Blood Stains (12 page)

“No, I’m sorry,” she muttered. This was beyond overwhelming. She had braced herself for the fear. She had not expected love.

Sam’s expression fell, but it didn’t last long.

“That’s understandable. You were such a little thing. Oh, man, how did you find me? Why didn’t you come before?”

“I didn’t know. I don’t remember,” Maria kept saying, but it wasn’t getting through.

Bodie slid an arm across her shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze of assurance, then focused on Tank.

“Can we talk?”

Vincent was still trying to wrap his head around what was happening.

“Yeah, sure, I was about to lock up anyway. Follow me. My house is right behind the shop.”

Then his gaze fell on Maria, and he started to cry all over again. “My little Mary…all grown up.”

Ed Underwood had lost track of the cop and the woman a couple of times, and was cursing the meandering paths and trails encircling the lake. It was pure accident when he saw the car parked up in the trees beside a bait shop near the shore.

“What the hell? There’s no way they came all the way out here just to buy bait,” he muttered.

He pulled off the road and into some trees, then grabbed his camera, popped on the telephoto lens, and got out of the car and into position.

The moment the trio came out of the shop, he began snapping pictures, taking note of the way Scott stayed near the woman in a protective fashion. It appeared they’d come for a visit of some kind, because the older man with them kept smiling and touching the woman’s arm, then shoulder, as they walked.

He got in a couple of close-up shots of the shop owner before they all moved toward a cabin a short distance away. He thought about trying to get closer, then decided to give Sheets a call first.

Franklin Sheets was on his way out of the courthouse. His client had been a no-show, and a warrant had been issued for his arrest. Franklin didn’t care. He’d been paid up front. He had a lunch appointment with a man he was thinking of hiring as his campaign manager when he ran for district attorney. It was the next step in his desire to be governor. For as long as Franklin could remember, he’d aspired to be “someone.” Even as a child, he’d embellished his family status and his father’s job to his friends just to verify his own worth. Instead of outgrowing the urge, it had manifested into a hunt for power that bordered on maniacal. He knew it. He thrived on it. And nothing and no one was going to stand in his way.

The Oklahoma heat slapped him in the face as he exited the building and headed for the parking lot. When the sweat started pouring out of his hairline and down the back of his collar, he increased his pace, anxious to get to his Mercedes and turn on the A/C. Sweat was for blue-collar workers.

He slid behind the wheel, cursing slightly at how hot the leather was against the backs of his legs, and quickly started the car, then jacked up the air. His cell phone rang as he was reaching for the seat belt. When he saw who it was, he stopped and gave the call his full attention.

“Yeah. What do you have for me?” he asked abruptly.

Ed snorted beneath his breath.
Hello to you, too.
“I’ve got a couple of quick questions.”

Franklin ignored Ed’s words for a question of his own. “So…did you find her?”

“Yes. I’ve been tailing them for most of the morning.”

Franklin frowned.
“Them?”

“She’s with a cop. His name is Bodie Scott. I knew him from back in the day when I was still on the force.”

Franklin’s heart skipped a beat, but he shrugged it off. It meant nothing. She’d met with the cop before. Maybe they were dating. Cops had personal lives.

“Yeah…so, where did she go? Why is she with him? Where does she live?”

Ed sighed. “I just started this morning, okay? They’re at Lake Eufaula. I don’t know why she’s in Tulsa, but she listed Missoula, Montana, as her home at the hotel.”

The knot in Franklin’s belly began to ease. Montana. So she wasn’t a local. Talk about a coincidence that he happened to see her.

“So they’re fishing. What else?” he asked.

“They’re not exactly fishing,” Ed said. “Hang on a minute. I need to move locations.”

Franklin cursed beneath his breath as Ed disappeared. He decided to do some maneuvering of his own as he switched the call to Bluetooth and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn’t want to be late for his lunch appointment, and this way he could talk while he drove.

Ed shifted the phone from one ear to the other and moved to another tree to make sure he was still secluded as the trio walked into the cabin. As soon as he heard the door slam, he moved a little closer, making sure to stay out of sight. “Okay, I’m back,” he said.

“So they’re not exactly fishing. What does that mean?” Franklin asked.

