The Dying Room: A Faces of Evil Novel

by Webb, Debra

“I think sending your family away is a good idea,” Robert said aloud when the rest of those seated around his study only sat there looking shell shocked. “Louise is going to New York for a few days, but I’ll be staying here. I refuse to run from this.”

  Craig dropped his gaze as he returned to his chair. He obviously understood that Robert saw his actions as cowardly. They had made this mess. Running away from it was not the answer.

  “I’ll send my wife to Denver,” Isaiah Taylor spoke up next. “I’m staying here as well. Whoever is behind these murders, however, won’t find me such easy prey. I’ve hired a private investigator from Mobile to come to Birmingham and see what he can find.” When questioning gazes landed on him, he added, “He’ll be discreet. We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “My wife left for Montgomery this afternoon,” Sam Baker confessed. “As soon as I heard the news, I came up with a reason for her to go visit our son. I’m with the two of you,” he said with a glance at Taylor and then at Robert. “I’m staying. But I don’t need a private investigator or the police digging around in my affairs. I’ll take care of this myself.”

  “We must be vigilant,” Robert insisted. “We can’t do as Joe did and let our guards down. We’re fully aware what’s happening now. If the killer comes into my home, I’m going to be ready for him.”

  “If he comes into my house, he’s a dead man,” Sam echoed. “He’s not destroying all I’ve built. The only way to handle this is to contain the threat.” Sam looked from one man to the next. “If we run, we’re only prolonging the inevitable. If we go to the police, we’re going to have to explain what happened forty years ago and, frankly, I have no desire to see that part of my past in the news.”

  Unfortunately, what happened forty years ago wasn’t the problem... it was the things they had done since to repay the gift they had accepted forty years ago.

  Robert saw no need to remind anyone of what they already knew.

  Sam was correct. The only option was to contain and neutralize the threat.

  Chapter 18

  Jefferson County Coroner’s Office, 6:50 p.m.

  After Sylvia went through the cleaning ritual, she smoothed lotion on her hands. Today had been a long one. She’d finished the autopsy ahead of Joseph Pratt’s half an hour ago. It was late and she was exhausted, but she intended to have a quick coffee and then move onto his preliminary examination.

  Dr. Leeds, her boss, had checked in on her a couple of times the past two hours. He’d been fielding calls from the city’s elite, the media, and the state investigators on Pratt’s pending case all afternoon. Nothing like a little extra pressure.

  In the break room, Sylvia inserted a pod into the coffeemaker, placed her cup under the dispenser, and waited for the Colombian dark roast to brew. She’d wanted to inspect Pratt’s body more closely as soon as she’d returned from the scene this morning, but Deputy Chief Black of BPD’s Crimes Against Persons had been here waiting on his victim’s autopsy. She’d given him all she could today. Like everyone else, he had no choice but to wait for the toxicology results. Not that anyone needed those results to determine the victim’s manner of death. One shot to the face had done the job. Apparently, the son-in-law had grown tired of his wife spending so much time taking care of her invalid mother.

  Men could be such bastards. Sylvia exiled the image of Buddy Corlew that immediately invaded her senses. The man was nothing but trouble. She should never have allowed herself to get involved with him. Not for a single night much less an encore. How was it possible that she had such a weakness for him? Where was her usual control? He was nothing like the men she typically dated. He was brash and crude and he wore his sexuality too openly and boldly.

  She felt suddenly warm just thinking about him and sex.

  “You are a disaster, Sylvia,” she muttered as she added French Vanilla creamer to her coffee. She usually took it black, but tonight she needed a change of pace. The thought made her cringe. The last time she’d decided a change of pace was in order, she’d ended up in bed with Buddy. A shiver swept over her skin. She couldn’t sit at her desk in her own office without thinking of the way he’d ravaged her there.

  She drank her coffee and tried to dismiss Buddy as well as her lack of restraint. Another of Birmingham’s high-powered elite was dead. Though Pratt had taken a substantial fall from grace as of late, he’d been a major force in the shaping of Birmingham during the past two decades. He’d no doubt made plenty of enemies along the way. At one time, her father and the former mayor had been good friends. Just as the two had also been friends with Judge Rutledge at one time.

