by Nancy Basile
Chris nodded, then the two of them started watching sixty-second videos of the road that ran in front of Roy’s trailer. The camera was positioned about twenty feet high, probably on a telephone pole. The lens captured a section of road that was about a hundred yards long, between the outskirts of River Sutton and Roy’s trailer. Only the roof of the double-wide was visible. A row of pine trees obscured the driveway and the backyard. Occasionally, the shiny new truck in the driveway would reflect a flash of sun.
After watching an empty dirt road for almost an hour, except for a partially rusted truck that zoomed through at 08:24:06, Robin’s own Subaru came into view, around 08:52:19. In a super surreal moment, Robin watched her own car skid to a halt, brake lights glowing. Roy was barely more than a blip on the screen. She watched herself get out of her car and disappear in front of it.
“Wow.” She couldn’t take her eyes off her Subie, idling in the middle of the deserted road. “I could have sworn all that took much, much longer. But it all happened in just a few seconds.”
“Are you all right?” His clear blue eyes searched her face.
“I’m fine.” She flashed him a tight smile. “It’s only… it’s eerie seeing myself on video, but in my head, I can still see Roy dying.”
“I get it.” His hand was a warm, reassuring weight on her shoulder. “I’ve had to watch myself on video, in a tense situation.” His eyes wandered away, seeing a memory of that moment. “It wasn’t fun.” He brought his eyes back to hers and held them. She nodded and returned to the monitor. His hand slid from her shoulder.
She cleared her throat. “What now? We didn’t see anyone but that truck and —”
“It didn’t stop.” Chris shrugged. “Now we go back another hour and see what we see.”
Robin opened the directory for all the videos recorded between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. on the morning Roy died. After the last set of videos was such a disappointment, her expectations were low. But when she played the video for 07:19, Chris grabbed her arm. “Stop right there.” She did. “Replay that one.”
“Who is it?” She restarted the video and watched a small, four-door sedan slow down as it reached Roy’s, then turned into Roy’s driveway.
The lines of Chris’s face hardened. The muscle along his jaw stiffened. “That—” he nodded toward the screen, “is Jodi Clark.”
Robin rewound the video to show the car pulling level with Roy’s driveway and then paused it.
“How do you know for sure that’s Jodi?” The black and white video blurred the edges of everything. Where Jodi’s license plate should be was only a white smudge.
“Because no one else in River Sutton, certainly no one who would visit Roy, drives a vintage Saab.” He rubbed his chin and stared at the screen.
So did Robin. She had given Jodi the benefit of the doubt about Roy, but there she was, on video, at Roy’s place. Why did she lie to Robin? Was it because she was the killer? Robin couldn’t believe that. Jodi just wasn’t the type.
“Does Jodi even own a .22?” Robin threw a quizzical look at Chris.
“Not that I know of.” He shook his head. “But Bruce is a hunter. He could easily have a .22 pistol he takes on hunting trips for protection. She could have taken it.” Chris stood up, picked up his chair, and replaced it in front of his desk. She stood up, too. He met her eyes. “I’m going to have to bring Jodi in for questioning.” He didn’t look happy about it at all.
“I don’t think Jodi did it.” Robin waved at the computer. “I know what that video shows, but we don’t know why she was there.” Robin shrugged and spread out her hands. “For all we know, she was delivering takeout from Pasture.”
Raising an eyebrow, Chris crossed his arms.
She plowed on. “What if it wasn’t Jodi driving that car, but Bruce? He could have driven her car so Roy wouldn’t suspect anything when he pulled into the driveway.”
“I had considered that it might have been Bruce. But I have to start somewhere.” He reached behind her, resting his hand on her back, nudging her toward the door. The heat of his large hand burned through the cotton of her top. “Thank you for helping me out today. I couldn’t have gotten that evidence without you.”
Just as they reached the front door, she spun back to him. “I can’t explain it, but I know in my gut that Jodi isn’t the killer.”
