A Dirty Shame (16 page)

I noticed his lawn was looking a little scruffy and most of the plants in his flowerbeds had long since died. A black Volvo sat in the driveway, and I heard the TV blaring from the front porch.

“Doc Randall,” Jack called out as he banged on the door, pitching his voice louder to compete with the television. “It’s Sheriff Lawson and Doctor Graves.”

We stood there for a few minutes and waited, but no one came to the door.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said, stepping into the flowerbed so I could look through a window. I peeked into the kitchen and saw an uneaten bowl of soggy cereal and a newspaper on the kitchen table. A half pot of coffee was on the kitchen counter, but there was no sign of Doc Randall.

I described the scene to Jack and we walked back to his cruiser to grab some gloves. Jack looked up as a car passed by, and he waved to Leroy Gherkin. Church had let out, and in a few minutes the street would be busy with traffic as people made their way home to Sunday pot roast. I tossed my coat in the backseat because the temperature was warming up, and also because if we stumbled across a crime scene I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging the coat through blood. I stuck my Beretta in my pants at the small of my back.

“Let’s do this quick,” Jack said as we both put on gloves. “We’ll check it out from the back door.”

Jack’s hand was on his weapon as we made our way behind the house. The backyard wasn’t in any better shape than the front, and it was soggy from the rain.

“Ah, hell,” Jack said. “The grass is tamped down back here. Got a few partial footprints. No blood that I can see though.”

We stepped wide around them, and Jack boosted me up and onto the cement stoop before he jumped across. The storm door was cracked and Jack grabbed the handle to open it wider. When he brought his hand away to knock, I noticed the small smear of blood.

“Jack,” I said, catching his arm. He opened the palm of his hand and there it was—a brownish-red stain against the blue of his glove.

“Shit,” he said, pulling his weapon from the holster. “Stay back.”

“Like hell,” I said, my little Beretta already in my hand. “I’m with you.”

Jack glared at me so the molten chocolate of his eyes darkened to black, and his mouth pinched in a straight line. I could tell he was fighting for control of his temper, and I could tell he was going through the entire argument we’d have in his head before he ever spoke a word. Jack was good about thinking first before he ever opened his mouth. I still needed work in that area.

He must have come to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to budge because he said, “Fine. But stay behind me, and for God’s sake don’t shoot me.”

I listened to him mumble something under his breath about unreasonable women, but I blanked it out as his hand turned the doorknob and it opened easily. He pushed it open and we didn’t have to go very far to see we were too late. Death had happened here, and with it came a smell that couldn’t be attributed to anything else.

We stepped carefully around small dots of blood and into a living room crowded with comfortable furniture worn with age. It had the look of a house that had gone too long without a woman’s touch. A thin layer of dust coated dozens of picture frames and knick-knacks, and old newspapers cluttered the coffee table. The house was cut up into several rooms, so it was impossible to stand in one place and see anywhere else.

Jack locked the back door behind us, and I followed behind him as we made a quick circuit of the first floor and then took the stairs to look in the three bedrooms on the second floor. There was no sign of Doc Randall.

Jack holstered his weapon, and I put the safety back on and stuck it back in my pants. We’d seen all we needed to see in the tiny office off the main living room.

“It’s like they lined him up for a firing squad,” I said, looking at the white wall smeared with blood. “At least two of the bullets exited the body and are embedded in the wall. There’ll be flesh embedded with it. Of course, it’s going to be hard to match it with anything considering we don’t have a body.”

Doc Randall’s office was Spartan. A wooden desk was shoved against the wall, but there wasn’t a computer or any papers on the surface. There was a lone bookshelf filled with worn paperbacks and a metal file cabinet.

Doc Randall had been shot standing against the wall. At least I assumed it was Doc Randall. It was easy to see from the blood pattern how the body would have staggered back as the bullets tore through flesh. I could see it clearly in my mind. A frail man slammed back by the shock of the metal ripping into his chest, and then sliding down to the floor in a heap, leaving a smear of blood behind that looked like one of those modern paintings people paid too much money for.

