Chapter 32 #2
But far from Mavis Greenlee’s home in the city. Or even the beach house on Tybee.
Was there some other land connection with the Greenlees? she wondered. She pored through county records, but neither Mavis nor Archer, nor the Crawford family or any of Mavis’s ex-husbands owned property out there.
But they all had a link, thin though it may be, to the All Christian Church.
She checked all their names against social-media accounts but found nothing of interest. Nothing that would blow the case wide open.
And as she went through information on the All Christian Church, she didn’t discover anything out of the ordinary, just the mention of the usual church activities like fundraisers, obituaries, bake sales, and meeting times.
Reverend Stark was forming a grief support group, and the Birds of Paradise were holding a prayer vigil for Naomi Kittle.
The funeral service for Mavis Greenlee was listed, with the time and date.
In lieu of flowers, donations should be sent to the parish.
Nikki wondered how many people would show up to the funeral.
Then she mentally berated herself.
There was no connection, no serious connection between these people who attended All Christian and the murders. She could be completely barking up the wrong tree. For that matter, she could be in the wrong damned forest.
She studied the map of the area again, zeroing in on the location of Billy Huber’s patch of ground. So close to the LaRoux property, and yet Granger claimed he really didn’t know Huber all that well. Even though he’d grown up next to him.
Nikki wondered. She dug through news stories and old police reports that had been covered by the paper.
At first glance, there was nothing, but when she probed a little deeper, she found a story that connected Billy Huber to Granger LaRoux, who had been accused of poaching black bears from a nature reserve.
“Really?” she said aloud, taking notice and trying to locate more information.
There was none.
No charges had ever been filed.
It had all happened years before, when Granger had been barely out of his teens, and she could find no other mention of it. Still … there might be something there, something Granger LaRoux had lied about.
She leaned back in her desk chair. Billy Huber’s daughter might know about it, she thought.
On a whim, she dialed Janelle McGowan in Florida.
The phone rang two times, then three. “Come on, come on,” Nikki whispered, and before a monotone voice could finish telling her that the person she was calling was unavailable, Janelle picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she answered cautiously.
“Hi, this is Nikki—”
“I know who you are. I took down your number.”
Just as sweet as ever.
“And if you want to go back onto the property, the answer is no. I’ve finally found a company that’ll come and clean it up.
I’m just waiting for the cops to give me the green light.
Hey—I checked; you’re married to a cop, aren’t you?
Maybe you could put in a good word, let them know they’re holding me up! ”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Nikki lied. The police worked on their own schedule. “The reason I’m calling is about an article I read about your dad and Granger LaRoux.”
“That little hoodlum? What’s he got to do with anything?
Sheeit, that little bugger was always comin’ over to Dad’s place, lookin’ through his stuff, and Billy, he let him, kinda acted like the kid was the grandson he never had—well, more likely it was because of Caleb, a replacement son or whatever some psychologist would call him,” she said acidly, then a little more softly, “Billy, well, he never did get over losing him.” She cleared her throat, coughed, then, her voice growing dimmer, as if she’d turned away from the phone, yelled, “Hey! Al, bring me a fresh pack, would ya? I got that reporter from Savannah on the phone and I could use a—what?” There was a muffled reply.
“Yeah, the girl reporter, well, hell, she’s a woman, and yeah, she has more questions …
oh, for the love of Saint Pete, just toss me a pack.
” Her voice became louder as she said, “Excuse me a sec.” Then Nikki heard some muffled conversation, and she imagined Janelle’s big partner lumbering off to do his wife’s bidding.
“There ya go, hon,” a male voice said. “Got one out for ya.”
Seconds later, Nikki recognized the sound of a lighter clicking and a deep inhale of breath.
“I should never have started up again,” Janelle said into the phone.
“That’s what dealing with Billy’s estate’s done to me.
Sent me right back to smokin’ and drinkin’ too much.
Now what was it you wanted? It’s not about that damned dog is it, cuz, I’m tellin’ ya, we got no use for him. ”
“No, Arlo’s fine.”
“Oh, God, that’s right. Arlo. What a name for a dog.
