“I forgot it was Halloween. I guess I better run out and get some candy,” Maybe Lesbian said before pivoting around and starting back down the stairs.
Talia knew she should eventually learn the woman’s name. She kept expecting to run into her at the bar but never did. She was attractive, but not Talia’s type, and, well, she was no Shay Eliot. She gave another half wave before turning her attention to her car.
As Talia carefully folded herself into the front seat of her car, she realized driving was going to be an issue. Vampire Lacey laughed at her. “I guess you better pick a lane and not leave it until you get there. Good luck!”
Talia had to turn her whole body to look in either direction. Her biggest fear was that she’d pull her mummy wrappings loose and not know how to put it back together. Lacey had done a great job wrapping her, but Talia was starting to have second thoughts about her costume’s restrictions.
Talia relaxed a little when she made it to the interstate. She glanced to her left and smiled at the tree in the middle of the median. As was customary, the old Christmas tree that had been mysteriously planted in the median was decorated for Halloween. She could see the orange of pumpkins and the white of ghosts, but not much else. She made a mental note to look closer the next time she passed during the day.
Traffic slowed at the tunnel, of course, and as Talia was crawling along she felt someone staring at her. She pivoted her body around and caught a peek at a clown as it blew her a kiss. She would have blown one back but clowns freaked her out and the traffic had picked up the pace so she turned her body and head forward.
Once in Norfolk, she went through intersections holding her breath, praying for safety because that was easier than trying to look both ways. Relief washed over her as she pulled into the parking lot at the bar, until she realized she had to pee and would have to partially unwrap to do so. What in the hell was she thinking dressing as a mummy?
The image of angry witches, vamps, and maybe even killer clowns waiting in line for her to unwrap, pee, and rewrap in the ladies’ room terrorized her. The parking lot was already crowded so she knew the party was well underway. Shay’s truck was there so Talia assumed she was inside the bar.
Talia got out of the car and decided she’d sneak between the two buildings and pee there before going in. On the way to her chosen spot, she started a mantra in her head. Stay inside Shay, stay inside. She wondered if Shay would be dressed in costume now that she was doing security for the bar. She couldn’t wait to see. But first, she had to attend to the business of her ready-to-burst bladder.
Walking with the stiff-legged gait of a mummy, Talia turned her whole body at the sound of people approaching. Two women, one wearing a blond wig, both with throats slashed and bloodied clothing came toward her. It took a moment to sink in. Bile rose in her throat and pee soiled her wrappings. The women laughed and walked toward the bar.
Talia half-ran and half-tripped to her car. She rummaged in the backseat for a plastic bag to sit on. She was shaking as she started ripping the gauze wrapping from around her head and neck. Breathing was difficult. Finally free of the gauze, she rolled down the window for some air, then started her car. Hearing a commotion, she paused before pulling out.
Dee stood in the doorway, yelling at the two women. “What were you thinking? Get the hell out of here!”
Then Shay was there, dressed as a gangster. Talia was mortified at the thought of being seen in a pee-soiled costume. She dropped the car in gear and hightailed it out of the parking lot.
At least Talia wasn’t the only one with a strong reaction to seeing the women. But she was sure she was the only one they made pee on themselves. She felt tears on her cheeks as she drove away. So much for a good distraction.
Chapter Four
Shay sat down at the table across from FBI Agent Timothy Grainger. She wasn’t surprised when she was asked to come in to answer a few questions. She’d heard enough chatter around the bar to know they were looking at anyone who dealt with diesel fuel, and that they were particularly interested in anyone who was ex-law enforcement.
Grainger offered her coffee or a soda. She declined. She looked at the tan-painted cinder block walls until the agent spoke.
“How well did you know Allison Bradford and Diane Fields?”
“I knew Allie quite well, but I haven’t met—hadn’t—met Diane yet.”
“How did you meet Allison?”
Shay fought against the tears that threatened. Just keep it together, she told herself. “The first time I saw her was years ago at a softball game. We were on opposite teams and her team won. She came up to me afterward and said she liked my game.” Shay laughed, lost in the memory. She was pretty sure at the time that Allie had come up to her mostly to get a chance to talk to Anne, whom she had ended up dating for a while afterward. “Allie was very competitive and a damned good ball player.”
“Who out there didn’t like Allison as much as you seem to?”
“Everyone who knew Allie loved Allie. She was that great of a person.”
Agent Grainger slid a piece of paper across the table to Shay. “Write down the name of every woman you know who has dated Allison. First and last names, please.”
Shay stared at the blank paper. If she thought for even a minute that this would get them closer to finding Allie and Diane’s murderer, she’d be writing like mad. But this felt a lot like a witch hunt and she couldn’t see herself playing a role in that.
