Southern Cross (15 page)

“Right,”
Diggs said shortly. “You’re the boss.”

“Yes,”
she said. “I am.”

Once
that was resolved, we went to our separate corners: Diggs with Agent Blaze,
while I followed on Juarez’s heels. There was no mistaking Diggs’ annoyance
when he left the station.

I
didn’t blame him; I wasn’t all that crazy about being relegated to the
sidelines myself.

Special
Agent in Charge Blaze had big, wet brown eyes and that delicately browned skin
that always brings to mind hot nights in the tropics. Her dark hair was tied
back, but I could tell it would be wild when it was loose—thick and curly and
impossible to tame. The kind of hair that drives me nuts in the right
situation. This definitely was not that situation.

We
were on the road fifteen minutes before Blaze spoke. “Brooding won’t help, you
know.”

“I’m
not brooding.”

“All
right—sulking, then.” She reached over me to the glove box, one hand on the
steering wheel, and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?”

“I
quit.”

“Mind
if I smoke?” She asked it as she lit up; it was clear she wasn’t really asking
at all. “So… you were married to the first victim’s sister?” she asked after
she’d breathed in deep. I took a reflexive sympathy breath and fought the urge
to ask for one from her pack.

“Wyatt
would be the second victim, wouldn’t he?” I asked. “I mean, if we’re looking at
Marty Reynolds as the first vic, back in ’02.”

She
conceded the point with a nod. “All right, then—you were married to the
second
victim’s sister.”

“Yes.”

“How
long?”

She
obviously already had that information, since I assumed she had a complete
dossier on me somewhere. I let it slide.

“Three
years.”

“And
you were close to the rest of the Durham family in that time?”

“Yeah.”

She
frowned. “How close?”

I
thought back to nights on the front porch with George; holidays with the whole
family gathered around the table; kids racing up the stairs and out the door
and underfoot; Pop Warner with the boys…

“Close,”
I said shortly. “I coached the boys’ football team. We had Sunday dinners
together. Wyatt would crash on our couch when Mae was pissed; I’d crash on
theirs when Ashley was pissed.”

“I
bet you spent a lot more time on their couch,” she said dryly.

“True.”
I scratched my chin and tried for a normal breath and an even tone. “Why the
questions? What’s this have to do with anything?”

She
glanced at me, then back at the road. “I’m trying to figure out how well you
knew the victim. Did you stay in touch after the divorce?”

“Not
at first,” I admitted. It was oddly comforting knowing I didn’t have to fill in
the blanks for her—she had the files. No doubt she knew about the addictions
and Josh’s death and my time with Jesup Barnel. I chose not to think of all the
other sordid details she might have about my life.

“Once
I got sober,” I continued, “I made amends to the family. Wyatt and I started
talking again after that.”

Blaze
put out her cigarette when it was only halfway gone, and I directed her to the
road leading to Wyatt’s place.

“Is
there something you’re not telling me about Wyatt?” I asked. “Something that
would explain why he was killed?”

She
pulled up in front of the house, put the car in park, and cut the engine.
“Let’s just ask a few questions here first,” she said. “Nothing’s been
confirmed yet.”

“Confirmed
about what?”

She
considered whether or not to tell me whatever it was she clearly knew.
Ultimately, she decided against it, shaking her head. The frustration I’d been
feeling since I got back to town swelled. “Let me get some more facts,” she
said. “Then I’ll tell you everything I’ve heard.”

I
would have argued the point, but she was already gone.

Rick
gave me a look like I’d drowned his puppy when we got to the door. He called
for Mae.

“I
don’t know what else I can tell you,” Mae said to Blaze, who nodded
understandingly.

“Often
in these situations, the family knows much more than they realize,” the agent
said. “If we’re going to find your son and get to the bottom of your husband’s
death, this is a necessary step. I’m just here to jog your memory.”

