Touch of Evil (18 page)

Squinting to see, Justine motioned him toward her vehicle, where a security light reflected off damp concrete. “Over here, please, sir. And keep your hands where I can see ’em.”

She turned her body so he wouldn’t see her missing gun.

“Oh, sure, sure,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Dr. Fleming,” she said, recalling his round face from the single time she’d met him during the narcotics theft investigation. “What brings you outside the hospital this time of night?”

His mouth pulled into a chagrined look. “Cigarettes, can you believe it? A doctor should know better, yet somehow I keep smoking. And you’re not allowed, inside the hospital, so I just sneak out for a smoke break.”

“Addictions are a tough thing to stamp out altogether. You can subvert them, alter their form, but the basic tendency sticks with a person,” Justine said, causing him to look away, avoiding her gaze and all but cringing in response. Whether it was the flatness of her delivery or her expression, Justine was well aware of her ability to cause discomfort. Well aware, and not above using it to rattle witnesses and suspects.

Especially one who’d just lied to her, as Kenneth Fleming had. She saw no rectangular outline of a cigarette packet or lighter in the pocket of his white coat. More telling still, she didn’t smell a whiff of smoke on the man, either.

“Well, at least cigarettes and pie are legal.” Patting the soft swell of his stomach, Fleming laughed, the sound of his forced humor awkward.

Justine nodded in agreement. “So what can I do for you, Doctor?”

“I—I heard something about Ross’s—Dr. Bollinger’s—cousin inside. Of course, I wasn’t meant to, but the emergency department’s so small, it’s hard not to—”

“Not many secrets in my office, either,” she said. “Someone forgets to log off a computer, or background checks come in on a common fax…And we run a lot of background checks there. On practically everyone in any way related to our investigations.”

Tired as she was, she kept the heat on, her gaze unblinking, her full attention primed to capture whatever information his nervousness might shake loose.

“I just wanted you to know, before it came up in your investigation,” Fleming told her, “I’ve been seeing Laney, sort of.”

“By ‘sort of,’ you mean what, exactly?”

Again, he looked away. “We’ve had coffee a few times this month.”

“Coffee?” Justine asked, wondering when he’d get to the sex part. Because there had to be a sex part, as unlikely as he looked for the role of the young singer’s lover. Why else, she wondered, would he come to find her, except to claim a consensual relationship? The sort of relationship that would explain his semen being on Laney Thibodeaux’s undergarments and her person.

Fleming shrugged his rounded shoulders. “We’ve met over at the Grind. You know, the place my wife used to manage? Ex-wife, I mean, but I still keep hoping…”

“You’re trying to make your ex jealous? Thinking word might get back to her?”

Nodding, he answered, “I know. It’s pathetic. Connie’s moved on with her life. She took the kids and went to Fort Worth. But I haven’t given up yet.”

“So you were proving your devotion by screwing some little singer in her twenties?”

Fleming’s gaze jerked to her face. “I wasn’t sleeping with her. For God’s sake, I only said we went for coffee. She’s nice to talk to, you know?”

There was no mistaking the flare of his anger, so different
from the poor-pitiful-loser persona he had been projecting. Was it the sort of anger that erupted into violence? The kind that might drive a frustrated man to rape?

Justine made a mental note to call the ex-wife, to find out if she was looking at a pattern of behavior.

“You’re sure it was just talking?” she pressed. “You don’t want to consult a lawyer?”

He glowered at her, moving closer. “You can go to hell, you know that? I come out here, of my own accord, to give you some information, and you’re twisting it into something sordid. Something criminal.”

“Occupational hazard,” Justine said dryly. “And you’ll want to stop there, maybe take a step back. Otherwise, you’re likely to find out another occupational hazard: a cop’s reaction to getting crowded physically.”

He backed off, his face resentful. “This far enough, Sheriff?”

“It’ll do. So tell me, Dr. Fleming, what’s this information you had for me? Other than the fact that you’ve been seen with Miss Thibodeaux and she had your number in her bedroom. ”

“So Ross told you about that.” Fleming sounded hurt.

Ross had been right about him. The guy
was
a crybaby.

“His cousin was a missing person,” she said, “one we had every reason to believe was in imminent danger. Speaking of which, has she said anything to you, anything at all about anybody bothering her? Anyone who gave her the creeps?”

If Fleming meant to pull a SODDI, the infamous Some Other Dude Did It defense, now would be the time for him to volunteer his theory. But instead, he shook his head and avoided her eyes as he answered, “Not that she ever mentioned. To tell you the truth, we mostly talked about our losses. Her fiancé and my family.”

