by Debby Giusti
The police sergeant who answered his inquiry seemed less than willing to search through the files of missing women. He sighed over the phone when Dawson pressed the issue. “Do you know how many missing-persons cases are reported in Atlanta each year?”
Dawson got the message. He thanked the sergeant for his time and, on a hunch, called the Atlanta newspaper. The night-shift reporter who answered was more accommodating than the cop, but what he told Dawson was equally frustrating. Jessica Baxter had retired from the paper five years earlier.
Dawson was batting zero. “Any chance you could contact Ms. Baxter? Tell her the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman is interested in information about the MLK Missing Women.” He provided his name and cell number, but feared the message would never be relayed and would prove to be another dead end.
Discouraged, Dawson returned to Lillie’s office and stared out the window, wondering what the new day would bring. Hopefully, Leonard Simpson would confirm the story Granger had provided. A lot of years had passed, and the trail of the missing women could be not only cold, but completely obscured by time.
While Lillie slept, Dawson retrieved his gym bag and a change of clothes he kept in his car and used the shower facilities outside the duty NCO’s office. Dawson accepted a box of doughnuts from Sergeant Murphy.
Returning to Lillie’s office, Dawson perked a fresh pot of coffee. As he drank the first cup, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Lillie’s sweet face. Her beauty was more than surface. Over the past twenty-four hours, he had seen glimpses of the inner strength and courage that made him admire not only her beauty but also her resolve to learn more about her past. Yet that determination could also get her in trouble if she charged into areas that were outside her realm of expertise. For her own safety, Lillie needed to leave the investigation to him.
As first light of dawn warmed the distant sky, Dawson touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open.
“You fell asleep.” He smiled at the mix of emotions that played over her face, first confusion, then recognition, then embarrassment as she pushed aside the throw and pulled herself up to a sitting position.
She raked her fingers through her hair in an attempt to adjust the wayward strands into a semblance of order. The beguiling locks invited his touch. He stepped back to ensure he didn’t succumb to the temptation.
“You should have awakened me earlier,” she said. “I closed my eyes for a moment, never expecting to sleep all night.”
“You were exhausted.” He handed her a filled mug. “See how you like my coffee.”
She took a sip and smiled. “Perfect.”
Dawson pointed to the box of doughnuts. “Sergeant Murphy stopped by the bakery this morning and brought back breakfast.”
“Did he ask what we were working on all night?”
“I told him you were on a deadline for a project the general wanted.”
She raised her brow. “Stretching the truth?”
“Isn’t the general interested in getting to the bottom of Granger’s murder?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, so are we.”
Lillie tilted her head. “You changed clothes?”
He nodded. “And showered downstairs.”
“Were you on the internet the rest of the night?”
He shrugged. “I closed my eyes for a few minutes.”
“I think you’re stretching the truth just as you did with Sergeant Murphy.” Lillie glanced at her computer. “Did you find anything new?”
“The significance of the mid-January disappearances. Each of the three Atlanta women disappeared over the Martin Luther King holiday.”
Lillie’s eyes grew wide. “The kid who claimed his brother buried women in steel drums talked to the bar owner over the MLK weekend.”
“That’s right.” Dawson handed her Jessica Baxter’s article. “I also found this.”
Lillie quickly read the piece. “Call the newspaper and talk to the reporter. She might have more information.”
Dawson almost smiled at her enthusiasm. “I already did. Unfortunately, Ms. Baxter retired from journalism a number of years ago. The guy I talked to said he’d pass on my message, but I’m not holding my breath.”
He handed Lillie the picture of Billy Everett. “Does he look familiar?”
She shook her head. “Growing up, I didn’t know many people in Freemont. My foster parents lived in the country. After my mother’s body was unearthed, I was homeschooled.”
“What about the missing Atlanta women? Anything familiar about their names?”
“Nothing comes to mind. Do you think their disappearances have bearing on my mother’s death?”
“Granger made note of their names, so he must have thought there was a connection. I plan to drive to Atlanta today and talk to the convict.”
“Leonard Simpson, the man Granger knew?”
“That’s right. I want to hear the story from his own lips and then track down his father. Hopefully he might be able to provide more information.”
“Which could lead to my mother’s killer?”
“You said you were born in Atlanta, Lillie. Maybe the killer knew her there and followed her to Freemont.”
Her face clouded. “Are you sure you’re not making too much of a leap between what happened to my mother and the three women who disappeared in Atlanta?”
“What else do we have to go on?”
She placed the mug on the table and rubbed her hands over her arms. “How’s Billy Everett play into the picture?”
Dawson shrugged. “The motel clerk saw him hanging around town. Granger was looking for information about your mother’s murder. He could have contacted Everett.”
Lillie nodded. “And Everett could have told the killer that Granger was snooping around.”
