Revenant (29 page)

T
he newsroom fell completely silent when I arrived Tuesday morning. Brandon was sitting in Hank's chair at the city desk, and he watched me as I walked to my office. I heard his footsteps behind me, and I thought of fate and how none of us could avoid it.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “I left four messages at your house last night.”

I didn't have to feign surprise. “I didn't check my messages. My sister had an emergency and I had to go to Mobile.”

“We have an emergency here, Carson.”

“Look, I realize Saul Grotowitz is going to fire me. I didn't realize you'd be so concerned about my welfare.” Brandon had sold the
Morning Sun,
and I took it as a personal betrayal.

“I didn't sell the paper.”

I must have looked slow or mentally deficient. Brandon enjoyed it far too much.

“What?” I might still have a job.

“I decided not to sell.” Brandon's self-satisfaction made me want to slap him. He waved a hand, ushering me into my office. He closed the door behind us. “Which is why I'm here. I had to get another reporter to do a story for this morning's paper. She did some lame interview with Rayburn, which said all of nothing. I need a knuckle-biter for tomorrow. Hank said you had something. What is it?”

I had no intention of telling Brandon anything until I had all the facts hammered down. “Where's Hank?”

“He went to pick up Jack from the hospital. They're releasing him. He'll be back at work Friday. I've made arrangements to help with his financial difficulties.”

Jack, like me, had nothing else to do but work. Brandon was throwing him a lifeline. “That's great news.”

“What's the story?”

“I have some more work to do. When I have everything I need, I'll write the story.”

“I don't have time for this bullshit, Carson. Tell me what you've got.”

I forced myself to smile. Amazing the dance steps one could perform when something important was at stake. “I will tell you this much—if I get the facts, this story will put the paper in line for a Pulitzer.” That possibility was as effective as a drug.

“I'm going to trust you on this, Carson.”

I refrained from asking what else he could do. “If I'm right, it'll be a bang-up story.”

He left my office, and I went to the phone directory. Dillard's was the largest department store at Edgewater Mall. More importantly, it had been the bridal center of the Gulf Coast in 1981, when it was still called Gayfer's. I called the number only to discover that the store didn't open until ten. I had a little over an hour to wait.

I called my home phone to retrieve my messages. Brandon hadn't lied. He'd left four calls, ranging from businesslike to Napoleonesque. There was also a call from Mitch Rayburn asking me to get in touch with him.

I concentrated on breathing normally as I dialed Mitch's number. “What's going on?” I asked after we were connected.

Silence stretched between us. He broke it at last. “Carson, will you meet me after work? I'd like to talk to you. There are some important things I need to tell you.” He paused. “I need your help.”

“My help?”

“You may be the only person who can help me at this point.” His voice was strained.

“Sure,” I said. My heart rate had accelerated. “How about the Ruby Room?”

“Come by my place. I'd rather be alone. This is difficult.”

His words chilled me. Fighting to keep my tone casual, I asked, “Can I bring anything?”

“No. Make it about seven. I'll be finished at the gym by then.”

“I'll be there.” I hung up, air hissing through my teeth. From my desk drawer I pulled the small tape recorder I seldom used. I checked the batteries to make sure they were charged and dropped the recorder into my purse.

The day was crisp, the air gusting off the gulf with a tang of salt. I drove to Dillard's and was the first customer in the china department. The sales clerk, a woman in her sixties, was disgruntled at the idea of looking up old records. She refused, and I insisted. She called a store manager. It took ten minutes of badgering, but they both finally went to look up the names of the six brides I gave them.

When they returned, they were pale and more cooperative. They carried several sheets of paper in their hands. They gave them to me and I looked at the names of the brides. Audrey Coxwell, Charlotte Kyle, Maria Lopez and Sarah Weaver were all listed as brides in 1981. Pamela Sparks and Tammy Newcomb were recent additions to the Dillard's bridal registry. I looked over the lists. Each girl had selected fine china, an everyday pattern, crystal and flatware.

Dr. Jennings had been correct in his assumption that the killer had selected his victims because of their impending nuptials. They hadn't been selected from the newspaper, though, but from the bridal registry at Dillard's. Back in 1981, when the police force was mostly male, no officer had thought to check the bridal registry. Not all of the girls had run engagement announcements in the newspaper, so the wedding link was never made. One of the victims, Maria, wasn't even really engaged.

The store manager made photocopies of the lists. I took them back to the newspaper, closed the door to my office and sat down to go over them.

Maria Lopez's list showed only three gifts. She'd registered herself as a bride for a joke, and it had cost her her life. I studied the names on the list. F. Ryan had bought a cup and saucer in Maria's fine-china pattern. S. Merced had bought a plate. The last gift, a gravy boat, was purchased by an R. Roland.

I scanned the longer list for Audrey Coxwell and stopped. R. Roland had purchased a gravy boat for her, too. My fingers fumbled as I clutched at the other pages. R. Roland had bought a gravy boat for Charlotte Kyle. The same for Sarah Weaver. My hand was shaking as I traced down the gifts for Pamela Sparks. Another gravy boat, a gift from R. Roland. And Tammy Newcomb, too.

The pages rattled in my hands as I held them a moment, afraid to believe I'd actually found a common link to all six girls. I dialed the store, white-knuckling the phone when the operator transferred me to fine china. The same clerk was there. She didn't grouse about going through the transactions for the more recent gifts for Tammy Newcomb's and Pamela Sparks's weddings. In both cases, R. Roland had paid for each gift with cash. The clerk had no recollection of the man who'd bought the wedding gifts, but she promised to ask the other sales personnel when they came in.

