The Dying Room: A Faces of Evil Novel

by Webb, Debra

  Sylvia looked to Jess again. “Mother called this morning and said she was going to see Nina. I didn’t think anything of it other than being glad she would be gone.”

  “Mr. Taylor,” Jess moved in a different direction, “if Mr. Hilliard had a stroke and spent the past decade institutionalized, who might be seeking revenge in his name? Perhaps against the folks he believes abandoned Mr. Hilliard?”

  “Robert and I have been over and over this. We can’t figure it out. Wilson had no family left. He’s the last of the Birmingham Hilliards—if he’s still alive. I can’t imagine who would be doing this on his behalf.”

  “What about close friends?” Sometimes the bonds of friendship were deeper than blood. Jess had seen friends kill for friends many times in her days as an FBI profiler.

  “Sadly,” Taylor responded, “I don’t believe the man had a single friend. He had a couple of dedicated employees.”

  “Let’s start with those loyal employees,” Jess suggested.

  “One was a woman, a secretary. Patsy or Patricia, I think. The other was his personal assistant, Bernard Kinslow. He was quite tall, very trim. He was convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to prison several years ago. It’s my understanding he was released some months ago.”

  Anticipation welled in Jess. She removed a copy of the Al Hitchcock photo from her bag. “Is this the personal assistant?”

  Taylor took the photo and looked at it closely. “It could be. Of course, I haven’t seen him in years and the face is difficult to see, but it’s possible.”

  “Anything you can recall will be helpful,” Jess urged.

  Taylor lifted a finger. “Wait.” He studied the photo more closely. “He wore braces. I think perhaps he had polio as a child.”

  Jess popped up from her seat. There was something she had to do, and it wouldn’t wait. “May I use your restroom?”

  “Of course.” Taylor glanced at her belly and smiled. “Down the entry hall and on the left.”

  While Taylor and Sylvia discussed her father, Jess went into the hall. For once, she didn’t need a bathroom. As soon as she was out of hearing range, she called Lori.

  The instant the detective answered, Jess said, “Have you spoken to Baker yet?”

  “Oh yeah,” Lori assured her. “I spoke to him, but he refuses to allow us to remain on the property. We’re sitting out here on the street which is a good thirty yards from the house.”

  Jess rubbed at her forehead. “For heaven’s sake, doesn’t he realize he may be in danger?”

  “Maybe he’s in denial.”

  More likely he was hiding a lot more than he or any of the men involved wanted to confess. Jess had watched Taylor’s face as he spoke. He chose his words carefully and, she suspected, he left out a great deal. “Do the best you can.”

  “You got it.”

  “And, Lori...”

  “Yes?”

  “The tall thin guy is our man. His name may be Bernard Kinslow.” Jess briefed her on the details Taylor had passed along.

  “I’ll see what I can dig up,” Lori promised.

  Jess exhaled a heavy breath and made the next call. This one to Lieutenant Hayes. The news from him was no different. The senator refused to allow Hayes inside the house or on the property. He insisted that he had his own security.

  Frustrated, Jess shook her head and returned to the meeting with Taylor. There were some things that were simply beyond her control.

  The trouble was, she was reasonably confident whoever was killing off the city’s most powerful people was well aware of how the men on his list would react. Worse, she feared the killer was about four bodies shy of being finished.

  Chapter 22

  Montevallo Road, 8:00 p.m.

  Bone tired, Sylvia drove along her street. Her father refused to listen to reason. He’d sent her mother to New York to see Nina and he’d urged Sylvia to go. As if she would leave him at a time like this. She’d wanted to stay the night at the house with him, but he had insisted she go home. He was fine. He had alerted his personal security team—which he rarely called upon. What was he thinking? Two men bearing those damned eagle tattoos were dead. The lab had confirmed that Pratt had received the same lethal cocktail as Rutledge. Her father just didn’t seem to get it or he was in denial. He could be next! Sam Baker had behaved equally badly. Both men were acting like fools.

  He had basically confirmed what Taylor said when Jess questioned him. To Sylvia it sounded as if the two had decided what to say. The congressman continued to be unreachable, and Sam Baker refused to discuss a situation he insisted had nothing to do with him.

  Her head pounding, Sylvia turned into her drive. The headlights of her Lexus highlighted a black Charger and she stalled. She groaned and eased into her drive, her headlights forming a spotlight on Buddy Corlew sitting on her front steps.

  Just what she needed to finish off this trauma-filled day. She supposed it was possible he’d found her daughter. Surely he knew better than to show up otherwise. Then again, after their last meeting she wouldn’t be surprised by whatever he pulled.

  “Who are you kidding, Sylvia? You surrendered to the man.” It was a first for sure. She rammed the gearshift into park and emerged from the car. She slammed the door and hit the fob to lock it as she walked purposely toward the front steps.

  “You’re home late,” he said as he stood.

  “I’ve had one hell of a day, Buddy. Unless you have news for me, I would suggest you get back in that hotrod of yours and go do whatever it is you do at night.”

  There. She’d gotten that all out without pausing or even stumbling over a single word. She could be firm with him. So what if the sex was great? There were other men out there—ones who wouldn’t make her feel so out of control.