He held the front door open for her, a look of amusement spreading across his tanned face. “You’ve been heard.”
She stepped out, and he closed the door, waving goodbye through the glass.
Chapter 15
Outside the police station, the asphalt sent heat waves into the air, blurring the sidewalk. Robin stood at her driver’s side door, holding it open, letting some of the hot air escape before resting her rear on the blistering seat.
Why would Jodi kill Roy? If they had an affair, and she wanted to keep it quiet, couldn’t she have asked Roy to stay silent? Was it worth killing him? Maybe they fought, and it was a crime of passion. Maybe Jodi regrets killing Roy, and that’s why she got so angry at Robin for talking about him.
She eased into her seat, leaving the door open, turned on the car, and blasted the air, waiting for it to cool down.
Jodi was such a sweet girl. Now, a woman. Picturing her holding a gun on Roy and firing at him was like picturing a sweet, fluffy bunny turning on a fox and clawing it to death.
Chris said he had very few suspects, but there must be a missed connection, another suspect they could investigate. What if it wasn’t Jodi driving that car, but Bruce? What if Bruce drove her car to throw suspicion onto Jodi?
Chilled air finally poured from her vents. She slammed her door shut, then lifted her hair, letting the air dry her sweaty neck. It was too early to head home; Jenn would draft her into making wedding favors.
Jodi’s face, twisted in anguish, kept taunting her. There had to be a reasonable explanation. She needed more answers about any connections between Jodi, Roy, and even Bruce. There was only one place to go.
She backed out of her space and drove the hundred yards between the police station and the library.
This time when the librarian spotted Robin coming up the walk, she met her at the door and escorted her to a computer in the quietest corner of the library, with plenty of workspace. Robin thanked her, plopped down her bag, and logged in.
Although searching for info on Roy had been disappointing, she hoped she could track down more about Roy through related searches, like for the bank robbery. There had to be scads of articles about that. Maybe one of them would lead her down a rabbit hole that started with Mark Jenkins and ended with Roy.
She went to Google’s home screen and typed “‘River Sutton’ bank robbery.” A slew of links populated the search results. The bank robbery had made national headlines, covered by all the major TV networks and big city newspapers. However, most of the videos were too short to have valuable information. They were only updates and snippets of news. She wanted to know what happened in one enormous chunk, from start to finish.
Robin scrolled through a couple of pages of search results, eyes quickly scanning the links, and then pay dirt. A true crime nut on YouTube had a whole channel devoted to crimes where the law never caught the culprits, including the Rollins County Savings Bank robbery. The video ran twenty minutes, so it surely had to wrap-up exactly what went down.
After digging her earbuds out of her bag and plugging them into the audio jack, she hit play on the video. The host was a balding, middle-aged man who let what little hair he had grow long. He gestured wildly and practically shouted at the camera. Clearly, he was a die-hard for true crime.
By the end of the video, her synapses were firing at lightning speed, combining and sorting facts, looking for holes in the story.
According to the YouTuber, on a Friday in December, ten years ago, just as the bank was about to close, a man in a Spider-Man mask burst in, brandishing a gun. He shouted for everyone to get on the floor, except for one teller, whom he told to
fill a large sack with all the money from his drawer. After the teller filled the bag, the masked man ordered the teller to fill a second sack in the vault.
Usually, the manager had to be present to open the vault, because he was the only one with a key. But on the last Friday of every month, when local businesses deposited that month’s receivables, the manager had left the vault open all day. That way, he wasn’t wasting time going back and forth to the vault every time a local business needed to deposit a large sum, which was frequent. As a bonus, the manager could cut out early for the weekend, and one teller could lock the vault at closing time.
Because the robbery occurred on the last Friday in December, the vault was full. It held not only money from local business deposits but also Christmas bonuses and monetary gifts people had deposited. And it was wide open.
