“He certainly couldn’t deny I was his, now could he?” Rainey said with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure your dad couldn’t deny you either. You look a lot like he did in this picture.”
“They were brave, weren’t they?” Bill commented, gazing at a photo he’d seen a thousand times, but today saw with the eyes a mourning child.
Rainey looked into her father’s smiling face. “My dad used to say he wasn’t brave, just terrified of getting killed. He said it was highly motivating.”
“Well I, for one, am glad he was motivated.” Bill took another look at the picture and sighed, before turning back to Rainey. “Is there anything I can help you with? I have his passwords, if you need them.” He smiled, as Rainey saw a memory pass before him. “Dad could never remember his passwords, but he wouldn’t write them down for ‘security reasons,’ he would say.”
Rainey winked at Bill. “We taught him that at Quantico.”
Bill chuckled. “Yeah, that class lit a fire under him. He wanted to know how to do it all after that. I am a programmer, so I helped when he got stuck, but he mostly taught himself. He even signed up for a Facebook account about two years ago.”
“Now, that, we would have not advised at Quantico.”
Bill moved over to the desk. “He said he wanted to be able to talk to his old military buddies. I also think he was using it to collect information for his ongoing investigation.”
Rainey had her own anonymous account for that same purpose. Skips were not always conscious of privacy settings and sometimes stupid enough to post pictures and check into locations, identifying exactly where Bell’s Bail could find them. She had accounts for all the most popular social media sites. It was a good investigative tool.
Rainey remarked, “In that case, it wasn’t a bad idea. Can you open his Facebook page? I’d like to see his friends list, who he may have been following.”
Bill sat down at the desk, noticed Rainey’s weapon, and shot her a questioning look.
She shrugged her shoulders and answered his unspoken question, “Trouble seems to find me. I just like to be prepared when it does.”
“I live in Chapel Hill. I’ve seen quite a bit of your trouble play out on the evening news. You sure have Billy Bell’s survival instincts.”
“I think we have that ‘terrified of being killed’ motivation in common.”
Rainey smiled to ease the tension. People never knew what to say to her. The world had been treated to a meticulous account of the most horrific times of her life. It made for pitiful looks and anxious moments when strangers learned who she was and remembered the story of her rape and torture plastered all over the news. She preferred the tongue-tied and shoe-top gazing types to the ones who asked rude questions about details, or tried to get a peek at the scar. That always amazed her, and at times, she was less than tactful in her response. It was best to just move on and let it pass.
She asked, “Did he sign on as himself?”
Taking the cue, Bill replied, “Yes,” and redirected his attention to the laptop, hitting the spacebar to wake the screen. “I was checking his email earlier, so we don’t have to wait for it to power up.”
He typed in the password to open the desktop. A few more keystrokes and Wellman Wise’s Facebook page appeared. Bill clicked on the page to reveal his father’s list of friends.
“Anyone in particular jump out at you, Bill?”
“Well, I see Skylar Sweet, Ellie Paxton Read, Benjy and Leda—huh,” he paused for a second, “Adam Goodwin’s page is still active. I guess his family is hoping he’ll show back up.”
“Did you know Adam?” Rainey asked.
“He was about five years younger than me. He was some kid running around the gym when I still lived here, but he joined my fraternity at State, so I would see him at alumni social functions.”
“Did you know the fraternity brothers he went to the beach with that weekend?”
“How do you know about—,” he glanced at the folder, “Oh, yeah, Dad’s theory. Yes, I knew those guys. No one has a clue what happened. They’ve been back weekend after weekend, walking the beach, looking for any sign. Adam simply vanished, no car, no body, just gone.”
“What can you tell me about your Dad’s theory?”
“Not much. Just that he thought someone was killing off the people on that list they found on Graham Colde the morning he shot the Paxtons.”
“Do you know if he mentioned his theory to anyone else, maybe spooked someone?”
