Vince nodded. “Motherfucker came to my job site.”
The night was dark, the complex quiet, everyone behind their locked doors doing what they did when they went inside.
“Who’s this pretty little piece of pussy you got here?” Ray said, eyeing Jordan lasciviously, his thick tongue molesting his lower lip as he did.
“She’s got nothin’ to do with this,” I said. “Let her go on inside.”
“I don’t even like girls and I’m gonna fuck this one. Show her how good it can be up the ass.”
“She’s got a small one on her,” Vince said. “Won’t be hard to pretend she’s a little boy.”
How stupid could I be? Not only was this my fault, but I had put Jordan right in the middle of it.
I had no weapon of any kind, no way of defending myself, let alone her. I couldn’t keep screwing up like this. I had to get better at what I was doing and fast. Of course, because of this screwup, I may not get the chance to get better.
Think. Come up with something. Fast.
“I wouldn’t talk that way about a cop’s wife,” I said. “Only thing worse than killin’ a cop is doin’ anything at all to one of their wives.”
“You ain’t no cop,” Ray said.
“No, but her husband is. Like I was saying. Messin’ with her is misery like you don’t need.”
“You’re fuckin’ a cop’s wife but you’re tellin’ us not to?” Vince said.
“I haven’t touched her,” I said. “I know better. Like I said, she has nothin’ to do with this.”
Ray seemed to consider what I had said.
“All this ’cause I’m interested in information about a kid who was killed six years ago?” I said.
“Why the interest?” Ray asked.
“We’re the same age. Or would be. Could’ve been me.”
“Still could be.”
“This just doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why the over-response? If you didn’t kill LaMarcus, I wouldn’t think you’d want to draw so much attention to yourselves. And if you did, I’d think you’d want to attract even less.”
“Don’t try to play me, boy,” Ray said.
“I’m not. I’m serious.”
“I want to be left the fuck alone,” Ray said. “So I wanted to know what little punk was comin’ to Vince’s job site asking after me and why.”
I nodded.
“Vince, blade,” Ray said.
So fast I wasn’t even sure it had happened at first, Vince had an arm around Jordan’s throat and the point of a knife at her neck.
I took a step toward her.
“Don’t do it,” Ray said. “If you do, she’ll be dead before you get there.”
I stopped.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Ray said. “I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions. If you lie or I even think you are, she’s gonna get her throat slit. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Show him we ain’t fuckin’ around, Vince.”
Vince cut into the side of Jordan’s neck a little and she screamed.
“That’s nothin’,” Ray said. “A little scratch. Imagine if he really went to work on her, slicing through her skin like thin sheetrock paper.”
Beside the beat of my heart in my head, all I could hear were the not dissimilar sounds of the wind, the whoosh of traffic on I-20, and Jordan’s panicked breaths.
Jordan’s breathing was loud and labored. Blood was on her neck, the blade, and Vince’s fingers.
“Satisfy my curiosity and you’ll walk,” Ray said. “Lie to me and I’ll leave you both bleeding out on this asphalt.”
I nodded. “Okay,” I said, “but I was serious about her being a cop’s wife.”
He looked at Jordan. “What’s your husband’s name? Where’s he work? What’s his badge number?”
She told him in a trembly voice. She sounded scared but as if she was telling the truth.
As she spoke, I stole a glance at Martin. He was beginning to stir. It wouldn’t be long before he was awake and climbing out of the car right into this.
Ray nodded and looked back at me. “Why are you looking into what happened to that kid?”
“It started when I was a lot younger,” I said. “I met Wayne Williams, became obsessed with the case. Well, I already was, but that really sealed it for me. I’ve studied the Atlanta Child Murders my whole life––or what seems like it. I came to LaMarcus through them, to see if he was one of the killer’s victims––that killer’s. When I met the family and saw all they had been through . . . I just wanted . . . to help. To try to find out who killed LaMarcus and why. That’s it.”
He nodded.
“What’s her connection?” he asked, jerking his head toward Jordan.
“She’s his sister. His stepsister.”
“She really married to a cop?”
I nodded.
“You really not bangin’ her?”
“I’m really not.”
“But you want to be?”
“I do.”
“Whatta you think, Vince? He tellin’ the truth?”
“Can never go wrong by cuttin’, Ray,” Vince said.
Ray shook his head. “I’m sorry about your brother,” he said to Jordan, “but I didn’t kill him––or any other kids. I swear it. And I want to be left out of it. For all sorts of reasons. Not least of which is other things I got goin’ right now. Look for whoever snuffed your brother, just leave me out of it. And make sure your husband and your boyfriend here do too. If y’all do, you’ll never see me again. If you don’t, I swear to Christ Vince will cut your tits off and mail one to your husband and one to this boy who wants to be bangin’ you. And that’ll just be for starters. Nod if you understand.”
She did.
“Both of you.”
I nodded too.
“Nod if you’re going to leave me the fuck out of all this.”
We both nodded.
