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“Now, little lady, who did you say you were?”
I smile at the pot-bellied man with the white mustache. He’s wearing a security guard uniform that’s one size too small for him, judging by the straining buttons on his white shirt. His tie lays to one side and has a large mustard stain from the half-eaten hot dog on his desk. The name tag says “Norton.” Next to me, I feel Tom stiffen in anger.
It’s not the first time a man like this has said something sexist and condescending to me. It used to make me angry. But I came to see it as a sign of weakness that I could exploit to get what I wanted.
In this case, information.
“I’m Chief Helen Greer of the Myerton Police Department,” I say pleasantly. “I’m here as part of a murder investigation.”
“Oh, murder, you say?” he says with a grin. He finally seems to notice Tom, because he asks, “What’s the priest doing here?”
“That’s not important right now,” I say. “I have some questions for you.”
“Well, I’m always happy to help a fellow member of law enforcement,” he says, right before belching loudly. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of hot dog and soda. “Can you make it snappy, though? My shift is almost over.”
“This won’t take long,” I say. “Are you usually here on Saturdays?”
“Yeah, I work Tuesday through Saturday,” he says. “I insist on having the Lord’s Day off. It’s supposed to be a day of rest, you know. I also get Monday off. Helps me rest up from hunting or fishing the day before.”
“Were you working here on New Year’s Eve?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Mall closed at 6 p.m. that day. There were fireworks in the town square and a ball drop like they do up in Times Square. Some kids from the local high school rig up something on the flagpole. Real impressive.”
“Sounds interesting,” I say. “So, if you’re here every Saturday, I guess you know about the trips from Shady Meadows?”
“The nut house?” Norton snorts.
Tom snaps, “It’s a hospital.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Norton says with a wave of his hand. “They’re all crazy there. Don’t like it when they come here. Always keep a closer eye on everything when those people are roaming around.”
Tom takes a step forward, but I manage to get between the two men before he does something he’ll regret. “Was there a group from Shady Meadows here on New Year’s Eve?”
“Oh, God–beg your pardon, Father–that was a mess! I told Mr. Sparks letting them come would be trouble one day, but he told me something about how they couldn’t discriminate, it was against the law, blah, blah, blah.”
“Was there some kind of trouble?”
“Huh! I’d say,” Norton says. “One of them, some crazy woman, got away from them. The keepers from that place went nuts! I had every one of the other guards scouring the place looking for her, but they couldn’t find her. I tell you, their security chief wasn’t happy at all. He came here and raised hell, demanding the surveillance footage.”
“Why did he do that?”
He shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t ask him any questions. He didn’t look like the kind of guy you’d want to do that to, you know what I mean?”
“So, there’s no footage of the incident.”
“Not here. They probably have it up at Shady Meadows.”
“Did they call the police?”
“Oh, no,” Norton says, shaking his head firmly. “I wanted to, but that guy said he’d take care of things.”
“This guy,” Tom says. “What did he look like?”
“Well, he was tall–taller than you, I’d say. Built, you know, like he worked out. Hair was black, close cut, with a mustache and a chin beard. He reminded me of one of those action-film actors, you know. Scary guy, or at least he acted that way.”
I thank him for his time, and Tom and I walk out into the mall. It’s clearly seen better days. The interior is cavernous, with skylights providing natural lighting that isn’t quite enough to alleviate the overall dreariness. Some of the storefronts are empty, but there are still some small shops and eateries around a central food court. The two large chain department stores at either end still serve as the primary attractions. Groups of laughing, talking teenagers roam through the place, more interested in socializing than shopping.
I smile and say, “That brings back memories.”
“Was there a mall near your parent’s ranch in Nebraska?” Tom asks with a chuckle.
“Well, if you consider a forty-five minute drive near,” I say. “My friends and I would go once a month to shop and hang out. It was the only time other than school and church that we’d get together. What about you?”
Tom laughs. “I’m afraid I wasn’t as popular or sociable as you were in high school. Far too bookish, you know, not to mention introverted.”
“Well,” I say as we walk along, “you didn’t read all the time. You had a girlfriend, if I remember correctly.”
Tom clears his throat. “You have a good memory.”
“We didn’t run into her when we were in Bellamy last year. Does she still live there?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets, and shrugs. “Last I heard she was going to Florida State University. Don’t really know what she did after that.”
We walk along in silence, looking around at the crowd, then Tom says, “You know, you’ve never mentioned any boyfriends in high school.”
I lower my head so he can’t see my cheeks redden. “No, I never have, I don’t think.”
“Well? Did you have a boyfriend in high school?”
I say nothing for a moment. Even almost thirty years later, I’m not sure how to answer that. Mainly because the truth is both complicated and embarrassing.
Fortunately, Tom says, “Here’s the main entrance to the mall.”