I hung up and called Angola prison. After a lengthy discussion with the deputy warden, I was allowed to talk to Alvin Orley on the phone. I doubted that I could trust anything he told me, but I had to ask.

“Tell me about Mitch Rayburn and his bad luck,” I requested when he was on the line.

“Yeah, that boy seems to have a black cloud over his head.”

“Expand on that.”

“His parents burned to death, his brother drowned during a hurricane. That's fire, water and air. Seems earth is the only element that hasn't betrayed him.” He let seconds tick by. “Yet.”

“What about the bodies in the parking lot?”

“I told you I don't know anything about any bodies.”

“Somehow I don't believe you, Alvin. I think you knew about the bodies, and I think you knew who put them there.”

“And who would that be?” His voice was lazy.

“You knew the Rayburn boys were severely abused, didn't you? So abused that Mitch was pushed right over the edge.”

“You're making a serious mistake here, Ms. Lynch.” His tone was amused.

“You made a serious mistake by killing that man in Louisiana,” I said. “You should have stayed on the coast, where someone was watching your back. Had you not screwed up, your life would have been plush with a future D.A. in your pocket.”

“Crimes of passion don't always pick a convenient location.”

He was toying with me. He would neither confirm nor deny my suspicions that he'd allowed Mitch to bury the dead girls in the parking lot as leverage against future prosecutions.

“Harry Rayburn was your lawyer and he took good care of you, right?”

“Harry watched my back. He was the best damn defense lawyer in a five-state region because he was a ruthless bastard.”

“And you felt a debt of obligation, so you helped Mitch and Jeffrey.”

“I handled the finances when they bought a house. Got them a real good deal, you know. And when the welfare department snooped around, talking about foster care for Mitch, I put the kibosh on that. That's what I did.”

“Did Mitch frequent your club a lot during the '80s?” I asked.

“He was there some. He had a normal curiosity about a good time. Ole Jeffrey would come in there and drag him out before he got in trouble. Jeffrey was a real bulldog when it came to keeping Mitch out of trouble.” He laughed softly. “Jeffrey took a lot of heat for Mitch.”

“Why don't you tell me about the bodies?” I asked. “Did you know they were there?”

“Let me ask you a question, Ms. Lynch. If I knew about those bodies, why would I have let a bulldozer dig them up?”

He was laughing as he broke the connection.

 

I went home for the afternoon, telling Hank that I didn't feel well. I must have looked convincing because even Brandon didn't question me.

The cats wound through my legs as I got the vodka from the freezer and made a martini. I drank it slowly while I smoked three cigarettes on the porch swing. Mississippi had few real days of spring, but this was one of them. There was no humidity, and the air had a bright quality of light that made colors pop and sizzle. I pumped the swing with one foot and half closed my eyes, letting the colors of the azaleas, the green grass and blue sky bleed into a whirl of color as I swung back and forth.

I napped for a while and then made another martini and called Dorry. I could hear her banging pots in the kitchen as she talked. She'd regained her composure and her energy.

“Emily wants to spend next weekend with you,” she said. “She was really disappointed about her birthday party, but I lied for you. I told her you were called in to work. Tommy doesn't really like it, but he said we could bring her over Saturday morning. We're going on to New Orleans.”

“Sure,” I agreed. For the past two years, Dorry hadn't trusted me with her daughter. “So things are better with Tommy?”

“Did you talk to him?” she asked.

“No,” I lied.

“I got upset over nothing. He was working, and today he was home at three. He said he's tired of working all the time. He's going to spend more time with his family.”

“That's great, Dorry.”

“We're going to Cancun next month. Sort of a second honeymoon.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“And Tommy's going to help me set up my own interior-design business. He's going to talk to some of his friends who need their medical offices redone.”

“What about school?”

“Don't get that tone in your voice,” she said, and I knew that fear fueled her anger. “I have real talent as an interior designer. Tommy says that going to school would be a waste of time when I can start making money right away.”

Using his friends as a client list. Tommy wasn't about to lose control of his wife. “Do you need more money?” I asked.

“Why do you hate Tommy so much?” Dorry asked. “He warned me that you'd try to put a damper on my ideas. He said you'd disapprove.”

“Did he?” I'd underestimated Tommy.

“He said you were a control freak. That's why you haven't been able to recover from what happened to you. Because you lost control.”

“I didn't realize Tommy had gotten a degree in psychology.” There was an edge in my voice.

“Carson, I hope one day you find happiness like I have.”

“Dorry, I hope I'm never that deluded.” I hung up before she could respond.

I made another martini and my angry fingers jabbed the number for my mother. By the time she answered, though, I'd gained control. My intention had been to tell her exactly what the wonderful Tommy had been up to, but instead I asked how Dad was doing.

“He'd be doing better if you came home more often.”

“I will, Mom.” There was no point arguing. All of the will to fight had left me. “Is Dad around now?” I wanted to hear his voice.

“He's at work, Carson. You know your father keeps the pharmacy open to give folks a chance to stop by after work.”

“I lost track of time.”

“That was a trait I hoped you'd outgrow.”

I wondered if my mother realized that everything she said to me was a criticism. Then again, when would I realize that I was old enough that I didn't have to listen to it?

“Mom, I have to go.”