do you see a pattern here?”

He dropped the menu and pushed back his chair. For a large man he moved quickly. He was on his feet in an instant and he leaned over the table. “You put that shit in the paper and I'll sue you for everything you ever dreamed of owning. And Brandon, too. He won't have a chance to sell the paper before I run him into the ground.”

“You patrolled a parking lot where five bodies were buried,” I said, unflinching. “Did you simply not notice five graves?”

He was breathing through his mouth. “I didn't go in the back of the lot. Back then, that area was full of thick bamboo and weeds and snakes. Alvin made it clear that my job was in the front of the lot escorting young women to their cars. Not killing them. I was a police officer at the time. If I'd had any idea someone was killing those girls and burying them there, I would have done something about it then.”

“I guess I have your word on that.”

The sarcasm was too much. I thought for a moment he might have a stroke. “Print anything close to that and I'll own you.”

“Where were you Friday night?” My heart was pounding, but I wasn't going to show him I was afraid of him.

“On my boat. At Chandelier Island.”

“Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? And the night Pamela Sparks was killed? You were on the boat that night, too? And I'll bet you were all alone.”

He stood up straight. “I'm finished answering your questions.”

“I don't have any more questions, but I do have a word of advice. Don't ever try to use my past to intimidate me. It doesn't work. It only pisses me off.”

“I don't have a clue what Rayburn sees in you. Everyone in town knows you're a washed-up drunk, but he keeps harping on how we need to develop a relationship with you.” His lip curled. “I'm not playing any more games so he can jump in your pants.” He slammed a twenty on the table. “Maybe you aren't as smart as you think you are.”

He walked out of the private room. I waited a few minutes and followed him. When I stepped into the main dining area, no one was talking and everyone was looking at me. I walked through the tables, leaving a wake of silence behind me.

 

Sitting in the parking lot of a local souvenir store with a door that opened through a huge shark's mouth, I used a reporter's first tool, the phone. Avery wasn't in his office, and he didn't answer his cell phone. I didn't blame him. Riley felt set up and so did I. Avery had pulled a fast one, but he had made his point. He didn't believe Riley was a killer, and I'd begun to doubt it, too. Riley wasn't smart enough.

But had he set me up at Bebop's? And if so, why?

I called my home answering machine and retrieved a message from Kev Graves. The matchbox and note had come back with only my prints on them. I was disappointed but not surprised. There were no other calls, and though I hadn't expected to hear from Daniel, I couldn't help the sense of loss that settled over me.

I drove down the beach, thinking how I ought to call Dorry and apologize about Emily's birthday, but I didn't. I couldn't. I stopped along the beach. Once the windows were down I turned the radio to a country station and leaned back against the seat, my eyes closed. The waves broke gently on the shore, creating a soothing background for my troubled thoughts on the case.

I'd been so positive Riley was the murderer. Now I had to rethink the situation. Avery had made his point by setting up the interview, which had accomplished nothing except making an enemy of Riley.

I put the truck in drive and headed for the office. The impulse to go to a bar was strong, but I fought it. Someone had left me a very personal message in Bebop's, and I intended to find out who.

M
y cell phone rang just as I was pulling into the parking lot of the newspaper. Since I wasn't eager to enter the building and bump into Brandon, I welcomed the possible distraction. A soft voice with a black accent asked for me.

“This is Lele, Rose McKay's granddaughter,” she said. “Grandmama remembered the veil.”

I couldn't believe it. “Will she talk to me?”

“She's tired,” Lele said. “She got upset once she remembered. I made her go to bed, but she said I should call you. She said it could be important.”

“Who did the veil belong to?”

“Alana Williams. She drowned right after she was married. Grandmama went to the wedding. She didn't normally do that, but she said Alana was a special girl.”

I was momentarily unbalanced. Of all the answers I'd expected, Alana Williams had never occurred to me. I'd been certain the veil would somehow connect to the family of one of the murdered girls. “Lele, did your grandmother have any idea how the killer might have gotten hold of Alana's veil?”

“She was upset, Ms. Lynch. She said the last time she saw that veil, Alana was wearing it at the wedding. She doesn't know anything else—I'm sure of it.”

I thanked Lele and hung up. Someone who knew Alana Williams and had access to her things had killed Pamela Sparks. Who had access to those things? My next call was to Mitch, but I got only his answering machine. “I need to talk to you,” I said. I found myself unwilling to say more. “Call me.”

A couple of reporters came out of the building and went to their cars. They were either on assignment, headed for a late lunch or simply evacuating a sinking ship. I almost didn't care. Instead of going in, I telephoned the desk and told Hank I was working on a lead.

“Brandon is sitting in your office waiting for you to come in,” Hank said.

“He can freeze there for all I care.”

“I don't think freezing is an option.”

