The Night Killer Part 12

"They could be taking their victims from nursing homes," he said. "Or just homeless people with a pension of some kind. Do you know how many homeless we have in Atlanta? They could choose the kind of person who has no one else in the world. All Tammy and Slick would have to do is change the address where the check is being sent. Or better yet, go down with the person to a bank and open up a joint account to have the checks direct-deposited. There are any number of ways they could play it."

Frank shook his head. "They could just wait for the person to die. I don't imagine Tammy and Slick are particularly good caregivers. Or they could murder their victims. Either way, they don't report the death, and they continue to collect the check. It's been done-mostly between relatives, but not always. It's actually pretty safe for the criminal if it's set up right. Tammy and Slick don't have any neighbors. n.o.body to watch them. It's really a pretty good setup for that kind of thing."

"Just their bad luck their tree fell on me," said Diane. "Where do you think they pick up the people? Off the street? How would they know if they get a monthly check?"

"Probably not off the street. Probably Atlanta or nearby. Someplace where there're lots of vulnerable people, like at a free clinic, a nursing home, places that provide services for people on pensions. We need to find out what Tammy did before she shacked up with Slick."

"We?" said Diane.

"Yeah. I hate fraud. Have I ever told you that?" said Frank. "Besides, if we're right, there's a woman in danger. Do you think your new friend Travis might know anything about Tammy?"

"I don't know. But I need to alert him about the woman living with them." Diane grabbed the phone and called information to get Travis' home number. It rang about fifteen times before he picked up.

"Travis," he answered.

Diane explained their concerns. "I was wondering if you could check on the woman we saw there," she said.

"Sure. I'll be d.a.m.ned. That kind of makes sense, don't it? That ol' Slick's slicker than I thought. I can go over there right now. I'll let you know," he said.

"Does your cell phone have a camera?" asked Diane. "I was wondering if you could get a picture of Tammy, and perhaps her guest."

"You mean kind of spy-like?" he said.

"Yes," said Diane.

"I can give it a try," he said.

When Diane hung up, she turned to Frank.

"My lipstick," she said.

"What?"

"I was going to throw it away, but it's still in that sack of things Slick returned. There's no way Tammy didn't use it. I'll bet it has her prints on it. I'll lift them and see if we can get a match."

"If we can get a picture of Tammy, Ben and I can run it by some of the clinics and nursing homes in the Atlanta area to see if anyone recognizes her," said Frank.

Diane was surprised at how relieved she felt to have an explanation of Slick Ma.s.sey's and Tammy Taylor's behavior. Ben's a.n.a.lysis might be wrong, but it didn't feel wrong. That was why they returned Diane's things. Slick didn't want her digging any deeper into their business. Diane felt energized. She was about to pour them another gla.s.s of wine when the phone rang again.

"Too soon to be Travis," said Diane. She looked at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number. She answered.

"h.e.l.lo, is this Diane Fallon?" said a breathy female voice.

"Who is calling?" said Diane.

"This is Christine McEarnest. Roy and Ozella Barre are my parents. I was wondering if me and my brothers could come talk to you?"

Chapter 23

Christine McEarnest wore clothes well. She was slim, with a well-balanced body. She was wearing a s.h.i.+rtdress of chocolate brown polished silk, a wide dark belt, dark hose, and brown platform sandals. Her ensemble looked new. The men with her were less dressy. Her husband, Brian, wore Dockers with a khaki s.h.i.+rt. Her brother, Spence Barre, had on jeans and a denim s.h.i.+rt over a white tee. All three sat on the couch in Diane's meeting room at the museum, looking solemn. Christine had red-rimmed eyes. Spence kept looking at his watch. Diane sat opposite them in one of the stuffed chairs. They had declined the drinks she offered them. Christine twisted an embroidered cotton handkerchief in her hand.

"I don't know why Roy Jr.'s late. It isn't like him," she said.

This got a derisive grunt from her husband. Christine gave him a sharp look.

"Roy Jr. knows how important this is," she said. "It was his idea."

Christine had introduced all of them by explaining what they each did for a living-obviously an important thing to her, a sign that they had left the mountain hollow and made something of themselves. Christine managed a dress shop in Reston, Virginia. Her husband, Brian, worked for the U.S. Geological Survey as a computer technician. Her brother Spence was a medical technician in Knoxville, Tennessee, and her brother Roy Jr. owned an art gallery in Helen, Georgia. They had all done well and Christine wanted Diane to know it, to know that they and, more important, their parents mattered.

