Murder Mountain (7 page)

I could feel the blood drain from my face, and I just closed my eyes. If this was true, then I definitely needed help.

And then, finally, the question I dreaded asking Matt: “So what does Bob look like?”

I already knew the answer but sat quietly as Matt described Bobby Delphy from head to toe. I asked him if he had anything to add, and he said nothing he could think of. As I was leaving, he reminded me of the promise I’d made not to use his name, and how I would check out giving him a break on the theft. I nodded and waved him off at the same time, knowing I’d never promised him shit about giving him a break. Looking into it and making a deal are two different things, and, as far as I was concerned, he’d do time for that theft.

As I pulled out of Matt’s driveway, my head was spinning. A list of things to do and people to call overwhelmed me. I needed to find out if Lizzie Johnston’s car had ever been found, and, if it was, where I could see it. I needed to contact missing persons and pull all the files of women reported missing over the last three years, and I needed to check the address Matt gave me of where he’d met Bob.

I knew this would be a lot of work. Every woman who leaves the state to escape an abusive husband or a criminal charge is reported missing at one time or another. I would have to contact METRICH about any of the anhydrous ammonia thefts. I needed to call Lizzie’s father.

I looked at my watch again and figured I would just barely make it to Selina’s softball game. No one would have any of the information I needed until tomorrow, so there wasn’t a whole lot to do. Once I got the information I needed, and only then, would I go and see Bobby Delphy.

I pulled into the ballpark in time to miss just the first inning of Selina’s game, which included her turn at bat. I knew she’d be upset.

When she saw me, she came running over, crying, “Mommy! You’re late! You promised! I got a double!”

I told her I was sorry and would make it up to her. She ran out onto the field while I looked for Eric, finding him sitting next to a large mound of dirt, which of course Isabelle was playing in.

“Hi, Mommy! I playin’ in the dirt!” she said.

I went over and gave her a kiss on one of the few clean spots on her face. Eric had brought me a folding aluminum lawn chair, which I promptly sat down in.

“Hey, baby, what took so long?” he asked as I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

I gave him a play-by-play of the Lizzie Johnston case—what I had done, and what I learned today. I interrupted my narrative with numerous breaks during which we cheered for Selina. Eric sat for a while when I’d finished, mulling the whole thing over.

“That guy is full of shit,” he decided at last. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would buy into that garbage. And not to mention, if that were true, the DEA would be all over that case, because don’t think he’s the only one that’s ever talked about this before. I’m sure there have been plenty of leaks before now, especially if it’s been going on this long.” He sounded totally confident, and I admired his judgment enormously, but I wasn’t convinced he was right.

“Maybe not,” I said. “Maybe the people that are suspected of leaks get fired, like Matt said. Anyway, there’s ways to prove or disprove his story, which I’m working on. If I find out it looks like he’s telling the truth, then I’ll probably have a couple of homicides on my hands.”

“If that story is true, you’ll have to call the DEA or FBI anyway.”

“So, that doesn’t mean it’s their case, especially if these girls were killed here. I don’t care if these people are shipping a semi-truck full of meth every day, my homicides will supersede their drug case, unless they want to roll it all together, but, as far as I’m concerned, it is my case and I won’t call the FBI or DEA in until I’m told to.” I said this pretty defensively.

Confirming my fears that I’d given myself away, Eric smiled maddeningly and asked, “Why are you getting so defensive?” in a mild voice.

“I’m not. I’m just telling you the way it is,” I said defensively.

We watched the rest of the game in silence, except for our cheers, and congratulated Selina on her win when it was over. The game lasted longer than usual, which meant we had to hurry home so Eric could get ready for work. I gave the girls baths, making sure that Isabelle soaked for an extra half an hour, and told them they could stay up later than usual if they wanted to. Selina’s last day of school had been the day before, so she was excited, telling me she would try to stay up the entire night. I told her if that’s what she wanted to do, have at it. She’d never be able to come close.

Isabelle was asleep within fifteen minutes, and Selina lasted forty-five. I smiled as I watched them sleep, reminding myself that they were the most precious things in my life.