“They hit something vital,” I said, taking a swab of the blood and sealing it in a bag. “There’s too much blood, and you can see the arterial spray there against the adjacent wall and on the carpet.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“If he didn’t have immediate medical attention, then yeah. Even if he’d had immediate attention, his chances wouldn’t have been good.”

“What do you want to bet the murder weapon was a .22? Vaughn had two guns in that safe.”

I sighed. “No bet. I don’t like the game they’re playing.”

“There wasn’t any sign of breaking and entering at the front door or the back,” Jack said.

“He let them in,” I said, nodding.

“Fuck,” he said. “They’re cleaning up the loose ends. And if they’re using Vaughn’s weapons then he’s just another tool to them.”

He pulled out his phone, and I knew without asking he was calling Vaughn. Jack swore again when it went to voicemail, and he left Vaughn a message that was short and to the point about his safety.

“They cornered him in here,” I said. “There were at least a couple of people waiting at the back of the house if the footprints are anything to go by, so they had him trapped inside.”

Jack closed his eyes and I knew he was doing what he was best at—seeing the scene as it had been—trying to dig his way inside the killer’s mind.

“We’ll see if anyone heard the shots when we do a door to door, but the timing of this is perfect. Hardly anyone in this neighborhood is home on a Sunday morning.”

I followed Jack back to the front of the house and into the kitchen, and faced the evidence of Doc Randall’s last morning alive.

“Yeah, that makes more sense,” Jack said, taking in the half-eaten cereal and newspaper.

“You want to fill me in?” I asked as he continued to carry on a conversation with himself. “I can’t read your mind as well as you read mind.”

“That’s always good to know. They sent one person to do the job. Could be the same person who did George, but it could’ve just as easily have been someone different. Different styles will throw us off even further, right? This guy shot an old man three times point blank in the chest. He was grandstanding, maybe toying with the Doc a little. No head shot since there’s no brain matter anywhere, but it was still overkill. Whoever they sent was still someone expendable just in case he was seen. It’s dicey putting three bullet holes into someone during daylight hours in a residential neighborhood, but they knew the area. They knew everyone would be at church. He wouldn’t have parked in the driveway, but it would’ve been somewhere close by.”

Jack looked out the front window to take in the view. “The bank parking lot would be the closest, and there’s that area in back that’s hidden by the dumpster. It’s what? A five-minute walk?”

“If that,” I said.

“So he knocks on the door, interrupting Doc Randall at his breakfast, but he’s welcomed inside. The killer has orders to get the job done quickly. He’s on a deadline. But what does he do after he kills Doc Randall? That’s what bothers me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t leave the body and walk away. He calls for help and they take the body with them. Why?”

“Maybe Doc Randall knew something. Maybe he was still alive enough to tell them something. But he was bleeding pretty badly, so he wouldn’t have lasted long. The blood trail leads all the way to the back door.”

“Or maybe the guy was sent to question Doc Randall first and things got out of hand. Maybe he called in the others because he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe it was his first kill and he panicked.”

We followed the blood trail down the hallway and back into the living room where we came in.

“The blood trail stops here,” Jack said. “They wrapped him up in something to get him out of the house. Probably trash bags from the kitchen. We’ll check the alley for tire treads and see if they match Oglesby’s crime scene.”

“There’s one problem with all that,” I said. “The killer would be covered in blood if he moved the body here before they wrapped it. There’d be no way around it. How’s he supposed to get back to his car? Surely someone passing by on the street would notice.”

“This whole thing stinks of an amateur. No planning involved on his part once he got here. He left a mess behind, and maybe he left some fingerprints as well. If it were me I’d hand the keys of my car over to someone else. I’d wrap myself in the same plastic they put the body in and catch a ride with whoever came to bail me out. Still, though, there’s going to be blood in that car.”

“The blood has clotted and started to separate,” I said, “So the crime scene is only a few hours old.”

“That would normally be helpful information. But we’re lacking a body.”

“It might be for the best,” I said. “I’m out of room in my freezer.”

Jack shook his head at me in disbelief, but I just shrugged. I spoke the truth, and finding Doc Randall’s body meant we’d have to figure out some other way to keep him on ice, and it wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone involved.

“I’ve got to call this in,” Jack said. “And then I have to go ask the mayor for his alibi. The fun never ends.”

