Speak No Evil (12 page)

T
wo hundred yards before reaching the ruins of the old house, the oyster gravel road forked into a narrow lane that led to Sadie’s house. Like the road to the main house, it had never been paved and probably never would be. According to the will, everything from the byroad to Secessionville Creek now belonged to Sadie, and technically the ruins sat in the trees and thick scrub on Sadie’s side of the road.

When Caroline was ten, her mother considered donating part of the property to the City of Charleston, including the overseer’s house—where Sadie lived—along with the slave quarters and a good portion of the surrounding wetlands. Today, nothing remained of the slave quarters. The rows of white wooden houses had been completely demolished, much to the dismay of the Historical Society. Flo made a public show of their demise, calling it a “gesture of continuing good will.” But Caroline thought maybe she’d done it partly to appease Augusta, who had begun to show a passion for civil rights causes. Now all that remained of the original structures was the overseer’s house and the burnt remains of the original house.

The sun was setting, and the shadows were growing, like specters squeezing out from every crack and crevice. The wind whispered long-forgotten secrets and the scent of the marsh was strong in the air.

Caroline was pretty sure she was only spooked because of the recent news, but she couldn’t help concluding that innocence was an obvious casualty of knowledge. The more she buried herself in headlines, the less she could see of any wholesome goodness in the world. Maybe that was another reason Flo had closed herself off from her daughters? To protect them?

As they passed the gravel road, Augusta peered down it, shuddering. “I don’t know how she still lives there.”

Caroline glanced down the road, where Sadie’s blue porch was barely visible.

Augusta contorted her face into a mask of confusion. “It doesn’t seem to bother her that her bed sits right smack in the same room where a man once slept who beat slaves.”

Caroline couldn’t change the past so she didn’t care to rehash it. All she could do was make sure she was a part of change for the better.

Tango sniffed the ground with interest.

Augusta turned to walk backward, staring up at the massive oaks draped with Spanish moss. “I mean, Mother saw our roots here, our history. I see
Roots
—the movie!”

Knowing better than to engage Augusta, Caroline nodded and hoped for a change in subject. She really thought Augusta spent entirely too much time begrudging and running away from the past.

If she could be completely honest with herself, she had used Jack’s indiscretion as a reason to bail because she had feared ending up like her parents—lonely and bitter—and utterly alone in the end. Jack’s words hurt mainly because they were mostly true.

Tango stopped abruptly, barking in the direction of the woods.

Augusta turned and stopped.

They spotted the man hidden in the brush at the same time.

Instinctively, Augusta moved protectively toward Caroline and Caroline tugged a little at Tango’s leash. The hair on his back stood on end and a chill raced down Caroline’s spine.

“Evening,” the man said.

Perhaps in his mid-thirties, he was easily was one of the most attractive men Caroline had ever seen. His blond hair was shoulder length, and looked a bit like spun gold under the glow of the waning sun. He wore a week’s worth of stubble that on anyone else might have looked unkempt. On him, with those angelic blue eyes and a smile that seemed genuine and easy, it made him look like Jesus.

For a moment, she thought he might be cradling a football in his hand, but she could see now that it was a shoe.

Tango continued barking.

“Lovely evening,” the man said when neither Caroline nor Augusta responded.

He stood about fifty feet away and made no attempt to come closer, but the hair at Caroline’s nape prickled faintly—much like Tango’s.

Augusta looked at her, confusion in her deep blue eyes.

Tourists sometimes stumbled onto their property, lured by the historical landmarks and the Confederate gravesites nearby. As children, it had been a common occurrence to run into strangers, but at the moment, everything seemed more sinister. Simply knowing there was a killer out there, somewhere, changed everything, and although Jack might blame her for the shift in the neighborhood’s mood, the truth was that keeping the truth quiet didn’t change facts: someone had killed a girl just a stone’s throw from their house and Amanda Hutto was still missing.

Caroline bent to soothe Tango, petting his haunches. “Did you realize this is private property?”

