37

by David Achord

  He typed up my name on his computer and happily informed me I had not purchased the optional insurance plan. I guessed he worked off of commission.

  “No problem, though. We can put you on a payment plan and even upgrade you to the latest model,” he said. “Plus, you really ought to get the insurance.”

  “Can you download the data I have on this one to the new phone?” I asked, pointing at my broken phone.

  “Oh, sure. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Ten minutes later and the young man had me set up. I signed the new contract, which included insurance. I activated it before stuffing it in my pocket and walking out the door. My phone jingled within a minute, but it was an unfamiliar ringtone. Not realizing all of the ringtones had been reset, I ignored it and looked at my watch.

  “Plenty of time,” I mumbled and headed over to Mick’s.

  When I patronized Mick’s, I usually measured the passage of time by the number of beers and/or cigars I consumed. On this occasion, I’d had exactly one beer and one cigar while playing with my new phone. Most of the new features were nothing I needed but they were still fun to play with. I got another beer and started browsing the internet on the abductions.

  The most informational item was a long article written by a woman. I searched her name and learned she was an award-winning investigative journalist from France named Hannah Barron. She wrote a series of articles featuring the victims from Romania. Each woman was young, between sixteen to twenty-four, and all of them were from low socioeconomic backgrounds. The first abduction was a nineteen-year-old who the journalist described as a troubled girl battling a drug addiction and had started working at an escort service prior to her disappearance.

  Ms. Barron went on to describe the apparent ineptitude of the local law enforcement agencies and their reluctance to admit the disappearances were related. It was not until a young woman barely escaped with her life that the detectives were able to develop the common denominator.

  The victim told a story of how she had met a man through an online dating service. They had met at a bar for a few drinks and to get to know each other. She described him as a ruggedly handsome man in his thirties, and although she felt he was rather crass, she liked him enough to accept his invitation to accompany him to a popular discotheque. Looking back, she felt like she was drugged while still at the bar. She stated she barely remembered leaving the bar and getting into a waiting car. She thought someone other than her blind date was driving, but she was not certain.

  When she regained her senses, she was tightly bound and inside the boot of the car. She managed to kick the lid open and roll out, landing heavily on the road. She was badly injured, but fortunately, she picked a spot where several people were outside and witnessed her escape. Whoever was driving the vehicle slowed, but then sped away. Police later found the car. It had been reported stolen two day’s previous. The article finished with a composite drawing of her abductor. It bore a likeness to Wolf, but it could have been a match for a thousand other Romanian men.

  I clicked off of the internet and ordered another beer. Debbie sent me a flirtatious text and I responded in kind. We went back and forth a couple of times and I found myself wondering what she’d be like between the sheets. Someone slapped down a manila file folder on the bar top beside me. I looked to see Puffessor Ebenezer Farquhar standing over me, giving me a toothy grin.

  “How are you, Ebbie?” I said. He pulled out the bar stool beside me and sat.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he proclaimed.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He waited until he’d lit a cigar before responding. “Yes indeed.” He then gestured at the file folder with his butane lighter. “I’ve been doing some extensive research since my last conversation with that little split-tail roommate of yours.”

  “Don’t call her that,” I warned.

  He held a hand up in mock regret. “My apologies,” he said.

  He was quiet now, only holding up a finger for Kim to bring him a beer. Kim took a moment to chat with me. I noticed this agitated Ebbie, so I continued chatting with her about random things until Ebbie could not stand it any longer. He slammed his beer down and vigorously tapped a stubby finger on the folder.

  “Aren’t you going to read this? I spent a lot of work on it.”

  “Okay, I suppose I’ll give it a look,” I said and subtly winked at Kim.

  I casually set my beer down and opened the folder. After a couple of minutes of reading, I looked at Ebbie.

  “This is good stuff, Ebbie. I’m impressed.”

  He grinned smugly. “I believe a certain somebody owes me a blowjob.”

  Ebbie and I talked about his research for a while before he finished his cigar and left. I had almost forgotten about the voicemails, started to ignore them, but then clicked on the icon. A couple of them were old messages from Anna. The rest were either spam or potential customers.

  When the fifth message began playing, my pleasant disposition disappeared and the cigar fell out of my mouth.

  Chapter 26

  “Thomas, I need you. Please call me back.”

  The tone of her voice held a hint of concern, perhaps urgency. By her fourth message, she sounded frantic and was practically begging for help. I called back immediately, but it went straight to a voice mailbox that had not been set up to receive messages.

  I puffed frantically on my cigar as I repeatedly called her, but each time it went directly to the nonfunctioning voicemail. I called Ronald and gave him the number provided by my caller ID. Several tense minutes elapsed before he called back and informed me the number was a burner and it had pinged a phone tower in north Nashville several hours ago. He gave me the location of the tower and I took off. It was located in the Bordeaux area, near Whites Creek Pike and Briley Parkway.

  My next instinct was to call Percy, but that would’ve been problematic. After all, she was the primary suspect in an open murder case he was investigating. If I got him involved, and we found her, he would have no choice but to revert to detective mode and take her in.

