by Sharon Sala
Her answer surprised him. She didn’t look like someone who would have come from this side of town. Life was hard here, and had been for what seemed like forever. Most of the people who managed to get out didn’t go any farther than a local cemetery.
“Well, I’ll be,” Montrose muttered, staring harder than ever at her. “I remember her baby girl. She doted on her…uh, on you…like nobody’s business. Kept you dressed like a little doll…always tied your hair back with a ribbon to match your clothes.”
Maria exhaled slowly. The words were balm to a very wounded psyche. She had been loved.
“And I remember the night she was killed like it was yesterday,” Monty added. “This area of the city wasn’t high class, but it wasn’t as derelict as it is now, either. Her murder shocked all of us. The worst of it was that nobody was ever arrested.”
Maria’s heart skipped a beat. Even though she didn’t remember the event, she wasn’t about to tell this man she’d come to rectify the fact that the killer had never been caught.
“I was really hoping to talk to some of her friends. Would you happen to remember any of their names…maybe someone who also lived in the hotel when she did?”
The old man scratched at the side of his jaw, then picked up a crumb of corn bread and popped it in his mouth, chewing as he thought. “Hmmm, I can’t rightly say as to who her friends were, but I remember Tank Vincent.”
Maria quickly jotted down the name. “Who was Tank Vincent?”
“Her pimp.”
“Oh. Right,” Maria said, then sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d know if he still lives in the area?”
“Naw…haven’t seen hide nor hair of the man in ages. Sorry.”
Maria nodded absently. It was nothing she hadn’t expected, but she hated to give up.
“Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?”
“Only that she didn’t deserve what happened to her. I’m real sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“No…no…you’ve helped a lot,” Maria said. “Sorry I bothered you, but I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“I’m real sorry you had to grow up without your mama,” he said softly.
“I was lucky,” she said, thinking of Andrew and Hannah. “I had really good people in my life.”
“That’s good…real good,” he said as Maria stood up.
She reached across the table with her hand extended.
“It’s been good to meet you.”
It had been a long time since someone had wanted to shake his hand. Monty stood abruptly, his shoulders straightening unconsciously as their hands met.
Moments later she was walking away and he was unfolding the wad of twenties she’d left in his palm. One hundred dollars. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that much money. He looked down at the shoes tied on his feet and shoved the money in his pocket. No need advertising his good fortune. After waving goodbye to Henry, he shuffled out of the mission only moments behind Maria as she pulled away from the curb.
He went in one direction as she went in the other.
Both had gotten far more out of the conversation than they had expected.
It was nearly four o’clock before Maria got back to her hotel room. She kicked off her shoes, then crawled up on the bed and pulled her journal out of her bag. She couldn’t remember reading anything in it about Tank Vincent but wanted to double-check, and she quickly fell back into Andrew Slade’s story.
I’d driven into Tulsa from Arkansas and had a five-day revival ahead of me. I’d just rented a room at the Hampton Arms on the north side of town near the church where I would be preaching. I met your mother on the hotel stairs. I was going up as she was coming down. I remember thinking how tall she was because when we passed, we were nearly eye-to-eye.
I said hello. She grinned and waved and kept on moving, taking the steps down two at a time. When I reached the third floor, I saw a little girl and a woman going into the room that wound up being next to mine. Later I would learn that was you and your babysitter, Becky Thurman. She kept you every time your mother had what she referred to as a “date.”
The next time I saw your mother, which was a couple of days later, she was sitting on the stairs outside our rooms, and you were with her. I was leaving the hotel for the evening services at the church. For some reason I got the impression that she was waiting for me, but she didn’t say so. She had found out I was a preacher…don’t know how, but she had, and she was asking all kinds of questions about hell and sin and forgiveness. You were playing with a doll, taking the clothes off it and putting them back on it, over and over. Every so often she would touch your head or pat your back—gentle, motherly touches just to reassure you she was there. I offered to take her to church for the evening meeting. She seemed startled by the offer, but to my surprise, she went, bringing you with us.
I will say, you were very good. In spite of the spirit-rousing sermon and gospel songs, you fell asleep in your mother’s lap. Every so often I would catch a glimpse of her face as I was preaching. It made me think of a kid looking through a candy-store window, longing for something she was never going to get.
She didn’t say much on the way back to the hotel, other than to question me about my personal life. I kept thinking she was going to make a move on me…. You know…hit me up for a “date,” but it was just the reverse. Looking back, her questions were more like an interview, as if she was checking out my credentials to see if I was good enough to take care of you, even though she had no way of knowing there would be a need. She refused any further invitations to attend the revival, but whenever I saw her, she called me Preacher Man.
Within two days, she was dead and you were orphaned. What you need to know is that she loved you very much.
Maria’s vision blurred as she continued to scan the journal for a mention of Tank Vincent, but there was none. Still, the day hadn’t been a disappointment. She had her first solid lead, though no way yet of following it up. It was time to go to the police.