Those must have been some really swell dates.
But even as the thought occurred, Justine wondered how it would have
been for her if she’d had someone with whom to share her grief in those first weeks after Lou’s death. If she’d let her guard down rather than putting on her tough-girl act and throwing herself into winning the right to complete his remaining term of office. If she’d trusted anyone enough, maybe she would have been thinking clearly. Clearly enough to see that others were leading her into ethically dicey territory.

But when it came to her emotions, Justine only knew how to play defense. Her father had certainly driven home that lesson.

You don’t get to lie there moping, bellyaching about how you miss your brother. You lost that right when you killed him. Over a damned dog.

As an adult, Justine understood how much he’d been hurting when he’d lashed out with those words. But the wounded child in her had never quite been able to forgive him.

And neither one of them had ever again brought up the conversation.

“So what else did you come out here to tell me?” she asked Kenneth Fleming.

“That Laney Thibodeaux’s a nice person, and it makes me sick that someone’s hurt her.” He made firm eye contact this time, as if to underscore his sincerity. Or convince her of it. “So I’ll be glad to do anything, anything at all I can, to help with your investigation.”

“Glad to hear you feel that way.” Justine opened the passenger door of her Expedition. “Why don’t you climb in?”

“Get in? But I’m on duty right now,” he protested.

“I won’t keep you away long, Dr. Fleming. All I’ll need is a handwriting sample,” she told him. “And a cheek swab, of course. To cross-check DNA.”

One should forgive one’s enemies, but not before they are hanged.

—Heinrich Heine

How could it have gone so wrong?

I thought for sure she would be happy. Delighted to be unshackled from encumbrance. Thrilled she had been granted the liberty to soar.

And the freedom to give herself to me completely, with no drugs, no coercion. Only gratitude for all the risks and sacrifices I have made to please her, all the hours of research on my chosen method.

(Did you know that back in 1916, a circus elephant named Mary was hanged to death in Tennessee for the “intentional murder” of her assistant trainer? Messy affair, with its industrial crane and snapped chain and horrifying bellows as the poor, doomed beast fell, leading to the necessity of a second, ultimately successful attempt at execution. But untidy or not, the spectacle had no shortage of onlookers, no, sirree. According to accounts, over twenty-five hundred showed up to check out the spectacle. I often wonder how they managed the next time they felt the need for entertainment. How can one top the most sublime form of brutality man has to offer?)

But I digress, as I’m prone to do when I get on this topic. Let’s move back, shall we, to the bitch who sent me such clear signals, then feigned indifference—worse than indifference—when the moment came. As if she’d planned all along to use me to do her
bidding, to put the others out of her way so she could turn her back on me.

Should have killed the scheming whore right then, led her straight to the scene of the crimes (her crimes, for how can I be blamed in all this?), slipped the noose around her neck, and hoisted her aloft, like poor, damned Mary, back in Tennessee.

Only in this case, how satisfying it would have been to see the kicking of slender human legs, to reach up and feel her (not yours, never yours, dear) twitching slow to stillness as her body gave up its warmth, degree by slow degree.

It would have been a pleasure, always, to think back on such an artful act of vengeance, one sanctified by history and justified by circumstance.

Hurt as I was, how could I have given in instead to a few minutes’ animalistic pleasure, then allowed her to wander off with evidence inside her? By the time I calmed down enough to think things through, to return to take care of our unfinished business and consign her weighted body to the cleansing waters, the little bitch had passed beyond my reach—and into the custody of others.

But she cannot, will not, stay safe forever. Nor will anyone, particularly any woman, who ever again stands in my way. Given what I’ve learned, I can as easily hang two or even three as one. (That pretty golden sandal, still dangling from a toe.)

In fact, I rather hope to.

For I have seen the elephant, and it takes more to please me now.

Friday, October 23

Ross deliberately misled the other members of his family, allowing them to think Laney wouldn’t be discharged till Saturday. And he showed up early Friday morning, before
visiting hours began—his only shot at talking to her without a horde of relations interrupting.

Once an aide helped her dress and brush her hair, Ross wheeled Laney downstairs and assisted her into his car. Her color looked good, her eyes were clearer, and she looked more like herself, wearing blue jeans and a light cotton sweater. Still, she barely responded to his attempts at conversation until he drove out of the lot.

Slowing for a moment, Ross pulled on his sunglasses against the morning glare.

“I want to go home,” she burst out, her voice shaking. “Please don’t take me to Trudy’s.”

