Paul lifted a cell phone from the keeper on his belt. “And better than the bayou, where it might wash up on shore. If it hadn’t been for my dog, the plan probably would’ve worked.”
Clint stared down at the heavy stains. If this had been discarded after dragging a roadkill deer or an injured pet off the highway, there’d be no need for secrecy.
So it was probably human blood.
From someone who had bled a lot.
But none of the three recent deaths in Loomis had involved transport of a body, according to the FBI’s investigation…which meant this could be evidence of a fourth.
And only Leah was missing.
THIRTEEN
Clint took Sarah home and called her favorite high school babysitter to come over until Mandy got home, then returned to the landfill and rejoined Paul at the site of the evidence.
Sheriff Reed arrived twenty minutes later. He frowned at the tarp. “Might not be blood.”
“It is,” Clint said flatly. “Take a closer look at the spatters, and the color where the stain is the heaviest. Blood pooled there. Lots of it.”
Reed crouched awkwardly, his knees creaking. “Maybe. Maybe so.”
“I called Sam Pierce, too,” Clint said into the long silence. “He told me he wanted to hear about anything unusual. He said he’d be here in a couple of hours.”
“Good. Saves me the call.” The sheriff lumbered to his feet. “Maybe the FBI can bring in a search and rescue dog.”
Paul’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “The FBI?”
“There was once a theory that the Loomis murders might have been murders-for-hire,” Clint said. “But it was discounted right away. I think the mayor also managed to pull some political strings.”
“I’ll radio some of my deputies and get the area cordoned off.” A look of relief crossed Reed’s face. “Could be we’ll finally be getting some answers, after all this time. I sure hope so.”
He actually sounded pleased, apparently without concern about the fact the Leah’s body could be here somewhere. Had she been murdered and left under tons of garbage?
The very thought made Clint stomach churn. “Finding remains is hardly something to celebrate.”
Especially Leah’s. Beautiful, sweet Leah—with her little girl to raise and so much life ahead of her.
Reed blinked and a dull flush crept up his neck and jowls. “Of course not. I’m just long overdue to retire, and I want to tie up these loose ends before I go. I’d guess you want answers, too—no matter what they are.”
Sam Pierce arrived by late Saturday with a team of five other special agents and a cadaver dog. Clint stood on a knoll at the edge of the landfill to watch, and it was all he could do to make himself stay out of the way.
The agents worked until dark, then converged by the agency’s black panel truck for a meeting before scattering toward their dark gray sedans. Sam beckoned to Clint.
When Clint reached him, Sam gave him a weary smile. “So far, nothing. We’re resuming the search at dawn.”
Clint felt his shoulders sag in relief.
“But…our forensics expert is sure that’s blood on that tarp, and that’s not a good sign. He’s taken it to be processed for DNA. With luck, it’s not human. If it is, we’ll start looking for matches.”
“Leah…”
“We can’t be sure it’s hers, because we don’t have any DNA reports on her.”
“I thought samples were taken from her apartment.”
“Her hairbrush and toothbrush were missing when we searched her apartment. We found a lot of hair strands on the carpet, but can’t be absolutely certain that they are undeniably hers.”
“The bloodied shoe found this spring…”
“It did match her type, but it’s common. The shoe was out in the elements too long and too contaminated to obtain a good DNA sample.”
A wave of helplessness swept through Clint. “So there’s nothing to go on?”
“If you’re willing, there is.”
“Of course I am!”
“We need thirteen genetic markers to show an exact DNA match, and blood or saliva are the best source for analysis.” Sam met Clint’s eyes. “Comparing DNA from you and Sarah—her brother and daughter—to what we find on that tarp could at least help us rule out those stains as Leah’s. We’ll also run the bloodstain DNA through the CODIS system to check nationwide for a match. It might be from a totally unrelated crime.”
“Until now, I refused the DNA test on Sarah, not wanting to betray my sister’s confidence. I thought she should decide on any DNA testing of her daughter to prove who Sarah’s father was.” Clint watched the sedans and truck pull away, feeling the heavy weight of sorrow press down on his heart. “But maybe it’s time to get some answers.”
Late the next morning, the investigative team wrapped up their search without finding a body.
“We brought one of the most talented cadaver dogs we have,” Sam said. “He didn’t pick up a thing.”
“Are you sure? Could the body be sealed in plastic? Buried too deep?”
“Faint decomposition gases still escape—maybe in just parts per million. We’ve had these dogs signal on bodies buried in cement and one that was wrapped in plastic under twenty feet of water. They’re trained to pick up scent in the air as well as on the ground, and believe me—I’d bet my badge on what this dog told us today.”
Clint felt a welcome rush of relief. “Thank you for all you’ve done. I can’t tell you what this means to Sarah and to me.”
Sam pulled his car keys from his pocket and clapped Clint on the shoulder. “We might not have all the answers yet, but at least we didn’t find the wrong one.”
Mandy clutched Sarah’s hand as they walked into the sanctuary after Sunday school. “You look so pretty in your spring dress!”
“Momma made it,” Sarah said somberly. “She always puts on lots of lace and ruffles. So it’s pretty when I twirl.”
