In the Shadow of Evil

by Robin Caroll

  "Man, I slept in a chair in Pop's hospital room. Of course I didn't get enough rest." He took a sip of the now-cold coffee he'd picked up on his way into the office. "And Pop's downright cantankerous this morning. Rude."

  Houston chuckled and braked for a red light. "Morning grumpiness must run in the family."

  Maddox's blood ran cold, and his muscles tensed. "I'm nothing like him."

  His partner gave him a hard stare. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" He inched the car through the intersection and turned.

  "Sorry. Didn't mean to bite your head off." But how could he explain? He and his father were like oil and water—they didn't mix at all.

  "What's bugging you?"

  There it was in a nutshell—the million-dollar question. "He still blames me for Mom's murder." It hurt to speak the words, but it was time to get it all out on the table.

  "You were a kid, Maddox. He can't blame you."

  "He can and he does. Trust me on this."

  Houston checked the street sign, then made a quick left. "And this came up this morning? At the hospital?"

  "Yep. Pop wanted to talk about the night she was killed. Again." The tightening in his chest increased. "As if anything had changed." Maddox slapped the dashboard with the side of his fist. "If only they'd caught her murderer. Maybe we could understand."

  "Sounds like y'all need to heal."

  "Never knowing what really happened, not knowing why . . . I don't think Pop can ever let it go."

  "I think that applies to you too, partner."

  Maddox stared at Houston as he pulled into the parking lot at J. B. Carpentry. "How do you figure?"

  Houston turned off the ignition and shifted to face him. "Isn't that the reason you became a cop? To give people justice?"

  Heat stormed across his face. "No. I wanted to be a cop. Plain and simple."

  Houston waggled his brows. "And why is that?"

  "I dunno. Just did." The heat kicked up a notch.

  "Maybe you should ask yourself when you decided to become a cop. Then you can figure out why. I'm betting it has to do with your mom's case never being solved."

  "What are you, a shrink?"

  Houston shrugged and opened his car door. "Just done a little more living than you." He stepped from the cruiser. "Think about it. Later. Right now, we have a suspect to interview."

  Maddox followed his partner into the carpenter's office. He'd never really thought about why he wanted to be a cop. He swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. Could guilt have pushed him into his profession?

  A cute brunette sitting behind a counter smiled as they entered. "Good morning. How can we help you?"

  "We need to see Sam Roberson, please." Houston flashed his detective's badge.

  The girl didn't seem fazed. She lifted the intercom and paged Sam over the loudspeakers. "You're in luck," she said as she hung up the phone, "the crews haven't left for their jobs this morning yet."

  "Thank you." Maddox smiled at the girl. He and Houston took a few steps away from the desk, moving off to the side of the entrance. Houston slipped a piece of gum into his mouth.

  Heavy footsteps rushed into the area. "Hey, Pam. Whatcha need? We're about to head out."

  The girl waved toward Maddox and Houston. "Those two cops want to talk to you."

  The young man's face went whiter than white.

  Houston took a step toward him. "Sam Roberson?"

  "Y-Yes."

  Houston nodded at the front doors. "May we speak to you privately, please?" His badge glimmered on his waist.

  Sam pushed open the doors and waited for Maddox and Houston. "What's this about?"

  "We understand you were at Second Chances recently." Houston flipped open his notebook, popping his gum.

  "Yeah. But I've been released." The kid shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  "We know that." Houston rocked back on his heels. "We understand you were part of the work-release program, working with J. B. Carpentry."

  "I was, then Mr. Baxter said I was such a good worker that he hired me on after Second Chances." The defiance screamed from his squared shoulders and widened stance.

  "And you worked on the Hope-for-Homes site that burned down last week?"

  "Yeah." The kid's eyes narrowed. "I worked directly under Mr. Baxter. I was never alone at the site or anything. I had nothing to do with it burning."

  A little defensive? "We didn't say you did." Maddox shifted, moving a couple of inches closer to Sam. "But since you brought it up, why don't you tell us where you were Friday night from eleven thirty until midnight?"