  “I have news.”

  She had hoped he would find answers for her. She really, really wanted to know. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure of what she wanted. “You couldn’t call me in the morning? It’s late, Buddy. I’m exhausted.”

  Rather than wait for an answer, she marched past him to the door. She jammed her key into the lock, but before she could turn it he was right behind her... against her and somehow all around her at the same time.

  “We have to talk tonight.”

  The sound of his voice made her shiver in spite of herself. “Very well.” She twisted the key and opened the door. As soon as she had silenced the security system, she closed the door behind him. No need to lock it, he wouldn’t be here that long.

  It wasn’t until they were inside that she noticed the portfolio he carried. Her heart started to pound. So he really did have something for her. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the living room. “I need wine.”

  She tossed her keys on the table and dropped her bag to the floor, then strode straight to the kitchen. Every ounce of willpower she possessed was required to keep her composure from slipping. All these years she had wondered... regretted. Now she would know. She wasn’t ready for this.

  Moving methodically, she placed two stemmed glasses on the counter before going to the fridge and selecting her favorite wine. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to handle the corkscrew. She should buy one of those new ones that made opening a bottle of wine easy but they seemed so cheesy.

  “Let me.”

  As always, Buddy was next to her, whispering gentle reassurances. She held her breath when his hands brushed hers. He took the corkscrew from her and had the bottle open in seconds. When he’d poured a generous portion into each glass, he set the bottle on the counter.

  They drank the wine in silence. He apparently understood that she needed fortification for what came next. When she sat her empty glass on the sleek stone counter, he emptied the bottle into it.

  Sylvia didn’t argue with him. She took the glass and went to the living room. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the sofa and waited for him to take a seat. He reached for the portfolio he’d left on the coffee table and then sat down beside her. She turned her glass up a
nd drank long and deep.

  She licked her lips. “All right. Let’s have it. Is she alive?”

  He nodded. “She’s very much alive.” He removed an eight by ten photograph of a woman dressed in scrubs walking along the sidewalk. “This is Addison Devers. She grew up in southern California.”

  Sylvia reached for the photograph. Buddy took her wine and set it aside. It was a good thing since she would likely have dropped it. Her hands shook. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is very beautiful. Just like her mother.”

  Sylvia glanced at him. Her hands shook harder so she placed the photograph on the coffee table. “Is she a doctor?”

  Buddy shook his head. “A surgical nurse. She graduated at the top of her class.”

  Sylvia nodded slowly. “So she’s smart.”

  “Extremely smart. She started out in pre-med, but then shifted to the nursing program at UCLA and graduated with all sorts of awards.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is she a nurse if she was in pre-med?”

  “From all reports, she was planning to follow in her adopted parents’ footsteps. They were both surgeons, but they died and she changed her mind.”

  “What do you mean she changed her mind?” This didn’t make sense. “You don’t just change your mind about something so important because nature takes its course and someone you care about dies.”

  “It wasn’t that simple. The folks who raised her were good people, Sylvia. When they retired they spent most of their time in foreign countries where the need was greatest. After an extended stay overseas two years ago, they came home to spend the summer with Addison and the father had a heart attack. If that wasn’t bad enough, the mother had one trying to save him. They died together and Addison was the one who found them.”

  Sylvia blinked to hold back the tears but they fell anyway. “That’s horrible.”

  “I guess that’s when she decided she didn’t want to be a doctor and became a nurse instead.” He shrugged. “Once she graduated, she donated nearly everything she inherited except her childhood home toward setting up hospitals in the very places her parents gave so much of their time. For sure, their deaths set her on a different path.”

  Sylvia pressed a hand to her chest. She tried to slow her heart. “She sounds like a very compassionate young woman.”

  “Everyone I spoke to raved about her.”

  “How did you get people to answer your questions?” Sylvia was sure he had his ways, but this was her daughter they were discussing.

  “I posed as the head of hospital security. I told them I was running a background check on a new employee.”

  “So she has a job? At a hospital in California?” Though she had no right, the news made Sylvia proud.

  “She’s a surgical nurse. Here, Sylvia. She has a loft in Five Points.”

  “What?” Sylvia grabbed her glass and had another long swallow of her wine. She cleared her throat and stared at him. “What do you mean she’s here?”

  “She hired a PI to find you. She’s been in Birmingham about two months.”

  Sylvia launched to her feet and paced the room. Her daughter was here. Looking for her. Sylvia stalled. “Does she know who I am?”

  Buddy nodded. “The PI gave her a full background on you and your family.”

  “She’s been here two months?” This made no sense. She finished off the wine and set the glass down. The room spun just a little.

  Before she even swayed Buddy was at her side. “You need to sit down.”

  She didn’t argue as he ushered her back to the sofa. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “No. I did watch her for a while. I wanted to know who she talked to, that kind of thing.”

  “She has friends here already?” Sylvia had never made friends quickly. She hoped her daughter hadn’t inherited that inability.

  “She has.”