“It means…they drove all over the fucking place before finally stopping at some off-the-beaten-path bait shop. Turns out they were looking for the owner, not a fishing spot. When they arrived, he locked up and they all went up to his cabin.”

“Really? Who is he?” Franklin asked.

“I’m not psychic. I don’t know yet,” Ed said. “I’ve got pictures. You’ll get copies with my report.”

“Which I want on my desk with the rest of the answers to my questions ASAP,” Franklin said.

“You’ll have them,” Ed said, then winced at the click in his ear.

Sheets was an asshole.

Ed glanced toward the cabin. There was no way he was going to hear what was being said inside. Not for the first time, he wished he’d invested in that parabolic microphone he’d seen online. Ran on two nine-volt batteries with a 400-yard listening range. If he was in the mood to drop fifteen hundred bucks on a spy toy, it could be his. Unfortunately, if he did that, his third ex-wife’s alimony check would bounce, which would not be cool. She was a piranha and sadly lacking in compassion.

He thought about trying to get closer when he realized the man they’d come to visit had a dog. A huge dog! The battle-scarred mutt suddenly rounded the cabin with his ears up and his nose in the air.

Shit. I’m upwind.

The dog barked four times in rapid succession. Ed read that as a “get the hell out” warning, did an abrupt about-face and headed for his car as fast as he could go, imagining that the dog was right on his heels.

He didn’t look back until he was behind the wheel. The damn dog hadn’t even gotten off the porch. Ed cursed. So the animal was all bark and no bite. Whatever. He started the car and backtracked to a public landing, parked amidst an assortment of trucks and SUVs, and settled down to wait. To be able to follow them back, he needed the cover of traffic or he would be spotted. The only thing that might foul up his plan was if Bodie Scott knew another way out of that godforsaken place besides the way he’d gone in.

“Sit down, sit down!” Sam said. “Can I get you something to drink? It’s hot as hell out there. Got sweet tea. Made it this morning. Also got pop and beer. You name it.”

“Iced tea for me,” Bodie said.

“Make that two,” Maria said.

Sam beamed. The cabin was one big room with a sleeping loft above. He poured three glasses of tea and handed them around, then settled down into what was obviously “his” chair—an old brown faux leather recliner that leaned to one side. Like Sam, it had seen better days.

Sam’s gaze immediately moved to Maria, and from the look on his face, Bodie wondered if the man had once been in love with Sally Blake. His attention to Maria was nothing short of adoration.

“So what’s up?” Sam asked.

Bodie glanced at Maria. Her hands were shaking as she took a quick sip of her tea. This wasn’t going to get any easier.

“The reason we’re here is…the Tulsa Police Department is reopening the investigation into Sally Blake’s murder.”

Sam’s entire body seemed to shrink.

“Are you shitting me?” he asked softly.

“No.”

Sam leaned back in the chair and covered his face. The silence in the room was at first surprising and then uncomfortable. Bodie was beginning to wonder if they’d been wrong all along—if this was the place where Tank Vincent confessed to a twenty-year-old crime.

Last night, while going through the file, Bodie had written down several questions he wanted to ask. He pulled out his notebook to make sure he didn’t forget one.

“There’s no mention of your name in the file. Where were you when Sally Blake was killed.”

Sam drew a deep, shuddering breath, then dropped his hands in his lap. His face was wet with tears.

“Bullshit. I told that detective, Frank McCall, everything. I crashed my car that night. I was in the E.R. getting stitches. I should have been there for her, but I wasn’t.”

Bodie’s gut knotted. The dirty cop
had
perpetrated a cover-up. But why? Who had paid him off?

Maria was starting to get it. Sam Vincent’s reaction had a lot to do with guilt, something she hadn’t expected from a pimp. Yes, his response to her had been positive, but she’d been a kid. Lots of people related to kids. But something in her gut said the man had cared about Sally Blake, not just her kid.

All of a sudden a thought popped into Maria’s head. Considering the fact that her mother had been a hooker, she’d just assumed her father’s identity was a nonissue. But had she been wrong? Did Sally Blake know who had fathered her child, and even more…could it be Tank?

