Sam spread his arms, palms up. “You remember what it’s like here. Exploring every avenue, no matter how unpromising. That’s our job.”
Tillman sighed. “Just a few more questions and I’m done with this farce.”
He reentered the interrogation room and leaned over the table, six inches from Hoyt’s face. “I don’t know about Alice Hargrove, but you have nothing to do with the murders in Bayou La Siryna, do you?”
Hoyt scooted his chair back. “Yes?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.
“Don’t waste my time with lies.” Tillman banged a fist on the table. “Any of these detectives tell you that lying to the police is a crime?”
Tears filled Hoyt’s pale blue eyes. “I just want to go home.”
Tillman lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “You don’t know anything about these murders, do you, Hoyt?”
“No.” Hoyt shook his head. “I don’t know nothing. I only want out of here.”
“That’s what I thought.” Tillman walked out, Hoyt’s muttering curses echoing behind him.
Sam matched his long strides to the front of the police station. “We’ve got fingerprints, blood and hair samples from Snowden. If it turns up there’s any validity in his confession, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks. Hope you find Alice Hargrove—alive.”
“Not much chance of that,” Sam said glumly. “If we do find her dead body, I hope the DNA results show it’s the same killer for all three women.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all. Melkie Pellerin is capable of anything. But if Hargrove wasn’t a prostitute, she’s atypical of his pattern.”
Tillman grimaced as the reporters came into view. The slight misting of rain on the drive over had turned to a steady drizzle. Television cameras and other equipment were covered with tarp while reporters huddled beneath umbrellas. The distant rumble of thunder didn’t deter them from a journalistic stakeout for information.
Sam laughed and slapped him across the back. “Just another part of the job, buddy. Want to go get a burger before heading back to Hicksville?”
“Another time. I want to be in Bayou La Siryna when the lab techs call.”
Sam pulled the door open for him. “Don’t hold your breath. They’ve been known to break promises.”
As Tillman stepped out into the rain, the reporters spotted him and hurried over. Sam said in a low, teasing undertone, “Don’t forget your pretty-boy smile for the cameras.”
* * *
Melkie studied the latest batch of specimens that arrived via mail order, a welcome distraction from thinking about tonight’s business. With a pair of tweezers, he held up a Common Jezebel butterfly from India and carefully ran a finger down the nearly transparent chitin, observing its vein-like structures. The upper side of the wings was white, but the brilliant underside had sections of bright yellow outlined in black with red conical spots edging the outer band and outlined in white. The bright coloration served notice to its predators that it was unpalatable because of toxins the larvae took in from host plants.
The excited voice of a TV reporter interrupted the old Mayberry R.F.D. episode playing.
“There may be a big break in the recent disappearance of Mobile native Alice Hargrove.”
Startled, Melkie dropped the Common Jezebel in his lap. A local news reporter stood in front of the Mobile Police Station, a crowd of people behind him.
“A credible source has reported that a man is in custody after confessing to the abduction of Alice Hargrove and the recent murders of two women, Jolene Babineaux and China Wang, from nearby Bayou La Siryna.”
What the fuck?
Melkie raced to the window and pushed aside the curtain. He squinted through sheets of rain, but there was no sign of the familiar cop car parked on the street. He pumped his fists in the air. “Yeesss!” Rebel lifted his head where he’d been dozing on the couch. “We did it, boy.”
Melkie paced, too excited to sit and examine the other new specimens. He was pumped, jazzed, on top of the world. He didn’t have to worry about getting by the stupid pigs tonight. A new confidence buoyed his spirits. He could do no wrong. Maybe once he escaped his crappy childhood home, the nightmares would go away, too.
In two hours he’d take the truck, pulling his boat on a utility trailer, to a remote marshy area. He’d motor the johnboat to Harbor Bay and anchor to the dock, and then wait in the woods until the mermaid arrived. Not even the pending threat of severe thunderstorms dampened his spirits. Actually, it worked to his advantage. The less people out and about, the less chance of getting caught.
Three more hours and it would all be over.
