Flesh and Blood (27 page)

“She try to get you to stop drinking?” he asked. “Or encourage you to?”

I thought about it. She certainly hadn’t discouraged me. “She’s not responsible for my actions,” I said.

“But you responsible for hers?”

“Guess who didn’t show up for work this morning?” Dad asked.

“Besides me?” I said.

Merrill and I were outside a warehouse in Railroad Square Art Park not far from FAMU when Dad called. Taylor Price was inside the warehouse, rock climbing.

“Teddy Matthers,” he said. “Laura’s father.”

“You think it’s because he was up late killing his daughter and framing me?”

“It crossed my mind,” he said.

“Thanks again for all your help with this,” I said. “I’m so sorry I—”

“Don’t thank me or apologize again,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “And thank you.”

He laughed. “How are things on your end?”

“Taylor went out and bought himself some security,” I said.

When Taylor Price walked out of the rock climbing gym in his black too-tight silk short shorts and tank top, he did so with the escort of a bodyguard and a bulldog.

The large white bodyguard was wearing black jeans and tennis shoes and a leather jacket over a T-shirt. Given the warm weather, the jacket was no doubt intended to hide his shoulder holster and the semi-automatic it held, but it could be seen when he moved. The huge man, whose neck was the size of a tree trunk, looked like a former NFL linebacker. Obviously a professional, the man moved like money, which Price had to be paying a lot of for the pleasure of his company.

As if the giant wasn’t enough, at the end of Taylor’s leash was an American pit bull terrier of probably twenty-two inches and eighty pounds, trained to be mean, pulling against the taut leather leash, looking for a fight.

As the three creatures neared their black SUV, Merrill and I stepped out and greeted them.

Fear danced across Taylor’s face when he saw us. The pit bull began a low, gravely growl. The bodyguard smiled.

“How can the Fundamentalists look at you two and say that a sacred marriage is only between a man and a woman?” Merrill said.

“The three of you do make a great-looking family,” I said.

“How’d you adopt a child that looks so much like your husband?” Merrill asked Taylor, then to the bodyguard, “Or are you the wife?”

“You’ll find out when he makes you his bitch,” Taylor said. His strained, quivering voice undercutting his threat.

Professional, detached, unflappable, the bodyguard’s expression remained placid. Though he didn’t show it, I was certain he was sizing us up, evaluating the situation, figuring out his best moves should the balloon go up.

“Zippin’ up the bottom of that cool Fonzy jacket probably seemin’ like a bad idea ’bout now, don’t it?” Merrill said.

Amazingly enough, Merrill didn’t seem small next to the man the way the rest of the world did.

“He doesn’t need his gun,” Taylor said. “Won’t be much left for him when Killer gets finished with you.”

“You named your kid Killer?” Merrill asked. “Isn’t having you for a dad stigma enough?”

“Where were you last night?” I asked.

“Nowhere near where you killed Laura,” he said. “Wherever that was.”

“We can do this if you want,” the bodyguard said, “but he’s telling the truth. I wouldn’t lie for anyone—no matter how much they pay me—and I can give you references, but you don’t have to take my word for it. He was in Jacksonville. We drove in very early this morning. There are dozens of witnesses.”

I considered him.

“I protect clients from harm,” he said. “Not while they do harm.” He held up his hands. “I’m going into my right front pocket for one of my cards.” He did, then handed it to me. “I can also give you hotel, restaurant, and gas receipts. You can even ask the keynote speaker—the governor—who had a couple of drinks with Mr. Price following the conference.”

“The more we learn, the more guilty I look,” I said.

With just a few calls, Dad had confirmed that Taylor Price had been at a conference in Jacksonville and had not returned before Laura had been killed.

“Still the father,” Merrill said.

I shook my head. “I’ve got a feeling he’ll be my third strike.”

“Then there’s the random serial killer stumbling on the scene,” he said. “Odds still better than it being you.”

My phone rang and I answered it.

“John,” Dad said, “remember the scenario we talked about earlier.”

“FDLE finding out about me and taking over the investigation?”

“It’s just happened,” he said. “Special Agent Scott wants you here as fast as you can or he says he’s coming after you.”

“I’m on my way now,” I said.

When I stepped out of Merrill’s truck in front of the Potter County Court House, two FDLE agents were waiting for me. I could tell who they were because of their caps and windbreakers, both of which had FDLE printed across them in large block letters.

I walked toward them.

As I did, a man carrying a small revolver jumped out of a car and rushed me. With only a quick glance, I knew it was Teddy Matthers, Laura’s father.

“You murdering cocksucker,” he shouted. “You think you gonna kill my little girl and keep breathing? You sick motherfucker.”

He began firing the gun, rounds ricocheting all around me.

Unable to move, I just stood there. He obviously hadn’t killed his daughter, which meant I had.

The two agents turned and pulled their weapons.

“No,” I yelled, and stepped in front of them.

One of them pushed me aside, knocking me to the ground, but before they could fire at Teddy, Merrill had come up behind him and wrestled him to the ground, relieving him of the revolver in the process.

“You keep saying you don’t remember what happened,” Special Agent Fred Scott was saying.

He was a middle-aged white man with a toughness about him. He hadn’t spent his career in a classroom or behind a desk, but on the street. His balding head reflected the dull light of the florescent bulbs and his cold gray eyes were in a state of perpetual squint.