  His face turned chalk white. "I was out on a date."

  "Who were you on the date with?" Houston asked.

  "Pam." Sam nodded toward the front door. "The receptionist."

  Really? She'd shown no interest that police wanted to talk to a guy she was dating. Very odd. Maddox cocked out his hip, the one his gun sat on. "Where did y'all go?"

  "We ate dinner at Copeland's."

  "And then?"

  His face reddened. "Then we hung out at her place for a while. Watched some stupid chick flick. I left a little after midnight." Sam glanced into the glass doors. "Look, is there anything else? My crew's gonna leave any minute now, and if I'm not in the truck, I'll get left. That's a day I'll be docked."

  "Sure. You can go." Houston nodded.

  Sam made fast tracks around the side of the building.

  "Let's go question the receptionist. Verify his alibi." Houston pocketed his notebook and reached for the door.

  "Why don't you do that? I'd like to talk to Mr. Baxter. See if he has anything to share."

  "Good idea."

  Maddox followed Houston back into the office. He asked to speak to the owner. Pam didn't page the man. Instead she called him on the phone, nodded, then directed Maddox to Mr. Baxter's office.

  The indoor-outdoor carpet in the hallway to Mr. Baxter's office was matted down, almost bare in places. Maddox knocked on the door.

  "Come in."

  Maddox inched open the door, stepped inside, then closed it behind him.

  "I'm Jonas Baxter. How can I help you?" He extended his hand.

  Maddox shook it, noticing the calluses that scraped against his palm as the man nearly crushed his hand. Mr. Baxter was a hulk of a man—almost equal to Maddox's six-one stature—and had wide shoulders. Everything about him told that he was a man who did manual labor for a living.

  "Thanks for agreeing to see me, Mr. Baxter."

  "I figured you'd be by." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." He plopped down into his own chair. The leather creaked out affectionately, like a glove's perfect fit.

  Now wasn't that odd? Maddox sat. "Why's that?"

  "After Layla Taylor called me, I figured the police would be coming round."

  Layla— "She called you? When? Why?"

  Mr. Baxter chuckled. "She called me the other day and asked what I remembered about the Hope-for-Homes site. If I could recall any strangers on the site or anything amiss."

  She was interfering in a homicide investigation. His investigation! "I see. And did you? Remember anything out of the ordinary on the site?"

  "Like I told Layla, I don't. Nothing strikes my memory as anything other than ordinary."

  "I see. And you hired Sam Roberson after he participated in the Second Chances work-release program?"

  "I did. He's a good worker." Mr. Baxter crossed his arms over his chest. "And his father's my dentist."

  A backdoor brother-in-law arrangement?

  "Before you start thinking something's going on, let me assure you. I would never hire someone I didn't trust or know would do a good job. When J. B. Carpentry sends crews, it's my name and reputation on the line."

  "Speaking of that, what is your experience with Taylor Construction?"

  "Layla?" Mr. Baxter smiled. "She's a good contractor. Honest. Reliable. Good as her old man was." He tented his hands over his desk.
"She had to work twice as hard to prove herself, even though she was just as good as any of the guys. And she's done that. I'm proud of her."

  "You knew her father?"

  "Of course. This is a small community and an even smaller industry in this area."

  "What was he like?" Not that this line of questioning had anything to do with his investigation, but he couldn't resist.

  Mr. Baxter leaned back in his chair. It squeaked in response. "Kevin Taylor? Hard-working. Honest. A good man. Layla takes after him in a lot of ways." He shook his head. "Almost killed her when he dropped dead of a heart attack. That girl hero-worshipped her father, but the feeling was mutual."

  Made sense of her being so nice and accommodating to him at the hospital. What would it be like to have a father who loved you and who you looked up to? Maddox couldn't fathom.

  He focused on the case at hand. "Just one more question, Mr. Baxter. Where were you on Friday night between eleven thirty and midnight?"

  "THANKS AGAIN FOR COMING over, Layla." Pastor Chaney met her in the foyer. "I didn't know where else to turn. This has about got us beat."

