Revenant (30 page)

“I hope you have a date.”

“I still love Daniel.”

That, at least, gave her pause, and it gave me a chance to say goodbye and hang up.

It was five o'clock, which would be six in Miami. I called Daniel. I wasn't surprised when I got his answering machine with a simple message that said he was unavailable. His voice was rich, sensual, and I was slow on the mark leaving my message.

“Daniel, I love you. I wish it was enough.” I hung up, thinking it was better that I hadn't talked to him.

My next call was to Michael. He wasn't home, either, and I left a message saying I'd call later in the evening.

My last call was to Jack. I knew he'd end up back at his apartment. He sounded better, more alert. “Listen, I'm meeting with Mitch tonight. If it goes wrong, I may need some help.”

“Mitch Rayburn?” Jack was incredulous. “What could go wrong?”

“There are too many things that come back to Mitch,” I said. “The bridal veil on Pamela Sparks—” I waited while he followed me “—it originally belonged to Alana Williams. It was made from lace belonging to Mitch's mother. Lace that should have burned up in the fire that destroyed their home.”

There was a moment of silence. “Holy shit,” Jack finally said. “Are you sure? That would mean Mitch or Jeffrey took the lace out of the house
before
the fire. As if they
knew
there was going to be a fire.”

“Right. I need you to do something for me. Call the Biloxi PD and find out if there have been any arrests of an R. Roland.”

“Who's that?”

“I'm not sure, but I think it's the alias Mitch used to buy wedding presents for the girls he killed.”

“Carson, I'm having a hard time buying into this. I've known Mitch for twenty years. He's not a killer.”

“Think how much he looked like the guy in the drawing that Adrian Welsh gave the newspaper.”

“That doesn't mean anything. I can think of at least five dozen guys who look vaguely like that.”

“The bodies were buried at the Gold Rush,” I continued. “Alvin Orley was instrumental in helping Mitch and Jeffrey because of their father. Alvin failed to see a grave on his property, and he's somehow managed to evade being prosecuted for anything serious in Biloxi.”

“That doesn't prove anything.”

Jack was almost as stubborn as I was. “Both Jeffrey and Mitch were severely abused by their father. Their mother, too. A psychiatrist I spoke with said that such abuse could lead children to hate both parents. That hatred could be extended to women in general, particularly women who are about to marry, about to become wives and possibly abusive mothers.”

“That doesn't make a lick of sense. The boys would have hated their father. The mother was as much a victim as they were.”

“Yes, but mothers are supposed to protect their children.”

Jack sighed. “I'm still having trouble with this.”

“If I'm wrong, then nothing will come of it. I'll talk with Mitch and come home.”

“And if you're right?”

“I want to try to get him to confess.”

“Carson, that's insane. If this is all true and he tells you, he'll have no choice but to kill you.”

“That's why I'm talking to you, Jack. I'm going to have your number dialed into my cell phone. If something goes wrong, I'll hit the send button. Then you'll know to call the cops.”

“I'd feel a lot better if you had some kind of backup. Have you talked with Avery?”

“No, and I don't intend to. Avery and Mitch are too close.”

“You need backup.”

“You're my backup. Jack, this could be the story that gives me a second chance at a career. If Mitch will talk to me, then I'll have an exclusive that will put me back on top.” And there was the slim chance that I could talk Mitch into surrendering, but I wasn't about to confess that to Jack.

“You can end up dead, too.”

“There are worse things than being dead. I need this chance.”

I waited while he made his decision. “Okay.”

After I hung up, I went in the kitchen and looked at the vodka bottle sitting on the ceramic counter. There were at least two inches in the bottle. The jar of jalapeño-stuffed queen olives was open on the counter. The ice had melted in my glass. I put it in the sink and walked away.

Dark had fallen over the house. In my bedroom I found a jacket from the closet and slipped it on. From the bedside table I retrieved my pistol. It was loaded, and I got a box of shells from my lingerie drawer and slipped them into my right pocket, the gun in my left. I was about to leave when I remembered the stun gun Daniel had bought for me. It was in the top shelf of the closet. I'd given it up for the Smith & Wesson. It might come in handy. Stunning Mitch would be far preferable to shooting him. The stun gun came with a little leather holster, and I clipped it onto my belt. Glancing in the mirror, I made sure it was hidden by my jacket.

I walked outside into the smell of rain. Clouds blew like shadows across a half-moon. I could hear the sound of water lapping gently at the shore and the call of a night bird. I turned back to look at my house. Miss Vesta's white face watched me from the window. Her green eyes didn't blink as I got in my truck and drove away.