Bill pushed back from the desk. “My mom told you she thinks he was murdered, didn’t she?”
There was no use trying to dodge the question. Rainey answered, “She did say she was concerned that it may not have been a hunting accident. What do you think?”
“I think he went fishing and some kid out hunting with his father accidently shot him, and they both ran away scared shitless. It would have made no difference if they stayed or got help. He died almost instantly.”
“A kid? What makes you say that?”
“The forensics guys determined the direction the shot came from. They walked that line. They found two sets of footprints. One was probably an adult male. The others were small, like a kid. The small footprints came closest to where my dad was and then went back to the adult prints.”
“That’s a plausible scenario. I take it ballistic tests were of no help?”
“We know it was a 30-06 caliber bullet shot from an M1 Garand.”
“That’s an interesting coincidence. That same model of rifle was used in the Paxton murders.”
“My dad has one in the gun safe. It’s a soldier’s rifle. Lots of hunters use them too.”
“And they did not find any brass?” Rainey’s mind was churning.
“No, they didn’t—even used metal detectors—but it’s pretty thick in there.”
“But they could see the footprints?”
Bill’s brain was turning, too. “Yes, and that’s weird, now that you mention it.”
“What’s in season right now? I know it’s not deer.” Rainey was fighting the presumption that Bill’s father had been murdered, but with every answer, she felt more ill at ease.
“Squirrel, rabbit, and you can always shoot feral hogs.”
“I doubt seriously a man of your father’s stature could be mistaken for any of those animals.”
“No, a safe hunter would never fire at anything he could not completely identify. That’s why I think it was an inexperienced and untrained kid with a gun. What kind of idiot puts a weapon in a kid’s hands and says fire away at anything that moves? It was hammered into me to know exactly what I was shooting at and where the bullet might go if I missed.”
“Your mother said your father did not hunt, but he taught you?”
“No, he was not a hunter. He said he had done his share of bloodletting. Hunting a good fishing hole was the only game he found interesting, and most of the time he released what he caught. Papa Martin, Mom’s dad, he took me hunting. He was a real Davy Crockett type.”
Rainey looked out the study window. The clouds were hanging lower and thicker than before. It was almost noon. Her window of opportunity was closing fast. Not for the drive home, but a chance to see the crime scene before it disappeared under the snow she now had to admit was actually going to happen.
“Bill, I know this is a tough thing to ask of you, but if there is any way at all I could see where your father was shot, I might be able to answer a few of my questions and maybe put your mother at ease.”
Rainey hoped she wasn’t lying to this man. It would be better for everyone if it were simply a horrible accident of fate. In her experience with victim’s families, if they could tell themselves nothing could have stopped it from happening, it was much easier to accept the death. Murder was a leap with what she knew so far, but seeing the actual scene of the shooting might answer that little prickle of doubt on the back of her neck.
Bill looked a bit surprised, but he said, “Sure. It’s ju
st on the other side of town about ten miles. I’ll need to borrow a truck. My car won’t go back there in this weather and Dad’s truck is at the Sheriff’s department. I haven’t picked it up yet. They took it because it had blood—”
Rainey knew the pain of this loss. She put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “People will tell you in time this too shall pass. It will not. It will get easier to handle in about a year, maybe two. Eventually, you focus on the good memories, the life of the man, and not his death.”
A tear slowly rolled off Bill’s cheek. “I knew I’d bury my father one day, just not this soon. There was so much left to say.”
“He knew you loved him, right? What else was there he really needed to know?”
Bill stood up, went to the door, and waited for Rainey, who gathered her things and followed. He was in control now and had lost the tremble in his voice when he spoke.
He gave her time to tuck the holster back in her waistband, as he explained, “This weekend, my wife and I were going to tell Dad he was going to be a grandfather. I haven’t told Mom, yet. I didn’t think I should taint the joy of her finding out with the memory of my father’s death.”