  Pride welled inside her. “You need to set up a meeting, Buddy. If she came here to find me, she may be unsure how to approach me.” Sylvia had a reputation for being unapproachable. The Baron name at times intimidated people. She leaned forward and braced her head in her hands. “Oh my. I drank that wine entirely too fast.”

  Buddy propped his elbows on his spread knees. “Before we do anything, there’s something else you need to know.”

  Sylvia raised her head. The room whirled just a little. “What do you mean? You just told me she’s brilliant and a humanitarian. Why wait? She sounds wonderful, and she’s here because she wanted to find me.” He was confusing her.

  “You asked about her friends,” he began.

  Sylvia nodded, afraid to say a word. Whatever else there was to know, she needed him to spit it out.

  “She’s met someone since moving here. A guy. They’ve been seeing each other for about a month now.”

  Impatient, Sylvia made a get-on-with-it signal.

  “It’s Chad Cook, Sylvia. Your daughter is dating Cook.”

  The conversation in the SPU office today suddenly replayed in her head. Chad had met someone... a nurse. “Oh my God.”

  “I don’t think she realizes that the two of you used to be—”

  “No. She couldn’t. We stopped seeing each other months ago.” Sylvia’s stomach churned. Dear God, she’d made another terrible mistake that would end up hurting her daughter.

  “I compiled the information about her into a report.” He gestured to the portfolio. “When you’ve had a chance to look it over, we can talk again. What happens from here is up to you.”

  Sylvia stared at the portfolio. Her daughter was here. She was beautiful and smart and clearly apprehensive about approaching the woman who gave birth to her.

  Reality washed over her like a tidal wave.

  Not just the woman who gave birth to her... the woman who gave her away.

  Sylvia turned to Buddy. Her lips trembled so hard she could barely get the words out. “She has every reason to hate me.” Tears flooded out of her. “She’ll never forgive me and I can’t blame her.”

  Buddy pulled her into his arms. “It’ll take time, that’s all.”

  Sylvia sobbed so hard she couldn’t breathe. Buddy held her tight and whispered reassurances to her.

  How would she ever explain herself? There was no excuse. She had chosen selfishly.

  And that was unforgivable.

  Chapter 23

  Butler Springs Way, 10:00 p.m.

  Sam Baker was furious. He felt like a prisoner in his own home. He had ordered that lieutenant off his property this afternoon only to have him park at the end of his drive. As if that wasn’t frustrating enough, the manager of the golf course had called to let him know that a Sergeant Harper was sitting in a golf cart at the back of the Baker estate. Of course, the manager had been concerned and wanted to know if there was anything he could do.

  Rumors would spread like wildfire. Sam shouldn’t care and perhaps he didn’t. If he were completely honest with himself, he would confess that very little mattered to him anymore. He’d retired last year after Scott’s death. His other sons hardly spoke to him anymore. Except his wife. No matter what he’d done, Clara still adored him and he adored her. She was the one person he could always count on. As soon as he’d realized the seriousness of the situation, he’d sent Clara to Montgomery. She hadn’t argued, but he had seen the worry in her eyes.

  She needn’t worry. To a large degree his life was over anyway. He had no desire for the police to know any more than they already did about this matter. He would personally handle whatever came next. Wilson, the poor bastard, was completely disabled or dead. Unless his ghost was back to have his revenge, it could only be someone from the institution who’d learned his darkest secrets during his lengthy stay there. Or perhaps it was his longtime errand boy. The notion that Kinslow was carrying out his own revenge wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility. The man might be physically challenged but Sam felt confident he’d understood exactly who was behind his prison sentence.

  Kin
slow wouldn’t be so young now. Perhaps sixty, and riddled with physical frailties. Chances were he had a price. Sam would simply pay it and be done with this unholy business. He imagined Rutledge had been too self-righteous to do such a thing and, of course, Pratt had nothing to pay—his assets were all frozen.

  Well, Sam had no problem paying the piper for the dance that had solidified his career. In fact, he’d taken fifty thousand dollars from the safety-deposit box at his bank this very day. He had tucked a .22 pistol into his sock at his ankle. Kinslow could be bought or he couldn’t. Either way, Sam was prepared.

  Let the trouble come. Every man had his price. Sam would find it, even if it meant emptying the safe hidden in the floor beneath his desk.

  He checked all the doors once more as well as the security system. Brandy would be nice before he headed to bed. He padded down the hall, pausing to straighten a painting. He’d commissioned paintings of all his sons as well as himself and Clara. They were beautiful. He enjoyed walking past them each time he went to his study. When he entertained a colleague it was nice to show off those elegant paintings as they made their way to his lavish study.

  What good was money if one couldn’t flaunt the benefits of possessing such large sums of it?

  Sam knew his study by heart. He stepped into the quiet darkness and moved straight to the bar. He flipped on the light behind the bar, highlighting the rich details of the wood and the ornate mirrors and stained glass. He’d had this one-hundred-year-old bar shipped all the way from Ireland. He loved it and, more importantly, his friends and colleagues were envious of it.

  He poured the brandy and drank it down, and then poured another. He set the bottle aside, and a light across the room came on. He whirled around expecting that his wife had tricked him and decided to stay or that the police had somehow...