Don't Cry Part 30

"He saw a car pull away from behind One Man's Treasure. Henry was asleep in a bed he'd made from discarded boxes at the back of the store next door. And no, he can't ID the car, except that it looked like an 'older-model big car.' His exact words." Tam crossed her arms over her chest. "He has no idea what time it was. He said it was dark."

"Did he see the man driving the car?"

"A glimpse. He couldn't even give us a description."

"Then there's no point in my questioning him, is there?"

"Probably not. You can read Officer Grissom's report and my report. We both questioned Henry." Tam frowned, twisting her mouth and glancing up and down, as if she was considering her next words carefully. "He did see something else."

That comment got J.D.'s undivided attention. "What did he see?"

"A b.u.mper sticker on the back of the car. He said it glowed in the dark."

J.D. groaned. "Why couldn't he have seen the license plate, too?"

"He says it was too dark."

"Anything unusual about the b.u.mper sticker, other than it glowed in the dark?"

"It was a pro-life sticker that read 'Smile! Your mother chose life!'"

"The sticker could have been there when he bought the car."

Tam nodded. "It could have been."

"But you don't think so. You think the killer chose the sticker and put it on the car himself. 'Smile! Your mother chose life!' is a unique way of saying she didn't kill you, so be happy."

"Your mother didn't kill you the way Cody Bennett's mother killed him, the way she killed him again and again by taking the lives of other little boys."

"I get it." J.D. cleared his throat. "I have some photos in the car that I want the uniformed officers to take a look at and then walk around through the crowd to see if anyone looks familiar. And I think I'll show the same photos to Henry O'Neal."

"I want to see the photos first," Tam said.

"Sure. But I can tell you now that you're not going to like the fact that one of the photos is of Hart Roberts."

Tam glared at him.

When she didn't say anything, he added, "The other photo is of Jeremy Arden."

"Go get the photographs. I'll have a couple of our officers take them and look through the crowd. But I can promise you that if Hart is out there, it's only because he's interested in the fact there's been another body discovered, along with a child's skeleton that could be his brother, Blake."

"I understand," J.D. told her. "Look, for what it's worth, I don't think Hart Roberts is our killer, but if I didn't even consider him as a possible person of interest, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"I know," Tam said reluctantly before turning and walking away.

When her doorbell rang at seven twenty that evening, the last person Audrey expected to find on her doorstep was J.D. Ca.s.s. For a split second she thought about slamming the door in his face.

"If you're here to tell me that Whitney Poole is dead, I already know."

"I figured you did since you have an in with the CPD. Plus the fact that every reporter in the state showed up at the crime scene."

"Then what do you want?" she asked.

"May I come in?"

Reluctantly, Audrey stepped aside so he could enter. Once he was inside, she closed the door, turned to him, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why are you here?"

"I thought we should talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, I have a few things to say to you."

"Please say them as quickly as possible and then leave."

"You're p.i.s.sed at the wrong person."

Clenching her teeth and scrunching her face into an angry frown, she glared at him, and then after a hasty indrawn and released breath, she said, "No, I think I am, as you so eloquently put it, p.i.s.sed p.i.s.sed at the right person." at the right person."

J.D. groaned.

She could tell that he was frustrated by her refusal to see things from his point of view. "If that's all-"

"No, by G.o.d, that's not all."

She stepped back, afraid that he was going to grab her.

"I'd like to shake some sense into that pretty head of yours." He growled the words.

"Don't you dare touch me."

He huffed angrily. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Sensing she was on the verge of tears, Audrey swallowed several times, hoping to control her emotions. "Will you please say whatever it is you came here to say."

"I will be interviewing your stepbrother tomorrow. I wanted to be the one to tell you."

"I see. All right, you've told me."

"I'm also interviewing Jeremy Arden. And we're continuing our search for Corey Bennett."

"Leaving no stone unturned."

"That's right. d.a.m.n it, Audrey, you're a retired policeman's daughter, the niece of a CPD detective. You know that if I didn't consider every possibility, didn't question anyone who might know anything about these murders, I wouldn't be doing my job. Interviewing your stepbrother could easily eliminate him from the persons-of-interest list altogether."

Audrey knew J.D. was right. He was was just doing his job. But Hart was her brother and she knew he wasn't a killer. There was no way Hart could tell the TBI anything about the murders. Couldn't J.D. see that? No, of course not. J.D. didn't know Hart the way she did. To him, her stepbrother was simply a guy with emotional problems who had been in various kinds of trouble most of his life. just doing his job. But Hart was her brother and she knew he wasn't a killer. There was no way Hart could tell the TBI anything about the murders. Couldn't J.D. see that? No, of course not. J.D. didn't know Hart the way she did. To him, her stepbrother was simply a guy with emotional problems who had been in various kinds of trouble most of his life.

"I understand that you're just doing your job," Audrey said. "What I don't understand is why you thought it necessary to come here and try to explain yourself to me."

He didn't respond at first. He stood there and stared at her. And then he said, "d.a.m.n if I know."

Without another word, he turned around, opened the door, and left.

Audrey released a pent-up breath and closed her eyes as they filled with tears. She hated J.D. Ca.s.s. Hated him, hated him, hated him.

No, you don't hate him. And that's why you're so upset.

Chapter 23

J.D hadn't slept worth a d.a.m.n. And it was more than concern about the seemingly unsolvable Rocking Chair Murders that had kept him awake. For the life of him, he couldn't get Audrey Sherrod off his mind, not last night and not this morning. For a smart woman, she sure as h.e.l.l was acting stupid. She'd said she understood that by interviewing her stepbrother, he was just doing his job. And he understood that she loved and trusted Hart Roberts, that as his stepsister, she was extremely protective of her emotionally unbalanced sibling. Roberts was a borderline crazy who had been in and out of rehab numerous times, and since his teen years, he'd been in trouble with the law time and again. From what J.D. could find out about Roberts, the guy was a ticking time bomb who could explode at any moment.