She hadn't needed to convince Diane and certainly didn't need to justify their existence to her. The truth that people mattered was written in Diane's DNA.

"We need to get started," said Brian McEarnest, glancing at his own watch. "We can't waste Dr. Fallon's time like this. Roy Jr. will be here when he gets here."

"I know," said Christine. "I was just hoping he would be here. I thought he would get here before us. Helen isn't that far away."

"You know Roy Jr.," said Spence. "He gets all absorbed in a painting and time just stands still for him. He's unaware that it's ticking by for the rest of us."

Christine and Spence looked like their mother-brown-blond hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks. The last time Diane saw Ozella Barre alive, she was standing on her steps waving good-bye as Diane drove off. She was smiling; she looked cheerful. Diane imagined that under normal conditions, her children had their mother's and father's cheerful dispositions. Now they both sat looking like the world was ending.

"We don't mean to waste your time," Christine said to Diane. "We would like you to look into our parents' deaths. Roy Jr. told us you are the one who discovered them."

"He was a little unclear about why you were there," said Spence. "Wasn't it real early in the morning or something?"

Diane could imagine that it would be unclear. She doubted if the authorities in Rendell County had given them the whole story.

"Let me start by telling you about that evening," said Diane. She hoped the events of the previous evening would give them the context they lacked about how Diane entered their parents' home in the dead of night after they were in bed. She gave them a clear, brief description, from the time she first arrived at the Barre home to pick up the artifacts, to the time she was at their house again, and found them dead.

The three of them sat openmouthed-much like everyone else had when they heard the story. Brian was the first to speak when she finished.

"Slick Ma.s.sey? Wasn't that the guy in high school you used to tell me about?" he asked Christine.

"That's him. He was always a strange no-account, but this is weird even for him," she said. "Who was the skeleton?"

"I don't know," said Diane. "We know she was an older woman with some disabilities, but we don't have enough information at this time to make an identification."

"What is the sheriff doing about it? Nothing, I'll bet," said Spence.

"Ma.s.sey and his girlfriend got rid of the bones. The expert the sheriff consulted . . ."

"Don't tell me," said Christine. "They're saying the bones belonged to some animal."

"They are saying the bones are too old to deal with," said Diane. "Do you know a Dr. Linden?"

"Oh, yes," said Christine. "He was our doctor for years. He's a sweetie. You're not saying he's the expert? He was in practice when we were little. I thought he'd retired."

"The sheriff called him in to consult about the bones and to do the autopsies. . . ."

"Autopsies?" said Spence, leaning forward. "He was our family doctor, a GP, for chrissake. No wonder Roy Jr. was concerned."

"As I understand it, he had experience in the army," said Diane.

Spence issued a derisive hiss. "When? World War One?" he said. "Why is Leland Conrad getting him to do the autopsies and not a real medical examiner? Are they in short supply in Georgia all of a sudden?"

"No, no shortage," said Diane. "I recommended an excellent medical examiner. But it seems there are very few people Sheriff Conrad trusts."

"Those people . . ." said Christine. She wrung her handkerchief some more. "That's why we're here." She spread out her skirt with her hands. "The folks of Rendell County are good people," she began the way people did when they were about to tell you just the opposite. "It's just those Golgotha Baptists. As kids we called them Gothic Baptists. They were that strange-not like the rest of us Baptists at all. I don't know why they even called themselves Baptists; they were so different from the other churches. Certainly nothing like First Baptist. We don't mean to trash their church. There's some good people there, but . . ."

"It's Leland Conrad and the rest of the deacons who got themselves elected to public office," said Spence. "If they had been content to practice their religion by themselves, instead of trying . . ." He threw up his hands, stood up, and walked over to Diane's refrigerator. "I'll take that drink, if you don't mind. Anyone else?" They shook their heads. He opened the door and helped himself to a c.o.ke.

