The Stranger You Seek

by Amanda Kyle Williams

  I stepped out of the car and showed Grady the driving directions I’d used. He got a kick out of this and told me he could keep me out of Macon and save me forty miles.

  “Hey, I haven’t eaten any lunch. How ’bout you join me?” We were leaning against my car. “I mean, since you did end up here and all. Who knows? Maybe the universe is sending you a message.” His leg touched mine a couple of times and I felt it all the way south back to Florida. “I can’t leave until closing time, but I got MoonPies and RC Cola right here.”

  RC and MoonPies? It had been years. Two disks made of graham cracker crumbs pressed together like cake with marshmallow wedged in between like a sandwich, and a thin shell of icing. God! I’m only human. And I needed a distraction. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

  Grady grinned. He knew he had me. “Both.”

  There was a picnic table on the side of the station in a little patch of grass. Some shrubs had been planted next to a trellis so loaded with flowering jasmine you could barely see it. We unwrapped cellophane-covered MoonPies and bit into them, chased it with ice-cold bottles of RC Cola that Grady had pulled out of an old red Coca-Cola cooler, the kind that stands about waist high and is packed with ice. He popped open the tops with the opener on the front, and in the heat of that day, I don’t think anything has ever tasted as cold or as sweet. It was hands down the most fun I’d had in a while. Grady told me he’d lived here all his life and only traveled as far as the Lowcountry in South Carolina, and I was beginning to see how this might happen. He loved his mama’s fried chicken, had two sisters who beat the hell out of him growing up, talked about walking home from church knowing there would be homemade banana cream pie, a staple to this day, he said, at his parents’ table on Sunday. He liked to dance, and if I’d stay, he promised to show me how much. He liked to kiss too, he told me, and wanted to know how I liked it. His gold-flecked brown eyes were steady on me. I liked his mouth too. And then he did it. He leaned over the table and pressed his lips to mine just as my cell phone played Rauser’s ringtone.

  Rats!

  “Goddamn Buckhead waiter that served Brooks that night never showed,” Rauser said.

  I looked at Grady and he looked back, a long, knowing look. He might be a small-town boy, but he was clearly aware of his own charm. And in the most unpretentious way. His hair in the midday sun was like fire. He folded his arms over his chest and I saw his shirtsleeves tighten against his biceps. Good Lord!

  “Guy’s illegal. Took off,” Rauser said. “I think his employer knows where he is. I let him know we’re not interested in the guy’s green card or what the restaurant reports. I’m looking for a goddamn murderer here, for Christ’s sake. Thinking about a public plea in case someone else saw Brooks out that night. What if he was out with some woman and the killer got to him later, after she left the hotel? Then she’s still out there, the last person to see him alive, and she might know something. But there’s family involved here, you know? I mean, his wife and kids, they’re suffering already. I don’t want to humiliate them. It’s just gotta be a last resort. Hello? Street? Are you there?”

  I glanced at Grady. His grin widened. “I’m listening.”

  “News channels are trying to help by running pictures of the rental car Dobbs was killed in, plate number, pictures of Dobbs. We’re just hoping someone will step up and say they saw him somewhere. Doesn’t anybody look up from their fucking BlackBerrys anymore? Where are you? I got stuff to tell you.”

  “I’m on the way back. I wish I had more for you.” I looked at Grady. “Rauser, let me call you back.”

  “Somehow I’m getting the feeling I won’t be able to complete that survey tonight,” Grady said. “Shame too. You could have had all this.” He gestured like Vanna White to the service station and the parking lot, that big smile never fading.

  “Rain check?” I asked. “Reality just called.”

  Grady walked me back to the car, opened the door for me, and gave me a formal bow. “Real nice meetin’ you, ma’am,” he said, and waved as I drove away.

