21

Later that evening, I pulled out the letter I’d found on Joe again and laid it open on the kitchen table. Goose lay under my feet as I reread it. My eyes continued to be drawn to the greeting. The name Joe was so common as to almost be useless, but maybe if I could combine it with another search term …

I opened up my phone’s search app and typed Joe, Missing, Georgia.

I got nothing. Frustrated, I tried again, this time typing Joe, Missing, Tennessee.

Again nothing. I repeated this process with South Carolina, Florida, and finally Alabama before I got a hit.

I cursed out loud when I saw the headline of the third result under the news tab. Local Reporter Seeks Answers in Partner’s Sudden Disappearance.

According to the article, his full name was Joseph Timmons. He was an intern at the Birmingham News and had been dating Chip Thompkins, a full-time staff writer, for nearly two years. Thompkins said Timmons had been “distant” in the days and weeks before his disappearance. When Chip has pressed him on what was going on, Joe had told him he was trying to “tie up some loose ends” from his abusive childhood. Chip didn’t elaborate on what kind of abuse this had been, and the article wasn’t clear about whether Chip even knew the extent or nature of the abuse.

The article went on to say that police had been investigating the disappearance but at this time didn’t have any leads.

Shit.

I took a deep breath, walked to the refrigerator, and reached for a bottle of whiskey from the top. I opened it and drank deeply straight from the bottle. I felt a little better, though nothing would ever be able to make me feel good about what I was about to do.

*   *   *

Half a bottle later, I called the number listed on Chip Thompkins’s staff profile at the Birmingham News. I was pretty drunk, but years of practice being drunk had made me a pro at handling my business while intoxicated.

I didn’t really think he’d pick up his office phone at eight o’clock in the evening anyway, but he not only picked up but barely let it ring before answering eagerly.

“Birmingham News, Chip Thompkins.”

“I’ve got some news on Joe,” I said.

“Who is this?”

“A friend. Name is Earl Marcus, and I’m a private investigator over in Georgia. Coulee County.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, Joe has.”

“Do you know where Joe is?”

“No,” I said, “but I know he’s in some trouble.”

He was silent. I waited, not sure what I was doing or what to expect.

“Have you contacted the authorities?”

“See, that’s the problem. The authorities here … well, it’s complicated.”

“Explain to me exactly what you know about Joe.”

This was the part I hadn’t prepared for, the part that surely would have prevented me from calling if I hadn’t had so much bourbon. I needed to make something up and fast.

“Do you know about the Harden School?”

“The private school Joe attended for a few years? Sure.”

“But do you know what they did there?”

Chip was silent. “What are you talking about? I’m assuming they did school there.”

“Not exactly. The Harden School was—well, is—a gay conversion clinic.”

“What?”

Now came the hard part, the part where I was just running on instinct. “He didn’t want to tell you because he knew you’d freak out. He didn’t want you to worry.” This sounded plausible to me.

“How do you know these things?”

“He came to me for help. He laid out the whole thing—well, at least as much as he knew at the time. He wanted to hire me. We had a conversation a couple of days back, but now he’s dropped off the radar. I can’t find him. Have you heard from him?”

“No. It’s been over a week. Do you think someone has hurt him?”

I knew it was best to hedge here. On the one hand, I needed Chip to feel optimistic or he’d likely go to the authorities himself. On the other hand, I wanted to start preparing him for the sad truth that Joe was already dead.

“I don’t know, but based on what he told me, I have some concerns.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No. See, that was the other thing that Joe understood. The police here in Coulee County … they’re useless. No, that’s not even true. They’re worse than useless. They’re crooked.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because Joe came to me. He trusted me. You should too.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“I understand. I’m going to ask you to trust me, though. The Harden School is backed by one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the South. He has every reason to protect the school’s interests. He’s also in bed with the sheriff in Coulee County. He’s a very dangerous man. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“I doubt it. I don’t even keep up with small-town politics in Alabama, much less Georgia.”

“His name is Jeb Walsh,” I said.

There was silence from Chip’s end. I knew why, of course. The reason was simple: you’d have to have been living under a rock to not know who Jeb Walsh was. He was followed closely by the mainstream media, as his racial bigotry was well known. He’d also been closely tied to the alt-right over the last few years, and really just about everyone had an opinion on his divisive politics.

“You’re kidding,” he said after a moment.

“No. Jeb’s son is at the school now. And I have reason to believe Jeb himself may have orchestrated a student’s apparent suicide.”

He was silent again.

“Chip?”

“I want to go to the police.”

“I understand, but that’s not going to end well for anyone if you do. I actually reached out for two reasons. One was to see if you’d heard from Joe. I’m deeply worried about him at this point. Two, I think there’s a way you can help me.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I need someone who’d be willing to write all of this up. An exposé centered on the school and Jeb Walsh.”

More silence. I could tell he was overwhelmed. How could he not be?

“Chip? I want you to know I’m going to figure out what happened to Joe. If he’s alive, I’m going to …” I winced at the deceit. “I’m going to find him.”

“I need some time to think about all of this. Can I call you back?”

“Sure.” I gave him my number and tried to convince him how important it was not to go to the authorities. “I’ve been dealing with Walsh a long time now. He’ll win if we try to do it through the police. He’s too powerful.” I hesitated before saying the next part. The words felt horrible coming out of my mouth. “Powerful enough to hurt Joe. Powerful enough to hurt all of us, which is why we have to operate on the down-low. Do you understand?”

“I’ll call you back,” he said.