by Debra Webb
“Why do you want to leave it this way?” He threw his hands up, hit the dome light of his fancy SUV.
A Mercedes. The man drove a Mercedes for crying out loud. He certainly hadn’t ten years ago. He’d driven a Chevy almost as old then as her Audi was now—which she had purchased pre-owned and only after talking the salesman out of his commission.
When had police chiefs started making that kind of money? He lived in Mountain Brook. She didn’t have to know the exact address. The neighborhood said it all. Big house, big money. Or maybe Katherine and Daniel senior bought the Mercedes for him. After all, who wanted an old worn out Chevy rolling up in this driveway?
“You’ll leave,” he accused before she could gather her defense, “just like you did last time. And forget everyone back here exists.”
The unwarranted exasperation in his tone almost deferred the realization that she had nothing to go back to. Her career with the Bureau was over for all intents and purposes. The so-called relationship with the man she’d almost trusted was over. Even as the thought breached her already compromised defenses the band around her finger burned her skin.
It was over. All of it.
“Fine,” he muttered. “You’re right. Fine.”
She jumped at the harshly uttered words. She’d gotten lost in her own worries and he’d assumed she had nothing to say to his comment. Truth was, she doubted he would want to hear what she actually had to say.
Breathe, Jess.
“We will talk. I swear. This case has me distracted and that’s as it should be.” She gambled and reached over to pat his hand. It wasn’t her smoothest move on record but it seemed to satisfy him. “First we have to find these girls.”
He nodded without meeting her gaze. “You’re right. I apologize for dredging up the past. This has been a tough evening.”
Because you saw your ex-wife with her new/old husband? Jess held her tongue. That he didn’t look at her as he said the words related loads about just how much he was holding back himself.
“It has,” she agreed. The conversation with Lorraine Parsons rushed to the front of the long parade of thoughts and theories cluttering her brain. “We have an early day tomorrow.” Calm, collected. Good. Now say goodnight and get the hell out of this vehicle.
“Wells and Harper made all the appointments after the service so we’re set for the family interviews,” he said, shifting the subject back to business.
“Good. We can convene the team at seven and go from there.” Her fingers curled around the door handle. “Goodnight.”
“G’night.”
She emerged into the humid night air and shut the door before he could toss something else at her. He started the engine as she climbed the steps and relief finally washed over her. Thank God this day was over. Cramming her hand into her bag she tried to remember where she’d put the house key he’d given her.
Her cell phone blasted that old phone clang that she disliked immensely but that differentiated her ring tone from all the other chirps and melodies.
“Damn.” Where was that stupid phone?
Dress hiked up her thighs and squatting in a manner that would no doubt appall Katherine Burnett, Jess shoved around the stuff at the bottom of her bag. Two more blasts and she still hadn’t laid her hand on the damned thing. The Mercedes hadn’t moved. Why the hell hadn’t he driven away? She’d said goodnight. What else did he want?
The image of tangled sheets and hot, damp skin flickered in her fatigued brain. “Idiot,” she muttered.
“Jess!”
Dan was out of the SUV and yelling at her over the hood. “I’m fine,” she assured him without looking. “Just trying to find my phone.” And the key you gave me!
“Get back in the car, Jess.”
Thought, sound, even the ability to breathe faded into the background. Jess couldn’t see his eyes from her position near the front door but she didn’t need to. She knew every nuance of his voice by heart. This was bad.
“Reanne Parsons’ father is dead. His wife found him when she got home tonight.”
…now we’re all being punished.
Chapter Five
Tuscaloosa, Thursday, July 15th, 2:18 a.m.
Chief Patterson had been trying to interview Lorraine Parsons for the past two hours but she kept grabbing her minister’s hands and bursting into fervent prayer with her spiritual leader adding his own brand of passionate harmony. Patterson had finally sequestered her to the kitchen away from the activities in the bedroom and leaving the minister waiting in the living room. Dan had supervised the necessary duties related to the victim.
He’d sat behind a desk for so long he’d almost forgotten what it was like in the field. Damn. This was one aspect of police work that never got any easier.
Bob Koerber, the Tuscaloosa County coroner, and his assistant had suited the victim in a body bag and loaded him onto a gurney for removal from the premises.
“We’ll get on the autopsy right away.” Bob removed his Crimson Tide cap and scratched his forehead. “The wife isn’t going to be happy.” He made a face that broadcasted his mixed feelings on the subject. “She’s one who doesn’t believe in going to the doctor much less having some medical examiner slice and dice her kin.”
“I’m not certain we have a choice here, Koerber.” Dan shook his head. Determining the exact cause of death was essential. No matter what it looked like, they had to be certain. Even if Parsons had committed suicide, if the act had any connection whatsoever to the missing girls, they needed to know ASAP.
Jess had followed the evidence techs around the room, scrutinizing every step taken. No sooner than Bob had turned his back to confer with Dan, she had opened the body bag to have a final look at the victim.
The stool and rope Parsons used to hang himself from the bedroom light fixture, not to mention the note he’d left behind, made the situation appear relatively clear, if not the motive. Dan doubted the meticulous work by the techs would reveal anything useful.