“Only get one chance. No bullshit. No warnings. No mercy. And we won’t just kill you. We’ll do things to you first, things that’ll make you wish we had just killed you. Cop’s wife or not. Won’t matter.”
Without another word or gesture, Ray turned and walked away.
Vince shoved Jordan into me, licked her blood off his blade, and followed.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
She was shaking and seemed in shock.
I was holding her, trying to hug her fear and trauma away, but needed to look at her neck.
“How’s your neck?” I asked. “Let me . . .”
I pulled back a little to examine her neck but it was too dark and she didn’t want to let go.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go inside and get you taken care of.
Without letting go of her, I eased over and awkwardly opened the door, woke Martin up, and helped him out of the car.
“Sorry, buddy, but you’re gonna have to walk. Can’t carry you tonight.”
He looked up at me sleepily, nodded, then stumbled out of the car, across the lot, and up the steps with us.
It took a little doing––we moved like the infirmed and inebriated attempting a three-legged race––but eventually we were in my room, Martin on a pallet on the floor, Jordan in my bed.
She was still trembling and her small hand was pressed against her neck.
“I need to look at it,” I said.
I grabbed her wrist to ease her hand back. There was something erotic about the gesture, electric, and I wondered if she felt it too, or would have had she been able to.
She seemed to come out of her shock a bit and smiled up at me. “I like that.”
“Me too.”
“Sorry I’m being such a wimp.”
“You’re not. Not at all.”
Pulling her hand back, I checked her wound. It was nearly two inches but didn’t seem very deep and had pretty much stopped bleeding.
“Need to clean it,” I s
aid.
I tried to think of who might have peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and a Band-Aid, and felt like an inadequate adult for not having anything but soap, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, and fish sticks in the apartment.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”
Martin made a noise and shifted in his sleep and we both looked over at him.
“I’m so glad he slept through it,” she said.
I nodded.
“Still can’t believe it happened,” she said. “Just . . . right out there . . . just . . .”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve never gone to see Vincent, should’ve never put you and Martin in a situation like that. Still can’t believe I screwed up so bad. It was stupid and amateurish and I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head. “You saved us,” she said. “You stayed calm and you talked them out of . . . what they were going to do. They came with different intentions but you convinced Ray to alter his actions. You were . . . just to be able to stay calm and deal with the situation . . . It was impressive.”
“Should’ve never been in that situation. Think about what could’ve happened. I’ve got to get better at this. And quick.”
“What’re you gonna do?” she asked. “Did you believe him? About not havin’ anything to do with what happened to LaMarcus and what he’d do to me if you . . .”
I shrugged. “Not sure how much I believe,” I said. “Don’t want to put you in danger like that again . . . but . . .”
“They’re such . . . They seem really evil.”
I nodded. “Not a lot of humanity there.”
“Listen,” she said. “I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you stopping for me. I’ll be fine. I’ll be more careful. But I don’t want you gettin’ hurt . . . or . . . worse. I mean it. It won’t bring LaMarcus back. It’s not worth gettin’ killed over.”
I thought about it. Was she right? If I was going to do this, do work like this in any way, I would have to figure out what was worth dying for and what wasn’t. I’d have to make peace with the possibility of an early death and then live and investigate with abandon and conviction and without fear.
“I’ve . . . lost so . . . much,” she said. “It’s really all I know.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I’d like to know something else,” she said. “I really would.”
“I’d like that for you too.”
“I . . .” she began, but trailed off and didn’t return to it.
“What?” I said. “You what?”
“I . . . I feel like . . . I could know something different with you. With you and Martin. Feel like I already do.”
I reached down and removed a strand of hair from her face.
She looked up at me with big green eyes that were beautiful and brilliant, shy and searching. Her beauty, which was breathtaking, snuck up on you. She looked as sweet and innocent and simple and sexy as a schoolgirl who’d yet to start fixing up for boys.
“Will you hold me?” she said.
“I will,” I said, “but before I do . . . I . . . You probably don’t even need me to say this . . . so I’m sayin’ it for me . . . because I need to say it and I need to hear myself say it. I’m not sayin’ you want to or would . . . but . . . there are certain lines I won’t cross.”
“Okay . . .”
“Marriage is one of them,” I said.
“I had no idea you were so opposed to marriage,” she said.
“No, I meant I can’t sleep with––”
“I knew what you meant,” she said. “You’re so sweet, John. Just precious. And I already knew . . . I could tell . . . a woman can tell things about a man.”
“I just . . .”
“Two things,” she said. “One, I think it’s time to . . . I hope not to be married much longer . . . and two,” ––she smiled a sweet, playful, seductive smile–– “just knowin’, in the poetic words of Raymond Pelton, you want to bang me, is enough for now.”
Chapter Thirty-four
This was not going to be pleasant.
I was meeting Bobby Battle and Frank Morgan at the Waffle House on Evans Mill Road to discuss the case and all my mistakes.
We were in a booth in the back corner of the crowded restaurant, the two of them on one side of the table, me on the other.
“I don’t have long,” Battle said. “So . . .”