  I punched in Rauser’s number. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh, sure,” Rauser answered. “Four homicides linked to Wishbone in this city. I’m doing just fine. And it’s not like the other shit stops just ’cause we got a serial, you know? Had a guy walk into an equipment company this morning and shoot three people. We been showing Charlie’s picture around and guess what? He looks familiar to everyone. Bastard rides around the city all day every day. He’s so visible we can’t make an ID stick, but I can connect Charlie to three of the victims now—Dobbs, Brooks, and Richardson—so we’re slowly building our case.”

  “Wow, that’s huge, Rauser.”

  “When will you be back? Can we just sit down and talk through some of this stuff?” I opened my mouth to answer, but Rauser said, “Oh shit. Hang on, okay?”

  I turned on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and followed Grady’s directions toward the four-lane. I thought about Grady’s lips.

  “Keye, I got something to tell you.” Rauser sounded calm now. Bad sign. He could get real still when things turned nasty. “There was a bomb scare two hours ago at the Georgian. Plain package came in. No return address. No postage, nothing. Looked suspicious. Bomb squad took the call, got the package out of the hotel, secured it, and it didn’t detonate. It wasn’t a bomb. But it was addressed to you, Keye. And, well, there was a severed penis inside.”

  I had to pull over.

  30

  I arrived at my office the next morning and spent several hours putting together a file for Guzman, Smith, Aldridge & Haze, something Margaret Haze had asked me to prepare for her. Neil had helped gather the intelligence. He was a natural snoop.

  Diane was sitting at her enormous kidney-shaped desk in the reception area outside Haze’s office. Her short blonde hair was perfectly highlighted and a little spiky, as always, and her makeup was impeccable. Diane was one of those people who could be experiencing a private storm in her life without anyone ever knowing it.

  I, on the other hand, am not as good at disguising my problems.

  “Okay, you’re tired and something’s wrong,” she said the moment she saw me.

  I told her about the package that arrived at the Georgian and its terrible contents. I told her about Mirror Chang’s heartbreaking telephone call to me. I told her about Charlie attacking me in my office, and then it all spilled out of me. How I’d trusted and even cared for him, how violent he’d been, the strange and deceptive life he led, his past, the clippings I’d found. The police interrogation. How Rauser had apparently linked him to three victims now. How I felt I’d failed by not sensing, not seeing something sick and devious about Charlie. Diane disagreed. She knew Charlie too and she could hardly believe it.

  “So.” I forced a smile. I was ready to talk about something else. “Tell me something about the new guy. Is it still serious?”

  Diane laughed. “Still serious, but did I mention I’m seeing a woman?”

  “Um, no. You left that part out.” I had known Diane since we were kids. I never had an inkling she was attracted to women. It wasn’t exactly like hearing that Michael Jackson had died, but it did prove that you absolutely never know who is going to pop out of the closet and shock the shit out of you. “Why didn’t you ever mention this?”

  “It never came up,” Diane said, and I gave her an oh sure look. “Seriously. I don’t know what it is about her, but it’s about her.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Do you say congratulations at a time like this?”

  “That would be nice,” Diane said, smiling. She picked up the phone on her desk. “Ms. Haze, Keye Street is here for her appointment.”

  “Well, then, congratulations.” I hugged her. “Movie or pizza night soon, okay? So you can tell me all about her?”

  “Sure,” Diane said with a nod, and turned her attention to the work on her desk.

  I followed the hand-woven wool runners through the lush reception area to Margaret Haze’s
office, feeling guilty. Diane had wanted something from me. I just wasn’t sure what. Or if I even had it to give at the moment.

  Haze stood and shook my hand. Behind her, the view from her windowed wall meandered south and east over suburbs and stretched across the city. CNN Center and Philips Arena to the right, Stone Mountain dead ahead twenty-five miles, Midtown’s towers on the left and I-75 heading north.

  She was wearing Chanel pumps. Power shoes. I wanted them. With the light streaming in behind her, she was almost a silhouette. I’d rarely seen her in anything other than black. Everyone in Atlanta always seemed to be dressed for burgling.

