Two for Flinching (28 page)

“You have days where you have to fight?”

“Only the good days.”

Another grin, accompanied by the headshake.
“I was also told you are a highly decorated veteran. Thank you for
your service.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“I can believe that.” Ignatius went serious,
his voice dropping. “How is your little girl?”

I shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. She
never knew her mother and I think she is too young to understand
death.”

“That’s probably a blessing.”

“Probably.”

He examined me closely, searching me.
Must
be something they teach at Divinity School.
“Where do you think
your wife is now?”

“Now? I imagine she is at the medical
examiner’s.”

“No. Her soul. Where do you think her soul
is?”

I took a deep breath, trying to hide my
sudden discomfort. “I hate to think about it.”

Ignatius seemed surprised. “People almost
always tell me their loved ones are in heaven, that they were good
people.”

“I can’t say that about Stella.”

“All have sinned and fallen short of the
glory of God. Times like these—when a loved one dies—is no doubt a
tragedy. It can also be a time for us to look at our own spiritual
destination. Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Camp?”

“And if I said no?”

“I would offer a prayer and be on my
way.”

“Go ahead with your question.”

“In your personal opinion, what does it take
for a person to get into heaven?”

A softball question after growing up in
church—even if I had strayed. “Only the blood of Jesus.”

He nodded. “So you’re a believer?”

“There are no atheists in a foxhole.”

“I don’t imagine there are. Have you asked
Jesus into your heart?”

“A long time ago. When I was a kid.”

“Were you sincere?”

The room felt warm, stifling. I hadn’t felt
this uncomfortable since that rocket had gone off. “I was at the
time.”

Ignatius pursed his lips. “I sense doubt, Mr.
Camp.”

“I’ve done some very bad things in my
life.”

“War is a terrible thing.”

“Besides that. In addition to.”

“We all have.”

“Not like me. I’ve done more than covet my
neighbor’s wife—“

He held up a hand to stop me. “I’m not a
priest. I don’t need to hear your confession, though, I would be
happy to talk about it with you if you wish. One sin is all it
takes to separate us from the love of God.”

“I’ve got way more than that.”

“We all do. Christians are not perfect, only
forgiven. I know it makes a good bumper sticker, but it’s also
true.”

I was silent, sweat breaking out on my
forehead.

“You’ve heard of King David?”

“Sure.”

“He was a man much like you.”

“I doubt that.”

Ignatius nodded. “A soldier, a warrior, with
much blood on his hands. He committed adultery with the wife of one
of his trusted friends, one of his mighty men. And you know what
God did?”

“What?”

“He forgave him.”

Chapter Forty-Six

I walked into the lobby, much earlier than
normal. I could hear the sound of a basketball dribbling,
dribbling, then a pause before the shot went up. After the visit
from the preacher, I had chased away all thoughts of introspection,
planning on nothing more taxing than drinking myself into a
semi-stupor. Dad, however, showed up, helping himself to the array
in my fridge, then Erin and her beau came back. Dad, unable (and
unwilling) to help himself, put the poor boy on the rack for
inspection and to no surprise, he fell short.

That had taken most of the evening and after
I had given Sarah her bath, washed and dried her hair, and put her
to bed, I was wore out. The fight with Starling most likely had
something to do with it. I turned in early and was surprised to
have my best night’s sleep in some time.

I pushed open the door to the gym to a single
man shooting alone. He paid me no attention. I went under the
basket, waiting. He bounced the ball twice, shot and I caught it
after it passed through the net. In gyms around the world, I had
discovered one universal rule: if you hit, you get to keep
shooting. I passed him his “change.”

Randy caught it, dribbled the ball between
his legs, around his back. “What happened to you?”

“I walked into a door.”

“Must have been a helluva door.” A jump shot,
perfect form, clinical follow thru. Barely a whisper through the
net. “How’s the door doing? He still in the hospital?”

A chest pass back to him. “I imagine so.”

“Anything I need to worry about?”

“Maybe.”

He stopped dribbling, holding the ball on his
hip. He was in baggy blue shorts and a t-shirt from the adult
basketball league. His high tops were older than mine. “What
happened?”

“A trade.”

Randy frowned, resumed dribbling.

“I tell you what happened, you tell me why
you’re so certain Steven Noble couldn’t have killed his wife.”

“The lieutenant would kill me.”
Not a
no.

“Then we won’t tell him.”

He shot and I caught the ball, threw back his
change. More dribbling.

“What time did you see Steven that
night?”

“One, one-thirty. Somewhere around
there.”

“He was in the emergency room between
midnight and one.”

“So?”

“Amber’s watch stopped when she went into the
water.”

He stroked another shot and I caught the
ball, dribbling it myself. Not nearly as graceful as Randy. “He
could’ve changed the time, given himself an alibi.”

“He could have.” Randy motioned for the ball
I tossed it to him. “He was drunk that night.”

“Looked to be.”

Randy shook his head. “
Was.
The
security guard at the hotel said he could barely stand up. The
nurse noted it on his chart.
Heavily intoxicated.
You see
anybody that drunk thinking about an alibi?”

“It’s possible.”
Not very, but still
possible.

“There was no sign of a struggle, no marks on
her wrist as if somebody had taken her watch by force and put it
back on. She drowned, water in her lungs. She was alive when she
went into the lake.”

“Huh.”

He shot, missed for the first time. Probably
distracted. I dribbled out to the three point line.

“What happened?”

I shot, not even close, and Randy and I
switched places. “The day after Steven asked me to find Amber, two
hoods showed up at my office. Before, actually. The first time,
they looked like they wanted to hurt me, but left when they saw
Sarah on the couch. They followed me later that night, but took off
again when they noticed she was still with me.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m getting to it. The second day, they told
me to find Amber and threatened me with great bodily harm if I
didn’t. Yesterday, they showed up and told me to drop it, not
figure out what happened.”

