by Burton, Mary
His heart kicked into high gear, and he replayed the message. Drawing in a breath, he reminded himself that he had some time. She would not play her cards until she ran out of options. She was a survivor and knew the best long game was to stay under the radar. If she turned on him, she would likely get tagged as an accessory after the fact.
She did not want to tell the cops what she knew, but she would. She never made idle threats.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and glanced into the bar’s front window. Sandra was laughing and pouring beer from a tap. Already, she was smiling at another man.
Sonny had a couple of buddies that were bail bondsmen like Ralph Hogan. Working with bands and musicians for so many years meant he knew not only where to find the best drugs and food at 3:00 a.m. but also which bail bondsmen were quick and discreet. He did not know Ralph. But he had a friend who would.
Sonny checked his watch. As much as he wanted to go on a date with Sandra tonight, she would have to wait. He would deal with Bonnie first and then make time for his new girlfriend.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wednesday, August 26, 6:00 p.m.
Melina sat in the prison interview room, reminding herself that Bonnie Guthrie was nothing more than another con and thief. Just because Bonnie had remarked that she had once known a Melina did not mean she was telling the truth or that they were connected. Time to shake off her own emotional baggage and get on with the job of being a cop.
The knob twisted and the door opened. Bonnie entered the room and stared at her through the glass partition. She looked comfortable. Her shoulders were squared, her chin angled up like she was queen of this realm.
Melina doubted the relaxed demeanor. Bonnie had been around the block enough times to know she was facing serious jail time. She had also learned that no one better ever see you sweat in prison.
Bonnie grinned at Melina. “You got my message?”
“I’m here,” Melina said.
“What took you so long? I called a few hours ago.”
“Things to do, people to see.”
She watched as Bonnie shuffled over to the chair and sat. Grinning up at the guard, she winked. “Thanks, doll. You can leave us now.”
Scowling, the guard closed the door behind him. She sat back.
Melina waited for Bonnie to speak.
“I don’t suppose you can arrange for me to get some smokes? I’ve been craving one since they picked me up.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do. I bet you’re a health nut.”
“What can you do for me, Bonnie?” Even to Melina’s own ears, her tone sounded terse.
Bonnie shook her head. “Exactly.”
“Are you going to tell me about the pickle jar?”
“I don’t know anything about that. It must have been shoved in the trunk long before I got ahold of the car.”
“Your prints were on the jar.”
“Were they? If they were, which I doubt, it’s because I was shuffling crap around in the trunk to make room for my own stuff.”
“Who owned the car?”
“Belonged to a woman I knew back in LA.”
“Does this woman have a name?”
“I have no idea. I gave her fifty bucks and she gave me the car. I know, bad deal on her part, but junkies do all kinds of dumb things when they need a fix.”
Melina was tempted to call bullshit on Bonnie’s story, but she decided to play along. “Okay, you don’t know anything about the jar. Why were you in that neighborhood? What was the rush?”
“I had to pee really bad.”
Melina shifted, tamping down a stab of frustration. “Tell me about Elena.”
Bonnie’s grin faltered a second. “What do you want to know?”
“She’s not your kid.” Melina looked Bonnie up and down. “No offense, but you’re a little old to have a six-year-old.”
Bonnie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “None taken, doll.”
Melina did not smile but enjoyed some satisfaction knowing she, too, had found a soft spot. Bonnie was getting old and did not like it one bit. “Did Christina Sanchez own the car before you?”
Bonnie leaned forward, her gaze locking on Melina’s. “Who?”
“Elena’s mother. The junkie who overdosed.”
“I don’t want to talk about the kid or her junkie mother. I’d rather talk about you.”
“For now, we’ll stick with Elena. Where is Elena from? Where is her mother?” Melina would not allow Bonnie to redirect the conversation.
“Christina was a drug addict. When I got out of prison, I rented a room from her. That was a year ago, and she was barely making it then. I started taking Elena with me more and more while her mother turned a trick or slept it off.”
“And you took the child so she could help you steal.”
“We had outings. Little girls need sunshine, and we lived so close to the beach.”
“What beach?”
“Imperial Beach in Southern California.”
“Where is Christina Sanchez from?”
“I don’t think you’ll find any records of her. She came over the border about seven years ago. Had Elena in California, though.”
“Does Elena have a birth certificate?”
“I doubt it. Christina was as afraid of the doctors as she was the cops. She was sure if she asked for help, she would be back home across the border.”
“So how did you end up here in Nashville?” Melina asked.
“To find you, of course.”
Melina’s heartbeat jumped into high gear. Likely, Bonnie was lying to get under her skin, but it still took all her control to keep her tone steady. “Me?”
“There’s a few things I could tell you about yourself.”
“I doubt that.”
Bonnie ran long fingers through her hair. “Oh, come on. You don’t remember me? After all I did for you?”
“What you did for me? We’ve never met before.” Deep down, she sensed Bonnie was telling the truth, but she could not bring herself to admit it out loud.