She glanced at Bodie. His mouth was already parted, another question on his lips. She could wait. Maybe she would ask. Maybe not. Maybe this was something she didn’t need to know, because in her heart, no one could replace Andrew Slade.

Bodie shifted in his seat. Like Maria, he hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from Tank.

“Did they ever have any suspects?” Bodie asked.

Sam shook his head. “Not that I ever heard. It was Sally’s night off. She always kept Sundays for her and Mary.” He smiled at Maria, then took a drink of iced tea. By the time he’d swallowed, he had control of his emotions once more.

“Do you think she could have made a date without your knowledge? You know…one now and then on the side without giving you your cut?” Bodie asked.

Sam frowned. “No, she wouldn’t have done that. And even if she had, she would never have taken them home. That was her one unbreakable rule. No dates where she lived.”

Maria’s estimation of her mother shifted up another notch. Not only had she found a reason as to why Sally had chosen her line of work—an abandoned baby raised in the Oklahoma welfare system, unable to read or write—but she’d also refused to bring her work home where she lived with her child. What kind of a dichotomy was this—a hooker with morals? Was there such a thing?

Bodie frowned. “I don’t think I read that anywhere in the file.”

Sam shrugged. “Not surprised. Nobody gets excited about a dead hooker.”

As hard as that was to hear, Bodie knew he was right. It also helped explain how McCall had gotten away with burying the facts.

“So were there any of your other girls interviewed? I didn’t read anything except one statement from a woman named Becky Thurman, a neighbor who lived across the hall. Was she one of your girls?”

Sam’s demeanor shifted with the tone of his voice. “Hell no. Becky is my sister. She was Mary’s babysitter when Sally went out on dates.”

“That’s what my father wrote in my journal,” Maria said.

“Your father? You got lucky. Not many kids get adopted out of the Social Services program in this state. They usually get moved from foster home to foster home until they age out of the system.”

“I was never in the Social Services program,” Maria said.

“Then how—”

Bodie didn’t want to get into anything that would reveal the fact that Maria had witnessed the murder, no matter how friendly this witness seemed, so he interrupted quickly.

“So did Becky ever mention anything to you that she didn’t tell the cops…like who might have been in Sally’s room?”

“No,” Sam said. “And believe me, if she’d known, she would have told. We loved Sally. Everyone loved Sally.”

“Someone didn’t,” Bodie said. “Someone killed her.”

Sam seemed to shrink. Bodie almost felt sorry for him, but what the hell? As a man, how did you reconcile yourself to the fact that you’re selling women and pocketing the profits, and make it okay?
He
couldn’t do it, that was for damned sure.

“Sam, I want you to think back. Did Sally ever have a trick who gave her trouble…maybe wanted more from her than she was willing to give…someone who might have roughed her up or threatened her?”

“No, and if she had, I would have taken care of it,” Tank said. “That was my rep on the street. No one messed with my girls and walked away. Everyone knew that.”

“Did she have a lot of repeat customers?” Bodie asked. “Maybe someone who would have imagined that he and Sally had a ‘real’ relationship and flipped out when he realized it wasn’t true? We both know that can happen.”

“Not that I ever knew,” Sam muttered, then pushed himself up from the chair. Even from across the room, he seemed to tower over them. “Don’t you think I already thought of all this? If you knew how many nights I lay awake thinking over every fuckin’ man who laid one of my girls, trying to pick out one who might have held a grudge… Her murder is why I quit the business.”

That surprised Bodie.

“So you came to Lake Eufaula because you were running away?”

There wasn’t an ounce of emotion in Sam’s voice when he said, “Hell no. I came here to die.”

Nine

T
he answer hit Bodie like a fist to the gut. He didn’t have to ask why. In his own crazy way, Tank Vincent had loved Sally Blake, and his inability to protect her had taken the heart right out of him.

As a man, that was something Bodie understood.

“Is your sister still alive?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Yes, but she’s not Becky Thurman anymore. She got married again about fifteen years ago, but she’s been divorced around six or seven years now. Her name is Clemmons now. Becky Clemmons.”

Ah…the reason I couldn’t find her name in the phone book
, Maria thought as Sam gave Bodie his sister’s address and phone number.