“I bet it is.”
Ahead of them, a cluster of people stood in the aisle awaiting their chance to slip into the pews, but some sort of angry discussion was taking place that had them awkwardly glancing at each other and shuffling their feet.
When some other parishioners came in behind Sarah and Mandy, the shifting of the crowd made the heated exchange all too clear.
“Anyone who could falsely testify against her own son ought to be driven out of this town, not lauded as a wonderful example of motherhood.” Charla’s voice dripped venom. “I cannot believe you discredited the Mother’s Day Pageant by entering.”
“It’s tiresome when you repeat yourself, dear,” Lenore shot back in a saccharine tone. “You know nothing about my arrest. Nothing. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were behind those false charges. In case you didn’t notice, every last one of them was dropped. For good.”
“The sort of thing you always pay your lawyers for—cleaning up your little problems. That doesn’t mean you should be out of jail.”
A man said something quietly to the two of them and silence fell as the two matriarchs proceeded to their own territories—opposite sides of the church, front-row pews.
“They’re mad,” Sarah whispered. “I’m glad they’re not mad at me.”
Mandy smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “Me, too.”
“Is Uncale Clint coming?”
“I think so—unless he got too busy. He…had some things to do.”
The church was old, with beautiful, burnished oak pews and six tall, arched stained-glass windows on each side that sent prisms of light across the parishioners. The altar was simple—in the same dark oak, and behind it, the lovely, towering stained-glass scene of Jesus and a flock of sheep never failed to fill Mandy with a sense of peace.
It had been so long since she’d regularly attended church. Dad had demanded it and she’d complied, but with his death she’d fallen away, disillusioned with her life and feeling a small sense of rebellion against his oppressive ways. She’d
never intended to go back.
Yet here, she found Reverend Harmon’s sermons seemed to speak to her deepest needs, and there was a warmer sense of community and fellowship than she’d ever sensed anywhere else. It felt like home after just a few weeks. She sighed, wondering if she’d find another church home like this one, once she found a place to live out West.
The sweet strains of “Beautiful Savior” filled the church as the organist began to play. Someone touched Mandy’s shoulder, and she turned to find Portia Rogers sitting behind her, clad in a dark mauve skirt and jacket and her ever-present pearls.
“You managed rather well at the luncheon, dear. For a first-timer.”
Amused at the faint praise, Mandy smiled. “Thanks. I was really nervous, though.”
“Don’t forget your interview—three o’clock on Tuesday, in the meeting room at the Loomis Bank.” Portia leaned back in her pew. “It’s always nice to have new faces in the crowd. Keeps things fresh, no matter the outcome.”
It was the second time she’d hinted at the ultimate results of the contest. As a gentle warning for Mandy to keep her expectations low, no doubt. Would she be affronted if she knew just how much Mandy wanted to come in dead last?
The hair at Mandy’s nape prickled, and she looked over her shoulder toward the back of the church. In the shadowed doorway, a man stood silhouetted by the sunshine outside, partially obscured by several parishioners.
He appeared to be staring in her direction.
She started to lift a hand in greeting, then dropped it and stared, trying to make out who he was. And then the other people moved.
At first glance she’d thought he was Clint…but now, the man’s familiar, burly build and aggressive, wide-legged stance made the breath catch in her throat.
When she blinked, he had disappeared. Dean?
It couldn’t be him.
Definitely not inside a church.
Maybe he’d simply been a figment of her imagination…she hoped.
Again, she felt a soft tap on her shoulder, and she forced herself to look away from where the man had been standing.
“Are you all right?” Portia whispered. “You look white as a sheet.”
Mandy nodded and forced an answering smile, unable to trust her voice, and turned to face the altar. The church was full. Many of the people recognized her as Sarah’s nanny. Nothing could happen here.
Maybe it’s all my imagination. She bowed her head and said a rusty, silent prayer as the congregation began the first hymn of the day, then silently recited her own words to the lyrics of the first verse. I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
She could only hope it was true.
FOURTEEN
All the way home from Loomis Community Hospital from having his and Sarah’s blood drawn for DNA analysis, Clint kept thinking of one name: Chuck Peters. After he dropped Sarah off to spend the day with Mandy, he headed for the Daisy Inn, hoping to catch Chuck sleeping late and sober enough that Clint could ask him some questions.
All weekend, Clint had considered the possibilities. Chuck was clearly afraid of someone. With his erratic lifestyle, he easily could have seen something suspicious that placed him at risk. Could he know something about one of the murders? Had he been scavenging at the landfill and inadvertently observed someone burying the tarp?
As down-and-out and unreliable as the old man was, Clint had hesitated to tell Pierce or Reed about his suspicions…especially since Chuck had already been questioned a number of times. One glimpse of them and Chuck would probably flee or clam up. But with a nice hotel, some food, and a good rest, maybe he would be willing to count Clint as an ally instead of another enemy.
The clerk at the Daisy laughed when Clint walked in and asked about Chuck Peters. “Old guy with messy red hair?”
“He had a reservation for three days. I paid for it myself, through last night.”