“Don’t you remember anything before you were adopted?”
Melina rarely discussed her adoption, so there was no way Bonnie could have picked up that information in the jail or on the streets.
“It’s hard to ignore the past,” Bonnie continued. “God knows I’ve tried, but it has a way of rearing up and biting us on the ass.”
Melina folded her arms, cultivating a bored, disinterested look. Cops needed to know when to shut up and listen. Allow the silence to coax free the truth. Her heartbeat ramped up as a fine sheen of sweat formed at the base of her spine.
Bonnie traced her index finger in small circles on the stainless steel table. “When you were little, your eyes were as big as saucers and you cried all the time.”
Melina remained still. Bonnie was playing her. She had to be because if she was not and she was telling the truth, then the lid on her entire past was about to blow wide open.
Bonnie grinned almost as if she were recalling a memory. “You were a clingy little thing, too. Fussy eater.”
Melina calculated their age difference. “How did we meet?”
“I was married to your granddaddy, baby. Howard and I had been hitched for about six months when we got a call that his daughter, Lizzie, had overdosed. She was your mama, child.”
Melina swallowed. Something in Bonnie’s words resonated with truth. “Lizzie?”
“That’s right. Lizzie was in her late twenties when you were born. That was all before my time. According to Howard, she was always a troubled kid, and then she hooked up with a guy that was dealing drugs. Fast-forward a few years and she had dropped two kids and was shooting heroin.”
The name Lizzie rang a distant bell in her memory. “What was Lizzie’s last name?”
“Guthrie, baby. She never married. You were born Melina Guthrie.”
Melina felt light headed. All her life she had wondered where she�
�d come from, and now the answers were coming at her faster than she could process them.
Two children. She had a sibling. There was another someone out there like her? “You said she gave birth to two kids?”
“You have an older brother. His name is Dean Guthrie, and if I had to guess, he’s your half brother. Lizzie never stayed with any one man long.”
“Does Dean go by the name Sonny now?” The pieces of her past nudged closer together, and she struggled to hide her hopes and fears.
“No. Sonny is my nickname for him.”
Melina remained silent as she processed. Her half brother was in Nashville, and there was a good chance he was a killer. Her mouth felt dry. “Is Dean using his real name?”
Bonnie grinned. “No, and I have no idea what name he’s using now. I just call him Sonny. But none of that is important to this story.”
“I’d say the name of my half brother is very important.” Melina tapped an index finger on her thigh, careful to keep the twitch hidden from Bonnie. “According to your police record you’re quite the con.”
“Oh, I’m the best,” she said, smiling. “But cons don’t always lie. At least the good ones don’t.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. How did I end up staying with you?”
“Your mama overdosed when you were five, and Howard was not too keen on taking in a couple of kids.” Bonnie did not take her gaze off Melina. “But I’ve always had a soft spot for children. I could never have any of my own and taking the little ones under my wing fills a part of my soul.”
“You took Sonny and me.”
“That’s right.”
“Howard and you didn’t live happily ever after. Otherwise I’d not have ended up in Nashville.” She stopped short of mentioning she had been abandoned. Melina could not know for sure yet how much of her story was bullshit.
“We were a nice little family for a few months. But Howard had a bad ticker. He dropped like a stone one day, and it was just Sonny, you, and me.”
“How’d you get to Nashville?” Melina asked.
“We were headed east. I had friends in Virginia.” Bonnie laced her fingers together and leaned forward. “One thing I’ve never been able to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“We stopped on the side of Route 25. It was the middle of nowhere. In fact, the next stop was a few miles east. I got out to pee, and when I came back to the car, you were gone. I searched for hours. Who found you?”
Images of a darkened road edged to the front of her mind. She imagined the bright stars in the sky, the gravel cutting into her slippers, and the hoot of an owl. Raw terror had stolen the wind from her lungs, and she could not bring herself to scream. She countered Bonnie’s question with, “You’re saying you didn’t leave me?”
“I’ll admit you were screaming like hell and would not stop. That’s part of the reason I pulled over. Hard to reason with a little girl when you’re standing in the way of what she wants. I never had much luck winning over those of the female persuasion. Men I can handle, but not women.”
“You abandoned me because I was crying.”
“No. That would be criminal. I came back to the car and you were gone.” Bonnie shook her head. “But to this day, I still don’t know how you were found. I asked Sonny, but he said he never knew.”
Bonnie was lying. The woman had abandoned her on the side of the road. And because she had not mentioned a call to the police from the diner pay phone, Melina realized the only other person who would have known she’d been dumped would have been the brother—Sonny, or Dean, or whatever name he was using now.
“I’m sorry I lost track of you. I was so tired, but that’s no real excuse. I should have been more careful.”
“And just like that you kept on driving.”
“Good Lord, no. I drove around looking for you. I was coming up on the spot where I left you when I saw the flash of the cop’s car. I knew you were in safe hands and thought you’d be better off if you weren’t living on the road.”