Rainey reached for Bill’s arm to stop him from turning the doorknob. “Tell her. New memories and purpose, that’s what she needs right now. She was obviously devoted to your father. She needs somewhere to put that focus. Trust me, grandbabies can work miracles.”
#
12:15 p.m.
Light Snow, 28.9oF, Windchill 17.3oF
While Bill made arrangements for transportation, Rainey went out to the van, very glad now that Katie had given her a change of clothes. Back at the house for a quick change into the jeans, a mock turtleneck, a UVA sweatshirt, and her black tactical boots—she smiled because she had married a woman that would include thick socks, two pair. Warm clothes donned, Rainey was ready to trek through the woods in freezing temperatures to view a crime scene. She had not brought a more appropriate coat, so the long wool one would have to do. She had thin leather gloves in her coat pocket, some comfort against the biting wind, but not the protection she needed for an extended stay in the worsening winter storm. Retrieving the gloves, Rainey fingered the small box containing Katie’s necklace and thought about locking it in the van, but Bill was waiting out front.
Harriet offered a “toboggan,” a word used only in the southern states to refer to not a sled, but a knit hat. “Here, you’ll need this. I just heard someone say the wind-chill was down to seventeen degrees. Y’all don’t stay out in this too long.”
Rainey gladly accepted the hat. Hair smashed into a mass of matted curls was worth the risk with the falling temperatures outside. “Thank you. This shouldn’t take too long.”
Bill borrowed Skylar’s pickup truck with the Sweet Farms logo on the door. Once inside, Rainey couldn’t help but think what passed for a farm truck these days was a far cry from the old beater in which she made her last trip through Hominy Junction.
“Farming must be more lucrative than I thought,” she commented.
“I guess if your tractors have Wi-Fi and air conditioning, why not drive a forty-five thousand dollar truck into a field?” Bill turned on the wipers, as what had been a few blowing flurries became light snow. “Gordon said he sits in the cab of one of Skylar’s tractors, smokes weed, and does what a computer screen tells him to do. Easiest job he’s ever had, he said. Of course, Gordon’s had plenty of jobs. He’s one of those good ol’ boys found in every little town. He just can’t quite keep it all together. You know the type.”
“I basically make a living off of guys like Gordon. They are often in need of bail money.”
“So, that’s what you do now? You took over your father’s business.”
“It was never my intention to leave the bureau when he died, but the circumstances changed and it was the right thing to do.”
“Leda told me all about your beautiful family. Are your triplets the grandbabies that worked miracles?”
Rainey smiled over at Bill. “Yes, they are. They healed a lot of scars.” She was curious and Bill had been very forthcoming with information about Gordon without prompting, so she asked, “What can you tell me about Leda’s son, Taylor?”
Bill glanced over at her. “Well, I guess you’d have to blind not to see it. He’s Skylar’s child, but nobody talks about it. It’s a shame, really. That boy is going to figure it out on his own and that just doesn’t seem fair to me.”
“What exactly is he going to figure out? How he was conceived?”
“I keep forgetting you were looking at Dad’s file. Yes, the basic rumor—because you know they morph a lot in a small town—the basic story was that some of the basketball team spent the evening getting drunk down at Skylar’s father’s hunting cabin. Skylar, Alex, Ely, and Gordon came into the diner for some takeout, as Leda was closing up alone.”
“She was alone. That teenaged girl was alone closing down the diner? Where was her mother?”
“Doris finally ran her last husband off the year Leda started high school. She opened every morning and ran the place pretty much alone until Leda got there at lunch. Leda went back to school after the lunch rush and Doris worked with a night cook, until Leda got off from school. Then Leda closed with the night cook. It was like that for Leda all through school. My dad felt sorry for her. Anyway, that night the cook’s baby was ill and Leda sent her home early.”