There was no sign of forced entry. No indication of a struggle. The bedroom, as well as the rest of the house, was pristine. Rigidly so. Perfect order. Not a single item out of place. The furnishings were Spartan, to say the least. Only one small television in the living room. The channel had been set on a local station when the uniformed officers arrived. Still was. Someone had muted the volume.
Other than the numerous crosses and the pictures depicting Christ and other angels, there were few interruptions in the flow of white walls throughout the house. He supposed that one explanation was the devastating tornadoes back in the spring. Most personal belongings, including family photos, had been lost according to Patterson.
“Well, we gotta do what we gotta do.” Koerber pretended to ignore Jess.
“I appreciate you putting a rush on this.” Dan understood that his appreciation wouldn’t fully cover the blow back Koerber would have to deal with. The media would have a field day with every angle. A dozen news crews were already camped outside on the street. Patterson had insisted he would make a statement to the press when the time was right. Since this was his jurisdiction, Dan had no problem with staying out of the limelight. He got more than his share back home.
“We’ll be on our way then.” Koerber hitched his head toward the door and to his assistant tossed, “Let’s load up.”
His announcement prompted Jess to step back, giving the assistant an opportunity to secure the body once more.
The wheels squeaked as the gurney was guided through the door and out of the room. The sound drove home the point that a man was dead. A man who, apparently, could not bear the burden of having lost his daughter. Jesus Christ, Dan had to find these kids. Parsons’ note had been a mere two words. I’m sorry. His wife had confirmed his handwriting.
The cop in Dan was stuck on the sorry issue. Sorry that he hadn’t protected his daughter? Sorry that he was the reason she’d fled—if that turned out to be the case? Or sorry that he was the one responsible for her disappeara
nce? And why now? That his daughter could be found alive was not completely outside the realm of possibility. There was still hope. Maybe waiting to learn her fate had been too much.
Exhaustion clawing at him, Dan rubbed at his raw eyes. There were questions that needed to be asked and he wasn’t sure Patterson was the man to get the job done. He was too close to this family.
Like Dan had any room to talk. Andrea wasn’t his daughter but they had grown close during his one-year marriage to her mother. Faulting Patterson would make him a hypocrite. When Jess learned that piece of information, she would accuse him of jeopardizing the case. He’d have to tell her soon or risk her finding out from another source.
He surveyed the room. Speaking of which, where was she? He checked the closet and the small en suite bath. No Jess. He wouldn’t put it past her to barge into the kitchen and start asking questions she knew as well as Dan did that Patterson wouldn’t straight up ask. Since Dan hadn’t heard any bellowing from Patterson, he assumed Jess hadn’t made it that far yet. With his luck she would be grilling the minister.
“We’re finished here, sir,” one of the techs announced.
Dan nodded. “Let me know as soon as you process the prints.”
There was little else to process. If they learned anything beyond the likelihood of suicide, it would be gleaned from the body. Even that was doubtful, unless drugs were involved. Since there had been no signs of a struggle or foul play anywhere in the house or on the body and Mrs. Parsons insisted the door was locked, lights out, when she arrived home, this tragedy might very well be nothing more than that. A tragedy.
Dan followed the techs into the narrow hall that divided this end of the modest ranch house. The door to Reanne’s bedroom stood ajar, light crept through the narrow crack between the plain flat panel door and the frame. He paused to check it out. The room had been gone over three times since the girl disappeared. Jess may have wanted to see it for herself. Who was he kidding? Of course she would.
He eased the door open and stalled. Jess had stretched out on Reanne’s bed. He closed the door to prevent anyone who walked by from seeing her. “What’re you doing?”
“Look around.” She waved one arm. “This is the most generic room I’ve ever seen. How could a nineteen-year-old girl live here?”
“As true as that is,” he walked to the bedside and extended his hand to pull her up “this is where she lives and we’ve gone over every inch of this room multiple times. There’s nothing here except her clothes and a couple of dolls.”
The carpet had been removed to make sure there wasn’t anything beneath. The ductwork leading from the heating and cooling system to the room had been examined. The bed had been taken apart, as had the dresser and chest of drawers. Even the two dolls her mother stated Reanne had kept since she was a baby had been thoroughly inspected.
There were no secret hiding places in this small bedroom. No nothing. Just plain white walls, pink sheets and bedspread along with a thrift store wardrobe. And a single wooden cross hanging over the headboard.
“But there is something not quite as it should be.” From her supine position on the twin size bed, Jess pointed to the ceiling directly above her. “See. I would have checked it myself but I couldn’t reach it.”
The ceiling was covered with twelve-inch by twelve-inch generic acoustic tiles used in many sixties and seventies houses of this style. The tiles hadn’t been painted since installation, allowing the yellowing of age to show. Other than a little dingy and a few dents and dings, he didn’t see anything to get excited about. “See what?”
“See the one tile that sticks down just a smidge lower than the others.”
He frowned, glanced at her, mentally jarred all over again at the eyeglasses tucked into place on the bridge of her cute little nose, then back at the ceiling. He didn’t see it. These type tiles were installed by hand, one at a time. It wasn’t surprising to find one or two not quite level or square with the others.