"Look," said Brian. "We're just beating about the bush. What we came here for was to ask you to investigate Mr. and Mrs. Barre's murders. The sheriff just isn't up to it. You know, with all the forensic shows on TV, everybody in the country knows how to work a crime scene-everybody except the sheriff, apparently. His 'ignorant and proud of it' att.i.tude is fine in his personal life, but it has no place in criminal justice. Me and my wife, and Spence here, and their brother, Roy Jr., are very worried that the killer won't be caught. And now we hear there's been another murder just like my in-laws'. Can you help us?"

"There are some things I can do," said Diane. "But I can't interfere in an ongoing investigation, no matter what I think of the investigation so far. You need to know too that I've been forbidden to set foot in Rendell County."

"What?" said Christine. "By who? The sheriff?"

"Yes," said Diane.

"Why?" asked Brian. "Can he do that?"

"Because he doesn't want to be shown up for the a.s.s he is," said Spence. "Isn't it obvious?" He took another long swallow of his drink and paced the room.

"What do you need?" asked Brian.

"The autopsy reports, for starters," said Diane. "The Watsons' too."

"I know Kate Watson, their daughter," said Christine. "She doesn't like the sheriff any more than we do. Can we ask for the autopsy reports?"

Diane nodded. "If the sheriff balks, you can get a lawyer, or you can ask your parents' insurance company to request the report."

"So this means you'll help find out who killed Mom and Dad?" said Spence.

"I'll do my best," said Diane.

Spence finished his drink and sat down. "We appreciate that. Do you think it is a serial killer? It looks like it."

"I never a.s.sume," said Diane.

"What about that guy you met in the woods?" said Christine. "That was pretty suspicious."

"It was, and I'm sure the sheriff is trying to find him," said Diane.

Spence shook his head.

"Travis Conrad has shown more competence than his father," Diane said.

She didn't tell them she was helping Travis with the investigation, for fear the information would get back to the sheriff. She might have been able to get the autopsy reports from Travis, but frankly, she wanted the Barre children's interest in the investigation to shake the sheriff up. There was no reason for him to be so parochial.

"Travis?" said Christine. "I can't believe he has a job as a deputy."

"He wouldn't if his father hadn't given it to him," said Spence.

Diane raised her eyebrows.

"We went to school with him," said Christine. "He was one of the bad boys, if you know what I mean. I wasn't allowed to speak to him.

"He drank a lot, drove too fast around those country roads, broke into people's sheds and stole their tools, and was into drugs. You say he's more competent than the sheriff? I don't have a lot of respect for the sheriff, but I find that hard to believe."

"Apparently he's cleaned up his act quite a bit. I have the impression," Diane said carefully, "that he wants to show his father up and find the killer."

"I can believe he'd want to do that. He got a lot of hard whippings from his daddy when he was a little fella," said Spence.

"His dad was a real believer in not sparing the rod," said Christine. "Mama and Daddy didn't spank very much. Daddy not at all." She smiled and looked over at Spence. "You remember the time Roy Jr. painted that mural on the side of the Glovers' barn?"

Spence grinned. "What was he, six? He now refers to that as his Jackson Pollock phase."

"Daddy was supposed to take him out back and give him a whipping with a paddle. Mama came out later and found Daddy sitting on a log, crying his eyes out. Little Roy Jr. was sitting on an overturned bucket, all dry-eyed. Mama said she put her hands on her hips and looked from one to the other. Turns out Daddy hadn't hit him a lick. Couldn't stand the thought of it. Mama made the two of them go over and help Mr. Glover repaint the side of his barn."

Christine's eyes began to tear up. Spence started to say something just as his cell rang. He flipped it open and answered it. Diane's stomach clenched when she saw the look on his face.

Chapter 24

Spence Barre flipped his phone closed. He was so pale Diane was afraid he was about to faint. He looked over at his sister, who was staring at him with a look of dread, her handkerchief held tight in her hands. For several moments he said nothing.

"That was the highway patrol," he said finally. He ran a hand down the length of his face and looked from his sister to his brother-in-law, then to Diane. "Roy Jr. has been in an accident on the mountain road."

Christine sucked in her breath and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand. "Is he . . . ? Where is he? We have to go see him."

Brian put an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"They didn't tell me much. You know how they are. They like to tell things in person," said Spence. "They only said he was taken to the hospital in Rosewood. I don't know why here and not Helen."

The three of them looked at one another for a moment, appearing too stunned to know what to do.