“Since there’s no body, I’m guessing I’ll just be in the way here,” I said, unlocking the door and heading out into the fresh air. Jack followed behind me. “I’ll walk back to the funeral home. I’m supposed to meet Reverend Thomas and Mr. Oglesby about Daniel’s interment. Let me know if you need anything else from me.”

“Let me have a patrol car take you,” Jack said.

I peeled off my gloves and stuck them in my pocket. “It’s only a couple of blocks. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll check in with you once I get a break.” He kissed me once, and I stood there a little dazed before I shook myself out of it and walked back around to the front of the house.

I waved to Colburn as he pulled in behind Jack’s cruiser, and thought about the best place to hide Doc Randall’s body. The river would be an obvious choice. But they’d wait until dark to dump him. So it was being held somewhere. Probably the same place they’d tortured Daniel Oglesby. Unfortunately, the choices were unlimited at this point.

“This is more difficult than I thought it would be,” Reverend Thomas said half an hour later.

David Oglesby—Daniel’s father—had given permission for the church to handle all the minutia of burying his son, since he could never be sure what his mind was going to be from one day to the next because of the Alzheimer’s. So Reverend Thomas and Lorna had come in directly after Sunday services to get things settled. I’d already told them I’d do the service at cost, and that seemed to be satisfactory to the Reverend, even though Lorna’s mouth pinched in a disapproving line at my apparent lack of charity.

“Daniel had become like a son to me,” the Reverend continued, his voice papery thin. “It’s a comfort to know he’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t make our earthly wants go away. It’s selfish to want him here when I know he’s in heaven.”

Lorna scowled, but she kept her mouth shut in respect of the Reverend. I wondered then if he knew Daniel Oglesby was gay.

Reverend Thomas cleared his throat and picked a piece of lint off his black trousers. “I think I might need a moment to myself. Lorna can make the final decisions on the casket and flowers. Thank you for taking care of this, J.J. I’ll see you tomorrow evening at the viewing.”

I watched with sympathy as Reverend Thomas hoisted his creaky bones out of the little chair in front of my desk. He shuffled out of my office, and I heard the front door of the funeral home click softly behind him.

Unfortunately, I was left all alone with Lorna. She still wore her church clothes—a dark navy dress that would have been in style forty years ago, with an eyelet lace collar and matching Mary Jane heels that were a tasteful one-inch in height. Her stockings didn’t have runs in them, and her mousy hair was pulled back severely from her face and fastened in a tight bun at the base of her neck so it looked like she had a bagel attached to the back of her head.

I knew I’d be meeting clients today, so I’d at least thought to put on something besides my old jeans and a ratty t-shirt. I felt fairly presentable in gray slacks and a dark red silk shirt, but women who wore pants were no better than prostitutes by Lorna’s way of thinking. I’d also gotten a little blood on the sleeve of my shirt at Doc Randall’s house, and her gaze kept straying to the darkened stain, but I hadn’t had time to change to protect her delicate sensibilities. I’d even bothered with makeup, though that might have had more to do with the fact that sex tended to make a person stupid, and I wanted to look nice for Jack. Just in case he decided this morning wasn’t a fluke and wanted to do it again.

I pushed the pamphlets across the desk to Lorna, but she just stared at me, her hands pressed together primly in her lap.

“These are the casket selections in your budget,” I said. “I have most of them in stock. I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Grainger at the florist, and she said to tell you she has a lovely selection of white roses and greenery she thought you’d find acceptable.”

Lorna nodded stiffly and looked briefly at the pamphlet. “Mrs. Grainger has excellent taste, so of course, I’ll go with her recommendation. These caskets are all overpriced,” she said. “But I’ve come to expect that you’d try to swindle good Christian folk in their greatest time of need. I suppose if I have no other choice, we’ll take the mahogany.”

She shoved the pamphlet back at me and stared at my neck until I felt heat washing over my skin. I fought the urge to close my collar tighter, but that would only tell her I felt guilty I’d been caught with beard burn on my neck.

“Is there a problem?” I asked instead.

