Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  I went over to exam it and frowned. They didn’t look like much, just a couple of large nails jutting a couple of inches out of a log. I was going to have to take his word for it. “If her gun’s missing and she left without her jacket and didn’t douse the lantern…”

  “Let’s take a peek at those prints now,” he said in a grim voice.

  Getting outside was trickier for him than getting in, but he reached the bottom step, his mouth pinched tight with pain.

  “You’re doing too much, Marco,” I said, feeling guilty.

  “I was bored staring at those same four walls. I’m glad to be out,” he said, focusing his attention on the snow. “Which way did you walk coming in and out?

  “I should have been more careful,” I admitted, feeling terrible. “I think I walked just about everywhere.”

  “But you didn’t drive, right? You parked on the road and walked in?”

  “Yeah.”

  His brow furrowed as he studied the partially snow-covered ground. “I don’t see any tire marks, which means whoever drove down the lane didn’t drive all the way in.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Do you think they were worried about getting stuck?”

  He shook his head. “No. Those tire marks you showed me were from a truck. The double tire marks so close together suggests a big one—a dually.”

  “What’s a dually?”

  He chuckled. “You really ain’t from around here. It’s a pickup with an extra set of tires in the back. It’s good for hauling trailers or heavy loads. There’s quite a few guys up in these parts who fancy themselves NASCAR drivers. They’ll haul their pieces of shit a couple of hours to the Smoky Mountain Speedway in Maryville or North Carolina or if they’re any good, like the Grisham boys, down to Georgia.” He grinned. “This is the land of NASCAR, Carly. You’ll need to pick a team come spring.”

  “A team?”

  “Max’ll start showin’ NASCAR races at the tavern. Everyone has a favorite driver. The guys’ll expect you to pick one.”

  “They don’t ask me about football.”

  “That’s because it’s football. NASCAR’s a religion down here.” He laughed when he saw my face. “Don’t you worry. Max and I will get you up to speed enough to pick a driver and rattle off a few stats. It’ll help with your tips.” He pushed out a long breath, rubbing his chin in a way that told me he wasn’t completely unaffected by being here. “In any case, back to more serious matters…like the reason the truck likely didn’t pull up to the house. I would say they were hopin’ for the element of surprise, except you can hear everything out here. Especially if it was a dually. Lula would have heard the engine.” He hopped off the step into the yard. “Makes me think they were blockin’ her in.”

  “You mean her car?” I asked. “So she couldn’t drive away?”

  “Yeah, but she could have run on foot.” He turned to look at me. “You think you can show me where you walked?”

  I nodded, both relieved he was taking this seriously and worried sick for Lula.

  “Get the camera out of the Explorer. We’ll take photos if we find something suspicious.”

  I hurried to the SUV and grabbed the camera, then returned to find him several feet away from the porch, studying the ground. Embedded in the snow was a large, heavy-tread footprint. No way that belonged to Lula, or me for that matter.

  “Put this on the ground next to that print and take a photo.”

  He handed me a quarter, and I gave him a strange look as I took it.

  “It’s to show the size of the print. If we turn these photos in to the evidence lab, they’ll be able to compare the size of the print to the quarter to determine the shoe size.”

  I set the quarter down and snapped several photos, then showed them to Marco to make sure they were good enough.

  He nodded and scanned the ground. “It’s too damn bad the snow’s mostly melted on this section because it looks like the man walked right up to the porch, but I don’t see any sign of ’im walkin’ away, and I sure don’t see any smaller prints. I suspect the snow they crossed over on the way back to the truck has all melted.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t notice any prints before,” I said, feeling like a fool.

  “They were likely in the shadows,” Marco said, “and the prints are mostly gone. It just looks like patchy ground. I was specifically lookin’ for them.”

  “So you think someone kidnapped her?” I asked, my stomach falling to my feet.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and turned to me. “But there’s not a deputy who will take this as a case. Just because the truck parked at the end of the drive doesn’t mean she was kidnapped. In fact, all the times she’s run off, she never once took her own car. All of that is gonna be held against her.”

  We walked around the back of the house to look for more prints, only finding the ones I’d left earlier.

  “She has an outhouse?” he asked in dismay.

  “It stinks to high heaven,” I said, wrinkling my nose. When he gave me a horrified look, I added, “I was looking for Lula, not using it.”

  “I know people live like this around these parts. Hell, I’ve come across ’em on calls, but I never once guessed that Lula lived this way.”

  “Does Max know?” Marco and Max were best friends, and if anyone would know, it would be Max.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Otherwise, I suspect he would have done somethin’ about it. That boy has a good heart. More so than most people realize.”

  “I’ve seen it,” I said. I’d experienced it firsthand after Seth’s murder. I’d left my unregistered gun next to Seth’s body, and even though he’d only known me for a matter of hours, Max had intended to recover and hide it from the sheriff deputies…He would have too, except Jerry had gotten to it first. He’d used it to stop Carson Purdy, and now it was locked up tight in the Hensen County Sheriff’s evidence room. Jerry had told them he’d found it behind the motel, so they were none the wiser that it was mine.

