Dead of Night
“Maybe you should check out that cellar sometime. No telling what you might find down there. Besides spiders and rattlers.” He grinned.
“Maybe I’ll check it out one of these days,” Lukas said.
“Yeah, you do that.” Fears gazed off into space. “That storm cellar was where your old man used to interrogate his prisoners. And by interrogate, I mean beat the shit out of.” He turned and cocked his head as he studied Lukas’s reaction. “What do you say we go down there right now, just me and you, and check it out? I’ve got a flashlight in the truck. Be like a stroll down memory lane.”
“Maybe later.” Lukas didn’t like the sudden feral gleam in Fears’s eyes. He’d seen that look before. “Where were you last Tuesday?”
“Home,” Fears said.
“Just like that? You don’t even have to think about it?”
“That was the day after the ice storm hit. I didn’t have to go in to work, so I slept in.”
“All day?”
“Well, you know how it is. Guy like me needs his beauty rest. You don’t believe me, talk to my old lady. She can vouch for me. I’ve been staying out at the house with her ever since I got back to town.”
“I’ve already checked,” Lukas said. “Your mother was at the hospital on Tuesday. She pulled a double shift so she was there from early morning until late evening. Looks like she’s not in any position to provide you with an alibi this time.”
Fears wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. “And just why the hell would I need an alibi?”
“Someone broke into the DeLaune house that day. When I went over there to check things out, I saw a reflection in a window right before I got a lamp bashed into my skull. That reflection looked a lot like you, Derrick.”
Fears laughed. “No shit?”
“No shit. So why don’t you tell me why you were there?”
The amusement faded. “You’ve got the wrong guy, Sheriff.”
Lukas didn’t bother correcting the title. “I don’t think I do. I saw you pretty clearly in that window.”
“Then why ain’t you already got my ass sitting in a jail cell somewhere?”
“Maybe I’m waiting to hear your side of the story.”
“Mighty big of you. It’s more than your old man would do, that’s for damn sure.” Fears folded his arms and leaned back against the truck. “Let’s just say, hypothetically speaking, it was me you saw in that window. Maybe I was there at the house looking for the same thing you are.”
Lukas stared straight into his eyes. “And that would be?”
“You’ve been asking questions about that girl’s murder, which makes me wonder if you’re trying to find her killer. Maybe you and me want the same thing.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why you broke into the DeLaune house.”
“I never said I was there. We’re speaking hypothetically, remember?”
Lukas’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know something about Rachel DeLaune’s murder?”
“I know I didn’t do it, so chances are pretty damn good that whoever whacked her is still around in these parts. And the son of a bitch was more than willing to let me take the blame.” Fears shifted his stance, his gaze going back to the woods behind the house. “Everybody thinks your old man was such a great cop, but he really blew it on that case. He never even looked at anybody but me. It was too damn easy to blame the weirdo. He wanted a confession, so he took me down in that cellar and tried to beat one out of me. He left me lying down there in my own blood and shit for two days, and when I still wouldn’t crack, he started in on me again. The way I see it, I’ve got some payback due me.”
“And that’s why you went to the DeLaune place? What were you hoping to find? Evidence? You don’t think that house was searched after the murder?”
“Why would your old man order a search when he already had it in his head I did it? Just because he couldn’t make the charges stick doesn’t mean he ever seriously considered any of the other suspects.”
“What other suspects?”
“Plenty of people had it in for that girl. She wasn’t at all like what she pretended to be.”
“Meaning?”
“She was a real pistol. She just knew how to hide her badness, is all. So maybe instead of trying to figure out who wanted her dead, you ought to be asking yourself who needed her dead.”
“And you think you know who that someone was?”
His smile was cagey again. “I’ve got a few ideas. My old lady used to work for Doc Washington when he still had his office on Pear Street. She said Rachel came in one day complaining of dizzy spells. She’d passed out in school that same day. Doc thought it was probably low blood sugar, but when he ran some tests, he found out she was knocked up.”
Lukas tried not to show his shock. “She was pregnant at the time of the murder?”
“Unless she got rid of it, yeah.”
“There was nothing about a pregnancy in the autopsy report.”
“Judge DeLaune wouldn’t have wanted anything like that getting out about his precious little girl, now would he? He and your old man were like this back then.” He held up crossed fingers. “Between the two of them, they ran this county. They could leave out anything they damn well wanted from those reports.”
“Why didn’t your mother say anything about this when you were arrested?”
“She did. Nobody’d listen.”
“Does she know who the father was?”
“No, but I’ve got a few ideas about that, too. Like I said, you gotta ask yourself who needed that girl dead. It had to be somebody with a lot to lose, right? Like a fancy scholarship maybe. Or a wife.”
“Is this all just supposition or do you really know something?” Lukas said.
Fears shrugged. “Let’s just say, I had a lot of time in the joint to do some thinking. And what kept running through my head was the way Judge DeLaune used to look at that girl when he thought no one else was around.”
“You think he killed his own daughter?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Maybe things got out of hand. Who knows? He’s the one who found her, right? I’m not a cop like you, but even I know that’d be a good way to explain why his prints and DNA were at the crime scene.”
According to Esme, Judge DeLaune carried Rachel’s body all the way back to the house while Anna DeLaune washed blood out of Sarah’s hair. Why had they taken such pains to destroy evidence that could have led to Rachel’s killer?