“Other than the fact you’ve brought another good man down in the gutter with you?” Her pale blue eyes spat fire at me and I was taken aback by the vehemence I saw there. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, raising a brow. I was surprisingly calm considering the insult, but maybe something of what Jack had said yesterday was starting to get through. I didn’t share my parents’ blood. I wasn’t guilty of their sins. Sure, I was guilty of plenty of my own, but my burden had eased some since I’d stopped lumping the sins of my family on top of mine.

“You killed that nice writer with your whorish ways, and now you’ll do the same with Jack.”

“Technically, I didn’t kill the writer with my whorish ways. Jeremy Mooney shot him, in case you’ve forgotten. Now as far as Jack goes, we haven’t killed each other with sex yet, but we’re giving it our best shot.”

Lorna sputtered and her eyes bulged out. I think I offended her, and I knew what I’d said was petty, but I was tired of taking cheap shots and being the “nice guy” just because I felt like I had to make up for the rest of my family.

“He’ll see you for what you are eventually,” she spat, “And God will forgive him for straying and provide him with the right woman.”

“But God won’t forgive me?” I asked, wondering the same thing myself. “That’s not very Christian of you, Lorna. Jealousy is an unattractive trait. You should probably ask your own forgiveness and mend your wicked ways.”

Lorna squeaked once, and two spots of furious color dotted her cheeks before she tucked her handbag beneath her arm and stormed out of my office. I wish I could’ve said I felt better after our exchange, but I didn’t. Maybe revenge wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

***

I’m not sure how long I sat behind my desk, doing mindless paperwork, and making the necessary calls for Reverend Oglesby’s funeral on Tuesday morning. Mrs. Perry’s funeral was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, and both were supposed to have their viewings on Monday night at the same time. When it rained it poured.

In all honesty, I was dreading it. The funeral home would be packed, and I would be on display as much as the bodies—though Reverend Oglesby would be having a closed casket. Murder had a tendency to bring in a combination of true mourners, the curious, and the morbid, and considering how the Reverend was killed, there would be plenty of all three in attendance.

I had a crew digging the graves over at the cemetery, and I knew it would be awful, muddy work because of the rain we’d had. And according to the weatherman, there’d be more rain overnight. I wondered briefly if I should go ahead and have them dig George’s grave while they were there to save a little money, but his body hadn’t been released for burial yet, so I held off.

I made a final call to Martha Phelps—owner of Martha’s Diner—and occasional caterer for Graves’ Funeral Homes. I needed to make sure we were set to feed the masses when they showed up the following night. Mourners were
always
hungry. I made another call to the florist, and then I went downstairs to make sure the bodies were as good as they were going to get before we placed them in their coffins.

The families would want to say goodbye, and the most important thing I could do for them was make sure their family member looked as close to their live self as possible. I’d made the mistake once of parting a woman’s hair on the opposite side from how she normally wore it, and by the reaction the family had you’d have thought I’d chopped off the tip of her nose.

Getting the bodies maneuvered into the caskets would be the hard part. Reverend Oglesby was a big man, and I tried to think of the best way to bribe Jack into helping me. I needed to get a couple of more interns from the college as soon as possible. It was hell trying to get everything accomplished and make sure the bodies still looked good with only one person doing all the work.

I went back upstairs and into my office, and I thought about stretching out on the blue couch against the wall to rest my eyes, but I shrugged off the idea. First of all, it was a really uncomfortable couch, and I made a mental note to buy a new one with the money I made from selling my house. Secondly, the thought of going to sleep without Jack beside me wasn’t all that appealing.

I decided to make a fresh pot of coffee instead when I heard the key turn in the kitchen door and the muted sound of men’s voices. My gun was in the center drawer of my desk, only a few feet away, but the sound of Jack’s voice stopped me from running to get it.

I let out a breath and wandered into the kitchen. My eyes immediately went to Jack, hungry for the sight of him. He quite literally took my breath away. It was crazy to think that something so beautiful and good could be mine, but he was, and the thought didn’t terrify me as much as it had even a day ago. He wanted me. And he loved me. No strings attached. Except marriage, but I still wasn’t thinking about that.