H
alf an hour early for my appointment with Mitch, I parked down the block beneath the low-hanging branches of a tallow tree. I wanted to scope out the area, see if anyone came and went. It was an older residential area of Biloxi, where the houses sat back on large lawns. Dappled shadows swayed across the window of the truck as the wind moved the tree limbs beneath a streetlight. The street was quiet. No traffic. A dozen vehicles were parked at the curb in front of houses, but there was no evidence of a blue van.

Mitch's house was brightly lit, as if he were having a party. Avery Boudreaux's unmarked police car was in the drive, blocking Mitch's convertible. I'd been parked only a few minutes when Avery came out the front door. He and Mitch were framed in the doorway. They talked for a moment before Avery drove away, turning right with his tires squealing, his headlights never sweeping my secluded parking space.

As soon as Mitch closed the door, I eased out of the truck and hurried down his driveway. There was a separate garage. If the van was there, I'd have what I needed to convince myself that a man who'd spent his career upholding the law was actually a killer.

Camellias grew thick around the garage, and I had to fight to get through them to a small window. The beam of the flashlight illuminated a room full of old furniture and boxes. The garage was full.

My cell phone vibrated, and I answered it in a whisper as I went back to my truck.

“I found R. Roland,” Jack said. Excitement elevated his voice.

“Who is he?”

“He was charged with killing his wife in 1974. Roland was found innocent of that crime and later convicted of killing four prostitutes in Louisiana. He was sentenced to life at Angola in 1976. He died there in 1998.”

I couldn't find the connection I sought to Mitch.

Jack's next statement gave me the link. “Harry Rayburn was Roland's attorney on the original charge of murdering his wife. It was a nasty trial. Harry pulled out all the stops, bringing in witnesses to say the wife was sleeping with other men, taking prescription drugs, teaching the two daughters to lie and steal and cheat. In other words, Harry Rayburn successfully tried the victim and won.”

“Thanks.” Instead of satisfied, I felt empty. I didn't want to know how Mitch had come to identify with a man who'd killed his wife and four young women. I couldn't help but wonder about the things Harry Rayburn had told his family as he'd beaten them to a pulp.

“Carson, be careful.” The skepticism was gone from Jack's voice.

“I will.” I checked my pistol, the stun gun and the tape recorder before I walked up the sidewalk to Mitch's house. He answered my knock with a frown, as if he'd forgotten he'd invited me over. He stepped outside onto the small porch, easing the door closed behind him. His gaze swept the street.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked, uncertain what I hoped his answer would be.

“Carson, it's important that I talk to you, but not tonight. Something has come up.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door as if something dreadful waited behind it. Gooseflesh rippled down my arms. I sensed it, too. Danger.

“I can wait while you finish what you're doing,” I said, careful to keep it casual, easy. “I don't mind. I'm just glad not to be working tonight.”

“I'm really sorry, but I have to change my plans. Can we get together tomorrow?” The skin around his eyes was white with tension.

“What's going on, Mitch?” I asked.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I need to talk with you, but I can't do it now. I do need your help, but right now it would be best if you went home.”

“I'd be glad to help.” He was frantic to get rid of me, which made me determined to stay. “What's going on?”

He rubbed his forehead. “You'll find out soon enough, I suppose. Another girl is missing. Brittany Jacks. She was the lead in a community theater production. She's twenty-one, and her wedding is set for next month. I know this girl, Carson. I've known her all her life.” He clenched his fists. “She finished rehearsals this evening and never showed up at her parents' home for dinner.”

I felt as if I'd dropped down the steep incline of a roller coaster. “Did someone see the abduction?”

“We don't have all the details, and we aren't even certain the girl has been taken. Avery just stopped by to tell me that her parents are at the station. They're beside themselves. They believe the killer has her.” He was jittery with tension. “I have to go. This can't continue, Carson. I have to do something to make this stop.” He started back inside, his hand already closing the door.

I grabbed his sleeve. “What do you believe? Do you think the Bridal Veil Killer has taken another victim?”

The look he gave me was anguished and filled with guilt. “Yes. I believe he has her.”

“Do you think she may still be alive?” I'd never been able to determine from the police reports if the killer held the girls for any length of time.

“I hope so. God, I hope so.”

“Let me help.” I took a small step forward, but he held up a hand to block me. Our gazes locked, and I read desperation in his eyes. He knew something. Something that was eating him alive.

“I'm the one who can make this stop. Go home, Carson. Go home and be safe.” He closed the door, and I heard the lock turn.