The next morning dawned on a cloudy note, with a promise of thunderstorms in the afternoon. Maria dressed for the weather in brown slacks, a long-sleeved top in butter yellow, with a darker brown gabardine jacket and a pair of oxblood-colored Justin ropers. Wearing the boots gave her a connection with home, which she needed to get through the day ahead of her.
She’d been pleased to learn that the Tulsa Police Department headquarters was just a few blocks from her hotel. After a quick breakfast in the coffee shop downstairs, she picked up her car from the valet parking attendant and drove away, armed with her map of the city and Andrew’s journal.
There was a knot in Bodie Scott’s stomach that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. He’d been a homicide detective with the Tulsa P.D. for nearly ten years, but he was never going to get used to notifying a family of a loved one’s death. It was the worst part of his job. Getting the guilty party behind bars was all he could do to bring closure to a family’s grief. After that, it was out of his hands.
The case they’d just closed had been a rough one. An eleven-year-old girl had gone missing on her way home from school. It had taken two days for her body to be found, and then countless hours of police work before they’d had enough evidence to make an arrest. Telling the parents that the killer had not only confessed but was also behind bars had been almost as difficult as the day he’d gone to tell them she was dead.
He wasn’t a drinking man, but right now he could use something to shift focus and get his mind off the sound of the mother’s weeping in the house he’d just exited.
He headed back to the precinct, hoping that the rest of the day would be calm. What he hadn’t counted on was anyone knowing that today was his birthday. When he walked back into the office, the last thing he expected were the balloons tied to the back of his chair and the cake in the middle of his desk. The minute they saw him walk in, someone yelled, “Cake!” and someone else said, “About time.” There was
a lot of back thumping and happy birthday wishes as everyone crowded around his desk for a piece of cake.
Bodie exhaled on a sigh, then grinned. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but now that he thought about it, it was a great change of pace.
“Thanks, everyone. This is great.” He stuck a finger in the icing and then licked it off as he reached for the plastic knife beside the cake. “What kind of cake is it?”
His sometime partner, Dave Booker, picked up a paper plate and a plastic fork. “Birthday cake,” he said. “Me first.”
“Hell no,” Bodie said. “It’s my birthday. I get the first piece.”
He cut a piece from the corner, slid it onto a plate, then stepped back.
“Have at it. I’ve got mine,” he said, and forked a big bite into his mouth as he turned around.
A tall brunette was coming through the doorway, escorted by a uniformed officer, who hailed him with a wave. Her stride was sure, her shoulders straight. There was an expression on her face that said she meant business.
He chewed and swallowed as fast as he could, then set his cake aside as they approached.
“Hey, Scott, the lady asked to speak to a homicide detective. You got a minute?” the uniform asked.
“Absolutely,” Bodie said, and promptly shook her hand. “Ma’am…I’m Detective Scott. Bodie Scott.”
“Maria Slade,” she said, shivering slightly as his fingers curled around her hand. This man didn’t know it yet, but he was going to help her solve a murder.
Bodie grinned. “Sorry about the hoo-rah. We were just havin’ a little birthday cake. Let me get my note book and we’ll find a better place to talk.”
Maria eyed the cake and the other detectives, nodding to the ones who met her gaze, but inside she was a bundle of nerves. Today she was officially opening the proverbial can of worms.
“This way,” Bodie said, and headed for an interview room with Maria beside him. He opened a door, then stepped aside.
“In here, Ms. Slade.”
“Thank you,” she said, and quickly took a seat at the table.
Bodie sat down across from her, then slid his notebook onto the table.
“So, how can I help you?”
“I need you to help me solve a murder.”
Four
B odie’s eyes narrowed. His instincts had been right about this woman. She’d definitely come with a purpose. Their conversation had just turned into an interview.
“A murder? Who was killed, and how are you involved?”
Maria’s fingers trembled slightly as she laid down the journal.
“This is a long, complicated story, but I’ll make it as brief as I can. For all intents and purposes, I grew up the much-loved middle daughter of a Montana cattle rancher, Andrew Slade. Last week Dad died. My two sisters and I went to the lawyer for a reading of the will and…and…”
When her eyes filled with tears, Bodie leaned forward.
“Losing a parent is devastating, no matter how old we are. I know. Just take your time.”
Maria focused on the gentleness in his voice as she took a tissue from her purse, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then took a deep breath.
“Sorry. There are no words to explain how we felt after the reading began. On that day we learned he wasn’t really our father, and that none of the three of us are even related to each other.”
Bodie couldn’t imagine what a shock that must have been. Then the legal aspects of that began to sink in.
“Wait! What are you saying…that you were all kidnapped?”
“No, no.” She sighed. “I told you it was complicated. At the time our father—Andrew—came to care for us, he was an evangelical minister, traveling all over the country. All three of us have a different story, but mine started with a murder here in your city. Twenty years ago, a prostitute named Sally Blake was murdered at the Hampton Arms in North Tulsa. No one was ever arrested, and the case went cold.”
Bodie leaned back in his chair. “You’re wanting me to open a cold case.”
She nodded.