Right.
Mae led us to the kitchen. She poured coffee and set a plate of chocolate chip
cookies in the center of the table. Blaze scowled at them like they were a
mortal enemy, choosing the smallest from the bunch. I’d seen Solomon eat at
least ten in a sitting the night before. Mae sat.

“What
can I tell you?”

Blaze
didn’t hesitate. “What kind of relationship did your husband have with Jesup
Barnel?”

“He
was a believer,” Mae said promptly. She didn’t look at me. I remembered a night
on George’s porch with Wyatt, after I’d published my first piece on Barnel.
You
oughta be more careful with that man, Diggs. I don’t trust Jesup Barnel as far
as Mae could throw him. There’s somethin’ not right about him.

Had
things really changed that much since I left Justice five years ago?

“He
knew the reverend had some ideas not everybody took to,” Mae continued, “but
he’d also seen firsthand the good the reverend could do.”

“Was
he active in the church?”

This
time, Mae paused. “He had been. Not so much these last few months, though.”

“Why
not? What changed?” Blaze asked.

“He
just got busy. And the reverend stopped doing regular services, only did his
tent meetings every so often… We always went to the Justice Baptist church,
anyway—that got to be enough.” Something in her eyes told me that wasn’t the
whole story. Blaze picked up on it, too.

“How
did Reverend Barnel feel about that?”

Mae
didn’t say anything, worrying at a spot on the tablecloth. Blaze looked at me.

“Mae,”
I said as gently as I could. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now,
but if we’re gonna find Danny, we need you to be straight with us.”

She
nodded, lifting her eyes to mine. “I don’t know what happened. Reverend Barnel
and Wyatt had a fallin’ out, though—he said something to me once, about how
Wyatt had crossed a line. Gone against the Lord.”

“What
was your husband’s relationship with Sally Woodruff?” Blaze asked, with no
preamble. I looked at her sharply. Mae tensed immediately. I hadn’t heard Sally
Woodruff’s name in years. And I’d
never
heard it in conjunction with
Wyatt Durham before.

“That
lady that gives the abortions out on the town line?” Mae asked. “I’m not sure
what you’re askin’. We don’t go near that place. Don’t have nothin’ to do with
that woman.”

“All
right, thank you. Can you tell me a little more about your history with Jesup
Barnel?” Blaze asked, switching subjects yet again.

“I
grew up in Reverend Barnel’s church,” she said. “That’s where me and Wyatt met.
Wyatt wasn’t his biggest fan back then, of course…”

I
stood. “Listen, if you don’t mind I’m just gonna step outside for some fresh
air, stretch my legs. You mind?”

Blaze
studied me for a long minute, eyes narrowed. For a second, I thought she would
say no. Finally, she shook her head. “Don’t be gone long—I want to get back on
the road shortly.” 

“Of
course,” I agreed.

<><><> 

I
meandered aimlessly for about three minutes, then changed direction the moment
I was out of sight of the house. There was no way in hell I’d spend the day
trailing Blaze when I had leads of my own to follow. If Mae didn’t have the
answers we were looking for, I had a feeling I knew where to find them.

Half
an hour later, I was standing in line beside Casey Clinton at the local Dairy
Queen—Casey’s idea, not mine. It was eight-thirty on a Thursday night, which
meant our wait wasn’t long: a couple of acne-ridden teenage boys got Blizzards
and headed for the other side of the restaurant, and we were up. When it was
our turn, a slim teenage girl with dyed black hair, camo pants, and an Iggy Pop
t-shirt two sizes too small took our order. Her right eyebrow was pierced, and
she wore those trendy thick-framed glasses everyone likes so much. In Justice, Kentucky, she might as well have been a Martian.

“Hey,
Case,” she greeted Casey, then looked inquiringly at me. “Who’s your friend?”

“Danny’s
uncle,” Casey explained. “Diggs, this is Sophie. Sophie knows pretty much
anything that goes on in this town long before it hits the web.”

“I’m
at the hub of the rumor mill in this hell-hole,” Sophie said. She had no
discernible accent. “So this is Diggs, huh? I guess that explains Danny’s weird
surfing obsession... and how he got so good looking.”