The teller went into the vault to fill the second sack. While the gunman was facing the vault, watching the teller closely, the security guard, a young Mark Jenkins, saw a chance to rescue River Sutton’s cash and catch a felon. He leaped up and charged Spider-Man, who heard him coming, spun around, and fired. Mark dropped like a sack of flour. At that point, the gunman ran into the vault, grabbed the second bag, only half-full, and took off through the back door.
As soon as he disappeared, one customer rushed over to where Mark had fallen, but he was already gone.
The FBI speculated that two factors helped the thief escape. First, it was pitch dark. In December, the sun sets at about 4:45 p.m. Visibility beyond the lit parking lot was nearly non-existent. Second, only one police officer was on duty at the county headquarters because of the holidays. That officer had to cover a lot of ground and question a lot of witnesses before beginning his search for the thief. By the time federal officers joined the hunt, the thief was well-hidden or long gone. The FBI also theorized that someone on the inside helped the masked man, because he knew exactly when to strike.
The YouTuber said little about Mark, except for how he had tried to stop the robbery, but Spider-Man had shot and killed him. There had to be information online about Mark that would lead to a connection with Roy, and possibly another suspect.
She went back to the Google homepage and searched “‘Mark Jenkins’ ‘River Sutton.’” As she expected, a ton of links popped up about the robbery and Mark’s death. She clicked through pages of search results until she reached links to more homegrown news about Mark. She found an old article about how he had won a basketball game and another that mentioned his participation in a football game. He was one of many players mentioned who helped the Otters take a win.
Was there any hope she would find information that would point to a suspect other than Jodi? On the eighth page of search results, finally, she found a link to an article titled, “River Sutton Teens Save Local Park.” In the text underneath the link, the article mentioned not only Mark, but also Roy and Troy Harris.
She clicked the link and a photo of Mark, Roy, and Troy, standing next to the River Sutton Community Park sign, filled the screen. All three boys held shovels and wore big smiles. The article described how the three of them had volunteered for landscape clean-up and maintenance for several weekends. Without their help, the park would have been closed, because it had become so overgrown with grass, weeds, and nests for snakes and rodents, that no one would go near it.
She scanned the rest of the article and found a quote from Mark. “We played here all the time as little kids. We just hated to think that other kids wouldn’t get to play here, too.”
What a strange group of friends. Mark was kind. Troy was a sexist jerk. And Roy was a loser. When you live in a small town, though, you make friends wherever you can find them, either next-door, in your class, or on a sports team. Whether you had much in common didn’t always matter.
She studied the old photo again and realized two of the three boys in the picture were dead. She remembered Chris saying that anyone who knew Roy was dead or in jail. Except for Troy, who was in the picture then, and in the picture now, so to speak. What had Chris said about him? He’d been at the casino when the killer shot Roy, and he didn’t have a motive. Was Troy the next target?
She jumped back to the very first page of search results. On a whim, she clicked ‘images’ to see if any photos of Mark showed up. And they did. There were plenty of sports photos, the photo about the park, his yearbook photo, and then her eyes popped. She clicked on a photo from The Charleston Gazette so quickly she almost pushed the mouse off the desk.
She hadn’t seen this photo before. In all the news articles she had scanned, none of the media outlets had posted this photo. It was a screenshot from the security camera that showed a wide view of the bank, which wasn’t large to begin with. The image captured the entire lobby, including customers, from the front door to the vault. Spider-Man was just inside the front door, holding his gun out in front of him. Everyone else, including the customers, the tellers, and the security guard, Mark, had their hands up. The grainy black-and-white photo showed little detail, but she recognized Mark easily enough. Who were the other people in the photo?
Just as she leaned toward the screen, her phone buzzed. She hadn’t received a text since the one Jenn sent about the candles. Cell service must have been bad all day. Then she realized; her phone connected to the public internet at the library, so whoever texted her must have also been on Wi-Fi.
Seriously irritated, she dug her phone out of her bag. It was a text from Jenn. DISASTER. 911. HURRY HOME. A chill spread across her shoulders.