“Sorry, Laney. Trudy’s taken some time off so she can be with you, but with the kids, there’s no way she can go to your—”

“She blames me. Blames my lifestyle.”

“Did Trudy say that?” He coasted into an intersection and waited for the white van in the lane opposite to proceed.

“She didn’t have to. She’s always after me to finish college, and when I moved in with Jake, she acted like my life was over, when
he
was the one who…” Unable to finish, Laney shook her head.

“I know you miss him, and I understand this is a hard time for you,” Ross said. “But maybe you should cut your sister a little slack now. She’s trying. We all are.”

“You understand
nothing.”

Ross glanced at her, stung by the bitterness in her voice. “So explain it to me. I’m listening, Laney.”

When she said no more, he pressed. “Maybe we should talk about the pregnancy, for starters.”

“No. I don’t want to—I can’t. I haven’t even decided whether to go through with…” Fanning out her fingers, she covered her eyes. “And I swear, Ross, if you tell anybody, even Trudy, I’m packing my stuff and I’m leaving. And this time, I won’t be coming back.”

Ahead of them, lights flashed and railroad-crossing arms dropped. He caught sight of the train and stopped to wait. “I don’t want you to leave. No one does. When you were missing, all I could think of was that damned noose, your friends’ bodies out by that lake. So don’t threaten me with taking off again.”

She looked at him sharply, her eyes flaring in surprise. “I’m sorry, Ross. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about…It hurts so much right now, I can’t see anything but black walls all around me.”

“We’re all inside them sometimes.” Ross wished like hell he could back off now instead of upsetting her even more by pushing. But there was no other way, so he forged ahead, counting on the car’s close confines as much as the bonds of shared affection to keep her from storming off. “Who’s the father, Laney? Who are you involved with?”

If he knew that, he’d have some idea where she’d been heading the night she’d been assaulted. Armed with this information, Justine might be able to track down the man who’d hurt her, who’d left her wandering where the cold rain could have killed her. Though he hadn’t yet shared the news of Laney’s pregnancy, he’d do that, too, if he had to, if he thought it would lead to an arrest. And to putting Laney on the first step to recovery.

The train’s engine gave a whistle, then crossed before them, cars rattling on the rails.

When she failed to answer, he added, “Is it Kenneth Fleming? I know the two of you have something—”

She made a face. “No way—
Kenneth
? I mean, he’s a nice enough person to talk to over coffee, for an old guy, but it isn’t like that with us. I’ve never thought of him that way.”

“What about him? Because I can tell you, when a forty-something doctor starts taking out a sweet young thing, it’s not about the conversation.”

Laney shot him a disgusted look. “You know, not every man’s got his head in his pants every second of the day.”

“So you’re telling me Kenneth couldn’t be the father?”

“What if I said it was Jake’s?” she asked. “What if I said we
were
together one last time in those last few days?”

Railcars rattled past, many of them covered with graffiti. He thought he saw one carrying cattle en route to their deaths.

“But earlier, you told the sheriff and me he couldn’t—”

“Would you believe me, Ross? Or have you and that woman already decided I’m a whore, too, not just a liar?”

“Fine,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about that file in your desk drawer instead?”

“So you were the one who went through my things.”

“Absolutely. Would’ve gone through your computer files, too, if you hadn’t had a password. Would’ve done whatever it took to find you and bring you home safe.”

“I—I’m sorry.” As the rail arms rose ahead of them, her eyes gleamed in the morning light. “Sorry I’ve been snapping. I appreciate what you did. You…you know that, don’t you? I’m just…This all makes me so mad, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Ross nodded, thinking she had plenty of reason to be angry. It was going to take a lot of time and understanding to get her through this crisis.

And he had both to spare. Driving forward, he said, “Don’t be sorry, Laney. Just tell me about those notes I found. Some of them were pretty personal. A few were downright scary.”

“Sheriff Wofford asked about them, too. I guess she has them, and I already gave her the password and permission to take my laptop and look through it. She’s trying to track down whoever wrote those really weird notes, just in case the guy’s the same one…” She sniffled once, then straightened, wiping at her eyes.

“You had e-mail from this same person?”

“A couple, yeah. I’m pretty sure it was the same guy who left that note I found in my guitar case after a show.”

“You know for sure it was a man?”

She shook her head. “I just…It would have to be, right? Or I guess maybe not. But anyway, the e-mails weren’t signed either, and the address just looked like a bunch of random numbers.”

“Sounds like stalking, Laney. Why on earth wouldn’t you report it?”