Bill and Rainey drove out of town, taking a road that veered off to the left, just past the diner. The houses thinned and then there were none, just fields and forest lining both sides of the road. The snow was not exactly falling in flakes, but rather windblown gusts of tiny white pellets, enough to wet the roads and dust the ditches. Rainey shuddered against the cold and the subject matter.
“I am assuming from Leda’s body language around Skylar that her kindness to the cook led to a sexual assault.”
“No one believed a handsome boy like Skylar would need to rape a girl like Leda. Most people thought she was a willing participant, came up pregnant, and then cried rape.”
“The blame and shame game,” Rainey said, shaking her head. “A predictable reaction when it’s the all American boy’s word against the victim’s. I mean, why would a good-looking boy like that need to rape someone, right? I like to remind people of Ted Bundy when they say crap like that.”
“Dad was livid and spoke to Doris, who as it turned out knew about the rape and planned to cash in on that grandbaby when it was born. The Sweets have money, quite a bit, and Doris saw her pot of gold in the rape of her daughter.”
“That poor girl,” Rainey commented, as she felt the heat of anger rise to her neck.
Looking out the window again, she gathered her anger and pity, shoving it in to the appropriate mental box. Emotion clouded her mind. She had learned in training at Quantico to set it aside and focus on the task at hand. After the mental check, she went back to investigating.
“What part does the rumor say the other boys played in the rape?” Rainey asked.
“I heard some of it from Adam, myself. I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but he said Skylar started harassing Leda and one thing led to another. He swore it just got out of hand and by the time he and Ely realized what was about to happen, Gordon was cutting off the lights and locking the door.”
“And of course he and Ely couldn’t go against Skylar, right?” Rainey said sarcastically, still angry but in control of it.
“Adam swore he and Ely just took the food, went back to a booth, and stuffed their faces. He said they heard noises from the bathroom, but they did not go in.”
“I suppose he thought that made them innocent of any crime?”
“Yep, Adam was a dick,” Bill said, nodding his head. “I never talked with Ely. He was just some kid from town. Like I said, these guys are younger and I was gone to college before they hit high school.”
“Do you know if Skylar’s family ever paid off Doris?”
“No, I never heard
one way or the other. Doris died not long after Taylor was born, heart attack, I think.”
Fifteen minutes outside of town, Bill turned off the paved road to a sandy lane that split two large barren winter fields covered in a thin layer of white. Rainey was starting to wonder if the last minute attempt to see the crime scene intact was going to be a wasted effort. They passed several “No Trespassing” and “Posted No Hunting” signs, as they progressed toward a thick, evergreen forest up ahead.
“I think this storm might really turn into the blizzard they’ve been calling for,” Bill said. “You are welcome to stay at the house. You probably won’t make it back home if this keeps up.”
“Thank you for the offer. I might just have to take you up on that if it gets any worse,” Rainey said, thinking how she dreaded that call home.
Rainey felt a little twinge of guilt at not leaving for home sooner. It wasn’t just Harriet’s request she couldn’t ignore. Rainey could have told her she’d come back when the weather cleared, but something akin to the adrenaline rush of her old life as a behavioral analyst had taken over in the moment. It was possible a serial killer was among these townspeople. That presented an opportunity to use the skills she honed for years, but rarely used anymore. Her investigations, even her consulting work with law enforcement, seldom presented the chance to profile an UNSUB of this nature. If the prickly feeling on the back of her neck hinted at the truth, a cold, calculating, patient, and completely invisible killer was probably standing in Harriet’s living room right now, eating brownies and sipping coffee with the next victim on the list.
Bill had grown quiet. Rainey surmised they must be near the site and let the silence persist. She remembered trying to comprehend the senseless murder of her father. She gave Bill the time to prepare for the return to the spot where his father took his last breath. She did not envy him the grieving process he was about to endure. She felt the familiar pain in her chest. On May tenth, Rainey would mark the fifth anniversary of the day her father was taken from her. It still felt like yesterday.
Colde & Rainey (A Rainey Bell Thriller) Page 7