  I drove around the area of the cell tower all night, up and down every street, some more than once. At times, I parked and walked. I looked everywhere. If I drove by a ditch that wasn’t illuminated by street lights, I’d get out and walk the ditch, up and down, exploring with my flashlight. A rational person would have reasoned it was a futile effort; she could have been anywhere. But it was the only lead I had.

  It wasn’t until the sun was coming up, that I realized two things; I’d forgotten all about the puppy and I’d been driving in aimless circles for the last two hours. I’d driven by the sign identifying the entrance to the Whites Creek quarry so many times I barely gave it any thought, but this time I happened to notice the gate was standing open, and it occurred to me as I drove by that the gate had been closed during the night.

  I hung a U-turn and drove through the entrance. The road was a dusty gravel drive that led to a prefab metal building and the quarry. I could see a car and a man in a security guard’s uniform standing a dozen feet away from a clump on the side of the drive. As I drove closer, I could see the clump was actually a body.

  She was lying on her stomach, motionless, like a piece of discarded trash. Her head was turned to the side and facing me. Her face was the color of old alabaster and she was staring with vacant eyes, like she’d been patiently waiting for me. Or perhaps it was an accusing stare, wondering why I had forsaken her. All men were pigs, right, Lilith?

  I absently put my car in park and stepped out, all the while never taking my eyes off of her. A wave of emotions washed over me as I slowly walked toward her, feeling lightheaded, almost like vertigo. I’d not felt this way since I was a rookie cop and walked into a small apartment where the sole occupant had died several months previously. The thick, rancid smell of decomposition had made me nauseous and lightheaded then. Lilith did not smell, but I felt the same. I dropped down to one knee to steady myself.

 
“Excuse me, but you can’t be here.”

  I looked up to see the security guard. He’d moved away from the protection of his car and walked toward me but came no closer than twenty feet from the two of us. I ignored him and focused back on Lilith. She was dressed casually; jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt with a logo of a Daytona Beach bar on the front, braless, Chuck Taylor sneakers that were dirty from where she had been dragged. There were no overt signs of injury, but the misalignment of her neck told me everything.

  “Sir, you can’t be here,” the security guard implored. “The cops are on their way and they aren’t going to be happy with you in their crime scene.”

  I stood and pointed at his phone. “Are you still on the line with 911?”

  “Yeah, I am,” he replied, sounding a little bolder now.

  “Tell them they need to dispatch Detective Percy to this location. The victim’s name is Lilith Gray and she is a person of interest in one of his murder investigations.”

  My statement seemed to befuddle him. He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. I snapped my fingers.

  “Do it!” I barked.

  To his credit, he cleared his throat and repeated verbatim what I’d said. He listened to the response and his confused expression intensified.

  “The 911 lady wants to know who you are.”

  I ignored him, got in my Mustang, and sped off.

  I had not slept in over twenty-four hours, but the blood was coursing through my veins like a feral mixture of adrenalin and anger. The Mustang roared with fury, matching my mood. I negotiated the morning traffic like I was a fleeing bank robber and arrived at Candy’s condo within thirty minutes.

  Candy opened the door as I bounded up the steps. The scowl on his face made it obvious he was not happy to see me.

  “Man, you can’t be here,” he declared. “Now, get the hell going, or else…”

  Before he could finish his ultimatum, I gave him a chest slap, much like professional wrestlers do to each other. Unfortunately for Candy, he was no professional wrestler. The slap knocked the wind out of him and he stumbled back. I followed him in, slammed the door behind me, and grabbed him by the shirt before he fell to the floor.

  “Enough of this bullshit,” I growled. “You are going to tell me what you know, or else.”

  “Daddy?”

  I jerked my head toward the voice to see a cute little girl standing in the den, staring in fright at me with big brown eyes and hugging a doll with both arms. It was Candy’s daughter and she’d witnessed me assaulting her father. I had no doubt I was frightening her.

  “Jesus,” I muttered under my breath and immediately helped steady Candy. “We were just playing around, sweetie,” I said.

  Candy had regained his balance but was still gasping for breath and scowled at me in indignation. I gave him a brief stare of my own before letting go of him and walking back outside. To my surprise, Candy followed and confronted me before I made it to my car.

  “What the hell, man? Do you think you can just come to my crib and jump on me in front of my daughter? I’m going to get you charged, man. This is bullshit.”

  “Lilith is dead,” I said. “She was murdered.”

  Candy’s expression turned from anger to puzzlement. “Who the hell is Lilith?”

  “You probably don’t know her by her real name. She was the woman with Wolf,” I said.

  “You mean Midnight?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He gawked in a mixture of bewilderment and suspicion. I guess he was trying to decide if I was lying or not.

  “Daddy?”

  His daughter was now standing in the open doorway, confused by the strange, angry white man with her father. I was not going to be able to talk to Candy as long as she was around, but it wasn’t like I could do anything about it. Thankfully, Candy’s curiosity was piqued.