  “Dr. Baron.”

  Sylvia shook off the troubling thoughts and met the expectant gaze of the medical clerk who supported her office. “Yes.”

  “I believe you’ve been expecting these labs.” She passed the file to Sylvia. “The tox screen results for Rutledge.”

  Sylvia perked up. She was quite anxious to learn Rutledge’s cause of death. Something had certainly made his heart stop beating. Since there were no visible physical reasons for the arrest, she felt confident she would find the culprit inside this file.

  “Thank you, Cindy.”

  Setting her coffee aside, Sylvia scanned the results. Her eyes snagged on the offending chemicals and her breath caught. Midazolam, Pancuronium Bromide, Potassium Chloride. The three drugs generally used in lethal injections for the executions of those on death row.

  A very disturbing scenario started to form, sending Sylvia rushing to the morgue room where Pratt’s body was being prepared for her to proceed with the autopsy. “Let’s do the labs now.”

  Her assistant, Bonnie Gonzalez, who was already annoyed that she would be here another three or four hours at least, made a face. “Whatever you say.”

  Under other circumstances Sylvia would have reminded her who was in charge, but just now she had no time to explain her request. If her concerns were correct, Jess had a serial killer on her hands.

  “I want the specimens at the lab tonight.” Another unhappy look shot Sylvia’s way. “Whatever it takes, I need those results back sometime tomorrow.”

  While Bonnie grumbled under her breath and drew the necessary labs, Sylvia pulled on her gloves and lab coat and moved to the head of the steel table. She started the search at his forehead, but it took only a moment to find the pale blue eagle right where she’d found Rutledge’s.

  And her father’s.

  Shook Hill Road, Mountain Brook, 9:40 p.m.

  It was late. Her mother was likely already in bed. The senator wouldn’t be. Sylvia didn’t have to see the light on in his study to wonder. He would be up. Every night before going to bed, he spent an hour or so watching the news around the world. It was part of his job he’d always insisted. A man in his position needed to know what was going on in the world from the eyes of the public.

  Sylvia let herself in without ringing the bell. She didn’t want to wake her mother. Her father would hear the notification from the security system. Fortunately, he hadn’t yet armed it for bedtime. Thank God her parents hadn’t added a security system to their home until after she’d gone off to college. Half her allowance had gone to Nina anyway for keeping her mouth shut about her comings and goings. Not that Sylvia ever got into any real trouble. She hadn’t. Like most teenagers she’d yearned for freedom and independence. When it wasn’t forth coming, she’d taken it by sneaking out after her parents were in bed.

  Maybe now it was her turn to check up on her father. Her entire life she had looked up to him as the epitome of truth and integrity. She was forty-four years old and still his high moral standards never ceased to amaze her. He was such a rare breed.

  Unless he’d been hiding a terrible truth all this time. Sylvia thought of Jess and the horrors she’d learned about her own father. Sylvia had been certain her father kept no secrets from his family. None that mattered anyway.

  Apparently, she had been wrong.

  “Sylvia, have you been work
ing late again tonight?” Her father met her in the hall outside his study. He was already dressed for bed. It would be another hour or more before he joined her mother.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  He frowned. “Of course. Would you like something to drink? Have you had dinner?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I just—”

  “Nonsense.” He caught her by the elbow and guided her toward the kitchen. “Your mother made that wonderful potato soup I love so much. There’s plenty left.”

  This was the way things always were. If she showed up late, her father or mother insisted she eat. It was part of being a parent, she supposed. By the time she’d settled on a stool at the kitchen island, her father had warmed a bowl of soup. The sudden resurrection of her appetite helped in her decision to hold off a few minutes more on the questions she needed to ask.

