Blackwater Lights (15 page)

The office was small and plain, with a dirty window overlooking an alley. The sheriff’s desk was cluttered with papers, framed photos, and a Styrofoam food container overflowing with greasy napkins. A few plaques hung on the walls, too small to read. The sheriff’s chair creaked loudly as he sat. Ray declined the coffee he offered—it looked like black paint had congealed in the glass carafe. A dirty, rotating fan blew stale air across the room.

“What brings you here, Mr. Simon?” Sheriff Morton asked. “More naked girls dropping by?”

Ray sat down and tried to smile. “I wanted to ask you about someone. I think there’s something very bad going on.”

“Bad? How so?”

Ray breathed deeply. He had practiced what he was going to say a dozen times on the drive, but now it seemed absurd, unbelievable, and dangerous. But it was too late. And he was out of options anyway. Everything was dangerous now.

“It involves a guy named Crawford. I don’t know if that’s his first or last name. You know him, I assume.”

Morton’s smile faltered for a millisecond. “Lives in a big house outside town? Rich guy?”

“Yeah.”

Morton’s smile widened. “Sure, sure. Everyone knows him. Just like everyone knows your porno friend Kevin.” He accentuated the word
porno
—in his drawl, it sounded like
paw-no
. “Two biggest businessmen in our little town. ‘Course I know of him. Why?”

Sweat dripped down Ray’s neck. He steadied his breathing. “I went to a party at his house. There were drugs. Lots of serious drugs, and that girl Crystal was there.” Just mentioning her name brought a wave of guilt. And fear. He hoped he wasn’t making an enormous mistake.

Morton blinked. He wiped his forehead and the back of his neck with a napkin and shifted loudly in his seat.

Ray cleared his throat. There was no stopping now. “I think Crawford is a big-time drug dealer. He makes the stuff. Ecstasy, and other things I’ve never even heard of. And I worry about what happened to Crystal. Or what might have happened.”

Morton stared. He picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser on his desk. “How do you know Crawford? Through your friend, I suppose?”

“No. I met him through a woman in town. A friend of his. She invited me to the party.” He swallowed, his mouth dry and pasty.

Morton turned his chair. It squealed like a wounded cat. He chewed on the end of his pencil and stared out the window into the alley. “Let me tell you a little story, Mr. Simon.” Morton turned and smiled again, as if talking to a child. “When your friend Kevin moved here, it didn’t sit too well. People in Blackwater are mostly good churchgoing folks, and when they found out your friend made all his money selling pornography, they weren’t too happy to have him living here.” He wiped underneath his chin, glanced at the napkin, and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “So I did a little background check on him. Made a couple of calls, ran a few reports. One drug arrest, when he was in his twenties. Possession of marijuana and hallucinogenic mushrooms. Small amounts, so he got community service, never did any jail time. You were friends, so you know about that, right?”

Ray sat forward in his chair. “I don’t understand. That was over twenty years ago. And this has nothing to do with Kevin. I came here to tell you what I saw at Crawford’s.”

Morton chuckled. “Did you know your friend Kevin was arrested for the abduction and rape of a young woman, Mr. Simon?”

Ray froze. “What?”

Morton’s smile widened. “A nineteen-year-old girl named Beverly. Lived over in Parsons. He picked her up at a bar and took her to the Super 8. Got her all drugged up and videotaped all of it, she told us. And what he did to that girl wasn’t just perverted, it was unholy. It was
sickening
.”

Ray inhaled deeply. It wasn’t possible. “I can’t believe that. He’s not like that—he’d never drug anyone. And he doesn’t do drugs. Not anymore, not since his twenties. Was he convicted?”

Morton shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. He flew in a bunch of lawyers from New Jersey.”

Ray grimaced. “There’s no way he’d do that. It must have been a mistake.”

“That’s what he said. A mistake. A lying little girl. Your friend got off—no pun intended there—because the girl didn’t have the tape. We couldn’t find it, either, and we tore his place
apart. And it was way too late to get DNA evidence. The hotel room had been scrubbed clean. It was her word against his. Money talked, he walked.”

The heat was making Ray swoon. “So … I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with Crawford—with why I came to see you?”

That condescending smile again. “Mr. Simon, I don’t know you from Adam. I only know you as someone who comes into my town and stays at the home of someone I don’t particularly like—someone who likes to make money off filthy movies and should be, in my opinion, burning in the hottest fires of hell. And damned if I don’t find some naked little sugarplum on your couch, screaming her fool head off, whacked out of her mind on who knows what.”

Ray’s teeth squeaked. His jaw was so tight it felt like it would snap.

“And now you wander in here with stories about that same girl at a party held by a citizen—Mr. Crawford—who has never once done anything but pay his taxes and behave like a moral, responsible, upstanding businessman.”

Ray found himself staring at the photos on Morton’s desk. Children—all pudgy, red-faced, and smiling with little teeth like their father’s.

“To me, Mr. Simon, it sounds like your friend harbors a grudge. He’s been nothing but trouble since he moved here. Mr. Crawford, on the other hand, has donated a lot of money to our department—and a lot to the state police. Anonymously, most of it. So you’ll have to pardon me for being a little skeptical about his involvement in this drug party.”

The sweat on Ray’s skin had turned cold. His hands were numb and tingling.

