“Excuse me,” he said, getting out of his car. His companion remained in the car. “I’m with the FBI, and I need to ask you some questions.” He flipped open his wallet, showing a badge.
Their eyes widened, and the older of the two stepped forward. “I’m Karen Bergman, assistant postmaster. How can I help you?”
The badge did it every time. But which way to direct the conversation? Ask about Jillian or Hollister and Starr? Where he found Jillian, he would find the other two. “I’m looking for this woman.” He handed her three age-enhanced photos of Jillian. One had aged her on the thin side and one with added weight. The third one had simply aged the photo.
Bergman nodded. “This looks kind of like the same woman those two women were looking for.”
The tracker had been right. They had stopped at the post office. “Do you know where I can find her or them?”
“The photo they had looked like this one.” She pointed to the version that had been aged without other enhancements. “And it didn’t ring any bells, but this skinny person . . .” Bergman glanced at the other woman. “Wouldn’t you say this is Mrs. Darby if her hair was cut short and dyed platinum?”
“Yep, could be her,” Hannah said. “She lives in a cabin overlooking the river. I can give you directions.”
He pulled a notepad from his pocket and handed it to her. Five minutes later, he was back in the car. “Directions to Jillian’s house.”
The directions looked easy enough, but when he came to a washed-out bridge, JD swore. He’d missed a turn somewhere. “See if you can get a fix on our position.”
“There’s still no signal. This tracker just says it’s locating. Oh, wait. The map’s coming up. Looks like they’re on some sort of road parallel to where we are. River is about a half mile away.”
“Good. We’ll hike in and stay south of them.”
“Do you think they’ve found Jillian?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you plan to do with the women once we get what we want?”
“Not sure yet. The river is always an option.” JD exited the car and opened the trunk, choosing two rifles from the four he had stashed there.
A fire wasn’t a bad option, either.
32
WILL NODDED TO LEE AND CARTER. “Let me know if you find anything pertaining to this case.”
“Are you going on to Nashville?” Carter asked.
“Not with Johnson dead.” The only reason he would drive to Nashville would be to see Jimmy, but he didn’t have any news to share with him. His time would be better spent finding the person who set his cousin up.
“Thanks for the help,” Carter said. “This is a murder investigation now, so any information you get, I’d appreciate it if you’d share it.”
“You got it,” Will said.
Back in his car, he checked his phone for messages, then debated calling Brad to see if he’d found anything in the studio. Not wanting to risk another confrontation, he chose David’s number instead. When he didn’t answer, Will left a message for him to call. If David didn’t call back by the time Will reached Memphis, he’d reconsider calling Brad.
Once he was on I-40, Will looked for the exit with the Exxon Service Plaza. Ten minutes later, he exited off the interstate and parked in front of the Blue Cafe. Now if Josie was working, he’d be in business. His stomach growled as he walked to the counter. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the Hollisters’ and looked over the menu on the wall behind the counter. Steak sandwich looked pretty good. “Do I order here or take a seat?” he asked the waitress whose name was stitched over her uniform pocket. Ruth.
She looked him up and down. “I can take it. What will you have?”
“Steak sandwich with fries and coffee.”
“That’ll be eight-fifty.”
Will pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “Is Josie here today?”
Ruth nodded to the corner. “She’s taking her lunch break.”
“Thanks.” Will walked to the corner booth, where an older woman was polishing off a hamburger. “Josie?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Will Kincade, Memphis Police Department.” He showed his badge.
“You’re a far piece from home. What can I help you with?”
“Sergeant Lee with the Tennessee Highway Patrol said you served the man involved in the wreck Wednesday night.”
Josie nodded. “I told the patrolman all I could remember.”
“How about the man he met here? The one you described to the sketch artist. Have you remembered anything else about him?”
She dipped a fry in ketchup and bit into it. “You want to sit? Kind of hurts my neck looking up at you.”
“Thank you.” Will sat opposite her in the booth and leaned forward. “A lot of people come in here. Why did you remember him?”
“His hands.”
“What about his hands?”
“They didn’t match his clothes. He was a big man and looked like most of the men who come in here. But when he paid me, I noticed his hands were soft, and it looked like he had clear polish on his nails. Hunters and farmers around here don’t get manicures. Heck, most of them have grease embedded around the nails.”
Ruth brought his sandwich, fries, and coffee and set them in front of him. “Cream?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
She kept standing by the booth. “Y’all talking about that guy that had the wreck? That state trooper said the tie rod came loose. My husband is a mechanic, and when I told him that, he said somebody tried to kill that fella. Is that true?”
Will took a sip of his coffee. “That’s the way it looks.”
Across the table from him, Josie nodded. “One of the men who was here when the trooper was asking questions said if a person knew what he was doing, a minute and a half is all it’d take to loosen the nut and pry the rod loose.”
“Really?” Will hadn’t realized it would be that easy. He looked up at Ruth. “Did you see either of the men?”
She nodded. “I was on the cash register when the guy that ended up in the hospital came up to pay. He was real nervous. Sweating when he left and muttering something about JD being crazy.”