“Right there.” She shook her finger and aimed it straight at whatever the hell she thought she saw.
Maybe he needed glasses, too. Then he saw it. The slightest disruption in the flow of tiles. “Okay. I see what you’re talking about.” He toed off his loafers. Jess scooted over as he climbed onto the bed. Gripping the tile at the edges was impossible. It didn’t protrude enough beyond the level of the others around it to get an adequate hold with the tips of his fingers.
“I’ll get the nail file.” Jess scrambled off the bed and went to the dresser. “Reanne had to have used something to pry it loose.”
The metal nail file and wooden hairbrush were the only grooming tools in the room. No razor, hair dryer, curling iron, no perfumes, and no make-up. Also, as Jess pointed out, strange for a teenager.
She handed him the file and he wiggled it under the edge of the tile. A rip like tearing cloth sounded as he lifted one side far enough to get his fingers beneath it. Velcro. The tongue sides of the tile had been cut free of the ones around it, the precise divide would have required a box cutter or xacto knife. With this tile cut free from the others, Reanne or someone had used Velcro to reattach it to the narrow wood strips beneath.
The wood strips were secured to the ceiling joists, the spaces between allowed for reaching into the darkness that was attic space. The bat of insulation that should have covered the strips was missing. He could see the insulation all around the area, indicating there had, in fact, been insulation and this particular strip had purposely been moved.
Jess stood beside him now. “Can you reach high enough to see if anything’s hidden up there?”
He stretched, felt around on the layer of rough textured insulation on either side of the opening. His fingers encountered a small package or box-like shape. He snagged the object without any trouble. Cigarettes. Camel Lights. The pack was half empty and a disposable lighter was tucked inside.
“Bet her mother doesn’t know about that.”
“You’d win that bet.” He passed the pack to Jess and reached up again. His fingers curled around another small rectangular shaped object. Metal or plastic. Recognition flared and adrenalin lit inside him. He brought the item down and Jess gasped.
“A cell phone!” She snatched it out of his hand. “Oh…my…God.”
She fiddled with the phone while Dan felt around the space for any other surprises.
“The battery’s dead.”
“She’s been missing for eighteen days. I’m not surprised.” He carefully replaced the tile, pressing it firmly against the Velcro to ensure it stayed. “Come on.”
He stepped off the bed and helped Jess down. They’d searched the house and this room numerous times with the Parsons’ permission. With a dead body only recently removed one door down the hall, he didn’t feel compelled to request permission now.
While he stepped into his shoes, Jess tucked the Camel Lights and the cell in her bag and tidied the bedspread.
“We need to run those through evidence,” he reminded her as she tugged on her high heels. The woman’s legs were more shapely now than they’d been at twenty-two and…not for his viewing pleasure.
“Yeah, yeah.” She smoothed her hair, slung her enormous bag on her shoulder. “I’m ready to do that right now.”
“Don’t you want to talk to Mrs. Parsons?”
Jess reached for the door. “Patterson will brief us later. Besides, I spoke to her after the service. Right now I need a Wal-Mart.”
“You what?” Why hadn’t she told him about that? He started to demand an answer but she was already out the door. He heaved a sigh, turned off the light and closed the door as he exited. He had an idea what was on her mind. He nodded to the uniform waiting in the living room and hesitated. The minister was no longer seated on the sofa.
“Chief Patterson asked the reverend to join them in the kitchen,” the officer explained at Dan’s questioning look.
“Have Chief Patterson call me when he’s finished here.”
“Yes, sir.�
��
Patterson was going to be seriously unhappy about him and Jess leaving without sharing their find. From a legal standpoint it wasn’t a problem. The Parsons had authorized a search of their home when Reanne went missing. None of the parents involved in this case had insisted on a search warrant. Patterson would be pissed but if this discovery got them one step closer to solving this enigma, Dan didn’t care if the man made his life miserable for the next month.
Outside the coroner’s wagon was gone. The crowd at the street had tripled in size. Shrewdly, Jess had already climbed into his SUV. The local news hadn’t made her yet. Once her identity was uncovered, a whole other facet of this nightmare would begin. Accusations that local law enforcement couldn’t get the job done would fly. Something else Dan could care less about.
More uniforms were holding back the news folks and sightseers. Questions were shouted in Dan’s direction but he ignored them. This was Patterson’s territory. He had no wish to step on the man’s toes any further than he already had.
“Dan!”
He stalled. One of the reporters rushed to the secured perimeter. She’d gotten the word fast and hustled on down here. Then, that was her job. Gina Coleman had connections. Connections she had worked hard to cultivate. Her methods often skirted the boundaries of propriety, but he couldn’t knock her for that. He’d been known to skate around that precarious perimeter himself.
He motioned for the officer to allow her through. Protests rumbled through the crowd. Reporters hated it when cops played favorites. What could he say? He’d shared a hell of a lot more than a story with this woman. He owed her. He glanced at his SUV where Jess waited. She would have questions and she wouldn’t be happy he’d made her wait.
“Thanks.” Gina’s gaze swept over him the way it always did, as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages and she was prepared to take up where they’d left off. “I realize most of whatever happened in there can’t be released yet.”