“With what evidence?”
“Right now, I don’t have any…but with your help, I’ll find it.”
Bodie sighed. “Look, Ms. Slade, this isn’t how investigations work. Unless you have something new to add to what’s in the file, that isn’t going to happen.”
Maria shoved a hand through her hair in frustration. No matter how many times she said it, it still didn’t seem possible.
“I do have something…I just don’t remember it.”
Bodie frowned. “You don’t remember it?”
“No.”
“How would you have information relating to a twenty-year-old murder case? You couldn’t have been much more than a toddler then. What could you possibly know that—”
“I was four. Sally Blake was my mother, and according to the journal Dad left me, I saw the murder happen.”
Bodie’s heart skipped a beat. “You witnessed her murder?”
Maria nodded.
“Why didn’t you say so at the time of the investigation?”
“It’s all in the journal, but the bottom line was, as Sally Blake lay dying, she begged him to take me and hide me. She kept saying…that if he knew I’d seen it happen, he would find me and kill me, too.”
The hair stood up on the back of Bodie’s neck. “Holy… He? He who?”
“That’s the problem,” Maria said. “Sally died before she could name the man. And supposedly I was in shock. They whisked me away, hiding me before the police arrived at the hotel. I didn’t speak a word for a month. Then, when I did, it was as if the first four years of my life had never happened. I never asked about my mother or where she was. I never behaved as if I was suddenly living with strangers. I just woke up one morning as if I’d decided to come back to the land of the living, accepting where I was, and who I was with, without question.”
“You said they…. Who helped Andrew hide you?”
“A woman named Becky Thurman. She was my babysitter when my mother went out on her ‘dates.’ She lived across the hall from us. I googled her name in the Tulsa phonebook before I left Montana, but I didn’t get a hit.”
“That’s quite a story,” Bodie said.
Maria shrugged. “So are you going to help me?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure where we can go with this if you can’t remember anything, but I will pull the case files and see what we’re looking at, okay? Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Relief flooded her body, leaving her slightly light-headed. She smiled.
Bodie stifled a grunt. Her smile had hit him like a fist to the gut.
“Yesterday I went looking for the hotel. You know, thinking if I saw it I might remember something. But it’s not there anymore.”
“Yeah, North Tulsa has its share of problems,” Bodie said.
“After I realized it was gone, I went a couple of blocks farther to a place called John 3:16 Mission. I spoke to a man named Henry, the preacher who’s running it.”
Bodie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You went into that neighborhood investigating on your own?”
“Yes? What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a tough part of the city, and going around asking questions about a murder, even if it’s an old one, can get you killed. That’s the big deal.”
Maria leaned forward, tapping the table with her finger to punctuate her words.
“No. Facing a freak blizzard on a horse and being five miles from home is a big deal. Yesterday was nothing. It was a bright and sunny day. I drove to the mission, got out and went in. The end.”
Bodie couldn’t quit staring. From the onset he’d been taken by her determination, and during their interview he couldn’t help but notice her beauty. But it was becoming apparent that this woman was tough in ways he had not expected.
“Okay, so you talked to this Henry. About what?”
“The Hampton Arms. He told me that one of the regulars at
the mission used to work the night shift there.”
“So you talked to him?”
“Not for a while. I was washing dishes when he finally showed up and—”
Once again, her story was going all over the place and he was having a difficult time following.
“You washed dishes at the mission?”
Maria frowned. “Yes. After I ate with them. Are you hard of hearing?”
The sarcasm in her voice was impossible to miss.
Bodie stifled the urge to grin and just shook his head.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then stop interrupting me or I’m never gonna get this told.”
“Sorry.”
“As I was saying…after this man, Montrose Benton, showed up, we talked for a while. He remembered Sally Blake and her daughter. He remembered the night Sally was murdered, and that the crime was never solved. What he did tell me was something that wasn’t in the journal Dad left. It was the name of the man who used to be her pimp.”
Bodie’s interest spiked as he grabbed his notebook. “What’s his name?”
“Tank Vincent. I’m sure he has a different first name, but that’s all he knew.”
“I’ll run the name and see what comes up.”
That was exactly what she needed to hear. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Bodie said, then glanced at the clock. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning? That will give me time to locate the case file and run a background check on the pimp. It’s doubtful he would still be in the area. After this many years, he could easily be dead.” He glanced down at his notes. “Tank Vincent, right?”
“Right.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Doubletree in downtown Tulsa. I’m in Room 604. This is my cell number.” She slid a card across the table.
Bodie glanced at it.
Maria Slade
Horse trainer
Triple S Ranch
Missoula, Montana
There were also home and cell phone numbers.
“You train horses?”
“Among other things,” Maria said.
He slipped the card in his pocket.
Maria gathered her things and followed him out. It wasn’t until he was walking her to the elevator that she finally noticed how tall he was and how wide his shoulders were beneath his jacket. Before she could follow the thought any further, the elevator doors opened. She walked in, then turned around. The last thing she saw was the intent expression on his face.