“He said JD? Are you sure?” That was the name Larry Ray’s ex had given him.
“What it sounded like. Then he tore out of here like a bat out of Georgia. He gonna make it?”
Will sighed. “I’m afraid not. He died earlier today.”
“Cryin’ shame,” Josie said. “Just a cryin’ shame.”
“I agree.” He took two cards from his pocket and handed each one. “If either of you remember anything or if the other person comes in again, would you call me?”
Both of them agreed to do that, and Will said, “I’ll move to another table so you can eat in peace.”
“No need.” Josie stood. “Time for me to go back to work.”
Will dialed Walter Simmons’s cell number, and when he answered, Will said, “How’s Jimmy?”
“I don’t know, but I can call you back after I see him. Got called in to work after one of the COs got sick.”
“Great. Would you ask him if the name JD means anything to him?”
“I sure will. Uh, do you know how Larry Ray is?”
“I’m afraid he died earlier today.”
“That’s bad, man.”
“Yeah.” He thanked Walter, then washed up and ate his meal. Fifteen minutes later, he was on the road to Memphis and his cell phone rang. Brad’s name came up on his dash. He answered, hoping Brad wouldn’t ream him out again. “Hello?”
“You were right, and I owe you a big apology.” Brad’s voice was tight.
“What?”
“David is here with me, and you’re on the speaker. He found pages that look like they were torn from Stephanie’s journal. She documented trips where diamonds were smuggled into the country, and evidently she was in on it at least once.”
“I’m sorry,” Will said.
; “Yeah, me too,” Brad said. “It’s going to kill Andi. But Stephanie was going to the FBI with the diamonds she had hidden in the horse sculpture.”
“In her notes,” David said, “she was really angry with somebody named JD and may have threatened him. Could be why she was killed.”
A sour taste filled Will’s mouth. “I just talked to a waitress who said Larry Ray Johnson met with someone named JD just before his wreck.”
“Where are you?” David asked.
“Thirty miles east of Jackson. Why?” Will heard Brad say something to David, then Brad spoke into the phone again.
“According to Stephanie’s notes, Jillian was involved in the smuggling operation.”
Will’s gut twisted. “Andi and Maggie are on their way to find Jillian.”
“I know. I’ve tried to call them, and neither of them answer,” Brad said. “That’s why I called you. You’re closer to them than we are.”
Jimmy paced his small cell. Why hadn’t he heard from Maggie or Will? He stopped at the small window and gripped the bars. Why couldn’t he remember everything that happened the night Stephanie died instead of bits and pieces?
He turned as Walter Simmons came to his cell. “What are you doing here? You don’t work this shift.”
“Someone got sick.” Walter unlocked his cell door. “Warden said you can work in the kitchen.”
“Great.” Anything beat sitting in his cell. He walked ahead of Walter. “Can you stay a few minutes? The chaplain hasn’t been by this week, and you’re about the next best thing.”
“Warden said I could visit with you, and there’s this Ping-Pong table on the way to the kitchen. Thought we might see how rusty you are.”
Gratitude flushed through Jimmy. For the most part, the corrections officers in Unit 2 were decent men. His shoulders sagged as he realized why Walter was trying to lift his spirits. No one held out any hope he’d get a stay of execution.
For years Jimmy had wondered how he’d handle this. Somehow, he’d thought he’d never have to. Which was crazy. He blew out a deep breath, calming his nerves a little. If he could just quell the rolling in his stomach. “What’s the weather like outside?”
“Cloudy. Supposed to rain later.”
Seemed fitting it was an overcast day. The waiting was the hardest part. He turned to Walter. “How’s your family?”
“Good. Praying for you.”
“Thanks.”
“You want to play a game of Ping-Pong?”
“Sure it won’t get you in trouble?”
Walter’s eyes were sad as he said, “Nah. Not this weekend.”
Jimmy picked up the paddle and bounced the white plastic ball against the table. Good ole Walter. Trying to help him get his mind off his trouble.
“You can go first,” Walter said.
Jimmy served the ball, and the guard returned it. This time Jimmy sliced it and Walter missed.
“Yeah!” Jimmy grinned at him.
“I’ll get you.”
They batted the ball back and forth until it caught on the net. “My point,” Jimmy said. “Have you heard anything on Johnson?”
Walter’s face grew serious. “Your cousin Will called an hour ago and said that he died.”
“That’s sad,” Jimmy said. “I didn’t like him, but I hate he died. Do you know if he ever woke up?”
“Never did. Will asked me to run something by you.” Walter whacked the ball across the net. “Do the initials JD mean anything to you?”
Jimmy’s muscles turned to Jell-O, and he dropped his hands, letting the ball sail past him. “What did you say?”
“Are you okay?”
Chaos reigned in his head. He had to sit down, and he stumbled to the chair. JD. It’d been so long since he’d heard that nickname, he’d almost forgotten, and it triggered an avalanche of memories.
Jillian and Spencer. Him and Stephanie. Double dating. Then it all changed when Spencer made a play for Steph at a time she was angry with Jimmy and his drinking.