With no time to study the photo, she printed the article, photo and all, to examine later. She jammed her phone back in her bag and jumped up. There was no time to shut down the computer. Jogging to the front counter, she dug a quarter out of her bag to pay for her printed article. The librarian handed it over, and Robin raced to her car, her heart hammering in her chest.
Chapter 16
“I thought someone died! I thought mom or dad had a heart attack. Or someone had been in a car accident, for crying out loud.”
Robin balled her hands into fists. She tried to keep from shouting, but her temper was getting the better of her. Part of her knew she was angry because that DISASTER text had terrified her. But a larger part of her wanted to strangle Jenn.
The two sisters stood in the driveway of their parents’ house. Jenn’s eyes and nose were red, and her cheeks were splotchy. Robin took a deep breath and tried again. “Okay, okay. Let’s back up. Now that I know you, Mom, and Dad are okay, I’m ready to listen. Tell me what happened again.”
Jenn sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “What happened is, my wedding is ruined. It’s a disaster.” Tears leaked from her eyes.
“Let’s sit down.” Robin wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders and led her to the back patio. She pulled two heavy metal lawn chairs together, facing Morgan Creek, which bordered the backyard just a few yards away. Sparkles danced on the surface of the water, and a pleasant rushing sound had a calming effect that Robin hoped would soothe her sister. They fell into the patio chairs. “What specifically happened that’s a disaster? Did Deb call it off?” She didn’t think that was possible, but what else could be labeled a wedding disaster?
“No, of course not.” Jenn sat forward, staring at the creek, her hands clasped between her knees. “I just got a call from Almost Heavenly Cakes, the bakery that was going to make my wedding cake.”
“Was?”
“Was.” Jenn teared up again. “They had a fire in the kitchen. A big part of it is just gone, and the whole store has smoke damage.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Robin’s hand flew to her chest. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, no.” Jenn waved her hand back and forth. “Thank the stars. No one was there when the fire started. They said they think it had something to do with old wiring. But —” Jenn swallowed a sob. “They won’t be able to bake anything for weeks. And there isn’t enough time to order from another bakery.” Jenn blinked furiously, but tears slipped down her cheeks.
“My wedding is ruined.”
Robin rubbed her back. “Hey, it’s not ruined. It’s just a cake.” Jenn glared at her. “I mean, it’s fixable. Even if we buy a bunch of already-baked cakes from somewhere and write on them ourselves, we can fix this.”
“I don’t want some run-of-the-mill sheet cake for my wedding.” Jenn whined like a toddler who needed a nap.
“I know.” Robin held onto her patience. Robin didn’t see this as a big deal, but Jenn was heartbroken, and that’s what mattered. “My point is, there is a way to fix it, we just have to figure it out. Just like the ring situation.” She leaned down and caught Jenn’s eye. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Jenn sniffed and wiped under her eyes, keeping her eye makeup intact.
“We have to be creative since we’re tight on time.” She pulled her phone from her messenger bag. Drumming her fingers on the patio table, she watched the creek slip over and around mossy stones. She opened a maps app on her phone and typed in “cake,” not bakery. Like Jenn said, no bakery in the area would have enough time to bake a wedding cake. But bakeries weren’t the only businesses that made and sold cakes.
A long list of places came up, including commercial bakeries, diners, and upscale restaurants. “Aha! This might work.” Jenn sat up, sniffing, her eyes wide. Robin tapped the phone number on the listing. While she talked, she checked with Jenn about cake options. A few minutes and a credit card number later, they were in business.
“We’re saved!” Jenn threw her arms around Robin, squeezing hard, rocking back and forth. She pulled back, giving Robin a watery smile. “You’re the best sister in the universe.”
“I know.” Robin shrugged one shoulder. “I figured with the number of people who visit the casino, Pasture probably pumps out enormous quantities of food, including cake. And, restaurants like that usually hire pastry chefs specifically for desserts, and what chef would pass up the chance to show off skills they don’t get to use every day?”