” Another audible drag. “So what was it you wanted, something about that LaRoux kid? Hell, he was trouble. And could you blame him? With a whack-a-doodle mother like that? Always conjurin’ up the dead, and talkin’ to spirits, and leveling curses? No wonder he’s the way he is.”
“I read a story about Granger poaching black bears,” Nikki put in. She knew now that the two men knew each other and that Granger had lied.
“Oh, that,” she said. “I remember. Kind of a big deal at the time, but to tell you the truth, Billy didn’t pay much attention to hunting laws or getting tags or whatever. He just did his own thing. He probably suckered that kid into it, but then, that boy was already on the wrong path.”
“But nothing came of it.”
“Couldn’t be proved, I guess. I was already out of the house by then, but yeah, I heard about it.
And I think that was kind of the end of their relationship.
Granger’s nutso mother really came down hard on him and Billy, even swore she would curse his soul or some such shit.
” She inhaled again and added, “I mean, I wasn’t close to Billy, you know that, but when I did talk to him after, he never mentioned the kid again. ”
“Did Granger have a problem with your dad?”
“Didn’t everybody who knew Billy?” she asked. “Look, that’s all I know.”
Nikki tried a few more questions but got no more answers, so she hung up and tried to figure out what it meant. If anything. For some reason, Granger LaRoux had lied about knowing Billy Huber as well as he did.
Why?
Did it even matter?
“Probably not,” she said aloud, but she would definitely talk to Granger.
Skimming her e-mail, she saw that Fink was demanding a new story. There was also a friendly little reminder from Ina that a new book on the Savannah Slasher would be an “interesting” premise.
“Yeah,” Nikki said aloud, “if we knew who he was.”
What was she missing? The rocks, she thought, the clue left by the killer at each scene. Significant somehow. And information only she, married to the killer, knew about, information she couldn’t use.
So far.
She wrote the victims and the numbers down.
Billy Huber, #9
Mavis Greenlee, #5
Jeanne LaRoux, #1
The carvings didn’t seem to be in any kind of order, though they were all odd numbers, etched in blood, written in both Arabic and Hebrew. Only missing the three and seven between and counting backward.
So what?
What was the killer trying to convey? Was he just taunting the police, or was there some secret code known only to him, a clue?
If so, she was lost.
She texted Pierce, asking about updates on Naomi Kittle, and waited, tapping her fingers on the desk. But, of course, he didn’t respond.
Looking up, she noticed Effie abandoning her post to go to the restroom.
Once she was out of sight, Nikki pushed back her chair and wandered over to Effie’s station, where the ice in her oversize Diet Pepsi was melting. The screen showed news across the country and the world, with one window open to the page on all things Georgia, from weather to traffic reports.
The headlines for the Savannah area were all about the Savannah Slasher, but as she skimmed the reports and listened to the news, she heard nothing new. Nor was there any information on Naomi Kittle.
“Hey! Get away from there!” Effie said, returning, her face pulled into a frown as she grabbed her stool and eyed her keyboard and screen. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nikki said and gathered her things.
Tonight, she thought, had turned out to be a bust.
She called Pierce on the way home and was surprised that he actually picked up.
“Anything new?” she asked.
“No. We’re tracking Naomi’s car now. All we know is that it crossed the state line and was caught on camera heading into Georgia, toward Savannah, but then we lost contact.”
“You don’t know where she was heading?”
“She was on the road leading to their home,” he said, as Nikki slowed for a corner and thought about the map she’d just viewed. Naomi, on her way back, would pass right by Knox Quinlan’s place.
But she really believed Knox had no idea that Naomi had gone missing when he’d shown up at the riding school.
As she drove, she caught a glimpse of a car behind her in the rearview, then noticed that when she turned, it followed, taking the same route.
No big deal. Savannah was a good-sized city, and there was a lot of traffic on this Friday night.
She took another corner and saw the car, a silver SUV, take the same turn seconds later.
Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.
Two more turns, and she seemed to have lost the tail, or, more likely, the silver vehicle hadn’t been following her.
Still, her nerves were a little jangled.
After all, there was a serial killer out there somewhere, some sicko who killed his victims by smashing their skulls, cutting their throats, and leaving a polished stone as his mark.
Who? she wondered.
But more importantly, why?