“Bobby, this young man’s gonna close your case for you and you can’t spare a few minutes.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m just sayin’ we need to get on with it.”
I nodded.
“And,” Battle added, “if this case could be closed it would be.”
Frank smiled and winked at me.
“I need to start with my fuckup,” I said.
“Another one?” Battle said.
“More of a continuation.”
Battle blew out a frustrated sigh and shook his head.
“Relax, Bobby,” Frank said, “you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. And then what would happen? Criminals would take over the entire town.”
Battle took a sip of his coffee and seemed to settle down a bit.
The restaurant was loud, the clanking of plates, the clinking of cups, the constant hum and occasional outburst of conversation making it difficult to concentrate.
“Raymond Pelton and Vincent Storr paid me a little visit last night,” I said.
I then went on to tell them the rest in detail.
“Told you, didn’t I?” Battle said. “Goddamn it. Frank, I told him to stay away from them. And this is why. Now you got them coming where you live to threaten you.”
“Means he hit a nerve,” Frank said.
“Nobody ever questioned guys like them being stirred up in all kind of bad shit. Of course they’re gonna come out swingin’. Doesn’t mean either of them had anything to do with what happened to LaMarcus.”
“There’s more,” I said.
“The fuck?” Battle said. “What more could there be?”
“They threatened the sister.”
Both men looked confused.
“LaMarcus’s sister?” Battle said. “Jordan Moore? A cop’s wife? Why? How would she even––Was she there? She was there with you? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? What the fuck is the wife of a cop doing at your apartment, John?”
“She . . . we had just come from talking to Carlton Fields. Actually, she talked to him. I just listened.”
“You’ve got the wife of a cop mixed up in this cluster fuck.”
“Long before she married an abusive asshole cop, she was LaMarcus’s stepsister. She wants to find out who killed him more than anybody.”
He shook his head. I had him on that.
“Doesn’t explain why she was at your apartment,” he said. “Does her abusive, asshole of a husband know?”
“We were goin’ to talk about what Carlton said. Which you two need to hear, by the way.”
“What happened?” Bobby said. “Tell me exactly what happened––what was said, what was done, all of it, every detail.”
I did.
The midday sun shone brightly through the plate glass windows that served as walls, shafts of light streaking the tile floor, emphasizing random objects indiscriminately––jukebox, bubblegum ball machine, an empty chair, a napkin holder, part of a tabletop.
“Now I’m gonna have to come down hard on Pelton and Storr,” Battle was saying. “Have to find something on them to send them away for a long, long time.”
“That won’t be hard, Bobby,” Frank said. “And you know it.”
“Can’t have them runnin’ around threatenin’ to cut the tits off a cop’s wife. Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit right now.”
“I’ll help you,” Frank said.
“I do it and you’re goin’ to do two things for me,” Battle said to me. “Stay out of my case and away from Larry Moore’s wife.”
I shook my head. “I can’t,
” I said. “I won’t.”
“Are you fuckin’ her?”
I shook my head again. “I’m not. And I won’t.”
“Come on, Bobby,” Frank said. “Stop all this and let’s hear what he has for us on the case. He’s doin’ great work, helpin’ us a lot. And you know it. Nothin’ was happenin’ on this case and nothin’ was goin’ to. Show him the appreciation he deserves.”
Battle shook his head. “Unbelievable. Appreciation, huh?”
“What did Carlton say?” Frank asked.
I told them.
“Said it was a secret,” Frank said, “that his dad was going to come get him and take him away?”
I nodded. “And that lines up with what Anthony told me, that he’d do anything he had to to make a man out of his son.”
They both seemed to think about it.
“That’s good,” Frank said. “Isn’t it, Bobby? It’s real good.”
“I looked long and hard at Anthony Alex Williams, Jr. back when it happened,” Battle said. “You know what really broke in his favor––I mean, apart from there being no evidence against him at all? The rape. Couldn’t see him doin’ all this, includin’ bringin’ a condom, to rape his own son. Be one thing if he lived with him or if he had any history of pedophilia, but he didn’t and I just couldn’t see him stagin’ this whole elaborate thing to kill then rape his own son.”
I nodded. “What if he didn’t?”
He looked at me like I was in need of electroshock therapy. “Yeah, that’s what I just said.”
“What if he committed the first but not the second crime? What if he killed him––by accident––and someone else moved him and raped him? Anthony plans to come and take his son, just like he told me and LaMarcus told Carlton, but he gives him too much of the sleep aid, accidentally overdoses him. He panics. Leaves LaMarcus in the bushes. Flees. Then someone else comes along and moves the body to the drainage culvert and rapes him. That would allow for the time LaMarcus spent lying in the one position on the ground before being moved, and would mean his dad didn’t rape him.”
“That’s good,” Frank said. “Really good. That could really be it. Think about it, Bobby. That makes a lot of sense.”
Battle nodded absently, his unfocussed eyes staring at nothing in the distance as his cop mind worked the theory around.
INNOCENT BLOOD: a John Jordan Mystery Book 7 (John Jordan Mysteries) Page 14