“Hank, can you check the phone book for Alana Williams's parents' address? If they're still alive.”

“Sure.” He was gone for almost a minute. “Brewster and Eloise Williams. The residence is 5151 Palmetto Drive. That's off Pop's Ferry Road. What's going on?”

“I'm not certain, but I'll check back with you.”

The address was a neat cottage set on a well-maintained, one-acre yard. I pulled into the gravel drive and walked to the front door.

My knock was answered by a woman in her seventies. She wore a pink housedress and slippers. Her silvery hair was in need of a perm and cut, but she smiled when she saw me.

“May I ask you some questions about Alana?” I asked.

“Are you a friend of hers?” Her face softened.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know your daughter.”

“I wish some of her friends would come by.” She turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the open door.

I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. I told her who I was and handed her a business card. She glanced at it and put it on an end table by the sofa.

“The only person who ever talks about Alana now is Mitch. He comes by on Sunday mornings. Folks think talking about the dead is morbid, but it keeps her alive for me. Are you sure you didn't know her?”

A sense of foreboding touched my spine. “No, ma'am, I didn't know her. Is your husband home?” She was an old woman, frail and hanging on to the memory of her dead child. I needed someone more substantial to question.

“Brewster is dead. Five years now. Come on in the kitchen, and I'll make us some coffee. I like to have some in the afternoon. Doctor says the caffeine is bad for my heart, but he doesn't have a clue about the things that are bad for a heart. Try having your daughter drowned. Now, that's bad for the heart.”

I followed her into the kitchen. “Do you live alone?” I asked.

“I'm the last of my family. It's hard to be the last. There should have been grandchildren.”

“Was Alana your only child?”

“Yes. We wanted another baby, but I couldn't carry to term. When Alana and Jeffrey got together, he was like our son. Mitch, too. Those boys were over here more than they were at home. Jeffrey raised Mitch, you know. He gave up all his ambitions to play professional ball to care for his little brother.”

I took a seat at the kitchen table. Mrs. Williams put the coffee on and slid a Tupperware cake container across the counter. She got saucers and cut two huge slices of coconut cake.

“I made this Saturday,” she said. “Mitch loves coconut cake. I always make one for his birthday. He's like me, the last of his family. There's no one to remember the special days.”

She put the cake in front of me and I picked up a fork. I took a bite and let the coconut flavor saturate my mouth. Eloise Williams sat down across from me while the coffee brewed.

“Why are you here?” she asked. She was old and hadn't kept herself up, but her mind was still alert.

“I wanted to ask you some questions about Alana's wedding, if you feel up to talking about it.”

“That's a happy memory. I'll be glad to tell you about it. I try to remember that day and how much hope and joy we all had.” She stared at the table but saw another time. “Jeffrey was so in love with my girl. He thought she hung the moon. He got down on one knee in front of all of us and held her hand like he was clinging to a rock. He said he'd made mistakes in his life, but that Alana had saved him. He said she was his gift of redemption.”

“Do you have any pictures of the wedding?”

“I was hoping you'd ask. Let me get them.” She left the room and returned with a huge album and put it on the table beside me. “I had every single photo printed up.” She poured two cups of coffee, set them on the table and scooted her chair so we could look together. “I started the album at the very beginning, when Jeffrey asked her for her hand. He did it right in the living room.”

She flipped the album open and I saw a photo of a handsome man on one knee, sliding an engagement ring on the finger of a young woman with a brilliant smile. She was a girl really, maybe twenty, but with all the freshness and hope of a child.

“Do you remember when Jeffrey proposed?” I asked.

“It was a Thursday night, the last one in June. I remember because Mitch was over for dinner. He'd just come home for the rest of the summer. He made some jokes about how Jeffrey should have asked sooner so there could have been a June wedding.”

We went through photos of bridal showers where a bevy of young women laughed and held up gifts and ribbons, and at last came to the wedding day. Alana was magnificent. Her gown was a work of art, and I touched the photo of her coming down the aisle on her father's arm, her face framed in an exquisite lace veil.

“She's beautiful.”

“Yes, she is. I love to look at her in this picture. Alana had just gotten a job with the local television station. She was an assistant producer for the news.”

“She should have been in front of the camera, not behind it.” The camera would have loved her face.

“I told her that, too, but Jeffrey didn't want her on camera.”

“And Alana agreed to stay behind the scenes?” I was curious that a woman would give up a career at the request of her husband.

“She loved Jeffrey more than any job. And she understood that he had lived so much of his life in the public eye. His father was a well-known defense attorney, sort of a celebrity in his day, and the tragedy of the fire put both those boys on public display. The limelight can get very tiring.”

