by D P Lyle
“How’s it going?” I asked.
He looked at me and blinked as if clearing his eyes. Then, a flash of recognition. “You’re the guy I saw over at the police station.”
“Guilty,” I said.
“You that Hollywood dude? One that’s making that movie?”
“You might say that. I’m Jake Longly.”
“I’m Angus.”
We shook hands.
“I know,” I said.
“You do?”
I smiled. “You’re some kind of celebrity around here. At least over at the police station.”
He laughed and slapped a knee. “That I am.”
The bartender swiped a towel across the bar and asked, “What can I get you?”
“Blantons on the rocks. And whatever my friend is having.”
“Got it. One Blantons and one gin with lime.”
“Thanks,” Angus said.
“My pleasure.”
“I hear you guys are doing some film thing on Billy Wayne Baker. That true?”
“Actually, it’s more about what Billy Wayne did to this community.”
Angus shook his head. “He sure did a number.” His eyebrows gave a couple of bounces. “Enough to drive a man to drink.” He drained the drink before him.
The bartender replaced it and slid my bourbon toward me.
“Want to join me and my friend at a table?” I nodded toward Pancake, sitting at a table on the deck, chatting with Laurie Mae.
“Really?” Angus said.
“Really.”
I waved a hand toward the bartender and indicated we were moving. He eased us away with a nod.
I introduced Pancake.
“I saw you over at the police station, too,” Angus said. “When was that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t matter. One day’s like the other.” He gave a head bob and a lopsided grin. “Pancake, huh? Ain’t never knowed anyone by that name.”
“Me either,” Pancake said.
“What happened to your face?” Angus asked Pancake.
“Alcohol and a bicycle.”
Angus laughed, slapped his leg again. “Been there. ’Course I broke my nose.” He wagged his head. “You’d think I’d have learned, but truth be told, I’ve done that twice.” Another laugh. “That was wine. I stay away from wine now.”
“Remind me not to ride bikes with you two,” I said.
Angus looked at me. “It just now come to me. Jake Longly. You that baseball player?”
“Long time ago.”
“I remember. Texas Rangers.” He shook his head. “My brain works that way. I forget stuff. Then I remember it. You were good.”
“I had a couple of okay years.”
Laurie Mae returned with a bourbon for Pancake. “Get you guys anything to eat?”
Angus and I declined. Not so Pancake.
“Nachos,” Pancake said. “Maybe some calamari.”
She headed toward the kitchen.
“What’s your take on Billy Wayne Baker?” I asked Angus.
“Pure evil is what that boy was. As pure as ever can be.”
I nodded.
“I mean sneaking in here and killing all those folks.” He took a slug of gin.
“You knew the victims, I’m sure.”
“Sure did.” He scratched an ear. “’Course I know everyone around here.” He laughed. “Comes from spending so much time here at Woody’s. Everybody comes in here.”
“This your favorite watering hole?” Pancake asked.
“One of them, that’s for sure.” He cupped his glass of gin like it was a treasure. “But, yeah, I knew all the victims. I guess I knew Loretta Swift best.”
“She and Peter seemed to take care of you,” I said. “Whenever you end up crashing over at the jail.”
He nodded and smiled. “That’s a fact.”
“You spend a lot of time there?” I asked. “At the jail?”
“Well, it beats driving home. Not that it’s that far, but I ain’t usually in no condition to operate a motor vehicle.”
“I bet Chief Morgan appreciates that,” I said.
“He’s a good man. And he don’t mind me hanging around. Most times, leastwise.” He gave a half shake of his head. “Can’t say the same for Clark and Munson.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Oh, they’re all right, I suspect. But they do get all bent out of shape sometimes.” He scratched an ear. “Aren’t very nice about asking me to leave.” He smiled. “But the chief likes me. I think he considers me sort of a mascot.” Another laugh, another leg slap.
“How often do you end up there?”
“Three, four nights a week. Some afternoons, too.”