“Leave now, or I’ll kill him and make it look like a murder-suicide.” He sucked in air. It was the memory that had eluded him for years.
Stephanie cradled in his arms. Spencer putting the gun in his hand. Jillian arguing.
Jimmy looked up at Walter. “Do you know what this means?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I really didn’t kill Steph.”
Walter took out his phone and dialed. “I’m calling your cousin.”
“Let me talk to him,” Jimmy said, and Walter turned over the phone.
A call beeped in on Will’s phone, and he looked at the ID. Walter Simmons.
“Hold on a second. I need to take a call.” He switched calls. “Walter?”
“No, it’s Jimmy. You wanted to know if I knew anyone who went by the name JD. Well, that made me remember something.”
Jimmy paused, and Will heard him take a deep breath. “Go on.”
“It’s just . . . I can’t believe they did this to me.”
“Did what?”
“I remember everything now. Spencer telling Jillian if she didn’t leave, he’d kill me and say it was a murder-suicide. And get this, Stephanie told me once that Spencer’s full name is James Spencer Delaney Jr., and that some people called him JD. When he went to law school, he dropped the nickname, but he started using his middle name, Spencer, so he wouldn’t be confused with his father. So JD could refer to him.”
Will gripped the steering wheel. Nothing was ever simple. “This will help. Thanks, Jimmy.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. And Will . . . if this doesn’t turn out the way we want, don’t feel bad. You’ve done all you can do.”
“It’s going to turn out, okay? Got that?”
“Yeah, cuz. I got it.”
Will switched back to Brad. “JD could be Spencer. Have you heard from Andi?”
“No. And neither of them answer their phones. But I put an app on her cell phone, and it works off a satellite. Let me see if I can get her location.”
“Do you know what town they were going to?”
“Doskie, Tennessee,” Brad said. “I have her location. I’ll text it to you.”
Will pulled over to the side of the road and googled Doskie on his phone. He’d already passed the exit.
“What time were they supposed to get to this town?” he asked when Brad called him back.
“Should have gotten there around noon. I’ve sent you the address that pops up on this app. It looks like they might be somewhere beyond it, though.”
“I’ll find her. You find Spencer.”
“Gotcha. And be safe.”
Will tapped on the address Brad sent, and relief spread through him. He was only about twenty miles from their location.
33
A QUARTER OF A MILE PAST A NARROW SIDE ROAD, the road turned from gravel to dirt, and the trees seemed to close in on them. Andi eased the Corolla over ruts and potholes. “Do the instructions say anything about a dirt road?”
“No. Maybe we should have turned on that side road.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Maggie said.
“We should have asked how far the house is.” Andi glanced down the steep hillside. “These are not hills, either.”
“I’d call them mountains myself,” Maggie said. “Do you think Mrs. Darby is really Jillian?”
“I don’t know, but she did get nervous when I mentioned my name. And did you notice how thin her hands were? They didn’t match her body at all.”
“Come to think of it, her face was thin too. Can you think of a better place than this if someone wanted to hide out?”
They drove in silence, going deeper into the forest.
Maggie leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “I think we’re lost. Find a place to turn around,” she said. “We need to go back and get better directions.”
Andi scanned the woods. The trees were so thick, it was impossible for sunlight to break through. Her scalp prickled. Wha
t if someone had followed them up the mountain? “There’s a fork ahead. I’ll turn around there.” She glanced toward Maggie. “Do you happen to have a gun on you?”
“Don’t carry one, but for once, I wish I did.”
She put the car in park. “I need to get out and see how to turn around, but first . . .” She opened the console and searched for the Swiss Army knife she kept there. Once she found it, she slipped it in her right boot.
“Think we’ll need that?” Maggie asked as they climbed out.
“I’d rather be prepared than not.”
Maggie held her phone up in the air. “And maybe I can get a signal outside of the car. I’d like to call David and let him know where we are.”
They both walked to the front of the car. A few yards away, a piece of brush blocked their path. As Andi bent over to move it, something whizzed over her head, then she heard the crack of a rifle.
“Get down, Maggie!” Andi dropped to the ground and crawled to where Maggie was hunkered beside the wheel.
“Who’s shooting?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” Blood pounded in Andi’s head. If she hadn’t bent to pick up the brush, she’d be dead. They crawled to the side of the car. It wouldn’t offer much protection. “I don’t have a good feeling about it. Any chance it might have been a hunter?”
“In April?” Maggie’s voice was shaky.
For the first time in her life, Andi was really scared. They were trapped on a mountain with someone firing at them. Brush snapped. “We need to make a run for it in the car. Can you get in the backseat?”
“Yeah! Let’s go for it.”
Maggie scrambled to open the back passenger door as Andi hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car. She threw the car in reverse as a bullet shattered the side window.
The car shot backward and rammed a tree. She yanked it into drive. The wheels spun, burying the back tires in the soft dirt. They were stuck.
“Just get out with your hands where I can see them!”
Justice Delayed Page 28
