Don't Cry (27 page)

J.D. Cass!

He squeezed her hand as he fixed his gaze on her. And before she knew what was happening, he produced a crisp white handkerchief and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat.

When J.D. offered her his handkerchief, she took it. And when he continued to hold her hand, she held on to him, grateful for his presence.

Thankfully, the service concluded after one final song—“Jesus Loves Me”—that brought tears to almost everyone's eyes. Once the small crowd began to disperse, J.D. slipped his arm around Audrey's waist. She didn't withdraw from him; instead she accepted his support.

Without either saying a word to the other, J.D. walked her to her SUV. When she unlocked and opened the door, she turned to him.

“You know that Blake will be next,” she said.

He nodded. “If our killer abducts another woman, which he will if we can't stop him, then yes, Blake will be the next toddler to reappear.”

“And my family will go through a funeral service and say a final farewell, just the way the Kelly family did today.”

He didn't reply, just gave her a sympathetic look.

“Did you come here today because you're involved with the murder cases?” she asked.

“Partly,” he told her. “And I knew you would be here and thought you might need a big strong shoulder to cry on.” His lips curved upward into an almost smile.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. It's the least I could do for you, considering all you've done for Zoe and me.”

“Tell Zoe hi and that we're still on for tomorrow night.”

“I'll tell her.”

J.D. waited until she was securely inside the Enclave before he closed the door and walked away. Audrey's heart pounded frantically as she watched him, her gaze fixed on his broad shoulders.

Her right hand, the hand he had held so tenderly, tingled with the memory of his touch.

No, no, no! Not J.D. Cass. Not now. Not ever.

Tam had known Garth Hudson most of her life. She had seen him happy and sad, drunk and sober, kind and cruel, but she had never seen him so fiercely driven. He was obsessed with finding the Rocking Chair Killer. If he didn't need to check on Hart from time to time, she doubted Garth would have gone home at all this entire week. He had practically been living in their office for the past few days. Garth's unrest, agitation, and anxiety had worsened progressively since Devin Kelly's funeral on Monday. And even though his animosity toward J.D. was palpable, Garth had managed to control it, at least enough so that the two men could work together.

When she arrived at headquarters that Friday morning, she found Garth bleary eyed, slightly unkempt, and in bad need of a shave.

“My God, go home and take a shower and change clothes,” she told him. “You look like holy hell.”

He glared at her, his expression haggard and pained. “I don't have time.”

“Make time.”

“Later. Cass is picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“
We
aren't going anywhere,” he told her. “I'm going with Special Agent Cass to Johnson City. The sheriff up there has arranged for us to talk to Dora Chaney's stepdaughter. It seems she moved from Bristol to Johnson City when she got married.”

“Dora Chaney, Regina Bennett's aunt?”

“One and the same.”

“And why am I not going?”

“Because you're staying here and working on every possible lead we have. Maybe our guy bought blue baby blankets in bulk. If he did—”

“Get real. We've already agreed that we can't track down every blue baby blanket purchase on the off chance that someone in one of the local stores might remember the person who bought the blankets. He could have ordered them online for all we know.”

Garth frowned. “You can sift through all the evidence again, just in case we've missed something.”

“What could we have missed when there's practically no evidence? Even the dirt samples off our three victims' shoes told us nothing more than that it was the same type of dirt on all three. And big surprise, the specific composition is in dirt found in most rural areas in and around Chattanooga. Besides that, if going over everything again and again could shed any light on these cases, you'd have already found something. You've been driving yourself to the brink of exhaustion this week.”

“Damn it, Tam, think outside the box. There has to be some way to find this guy.” Garth slammed his fist down on his desk. “We have to find him before he kills again.”

She placed her hand on Garth's shoulder. He tensed; then he shrugged off her hand and looked right at her. “I need somebody close by, just in case…If Hart were to…I know I can trust you to take care of him.”

Tam's pulse quickened at the mention of Hart's name. “I thought you said he's been doing all right since Devin Kelly's funeral.”

“He has been, but…” Garth huffed. “Damn. You know it doesn't take much for him to dive off the deep end.”

“Okay. I'll stay here without any more arguments.” She looked at him sympathetically. He knew that she and Audrey were the only two people on earth who loved Hart half as much as he did. “Why don't you go to the restroom, use your electric razor, and at least wash your face and comb your hair before J.D. gets here.”

Garth grunted. “Yeah, I guess I can do that much.” He opened a bottom desk drawer, grabbed his electric razor pouch, and headed out the door; then he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks, Tam.”

She nodded.