  For a time she ate in silence, her stomach suddenly realizing she’d neglected it today. Nothing new, she mused. She rarely ate when she should. Her world, her every waking moment, revolved around her work. Look where it has gotten you. Yes, she had an enviable career. She had a beautiful home, a luxurious car. Her wardrobe would make any woman she knew swoon.

  Those things were her life and somehow that realization made her sad. As much as she loved her family and her family loved her, she felt so empty lately. Weddings and babies had inundated her with doubts and regrets. Now this murder case had suddenly intruded on the part of her life she considered impeccable and impervious. Her childhood had been idyllic. Her family, other than Nina’s illness, had always been happy and close.

  She pushed her bowl aside and looked at her father. “I need you to tell me the truth, Daddy.”

  Another of those frowns lined his handsome face. “Why wouldn’t I tell you the truth? For Heaven’s safe, Sylvia, what’s this about?”

  “You know what it’s about. The judge and the mayor.”

  “Ex-mayor,” he pointed out.

  “Pratt had the eagle tattoo just like the one Rutledge had. Just like the one you have.” She stared directly into his eyes, her heart aching. “Please tell me what the connection is.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve dedicated my entire life to this city, and to this state. Are we really going to sit here at this hour and have an unpleasant discussion about a mistake some old buddies made too many years ago to talk about?”

  “So Pratt and Rutledge were in the Air Force with you.” She held her breath.

  He shrugged. “I believe Pratt was in the Air Force, but he wasn’t stationed with me. Rutledge was a Marine.”

  Feeling as if she were in shock, Sylvia watched as he busied himself with cleaning up her bowl and spoon. He carried both to the sink, rinsed them, and loaded them into the dishwasher. The whole time he chatted about his military days as if she hadn’t pointblank asked him about the tattoo.

  “Men do impulsive and foolish things when they’re young, Syl.” He faced her once more and braced his hands on the cool granite counter. “Would you like coffee?”

  Sylvia drew in a deep breath. “What I would like is a straight answer. Is there a connection between those tattoos and the two murder victims? For God’s sake, you could be next.”

  He waved her off and made a dismissive sound. “That ridiculous tattoo means nothing. You’re making far too much of this. Don’t you think that Jess would be following that lead if she thought there was anything to it? She is the one in charge of investigating the case. You’ve told me many times how good she is at solving cases. Look how she handled the Eric Spears’s case. And Nina. Why Nina would be dead now if not for Jess.”

  So this was the way it was going to be. “Jess hasn’t added the tattoos to her investigation because I haven’t told her everything yet. I was waiting for you, Daddy. I wanted to hear the truth from you first.” Sylvia stood. “But I guess that isn’t going to happen.” She reached for her bag. “If my hunch pans out,” she went on, knowing full well she should be keeping her mouth shut, “these two men were executed in the same manner as a prisoner sentenced to death by the State. Is that how you want to go, Daddy?”

  Sylvia walked out of the room without looking back. The blasted tears burning her eyes made her want to scream and stamp her foot. Instead, she did something she had not done in decades. She paused midway down the entry hall, removed her shoes, and slipped back toward the kitchen. She eased back against the wall and listened. Her father had already picked up the kitchen phone and entered a number. Moments later, he spoke.

  “We need to talk.” Pause. “No,” he argued. “This won’t wait. The police are going to start asking questions. We may not be able to avoid a different step than the one we discussed today.”

  With her heart in her throat, Sylvia left her childhood home.

  Her father, the man she had loved, respected, and attempted to emulate her entire life, had lied to her.

  Worse... he was in serious trouble.

  Chapter 19

  Dell Road, 10:45 p.m.

  “So this tall man just showed up at Mrs. Dority’s door?” Jess glanced up at Dan who was so generously massaging her shoulders. She had been alternately pacing the floor and sitting at this desk in her home office for better than three hours. Eventually, the chair had won out.

  Mrs. Dority was the mother of Meredith Dority. Meredith had worked with Mayor Pratt years ago when Dan had been the liaison between the BPD and the mayor’s office. The two had been married briefly during that time. Sadly, Meredith was murdered by one of Eric Spears’ followers last September.