“When your old man took me down in that cellar, I was just seventeen years old,” Fears said. “I was too scared to fight back then, but I’m not a kid anymore. Being locked up with a bunch of low-life scumbags teaches you a thing or two about survival. If you really want to find that girl’s killer, more power to you. But if you’re figuring on coming after me the way your old man did, then I’m not going to be so neighborly the next time we meet up.”
Lukas felt the gun pressing into his back. “Is that a threat?”
“A threat?” Fears opened the truck door and climbed into the cab. “After I drove all the way out here just to do you a solid? No, man, that wasn’t a threat. That there was just a friendly piece of advice.”
Chapter 16
Sarah had only been home from work a few minutes on Saturday when Sean showed up at her door. It had been raining when she left the studio, and her hair was still damp from the long walk to her car. When she got home, she’d barely had time to change her shirt and kick off her wet shoes before the doorbell rang.
“What are you doing here?” she said as she stood in the open doorway, her body language telling him plainly that she had no intention of inviting him in. “I told you last night I didn’t want you to come here.”
“I thought you meant last night,” he said with an offhanded shrug. “You know, don’t come here as in right now.”
He wore a dark crewneck sweater over a white T-shirt and jeans, which either meant he’d had the day off or his watch had ended at five. He always dressed in a suit and tie for work. He’d told Sarah once it was a matter of intimidation, but she’d always thought there was probably a little ego involved. Sean looked good dressed up and he knew it.
“No, I meant, as in never,” she said.
“Never is a long time.”
“Yes, precisely.”
He watched her for a moment, his face shaded by the darkness. She could see his eyes, but she couldn’t read what was in them.
“You look a little tired tonight, kiddo.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Is that all you can ever say to me?”
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
She shrugged. “My neighbor’s wind chime kept me up last night.”
No bells in her tree, she’d discovered that morning. Just the wind chime in her neighbor’s courtyard and an imagination triggered by a silent house.
She leaned a shoulder against the door frame and folded her arms. “How did you know I was home anyway?” She was usually at work until ten on Saturday nights.
“I went by the studio. They said you left early. I wanted to know you made it home all right.”
“Why?”
“This neighborhood isn’t as safe as it used to be.”
Sarah was quiet for a long time. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“What?” He was the picture of innocence. “You know what they say about old habits.”
“What do you want from me, Sean?” She hadn’t meant to pour so much pain and anger into that one question. She sensed, more than saw, his wince.
“Jesus, Sarah. Do I have to want something? Can’t we just talk?”
In the deepening twilight, he was hardly more than a silhouette on her porch, but Sarah’s memory had no trouble sketching his features. The piercing eyes, the slightly brooding mouth.
“I’d just like to know what point there is to all this,” she said wearily. “Every time we talk, we cover the same old ground.”
“I know we do. And yet, here I am again.”
She cast her eyes heavenward where a light rain still fell from a black sky. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and then Sean lifted his hands and blew on his fingers. “It’s cold out here, Sarah.”
“You have a warm body to go home to, don’t you? Or isn’t Catherine home?”
For an instant, he seemed stuck for a response, and then he shrugged. “I don’t know where she is tonight.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m here because I wanted to see you. It may be old ground, but we do have things to talk about.”
She waited a heartbeat, then backed away from the door so he could enter. He walked into the living room, dominating the space as he gazed around. “It still looks the same,” he said.
“Well, not quite. Your stuff is gone.”
“Right.”
Sarah stood perfectly still, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. But seeing him here like this, with raindrops glistening in his hair and uncertainty in his eyes, she couldn’t stop the stir of memories, the echo of emotions that should have been long dead. His eyes met hers and she felt her nerve endings sizzle.
Aggravated by her reaction, she let her anger slip out. “What did you think, Sean? That I’d get rid of all my things because they remind me of you? I like my house just the way it is,” she said defiantly.
“I like your house, too. I always did.”
“Just not enough to stay.”
His silence spoke volumes. “You know it’s not that simple. I never meant to hurt you.”
“The problem is, you didn’t try very hard not to.”
His smile was tense. “I hate hearing you sound so bitter.”
“Bitter is my middle name,” she said. “Why do you think I’m so screwed up?”
“Don’t talk like that. I don’t like you joking about your mental state.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Are you kidding me? Since when?”
He glanced away. “I just don’t, that’s all.” His gaze lit on the small suitcase she’d carried from her bedroom into the living room before she left for work that morning. “Going somewhere?”
“I have a few days off. I’m driving up to Arkansas to visit my father.”
“I thought you hated your father.”
“No, my father hates me. There’s a big difference.”
“Then why are you going? Why don’t you just let the old coot stew in his own juices?”
“Because Michael seems to think I need to make peace with my past.”
Something flickered in his eyes as he said, very quietly, “Michael?”
“My therapist.” The teakettle on the stove whistled, and Sarah quickly moved past him to the kitchen. “Excuse me.”
When she came back, she found him in the alcove off the living room that she used as an art studio. He stood in front of her drawing table studying one of her sketches.
He glanced up when she came in. “What’s all this?”
She walked over to the table and they stood side by side. “It’s the inkblot tattoo. I’ve been trying to recreate it from memory.”
“Why?”
“I’m not really sure,” Sarah said with a frown. “Something about it keeps bothering me. I thought if I looked at it long enough, I might be able to figure out what it means.”
“You said we’d probably never know what it means.”
“Not to the killer, no. I’m talking about what it means to me.”
Sean reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of photographs that he tossed on top of the drawing. “Maybe these will help.”