A Dirty Shame (10 page)

“Not like you’d score there anyway,” Martinez piped in. “She’s way out of your league, bro. Never would’ve made it past second base with that one.”

“It’s a first date, you moron,” Lewis said, cuffing Martinez on the side of the head good-naturedly.

Martinez was in his mid-twenties and still had enough shine on him to tell me he hadn’t been on the job too long. He was a couple of inches shy of six feet and stocky with it. His skin was the color of a caramel latte, his hair and eyes were black, and his smile was cocky. “My point exactly. You’ve got to give ‘em something to come back for. Right, boss?”

Jack looked at Lewis and reached out to take the stack of papers back. “On second thought, I think you’re a lot more suited to the follow-ups,” he said, dropping the stack in Martinez’s lap.

Lewis and Colburn burst into laughter, and I felt my lips twitch as well. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” Martinez said.

“It’s a struggle every damned day,” Jack said with a straight face. “Now, if we can get back to the murder that’s interrupting our playtime maybe we can all go home sometime today.” He turned to Lewis. “Information has come to me that George Murphy might be able to shed some light on this investigation. Track him down and bring him in for questioning. Let’s make it informal for now. Doctor Graves saw him headed towards Newcastle in the tow truck, so he’ll be back to the garage before the end of the work day more than likely.”

Lewis winced. “I’m not sure if I’d rather have the grunt work you stuck Martinez with or convince George he needs to cooperate with the police. I heard he caught a wild boar once, punched his hand through its chest, and pulled the beating heart right out of that sucker. Maybe I should wear the Kevlar.” He and Martinez both stood and headed toward the door.

“I’ll make sure to visit you in the hospital,” Martinez said. “It’s never a chore to talk with the pretty nurses.”

“Remember this is Code Red,” Jack said before they could open the door. “I don’t want any leaks. Keep those files locked up and give any new information directly to me or Colburn.”

“You got it, boss,” Martinez said and shut the door behind them.

“They make me feel old,” Colburn said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have a lot of new information for you, Jack. The tire tracks disappeared about half a mile from where the body was left, heading southeast, so they could’ve gone to King George or Nottingham, or another county entirely. It’s a large tread tire, so we’re looking for a truck or oversized SUV.”

“Not a Cadillac?” Jack and I both asked at the same time.

“Definitely not. I’ve got the measurements. Now all I’ve got to do is narrow it down to brand. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

“You’re not the only one,” Jack said.

“I’ve been doing door-to-doors near the drop site and also around Reverend Oglesby’s neighborhood. Word spreads when a body is found that way. Especially here. There are some that are clueless when I start questioning them, but there are others who’ve heard the rumors. And they’re scared. You can see it in their eyes, even as they deny that they know anything.”

“Then those are the ones I want you to talk to again.” Jack looked at his watch. “We’ve got nothing after this long, and it’s not going to get any easier to keep dragging it out. I’m going into interview. Let me know if someone clicks for you.”

Colburn unfolded his long body from the chair and gave us both a salute before he headed out.

“How do you feel about sitting in on the interview with me?”

“It makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, actually. Is there one of those two-way mirrors like on TV? And will we be recorded? I’ve never liked the sound of my voice on a recording. Though maybe it’s better now that I’ve got the husky thing going.”

“We’ll listen to the tape later,” he said, holding out his hand and pulling me from the chair. Our bodies bumped briefly. Just an innocent touch that should have been over before it began. The feelings that rioted inside my body weren’t foreign. I’d felt attraction before. Lust. Desire. Need. All of those things that made up basic body chemistry when two people clicked. But those feelings I’d had before were like distant shadows.

I put my hand against his arm to catch my balance and push away, but I was frozen there in his arms. My blood pumped faster and my heart slammed against my chest as his hand rested lightly on my waist. I somehow found the courage to look up. Just to see if I was imagining the whole thing.

The heat in his eyes had turned them almost black, and my fingers clenched against his shirt at the sight of all that restrained power. I don’t know what it was he saw in my face, but it made him loosen the grip I had on his shirt and kiss my fingers softly before separating our bodies.

“Wait—Jack—”

“All in good time, Jaye.” He squeezed my hand once and then let go. “Let’s go hear what the good doctor has to say.”

There was only one interview room in the King George County police station, and sometimes it doubled as storage if things were extra slow. They only boasted five jail cells, so the lack of interview space wasn’t terribly surprising. Most of the problems in this county could be solved without putting someone behind bars. It was an advantage of living in a place where you knew almost everyone.

I followed Jack down the hallway, the grey tile and mint green walls assaulting my eyes with every step. A uniform stood at attention outside a metal door, and he gave Jack a silent nod.

“Any trouble?” Jack asked.

“No, sir. He’s declined representation for the moment, and he asked for a glass of water. I gave him a bottle out of the fridge.”

Jack nodded and opened the door. He gestured for me to enter first, and I realized why as soon as I got my first glimpse of Doctor Gregory Vance. A woman was just another kind of minority to a man like him, and he barely gave me a glance before he turned his attention back to Jack.