  But in the days that had followed Seth’s murder, Max had been worried enough about my safety that he’d given me a gun for protection to replace it. (Which had also ended up in the sheriff’s evidence room, although this one was linked to both me and Max.) And Max always, always protected Ruth and me from irate customers. He was a good man…The only thing that made me nervous about him was his connection with his father, but it occurred to me that Marco might know a thing or two about that.

  “How close is Max to his father?”

  “They’re amicable,” he said carefully.

  “Amicable can mean a lot of things.”

  “Are they best buds? No. Bart Drummond never fostered a close relationship with his boys.”

  That didn’t fit with what Tiny had said about Wyatt. Then again, I knew people had different perceptions of shared events. I wasn’t ready to dismiss his observations just yet.

  “How long have you known Max?” I asked as we started walking around the shack toward the SUV.

  Marco chuckled. “Since kindergarten. We went through all thirteen years of school together, and I suppose that wasn’t enough, because we roomed together in college. But he left the university at the beginning of his senior year after Wyatt got arrested and quit the family business. Max had to take over.”

  “What made Max decide to go to college when Wyatt didn’t?”

  “Max presumed Wyatt would inherit it all. That’s what his father told him. That left Max with a whole lot of nothing. So he decided to forge his own path. He was determined to get a business degree and open his own business, but then his daddy came callin’ and Max gave it all up to come home.”

  “Did he want to come home?”

  “Didn’t matter,” Marco said as we reached his Explorer. “If Bart told them boys to jump, they jumped.”

  “Does Max resent his father?” It struck me that his father might not be the only one he resented for hijacking his future. “Does he resent Wyatt for giving it
all up and leaving it to him to take up the mantle?” Was that the cause of the brothers’ rift?

  “Those are two very good questions I don’t have the answers to,” he said, then opened his car door and tossed his crutches into the backseat. When I got inside, he asked, “Why the interest? What does Wyatt say about all of this?”

  “Wyatt refuses to tell me anything about anything. In fact, Wyatt and I are done.”

  “When the hell did that happen?” he asked. “And more importantly, why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He sent me an ornery grin. “So does that mean you’re available now?”

  I laughed, but my heart hurt at the reminder. “Too soon, Marco.”

  “Well, if you’re lookin’ for a fling, I’m your guy.”

  Laughing again, more softly this time, I said, “I’m not really a fling kind of woman.”

  His grin spread, his eyes lighting up. “I guessed that about ya, but you can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” He backed up the SUV and turned around, heading toward the lane. Just like before, he drove close to the trees, as far off the drive as possible.

  “What are we going to do about Lula?” I asked.

  He shot me a quick glance before returning his gaze to the road. “There’s nothing to be done. I told you that already.”

  “No, you told me no deputies will take the case seriously, but you and I both believe she didn’t voluntarily leave.”

  His hand shot up into the air like a stop sign. “Now, hold on there! I never committed to that theory.”

  “You and I both know that someone in a big truck came to her house and took her with them. What do you plan to do about it?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still on medical leave.” But his hesitation seemed a little forced, as if he thought we shouldn’t look into this rather than that we’d be wasting our time. I wondered if he was concerned that Todd Bingham might be tied to Lula’s disappearing act.

  “And you told me that you’re bored to death.”

  “I can’t investigate a case while I’m on leave, Carly.”

  “Well, then let’s cut to the chase. I don’t think it will take us long to figure out who took her,” I said, my voice firm. “All it’s gonna take is paying someone a visit.”

  His back stiffened and his eyes flew wide. “Oh, hell no, Carly Moore. You are not gonna go talk to Todd Bingham!”

  “He’s the most logical person to have taken her, and I plan to ask him where she is.”

  “He’s liable to shoot you the moment you show up on his doorstep.”

  I gave him a fake sweet smile. “Not if a certain off-duty deputy drives me to his front door.”

  “No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “No fuckin’ way.”

  “Then I’ll go on my own. Now tell me where to find him.”

  “There’s no way I’m sending you to your death!”

  “He’s not going to kill me, Marco. He and Hank worked out some kind of deal that protects me from Bingham. If he hurts me, Hank will have his head.”

  Marco narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did Hank Chalmers work out a deal like that?” He was shaking his head before I could respond. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. And I’m not takin’ you, so give up this fool idea right now.”

  I shot him a glare. “You do realize that I can find him with or without your help. All I have to do is head back to town and start askin’ people.”

  “You’d really consider visitin’ him on your own?”

  “If he’s got Lula, you bet your ass I will.”

  Marco released a loud groan, shaking his head in disgust. “I’m gonna regret this decision, but fine. I’ll do it, but that will be the end of it, you hear?”

  I flashed him a smile, never agreeing, but hoping he didn’t figure that out.

  “Get in your car and drive it to Max’s,” he said, obviously unhappy. “We’ll leave your car there, and I’ll run you out to Bingham’s. But I’m tellin’ you, you’re playin’ with fire.”

  “Then I guess I need to bring a fire extinguisher,” I said with fake enthusiasm as I got out of his car.

  Now I just needed to figure out what that was.