“I don’t,” I said.

“But you had the presence of mind to bring her into your dad’s jurisdiction before you finished her off.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right. The fact that we wound up in Potter County made me look all the more like a cold-hearted, calculating bastard who had committed premeditated murder.

“You were smart to bring her here,” he said. “And if we hadn’t gotten involved in the case, who knows, you might have gotten away with it. But we are involved and we’re gonna fuckin’ fry your fuckin’ ass if you don’t come clean and admit what you did.”

We were in an interview room in the Potter County Sheriff ’s office. We appeared to be alone, but I knew we weren’t. I wasn’t sure who was beyond the plate glass mirrored window, but I knew we were being observed and recorded.

“Come on,” he said. “We got your blood and cum and prints. The evidence is overwhelming. We’ll get a conviction. Piece-a-cake, but be a man and tell us in your own words what happened. Don’t make her family suffer through a long, drawn-out trial. At least give them that.”

“I wish I could,” I said.

After letting me sit in a holding cell for a couple of hours, they had dumped me in here where I sat for a while longer. My head throbbed. My eyes stung. I was weak and weary, and felt like I might fall over any moment.

“I want you to see what you did to her,” he said, stepping over to the door. Opening it, he yelled, “Why’s it taking so long to get the goddam crime scene photos down here… ? What… ? Why the hell not…? Who the fuck—?”

Slamming the door, he took three quick steps and bent down in my face.

“Why’d you take your dad’s copies of the crime scene photos?” he asked. “Couldn’t stand for him to see what his son had done to a sweet, innocent, kind, vulnerable, beautiful young woman?”

“I didn’t—”

“She wasn’t beautiful when you finished with her, was she?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything, images of Laura’s bruised and beaten face flashing in my mind.

“After you strangled and sodomized her,” he continued. “And beat her until her own mother couldn’t recognize her. Hell, she’s still hoping her little girl’s gonna come home to her, but she’s not, is she? Her parents and her little sister are gonna have to have a closed casket funeral for her, aren’t they? You made good and goddam sure of that, didn’t you? You piece of shit. How could you do such a thing? What’d she do to you? Tell me. I want to know. She make fun of your little pecker? She tell you she was fuckin’ other men? She tell you’ No’ when you told her you wanted to fuck her up the ass?”

I took a very deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself to remain calm. “I honestly don’t know what happened,” I said.

“Bullshit.”

“Give me a polygraph,” I said. “If it proves I’m not lying, then hypnotize me to see if what happened is locked inside my head somehow. I want to know as much as you do.”

Before he could respond, there was a tap on the door and it was opened by another FDLE agent who asked to speak with him.

He was gone a while, and as I sat there in the small cold room alone, I became overwhelmed and began to cry.

It was embarrassing. I knew people were watching, but I couldn’t stop. When I thought about what I had done, I just couldn’t imagine it. How could I live with myself? How could I not do to myself what Laura’s father had failed to do? My life was over. Everything was gone. Nothing would ever be the same again.

The pressure bearing down on me was crushing. Until this moment, I had hoped I might find out that I hadn’t done it after all, that I really wasn’t capable, but now I knew. Now, confronted with the man I was, I just couldn’t take it.

I thought about Anna, about Mom. What must they think of me?

I couldn’t blame this on alcohol. This was me—who I was.

The door opened, and Scott walked back in.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Jordan,” he said. “I was just doing my job. I hope you can understand.”

I didn’t say anything, just wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed.

“You’re free to go,” he said.

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“Think I’ll let your friend tell you about that,” he said. “And again, I’m very sorry.”

When I stepped out of the interview room and started down the hall, I saw Merrill standing at the end of it in a dark suit and tie, a detective shield on his belt, a .45 clipped on the side.

I walked toward him.

“What’s going on?” I asked when I reached him.

“Told you,” he said. “You didn’t do it.”

He turned and began to walk toward the door, and I fell in step with him.

“You impersonating an officer?” I asked.

“I made an arrest,” he said.

I nodded.

“At the time, it was false arrest and imprisonment and I’s impersonating an officer, but your dad backed me up and even deputized me eventually—which was good of him considerin’ I stole his crime scene photos.”

“You solved the case?”

“And got a confession,” he said.

“How?”

“It was easy,” he said. “All I did was WWJJD. What Would John Jordan Do?”

I smiled.

“I thought about how obsessed Laura was with you,” he said. “By the way, found out some more about that. You really was the prey, not the predator. She never was followed or harassed. Only thing Taylor did was break up with her.”

I nodded.

We reached the door and walked outside into the darkness and over toward his truck, but didn’t get in.

“In my WWJJD mode I realized that Laura wasn’t the only one obsessed,” he said.

“There are other women obsessed with me?”

He shook his head. “All other women obsessed with me,” he said. “But there was a cat obsessed with Laura.”

“Fritz,” I said.

“You good at WWJJD,” he said.

I laughed.

“He killed her?”

“Looped back around after we chased his ass,” he said. “He’s hoping for a little gratitude, maybe he finally get to tap that ass like she been hinting and what does he see but you two back together. He follows the two of you, his rage building. At the landing he finds you passed out and her asleep and decides to collect on what she owes him. Says he didn’t mean to kill her, that she hit her head on a cypress knee, but I ain’t buying that.”

“You’re truly amazing,” I said. “I know I don’t mention it too much.”