She drove a 2010 Chevy Cobalt.
She availed herself of low-cost campus day care for Anya Sage.
The dentistry business was located in the center of an eight-unit strip mall. Approximately half the parking slots in the lot were filled. One of the cars was a red Chevy Cobalt sporting an SIU commuter sticker. Three doors down from the dentist’s office was a small bakery with two wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk, both empty.
Jayme parked facing the bakery.
“I’ll grab a table,” DeMarco said as he climbed out.
She unbuckled, climbed out, and locked the door. “And a doughnut, I bet.”
“Verisimilitude,” he said.
A few minutes after Jayme entered the dentist’s office, she returned to join DeMarco at the table. He wiped doughnut glaze from his lips and handed her a cup of coffee. A third cup, capped, with two creamers beside it on a napkin, sat at the center of the table.
“She’s with a patient,” Jayme said as she sat. “How was the doughnut?”
“Sugar free. Just the way I like them.”
“Right,” she said. She placed her cell phone face up on the table, opened the voice recorder, then turned her chair to face the dentist’s office. They sipped their coffee, watched the traffic, and said nothing more for the next three minutes. Then a pretty girl in a pale-green lab coat over black slacks and a white blouse stepped out of the dentist’s office and looked their way. Slender and of medium height, she wore her hair in thin dreadlocks cut to shoulder length.
Jayme waved, pressed record on her phone, turned the screen to the table, and stood. DeMarco picked up his coffee, stood, and walked leisurely toward the far end of the strip mall.
“Hi, Toni,” Jayme said, and extended her hand. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
Antoinette Coates stopped three feet short of the table. She said, “Who are you? Is there something wrong with Sage?”
“No no no,” Jayme said. “Everything’s fine. I just need a couple minutes of your time is all. Can you sit down? I bought you a coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee. And I have a patient who’ll need me in about five minutes.”
“Then I’ll only take four,” Jayme said, and smiled. “Can we sit?”
After a few moment’s hesitation, the young woman pulled a chair from the table. She sat on the edge of the chair, ready to rise at any second.
“So I’m Jayme,” Jayme told her. “And you’re wondering who I am and why I’m here.”
The only response was the hum and whoosh of traffic going by. She continued, “My friend and I are on our way to talk to Pastor Royce in Evansville about a couple of matters, but the only one relevant to you is the matter of child support. We just want to make certain that you and the pastor’s daughter are being sufficiently provided for. Anya Sage is a beautiful name, by the way. Did you pick that out?”
The young woman’s almond-shaped green eyes narrowed. “Who ever said she’s the pastor’s daughter? I never said that.”
“No, but it’s common knowledge, right? And I’ve never heard Pastor Royce deny it. So…we’re here just to make sure he’s meeting his obligations to you. Are the payments on time? And are they sufficient to meet your needs?”
“They are what they are,” Toni said.
“Well, what if I told you that I can maybe get you an increase? Would that help?”
“Of course it would help,” Toni said. “But how you plan to accomplish that?”
Jayme smiled. “I’m thinking three thousand a month. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
“In child support? No way he’ll agree to that. Triple what I’m getting now? No way you can do that.”
“I’m not sure you fully understand your rights here, Toni. You’ve never spoken to a lawyer about this, have you?”
“He made us promise not to. Told my daddy he’d take us to court if we did.”
Jayme frowned and shook her head. “You’re the one who should be suing him. Besides the child support, did he pay for all the medical bills before and after Anya was born?”
“She goes by Sage. And yes, he did.”
“Is he providing for her future? A college fund? It takes a lot of money to raise a child, doesn’t it?”
“If you want to do it right, it does. And I’m doing it right.”
“I know you are. You pay your rent every month, you drive an eight-year-old car, you take classes at the university. You are doing a good job, Toni. An excellent job. The question is, is he doing his share?”
“How do you know all that about me?”
“It’s our job to protect young women like you. That’s what we do.”
Toni was silent for a moment. Then she sat a bit straighter. “I need to be getting back to my patient.”
“I understand. One last question though. Has he ever become violent with you? Has he ever abused you—physically or verbally—in any way?”
“I haven’t seen the man in three, almost four years now. And I don’t care to either.”
“Did he ever show any tendencies toward violence when you were with him?”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
“In other words, he did.”
Toni shrugged. “He’d grab me by the arm, scare me a little. The man does what he wants, doesn’t want to hear no argument about it.” She shifted in her chair. “I got to be getting back,” she said, and stood.
Jayme stood too. She reached for Toni’s hand, covered it with both of hers. “Here’s what I’d like to do,” Jayme said. “If I send you a telephone number of somebody to talk to—”
“What somebody?”
“A lawyer. Somebody local. Someone you can trust. It won’t cost you a cent. But you need to know what your rights are, Toni. What your options are. For you and Sage both. The man has a net worth of eight point six million dollars.”
“You’re not serious,” Toni said.
“I am dead serious. Can I send you a telephone number? I’ll call the secretary in your office—will that be all right?”