“Oh?”
“If I drink lunch, I sometimes need a nap before happy hour.” He laughed and slapped his knee yet again. I guessed that was his signature move. Bet he had the bruises to prove it.
“Bet that doesn’t sit well with Frank Clark and Terry Munson,” I said.
“Sure don’t. Sometimes they’ll roust me early in the morning. Tell me the jail ain’t no motel. Like I don’t know that.” He shook his head. “And I like to sleep in.”
I smiled. “Maybe they need the space.”
“For what? Ain’t never no one there except me.” He rubbed one side of his nose. “They just like to flash their badges. Their asses, too.”
I laughed.
“Like the night they brought those three girls in,” Angus said. “The ones that were shoplifting. Seemed to me they might’ve had more on their mind than messing with me.”
“What happened?” Pancake asked.
“I was in there sleeping. I’d had a late lunch, or was it an early dinner? Anyway, I got tanked and went over there and napped. They brought those girls in. They told me to get out.” He looked out toward the marina. “Guess they didn’t want me around them. Acting like I was some dirt ball or something.”
“Maybe the girls were uncomfortable.”
“Don’t see why. I’m pretty harmless.” He gave me a grin. “Most the time. Anyway, they wasn’t very nice about it.”
“So you left?” I asked.
“Sure did.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me. Places that let you wander in and sleep aren’t all that easy to come by.”
“Smart move,” I said.
“They was in a pissy mood. In fact”—he hesitated, stared at the floor—“was that the same night?” He gave a quick head shake. “Sometimes I get things mixed up.” He looked at me. “My memory ain’t always the best.”
“So what happened?” Pancake asked.
“When?” Angus’ face wore a confused look.
“You said something else happened that night.”
“See? That’s what I mean.” Then his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as if he were thinking back to that night. Then he nodded. “Yeah, come to think of it, I do believe it was the same night.” He paused, started to say more, but before a single word came out, he straightened his shoulders, looking toward the restaurant’s entrance. His head dropped. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about nothing.”
I followed his gaze. Clark and Munson walked in. They saw us and came our way.
“Please tell me you guys aren’t feeding Angus alcohol,” Clark said.
“I think he’s feeding himself,” Pancake said.
Angus raised his glass. “My favorite food group.”
Munson tilted his head toward Angus. “I guess we’ll see you later tonight.”
“Nope.” Angus shook his head. “Pizza night. With my mom.” He glanced at me. “She’s eighty-three. Still lives by herself. I go over once a week, bring pizza, and we watch old movies. She loves Tracy and Hepburn. So, I’ll probably crash over there.”
“Care to join us?” I asked them.
Munson shook his head. “No. Thanks though. I’m meeting someone.”
“Another time.”
“I’ll sit a spell,” Clark said.
/> “See you later,” Munson said and walked away.
Clark dragged a chair out and sat.
Angus drained his drink and stood. “I hate to leave you boys but I got to get over to the pizza place. It’s been a pleasure.” His head gave a couple of bobs. “You guys can buy me drinks anytime.” He laughed and waved over his shoulder as he weaved away.
“He’s a character,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” Clark said. “He’s all that.”
Laurie Mae appeared. “Get you anything?” she asked Clark.
“Iced tea.” He glanced at me. “I got the duty tonight.”
Pancake and I decided on anther round.
“Thanks for today,” I said to Clark. “We appreciate you guys being so open with us.”
He shrugged. “Hope it helps some.”
“It does.”
I saw Munson climb on a barstool next to a thin brunette. Clark followed my gaze.
“Terry’s got a date tonight.”
“I hear he’s a bit of a ladies’ man.”
“Been that way since high school. Women love him.” Clark looked at me. “Sort of reminds me of you. I suspect you’ve had good-looking women after you your whole life.”
Pancake laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. Of course, with Nicole, he’s punching way above his weight.”
“My friend,” I said.
Clark laughed.
