Hold on to Me (23 page)

The prayer ended, the mourners sitting with a soft wave of rustling. Caitlin touched Tick’s arm and lowered her voice to a breath of a whisper. “Tick. Look.”

“I saw.”

The minister launched a glowing description of Amy and the joy she found in everyday life. A sob rose from the first row, where Eloise Gillabeaux sat huddled into her husband’s side.

Caitlin closed her eyes briefly, sympathy stabbing through her. If losing her unborn baby was devastating, how much worse to lose a child loved and nurtured to young adulthood.

When she opened her eyes again, Keith Lawson had disappeared.

Caitlin tilted her head toward Tick. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside, Keith paced the neatly trimmed grass in front of the church, hands shaking as he tried to light a cigarette. He turned at the soft click of her heels on the brick steps. Caitlin smiled, straightening her navy suit jacket. “Some crowd, huh?”

His eyes betrayed a bitterness lurking below the surface. “Yeah. Bunch of damned hypocrites. All they could do was talk about her while she was alive, but now they’re crying like—”

He bit the words off, and Caitlin nodded. Sometimes silence was the best interview question.

Eyeing her with distrust, he jerked his head toward the church. “You one of her fancy Atlanta cousins?”

She produced her credentials for his inspection. “No. I’m with the FBI. I’m assisting the sheriff’s department with their investigation—”

“Yeah.” His short laugh was a derisive snort. “Don’t expect a lot of help from them.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it was probably one of them.” He tossed the cigarette away and glared, his gaze hot with resentment. “But you wouldn’t believe that, would you? All you cops stick together.”

“I’m not one of them.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Ever watch detective shows? The local cops hate when the FBI shows up.”

“Yeah, I seen that.”

“You and Amy were close.” Caitlin made sure it came out a statement of fact. Right now, she wanted him firmly on her side.

“Yeah.”

“I want to find the person who did this to her. I think you can help me.”

He glowered at the imposing brick façade behind them. “Not here.”

“Then let’s go for a walk.”

They strolled into the adjacent cemetery with its softly rolling hills, where Chandler County’s dead reposed under ancient moss-laden oaks interspersed with the occasional pine tree.

“You said you and Amy were close?”

“We were, at least until this summer. She…changed.”

“Changed? How?”

He shook his hair out of his eyes. “She used to want to hang out, do stuff, you know? Even though her daddy didn’t like me, she used to invite me over to swim or whatever. Then she just stopped. Didn’t want to talk to me or see me unless she needed something.”

Stopping in front of a large family plot enclosed by rusted wrought iron, he pulled out his cigarettes and offered her one.

She shook her head. “Keith, why did you say someone with the sheriff’s department killed her?”

“She was screwing one of them.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and a couple of obscenities. “And if that son of a bitch killed her, they’ll protect him.”

Caitlin had to ask, although she already knew the answer. If Amy didn’t name her lover in her diary, she surely wouldn’t have told this boy. “I don’t suppose you know who in the department she was seeing?”

“No, she wouldn’t tell me. She just liked to rub it in my face because I didn’t get in at the police academy. She had a thing for that Calvert guy, though. Probably because messing around with him would make her daddy crazy.” He pushed his hair back, the oily strands clinging together.

With a slight nod, Caitlin wrapped her fingers around a finial on the fence corner. “Anything else? Any other secrets she was keeping that you know of?”

“She banged up the side of her car and didn’t want her daddy to know it—I just finished a paint-and-body course out at the tech school. I fixed it up for her. She’d hang around talking to me while I worked on it.”

“How did she mess up her car?”

He shrugged. “She said she backed into another car in a parking lot. She didn’t report it or nothing. She’d had some speeding tickets and her daddy told her if one more thing happened with that car, he’d take the keys.”

She pulled one of her cards, scribbled her hotel extension on it and handed it to him. “If you remember anything—even if it doesn’t seem important, I want you to call me.”

“Yeah.” He shoved the vellum rectangle in his back pocket. He waved a hand toward the church, where people gathered out front. “Just find the son of a bitch who hurt her.”

He stalked back to the church and to his turquoise low-rider pickup, skirting the other mourners. From a distance, she eyed the group. Stanton and Tick walked away, deep in conversation. Within moments, Schaefer and Cookie joined them, along with a couple of other deputies. A shiver tickled her spine, raising gooseflesh on her arms, despite the hot summer sun. This was going to be ugly before it was over.

Dozens of law enforcement officers, including jailers and dispatchers. One of them could be a cold-blooded killer. And one of them was the man she was falling for.

Tick walked toward the cemetery gate, hands in his pockets, his charcoal suit jacket falling open. Sunlight glittered off the badge clipped to his belt. She’d give almost anything to know what thoughts lay behind his unsmiling expression.

He inclined his head. “Cookie says you want to reinterview witnesses. We have time for a couple before Vontressa’s funeral.”

Once they were on their way, he drove with one hand, often with just his wrist hooked over the wheel. His handheld radio emitted the crackling dialogue of a rural, although busy, department. Unease tugged at her stomach. She glanced at him. He stared at the road, his face set in tense lines. Where was the man who’d loved her so well last night?

“So what did Keith Lawson have to say?” Tick turned onto Old Lonely Road.

Grateful, she seized the distraction. “He was infatuated with Amy. Fixed some body damage to her car for free.”

He snorted. “For free? More likely he fixed it, and she gave him a little to do it. Did he say anything else?”

Keith’s insistence that Amy’s killer had been a Chandler County deputy whispered through her mind. All suspects, including, if she was completely honest, the man sitting in the driver’s seat. “He swears Amy was seeing someone in the sheriff’s department.”