Eric had already left for work, so I took this quiet time to collect my thoughts and to try to figure out what my plans would be for the next day.
Maybe Eric was right,
I thought;
maybe I should call in the FBI or DEA,
but I didn’t want to do that too early the investigation. If it turned out that everything Hensley’d told me was bullshit, I’d wind up looking like an ass if I called the feds in too soon. That had happened to me more times in my career than I cared to think about, and I didn’t care to have it happen again.

I decided to contact the Missing Persons Unit first in the morning to see if they had files on any other missing women who might be tied to this case, as a check-up on Hensley’s story.

I woke up earlier than usual the next morning and just decided to start my day then. As soon as I got to work, I gathered all my paperwork and headed for the Missing Persons Unit. I had already decided to contact Detective Nick Crosby, who has been with the department for over twenty years, the last ten spent in missing persons. Nick is an exceptional detective and has had numerous opportunities to work major crimes. For reasons known only to him, he passed on those opportunities and stayed in missing persons, which he truly enjoys. As I anticipated, Nick was already in his office hard at work.

I tapped gently on the door and Nick raised his head away from his own mountain of paperwork. Seeing me, he smiled and said, “Cecelia! How are you! My lord, girl! I heard what happened to you; you all right?” He stroked the stubble that was already starting to darken his chin. “Hmm, from what I heard you looked like when you first got back to work, I think it’s safe to say your face looks a lot better. But since I didn’t see you then, I still think you look bad. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m all right, Nick, really I am. And as far as my face goes, believe me, it has improved—a lot.”

“Bastard. Anyway, Cecelia, what can I do for you?”

I then gave him a brief run-down on the Samantha Johnston case. Nick was already somewhat familiar with it, since it came through missing persons first before Kincaid took it away and assigned it to me; something that was obviously a sore spot for Nick. I also went into Matt Hensley’s claims and asked him if he would be able to help me with a few things. Specifically, I needed to know about any other missing women, optimally some with West Virginia ties, but, if not, connections to Roseland would do.

“Cecelia, you realize that there are around forty to fifty open cases of missing persons over the last three years, don’t you?”

“I know, Nick, and I know it’s going to take some time. I apologize.” I said this as sincerely and winningly as I could.

“Well, most of the open cases that are women are usually those who ran away from abusive husbands and are in hiding, or, like you suspected with the Johnston gal, they’re just crack-heads who took off.”

“I understand that, Nick, but I need to find out if anything this Matt Hensley told me is true.”

“Allrightie, my girl. Lucky for you I’m not too busy, so I’ll get on this pretty much right away.” He thought for a few seconds, making calculations in his head, and said, “I’ll do my best to try and have this for you by the end of the week.”

I thanked him repeatedly and went back to my office. Looking around, I determined this to be one of the many days when I didn’t want to sit in the office all day, so I grabbed the Johnston file and headed out to speak with Lizzie’s father, since he was first to report her missing. I had several questions for him, including the whereabouts of Lizzie’s car.

Lizzie used her father’s address as her own, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she stayed there most of the time. Lizzie’s father, Larry Johnston, lived in Roseland, of course, on Benedict Avenue. I wondered how he was friends with a county commissioner, but other strange friendships take place every day, that’s for sure, so I didn’t dwell on the matter.

As I pulled into the Johnston driveway, I immediately noticed a maroon Buick, which I assumed to be Lizzie’s, parked there. One of my questions was already answered. As I walked up to the front door, I briefly scanned the contents of Lizzie’s car. There were piles of clothes, numerous fast food bags, and garbage strewn throughout—a clear indication of frequent travel. I knocked on the front door and it was several minutes before a tall, gray-haired man wearing boxer shorts opened it.

“Larry Johnston?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Gallagher of the Richland Metro Police Department. I’m here about your daughter, Samantha.”

He opened the screen door and waved his hand at me, saying, “Come in,” in a tired voice.