“We’re
not actually related by blood,” I said. I tried for a
rakish-but-completely-uninterested grin—something it pays to have in your
repertoire when precocious high school girls are in the vicinity. “But thanks.
Can I get a large Coke and a…” I looked at Casey.

“The
usual,” she said to Sophie, who nodded and promptly pulled two large cups from
the stack beside her. “Listen,” Casey continued. “I heard Danny stopped in here
last night. We been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell.”

“Yeah,”
Sophie said. “Sure—I already told Creepy Jennings. Word is, Danny’s the one who
freaked out and tried to cap the preacher. Is that true?”

Casey
bristled, but I intervened before something started. “We don’t know what
happened last night; that’s why we need to find him. Did he say anything to
you?”

“Not
really. He got here around eight. Got a dish of soft-serve and ate it over
there.” She nodded to a booth in the back. “He said he was headed over to your
place. I guess this means you guys won’t be playing next week?”

Casey
hesitated. “I’m not sure. It depends on what happens with Danny.”

“Well,
if you’re not playing, I’m not going,” Sophie continued with a practiced eye roll.
“The rest of the bands they’re having are a bunch of losers. I heard if you
don’t make it they’re bringing in Jake Six. If I wanted to listen to a bunch of
drunk douche bags sing Toby Keith all night, I’d just come to work.”

“I’ll
let you know,” Casey promised. “And can you give me a call if Danny comes back
here? Let him know we’re looking for him.”

“Will
do.”

She
handed Casey an Oreo Blizzard and grinned at me when she slid my Coke across
the counter. “Y’all come back now,” she said with an exaggerated drawl and a
wink.

Casey
and I took a booth on the other side of the restaurant, well out of hearing
range of the kids who’d come in earlier. She apologized for her friend, then
got right down to business.

“So,
what’d you want to talk to me about? How can I help?”

“How
well did you know Wyatt Durham?” I asked, right off the bat.

She
faltered. “Danny’s daddy? I—I didn’t, really. I mean… we talked a couple times.
He gave me rides home every so often.”

It
wasn’t the truth, but I’d expected that. For now, I just wanted to see her
reaction when I mentioned his name.

“There
were two other victims the police think were killed by the same people who
killed Wyatt,” I said. “They were bad guys—into drugs, beating up their wives,
that kind of thing. But I know for a fact Wyatt wasn’t that kind of man. So,
I’m just wondering why anyone would lump him in with those losers.”

She
looked out the window, stirring her Blizzard into a melted mess. She was
pretty, in an understated, trying-to-get-through-life-unnoticed kind of way—a
wallflower in high school who’d likely go far… if she ever got out of this town
and made it to college. I figured that was a big if, knowing even half of what
she was facing right now.

“I
don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “I know Danny, not his old man.”

“Casey,
please,” I said. I took the damn ice cream from her, forcing her eyes to mine.
“I think Danny’s in a lot of trouble here. I don’t think he ran away, I think
someone took him. And if they did, we need to find him. Fast.”

She bit
her lip. I thought I was in, but then the veil fell. She shook her head,
glancing at the crowd of teenagers getting louder by the minute behind us.

“Sorry.
I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I didn’t know his daddy.”

“Okay,”
I said. Rule number one when dealing with a reluctant source: Don’t get pissed
off. Bullying only works in rare cases, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be
effective here. “Let’s forget Wyatt for a minute, then. What about Danny? I
know he smokes a little dope… Anything else that could have made someone mad
enough to take him?”

She
looked relieved, which threw me. She’d talk about Danny, but not his father?

“Danny’s
harmless,” she said. I pushed the Blizzard back toward her, feeling like an
idiot for having taken it in the first place. “He smokes bud and plays guitar
and sleeps with a lot of girls. That’s about as bad as it gets.”

“And
Danny never talked to you about his old man? About problems they might be
having?”