The drinks arrived. Clark stirred in a couple of packs of sugar and took a gulp.
“Can I ask you something?” Clark said. “About Billy Wayne?”
“Sure.”
“Back a couple of years. When he confessed and got packed off to Raiford. I heard from a prosecutor up there that he had made waves about not doing some of the murders. One or two. I forget.” He looked at me. “You guys hear anything like that?”
Was he fishing? Worried about us being on his turf? Maybe uncovering his misdeeds?
“No,” I said.
Pancake nodded his agreement. “Who would believe him anyway? Not to mention, he did confess to all the murders.”
“He sort of had to,” Clark said. “He did leave his DNA everywhere.”
“That makes any denial on his part moot, I would think,” I said.
“Sure does.” Clark sighed. “I just wondered if any of your research uncovered anything like that?”
“No. And that’s not what we really care about. Our film isn’t about him. It’s about this town and the people here.” I looked at him. “It’s your story we want to tell.”
Clark nodded. “Good. This town don’t want to hear much more about Billy Wayne.” He drained his tea. “Guess I better get to my rounds.” He stood. “Make sure everyone’s behaving themselves.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NICOLE AND RAY showed up a little before six thirty. She looked stunning. She wore black tights with just a hint of a gray geometric pattern and a red RGP shirt. Her hair freshly washed and parted down the middle framed her face like two silk curtains. She attracted even more than her usual attention. Ray looked like Ray, his shirt slate gray.
Munson and his date had left shortly after Clark while Pancake had spent the past half hour flirting with Laurie Mae, even setting up a date for after she got off at ten. He also skeletonized a rack of ribs. This after demolishing the nachos and calamari he had ordered earlier. I got maybe three chips and one wad of squiggly legs. Both were good. Pancake obviously agreed. Though his food filter is suspect. He loves everything. Just so there’s a lot of it.
We had also knocked back a few more bourbons. I had a nice warm buzz going. Nicole obviously saw the signs, as she laid a hand on my arm when she sat and said, “Looks like we’re having a fun evening.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Have a couple of those margaritas and it’ll be epic.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
Pancake’s love of all things food was underlined when Betty Lou took our orders. Pancake went for the barbecued chicken, potato salad, beans, and cornbread. The rest of us had fish tacos.
Betty Lou soon returned with our drinks, including Nicole’s large salt-rimmed margarita. As she passed them around, she asked, “How’s everything going?”
“Fine,” I said.
“You talked with any of the folks I gave you?”
“All of them,” I said.
“Good.” She placed the final drink on the table in front of Ray and clamped the tray against her side with one arm. “I got a couple of more that might help.”
Nicole pulled a notepad from her purse. “Fire.”
“Whitney Wilkins. She works over at the bakery. She can give you some insight into Peter and Charlaine.”
“We met her briefly when we were over there,” Nicole said as she scribbled down the name. “Are they an item? Peter and Charlaine?”
Betty Lou smiled. “Not that I know. But they damn sure should be. Neither of them has anyone and Charlaine’s so much like her sister. To my eye they’d be a natural.” She shook her head. “But what do I know?”
“Probably a lot,” Nicole said. “And from what little I saw of them, I agree with you.” She winked at Betty Lou. “I got the impression there’s something going on there.”
“Lordy, I hope so.” She gave a hearty laugh. When it settled, she continued with her list. “Then you could chat with Sally Foster. Lives next door to the Clarks. She probably knew Sara better than anyone.” She watched as Nicole wrote down the name. “And maybe Patti Ryan over at the bank. She and Noleen were good friends.” A busboy came by and took the service tray from her. “That’s about all I can think of now.”
“This helps,” Nicole said.
Betty Lou smiled, gave a quick nod, and walked away.
After dinner, we took the stairs down to the water-side gazebo. With the bourbons and cigars Betty Lou foisted on us. With little resistance on our part.