  "I talked to Bob Johnson this morning. He can't figure it out." She smiled at the kindly man who'd presided over her father's funeral so eloquently. The man who'd counseled Alana and tried to counsel Layla when their mother overdosed. He was such a good man. "Let's go look at the pipes."

  Pastor led the way to the bathrooms off the narthex. "I've made sure no one is in either one." He pushed open the door to the men's room.

  Layla stepped inside and nearly gagged. The stench of rotten eggs almost reversed the coffee she'd ingested this morning. She covered her nose. "What is that smell?"

  "I have no idea. We've cleaned in here with everything—bleach, pine cleaner, even specialty odor-fighting cleansers." He coughed, wheezing. "We mask it on Sundays with air fresheners all the time."

  "I've heard men's rooms stink, but this is ridiculous." She tried to smile, but the smell turned her stomach.

  Pastor grinned and reached for a can of air freshener. He sprayed it generously. "It's the same in the ladies' room." He set it back on the counter with another rattling cough.

  The air freshener made her eyes water, but it was better than the horrible reeking. "I'll see what I can find out." She knelt before the sinks. The beautiful tile floor she'd secured at a 40 percent discount was covered in old towels. The yellow-painted Sheetrock covering the pipes had been removed, revealing the inner plumbing.

  Sure enough, the copper piping was corroded. The insulation that had surrounded the space had been removed.

  "We had to tear it down when the leaks came back. This is twice we've had to replace the Sheetrock, paint, and insulation."

  She slipped on her gloves, grabbed the pipe, and inspected it. Totally corroded. She sat back on her heels, surveying the area. What would cause the pipes to corrode so quickly?

  Worrying her bottom lip, she processed everything she knew about plumbing. Nothing made sense. Bob said this was the second set of pipes installed. The renovation wasn't even a year old. The shipment of pipes weren't faulty. This didn't add up.

  "Oh my goodness." Pastor ripped paper towels from the dispenser. Blood gushed from his nose.

  Layla was on her feet in a flash. "Pastor, are you okay?"

  He coughed and couldn't catch his breath. The blood kept flowing from his nose.

  She helped him sit and grabbed more paper towels.

  His coughing and wheezing increased, and his face turned red. The rattle in his chest echoed off the tile walls.

  Layla's heart clenched. "Pastor?" She grabbed his arm.

  He slumped forward.

  She jerked just in time to save his head from cracking against the floor. "Pastor!" She eased him to a lying position on his side.

  His breathing was slow . . . shallow.

  She reached for her cell from her hip. She flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1. Her hands trembled as she waited for the call to connect.

  Bleeding nose. Difficulty breathing. Coughing and wheezing. Losing consciousness.

  Just like Ms. Ethel and Mr. James.

  Dear Lord, what's happening?

  TWENTY

  "Beyond a doubt truth bears the same relation to falsehood as light to darkness."

  —LEONARDO DA VINCI

  LAYLA TAYLOR WAS A thorn in his side.

  She wouldn't stop asking questions. Couldn't just let the police do their job—wouldn't stop looking into matters. Didn't she realize the danger she'd put herself in?

  He lifted his glass and finished off his drink. The bourbon warmed all the way to his stomach.

  Think. He had to come up with something. Anything to distract Layla from continuing her investigation.

  Her records were destroyed, so he didn't have to worry about the proof. Breaking into her office and trashing the place hadn't dissuaded her. If only it were spring, when construction business was booming. But this was the slow season. Gave her plenty of time to play Nancy Drew.

  Maybe she needed a message. Something that would make her realize she needed to concentrate her efforts elsewhere.

  Layla Taylor's Achilles' heel was her sister. No doubt about that. But he'd forever remember Alana toothless and in pigtails. He couldn't harm her.

  But he could hurt something Alana cared about deeply, which made Layla care about it. Would that be enough?

  He lifted the bottle and poured himself another shot of the cheap liquor. One day . . . one day, he'd be able to afford the top-shelf stuff. That day was in sight.