Would it ever come to an end, Garth's compulsive need to take care of Hart? Wasn't there a time when no matter how much you loved someone, you just had to give up?

That's what you did, didn't you? You gave up on Hart.

But what else could she have done? She'd been eighteen and pregnant. And she'd known there was no way seventeen-year-old Hart could have taken on the responsibility of a wife and child, not when he couldn't even take care of himself.

“Knock, knock,” a man's voice called from the open doorway.

Tam snapped around and saw J.D. standing there, his fist tapping lightly on the door frame.

“I knocked a couple of times, but you didn't hear me,” he told her. “You seemed a million miles away. Everything okay?”

No, everything wasn't okay, but she could hardly explain herself to J.D. “Sure, everything's fine. I'm keeping the home fires burning today while you and my partner track down a possible lead.”

“So you're not going with us?”

“Apparently not. It seems I'm needed here.”

“Hmm…”

“Do you think this woman, Dora Chaney's stepdaughter, might know something about Corey Bennett?”

“Since the few former Holy Brethren Church members we were able to locate claim they never heard of a child named Corey Bennett, then I'm hoping the stepdaughter might know something. And it's possible she might remember something about Luther Chaney's old Lincoln. I figure Dora must have kept the car because there's no record of it ever being sold and no record of a car tag purchased for it after Luther's death.”

“The license plate on the car now was probably stolen off another car,” Tam said.

“More than likely.”

“You're counting on this woman knowing an awful lot, aren't you?”

“I'm hoping she does. And doing a little praying, too.”

Tam grasped J.D.'s arm and tugged him closer as she said quietly, “Listen, look after Garth, will you? I've never seen him like this. He always works his butt off on a case, gives it his all, but this time, it's different. It's like he's obsessed with finding this guy.”

“It's personal for him,” J.D. said. “The odds are his nephew Blake will be the next toddler to show up.”

“I don't think Garth wants that to happen. I think he's afraid of what it might do to Hart.” She noted the quizzical glint in J.D.'s eyes and hastily added, “Audrey thinks knowing for sure that Blake is dead, being able to bury him, will give the whole family closure. But Garth doesn't agree. He thinks it will simply do even more to reopen all the old wounds. He's concerned about how he and Hart and Wayne and even Audrey will deal with having to relive that horrible time in their lives.”

Before J.D. could respond, Garth reappeared, his hair neatly combed, his face freshly shaved, and a look of steely determination in his eyes. “You ready?” Garth asked.

“Yeah, I'm ready,” J.D. replied.

As the two men headed out the door, Tam said, “Call me and let me know what happens.”

“Sure thing,” J.D. said.

And then they were gone, off to Johnson City. Tam was definitely going to do a lot of hoping and praying, too, just as J.D. was.

 

Frankie Jo Rogers, nee Elmore, stood six feet tall in her work boots and grimy overalls, which hung loosely on her lean, rawboned body. When J.D. introduced himself and Garth, she off wiped her large, work-worn hands on a rag hanging from her pocket, stuffed the rag back in her pocket, and shook hands with each of them.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked.

A no-nonsense, busy woman who didn't have time for the type of pleasantries many Southern women would have believed essential for good manners, Frankie Jo didn't ask them to take a seat or offer them refreshments. Then again, doing either would have required they leave the barn where Mrs. Rogers had been working on a yellow and green John Deere tractor.

“I believe Sheriff Tully got in touch with you,” J.D. said.

She nodded. “Yep, he did.”

“Then you know we'd like to ask you some questions about your stepmother, Dora Chaney…Dora Elmore.”

“Me and her didn't cotton to each other,” Frankie Jo admitted. “She weren't no bad woman, just odd. Not sure what the old man ever saw in her, except maybe she was a good cook, kept a clean house, and he was lonely after Mama died.”

“How did your father meet her?” Garth asked.

“Not really sure. I think a mutual friend introduced them. I wasn't living at home at the time. Me and Butch had done got married and moved down here to Johnson City.”

If this big, rough-hewn, blunt-spoken woman couldn't tell them what they needed to know about Dora Chaney Elmore, then they weren't likely to find anyone else who could. Frank Elmore's elder daughter, Jewel, had died five years ago, leaving Frankie Jo the only one who might be able to help them.

“I know this may seem like a peculiar question, but do you remember if Dora owned a car, one she had before she married your father?” J.D. studied Frankie Jo closely as her brow wrinkled and she sucked in her cheeks while she mulled over the question.