The stranger tossed the shoe back and forth between his hands. “Yeah,” he said, looking a little sheepish. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry ’bout that . . . I was checking out the ruins back here.”

Augusta leaned to whisper. “Jesus H. Christ, he’s fucking beautiful!”

Caroline ignored her. She didn’t care how beautiful the guy was. This was no time to blindly trust strangers. “That’s all right,” she said. “No harm done, but if you don’t mind . . .”

“The ruins are private property too?” He shifted the shoe to his hip and held it there as he waited for her reply.

The wind shifted between the trees and another chill raced down Caroline’s spine. “Yeah.”

“Interesting,” he said and he pointed in the direction of Fort Lamar Road. “I’m renting a house down the road, spotted the ruins while I was out running.” He shrugged, and lifted the shoe, as though to highlight the coincidence. “Anyway, here you go.” He reared back and, without warning, tossed the shoe in their direction.

Augusta held out her hands to catch it, but Caroline never took her eyes off the stranger. The shoe whizzed past her head and she was vaguely aware that Augusta caught it.

Tango turned and whined, sniffing the shoe, then turned back to bark at the intruder. That was all the incentive Caroline needed to get the hell away from him.

“Figure it might belong to one of you,” the guy offered. “Expensive shoe . . . and fairly new. Someone must’ve lost it out here.”

“Thanks!” Augusta said with a friendly wave. Caroline glanced briefly at the shoe and another chill jetted down her spine. It was the match to the shoe Tango had been carrying around in his mouth for weeks.

Tango suddenly lunged in the stranger’s direction, unrelenting in his barking, and Caroline pulled back at the leash, her heart tripping.

Right now, hers was screaming.

Caroline looked directly into his eyes, and he seemed to read her thoughts. He knew she recognized the shoe. She could see the acknowledgment in his eyes.

“Well, guess I’ll be going now. You two have a good evening,” he said, and smiled congenially before turning and sauntering off in the direction of the ruins without looking back.

Caroline watched him go, unwilling to turn her back on him. “Augie . . . do you have your cell phone on you?”

Tango stopped barking as the guy disappeared into the woods, but the hair on his spine was still ruffled and so were Caroline’s nerves.

Augusta seemed genuinely confused and oblivious to the significance of what had just happened. “Yeah, I always have it handy. Why?”

“Because that’s Mother’s shoe,” Caroline told her.

Her sister’s confusion bled into her tone. “This shoe?” She turned the shoe over, inspecting it, checking the sole. Just as the guy had said, it was fairly new, and other than a little mud in the tread, it didn’t appear as though it had been in the woods long. Augusta peered from the shoe to Caroline, shrugging. “So?”

“It’s the match to the shoe Tango’s been running around with.”

Augusta screwed her face. “You’re overreacting, Caroline! You’re scaring yourself with your own press. Call it a hunch, but that guy’s no killer! And, guess what, he’s gone now—without even giving me his number!” Augusta laughed, but Caroline didn’t share her amusement.

There was no sign of the stranger, but the shadows were deepening by the second and Caroline was finished with their walk. “Yeah, well, how the hell do you lose a running shoe in the woods?”

Augusta gave her a mischievous grin and lifted her brows. “For starters . . . maybe Mom wasn’t running?” She gestured in the direction the stranger had gone. “Make no mistake, if that guy were standing in front of me, I’d happily lose more than my shoes!”

“Someone tried to break into Mom’s study,” Caroline reminded her.

“But they didn’t! Think clearly, Caroline. Even if there is a killer on the loose, why the hell would he break into our house, steal a stupid shoe and then meet us in the woods to offer it back?”

Put like that, it sounded utterly ridiculous, but Caroline couldn’t shake her unease. “To warn us maybe?”

Augusta laughed. “Yeah . . . that’s really funny. Since when do murderers warn their victims? Come on . . . let’s go run your theory by our future mayor. Josh should be at the house by now and Sadie’s been cooking all day.”

 

Caroline’s article earned Jack a big fat warning.

