by Debra Webb
Billy shrugged. “I sure as hell don’t and no one else we’ve asked has admitted to knowing him.” A frown furrowed his brow. “Did you ask Burt about him?”
Rowan nodded. “I did. He just shook his head, said he couldn’t be sure. I can’t believe he would lie to me. But then...” She gestured to the board. “Look at all this.”
“Maybe he wasn’t as much lying as trying to figure out the best way to approach the truth. Then again, he may have been attempting to come to some conclusions before he shared whatever he’d found.”
Rowan had been certain she did not possess the wherewithal or the desire to smile and yet somehow she smiled. Billy was right. Burt was her friend. He had known her for her whole life. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had been doing all this. She refused to believe otherwise. At least, not at this point. For now, she only knew that they needed to find that reason. She couldn’t bear the idea of adding another name to the betrayal column.
“You’re a good man, Billy Brannigan. You see the best in everyone. Thanks for the reminder.” She needed to see the good right now. There were so many layers of lies and secrets and tragedies hovering over and around her and the people she had thought she knew. Heaping any more onto the pile was simply more than she could bear.
“Keep in mind I’m not letting him off the hook that easily, but I’m all for going with giving him the benefit of the doubt until we see differently. Burt was a good man.”
“He was.” She had already taken a photo of his board and a close-up of the man who was in that photograph with her mother she had found at Herman’s house.
She had ensured the lists of names and other notes were legible in the photos she captured. No matter how she looked at it, this didn’t feel right. Burt was generally brutally honest. Why would he hide any of this from her? Why not discuss his thoughts or the names he’d listed? This—she peered at the barrage of photos and notes—was not his style.
“Ro, we need to talk.”
Pushing aside the troubling thoughts, she turned to Billy, hadn’t realized until that moment that he was staring at her. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.”
The worry on his face sent a new ache piercing through her. She really had brought so much trouble to his door. She thought of his mother and how badly she wanted a wedding and grandchildren. Rowan could hardly see how the woman still wanted any of those things with Rowan involved. She had been nothing but trouble for Billy. And yet his family continued to treat her as if she was part of them.
“What’s happened?” His hesitation rather than launching into whatever they needed to talk about amped up her anxiety even more.
“This morning a jogger discovered a body in the cemetery.”
Dread welled inside her. “A murder victim?”
He nodded. “Male. No ID on him. But he looks familiar. I’ll need you to confirm, but I believe it’s the bearded man who helped you out of that situation with Henegar and Thackerson. If it’s not him, this guy damned sure looks like the one in the drawing.”
Images from that night flashed like a bad movie in Rowan’s mind. She had been certain the bearded bald man had come to kill her. That Julian had sent him to do what he was too much of a coward to do himself. Instead, the man had killed the two women who had abducted her. He’d rescued her from certain death. The two women had already been guilty of murder and they were desperate. Desperation had made them even more reckless and dangerous. That desperation had also gotten them killed.
“Someone killed him?” Rowan had assumed she would never see the bearded bald man again. The artist rendering had garnered no hits anywhere. The image hadn’t matched with any found in their accessible databases.
“Someone put a bullet in the back of his head. God only knows where since the killing didn’t happen where we found him. The shooter brought him to the cemetery and left him lying across your momma’s grave.”
With all that had happened in the past year, Rowan had felt reasonably confident that nothing else could shock her and yet somehow this news did. “Do you think it was Julian?”
Saying his name aloud made her throat tighten. She had asked herself a hundred times already when he would stop. When he would come directly after her and stop killing others to get her attention or to accomplish some end only he could see.
Deep inside where she still felt compelled to keep things from Billy she knew the answer. Julian was never going to stop until someone stopped him. Rowan had no doubt that the someone would have to be her.
“More likely one of his thugs,” Billy said. “This guy—Crash Layton—wouldn’t have been easily overtaken. I can’t see Addington, at his age, putting himself in a position like that with a guy as capable as Layton.”
“If this Layton had a record, why didn’t we get something on him before?”
“It was an old A and B charge, from when he was thirty. He had hair and no beard in the mug shot so there was no face match. We didn’t have prints or a name.”
Rowan squared her shoulders and asked the next relevant question, the one that had dread expanding even wider inside her. “Did you find a note?”
Julian had placed notes to Rowan in plastic baggies and shoved them deep into the mouths of victims. The memory sent a shudder through her.
“Not in the usual place. I asked Ledbetter to look him over closely before shipping him off to the lab.” Billy held her gaze. “He called a few minutes ago to let me know he’d found something I needed to see. This Layton character has the same sorts of tattoos Santos had, including the one with your mother’s name.”
The dread slipped away only to be replaced by an icy awareness. “I need to see him.”
Rather than start for the door, Billy hesitated. “There’s more.”
Rowan felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Let’s hear it.”
“When my officers were canvassing the folks who live or operate businesses near the cemetery, they found a witness who saw a man in the cemetery last evening. When she spoke to him, he reacted by rushing away.”
