Dangerous Passage (Southern Crimes Book #1): A Novel (6 page)

“What do you think?” he asked.

“She seemed genuinely upset.”

“And afraid. Nervous,” Mitch added.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Avery wasn’t sure she should defend Mrs. Sourn, but she had been on the receiving end of a call like they’d made today. “The woman just found out that her niece was murdered. I remember after Ethan died, I couldn’t stop thinking that if death could take him, then why not my parents, or my sister . . . or Tess. The thought tormented me for weeks.”

“You could be right, but I still think we need to dig deeper.”

Avery nodded. “I agree. I want you to go with Tory and talk to the husband. He might be in meetings all day, but we need to know if their stories match, and if you can get any new information out of him.”

“So you think Mrs. Sourn knows more than she’s saying?”

“If she is involved, she’s quite an actress.”

“And there’s still the matter of the tattoo. That isn’t exactly insignificant. The exact same tattoo and crime scene setup as the other girl.” Mitch turned up the air conditioner in an attempt to get rid of the humidity that hung in the car. “I know you don’t believe in coincidences any more than I do.”

Mitch was right, but they needed more pieces before they could put the puzzle together. Which meant that for now, finding out the identity of their Jane Doe had left them with far more questions than answers.

Avery’s phone rang, and she pressed the receiver on her steering wheel. It was Tory.

“We found our homeless man.”

“Where is he?”

“Here at the station. Officers picked him up twenty minutes ago.”

“His name?” Avery asked.

“You’ve probably already guessed. It’s James Philips.”

A
very slipped into the interrogation room behind Carlos, dropped a file onto the table, then set a cup of coffee in front of their Mr. Nomad. At least the man finally had a name. “Mr. Philips. How are you doing this morning?”

He clasped his hands together in front of him, ignoring the coffee, while rocking his body back and forth. “You can call me Bear.”

“All right, Bear. I’m Detective Avery North and this is Detective Carlos Dias.” She sat down across from him in one of the metal chairs. “Would you like to take off your coat? It’s warm in here.”

They might have the air conditioners running, but interrogation rooms always tended to be on the warm side, and the man’s long coat couldn’t be comfortable.

He fiddled with one of the black buttons. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Avery said. Carlos took a chair on the far end of the table. Captain Peterson stood behind the two-way mirror. “Do you know why you are here?”

Bear’s gaze stayed fixed on the table in front of him. “I mind my own business, don’t bother anyone, but now you bring me here because I don’t have a home.”

“You’re not here today because of your living situation.”
Avery worked to soften her voice. She was used to playing the role of good cop, but that didn’t mean she was convinced the man was innocent. A witness to a crime was one thing. Finding one’s fingerprints on a victim’s murdered body quickly moved a person from witness to suspect.

She leaned back in her chair, watching Bear’s body language. Fingers tapping against the table, the continued rocking, refusal to make eye contact . . . He might not have killed Tala, but he was definitely hiding something. If she could help the man relax, they might get more out of him.

“How long have you been living on the streets, Bear?”

“I don’t know. Six, seven months . . . maybe longer.” He spoke quietly, still avoiding any eye contact.

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. Do you have any family or friends?”

He gripped the edge of the table with his fingertips. “My parents have both passed away, so there was only Laurie—my wife—but she is dead too.”

“I’m sorry, Bear. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love very much.”

“I loved her. I don’t know why she had to die.”

“Sometimes we lose people we love. Sometimes it’s hard to go on with life. Tell me, Bear, do you ever stay at a shelter?”

“Yes.”

“Which shelter?”

“The one at St. Martin’s. They have good food.”

“They do have good food,” she agreed. “What is your favorite meal there?”

“The turkey. Thursday is turkey day, like Thanksgiving.” He was starting to calm down. The rocking had stopped. He loosened his grip on the edge of the table. They needed to keep him talking. They’d made his rights clear, but if he asked for a lawyer, it was over.

“I like turkey too, Bear. I need to ask you some questions about a young woman who was killed.”

“Why?” Bear shook his head. “Why was she hurt?”

“We don’t know, that’s why we need to ask you these questions,” Carlos said. “It’s very important that you tell us the truth. We found her in the neighborhood you walk through every night.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Bear, Detective Dias just told you that it was very important that you tell the truth. We know that you saw her.”