  If he could just get Layla Taylor to mind her own business.

  He downed the soft amber liquor. Yes, hitting what Alana cared about most would send a message to Layla. He just needed to figure out how to pull it off.

  All his careful planning could go up in smoke soon. Rumor had it the riverboat casinos would begin their final eliminations on their rebuilding projects next week. He'd have to act fast.

  And if this didn't stop Layla . . . well, he'd have no other choice.

  "THAT WAS ANOTHER DEAD end." Houston plopped into his chair in Maddox's and his cubicle.

  Maddox slumped into his own seat. "We're missing something." He lifted reports from his in-box and scanned them. "Great. Initial forensic analysis on the break-in at Layla's netted us nothing. Since it's a business, too many outside factors played into the retrieved samples." He tossed the report to his file. "Wordy way of saying they got zilch."

  Houston reviewed his case notes. "There's nothing about Dennis LeJeune that stands out. Background check came back clean. Nothing to indicate someone would want to kill him."

  "What about his friends?"

  "Nothing. The man only had bowling buddies from what we can uncover. He didn't go to church. Didn't hunt. Didn't fish. Didn't do anything but work and come home to be alone with his wife, and bowl occasionally."

  What a boring life. But then it occurred to Maddox that he hadn't been hunting or fishing in months. He sure didn't go to church. All he did was work and go home. He didn't even have someone to go home to. "Which means that his murder had to be related in some way to his work as a building inspector."

  Houston nodded. "I haven't missed the irony of his grave being a site he inspected. Who wanted to send such a message?"

  "And the overkill of the crime. Shooting him in the head when he was already dead. That's anger."

  "Or revenge." Houston tossed a stack of papers on Maddox's desk. "Got the report back on Randy Dean. Clean."

  Maddox reached for the papers and scanned. Layla's ex didn't have a record, no outstanding warrants—not even unpaid parking tickets—had no open complaints on him, and no indication of any illegal implications. He'd been an electrician and served on the Eternal Springs volunteer fire department. As Houston said, he was clean as a whistle.

  Another dead end.

  Maddox rested his head back on the chair. "We've already questioned the people connected to Second Chances and the site."


  "Maybe that isn't the connection."

  "What do you mean?" Maddox straightened and stared at his partner.

  "Just that perhaps Second Chances has nothing to do with his murder."

  Maddox pulled up his own notes. "Okay. So we go back to a connection with the site itself. I talked to Baxter. Don't see how he can be involved."

  Houston turned to another page in his file. "So that leaves the electrician, Denny Keys. The plumber, Bob Johnson. The supplier, Y Building Supplies."

  "And Layla Taylor." Just including her left a bad taste in Maddox's mouth, but he had to do his job.

  "Do you really think she's connected?" Houston set down his papers and peered over the desk at Maddox.

  "She was the contractor and the site foreman. She's the single connection to all these people. And she knew the victim."

  "But as you mentioned, Baxter said it's a small community and industry. Of course they're all connected."

  "She knew everything about the site, including when Ms. Caldwell would move in."

  "So did everyone else on the site, right?"

  "True." Maddox scratched his head. They were getting nowhere fast.

  Houston rested his elbows on his desk. "Why do you want her to be involved in this so badly?"

  "I don't." He really didn't, but he had to make sure he treated her like anyone else involved in the investigation. "It's just what makes sense. Especially since her office was broken into. I don't think she's personally involved. But I do think she's a key connection."

  "Okay, we can keep that in mind. Check out that angle."

  "In the meantime, let's go visit the electrician, plumber, and supplier."

  Houston stood and led the way down the hall.

  Maddox fell into step with his partner. "And I'm still not wild about Layla asking questions, sticking her nose in the investigation."

  "She's probably just trying to help."

  Maddox stopped and grabbed Houston's arm. "Why do you want her not to be involved so badly?"

  "Because I think there's the possibility of something between you two." Houston had the decency to blush as he pulled his arm from Maddox's grip.