“No one who knew her could have killed her. And especially no one who dated her could ever hurt her. You are looking in the wrong direction, sir.”
He slammed his fist down on the table. “Don’t tell me how to investigate a murder. You couldn’t cut it as a patrol officer and you’re going to second-guess how I perform a murder investigation?”
“I know you know how to conduct a murder investigation, but what you don’t know is how the dynamics of the lesbian community work. You won’t get anywhere if this is how you’re treating every woman you have come in here for an interview.” Shay hated that her voice shook but she was too angry to be able to stop it.
“When’s the last time you saw Allison?” He seemed to have regained his composure.
Images flashed through her mind—the cookout, one night at the bar, a softball game. “About a month and a half ago. No, maybe it was two months.”
“Was she with someone?”
“I think the last time I saw her we were at a cookout. There were a lot of people there but she wasn’t there with anyone in particular.”
“Were the two of you ever involved?”
“No.”
“Did you want to be?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean, why not? Not every lesbian wants to be with every other lesbian.”
“But you’ve been in here talking like she was it. Why wouldn’t you want to be with her if she was so terrific?”
Shay could feel the muscles in her jaw tightening.
“When’s the last time you were with someone?” he asked.
Shay leaned forward slightly. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is. Every little thing about you is my business.” He stared at her. “Someone reported you for damage to personal property while you were a police officer. What can you tell me about that?”
Shay racked her brain, trying to pinpoint the episode.
“You don’t remember?”
She shrugged.
“You don’t remember breaking a man’s window because his dog was inside the car?”
Oh, yeah, that. “Yes, I remember that. I remember it was very hot and the dog could have died in that car.”
“You like taking the law into your own hands?”
“Not particularly.”
“You think you’re above the law?”
“Not particularly.”
“What, only when someone deserves it?”
Shay didn’t respond. She knew he
was trying to provoke her and she wasn’t planning to give him the satisfaction.
“Or just when you want justice? Who did you want justice for this time, huh? Did you get justice for Allie’s ex, huh? Did you get justice for Regina Morris?” he asked in rapid-fire mode.
She stared at the wall over his left shoulder, tuning him out as she refused to hear another word. He responded by shoving some photos across the table in front of her. The force of the pictures being pushed at her made her look down, and she jumped slightly when she realized what they were.
“Pretty graphic, aren’t they?” he said.
Shay looked up at him.
“Don’t look away from those pictures!” He practically came across the table trying to push them closer to her. “Allie’s throat is cut so deep she was almost decapitated. That takes a lot of rage. That takes a lot of personal rage.”
She fought against the taste of bile. She had seen many graphic crime scenes and crime scene pictures, but never of anyone that she knew well.
“Her tongue was severed,” he said. “That’s a lot of anger.”
She glanced down again. She didn’t want to see the images, not really, but thought if she looked closer she might see something that could make sense of the senselessness. She was pretty sure she’d never have access to the photos again and wanted to get the best possible observation. She picked up the picture that best showed the positions of both women inside Diane’s Honda.
“Reliving the moment?” he asked.
She looked over all the photos as fast as she could. She cringed at the way Diane was shoved into the backseat and the way Allie was half on the seat and half on the passenger side floor, her light hair matted in several directions. The glove box door had been ripped off and its contents dumped on top of her.
Grainger’s voice penetrated again. “Did you strike those matches over and over and over trying to hide what you’d done?”
That’s when she noticed Allie and Diane had been doused in something and there were dozens of matches scattered about.
“How did you get them to go along? Did you surprise them with your badge and by the time Allison realized it was you it was too late for her to respond?”
“Enough. I’ve heard enough of this nonsense,” Shay said.
“You don’t want to hear about how you tried to push Diane’s car into the river to hide how you’d slit their throats and tried to burn their bodies?” His face was bright red and spittle flew as he yelled.
“Either arrest me or I’m leaving. Either way, don’t come near me without my lawyer present.” Her throat tasted like acid, and she wondered how in the hell she would afford a lawyer.
“Get the hell out of here. For now.” He picked up a close-up of Allie’s wounds and pushed it into Shay’s face. “I will prove that you did this. You wait and see.”
Shay kept her gait steady as she walked to her car. It took a lot of effort not to run, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly he’d upset her. Halfway home, she pulled over to the side of the road and threw up. With every heave she closed her eyes but forced them open to keep from revisiting the bloody mess in the pictures. She pulled over twice more to throw up before she made it home.
That night, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Allie’s and Diane’s faces. Her phone rang several times, but she couldn’t make herself answer.
When she tried to sleep, the images assaulted her. She dreamed about coming across the car on the parkway and shining a flashlight inside, seeing the bloodied faces. But the faces in her dream were Kate’s and Lana’s. After she awoke and finally quit shaking, she wondered what that meant. She knew she could never ask her favorite shrink-to-be, Kate. No, she would never tell anyone about the twist to her nightmare.