Bear started rocking again and didn’t respond.

“What can you tell me about these letters?” Carlos opened a folder and pushed two letters across the table. They’d been folded into thirds and placed in white envelopes. Tory was already working on the translation of the letters that had been handwritten in flowery Vietnamese. “Are these yours?”

Bear ran his fingers across the paper, his features strained as if he were trying to remember something. “No.”

“We found them in one of your bags.” Carlos pressed harder. “We need to know how they got inside your things.”

“I told you. They aren’t my letters.”

“We understand they aren’t yours, Bear. That is why it’s very important that you tell us why they were in your bag.” Avery leaned forward, making sure she kept her voice low. “There’s a girl who’s dead, and it’s our job to find out who killed her.”

Bear stared straight ahead.

Avery leaned in closer. “Bear, I need you to answer my question. Telling us will help us find the person who hurt this young girl. You want us to find who hurt her, don’t you? Just like with your wife. Tell us why the letters were in your bag.”

“I found them.”

“Good. Can you tell me where you found them?”

He pushed them toward Carlos. “I don’t remember.”

Carlos dropped the letters back into the folder. “We have reason to believe that these letters belong to the girl who was murdered. Can you tell us anything about her? We know you saw her Sunday night.”

“No.” He shook his head, his fingers tapping again against the metal table. “I told you, I mind my own business and don’t bother nobody.”

Carlos swung out of his chair and stood up, still holding the file. “This young woman I told you about, we found her murdered. Do you understand what that looks like? Someone murdered her, and we know you saw her that night.”

“I didn’t murder her.”

“But you saw her.” Carlos slammed the file back onto the table. “You touched her.”

Bear’s hands shook. His fingers knocked against his coffee cup and it tipped. Carlos caught it before the liquid sloshed over the edge.

“Tell us what happened, Bear.” Carlos let go of the cup, still pressing for an answer. “We need you to tell us, because when you lie, it makes us believe you’re hiding something.”

“I . . . she was laying in the alley. Every night I go by that alley. I never saw her there before.”

Good. They were making progress. Avery touched the edge of the file. “She was there because someone killed her. We want to find out who killed her. Did you kill her, Bear?”

“No. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

Avery tried to read the man’s expression. Fear. Panic. “But you’ve hurt people in the past, Bear.”

“Only once. That man . . . he hurt my wife.”

Avery weighed each word, not wanting to cross the fine line that pushed a suspect too far. But not pushing enough would give her nothing.

“I’m sorry about your wife, Bear.” Avery couldn’t help but
wonder what had gone wrong. Two years ago, the man had been a professor at the local community college. Then he’d lost everything. Had anyone even noticed? “I know you must miss her very much, but right now I need to know about the girl from Sunday night. What can you tell me about her? Someone hurt her, and it’s my job to make sure that the person who did it is brought to justice.”

Bear clasped the table with his fingers again. “She . . . she was laying on the ground. By the Dumpster in the alley. I . . . I thought she was sleeping, but she never woke up. I tried to wake her up.”

“What time was it?”

“Time?”

“What time was it when you found her, Bear?”

He looked at his watch and slowly moved his fingers around the dial. “One o’clock. Three o’clock. Four. Four thirty.” Bear looked up at Avery for the first time. “It was four thirty.”

“Good, Bear. You’re doing good.”

“What did you do when you found her?” Carlos asked.

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“What about her purse?”

“There wasn’t a purse. I never saw a purse. Just a sweater.”

Avery struggled to put the pieces together. What had the girl been doing out in the middle of the night without a bag or money? “Are you sure you didn’t see a purse, money, a telephone, or identification?”

“Yes.” Bear’s gaze dropped again to the table.

“Bear? What is it?”

“I was trying to save her. To see if she could breathe, but . . . her hands were cold.”

“Is that when you found the letters?”

He nodded. “There was a pocket. Hidden inside her shirt. I was only trying to save her. I didn’t hurt her.”

“And you found the letters inside the pocket?”

“My wife liked to write me letters. Not . . . not computer letters . . . not emails. She wrote me letters on pretty paper.”

“Handwritten letters?”

“Yes, like the letters I found. I couldn’t read them, but they smelled like perfume and reminded me of my wife.”