The gazebo had become our office of sorts. Seemed like we often found our way here. And why not? It was comfortable, more or less private this time of night, and had a great view of the boat-filled harbor, now cast in soft moonlight.
We barely got our cigars lit when Ray jumped right in.
“Sounds like Billy Wayne confirmed we’re on the right track,” he said.
“As close as he could without coming right out with it,” I said. “But we really knew that already.”
Which was true. None of the other killings offered any reasonable opportunity to stage two murders. The geography alone made that close to impossible. What I had really hoped to get from Billy Wayne was who he thought did the staging. But, again, logic only pointed in one direction—Frank Clark. The old motive, means, and opportunity triad.
“We had an interesting encounter with Frank Clark,” I said.
“When?” Ray asked.
“Just before you guys got here. He sat with us for a few minutes. He asked if we knew anything about Billy Wayne denying any of the murders.”
“He did?”
“Sure did,” Pancake said.
“What did you tell him?” Ray asked.
“That we haven’t heard anything like that,” I said.
“Good.” Ray took several puffs from his cigar and waved away the smoke cloud. “You think he was fishing? Trying to see what we knew?”
“That was my impression. He didn’t look nervous or anything like that, but it did seem to be out of the blue.”
“Maybe he’s starting to regret us being here.”
“You think he might shut us down?” Nicole asked. “Stop cooperating?”
Ray seemed to give that some thought. “He might. Wouldn’t be smart on his part though. Better to keep us close, I’d think.”
“Like the Godfather,” Nicole said. “Friends close and enemies closer.”
“Exactly,” Ray said. He took a sip of bourbon. “But we have a problem.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Every case has a linchpin. Where things intersect. Where the motives and the murd
ers mesh tightly.” Another sip of bourbon. “Our problem is that we have no connection between Frank Clark and Noleen Kovac. If we’re going to buy into Clark being the killer, we need to find that connection.”
I took a sip of whiskey, laid my cigar on the edge of the table. “To be honest, I haven’t seen or heard anything that suggested that he and his wife weren’t a solid couple. No hint of trouble.”
“Closed doors and all,” Pancake said. “It’s out there. We just haven’t found it yet.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Got to be, if he’s the killer.”
“Which brings us back to Noleen Kovac,” Ray said. “Clark having marriage trouble? Killing his wife? I get that. But why Kovac?”
“A cover?” I said. “Like Pancake said before.”
Ray looked at Pancake. “Go on.”
Pancake nodded to me. “I’ll let Jake take it.”
“Pancake and I talked about it earlier. Our thinking is this. Let’s say Clark wanted his wife dead? Money, girlfriend, for whatever reason. Billy Wayne comes along. He sees an opportunity. A good cover. Loretta Swift’s murder offers DNA evidence. Exactly what he needs to stage Sara’s murder as one of Billy Wayne’s.”
“And no matter how much Billy Wayne denied it,” Pancake said, “after he was caught, of course, no one would believe him. DNA doesn’t lie.”
“If Clark only killed his wife,” I said, “and if the killer was caught and denied doing it, there could be some scrutiny of Sara Clark’s murder. Remember, the FBI was involved so Clark might not’ve been able to keep it in house. But throw in Noleen Kovac and things are more complex. Less focus on Clark.”
“You’re saying Clark selected Noleen at random?” Ray asked. “As random as things can be in a town this size? But at least someone he had no history with. Other than small-town cop and citizen.”
“Just throwing out ideas,” I said. “But wouldn’t two murders, one with little connection to Clark, deflect some of the attention that might be directed his way?”
“Sure would,” Ray said. He pointed his cigar at me. “That’s a clever idea.”
“It was Pancake’s idea,” I said. “But, let’s say that’s true. How do we approach this? Without raising anyone’s hackles?”
“We’re going to have to do exactly that,” Ray said. “Don’t see any way around it. We need to ask questions that might make some folks uncomfortable. Even question our purpose for being here.”