Doctor Vance was the president of one of the largest hate groups in the entire country, so to say I was surprised at his appearance would have been an understatement of epic proportions. He could’ve been anybody’s grandfather. He wasn’t a large man, and his face was comfortably lined with age. His bald head was fringed with a half circle of silver hair that started just above the ears, and he wore round gold-framed glasses. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled to the elbow and an expensive watch gleamed at his wrist. The only sign of nerves I could see was the way he rolled his water bottle back and forth in his hands.

“Doctor Vance,” Jack said, taking the seat across from him. “Thanks for coming in to see us today. I’m hoping to clear up a few things.”

I took the seat next to Jack, and was already fidgeting to get out. There was something about the room that made me uneasy. Which I guess was its intention. But being enclosed in a 9x9 square room with painted concrete block walls wasn’t helping my anxiety. The table was metal and bolted to the floor, and the wooden chair I sat in had a short leg, so if I shifted in my seat it wobbled. The two-way mirror was non-existent. Just walls that kept closing in.

“It’s important to maintain a good relationship with the police,” Doctor Vance said. His voice was higher than I’d expected it to be.

“That’s good,” Jack said, tossing the thick file he’d brought in on the table. “Then we’ll get right to it.”

Jack took out the little cassette recorder and placed it between them on the table. I knew Jack had been trying to get the council to increase the technology budget so they could go digital, but so far his requests had fallen on deaf ears.

“Interview with Doctor Gregory Vance,” Jack said after he’d hit the record button. “You’ve been read your rights and have declined representation at this time, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Vance said.

“This is Doctor Graves,” Jack said. “She’s the coroner for King George County. She’ll sit in on the interview with your permission.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you need,” he said, his cordial smile turning to a smirk. Dead doctors weren’t considered
real
doctors in most circles, and I’d gotten used to the condescension from colleagues over the past couple of years.

“State for the record your occupation,” Jack said.

“I’ve been a general practitioner in Gloucester going on twenty years now.”

“Do you have hospital access?”

If Vance was surprised by the question he didn’t show it. “Yes, I make morning rounds twice a week, sometimes more if I’ve got a patient that’s critical.”

Jack nudged my foot under the table and I realized it was my turn. We’d discussed our strategy briefly on the short walk to the interview room.

“Do you know the drug Diprivan?” I asked.

“Of course.” He turned back to Jack, trying to take control away from me. I leaned forward and got his attention again, and the corners of his mouth tightened in either anger or annoyance, I couldn’t be sure. I’d been known to bring out both emotions in the opposite sex.

“Did you sign for a ten milliliter vial two Mondays ago after your morning rounds?”

Vance’s brows rose, but his face was as pleasant and passive as ever. “Obviously I did if you have the record of it, Ms. Graves. Let’s not play games.” I decided to ignore the slight he gave me by not using my title. “It’s common enough during surgeries. But I’m not a surgeon, and I’m not an anesthesiologist, so I don’t often have use of it, if that’s what you’re asking. But that particular morning, one of the anesthesiologists was running late. He’d met a woman the night before and ended up at her place. Unfortunately, he was an hour and a half away and he had a nine o’clock surgery. He asked me to sign for the drugs, so I did. It’s not a usual practice, but hardly illegal.”

“The doctor’s name?” Jack asked.

“Robert Goss. He’s a good doctor. Young and a little impulsive if his sexual habits are anything to go by, but we all know how it feels to be reeled in by a woman’s sexuality. It is, after all, why they were created. You can’t fault the man for falling to temptation. Women were born of sin.”

I rolled my eyes and pinched Jack’s leg under the table to get a move on. I suddenly felt very sorry for Mrs. Vance.

“Where were you the afternoon of Sunday, March 27
^th
, between the hours of noon and six PM?” Jack asked.

“Well,” Vance said, his furrowed brow crinkling further. “Where I am every Sunday afternoon. Church services end around twelve-thirty or so. And then I took my wife, kids and grandkids to lunch. We headed back to the house around three where we watched the Knicks beat the 76ers. A fairly standard Sunday in our household.”

“What about Friday morning between the hours of midnight and four AM?”

“Asleep, of course. I have rounds early Friday mornings. I have to be at the hospital by six AM. My wife can verify if need be.”

“I’ll make sure to contact her,” Jack said, catching Vance off guard with the promise.

I could tell by looking at the good doctor that he felt completely in control of this interview. He was pleasant, but he was also very intelligent and he knew how to show patience and restraint. He’d have to know how as the leader of a group of men as volatile as those belonging to the Aryan Nation.

“How do the people of Gloucester feel about their doctor being involved in one of the most prominent hate groups in America?” Jack asked.

Vance leaned forward and linked his fingers. He was enjoying himself, being the center of attention. “Most don’t know.” One side of his mouth quirked in an amused smile.

I could see it now. The disdain for those who didn’t see things the same way he did. For those he considered inferior. Myself included. His eyes changed—hardening—to give us a glimpse at the man beneath the surface.

“And the ones who do know?”