  “She said,” Dan repeated, “he showed up at her door about eight-thirty this evening. Detectives Wells and Harper are over there now taking her statement.”

  Jess huffed. “I would have preferred to do that myself.”

  “I knew you would,” Dan confessed, “that’s why I called Harper while you were still in the shower and sent him and Wells over there.”

  Growling her frustration in spite of those magic hands, Jess checked the time. “One of them should be calling me any minute.”

  “I have every confidence.” Those wonderful fingers stopped in their work. “How about a cup of hot cocoa?”

  Jess looked up at him again, feeling a little contrite now. “I would really love that, but I hate to put you to so much trouble at this hour.”

  Dan smiled. “No trouble. You do what you have to do and I’ll be back shortly.” He paused at the door. “Marshmallows?” he asked with a wink.

  She grinned. He knew her well. “Please.”

  Jess watched him go. She felt bad that he refused to go to bed without her, but she couldn’t stop replaying that interview with Durham. She was exhausted, there was no doubt about that part, and still her mind wouldn’t stop going back to the undeniable fact that Pratt’s and Rutledge’s murders were connected. The killer had obviously put the word out so that men like Durham would hear the news. The tall thin man who’d visited Durham on Monday had to be involved somehow. If only the prison camera had gotten a better shot at his face. Damn it! Now, a man matching that same description showed up at Mrs. Dority’s house. This was no coincidence.

  Turning her attention back to the computer, she flicked a few keys and summoned the search results for the dying rooms. Her heart sank when she clicked on the images of the children. How could a rage killer like Durham compare himself to the innocent children left in such deplorable conditions? According to the reports, many of the children were simply left to die in the government run orphanages. How could a government be so cruel to its own people? She shuddered.

  Forcing herself to continue reading, she slowly began to see the connection Durham appeared to be drawing to his own ugly history. Many of the children were abandoned by their families for reasons Jess couldn’t begin to understand. Some of the children were unwanted because they were the wrong sex, female. Others were sick or physically challenged in some way. Her chest ached and her stomach churned at the horrors. The children ended up in horrible condi
tions, some suffering slow unthinkable deaths. According to Durham’s psych eval, he’d been tossed aside by his mother when he was born with clubbed feet. He hadn’t known his father, and his grandmother had allegedly abused him as a child. His allegations to the prison psychiatrist included beatings, starvation, and sexual abuse. In his mind, he’d been abandoned as surely as those children in the reports Jess had just read. He’d been abused and, essentially, left to die more than once.

  The difference was that Durham had survived to adulthood. He’d had choices. The children in these reports had none.

  “Here we go,” Dan announced as he returned with a steaming cup of cocoa on an heirloom silver platter his mother had given them.

  Jess closed the window on the computer screen and blinked in hopes of clearing the horrific images from her eyes. There were some things a person could never unsee.

  “Thank you so much.” She placed a soft kiss on his handsome jaw as he leaned down to place the cocoa in front of her. “Where’s yours?”

  Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. Bear growled, scrambled to his feet, and raced off to bark at the front door. Dan frowned. “I’ll get back to you.”

  Jess hoped everything was okay with his parents. She imagined his mother would have called if his father had taken ill. Though Dan Senior seemed to be doing well these days, he had a history of cardiac episodes. She supposed it could be Lori or Chet reporting in, but mostly likely they would call. The sound of Sylvia’s voice eased the tension nudging Jess. Not Dan’s parents. Thank God.

  Was there bad news about Nina? The new worry gnawed at Jess until Sylvia walked into the room with Dan and Bear right behind her.

  “I knew you were still working,” Sylvia explained. “I saw the light.” She gestured to the window that overlooked the backyard. Their house sat on a corner lot. Anyone driving up the side street would see lights on in the rear of the house.

  Jess pushed out of her chair. Her cocoa was too hot to drink anyway. “Looks like I’m not the only one working late.” She hesitated at the corner of her desk. “Unless this is about something else.”