“It’s hard to know what’s relevant, but the important thing right now is to keep you safe. You need some place to stay while I’m out of town. Do you have a girlfriend you could visit?”
She shook her head.
“What about your foster parents?”
“They live in the country and are getting on in years. I don’t want them brought into the situation.”
“They love you, Lillie.”
“And I love them, which is exactly why I want them kept out of this. Besides, I’m going with you to Atlanta.”
“No way.”
“I’m as involved as you are, Dawson, maybe more so.”
“A prison’s not the place for a woman.”
“Then I’ll wait outside in the car.”
“You’re staying in Freemont.”
“I’ll follow you to Atlanta. You can’t stop me.”
Working on her own, Lillie could get into a lot of trouble, especially with someone on the loose who wanted to do her harm.
Keeping Lillie close was the only way Dawson knew to keep her safe, and the most important job was doing just that.
* * *
Sitting next to Dawson in the passenger seat, Lillie realized she might have made a mistake to insist on going with him to Atlanta. He hadn’t wanted her to tag along, but she wanted access to the information he might not otherwise share with her. She seemed to be the only one insisting they were in this investigation together. Dawson was always encouraging her to stay safe while he put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Leaving Freemont, they had stopped at her house so she could change out of her slept-in clothes from yesterday. Once on the highway, Dawson remained silent, as if focusing on something other than the headstrong woman sitting next to him.
Lillie watched the mile markers tick off their progress. By midmorning, they had accessed the connector into the heart of the downtown area and, after a series of turns, pulled into the parking lot at the s
tate prison.
Looking through the car window, Lillie sucked in a shaky breath, feeling intimidated by the huge stone structure. Entering the building seemed even more threatening.
After Dawson signed them in, two prison guards escorted them through a maze of security checks. Sliding steel doors opened, allowing them access into a series of protective barriers, and then clanged shut behind them as they headed deeper and deeper into the interior of the confinement facility.
Lillie’s neck tingled with apprehension. She glanced at Dawson, who must have been aware of her unease. He placed his hand on the small of her back and drew her ever so slightly closer as their footfalls echoed down the long, tiled corridor.
Finally seated at an interrogation table, they watched as Leonard Simpson, in his late forties with a receding hairline and pasty complexion, was ushered into the room.
After introducing himself and explaining he was on official CID business, Dawson asked the convict a number of questions about how he had known Granger Ford and the various topics they had talked about while incarcerated.
Eventually Dawson wove his way to the reason for their visit. “Granger said your father owned a bar in Atlanta and mentioned a bizarre story that involved three Atlanta women and steel drums.”
A spark of interest flashed from the convict’s eyes. “The drunken college kid who spilled his guts one night about the three prostitutes.”
Leonard shook his head as if even he couldn’t believe the kid’s stupidity. “Everyone thinks a guy that goes to college is supersmart. That’s what Granger thought. Always talking about his own kid who got a degree through the military.”
A muscle in Dawson’s jaw twitched.
“I got tired of hearing about what a good kid he was and how proud Granger was of him.” Simpson glanced at Lillie. “You know what I mean?”
“What...what else did he say about his son?” Lillie asked.
“Granger’s former girlfriend didn’t let him contact his son. Some kind of deal they made. It ate at him. Probably why Granger talked about the kid so much. Especially after he got involved with the Christian prison ministry.” Leonard sniffed and eyed Lillie. “You know how people are after they get religion. They want everyone to know about the mistakes they’ve made. How they need to do something good to make it up to the person they hurt.”
Lillie glanced at Dawson. She could see the tension in his neck and the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table.
“How had Granger hurt his son?” she asked.
“Not being there for the kid. Granger said the Lord had forgiven him, but he needed to beg forgiveness from his son as well.” Simpson flicked dust off the table and stretched back in the chair. “Fact was, Granger believed what the chaplain told him about God’s love and mercy. When his case was overturned, Granger was sure God had given him a second chance. Said he was going to find the real killer so his son would know the truth.”
Dawson let out a ragged breath and then leaned across the table. “Let’s go back to the college kid in the bar. What did he tell your father that night?”
“That his brother killed three hookers and buried them in steel drums.” Simpson pursed his lips. “Upset my dad real bad. He didn’t know what to do.”
Dawson continued the questioning until, seemingly satisfied with the information, he finally asked, “Did your father ever see the college kid again?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Which is exactly what I plan to do.”
Leonard provided his parents’ address before the prison guard prepared to escort him back to his cell.
The convict sniffed, his eyes on Lillie. “If...if you see my parents, tell them I’m okay.”
“Maybe you should consider talking to the chaplain,” she offered. “The lessons Granger learned about love and mercy are for all God’s children.”
Simpson narrowed his gaze. “Just tell my mama to keep praying for me.”
Dawson remained silent as they left the prison grounds. Lillie knew he was probably thinking about his father. He needed time to process what he had heard, especially about Granger being proud of Dawson.