Maybe he'd already exploded. Maybe that last screw in his mind had come loose and he was kidnapping and killing Regina Bennett look-alikes. For an unbalanced mind, it wouldn't be so far-fetched to seek a sick kind of revenge against the woman he believed had kidnapped and murdered his baby brother.

But how would Hart Roberts know where Regina had hidden the toddlers' bodies?

He wouldn't. Not unless there had been some type of communication between Regina and him. And there was no evidence whatsoever that the two had ever met or communicated in any way.

Unless Hart Roberts was the mysterious Corey Bennett.

But that was unlikely, wasn't it?

After spending the better part of the morning doing some reinterviewing in the field, he was finally on his way back to the office. First thing this morning, he had talked to Ms. Milsaps and several other Moccasin Bend employees. Then he had gone from the mental hospital to the Chattanooga Funeral Home's East Chapel and spoken again to Mr. Scudder, the funeral director. His last stop had been at Callie's Cafe, where he had spoken to the manager again. He had shown all of them photos of both Hart Roberts and Jeremy Arden.

"I recognize Mr. Arden," Ms. Milsaps had said. "But not the other man."

"You've never seen him?" J.D. had pointed directly to Hart's photo.

"No, I don't think so. But...Well, Mr. Arden and this man are very similar in looks, don't you think? And Corey Bennett, as best I can recall, is also fair, blond and has a similar look."

"I thought you said Corey Bennett had brown hair."

"Light brown, I believe I said. You know, the kind of hair that's a shade between blond and light brown. Just like Mr. Arden and this other man."

J.D. had studied the photos. The resemblance between Jeremy Arden and Hart Roberts was entirely superficial. Blue eyes, brownish blond hair, medium height and build. Both of them were the pretty-boy type. He could see where the two men could easily be mistaken for each other if seen only from a distance or if someone was trying to recall their face from a past meeting.

A couple of the Moccasin Bend employees recognized Jeremy Arden's photo and vaguely remembered he had visited a patient there. But no one recognized Hart Roberts.

Mr. Scudder had taken his time looking at the photos, then shaken his head and said, "I don't think either of these men is Corey Bennett, although they do fit the description I gave you, don't they. And I suppose if you added gla.s.ses and a mustache..."

"Do you remember anything else about Corey Bennett, anything at all, even something you'd consider completely insignificant?"

Mr. Scudder had thought quite seriously for several minutes. "No, nothing. Well, maybe. I did think it odd that a man wearing an expensive suit and sporting an obvious professional manicure would be in need of a haircut."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"His hair was rather s.h.a.ggy and hung down over his collar. Come to think of it, at the time, I wondered if perhaps he was bald or balding and was wearing a wig."

One by one the pieces fell into place. s.h.a.ggy hair that could have been a wig. A mustache. And eyegla.s.ses. The three items combined suggested a disguise, a disguise that would hide the man's true ident.i.ty.

But the expensive suit and the professional manicure revealed a man who could afford both. Neither Jeremy Arden nor Hart Roberts had any money to speak of. Roberts didn't even have a job.

J.D.'s phone rang. He checked caller ID and groaned. It was Cara Oliver again. The woman had called a dozen times since Sat.u.r.day night. She'd left a voice-mail message each time. If he didn't answer her calls or return them, maybe she'd take the hint that he was not interested in her.

Ignoring the call, he checked the time on the dashboard clock. Eleven twenty. He had asked the CPD to find Henry O'Neal and escort him to the TBI office for further questioning. O'Neal was probably there now, waiting on him. Running a few miles over the speed limit, J.D. headed toward McCallie Avenue.

When he arrived at the State Office Building, Suite 650, he found a uniformed officer standing watch over a seated Henry O'Neal inside J.D.'s office. Hard living and heavy boozing had aged O'Neal beyond his fifty-seven years. Apparently someone had gotten their witness some coffee because he cupped a mug between his shaky hands and barely managed to put the mug to his lips without spilling the contents.

When J.D. entered, the young officer nodded and introduced himself as Tom Bonds. O'Neal looked up through bloodshot eyes, his face a craggy ma.s.s of deep lines and heavy wrinkles.

"Thanks for coming in, Mr. O'Neal," J.D. said as he walked over and propped his hip against the edge of his desk.

"Don't know why you want to talk to me again. I told you and them other cops yesterday what I saw. I can't tell you no more today than I could then."

"I understand. We won't keep you long, but I'd appreciate it if you'd take another look at the photographs I showed you. Only this time picture both men with longer, slightly darker hair, perhaps with a mustache and wearing gla.s.ses."

O'Neal gulped down another hefty swig of black coffee, shook his head, and said, "I can't help you none. I told you that. I didn't see the guy's face."

J.D. picked up a file folder from his desk, opened it, and removed duplicates of the photos of Jeremy Arden and Hart Roberts. "Take another look anyway." He held the photos in front of O'Neal.

After looking over each picture for a few seconds, he grunted. "It could have been either of them. I don't know. It might not have been. It was dark. I didn't see his face."

"But you're sure the driver was a man?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

J.D. tossed the photos down on his desk. "What about the car?"

"It wasn't a new car. It was one of them big old cars, a Lincoln maybe." O'Neal finished off his coffee and held up the mug. "I wouldn't mind another cup. And maybe something to go with it. A doughnut or a sandwich or-"

J.D. glanced at the uniformed officer. "Get Mr. O'Neal another cup of coffee, would you?"

With an offended look on his face, Officer Bonds took the mug from O'Neal and did as J.D had requested.

"Tell me more about the car," J.D. said.