“Oh, crap.” He smacked a hand against the steering wheel. “I didn’t need to hear that.”

“I’m sure. About like I didn’t need to hear him mention your name as the person she was interested in ‘messing around with’.”

He looked her way, his jaw tight. “I was not—”

“I know. I didn’t say you were.” She straightened her skirt. “But I think you have to be prepared to deal with the way your name keeps coming up during this investigation.”

The truck bottomed out on a couple of deep ruts before he pulled to a stop in front of a dingy white-and-green singlewide trailer. A small deck had been tacked on the front, but looked as lopsided as the mailbox. The grass was more than ankle-high, except for the circular bare track worn down by a sad-looking mutt tied to a small tree at the end of the trailer.

Caitlin glanced at the list. “Which one is this?”

“Nathaniel Holton. His daddy’s a local judge and his sister’s the county public defender.”

“I take it he didn’t go to law school.” She climbed out of the truck and followed him to the steps, looking for snakes as she walked. The mangy dog woofed at them a couple of times, half-heartedly.

“Barely made it through high school. He tries to farm, does a little truck-driving on the side, but he’s got so many DUIs it’s a wonder anyone will hire him.”

As they started up the steps, he unsnapped his holster. Caitlin felt under her jacket and did the same. At the top of the steps, Tick put his shoulder against the wall and reached over, banging on the door with his fist.

No sound came from the trailer, but the blinds in the door’s small window moved slightly. Tick hammered on the door again. “Nate! Open up. It’s Tick. I’m not serving a warrant. We just need to talk to you.”

The door opened a crack and a young man, his chiseled face marred by a scraggly beard, peeked out. “We?”

Tick jerked a thumb in Caitlin’s direction. “This is Agent Falconetti, FBI. She’s looking into Sharon Ingler’s death. We want to talk to you, that’s all.”

He regarded them with equal suspicion and belligerence. “I’m busy.”

Caitlin smiled. “We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

With a huff, he swung the door open and waved his arm in an elaborate flourish. “Come on in.”

The dark interior smelled of stale garbage, sour alcohol and unwashed clothing. Nate pushed a pile of clothes in an indeterminate state of cleanliness off the couch. “Have a seat. I’m gonna get a beer.”

Caitlin glanced at the stained upholstery and forced herself to sit. She’d have her suit dry cleaned before she wore it again. Tick sat next to her, distaste curling his lip. The smooth fabric of his slacks brushed the bare skin above her knee.

Nate returned, popped opened a fresh beer and dropped into the vinyl recliner. He scratched his bare chest. “So what do you want to know?”

Tick leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, propping his ankle on his knee. “You told Jeff you saw Sharon’s car on the road that night.”

Nate’s chin jutted with hostility. “Yeah? So?”

Caitlin crossed one leg over the other, resting her hands in her lap. “Were you working?”

“I was driving a load of chickens.”

“I’ve heard that’s difficult—with the load shifting and all.”

He relaxed in the chair, warming to the subject. “It can be. I’ve seen guys dump a whole load before.”

“You sound very experienced. So it’s second nature to you, handling that truck.”

He took a swig of his beer, nodding. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I would really appreciate it if you’d tell me what you saw that night.” Another perfect bureau smile. “It’s just so much better than trying to read someone else’s report.”

Nate threw an arm over his head, exposing an inordinate amount of underarm hair. “Well, I’d just picked up a load of chickens from Ash Hardison’s place.”

She pulled out her notepad and Montblanc. “Do you mind if I take a few notes?”

He waved permission. Another swig from the can and he wiped his wrist across his mouth. “Anyway, I was headed out to the chicken plant. On my way back I saw the car sitting off on the side of the road. It was empty and I didn’t think nothing about it. People break down out here all the time.”

She looked up. “About what time was that?”

“Quarter to ten or so.”

“And do you remember where you saw the car? Any landmarks or anything?”

“It was right at the twenty-third mile marker.”

She jotted a note and met his bleary gaze. “Did you notice anyone else on the road? Pass any cars coming or going?”

He grimaced as though he had an appointment with the Queen of England and her questions were delaying it. “Hell, I don’t know…I passed a sheriff’s car going the other way. An empty chicken truck going out to pick up another load at Hardison’s.” He waved a hand in Tick’s direction, active dislike flaring in his eyes. “Oh, yeah, and him going the same way I was. He had his boat hooked up and I went around him.”

She wrote down the information, casting a quick glance at Tick’s stony face. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you for talking with us.”

Nate took the card she proffered and flicked it into the array of beer cans and empty potato chip bags on the coffee table. “You can find your way out, right?”

Outside, she dragged in deep breaths of fresh air and laughed. “I’ve been at crime scenes that smelled better.”

“Yeah.” Scowling, Tick waited for her to fasten her seat belt before starting the truck. “What the hell was that, anyway?”

“What?”

“That smile you kept giving him. And the flattery—”

“Did you see Ingler’s car?”

“What?” He shot an irritated look in her direction. “No. I was on my way back from the lake and passed through at about eight thirty. It wasn’t there. Dispatch called me back out at around quarter to one when Chris checked the car.”

“How long does it take to unload one of those chicken trucks?”

“Why don’t you ask Nate? He’s the expert.”

“Why don’t you stop being an ass and answer the question?”

“An hour, maybe two, depending on the number of workers. Why?”

“Just wondering if his time frame checks out.”

“It does. And so does his story. I talked to Ash and the plant foreman after Schaefer interviewed Nate. Besides, he’s not smart enough to pull off something like these murders. He’d screw it up like he does everything else.”

“You can’t stand him either, can you?”

He glanced her way, his expression dark and sullen. “Cookie has a big mouth. What, you don’t want to ask me if I helped Helen leave him?”