“Most of them are like you. They don’t understand our purpose. They pass judgment without knowing what we do because that’s what the government or the media has told them.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs comfortably. “And then there are those who do know. And believe.”

He twisted the cap off his water and took a long, slow drink, watching us over the top while his throat worked to swallow.

“And what about your sons?” Jack asked. “Do they believe? Did you start training them young? So that hate festered as they grew to adulthood?”

Vance set his water down on the table very carefully. Very controlled. “My sons are good men. They have children. They have careers.”

I noticed he didn’t say wives.

“And are they members of your club? Do they spend their free time torturing and beating grown men to death? Raping women?”

“As I’m sure you know, our membership roster is private. My name is available through our website because I’m the liaison between people like you and our members, but the citizens of this state who’ve decided to follow the true path and dedicate themselves to purifying this country have a right to their privacy.”

Jack took the crime scene photo of Reverend Oglesby out of his folder and set it in front of Doctor Vance. “Look at it,” Jack said when Vance continued to stare straight ahead. “Do you recognize the work here? Is this your idea of purification?”

Vance looked down at the photo of the mutilated body of Daniel Oglesby, but there was no reaction to the horror that had been captured. “There are all kids of purification, Sheriff, but this is not our way. Our creed is that violence of this nature is unnecessary to our cause.”

“But there is violence?”

“I’m sure you know better than most that a group of testosterone driven men can’t always be controlled with the voice of reason. But we strive to be rational and use logic to get our point across.”

“I’m sure Reverend Oglesby would disagree that his torture and death were rational or justified. It’s a hate crime. And it’s still murder, no matter what spin you put on it.”

“It’s not my hate crime,” Vance said with a smile. “I’ve already given you my alibi for the nights in question. I’m intrigued by your case. It’s not often a man of the cloth is punished in a way like this. But it makes you wonder what it was he did to deserve such a punishment.”

“Do you believe anyone deserves a punishment like this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

His eyes met mine and I felt a chill work its way down my spine. “I believe God allows punishments like this for those who do deserve it.”

Vance’s gaze bored into mine, but the pleasant look on his face was at odds with those dead eyes when he started quoting scripture. “
The fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and all liars shall have their part in the lake that burneth with fire.
Revelations is a powerful book of the Bible. Wouldn’t you say so, Ms. Graves?”

My palms were dry and cold and my mouth was like cotton. He’d spoken those words with power and condemnation, but I couldn’t let him see he’d affected me.

“I’m familiar enough with the Bible,
Mr.
Vance.”

Anger leapt into his eyes at my slight, and it took everything I could muster to hold still in my chair and not move away from him. I couldn’t let him see my fear. He might have an alibi, but he knew more than he was saying. I’d seen that evil glimpse into his soul, and I knew that Vaughn might not be as safe as he thought he was.

“You forgot to mention the part about murderers,” I said. “They belong in the fiery lake as well. Unless there’s a special place in hell for people like that?”

Vance leaned toward me, and I froze as I forgot how to breathe again.

“Do you know George Murphy?” Jack asked, drawing his attention away from me.

Vance gathered his composure and relaxed back in his chair. “I can’t say I recognize the name. Is he a suspect?”

“I just thought you might have some familiarity with those in your following.”

“Like I said, Sheriff, if he was a member I wouldn’t divulge his name. And just because I’m in a position of power doesn’t mean I know everyone in the organization. It’s a large group. Did you know our numbers have grown larger than all the police in the state combined?”

I felt Jack go rigid beside me as Vance stared him down and the threat became clear, but Jack wasn’t one to be intimidated. There was a reason Jack was a damned good poker player, but him in a temper was never a good thing, so I reached under the table and put my hand on his knee, hoping he wouldn’t give Vance the satisfaction of a response. Jack’s muscles relaxed beneath my hand, and he took another photograph out of the folder and put it face up in front of the doctor.

“What can you tell me about this?” Jack asked.

The photo was a close up of the brand that had been burned into Reverend Oglesby’s hip—of the flesh that had been charred black around the edge with the symbol of hatred. Jack took out another photo and laid it beside the first. I recognized the body of Julie Lawrence, the victim from Westmoreland County. She had a similar brand, but hers had been on the inner thigh. I could tell by looking at her photo that they’d given it to her pre-mortem, and I clenched my fists in my lap to keep from launching myself across the table at the smug little bastard in front of me.

Doctor Vance adjusted his glasses and leaned over the photographs, studying them intently. “Why should I be able to tell you anything about this symbol?” he asked, looking up.

“Doesn’t it look familiar? Like the symbol of the organization you represent?” Jack said.

“There are similarities, certainly,” Dr. Vance said. “But this is not our symbol.” He bent down and pulled up his trouser leg, pushing down his sock so his ankle was exposed. No bigger than the size of a thumbprint was the exact same tattoo I’d seen on George Murphy.

“This is our symbol, Sheriff Lawson. What you have there is the same except for the crown. Our crown only has three points. The one on your victims has five.”

“And that makes a difference?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. A significant difference. That’s not our symbol. Now,” he said, fixing his pants leg and pushing back his chair. “I’ve given you all the time I can spare for the day.”