* * *
Shelly ran by the Mermaid’s Hair Lair after work, hoping to coax Jet and Lily to go out for dinner with her and declare a truce. At breakfast this morning they’d been secretive, still giving her the old silent treatment. She hated it when they joined forces against her like that.
After parking the car and grabbing an umbrella, she hurried to the shop before coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. A closed sign hung on the door. She pressed her face to the glass, but the shop was dark and empty. Her stomach tightened. They wouldn’t try to arrange a meeting with Melkie Pellerin without her.
Would they?
Under the shelter of the store’s awning, Shelly called the house on her cell but got no answer. Her heart slammed against her chest. She had a bad feeling about this. “Don’t panic,” she mumbled, trying to keep some semblance of calm. Shelly ran to the car. She called them five more times before arriving home in record time. The house was as dark as the beauty salon, but both cars were in the driveway.
She ran, unlocked the door and pushed inside.
“Jet? Lily?”
Nothing but an ominous, pressing silence.
Not bothering with an umbrella this time, Shelly ran to their boathouse, seeing only water lapping the shore where the boat should have been anchored. Shit. They could be with him right now. But where?
She reentered the house and went to Lily’s bedroom. The metallic sheen of her cousin’s laptop gleamed in the faint light. Shelly picked it up from the nightstand and opened it. She knew the password by heart—techno-challenged Lily always had Shelly fix or load things on it. She opened the Sent email folder. Only one email remained, addressed to “boatman.”
Damn them. They were going to get themselves killed. She clicked on the message.
Boatman. The knife is yours. No tricks this time. I just want to be left alone. Please. How about we meet at Harbor Bay? You say when, I’ll be there. Mermaidchicka
Shelly went to the in-box and found Melkie’s response.
Meet me at the last dock on the bay that’s closest to the Trident shipyard—7:00 p.m. tomorrow.
It was already six-thirty, and Harbor Bay was a good twenty-minute drive under normal driving conditions. She went to the kitchen, found the largest knife on hand and tossed it into her purse. Thank heavens, her loaded gun was already in there.
Back to the car she raced, adrenaline pumping. She’d make it on time if it meant driving ninety miles per hour to do it.
Lightning crackled in the sky, its flare creating a strobe effect against the windshield wipers as she gripped the steering wheel. Even with the wipers on high speed, visibility was poor. She imagined time tick-tocking away, like a bomb about to explode. Shelly cursed as she swung the car to the side of the road, hating to waste even a second, but she couldn’t negotiate making a phone call while navigating through the downpour.
Busy.
She hit the accelerator, pulled the car back on the wet road and kept hitting the redial button as she flew toward the bay. At last it rang once, twice, three times before his voice mail picked up.
“Tillman, it’s Shelly. Where are you? Call me immediately. Pellerin’s meeting Jet and Lily at Harbor Bay at seven. I’m on my way out there now.” Her voice broke. “Hurry.”
* * *
Damn it to hell. For what seemed like the hundre
dth time, Tillman hit redial on his cell. It was almost six forty-five, but he knew damn well there was a second shift of techies working at the forensics lab until at least nine o’clock. They were dodging him, the sorry sons of bitches. They’d promised to have results today. He pressed a different programmed number on his cell, for Carl, who assured him no one had called from Montgomery, doubted it would happen tonight, but if and when it did, he’d let Tillman know.
He wanted to fling the phone out the window. Instead, he told Carl to go home and have the dispatcher call him directly with any news. Through the pounding rain, the sign for Collinsville flashed with a swish of the windshield wipers, marking the halfway point between Mobile and Bayou La Siryna. Maybe it was frustration with the delayed tests or lack of sleep or even the violent thunderstorm, but he couldn’t shake a premonition of disaster.
He checked the cell again and saw two voice mail messages. Eagerly, he punched in his code. The first was from Lieutenant Crane with a technical question on an inmate’s due process hearing, adding he’d be at the jail until ten that evening. He deleted the message and went on to the next.
As Shelly’s message played, Tillman sat up straighter. By the time he heard the catch in her voice saying “hurry” he was frantic. What the hell did her cousins think they were doing?