“My advice for you, Mr. Simon—and I’m sorry to be so blunt—is to keep your nose out of other people’s business. If people were taking drugs, I’m quite sure Mr. Crawford was not aware of it and did not approve. Your record is clean, and I’m sure you’d like to keep it that way, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” His fingernails bit into his palms.

“Well then, I guess that pretty much takes care of things.” He pushed himself away from the desk—
squeeeak
—and stood up. “You’ll be staying in town for a little while, I hope?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe another couple of days.”

“Well, I’ll know where to reach you, then. And you’re still at the same address in Baltimore—Barclay Avenue? And still teaching in Baltimore County public schools?”

Morton had done his homework. “Yes.”

“Well, take good care of yourself, Mr. Simon.” He didn’t offer his hand.

Ray turned and left. The receptionist was whispering into the phone but stopped when he walked by.

Someone was waiting next to his car.

Micah the preacher. He stood next to the driver’s door, leaning on his cane, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. There was no way to avoid him.

The preacher smiled. “Hello, Ray.” He held out his hand.

Ray nodded but didn’t take his hand. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk to you for a moment, please.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He pressed the keychain control and the car doors unlocked with a click. How had the old man found him?

“You don’t need to say anything, friend. Just listen.”

Ray nodded. “Okay. I’m listening.”

The sunlight reflected off Micah’s dark lenses. Ray wished he could see the eyes behind them. “I think I know why you came to me.”

Ray felt the back of his neck turning to gooseflesh. “Really?”

The old man smiled. “We need to talk. Privately.”

“About what?”

Micah seemed to stare across the parking lot, then looked to the sky. “You’ve been called back here.” He lowered his head. “You know that, don’t you?”

Lily said that, too
. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Micah shook his head, as if exasperated. “This isn’t the place. His eyes and ears are legion.” He grasped Ray’s wrist. “Come see me. Soon. Please.”

Ray’s entire body felt charged by the man’s grip. He pulled his hand away. “You’ll have to tell me more. Like who you are. And why I should trust you.”

Micah sighed. “You will need to trust me. And I pray you have the good sense to come talk to me. My door is always open.” He turned and walked slowly across the parking lot.

Ray’s hands shook as he turned the key in the ignition. He wanted to trust the old man.
He radiated a sense of power similar to Crawford’s, but he seemed genuine. When Ray pulled out of the parking lot, he looked in the rearview mirror. The old man stood watching him from behind his inscrutable lenses.

It was almost midnight when an email arrived from Kevin:

Finally.

And he’d get some answers. It seemed impossible that Kevin would have drugged someone. He’d gone to excessive lengths to stay on the good side of the law because he couldn’t stand thinking about the consequences if he got caught doing anything illegal. “One fuckup and you’re toast,” he’d once said. “Being in this business isn’t easy. You’ve got to be scrupulous. The feds send underage girls to me as bait once in a while, and my books get audited all the time. And if you don’t check the girls out—I mean really check them out, birth certificates, driver’s licenses—and document everything, you’re going to jail. And I won’t go to jail. I’ll fucking kill myself before I go to jail.”

“Don’t say that,” Ray had said.

“I’m not shitting, Ray. I will put a bullet in my head. I’ll hang myself. I’ll jump in front of a truck. Anything. I’ve seen what prison does to people. Fuck that. That isn’t living. I’ll make sure I never, ever go to jail.” There had been a seriousness in his eyes Ray had rarely seen—and fear.

Drugging a girl and raping her? Never. It just didn’t make sense.

But then, what did make sense anymore?

Maybe Kevin had somehow pissed off Crawford, and Crawford had set Kevin up the same way they’d set
him
up. Of course that was it. And maybe the sheriff was lying. Lying
because Crawford told him to—Crawford the moneybags supporter of the Blackwater PD. He’d find out soon enough.

Even more disturbing was that Crawford and Lily knew why he’d been brought here long ago, as a clueless kid. Who had done it, and why. And what had happened to him in that hideous rock circle. Everyone had the answers, it seemed. Even Micah the preacher.

Everyone except me
.

Despite the chaos in his head, he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d hardly slept in days, including the night he’d spent in bed with Ellen doing everything
but
sleeping. Maybe he could catch a few hours’ rest before Kevin showed up.

Ray woke with the orange cat sleeping next to him, curled into itself, whiskers twitching. The rain smacked against the glass like fistfuls of gravel.

“Ray?”

He blinked, squinting against the light that’d just been turned on. Two faces merged into one. Kevin was soaked, his clothes drenched, his dark, curly hair plastered against his head. It felt like the middle of the night. Ray wiped at his eyes and looked around. How long had he slept?

“You all right, man? Dude, you look like shit.”

“I’m … okay.” He sat up slowly.

“Cool. I see you’ve found my little friend.” He nodded to the cat. “Listen, man, I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I know you must want to wring my neck, but I’m wiped out. I haven’t slept in three days, and my flight was delayed twice, so I need to crash for a couple hours. Go back to sleep—you look like you need it.”

Ray held out his hands. “Damn, man. I’m glad you’re home. But we need to talk. Seriously. Like
now
.”

“Ray, just an hour. I swear, I—”

“No. No. Now. Right now.”

“All right. But I can barely see straight. I’ve been up for three fucking days dealing with cops and lawyers.” Black circles rimmed his eyes and his skin had a yellow cast. “What’s going
on?”