The next morning, the phone rang relentlessly. Shay lay in bed and let it ring. She knew she had to get up and get ready to mow some yards, but she felt sick and tired and couldn’t stop crying.
The doorbell made her jump. Stumbling out of bed and to the door she looked out the peephole and saw Kate standing there.
“I know you’re in there,” Kate said. “Please let me in.”
Shay opened the door and stepped to the side. Before she shut the door, she looked outside to see if any law enforcement were watching her house. There was a questionable black sedan parked three doors down.
“You want to tell me about yesterday?” Kate asked as she stepped into the middle of the living room.
“Not really. How do you know about yesterday?”
“Dee told me.”
Shay’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t be upset with her. She’s worried about you. She said she’s had a bad feeling ever since the FBI came into the bar asking about you.”
“Want something to drink?” Shay asked.
“No. I can’t stay too long. I have class soon but I wanted to see you. To know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
Shay shrugged.
“You don’t always have to be the strong one. You can talk to me, you know.”
“I know.” But she didn’t. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this right now.”
“When you are ready, let me know. I’m a good listener, and you’ve listened to my problems enough over the years. Let me be here for you for once. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Are you working today?”
“Yeah. As soon as I eat something.”
“Call me if you need me.” Kate said as she left.
Shay shut the door behind Kate and locked it. She pressed her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. Then she opened them, trying to make the images of Allie and Diane get out of her head.
The tears began again.
†
Talia knew not much happened in their community that did not end up being whispered, fought over, or cried about in the bar. So when Talia overheard Dee grilling Lana and Kate about Shay’s interview with the FBI, Talia’s focus became laser-sharp to hear what they were saying.
It seemed that because Shay knew Allie, was ex-law enforcement, and currently had access to diesel fuel through her landscaping business, the FBI was looking at her closely.
The newspapers were still running stories about how it looked like the assailant was either a cop, or pretended to be one, because the scene looked like a traffic stop. Diane’s wallet was opened to her driver’s license on the center console, as if she’d been showing her ID.
Talia tried not to think about what diesel fuel had to do with anything, but couldn’t help forming an image. It made her feel nauseated.
“Oh, God, poor Eliot,” Kate said.
Talia moved closer and leaned against the bar, as if she was watching the action at the pool tables opposite them.
“She has an alibi. She was here,” Lana said.
“Not every night in question,” Dee corrected her. “They are looking at Thursday through Sunday nights.”
“Because Allie and Diane were last seen at Cinema City on Thursday?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, and not found until Monday. No one saw Shay late on Friday night or at all on Saturday night.”
Talia swung around on her barstool so fast that she clanked loudly against the stool next to hers. Dee, Lana, and Kate all looked at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she got up and went into the ladies’ room. She was going to splash water on her face but the sight of mascara smudged under her eyes stopped her. She spent several minutes cleaning up the mess and adjusting her hair. When another woman came in, Talia quickly excused herself and left the claustrophobic space.
It wasn’t difficult to find a business card with an FBI agent’s name and number on it. No one wanted to talk to them so they’d left cards behind as a reminder that they were looking for information. The cards had been littering the bar for weeks. Talia snatched one off the top of the cigarette machine and shoved it into her pocket
for later.
†
Talia waited until after work the next day to call the FBI. Her hands shook as she held the phone in one and the card in the other. She was terrified, but there was no way she was going to let them harass Shay Eliot when she knew exactly where she was on the nights in question.
Talia leaned against the kitchen wall as she dialed the number. She asked to speak to the Agent Jackson listed on the card and waited patiently for him to come to the phone. She was about to hang up when a deep voice broke through the silence and introduced himself as Agent Jackson.
At first she stammered, then she managed to say, “I know where Shay Eliot was on Friday and Saturday night before those women were found murdered on the Colonial Parkway.”
“You do, do you?”
“Yes, she was at home.”
“You were there with her?”
“Not exactly.” She closed her eyes.
“Define ‘not exactly,’” Agent Jackson said.
Talia took a deep breath. She fought the urge to throw up and then she pressed on. “I was sitting in my car in front of her house.”
“What were you doing in your car?”
“Watching her house.”
“Stalking her?” His voice contained a tone she thought sounded just shy of amused.
“Not exactly.” Before he could ask for another definition, she added, “Okay, yes, I was kind of stalking her.”
“Why?”
“Because she fascinates me?” It came out as a question, much against her will.
“I need your name, miss.”
“Do I have to give it to you?”
“How else can we verify your story?”
“My name is Talia. Can you keep this information confidential? God, I would be so embarrassed if anyone found out.”
“Your last name?”
“Lisher,” she said, then spelled it out for him.
23 Miles Page 5