It hit him. They meant to kill Pellerin. And Shelly was headed right into the middle of it.
He’d bet anything this was all Jet Bosarge’s idea. If anything happened to Shelly because of her idiocy he’d make her regret it.
If anything happened to Shelly... No, he wouldn’t let anything happen. He switched on the blue lights and sped faster. He tried to call Shelly back, but couldn’t get a ring tone. Shit. He was out of service range for at least another ten miles.
* * *
Harbor Bay appeared deserted. Over a hundred boats in all shapes and sizes swayed in the gusting wind. Shelly checked the dashboard clock—6:55 p.m. Only two vehicles were in the parking lot, a blue Chevy truck and an old Dodge Charger. Nobody appeared to be in either. Shelly turned into the closed car repair shop across the street, parking behind an old pickup severely smashed on one side from a collision. She cut the engine off and peered out at the bay.
A thicket of pine, cypress and juniper trees lined the shore only twenty feet away from the last dock, and she immediately understood why Pellerin had chosen that location. It took a minute, but at last Shelly spotted her cousins’ blue bass boat.
No surprise, it was empty, also.
She threw on a raincoat and slipped the knife in the left pocket, the loaded gun in her right pocket. It was now 6:58 p.m. She waited for someone to appear, her jagged breath filling the car’s interior.
The sound of the cell ringing made her jump and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She checked the number before answering.
Tillman.
Her lungs expanded and then exhaled with a relieved whoosh. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Are you at Harbor Bay?”
“Yes. I’m sitting in the car waiting for someone to show up.”
“Shelly, don’t get out of that car! Do you hear me? I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thank God. I was starting to think... Oh, no.” A flash of long blond hair passed underneath the solitary lamplight along the bay’s sidewalk where the boats were anchored. “I’ve got to go,” Shelly whispered.
“Don’t you dare get—”
Shelly flipped the phone shut and tossed it into the backseat. Quietly easing the car door open, she kept her eyes peeled for the killer.
A figure emerged from the darkness of the trees. Dressed in dark clothes, hands stuffed in a windbreaker, he looked quickly in all directions before walking to the dock. Shelly ran into the rain, hurrying after him. Lily stood at the end of the narrow wooden dock that jutted about twelve feet into the ocean. Shelly couldn’t see the expression on her face, only the slight, determined lift of her chin. As she neared, Shelly was grateful for the rumble of thunder covering the sound of her sneakers sloshing through the parking lot’s puddles.
She searched for Jet one last time. Even though she couldn’t find her, she knew Jet was out there somewhere in the storm, watching and waiting with a cunning equal to Pellerin’s.
Melkie stepped onto the deck. “So we finally meet again, bitch.” He advanced another step. “You’re a fucking freak of nature.” His voice was low and dangerous, barely audible against the banging of the crowded boats against one another along the shoreline.
Lily’s lips curled upward, but her eyes glittered like a patch of azure calm waters, and just as deep and mysterious.
Only a few feet separated her from Pellerin. “Wait,” Shelly yelled. “I’m the one you want.”
Pellerin whirled to face her, mouth dropping open in astonishment.
“Go away, Shelly,” Lily said. “You’re going to ruin everything.”
Shelly kept her eyes pinned on Melkie’s as he looked back and forth between her and Lily. His face was as she remembered. She withdrew the knife from the left front pocket of her raincoat and slipped her index finger into the trigger of the gun hidden in her right pocket.
* * *
“Goddamn it.” Melkie threw his head back and screamed in rage. “How many fucking mermaids are there?”
Shelly forced herself to walk closer. “I’m the one who saw you that night. You stabbed me on the tip of my fish tail with this.” She held up the knife. “And now I’m returning it. Just promise to leave me alone and I’ll promise not to tell anyone anything.”
“Liar.” His face twisted in a grimace, black eyes flashing with anger. “You put that fucking body out on Murrell’s Point for the police to find.”