I walked in and looked around, noticing that the house was extremely small, but very clean for a Roseland house. I also scanned Larry Johnston up and down, something I do when I meet new people, trying to get a feel for them. Looking at him, I decided he’d probably been a fairly nice-looking guy back in the day, but now he looked completely haggard, as if many years of hitting the bottle had finally taken their toll.

“Please, have a seat, detective,” he said softly, gesturing vaguely at the room’s furniture.

I chose a comfy-looking sofa by the window. He sat in a straight-backed wooden chair. I figured it was probably because it was good for his back.

I started things off by telling him how I was assigned to the case by Captain Kincaid, what I had been doing on it, what I had found so far, and why I was there to see him. Then I asked him, “Where have your tips about this come from? You know; the ones that you told the commissioner about? In other words, how did you hear that Lizzie was dead?”

Larry ran the long, skinny fingers of one hand through his thinning hair. “Well,” he began at last, “there’s this woman that lives down the street, at the corner of Benedict Avenue and Hanna Avenue. Anyway, her name’s Andrea Dean and she’s the gossip of Little Kentucky.” He twisted his mouth up over to one side for a moment before he went on. “Well, anyway, after Lizzie’d been gone for two days, I ran into Andrea at the gas station up the road and, y’know, asked her if she’d seen Lizzie lately. I told her I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days.”

He ran his hand along his skull again before continuing. “Now, I’ll tell ya, once I asked her that, her face, she got a look of terror on it. That’s what it was: a look of terror. And before I was even finished askin’ her about it she started shakin’ her head and sayin’, ‘No. Uh-uh. Sorry. Not a thing. No.’ Stuff like that.”

He looked out a window for a moment, then back at me. His voice remained soft, but it had taken on a slight unsteadiness. “What really bothered me was that she shook her head no before I’d even finished asking the question, y’know? That and her looking scared to death. I could tell she wasn’t telling the truth, and, well, I got scared. I mean, I begged her to tell me anything she knew. I told her I knew she had to know
something
.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply in and out a few times, composing himself, then said, his voice quivering slightly, “It took, like, several minutes of me not lettin’ it go before she finally told me what she’d heard around town. She told me she’d heard that Lizzie had gotten herself wrapped up with some really bad guys around here. Andrea said she didn’t know who. Then she told me that she’d heard that Lizzie’d really pissed them off somehow. She said she didn’t hear directly that Lizzie was dead, but that these bad guys take care of business when they get it in for somebody.” He ground a knuckle into the corner of one eye, probably to stop from crying.

Taking care of business
means people just disappear.

“Then she clammed up and wouldn’t tell me jack shit more. That’s it.”

It was after this, Larry said, that he’d called Commissioner Phillips, with whom he’s been friends since they were small boys, to ask him for help in finding his daughter.

It was clear, sitting there watching and listening to Larry talk, that the last several weeks had taken their toll on him. He seemed like an emotional wreck and looked as if he hadn’t eaten, slept, or showered in several days. I asked him if Lizzie’d stayed here most of the time, and if she had her own bedroom.

He slowly nodded, pointed to the hall, and said, “It’s the last door on the left. Look around all you want. I haven’t been in there in a couple of weeks.” Looking away, he added, “It upsets me too much.”

“I understand, I won’t mess anything up or touch anything. I just want to look around,” I said as reassuringly as I could.

When I walked into Lizzie’s room, it certainly was not what I had expected. Her room was very neat, very pink, with pictures and posters on the wall and stuffed animals on the bed. It looked like a stereotypical high-school cheerleader’s bedroom, not one of an alleged drug user mixed up with “bad guys.” I saw a lot of photographs of Lizzie and some of her friends hanging on one wall. Looking at these, I could see that Lizzie was a very pretty girl. I also noticed her high-school diploma hanging on the wall, and college textbooks sitting on her desk.

I wondered how in the world this girl got involved with the people that she did. It didn’t make sense. She goes to college. Her friends look decent. So, how and where would she meet the people she got involved with? Nothing was adding up and it was starting to frustrate me. There was nothing in Lizzie’s room of any significance, so I walked back into the living room where Larry was.