He’d stripped away his jacket with the warming temperatures, and I noticed he’d changed clothes some time after our visit to Doc Randall’s. Things must have gotten messy. He wore jeans and a faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his weapon secure at his side. My gaze wandered over him, and when I finally met his eyes they were so filled with lust and need that it made my breath catch. It was then I remembered we weren’t alone, and I was very probably making a fool out of myself.

“I just came in to start a fresh pot of coffee,” I said.

I broke eye contact so I didn’t give into temptation and jump Jack’s bones. He sent every hormone I had into overdrive. I hadn’t thought about sex this much since—no, best not to go there. Even with Brody it hadn’t been this intense. This important. I’d known the difference real love could make from the first moment Jack had touched me, and it was a disservice to Jack in the here and now and Brody’s memory to pretend otherwise.

I ducked my head and hurried over to the counter where the coffeemaker sat, keeping my back to the room until I got my emotions under control. I found comfort in the simple task of measuring coffee grounds.

“I could drink a cup,” Jack said. “How about you, Carver?”

“I’d rather have a beer myself, but I guess coffee will do.”

I turned at the mention of Agent Carver. We’d spoken on the phone once when he’d helped us gather information on Jeremy Mooney, just before he tried to kill me. But I’d never actually met Carver in person. I knew he was a close friend of Jack’s, and that they’d served together in the military. My knowledge ended there.

Carver wasn’t a big man, skimming just under six feet, and he wasn’t as broad as Jack through the shoulders. He was leaner, with a runner’s body, but he held himself with an awareness that was inherent in all cops, and he carried his weapon comfortably at his side. His black slacks and white dress shirt were travel worn, but his shoes were shined to a blinding polish. His sandy blond hair was short and his eyes were a misty green that missed nothing.

“So you’re Doctor Graves,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand for me to shake. “Ben Carver. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He cut his eyes to Jack and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Call me J.J.,” I said, taking his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, well, I would have come down to meet you sooner if I’d known you were beautiful. Jack told me what he and his friends did to you in third grade,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I’d be happy to help you find a decent man. You don’t want to get stuck with this loser,” pointing to Jack. “I can finally understand why he keeps himself secluded in this Godforsaken place. Wasting his talent, if you ask me. Not that he ever asks, mind you, but I like to give my opinion when I think it’s needed.”

I smiled because I couldn’t help myself, but I looked at Jack and arched a brow. “Have you secluded yourself because of me, Jack? I had no idea.”

He winked and gave me a smile I knew was just for me. “I’m right where I want to be.” He reached up to get mugs down from the cabinet and brought them over to me.

“Jack always did have all the luck,” Carver sighed, looking forlorn. “I don’t suppose you have a sister? Twins would be even better.”

I laughed. “I’m an only child, thank God. But the women in this town are always looking for eligible bachelors. I’d be happy to throw you to the wolves.”

“Thanks anyway. But I wouldn’t want to piss off my wife. She knows how to shoot.”

Jack and I both laughed at his deadpan delivery, and I poured coffee into the mugs.

“So how’d it go with the mayor?” I asked Jack. “Do you still have a job?”

“For now,” he answered. “But only because the mayor is conveniently out of town.”

I warmed my hands around the mug and looked at Jack in surprise. “How long has he been gone?”

“Almost a week,” Carver said, taking up the conversation. “He’s at a fundraising convention in Atlanta. We’ve already confirmed with TSA and the hotel.”

“They have conventions for fundraising?” I asked.

“That was my reaction too, but Mr. Civilized here tells me it’s common among politicians to seek help around campaign time. On the taxpayers’ dime, of course.”

“Of course.” My eyes caught Jack’s again, and then dropped to his mouth. It had been hours since he’d kissed me. I was pretty sure Carver was still speaking, but it sounded like water rushing past my ears. And then I remembered I needed to breathe.

“I guess that’s my cue to go,” Carver said, finishing his coffee in one long gulp. “I need to read through all the information from the crime scenes, and get settled at the bed and breakfast.”

“I told you you’re welcome to stay with me,” Jack said. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he made the offer.

I watched Carver look between me and Jack and roll his eyes. “Yeah, that’s going to happen. I’ll catch you crazy kids later.”