“It won’t cost me anything?”
“Not a cent. Do it for Sage, okay? And do it for yourself. You both deserve better.”
“And what about what he’ll do to me and my family?”
“He’s a public figure. He can’t risk bad publicity. Trust me; you’re the one with the power here, Toni. Within twenty-four hours I will call your office with my phone number and the number of a lawyer. And you can call me anytime you want. Okay?”
She squeezed Toni’s hand.
Toni said, “This isn’t some kind of sick joke or something? You just appear out of nowhere and tell me all this?”
“It’s what somebody should have told you a long time ago.”
Toni looked toward the dentist’s office, then back at Jayme, and withdrew her hand. “I gotta get back,” she said, and turned away.
Jayme watched her into the dentist’s office, then turned to see DeMarco approaching. “You damn men,” Jayme told him when he arrived.
“I know,” he said. “I apologize for my gender and my species.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
DeMarco drove the hundred miles from Carbondale to Evansville so that Jayme could research lawyers and advocates who would handle a child support case on contingency or pro bono. In the meantime he used an earphone to listen to Jayme’s recording of her conversation with Antoinette Coates.
By the time DeMarco pulled into the sprawling parking lot of the gleaming Resurrection Baptist Church, Jayme had telephoned the Shawnee Hills Family Dentistry office with the contact information for two firms. Thick charcoal clouds were reflected in the church’s glass panels.
Jayme closed and stowed the laptop. “So what’s the protocol, Sergeant? Seeing as how we’re not exactly doing police work now, are we?”
“W
e’re not that far outside the parameters,” he said. “One last good shake, just to see what falls out.”
She sensed that he was changing, albeit subtly. Before Huston’s death he was known as a by-the-book officer. But it was no secret that his report covering the final twenty-four hours of Huston’s life contained numerous improbabilities. During the following months he had retreated even deeper into himself, save for the weekends spent with her. But even then he’d been guarded and kept a tight rein on his emotions. Of late, however, those emotions had begun to show themselves, like bursts of smoke and ash from a sleeping volcano. Jealousy. Heightened aggression. And, at least as far as Royce was concerned, a thinly veiled desire for something like revenge.
She unbuckled, then popped open her door. The dense, humid air rushed in like a backdraft. “Nice and polite, same as always?”
He retrieved his Glock and pocket holster from the console. “I know no other way.”
They were kept waiting in the anteroom for ten minutes before being permitted entry into Royce’s sanctum. He looked flushed, his forehead shiny with perspiration. The arm candy was visibly absent, no other persons present but for the two goons who, after closing the door behind them, followed Jayme and DeMarco as they approached Royce’s desk.
“Still on vacation from Pennsylvania, I see,” Royce said. “Have you come seeking salvation?”
DeMarco smiled. “Truth is salvation, is it not?”
Instead of pausing in front of Royce’s desk, he strolled leisurely about the room, looking first at a photo of Royce and the governor on the desk, then at books on a bookshelf, pictures on the wall, matching vases on pedestals on opposite sides of the room. One of the goons followed DeMarco wherever he went.
Jayme stood motionless at parade rest, hands clasped loosely below her back. She wanted to keep an eye on DeMarco, but instead held her gaze on the pastor, alert for any tells.
“The truth shall set you free,” Royce answered.
“Or send you to prison,” said DeMarco. “Speaking of which, are you still in the habit of manhandling young women, Reverend?”
Royce’s lips closed on his smile. “You’re a bit far removed from your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Sergeant? Can I assume this is a social call? Have you come to make a donation to the cause?”
“Take me back to the day the infestation of termites was discovered,” DeMarco said. “You were on site at the time?”
Royce leaned back in his chair, rocked a couple of times. “You understand that I have no obligation to answer your questions.”
“I certainly do understand that.”
Royce nodded. He released a slow breath. “I am assuming that you already know I was there. It was the day of our summer picnic.”
“But it wasn’t you who discovered the infestation.”
“One of our deacons. Who was alerted to it by a parishioner.”
“And the name of that parishioner?”
“That I can’t recall. Though it must be in the records. Other buildings along that street had been treated earlier in the summer. Private homes.”
“And after you were informed by the deacon, what did you do then?”
“I checked it out, of course. And found there was cause for concern. Holes in the wood, mud tunnels, a couple of live ones clinging to the wall.”
“Who contacted the exterminator?”
“I did,” Royce said, his irritation increasing. “And I then telephoned our sexton to let him know a full inspection and treatment would be held in the morning.”
“You’re speaking of Virgil Helm,” DeMarco said. “And how did he react to that news?”
“With few words, as always. I told him to be at the church at 7:00 a.m. sharp, and he said he would. But obviously wasn’t. Which makes me wonder why you keep beating all these empty bushes around here and don’t go find yourself the one man you should be looking for.”
“If you did make the call,” DeMarco said. “That’s never been corroborated, has it? Which sort of makes me wonder if Virgil Helm disappeared of his own free will.”