“Humph! My daddy bought her a spanking-new Ford Taurus as a wedding present, and she still insisted on keeping that old Lincoln. Daddy wanted her to sell it, but she wouldn't. I think he was jealous because the car had belonged to Dora's first husband. You know how men are.” She glanced from J.D. to Garth, a wide grin on her weathered face.

“Do you happen to remember what color the car was?” J.D. already knew the answer, but needed confirmation.

“White,” she said.

“What ever happened to that old white Lincoln?” Garth asked.

Frankie Jo chuckled. “After Dora died, Daddy sold it to some guy for scrap.”

“Who'd he sell it to?” J.D. asked.

“Got no idea. Just some guy. He paid Daddy cash for that old heap. It had been parked for a good many years. The thing wouldn't even run. The guy had to tow it.”

“When exactly did your father sell the car?”

“I'm not sure exactly. I don't know the details, but I do remember Daddy saying that he gave the money he got off the sale to the church building fund.”

“What church? What religion?” Was it possible that some branch of the Holy Brethren Church still existed, that Frank Elmore had been a member?

“Baptist,” Frankie Jo told them. “My folks been good God-fearing Baptists as far back as anybody can remember.”

Whoever had bought the 1980 white Lincoln—for scrap—had undoubtedly had some work done on it, enough to keep it running. But why hadn't a car without a valid license plate or insurance been stopped by law enforcement? Luck? What other explanation could there be?

Maybe the only time he used the car was when he disposed of a body.

“Was Dora Baptist, too?” Garth asked.

“I guess she was. She went to church with Daddy every time the doors opened.”

“Did Dora have any family that you knew of, anyone you ever met?” J.D. wondered if she knew about Regina Bennett.

“Nobody except that crazy bitch niece of hers, the one who killed all them little boys.” The left side of her mouth hitched upward in a smirk. “You didn't think I knew about that, huh? I'll give Dora that much, she didn't lie to Daddy about it. Told him up front before they got married.”

“Did Dora ever mention anyone else, a nephew perhaps?”

“Oh, now that you mention it, there was that kid, but he wasn't her nephew.”

J.D.'s pulse rate quickened. “What kid?”

“Her first husband's son,” Frankie Jo said. “He was just a little boy. I don't know how old. He could have been a big six-year-old or a small ten-year-old. I just saw him the one time.”

“What?” J.D. and Garth spoke at the same time.

Frankie Jo laughed, the sound a deep rumble coming from her chest and exploding when she released it. “She didn't tell me any details about the child, of course, but Daddy did. Seems the first husband, that Chaney guy, fathered a bastard child, and old Dora took the boy in. But Daddy drew the line at raising the little bastard. He told Dora right off that she'd have to get rid of the kid.”

“And did she?”

“Sure did.”

“Do you know what happened to the child?”

“I ain't sure. Daddy said some rich couple adopted him. Seems when the boy left, Dora come by some money, more than twenty thousand.”

“You wouldn't happen to know the name of the couple who adopted the boy or where they were from?” It was unlikely that she knew, but for a split second J.D. hoped she did.

“Got no idea. Sorry.”

“Do you recall the boy's name?” Garth asked.

“Hmm…I only saw him once. Cute kid. Blond, blue-eyed. Right pretty for a boy. Maybe too pretty. I believe she called him by a double name, but for the life of me I can't remember. Something Ray, I think.”

“Could it have been Corey Ray?” J.D. held his breath.

“Could've been. Sounds right, but I can't say for sure. Why? Is there some reason this kid is important?”

J.D. glanced at Garth before answering. “Yes, ma'am, he could be. You wouldn't happen to know who the boy's mother was?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I'm pretty sure Daddy never knew. Could be Dora didn't even know.”

Dora Chaney had known, all right, just as J.D. believed he knew the mother's identity. What he was thinking was downright repulsive—that Luther Chaney had raped his niece, Regina, and gotten her pregnant, not once but twice, producing two sons—Cody and Corey Bennett.

Frankie Jo propped her rough, chapped hands on her hips. “Well, you gonna tell me or not why this boy is so all-fired important?”

“He's important because it's possible that he grew up to become a killer.”

“Two killers in the same family, huh?” Frankie Jo let out a long, low whistle.

 

Consumed with work, J.D. ran late picking up Zoe after school, which made them late for their Friday afternoon family-therapy session. Of course she was upset with him, even though he'd apologized and asked her to understand that sometimes his job had to come first. But since he couldn't share the details about his cases, especially about the conversation with Frankie Jo Rogers, with his fourteen-year-old daughter, he'd had to accept her anger and hostility.