“Let me guess,” Randy said, “it turned
physical.”

“Yeah.”

“Both of them in the hospital?”

“No. Only the tough guy. The other one stayed
out of it.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah.”

“I still don’t follow.”

“Steven told me to look and they show up and
tell me to look. Steven tells me to stop looking and they show up
and tell me to stop looking.”

“You think they’re his accomplices?”

“Connected for sure.”

“Why would they want you to find her?”

“I haven’t figured that out. I thought it
might have been related to something that went down at the
hospital. I’m pretty sure now it has something to do with
Steven.”

“You got names?”

“Clarence Starling and Derik Fletcher.”

“Who are they?”

“Andy says Starling is from Louisiana, part
of the Dixie Mafia. Fletcher is a mobbed up shooter from
Providence.”

“Andy would know.” He shot, made it, and I
passed the ball back out. “I’ll look into it.”

“What?”

“The lieutenant thinks you’re good for this.
For all three. He’s coming after you.”

“Aw, he’s just holding a grudge.”

Randy stopped dribbling, amazement on his
face. “What do you expect, Beason? You threw him out of a
window.”

“Come on, Randy, you make it sound like a big
deal,” I said. “It was a ground floor window.”

***

“Hey.”

“Hey, Beason. What’s up?”

“Just calling to check on you.”

“Uggh.”

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s a train wreck. I just left her place.
She had the blinds closed, lights off, sitting in the dark. Dad is
even worse. He came home from work and sat on the porch until after
midnight. Just sitting in the swing. Amber was his girl. I bet he
hasn’t said a dozen words.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be like. How
are you?”

“Fucked up? Is that a psychological
term?”

“Sure.”

“She was my only sister. We grew up together,
shared boyfriends, fought like only sisters can. I spent more time
with her than I did anybody else in this world. We talked almost
every day of our lives. I don’t know what to do without her. How
are you?”

“Fucked up?”

“Over Amber or your wife?”

“Both, I guess. Probably more Stella.”

“Stella?”

“The wife. Don’t get me wrong, I cared about
Amber, but I spent many years with Stella. We had a child together.
We all thought she ran off with my partner and then this. It’s a
shock.”

“I can believe that.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to
help.”

“Beason?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to find out who did this?”

“Yes.”

***

I poured the coffee into a mug advertising
car insurance and carried it to my desk. Erin had taken Sarah to
preschool before going to class. I figured I had a few days before
Sarah’s teacher mentioned tuition. Of course, she was a good
Christian lady and might never bring it up again, allowing Sarah to
attend free of charge. I didn’t feel right about not paying a debt
to church—banks sure—but not a church. Eric’s check had cleared and
there was enough in my account to cover it. I didn’t know how much
my legal fees might run. A big difference between a consultation
and a full blown trial. I had known Eric for years and if need be,
he would let me work it off. If I wasn’t in prison.

I sat in my chair and flung my high tops on
the desk. My regular sneakers were in a dumpster behind Piggly
Wiggly. I needed to make a list. I had learned long ago not to
write anything down you didn’t want anyone else to read. I
interlaced my hands behind my head, closed my eyes and started
it.

Steven wanted Amber found.
Why would
he want her found if he killed her? I knew firsthand that if a
woman disappeared how easily it was to assume she had simply walked
away from her life.

Starling wanted Amber found.
Why would
the Dixie Mafia care about a missing nurse?

Steven didn’t want me to investigate the
murder.
His wife is dead and he doesn’t want me to find the
killer? That bit about getting in the way of the police was thin.
Very thin.

Starling didn’t want me to investigate the
murder.
That made more sense to me, keep a PI out of Dixie
Mafia business. But what exactly did Amber have to do with Dixie
Mafia business?

Steven and Starling were related.
Somehow. I thought. A restaurateur and organized crime. How?

They both wanted me to find her, but were
scared of me investigating.
That’s what didn’t make sense to me
at all, find the where, yet not the who or the why.

My coffee had grown cold. I rose from the
desk, poured the coffee down the drain and poured a fresh cup. I
had more questions than I did answers. Stella’s trail had long ago
grown cold. Aside from the journal, I didn’t see a string I could
pull. Amber’s was fresher, it should be easier to track. Was I
possible that Randy was correct? That Stella’s and Amber’s murders
were connected?

I had been involved with both women.
I
was probably the only person on earth who was certain I had nothing
do with either’s killing.

They were both dead. Both in the trunk of
their cars.

I had found them.

Was there another way they were
connected?

I reached for my cell phone.

***

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“Long time, no talk.”

“Yeah. What’s it been? Twenty minutes?”

“More like thirty, but who’s counting?”

“I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know if your sister had a life
insurance policy?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

A slight creaking of the metal stairs. So
slight it might have been caused by the wind. The stairs were old,
poorly maintained. It wouldn’t take much.

When Fletcher pushed into my office, he was
staring straight at the .45. I was still at my desk, ready to let
loose a volley and flip the desk. Fletcher held up his empty
hands.

“I’m not here for trouble.”

“Okay.”

“Can I have a cup of coffee?”

“No.”

He was in his parka and toboggan. A hint of a
smile. “How about a seat? Can I sit down?”

“Help yourself.”

He took one of the client chairs. It groaned
even beneath his little weight. I laid the Colt on the desktop,
still pointed at him. When Fletcher moved, it was slow and
deliberate, his hands always in view. His skin was so pale it was
almost translucent.

“I tried to tell him that wasn’t the way to
go.”

“He should’ve listened.”

“A decorated Army Ranger? I asked him how he
would respond if someone tried to scare him away from something. I
told him it would only make you more determined. He didn’t care. He
was going to show you.”