  Chapter Ten

  Marco followed me into town, then let his SUV idle on the street while he waited for me to park my car in the tavern’s back parking lot.

  When I approached his car and opened the passenger door, he said, “I take it you haven’t changed your mind yet?”

  “Nope,” I said, refusing to look him in the eye as I said it. Truthfully, I’d had plenty of second thoughts about meeting Bingham face-to-face away from the watchful eyes of Hank and Max. Sure, we’d had a one-on-one meeting at the library with no one else around, but this was different. I was barging onto Bingham’s turf uninvited.

  “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done, Carly Moore,” Marco said as he pulled away from the curb. “I didn’t take you for the crazy type. Maybe that’s why Wyatt broke up with you.”

  I nearly corrected him about who’d broken up with whom, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Guess you’ll have to ask Wyatt yourself.”

  I paid close attention to where he drove, noting that he took Highway 25 out toward White Rabbit Holler but he turned right onto a county road a couple of miles before I usually turned left. We drove another few minutes before I realized we weren’t on a county road. This was private property.

  “Does Bingham own this land?”

  “It’s been in his family for generations. The Binghams used to give the Drummonds a run for their money back in the day—as recent as the Prohibition era, making moonshine—but Floyd Bingham, Todd’s daddy, was the laziest man around and a mean drunk to boot. Ran it all into the ground.”

  “Guess all this privacy makes it easier for Todd to make people disappear,” I teased, but I was so nervous it came out flat.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few bodies buried on his land,” Marco said, slowing down as he approached a gravel road and turned left. “And some of ’em were probably left by his father. He may have been lazy, but he was an evil son of a bitch.” He shook his head. “Max and me went to school with Todd’s younger brother, Rodney, and one day Rodney stopped comin’. They sent a truant officer to find out where he was, but Floyd said that Rodney had run off to live with his momma down in Hickory, North Carolina. Ain’t nobody believed that for a minute. Todd’s momma died of mysterious circumstances when Todd was about twelve—then Floyd remarried a young thing a few months later. Rumor had it she was barely sixteen. After a few years, I guess she’d had enough beatin’ and rapin’ because she took off in the middle of the night and left Rodney behind. Kid was about five. Floyd told everyone that she wanted no part of her former life, especially not some snot-nosed kid. Everyone suspected her only way to escape was to leave her son.”

  “Did anyone verify his story? Make sure he didn’t kill her?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said. “When Rodney disappeared, the sheriff’s department poked around a bit, but what could they do? The boy was gone. Todd backed up his daddy’s claim that the kid had gone to live with his mother. No one ever could find her to ask. Max and me and the other kids were sure Floyd had gotten carried away with one of his infamous beatin’s and killed the poor kid, but we had no way to prove it and the sheriff’s department wanted to wipe their hands of the whole thing. I’m pretty sure they saw him as one less future hoodlum to deal with, especially since his older brother was already givin’ them a run for their money.”

  I was so horrified by the thought that Bingham’s father had likely killed his son and both of his wives and gotten away with it that it took a moment before Marco’s last statement sank in. “I looked Todd Bingham up on the internet and there was no mention of any arrests. Did I miss something?”

  “You didn’t miss a thing. He might not have been on the internet, but he’s definitely been on our radar. He’s got a juvie record, and while he kept s
tirring up shit after he hit eighteen, he was smart enough to make sure it was never linked back to him.” Marco turned to me. “Bingham’s wicked smart, Carly. And with his father’s history, he’s damn dangerous. Do not underestimate him.”

  I nodded. He was only confirming what I’d already suspected. “How old were you when Rodney disappeared?”

  “Third grade. I think he was eight.”

  I did a quick mental calculation in my head. “So Todd Bingham was twenty-three.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  I had so many other questions, but a multiple building complex came into view, so I limited myself to the most pressing one. “What happened to their father? Is he still alive?”

  “Nope. He died about six months later. Tripped into a woodchipper. I hear it was grisly.”

  “Fell into a woodchipper?” I asked in surprise. “Did anyone really believe that?”

  “I doubt it, but I don’t think anyone was too sorry to see him go, so they took the word of the lone eyewitness.”

  “And who was that?” I asked.

  “Todd Bingham himself,” he said, giving me a sideways glance as he pulled up in front of a house that was at the front of the property. A large metal building was about fifty feet to the right of the house, surrounded by too many old cars to count on either side. Several more of them were parked behind it, going back as far as I could see. Another smaller building sat a bit farther back. I couldn’t tell if it was a shed or an old barn.

  “What did Floyd do for a living?” I asked, an idea formulating in my head.

  “Ran that junkyard you’re lookin’ at. Todd took it over and made it into a chop shop. The paperwork claims he’s doin’ it on cars he owns or was hired to work on, but we know he’s stealin’ ’em too. We just haven’t caught him yet.”

  More like they were turning the other cheek.

  “Have you figured out how you’re gonna approach him yet?” Marco asked.

  “I’m gonna ask him to buy my car.” I got out, heading up to the front porch of the bungalow-style house that had probably seen its glory days back in the Prohibition era. With the faded and peeling paint, it was obvious Bingham wasn’t going for curb appeal.