  I opened my briefcase and, once Margaret was seated, handed her everything I’d managed to dig up on the dead owner of Southern Towing, whose driver—Margaret’s client—had shot twenty-three times and, according to Margaret, in self-defense.

  “You were right,” I told her. “He was a scary guy. Long record of assaults, jail time, three arrests, lots of bar fights. Friends and coworkers say he beat his wife, he beat his kids, and sometimes he knocked his drivers around. Most everyone I talked to was afraid of him. His wife admitted that he had a temper but denies the beatings. I gave you copies of the hospital records. Four visits to the emergency room in two years. Cops have been out there six times on domestic disturbance calls. The guy was a bully. If he was coming at me, I would have used my weapon too.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken the case if I believed my client was a murderer.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Margaret smiled. “Careful, Keye, your bias is showing. Did all that time at the FBI turn you against criminal defense attorneys?”

  It was my turn to smile, but also a very good time to remain silent. Something my mother always said about knowing who butters your bread.

  Margaret looked at me for a moment, a slight flicker in her eyes, playful, nothing aggressive, just reading me. She then went back to the information I’d given her—neatly printed with times and dates, names, addresses, and statements, copies of the victim’s extensive criminal record, hospital records.

  I waited while she read. I looked out the window, drank water, looked at the picture on her desk of her with her parents, and studied the artwork on her walls.

  “Well, with his background, it shouldn’t be difficult to prove that he was dangerous, that my client feared for his life,” she told me. “Whether or not the judge will allow it is a different matter.” She was quiet for a moment, still reading. “I’ll need witness subpoenas on these people. Will you have any trouble serving them?”

  “I don’t think so. Most of them will jump at the chance to testify to his character. Or lack of character. Not a lot of people in the community mourning this man your client murdered. Um, shot.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have Diane call you once we’ve filed the paperwork.”

  I was sitting outside the Starbucks at 100 Peachtree, the old Equitable building, watching pigeons compete for popcorn in Woodruff Park. Couriers and people with briefcases and telephones and serious expressions rushed by me. From the loading docks just around the corner, I heard shouted instructions and the distinctive sound a big truck makes when it’s braking.

  Rauser plopped down in one of the metal chairs in front of me. He was twenty minutes late, wearing a suit and a light blue tie, which he tugged at as he sat down.

  “You look nice,” I said. “Got a date?”

  “With the press,” he answered. “I’ll be the one standing behind the chief keeping my mouth shut. We’re expecting a major leak in a few minutes.”

  I smiled. “Amazing how these leaks happen.”

  Rauser nodded. “Worked a deal with Monica Roberts after she ambushed us in the garage. Called her from the Dobbs scene and offered her first dibs, promised I’d confirm the suspect’s name and leak Charlie’s mug shot to her if she’d dump the footage of me and you together.”

  “Smart,” I said.

  “It’s not as self-serving as it sounds. Maybe someone else will recognize him and we can connect him to more of the victims. This is what we know. The courier firm he works for had both David Brooks and the other dead attorney, Elicia Richardson, on their client list. Their records show Charlie making several deliveries to each office. Courier companies all over serve these big law firms. We also found a self-storage warehouse near his town house where he leases a big unit, big enough for a car. Unit’s empty but the fluid on the concrete tells us there was a vehicle in there recently. He’s lost my guys a couple times now. We think he’s ducking into this maze of little warehouses, leaving his bike and driving out. We have it under surveillance. And the DA finally found a judge that would issue a search warrant.”

  “You searched Charlie’s place?”

  “Early this morning. Didn’t find a damn thing we can use. Circumstantial is piling up, but we got no knife, no blood, no pictures. This guy’s a murderer. We’ll get him. The special delivery to the Georgian is at the lab. Already matched the blood type, so we know it was Dobbs’s dick. Jesus.” I saw the pain in his face. “What’s left of the package is there too. Still hoping we can pull some DNA off it. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but we will get him.”

  I touched his hand. “I know.”