Chief Condon slammed the door on his theory, warning him to do his job without perpetuating rumors of a possible serial murder—that included within the department. No one doubted the Jones case was a premeditated homicide, but Jack was told to work with what he had: One body. One death. One killer.

At this point, they were batting zero with forensic evidence, but he was still waiting on tests from the lab. If Jones had been sexually violated, at least they would have DNA to work with.

To drown someone suggested a crime of passion—the act of holding the victim under water, the struggle. It was a very intimate way to kill someone. Usually, a strangler’s motive was fury and his victim was no stranger. Yet the hyoid bone in Jones’s neck was still intact, which meant that no hands or bindings had wrapped around the victim’s throat in anger. It was all very cool and calculated.

During the autopsy they found evidence of cyanosis and petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes, and blood staining around the mouth and nose—all signs of asphyxia. They also found water in the lungs, which suggested Amy Jones probably died sometime after entering the water.

While he waited for the lab reports, he checked the ViCAP database, cross-referenced asphyxiation, strangulation, manual, non-manual, blue dye, nudity—nothing. Although not all law enforcement agencies contributed to the FBI’s violent crimes database, most did, and it seemed that despite the growing, gnawing feeling in Jack’s gut there was no sign of the killer on anyone’s radar. Yet the crime felt too methodical for it to be an isolated incident. If there was a clue here somewhere, Jack was bound to find it.

 

Caroline had forgotten Josh was coming to dinner.

In the few short weeks since the girls had returned home, they had already fallen into a routine of sorts. Wednesdays were Sadie’s “kitchen visitation day.” She’d decided she should get at least one day per week to reacquaint herself with her stainless-steel babies, sort of like children lost in a custody battle. With the money Sadie had inherited, Caroline was pretty sure she could afford to pimp out her own kitchen, but she realized it was Sadie’s way of trying to keep them all together—at least for one night every week.

Tonight, she’d made red beans and okra, a distinctive Gullah dish that hailed back to Sadie’s roots—along with the blue bottle tree that sat outside her house and her blue porch, which she claimed kept evil spirits out of her home. Caroline thought maybe she should have painted her face blue, because Josh was giving her the evil eye. She guessed maybe he was still concerned that he would be accused as her source.

Caroline refused to react. Pushing her red rice around her plate, she thought about her mother’s shoe, wondering how the hell it ended up in the woods near Sadie’s house.

Of course, Augusta was right; it was ridiculous to assume anyone would break in to steal a stupid shoe and then lie in wait just to give it back . . . but Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the shoe. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only tough thing she had to chew on tonight. There was Kelly . . . and Jack . . . and Frank . . . and, oh, she couldn’t forget Pam. Caroline had dragged the poor girl in way over her head. Really, at this point, it was easier to list the folks who weren’t mad at her.

Everyone laughed at something Josh said, but Caroline didn’t hear it, though they were all suddenly staring at her. Her fork froze before her mouth. “Huh?”

With a smile, Savannah explained, “Josh swears Mom must have thrown that shoe at Sadie.”

Although she was smiling too, Sadie shook her head and waved the notion away. “Your mama wouldn’t throw no damned shoe at me, eah!”

“Not even to shoo you away from a certain somebody on Saturday mornings while they were trying to work?” Josh immediately sidled away from his mother, anticipating the playful slap she threw in his direction.

“That’s not even funny!” Sadie contended.

“We know you like him, Mama,” Josh persisted. “No use denying it.”

Sadie got up from her seat at the head of the table, shoving her chair back in feigned annoyance. She gave Josh a pointed stare. “Who I like or don’t like is none of y’all’s concern, eah!” She scooped up her plate and whisked Josh’s plate out from in front of him, too. “You are all a bunch of ungrateful brats!” she declared, waving her hand over the entire table. “I don’t know why I put up with any of you.”

Augusta smirked and handed her plate over. “Because you love us.”

Savannah handed her plate over too, her smile as wide as Josh’s and Augusta’s.