Carlos took a step toward the table. “What else was in the pocket, Bear?”

“There was a picture.”

“Tell me about it.”

“There were two girls in it. Pretty girls wearing white dresses.”

“There was something else in the pocket, wasn’t there?”

Bear avoided Carlos’s gaze. “No.”

“I think you’re lying to me.” Carlos dropped a key onto the table in front of him. “Can you tell me about this?”

No response.

“We found it with your things.”

Bear simply shrugged.

Carlos wasn’t ready to give up. “You’ve been to prison before, and I’m assuming you don’t want to go back. But if you refuse to cooperate . . .”

“It’s a key to a storage unit.”

“What’s inside it? We’re waiting on the warrant right now, but helping us will help your case.”

“My wife . . . they’re Laurie’s things. I paid two years up front after she died. Put all her personal things in storage, because I-I couldn’t deal with them.”

“We know you’ve been there recently.” This time Avery dropped a photo in front of him. “The storage unit surveillance places you there at nine thirty Monday morning.”

“Why did you go to the storage unit?” Carlos rested his hands against the table and leaned forward. “I think you found something on the body.”

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“Maybe this will help jog your memory. We also found a receipt in your things from a nearby pawnshop, dated Monday morning for the sale of a ring. Forty-five hundred dollars. Tell me where you got the ring, Bear.”

“There was a ring in her pocket.”

“What kind of ring?”

“Blue sapphire. 18-karat white gold. Diamonds. Expensive.”

“How expensive?”

“Custom made. Worth ten, maybe twelve thousand dollars. My father was a jeweler. He taught me what to look for. But she was already dead. She didn’t need the ring.”

“Or you killed her for the ring.” Carlos’s voice rose. “Forty-five hundred dollars will go a long way for a man who’s been out of work the past year, and since we didn’t find the money on you, we’re assuming it’s stashed in the storage unit. Is that right?”

Bear said nothing.

“We have your fingerprints on her photo. Her letters in your bag, your own confession that you were there . . . Everything points to you.”

Bear slammed his fists against the table. “I didn’t hurt her.”

Avery signaled to Carlos. “Bear, we’ll be back in a minute.”

Carlos followed her down the narrow hallway toward their offices. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. He’s clearly adamant it wasn’t him, but he’s got motive, means, and opportunity, so I’m certainly not ready to take him off our list of suspects. But if he’s telling the truth, the only crime he committed was selling stolen goods.”

Which unfortunately was a crime that far too many got away with. Pawnshops were supposed to send daily reports to the police on what they’d bought, but the department was weeks behind in updating the database of identified stolen goods. The cracks in the system meant that often stolen items were long
gone before they made it into the system. But selling stolen goods was a far cry from murder.

Mitch and Tory were back from their interview with Mr. Sourn and were now working at their desks.

“What else were you able to find out about the Sourns?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mitch leaned back in his chair. “They’ve lived in Atlanta for the past twenty-five years. Started Sourn Import and Export back in the late nineties.”

“What do they import?”

“Mainly things from Asia. Furnishings, home décor, gifts, and accessories. They have a warehouse in northeast Atlanta, as well as a store open to the public.”

“Arrest record?”

“Nothing on record other than a couple traffic tickets, though their business has been under investigation in the past for tax fraud and money laundering. No arrests were ever made. I’m looking into that now.”

“Good. And Mr. Sourn? What about your interview with him?”

Tory shrugged. “Basically, he was cooperative. Seemed a bit distracted, but also appeared to be genuinely upset about his niece’s death.”

“Alibi?”

“Said he was asleep at home with his wife. Last time he saw Tala was around dinnertime Sunday night. She went out with friends and never came home.”

“That matches his wife’s story.”

“What about the Sourns’ friends?”

“Several knew that their niece was living with them, but none of them had met her yet.” Tory clicked on her computer. “I’ve been researching their business holdings and found something interesting, though it’s probably nothing.”

“I’m taking any lead at this point, no matter how slim.”

“Their import/export business isn’t the only place they earn
their money.” Tory handed Avery a printout. “They’ve invested heavily in dozens of nail and hair salons across the Midwest.”

“Any red flags on Tala’s diploma or other documents?”