“He showed up on Friday. Lorna worked that night, and she told me about him. He wanted a refund in cash. When she said she could only refund to the credit card used to pay, he got angry and stomped off. Said he didn’t dare stick around, whatever that meant.”
“He didn’t stay a single night?”
The girl cracked her chewing gum. “Not one. Lorna didn’t try to convince him otherwise. She said he looked like a bum and that he smelled like week-old beer.”
Clint reined in his frustration. “He was supposed to get showered and buy some new clothes. I started a tab for him at the café in town and at the resale store.”
She shrugged. “You can ask around. I just know he didn’t come here. Lorna did refund your payment, though.”
“Thanks.” He dropped a business card on the desk. “If he does turn up wanting that room, call me.”
On several levels, it had seemed like a perfect arrangement. Shelter. Warmth. Some good hot meals. All the key elements of survival, free of charge.
For a man living on handouts and perhaps a little Social Security, it should have been something too good to turn down.
Yet Chuck hadn’t stayed. Why? What could scare him so much that he’d be too afraid to stay put, even in another town?
The waitress at the café promptly handed back Clint’s money. “He wanted the cash, but you left instructions to say no. So he just muttered something and left.”
“Did you see which way he went?”
“Out to the highway. I finished my shift an hour later and saw him hitchhiking outside of town. Someone in a semi picked him up.”
Clint’s heart sank. “Did you see a name on the truck, or the state on the license plate?”
“I was driving into the sunset and had to swerve around that semi. It might’ve belonged to a national trucking chain, but I couldn’t be sure. I was busy trying to avoid an accident at the time.”
Clint handed her a ten-dollar bill from the money she’d given back to him. “I appreciate your help.”
He stepped back outside into the midmorning heat and humidity and looked at the long black ribbon of steaming asphalt that stretched to the western horizon, straight as a ruler.
Chuck had been a local vagrant for as long as Clint could remember. He’d disappear, and then he’d turn up again in some alley with a bottle of cheap liquor masked by a paper bag, or he’d appear in the local court reports for some minor infraction that had landed him in jail.
But this time, he seemed to be putting as much space as possible between himself and Loomis. He was gone…and with him went yet another chance for discovering the truth about what had happened to Leah and the others who’d been murdered.
Clint caught himself and shook off that thought. She couldn’t be dead. The two of them had been as closely connected as twins after being orphaned as young teens. Surely he’d sense it if anything had happened to her.
He’d continue to hang on to that belief as long as he could.
Mandy looked at herself in the mirror hanging over the sofa in her tiny living room with a sense of disappointment. It really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things in life, but Clint deserved better than to back someone who looked as if she’d dressed herself at a garage sale and was color-blind, to boot.
She slipped off the only sweater she’d packed, a pale pink cashmere present from her father, then took a hard look at the one dress she’d brought along—the yellow sundress she’d already worn to the library tea.
In a few minutes she was back at the mirror in loose-fitting black knit slacks and a black shell. With the sweater loosely tied at her neck, it was at least a different look…if not too casual. But spending money on clothing would be a foolish waste and would only delay her escape. The risk was too great to take that chance.
She hurried down the stairs from her apartment and looked at Clint in surprise.
He was leaning against the pickup, his arms crossed and one ankle hooked over the other, dangling a set of keys from his forefinger. His deep tan and dark hair were even more striking against the pale blue of his open-collared oxford
shirt.
“Very nice,” he said with an appreciative grin. “Are you all set to go?”
“Y-you’re coming along?”
“Sarah is already in her car seat. I figured we could all go, and afterward we could head out to a good Cajun/Creole restaurant out on the bayou for an early supper. I haven’t been there in a long time. They’ve got regular American fare, too, if you aren’t into spices.”
Surprised and pleased when he opened the door for her, she slid into the front seat of the truck and looked back at Sarah, whose car seat was fastened into the second bench seat. “This will be fun, won’t it?”
“I like po-boys,” she said. “And beignets, and banana fritters. And bread pudding.”
Mandy laughed. “That sounds like quite a dinner! What’s your favorite, Clint?
“Alligator Bites as an appetizer. A good, hot jambalaya, or the simplest of all—red beans and sausage over dirty rice.” He thought a moment. “Followed by praline bread pudding and chickory coffee, of course.”
“Hmm. I think I’ll be skipping the alligator, and I’m not too sure about dirty rice. But the rest sounds interesting.” She settled against the back of her seat and studied Clint’s profile as he drove to the bank. “You’re a good uncle, Clint. Sarah is a lucky girl to have you.”
He glanced over at her. “I just wish things could be different. But we’re doing our best, right?”
He was so different from her temperamental father. And from Dean, who’d evolved rapidly and inexplicably into a man whose rage simmered dangerously close to the surface. What would it be like to have someone like Clint, with such an even personality—or would she always just bring out the worst in everyone she met?
Clint left the car in front of the bank and took Sarah across the street to the park playground equipment while Mandy headed for her interview. “Good luck,” he called out. “You’ll do fine!”
Deadly Competition (Without a Trace) Page 12
