Chapter 52
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Two nights later
Houston
Flint heard the car door slam in his driveway the night after he returned from New Geneva. He didn’t look out the window. No reason to. No one came by at this time of night except Scarlett.
His home was a modest two-story structure in a quiet residential neighborhood.
Clean lines, well-maintained but unremarkable.
The living room where he waited was sparsely furnished.
A couch, coffee table, and reading chair arranged around a small television.
No personal photographs or decorative items cluttered the surfaces.
She opened the door without knocking and walked inside as if she belonged there. Which, he supposed, she did.
“You were supposed to pick up a DNA sample and get it to the lab,” he said. “Nothing more.”
Scarlett walked past him, poured two fingers of his best scotch into one of his heavy crystal glasses, and joined him in the living room without being invited.
Wild black hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, athletic build suggesting she could handle herself in trouble.
Which, of course, she could, courtesy of her years working for Uncle Sam.
She wore jeans, boots, and a leather jacket that had seen plenty of use.
“Good to see you too,” she said, raising her glass in a mock salute. “Glad you survived whatever the hell you were doing in the Pacific.”
“Scarlett,” he said, by way of warning.
“I got the sample, and hand carried it to the lab like you asked.” She set the folder on his coffee table. “But I also spent time in Mount Warren asking questions.”
Flint tightened his jaw. “I didn’t authorize that.”
“You didn’t forbid it either. And since when do I take orders from you?” Scarlett opened the folder she had carried under her arm and spread documents across the coffee table. “And you were unreachable, not taking my calls, all for good reasons, I’m sure.”
Flint stared at the papers. Church records. Interview notes. Photocopied newspaper clippings. “What did you find?”
“Tommy Kellerman had access to the church’s confession schedules.” Scarlett pulled out a handwritten list. “St. Michael’s used volunteers for building maintenance. Tommy worked there for five years. Fixed broken windows, painted classrooms, cleaned the sanctuary.”
Flint’s ears perked up. “He had access to the church office?”
“Every Tuesday night. The secretary went home early and left him keys to lock up after he finished.” Scarlett tapped another document. “Church board meeting minutes show complaints about Tommy. Drinking. Showing up late. Making inappropriate comments to female parishioners.”
Flint scanned the meeting minutes. The complaints were dated six months before Marilyn Baker’s murder.
“Raymond tried to protect his brother,” Scarlett continued. “Used his position on the church board to keep Tommy from being fired. But people remember the tension between them.”
“What kind of tension?”
“Raymond was embarrassed by Tommy’s behavior. Tommy resented Raymond’s success and respectability.” Scarlett pulled out her interview notes. “I talked to five people who knew both brothers. Same story from all of them. Tommy was jealous of everything Raymond had.”
Flint studied the timeline. Tommy’s drinking got worse. His behavior more erratic. The complaints increased. Tommy got fired, over his brother’s objections.
Then Marilyn Baker was murdered.
“Where’s Tommy now?”
“That’s the problem.” Scarlett frowned and swigged her scotch. “He disappeared right after the murder. Left Mount Warren. Never came back.”
“Any leads on where he went?” Flint asked.
“Working on it. But here’s what I think happened.” Scarlett arranged the documents in chronological order. “Tommy had been watching Marilyn. By all accounts, she was a beauty. You look a lot like her, by the way.”
“Why is all of this relevant?”
“Tommy Kellerman used his church access to learn her schedule. Her routine. When she’d be alone.”
“He was stalking her.” Flint could see the pattern emerging. “And he used Raymond’s reputation to cover his actions.”
“Exactly. If anyone saw him at the church, he belonged there. Raymond’s little brother, doing maintenance work.” Scarlett paused. “The night she died, Tommy knew exactly where she’d be and when.”
Flint looked at the evidence spread across his table. Scarlett had advanced the case more in three days than the original investigation had in years. She’d managed to find a lot more than he had. But to be fair, he hadn’t been looking.
He shuffled through her notes. He was still annoyed that she’d gone ahead without permission. But she’d been right to do it.
“Good work,” he said finally.
“Damn straight,” Scarlett replied, finishing her drink and setting the glass down hard on the table to punctuate.
“Of course, none of this proves anything. Tommy Kellerman’s DNA on her skirt doesn’t mean he killed her. Unless we can get a confession,” Flint said, thinking things through.
“Which means now you find Tommy Kellerman. Give him a chance to do the right thing after all these years,” Scarlett said with a smirk. “You need to do it quick. Maddy’s already packed for Disney. Spring break starts next week while I get back to my real job.”
“I’ll go over to Mount Warren tomorrow.” Flint gave her a stern frown, which didn’t phase her at all. She stood and walked out the same way she came in.