  “I’ll only be a minute, boo. Go watch your TV show,” he said. “Go on now.” He waited until she had shut the door. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know everything, but she was found this morning up in north Nashville. It looked like her neck was broken.”

  “You saw her?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So, how do I know you didn’t kill her?”

  I took a long deep breath before answering. “Midnight used to live in Nashville. She and I were friends. Good friends. I had no reason or inclination to kill her. You and I both know who really did it.”

  He continued staring. “Look, Ironcutter, you’re getting in over your head. Hell, I’m in over my head. That Wolf dude is mean, and those old men look harmless, but they are just as dangerous.”

  “How did you get involved in this? Are you working off a charge?”

  He scoffed. “One charge? Man, the DEA’s hemmed me up for over a dozen charges. The way the indictment reads, you’d think I was Pablo Escobar.”

  “You’re looking at a few years in federal prison, I take it,” I said.

  “Yeah. My baby’s momma has her in one of those fancy pre-schools, and let me tell you, that ain’t cheap. I’m a high school dropout, man. I’ll never have a high-paying white-collar job. All I know how to do is hustle.”

  “You looked like you made quite a bit down in Memphis,” I remarked.

  Candy shrugged and rubbed his chest under his T-shirt. “Man, that shit hurt, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “You said he generally does not stay long after a fight. Did he leave immediately after his fight in Manchester?”

  Candy stared in silence before slowly shaking his head.

  “Tell me what you know,” I repeated. “Look, your cousin is convinced I’m out to sabotage her investigation. That’s not true. I started out with the sole intention of finding out who murdered Jason Belew, nothing else. Now, I’m going to find out who killed Lilith.” I stopped and held up a finger. “Let me correct that statement, I know who killed both of them, I want to be able to prove it. I’d like your help.”

  He started shaking his head as he continued rubbing his chest. “Juanita’s already told me about you. She said the FBI has a dossier on you and that one of the things it said was you’re a loose cannon.” He rubbed his chest some more. “She’s right.”

  “Yeah, well, I apologize for that. How do you contact Wolf?” I asked.

  “It’s all through the internet, man. They don’t even have permanent cell phones.” He looked at his condo and back at me. “That TBI agent said you were the one who found me. How’d you do that?”

  “A little internet research, a little luck. Would you give me Wolf’s internet particulars?”

  Candy frowned. “Particulars? Oh, yeah, sure. I can do that. I need to get online, but I don’t want you to come back inside, you’ll upset my daughter.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  After the way I acted, it was the best I could hope for from him. He could have easily locked the door and called the cops, but he was true to his word and forwarded the information to my email. I sent it directly to Ronald and gave him a phone call.

  “I don’t know what you can do with it, but I think they’re in Nashville somewhere,” I said.

  “If they post pics and talk about where they eat dinner and things, I might be able to do something,” Ronald said. “It just depends on how much info they put out there.”

  “Do what you can, buddy. Oh, by the way, I know about Anna and Percy.”

  “You do? How?” he asked.

  “Because Anna told me. You know, you could have told me.”

  “I didn’t want to start any trouble,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t have, but I understand.”

  “Are you mad at them?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not mad at them. Maybe they can make each other happy.”

  “I’d like someone I could be happy with,” Ronald lamented. “But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

  His statement took me by surprise. His Asperger’s made h
im socially awkward to the point of a slight case of anthropophobia, and with the exception of that damned crack whore, he’d never been intimate with a woman.

  “You should consider getting out and socializing more often,” I suggested. “That’s a great way to meet people. There are all kinds of activity groups out there. I think they all have Facebook pages, or whatever you call it.”

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  That was his way of ending a conversation that made him uncomfortable. If I kept going, all I’d get were more yeahs and okays. I yawned, realizing how fatigued I was.

  “Alright, I’m heading home. If you learn of anything, please call me immediately.”

  “Okay,” he said and disconnected the call.

  Immediately after ending the call with Ronald, Percy called.

  “I’m on the way to the scene. Is it Lilith Gray?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I looked at my watch. “They took their sweet time contacting you.”

  “You could have called me,” he rejoined.

  He was right. I could have called him, but I didn’t and I didn’t know why I didn’t. It could’ve been due to stress and fatigue, or it could have been something else. Maybe I was subconsciously avoiding talking to him, I didn’t know.

  “How did you find her?” he asked.

  I told him of the frantic phone messages, followed by me driving around north Nashville all night. He listened in silence and waited until I have finished before speaking.

  “I have to ask, are you holding anything back?”

  “Not that I can think of at the moment, but if it changes, I’ll call you.” I ended the call. Option B was probably the correct answer to my earlier question; I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  The adrenalin had worn off and I found myself nodding off, so I exited I-24 and parked at a truck stop. I debated on getting a cup of coffee before going home, but the truth of it was, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to sleep in the bed that Lilith and I had slept in. I would have to eventually, but at the moment, all I wanted was to take a nap.

  A 1973 Ford Mustang did not have reclining seats, which made it hard for a taller man to sleep in. Even so, I cracked open the windows and got as comfortable as I could. I did not remember falling asleep.