I walked slowly back to the truck almost hidden in the drooping tree branches, but instead of leaving, I waited. It wasn't ten minutes before Mitch's car pulled out of the driveway. He drove right past and never saw me, his focus on the road ahead and his profile that of a man in torment.

I waited until he'd turned left at the end of the block before I started the truck, did a U-turn in the street and followed him. I made certain no one was tailing me. The blue van had spooked me, but now I wondered if it was my imagination.

Traffic through the residential neighborhood was light, and I hung back. Jack's number was already dialed into my phone. I hit Send, and he answered before it had even finished the first ring.

“Another girl is missing,” I said. “Brittany Jacks. Does community theater.”

“I'll get on it. Where are you?”

“Following Mitch.” I paused. “He's deep in this, Jack.”

“Carson, if you're right about this…” He let the sentence fade.

“I'll be okay.” I had to make him believe it. “Mitch said the girl might be alive. Is that because he knows she's alive and he's going there now? I can't lose him. It may be the victim's only hope.”

“Where's he going?”

“I'm not sure. I'll call back and update you.”

“I'm too old to sit around and worry. Keep me posted.”

“I will.” I put the phone down and focused on Mitch. When he turned on Pass Road, I was able to ease closer, not so obvious among the other vehicles that cruised the area. He continued through another residential area and finally turned through the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery where Tammy Newcomb's body had been found.

Too close on his tail to make the turn, I drove on, taking the next street. Live oaks canopied the street, blocking out the scattered streetlights. The houses on this street were abandoned, and I searched my mind for a reason. New development project, strip mall or bad drainage and flooding—it could be any of the above. I couldn't remember the details, but the empty houses were creepy. Across the street, a black wrought-iron fence corralled the dead. I called Jack.

“I'm at the d'Iberville Cemetery.”

“Shit, Carson. That's where that girl was found murdered.”

“I know.” Fog was rolling in off the Sound and settling into the low areas. My windshield was beaded with moisture, the visibility zero. “He may have the missing girl here.”

“I'm calling—”

“Don't call anyone!” I meant it. “He might kill the girl.”

“You can't stop him from doing that. You need professionals to deal with this.”

“He said he needed my help, Jack. He said that twice. I think he wants to explain why he does these things. If I listen, maybe I can talk him into letting the girl go. He knows this one.”

Jack thought about it, but I didn't have time for him to come to the right conclusion.

“I have to go. Don't call the police. Not yet. If I need them, I'll call you and hang up.”

“I think this is a mistake.”

“Bye, Jack.”

I got out of the truck, feeling the moisture that hung in the air. The moon was blanketed by heavy drifts of fog, and I could taste the approaching rain in the air. A storm was brewing over the gulf waters and moving my way.

I didn't stop to question what I was doing. A young girl was missing, and I had no doubt I'd find her in the cemetery. I could only hope that she was still alive.

I climbed the fence and ran among the headstones. Tammy Newcomb's body had been found in the northeastern corner of the large cemetery, and I'd parked on the western side. Without the moon to guide me, I'd have to cross the entire cemetery and angle north, trusting gut instinct. I didn't have time to waste, so I couldn't afford a wrong turn.

Mitch had returned to the scene of his last crime. The possible reason for that eluded me, but so many things didn't make sense. Mitch was a decent, caring man—by day. I thought of Dr. Jennings's refutation of the Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde split personality. He didn't believe such a split existed. I was about to find out for myself.

I pushed forward through the tombstones, each noise or the brush of a wet tree branch across my face making me feel as if Death gripped me. Mitch had to be here, somewhere. I only had to see him before he saw me.

When I came upon his car, parked on one of the narrow roads that wound among the graves, I dropped to my hands and knees and began to crawl from one headstone to the next. I listened, the darkness clogging my senses. In the distance crickets sang. To my left, when a bird broke cover from a cedar tree, wings whirring, my heart stopped for a long tick of time.

Thunder rumbled over the gulf, and heat lightning flushed the sky with a throb of white, revealing pale tombstones like jagged teeth. The storm was moving in fast.

I crept slowly forward, the St. Augustine grass wet beneath my palms and knees. I had to find Mitch and the girl before it was too late. The pistol banged against my thigh as it swung in my coat pocket, and I felt to be sure the stun gun was on my belt.

Soft moans came from in front of me. I stopped and listened, praying for another jolt of lightning. After a long minute I had to accept that whatever I'd heard was gone. There was only the chirring crickets and total darkness. The dead didn't need lights to sleep safely.

I was about to crawl deeper into the cemetery when I heard moaning again. I froze, listening. The sky fused white with electricity, and over the top of a headstone not twenty feet away, I saw the gauzy flutter of a bridal veil.