Rowan held her breath. “Was it Julian?”
Billy gave his head a negligible shake. “The witness ID’d a photo I pulled up from an internet search. If she’s right, the man was Dressler.”
Rowan held up her hands. “Wait. You’re saying Dressler was here. In that cemetery last night?”
He nodded. “Standing at your family plot.”
“Where the body was found?” The answer was one she already knew, but at the moment she didn’t trust her reasoning powers.
“Yes. But the body wasn’t there when the woman saw Dressler so we can’t be sure he had anything to do with it.”
This made no sense. “Why would he come here without contacting one of us? Why would he be hiding out from his own people?”
The answer slammed into her chest before Billy could say a word in response.
“We were right.” She held his gaze, the same certainty in his that she felt deep in her gut. “There is a leak in his office and he knows it. He’s fallen off the grid to get the answers he needs.”
“That’s my guess.” Billy stared for a moment at his hat. “The man in charge now, this Agent Pryor, he insists that the final call made to Dressler’s phone before he disappeared was from your phone.”
The meaning behind the statement didn’t sink in at first, then it abruptly did—like a sledgehammer blasting into a wall set for demolition. “He thinks I called Dressler?”
“I told him he was wrong, that there had to be another explanation, but he says the cell phone records show the call came from your phone and a tower in Winchester.”
“He’s either lying or the records are wrong.” Her phone had not been out of her sight in the past twenty-four hours. Except for when she took a shower. A frown nagged at her brow. And when she went down to let Dottie in with her casser
ole. But Billy had been right upstairs in the shower. She said as much to him now.
“We can’t rule out the possibility that someone got in somehow or that there’s some sort of technology someone outside the funeral home could have used to somehow piggyback off your phone to make that call. The feds will have to figure out that one.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “Whatever they have planned to get to the bottom of the call, Pryor and his people are on their way to Winchester. They’re reopening a field office and he wants to see you first thing when he arrives.”
“Again?” They did not need Pryor and his people nosing into every step she or Billy or his team made. She especially did not need another federal agent making her feel guilty for something she didn’t do.
“Unfortunately.” Billy was clearly not happy about the news either. “For now, let’s get over to the morgue and have a look at Layton. Then I’ll go to Tullahoma and have a look around his place.”
“You have an address for him?”
Billy grinned. “I do. And I also have justifiable cause to enter the premises.”
Rowan grabbed her bag. “I’m going with you.”
“I’ll just deputize you en route—that way we won’t have any issues come up later about scene contamination or anything annoying like that.”
Rowan was the one grinning this time. Billy was a quick learner. She’d pulled that on him before. Told him she couldn’t enter a scene without risking later ramifications. He’d promptly deputized her.
Whatever worked.
The hospital was only a few minutes away and the morgue was on the lowest level. Rowan made pickups here. No one liked having a patient die in the hospital but it happened. Unless foul play was suspected or an autopsy was needed for some other reason, the funeral home picked up the deceased directly from the morgue.
Lucky Ledbetter met them at the door marked Morgue.
“Hey, Chief, Dr. DuPont.” He opened the door wide for them to enter. “This way.”
Rowan had been to the morgue, but she usually didn’t have to go inside. She let the attendant know she was outside, and he brought the body to her. Just down the corridor on the left was the pickup and delivery entrance. It was a similar setup to what she had at the funeral home.
The morgue was small with only the basic equipment. More a holding area before the deceased moved on, either to the lab or to the family’s preferred funeral home. While she and Billy stood by, Ledbetter pulled the gurney from the small refrigeration unit. Judging by what she saw beyond the open door, the unit was about the same size as the one in the funeral home.
“I told Ledbetter,” Billy said, drawing her attention to him, “we’d need to do more than peek into the bag at Layton.”
Billy was right. Rowan would want to take photos as well. Comparing them to those Santos had sported was imperative. Having Layton on a gurney would work far better.
Ledbetter pulled the drape down to the man’s waist. “There aren’t any below this point.” He gestured to the tattoos around the victim’s navel.
The markings on his skin were very similar to the ones she had discovered on the body of Santos, the man—killer, presumably—who had curated all those faces and skins.
Rowan removed her phone and started snapping pics immediately. She imagined that as soon as Pryor’s people found out about this guy they would take control of the body. The tattoos were almost identical to those on the body of Santos. They were different but she would need to compare the photos to determine exactly how. When she had finished with those on the front of his torso, Ledbetter rolled him onto his side so she could photograph the back.
For a moment Rowan could only stare. The vine tattoo extended over his shoulder and down his back just as it had on Santos. Her mother’s name, Norah, was encircled by that thorny vine of roses. What did this mean? Were Santos and this man, Crash Layton, somehow connected to her mother through some vow or alliance? Former lovers? Members of the same bizarre killing club?