By now DeMarco had made a full circuit around the room. He stood at the corner of Royce’s desk, fingertips balanced atop the glassy edge.
Royce looked past him to Trooper Matson. “Is he always this humorous, or is he having an especially good day?”
She chose not to answer.
“Was Chad McGintey present at the picnic?” DeMarco asked.
“Why in the world would I allow that fool at a picnic for my parishioners?”
“Did the two of you part on bad terms?”
“I was pleased to be rid of him. Man was lazy to the bone. I’d have to tell him six times before he’d get anything done. Stoned out of his mind most of the time.”
“And his reason for leaving your employment?” DeMarco asked.
“Claimed he had other work. From what I heard later on, it involved his brother and their own grass, though of a different variety than what grew in my churchyard.”
“To your knowledge, was McGintey aware of the false wall?”
“Now how could I have any knowledge of that when I myself had no knowledge of a false wall?”
DeMarco nodded, pursed his lips, thought for a moment. Then he leaned toward the pastor. “How long has it been since you last saw Anya Sage, Reverend? I hear she’s a beautiful little girl.”
Royce pushed himself erect, seemed on the verge of standing up. “I believe it’s time for you to leave,” he said.
“You should put her on TV with you this Sunday. Maybe have her sing a hymn or two. Unless you’re afraid your audience will look at her mother and do the math.”
Royce stood. “Your time is up,” he said. The goon behind DeMarco stiffened.
DeMarco grinned. “I believe yours might be up too, sir.”
He turned, and found himself facing over two hundred pounds of scowling goon. DeMarco kept smiling. The goon slipped a hand inside his jacket.
DeMarco said, “I’ll show you my gun if you’ll show me yours.”
A few scowling seconds passed. Then the goon lowered his hand and stepped aside. “Trooper,” DeMarco said, “do you remember the way out?”
“Like the back of my hand,” she said, and walked with him to the door.
In the lobby she finally turned to look at DeMarco—a long, hard stare.
“What?” he said.
She waited until they were outside and headed for the car. The air was even heavier and hotter now, the sky uniformly dark. “Why would he call the exterminator if he knew the skeletons were there? Obviously he didn’t put them there.”
DeMarco used the remote to unlock the car. “Where’s Virgil Helm?” he said.
They popped open their doors and climbed inside. He started the engine, cranked the air conditioner to max. She said, “He fled. Because he knew.”
DeMarco buckled up, put the gearshift in Drive, and headed out of the parking lot. “Probably,” he said. “Or not.”
SEVENTY-SIX
Earlier that morning DeMarco and Jayme had made plans to finish their day with visits to Chad McGintey’s nineteen-year-old companion, currently being held in the county jail in Bardwell, and the fifteen-year-old minor, at her grandmother’s home a few miles east of the city. But their plans were changed when DeMarco received a call from a blocked number. The caller introduced himself as Special Agent Kevin Erdesky of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
DeMarco pulled the car to the side of the road and put the phone on speaker. The agent said, “I was wondering if you and Trooper Matson could meet with me for a couple of minutes.”
“How’s tomorrow morning work for you?” DeMarco asked.
“Today works better. What’s your location right now?”
“About twelve miles north of Bardwell.”
“Perfect,” Erdesky
said. “You know where the dog park is on Templeton?”
Jayme had her own phone out and started thumb-typing. DeMarco glanced out the window. Sheet lightning bloomed across the sky. He said, “If I’m not mistaken, we’re about to get a downpour.”
“There’s time,” the agent said. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Is the Bureau into meteorology now?”
Erdesky laughed. “Doppler radar. The cell is still thirty minutes out.”
“Then I guess we’ll see you at the dog park. Iced for me. Cream, no sugar.” Jayme nodded. “The same for Trooper Matson.”
“See you there.”
DeMarco hit End Call.
Jayme asked, “What do you think that’s about?”
DeMarco shrugged. “You can bet it’s not about dogs.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
As expected, the dog park was empty. A few streetlamps had come on in response to the early darkness. Thunder rumbled as DeMarco and Jayme made their way through the park.
“There he is,” Jayme said, and nodded toward a bench outside a large fenced-in area, where a man in blue jeans and a black sport jacket sat beside three clear plastic cups of coffee lined up in a row. Visible behind the coffee was a sign affixed to the fence: Large Dog Run.
“Do you think that’s a coded message?” she asked. “He’s letting us know he’s the big dog here?”
“As if we didn’t already know,” DeMarco said.
The agent stood and shook their hands. He was balding, maybe five ten, maybe forty years old. “Sorry for the short notice,” he said. “I’m out of town first thing in the morning, so this was my only shot at meeting you in person.”
DeMarco picked up two coffees, handed one to Jayme. “Why do I get the feeling you know a lot more about us than we know about you?”
Erdesky picked up the final coffee, popped off the lid. “I need to ask you to take a couple steps back in regard to the good reverend.”
Walking the Bones Page 21