She shook her head. “At first, they didn’t seem so bad. Not so much worse than the others. And even later, they were never really threats, so I thought if I didn’t encourage him, they’d stop.”

Sometimes, her naiveté appalled him. “Why didn’t you tell someone? Mention it to me, or—”

“You were sick, Ross. I wasn’t going to bother you about it.”

“Well, what about the guys in the band?”

She shook her head. “Jake had enough on his mind, and Hart was so broken up over his divorce. Which left Caleb, and our agent had already warned him he had to keep his nose clean. What if he got into another fight about it?”

“Then why not talk to someone from the family? Your sisters or your mother, maybe.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. They were all over me about moving in with Jake already.” She chuffed a humorless laugh. “If I’d shown them those messages, they’d have probably had me kidnapped by deprogrammers.”

He smiled, imagining one of those ministries that specialized in rescuing cult members attempting to pray the rhythm out of Laney.

“I did ask Kenneth about it. I thought…Well, I knew he was a friend of yours, and he’s older, so I—”

In the driver’s seat, Ross stiffened. “I’m not sure I’d call Kenneth my friend.”

Laney shrugged. “He certainly feels that way about you.”

Ross frowned, thinking that down-on-his-luck Kenneth might have said anything for a shot at Laney. “So what did he say about the messages?”

“He didn’t think it was anything the authorities would worry over, but he could see I was starting to get a little worried. With Hart and Jake gone, the idea of dying started to seem more…I don’t know…
real
to me.”

Ross remembered himself at twenty-two, remembered the way mortality seemed like something that happened only to other people. Old people, mainly, though med school quickly disabused him of that notion.

As the final rail cars slipped away, the lights stopped flashing, and the crossing arms rose to let them pass.

“So what did he say?” Ross asked. “What did he do for you?”

“Kenneth made me feel safe.” Laney smiled, though her eyes looked deeply troubled. “For a little while, at least, he let me live in that illusion.”

Beyond Justine’s office window, darkness had long since banished the soft red tail of twilight. The building itself had mostly fallen quiet, with Rose the dispatcher holed up with one of her beloved paperbacks down the hall and the evening-shift deputies out on routine calls.

Engrossed in comparing Roger Savoy’s phone records to what few handwritten case notes Calvin had found at his desk, Justine started at the ringing phone, then cursed when she saw the name on the caller ID window.

Grimacing, she picked up. “I’m making progress,” she told County Judge Ellis Major, current head of the commissioners’ court and bane of her existence.

“That budget was to have been on my desk by five o’clock
sharp.” His voice was as cold and harsh as the dour face she kept pinned to her mental dartboard. “Either that or your resignation,
Sheriff.
”

Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?
“So I’m supposed to back-burner a case involving the murder of a member of this department and what’s looking a hell of a lot like a serial killer to push papers? Would you like to explain that to Roger Savoy’s family or the families of those men who were hanged? Maybe you should just write an editorial for the paper, let them all know where your priorities are right now.”

“There’s no need to take that tone with me.”

Justine snorted, amused that someone so obnoxious would chastise her on the point. “You’re right,” she allowed. “There wouldn’t be.
If
you’d expressed the slightest concern or maybe asked me how the investigation’s going. Or how my son is doing.”

“Of course I’m concerned about all this mess. Went to speak to Marilyn Savoy myself and personally assured her we’re doing everything in our power to bring in her husband’s killer.”

Justine could imagine how that conversation had gone, with Marilyn Savoy pouring poison in the ear of a man who already considered Justine an embarrassment. Or perhaps a risk, since she knew damned well he’d been “assisted” into office by the same power brokers who’d helped her along.

“And your boy has been in my prayers, mine and Willa’s both, along with the families of those zydeco people.” He said the final words with distaste, reflecting his dim view of what she’d heard him more than once refer to as the barfly crowd. A strident Christian fundamentalist, Major didn’t waste a lot of sympathy on those he saw as sinners.

“Nevertheless,” Major continued, “we still have a responsibility
to the taxpayers of this county. And
you
have a responsibility to do what you know you must. So which is it, Mrs. Wofford—”

“
Sheriff
Wofford,” she corrected, unwilling to let that slight go unchallenged.

“Sheriff. Have you decided to go with CorrecTex or Southern Humane Detentions? Because, the way I see it, there’s no other choice. Not without closing the hospital’s emergency department.”

Justine winced, imagining the uproar if the county’s citizens, her own family included, were forced to travel more than forty miles to get to the next closest emergency department. Imagining Ross’s reaction to the loss of the job that clearly meant so much to him.