Shelly took three more steps, her sneakers slightly slipping on the wet floorboard of the narrow dock, until she got within a few feet of Pellerin. Close enough to feel the smoldering heat of his outrage.
His right arm rose, a small gun palmed in his hand. “Drop the knife.”
Shelly hesitated, watching Lily from the corner of her eye. For the first time, Shelly saw the preternaturally serene expression fade. Lily’s eyes were wide, mouth slightly ajar.
“Now, Jet!” Lily screamed. “Do it now!” Lily dove into the water, leaving Shelly behind.
A gunfire shot exploded at the same time a large thump rumbled from beneath. The wooden dock cracked and split apart under their feet. Shelly fell backward, hitting her head on the wood. Despite a haze of pain, she realized her only chance of surviving depended on getting undersea. She rolled off the deck into the black, churning waters.
Chapter 16
Jolene by swampland
China by sea
Look where you can
You’ll never find me.
Tillman radioed the dispatcher, requesting backup at Harbor Bay. “Possible hostage situation, approach with extreme caution,” he added.
He’d turned off the cruiser’s blue lights, not wanting to announce his presence too soon and force Pellerin into drastic action in order to flee the scene. He entered the parking lot at the bay, the car’s headlights piercing through rain and darkness.
Three figures stood on the last dock, two women with long blond hair and a man between them.
A shot rang out.
Sheer terror washed through him. Not Shelly, please, God, not Shelly.
He floored it to the sidewalk and then, brakes squealing and tires spinning, he exited the vehicle, gun drawn. But there was only a black void where the three had stood; he couldn’t see anything or anyone. He ran an arm over his face, wiping away the rain from his eyes and hair.
And still saw only a jagged crack, splitting the dock almost in two pieces. The sea was too black and churning with foam to see what lay beneath. He quickly searched the surface of the water through the fog and the rain for some sign of what happened. Bits of clothing bobbed against the white crests. He holstered his weapon and laid the gun belt on the sidewalk before kicking off
his shoes.
She’s okay. The water is her safety net. She has the advantage over Pellerin. But it didn’t stop his panic to find Shelly. The boom of the gunshot reverberated in his brain. No one was invincible to the deadly hot steel of a bullet at close range.
Tillman jumped into the sea and swam, thrashing his arms and legs, hoping to make contact with someone or something. But his hands grasped nothing solid; his long legs felt nothing but the churning water. “Shelly, can you hear me? Where are you?”
He grabbed the only tangible thing in sight—bits of material bobbing like flotsam. He made it back to the dock, resting one hand on its battered surface while he studied the torn clothing, a couple pairs of underwear, a pair of white shorts and a pair of gray shorts. The lighting from the streetlamp was enough to make out the lettering on the gray ones.
YMCA. Instructor.
* * *
The ground went out from under Melkie as if he’d fallen into a sinkhole, sucked down into an abyss of no return. Water engulfed his whole body. He strained to open his eyes, but the sea salt stung and scalded them. He kicked and tried parting the waters with his arms, instinctively aiming for the surface, lungs on fire for air.
Something pinned his arms from behind. He kicked harder and twisted his torso, desperate to escape. He opened his eyes—had to see what kept him trapped. A beautiful pale face floated before him, long blond hair streaming upward like an underwater cloud. His eyes traveled downward, already knowing what he would find.
Fish tails.
The mermaids had tricked him somehow. All they had to do was get him into the water and fight him where they were strongest, in their own natural element. He knew he couldn’t breathe, yet an instinctive reflex to inhale sent a trickle of brine down his throat, making him cough, causing yet more sea water to fill his lungs. The burning need for oxygen worsened.
The fight left his body as his mind roamed to a distinct, long-forgotten memory—four years old and seated at the table for lunch. He must have done something right that morning, uttered some magical word or smile that had his mother laughing. Her eyes and lips were unpainted and she wore a white robe, hair still damp from a shower. She smiled and drew him to her. He inhaled the clean scent of shampoo, the warm skin smelling of Ivory soap, and the collar of her robe pressing against his neck held the freshness of linen dried in sunshine.
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