“Yes, it can.” The next photo showed Jeffrey surrounded by his groomsmen, including Mitch. Jeffrey was smiling, but his eyes were sad, as if he carried some tragic secret. The next photo was of Mitch and Jeffrey. The love between the two brothers was obvious, but that wasn't what I focused on. Two men stood in the background. Jimmy Riley and Alvin Orley. They weren't together. There was space between them, but they both had sought the back wall, part of the celebration but only as fringe spectators.

“Mrs. Williams, do you know these men?” My finger identified them.

“Friends of the groom. Jeffrey said something about how Mr. Orley had helped Mitch get into law school. Harry Rayburn had helped Mr. Orley with some legal problems, and after the fire, Mr. Orley and his civic group helped Jeffrey and Mitch. They collected the insurance money and helped the boys buy a house. Jeffrey said he'd been a good friend, so we didn't want to exclude him just because he had an unsavory reputation. As I recall, Mr. Orley didn't make it to the reception. Turn the page,” Mrs. Williams directed. “The next one is beautiful.”

I slowly flipped the page and looked at a photo of Alana holding her bridal bouquet of red roses. “Her gown is lovely. Mrs. Williams, what happened to Alana's wedding gown and veil?”

“I couldn't tell you. She and Jeffrey had rented a house. They were going to live over in Gulfport when they got back from their honeymoon. After they drowned, Mitch closed up the house. I guess he got rid of all the wedding stuff. I was too upset to care what happened to those things.”

“I've never seen a gown so beautiful,” I prompted.

“A local dressmaker, Rose McKay, made it for her. The lace for the veil was an heirloom.”

She had moved to the topic I wanted to discuss. “It's a lovely veil. What kind of heirloom?”

“There's a story woven in the lace. The twining ivy and the roses are symbols of love and need. The thistle is the trials of life. You can't see it clearly in the photo, but in the lace, the ivy clings to the rose. Jeffrey said that Alana was the rose, and he the ivy. Alana thought it was very romantic, and it meant so much to Jeffrey for her to use the lace. I remember this clearly because Rose had to make two veils. The first one wasn't long enough so she made a second.”

I was confused. “The lace came from Jeffrey?”

“From the Rayburn family. It's a long, sad story. Jeffrey's mother had ordered the lace from Ireland, from a shop run by some of her distant family. She was to have it for her wedding veil, but she and Harry eloped before the lace arrived. I think she was pregnant with Jeffrey and just couldn't wait.” She paused. “Marilyn never got to use the lace, and since she didn't have a daughter, she had no girl to pass it on to.”

“I was under the impression that the Rayburn house burned to the ground,” I said.

“That's true. The lace was somehow salvaged. I've never asked Mitch, but it had to be out of that house before it caught fire because there was nothing else left. Those boys had so few good memories, I was glad Jeffrey had something of his family to include in the wedding. That wasn't a happy household.”

“It's just odd that, of all the things they could've saved, the boys would save lace.” Something was very wrong here. I was suddenly glad I hadn't told Mitch more in my phone call. “You don't remember how the lace escaped?”

“No, I don't remember the details. I know it was sentimental to Jeffrey. And Alana loved the story.” Mrs. Williams put down her fork. She began nervously rubbing her hands together.

“You said the Rayburn household wasn't happy. How was it unhappy?”

“I may have spoken out of turn. Harry was a hot-tempered man. He was very successful, and he held the boys and his wife to a high standard. Those boys were driven to succeed. That's all I meant.” She pulled the photo album closer to her.

“When you say hot tempered, what do you mean?”

“It does no good to speak ill of the dead, Ms. Lynch. Harry and Marilyn are buried. It's best to let rumors and suspicions die with them. I never knew anything for certain. Neither Jeffrey nor Mitch was one to talk about things that couldn't be undone.”

“Mrs. Williams, this could be very important.” I was remembering my conversation with Dr. Richard Jennings, and a real sense of dread colored my voice. “Do you think Mitch and Jeffrey were abused by their father?”

“Why is this important? What good can it do now?” She was upset.

“I'm sorry.” I tried to soothe her. “I'm worried about Mitch.” I'd gained control of my tone, but she was still looking at me with apprehension.

“Why did you come here? Alana's been dead a long time. Jeffrey, too. Why are you asking these questions now?”

I reached across the table and caught her nervous hands. “Two young women were murdered in the last few days. I want to stop the person responsible. I think you may be able to help me. Will you?”

She didn't say anything. She sat motionless, her gaze fixed on me.

“Were Jeffrey and Mitch abused?” I asked again.

“I didn't really know them when Mr. Rayburn was alive, but there were scars.”

“What kind of scars?” I kept my voice calm.

“I saw it mostly in Mitch. He stuck to Jeffrey like glue. Even when he was in college, he called Jeffrey all the time. One time when he was here, Brewster and I got into an argument.” She paused. “It was just a normal disagreement but it upset him terribly.”