When she’d finished, Ledbetter eased the man down onto his back. “I did find one other thing, Chief.”
As Rowan and Billy watched, Ledbetter moved the man’s right arm and pointed to a small mark on his side.
“Someone Tasered him,” Rowan said almost to herself.
“Sure looks that way,” the deputy coroner agreed.
“Thanks, Ledbetter,” Billy said. “Now I know how the shooter disabled him without the usual signs of a struggle.”
If only the rest of this mystery would be so easily solved.
Before leaving, Rowan moved through her photos until she reached the ones she had taken in Burt’s home. She might as well follow up on this photo while she was here.
“Lucky, do you know who this man is?” She showed him the photo she had snapped of the photograph on Burt’s board. “It looks fairly old. There was no date or name.”
Ledbetter studied the screen for a moment and then nodded. “I don’t know much about him, but I remember that when I first came to work with Burt, this guy would drop by the clinic once a week or so with information.”
“What sort of information?” Billy asked, joining the discussion.
“Where he saw stray animals, dogs, cats, whatever, in need of help. Any he spotted that were being abused. He kept Burt informed about animals all over the city.” Ledbetter grinned. “Back in the day, Burt would show up wielding a baseball bat and demand to take custody of the animal. If I remember correctly, this guy would help him. I think he was homeless. Lived on the streets so he saw things maybe others didn’t.”
Billy and Rowan exchanged a look.
“He didn’t work for Burt?” Rowan asked. “Here or at one of the veterinary clinics?”
He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t. I think Burt gave him money for food and bought him clothes sometimes. That was about it.”
“You don’t remember his name?”
“Burt just called him Tex. I’m not sure if that was part of his real name or just a nickname.”
“When was the last time you saw Tex?” Billy asked.
“It’s been a while. At least a couple of years. He might have moved away. The homeless do that, you know. Or he could be dead. Burt never mentioned him.”
“Thanks, Ledbetter,” Billy said. “Maybe you can check with some of the folks at the clinics and see if they remember him or know what happened to him.”
“I’ll do it, Chief.”
When they were in the corridor once more, Rowan said, “I think Burt was trying to help and he was waiting until he had something worth showing or telling before he came to me with it.” The conclusion made far more sense than anything else.
“I agree.”
As they exited the building Billy resettled his hat into place. “Let’s find out what Mr. Crash Layton kept around his house.”
Rowan couldn’t help hoping that this time they would find some definitive answers rather than more questions.
* * *
The trailer park wasn’t actually in Tullahoma but it had a Tullahoma address. This particular area fell within Franklin County borders. Billy had called Sheriff Colt Tanner and given him a heads-up on what he was doing. Finding the exact location for the trailer park wasn’t quite so easy. Thank God for GPS. No matter that Billy had been forced to turn around several times when even the GPS got confused, Rowan doubted they would have found the place without the device.
Rowan surveyed the small neighborhood that was no doubt one of the oldest surviving trailer parks in the tricounty area. At least one junked car sat in each of the gravel drives alongside what appeared to be a working vehicle. Trash cans were overflowing. And most of the metal box homes on wheels were in sad need of a paint job or other repairs.
Not exactly home sweet home but it was far and away better than a place like tent city.
Layton’s home was the four
th on the left. Looked like the typical midcentury mobile home. Approximately ten feet wide and four or five times that in length. The mint-green paint, obviously not the original, was peeling or missing altogether revealing the original tan color.
There was no vehicle in the drive. No way to know where it ended up. According to the DMV, Layton owned a motorcycle and a vintage truck. Billy had put out an APB on both. If Layton had been in his truck when he encountered the shooter, the truck may have been the primary crime scene. Based on what Billy had told her, the cemetery certainly was not.
“Stay in the truck until I see what we have here,” he ordered.
Rowan started to argue with him but understood that it would only waste time. Billy was hardheaded when it came to her safety. Instead of protesting, she powered down her window and said, “Fine.”
Billy climbed out and walked over to the front door. There was no porch, just a small stoop. Standing to one side of the door, he pounded a couple of times on the door. He waited. Rowan strained to hear any noise beyond the thin metal walls.
Thankfully the neighbors had opted to stay inside their homes. Rowan hoped they stayed smart that way. The knocking stirred up a couple of dogs in the neighborhood.
Another couple of knocks went unanswered. Rowan was biting her lower lip by the time Billy reached for the knob and gave it a turn. The door opened and he glanced back at Rowan.
His weapon drawn, he peeked inside and shouted, “Anybody home?”
Rowan’s nerves jangled when he disappeared through the door, leaving it open. She clutched her phone, ready to call for help if necessary. Finally, he reappeared at the door and motioned for her to join him.
Rowan scrambled out and hurried to the door. “You see anything?”
“Not on my initial sweep. Let’s walk through a little slower. Do some poking around.”
He passed her a pair of latex gloves and she pulled them on while he did the same.
“I’ll start in the back,” Rowan offered.