Blood rushed to Melina’s temples, and her heartbeat nearly drowned out her own voice. “What about my brother? Did you desert him, too?”
“We stuck together for a long time. Like I said, I can handle men.”
A memory, like a snippet of film, suddenly flashed. A little boy handed her half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I made it with extra jelly,” he said softly.
Melina shifted in her seat.
“I know I failed you both in different ways and taking care of Elena reminded me of my mistakes. But when I saw that picture of you in the paper and read the story about you finding those poor children locked in the trunk of a car, I knew I had to come see you. I knew if I found you, Sonny would be close. He always looked out for you. I was hoping we all could make amends.”
She remembered the cigarette butts clustered by her car. They’d all been tipped in pink lipstick. Bonnie had been watching her apartment for a couple of days. “You sound sure of Sonny.”
“I know Sonny better than anyone.”
A part of her wanted to believe Bonnie, and another part prayed she was lying. “No one has ever identified himself to me as my brother.”
Bonnie looked oddly satisfied with her new captive audience. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He knows himself well enough to realize you would be safer if he kept his distance.”
She thought about the fingers in a pickle jar. If Sonny had been the one who had collected them, then her half brother was a serial killer.
Melina made a note to do a search on Dean Guthrie, who she guessed was in his midthirties. Whether or not Dean or Sonny was family, he was likely a killer. “What name does he use now?”
Bonnie shook her head and the grin returned. “You asked me that before. But I can’t give away all my secrets, baby. I have to keep some of my cards close to the vest until we can make a deal.”
“If I start digging, I’ll find out if you’re lying to me.”
“Oh, I’m not lying. You’ll find birth certificates for you and Sonny. Consider this the first of many meetings, baby. Go on and check on Elena’s history, and find out what you can about Howard Guthrie. He would be seventy-six now if he had lived. And when you realize that I’m telling you the truth, then we’ll talk again.”
Frustration bubbled up in Melina. “Who put the pickle jar in the back of the car?”
“I don’t even like pickles.” Bonnie rose, walked to the door, and knocked. “Do your homework first and then we’ll visit again.” The door opened and Bonnie vanished into the back halls of the jail.
Melina sat back and closed her eyes. Her cheeks flushed with heat. Slowly she rose, grateful she could stand straight and at least appear pulled together.
Melina returned to the TBI offices and found Ramsey again camped out in the conference room. On the table next to his laptop was a collection of files in a neat row. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and was wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.
She knocked on the open door. He looked up at her, and the swirl of emotions, chasing her since the jailhouse, slowed. “Nice little setup you have here,” she said.
He removed the glasses and carefully set them down beside his laptop. “I used to pride myself on being able to work anywhere. Back of car, hotel room, fast-food restaurant. But the last few years since I’ve been overseeing the team, I stay in Quantico mostly. It’s a challenge to concentrate without the creature comforts.”
From her perspective, he looked focused. “You seem to be adapting well.”
“Managing.” He studied her closely as he sat back in his chair. “How did it go with Bonnie?”
She pulled out a chair and sat. So much for small talk. “She’s either one of the best con artists I’ve ever met, or she just blew my past apart.”
His eyebrows knitted with curiosity. “How so?”
Melina began to unpack Bonnie’s statements. Even as she recited the fa
cts about Lizzie Guthrie, she could not believe that she was talking about her own life.
Ramsey sat quietly, absorbing each word. If not for this case, Melina would never have shared any of this with a colleague. This man now knew more about her life than the parents who had raised her.
“You’ve never heard of any of this before?” he asked.
“No. Nothing.”
“Would your parents have kept it from you to protect you?”
“No. They have always been straight with me. What they know, I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure about a lot of things right now, but that is one of them. It explains why social services couldn’t find anything on me. There was never a missing persons report filed. No birth certificate was found. Even my birthday was fabricated. My parents made it official when my adoption was finalized.”
“This is all assuming that Bonnie is telling the truth.”
She stabbed her fingers through her hair. “Oh, I considered that. But, I, too, am good at sniffing out liars.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I do.”
“Do you believe her because you want to? It’s very common for adoptees to hunger for knowledge of their past, even if it’s not corroborated.”
A devil’s advocate’s job was to challenge statements and debunk theories. “I considered that. But she knew I was left on the side of the road.”
He tapped his finger on the edge of the polished table. “I’ll run Lizzie’s and Dean Guthrie’s names through the FBI databases.”
“Thanks.”
As he typed a text message, he asked, “What does Bonnie want?”
“I think she’s going to angle for a deal. She’ll soften me up with the missing pieces of my life and then trade what she knows about the pickle jar for immunity.”
“You believe she knows the killer.”
“I’m convinced she does. She came back to Nashville to see him. She calls him Sonny, but that’s not his real name. His birth name is Dean Guthrie, but he doesn’t use it.”
“Oh shit.”
“And before you ask, I have no clue who the guy is. However, Bonnie says he knows who I am.” The creep factor on this case had certainly kicked up a few more notches.