  He looked at my drink, ignoring my hand. “What’s that?”

  “Chai tea latte, iced.”

  “Thought that was some kind of martial art.”

  “That’s tai chi,” I said, and smiled.

  He took a long drink from my plastic cup without asking, then took a couple more gulps big enough to leave me with nothing but some milky ice. Then he burped and leaned back in the green metal chair, tipping the front legs off the ground.

  “What?” he said.

  “I don’t even know why I like you sometimes,” I said. “You’re such a guy.”

  He grinned at me and made some adjustments to his crotch area with enough flair so I had to notice.

  “And mature too,” I added.

  “So, what’s up with Dan?” Rauser asked suddenly. “You back together or what?”

  “No, we are not back together nor will we ever be back together. He just wanted to get out of his apartment for a few days and figured he could use my place.”

  “That why he’s walking around naked while we’re on the phone?”

  “Oh my God, you’re jealous? That’s so cute.”

  “Get real. I’m just trying to look after you a little. Traditionally, Dan hasn’t been a good investment.” We were silent for a few moments. “You know, I was in the station when we brought in the guy who killed his boss at the tow company,” he said. “That’s the case you’ve been working for Haze, right? His pupils were bugging out, smelled like booze. He emptied into him twenty-three times. It’s gotta blow, working for the defense on a case like that.”

  “Pays the bills,” I said. I didn’t like thinking about it.

  “That’s why I wouldn’t want to go private, you know? End up working for the bad guys most of the time. When I retire from this, that’s it.”

  “If I waited for an honest client, I wouldn’t be able to buy the groceries.”

  “That’s my point,” Rauser said. “And why I couldn’t do it. So now that you know how little I got on Wishbone, tell me what you got.”

  “I’ve been looking at the first victim.”

  “Yep, I know. Anne Chambers.”

  “I’ve been going through her journal, tracking down friends, people who signed her yearbooks, study partners, stuff like that.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve located most of them. Made a lot of notes. Her diary talks about seeing someone, but she didn’t name names. I showed Charlie’s picture to Anne’s mother, but she didn’t recognize him.” I handed him the file I’d put together. “Maybe something will jump out at you. I think I’ve looked at it too much.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe there’s nothing there.”

  I shook my head. “There are answers there. In her life. I’m certain of it. I just can
’t see them. You want to get an arrest and conviction, find Charlie’s connection to Florida.”

  “May not be an issue if we connect him to any more victims up here.”

  “Promise you’ll look anyway?”

  Rauser smiled at me and his gray eyes were clear as rainwater. “I promise. I’ll take it home with me and have a look before I crash, okay? Look, nobody wants cold cases open. The families never really get peace until we close.”

  We were quiet for another minute, watching the pigeons, thinking about the dead. Rauser drank milky liquid from the melting ice in my cup.

  “I met an old lady who lived near Anne and her parents down on Jekyll Island. Her mom said they used to hang out. A card reader.”

  “She tell your fortune?” Rauser snickered.

  “Not exactly. Well, sort of.” I flushed, suddenly embarrassed, remembering what she’d said. The po-lice man … love you.

  Rauser was smiling at me, waiting. “And?”

  “She said the last time Anne came to see her, she warned her that she was in danger.”

  “Be easy to say now.”

  “Be easy to say anything now.”

  “You believe it?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know. Really weird old lady, but I swear she knows things. She actually brought up Dan. She called him Mr. Fancy Pants, but—”

  “That’s him.” Rauser laughed.

  “She also said she felt the same vibe around me, which was pretty eerie given the whole car-wreck-hospital-stalking-bomb thing. But then she had said something about eating pussy, so I decided maybe she was just nuts.”

  Rauser was nodding his head at me seriously and with absolutely no sincerity at all. He was fighting back a laugh and I knew it.

  “It’s a long story,” I said lamely.

  He picked up the plastic cup he’d already drained and started eating the ice. “She say you’re a closet case too?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What is this obsession you have with my sexuality?”