“I could use a cup of coffee,” he finally admitted as they headed through the downtown section of Atlanta.
She spied a colorful awning in the distance. “There’s a coffee shop in the upcoming block on the right.”
They parked on the street. Once inside, Dawson pointed her toward a table by the window while he stood in line to place their order.
Lillie glanced at the stream of traffic outside, noting a number of light-colored SUVs with tinted windows. Although she should have felt safe, she couldn’t shake the anxiety that had wrapped around her ever since entering the prison.
A few Saturday shoppers walked along the sidewalk, carrying purchases in plastic bags. None of them seemed the least bit threatening, yet Lillie couldn’t overcome the feeling that someone was watching her.
She drummed her fingers on the table and tried to think of something—anything—except three Atlanta women who had been murdered long ago.
A car horn blew. She looked up in time to see a white SUV swerve away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. Her heart lurched when she noticed the army decal on the rear bumper, exactly where the decal had been on the sport-utility vehicle that ran her off the road.
Her neck tingled. She flicked her gaze back to where Dawson stood waiting in the long line.
A man bumped into her table as he walked past. She couldn’t see his face, but she did see the backpack strapped over his shoulders and his unkempt red hair. Billy Everett’s picture came to mind.
Before she could get Dawson’s attention, the guy had left the coffee shop and disappeared into a throng of people passing by. Surely the redhead hadn’t followed them to Atlanta.
Once again, she looked at the street where three teenage boys huddled together on the sidewalk. One of them, a muscular kid with baggy pants that hung from his hips, pointed to her through the window. His friends raised their eyes, their smiles guarded.
The big kid led the others into the shop. Lillie grabbed her purse. Tension pounded across her forehead that felt as if it would explode. She stumbled out of the chair, relieved to find Dawson walking toward her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as if sensing her distress.
She nodded toward the boys. The teenager with the baggy pants said something to the guy behind him as he sidled down the aisle. Nearing her table, the kid stopped short.
His eyes focused first on Dawson and then on the weapon visible on his hip. The teen pursed his lips and shrugged, then pointed the other two boys to a large table in the back of the shop, where three teenage girls waved. Dawson stared at them until they took their seats and huddled together, laughing.
Taking Lillie’s arm, he ushered her toward the front of the shop and grabbed their coffees on the way outside.
She breathed in the cool winter air, feeling suddenly foolish. “I...I kept thinking someone was watching me.”
“From all appearances, the three boys were meeting their girlfriends for coffee.”
He was right, of course. “I’m a little paranoid.”
“More than a little, but you have every right to be apprehensive, which confirms you should have stayed in Freemont.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Then I would have been worried about you.”
Dawson’s lips twitched as he opened the car door for her. She slipped into the passenger seat and let out the breath she had been holding. His aftershave lingered in the car. Her insides turned to jelly, not because of the masculine scent, but because of everything that had happened.
Despite what she had told Dawson, she wanted to run back to Freemont and the security of her home, but after the tragedy that had played out yesterday mor
ning, her home was no longer a safe haven.
Dawson started the ignition and pulled into the stream of traffic. She stared at his strong hands gripping the wheel and knew her life had changed forever.
For better or for worse?
Definitely for the worse.
* * *
Dawson couldn’t stop thinking about the prison interview. Leonard Simpson had confirmed Granger’s story, but he had also mentioned the chaplain who preached words of love and forgiveness. Without prompting from Dawson, the convict had also shared Granger’s belief that his prayers had led the University of Georgia law students to review his case and seek to right a wrong.
After a number of years on the job, most CID agents had a sixth sense about those who chose to walk on the path of darkness, and Dawson’s gut feelings usually proved to be right. This time, he couldn’t come to terms with his father’s newfound faith, yet Leonard seemed convinced of Granger’s transformation.
How could someone who turned his back on his own child find solace in the arms of a just God? As far as Dawson was concerned, Granger’s change of heart was just a convict trying to come to grips with his past. Right now, Dawson needed to keep his eyes open and focused on the case.
He turned his attention back to Lillie. “Leonard Simpson verified everything Granger said on the video.”
“Do you believe the story about the college kid and the murdered women?”
“Guys like to brag. Having a tale to tell, like the bar incident, gives a convict status. That’s why we’re going to visit his dad.”
Dawson’s phone rang. He raised the cell to his ear.
“Timmons.”
“My name’s Jessica Baxter. You contacted the newspaper last night and said you wanted to talk about the MLK Missing Women.”
Dawson flicked his gaze to Lillie. “The reporter,” he mouthed before pushing the phone closer against his ear.
“I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman, Georgia,” he told the woman. “We’re investigating a homicide that occurred approximately twenty-five years ago in Freemont. I’m trying to determine if that murder is related to the three women who went missing in Atlanta.”