I look up. There’s the outside doors overlooking the parking lot.
“This is probably where Lindy left when she disappeared,” I say.
“We don’t know it was Lindy,” Tom says.
“Do you think it wasn’t her, Tom?”
He shakes his head. “No. It was probably her. The question is, where did she go from here? And how did she get from here to Myerton?”
Tom and I push through the doors and are hit by a frigid breeze. “Wind’s picking up,” he says. “That’s the other thing. If she was wearing only a hat and a cloth coat, she couldn’t have been outside for too long.”
“She was on foot,” I say, scanning the surrounding area. “She would have had to catch a ride nearby in order to get to Myerton in the first place.”
“Did she hitchhike?” Tom says. “Maybe a trucker gave her a lift?”
I keep looking, then stop. “Or, she took the bus. Look,” I say, pointing so he can see what I’m looking at.
“A bus station,” Tom says. “That has to be it.”
“Let’s go.”
We walk to my car, and a short time later we’re standing in the waiting room of the bus station, talking to a decidedly bored girl who’s probably still in high school.
“Yeah, I was working New Year’s Eve,” she says around the gum that she has in her mouth.
“Did anyone come in asking for a ticket to Myerton?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Myerton. It’s about an hour west of here?”
“Don’t know.”
“I thought you said you were working that day.”
“I was, all day and half the damn night! Really put a crimp in my New Year’s plans, ya know? Almost missed the ball drop downtown.”
“And you don’t remember anyone asking for a ticket to Myerton that day?”
“Nope.”
I look at Tom, then back at the girl. “Do you remember a woman in her fifties coming in, probably before noon?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
I snap, “Now listen you, I’m trying to track down a–”
I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Helen,” Tom says softly, “let me try. Give me your phone.”
I’m about to protest, but since I’m not getting anywhere with this little nitwit, he might as well try. I give him my phone and step to one side.
“What’s your name?” Tom says with a friendly smile.
“Tracy,” she says warily.
“Tracy, we really could use your help,” he says calmly. “The woman we’re looking for may have killed a friend of mine.”
“Gee, that sucks,” she says.
“Yeah, it really does suck. He was a good man.”
“He a priest too?”
“Kind of.”
She narrows her eyes. “He wasn’t one of those you hear about on the news, was he? You know, the ones who mess with little kids.”
Tom smiles. “Far from it. He was a very kind man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. We’re just trying to find the person who killed him. Won’t you help us?”
Tracy looks at Tom, then me, then back at Tom. There’s a flash of recognition. “Wait! I know who you two are. You’re the ones who just got married, right? Wow. Real celebrities right here. I think you’re so cool.”
“Well, thank you, Tracy. But like I say we can really use your help.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah, sorry about earlier. I have issues, you know, trusting people. Caught my boyfriend with my best friend, if you know what I mean. Probably where it came from.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, losing a boyfriend and best friend at the same time,” Tom says.
“Eh,” Tracy shrugs. “They deserve each other. He’s as dumb as a bunch of rocks, and she’s not too bright herself. Did it without a rubber, knocked her up. Her daddy showed up at his house, talked to his daddy, and the next day they were both at the courthouse. Live together with her parents. He works at the fat rendering plant outside of town. I don’t ‘spect it’ll last.”
“Anyway,” I say, “so did a woman come in here asking for a ticket to Myerton?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Came in sometime after 11 a.m. She asked if there was a bus to Myerton. I told her there was, and it should be getting here around 12:30. Told her how much a ticket cost, and she paid cash, which doesn’t happen a lot anymore. She waited over there. When the bus came, she got on.”
“Was this the woman?” Tom says, showing her Lindy’s picture on my phone.
“Yeah, that’s her. Is she in some kind of trouble? Did she kill your friend?”
“How’d she seem?” I ask.
“I really don’t remember, sorry. She didn’t act angry or anything. Just kind of quiet, I think.” She pauses a moment, then says. “I do remember her talking to herself at one point.”
“Do you remember what she said?” Tom asks.
She thinks for a moment, then says, “It was something like, ‘He’ll take me back. I’ll make sure he does.’”
***
“OK, so we know how she got to Myerton,” Tom says. “What next?”
“I have Hallstead showing Lindy’s picture to Gwen,” I say. “Gladys is running the pages from her file through some kind of handwriting recognition software a friend of hers developed. She’s also running the plate on that SUV.”
“Lindy killed Derek,” Tom says. “He told us that himself.”
“Hallstead asked him if he knew who stabbed him,” I sigh. “He said ‘My wife.’ He meant Lindy.”
“But he also said it was all his fault. I wonder what he meant by that?”
I shrug. “Probably blamed himself for her condition, maybe for leaving her in the hospital.”
“What was it that Tracy heard her say? ‘I’ll make him take me back?’ Maybe she wanted him to get her out of the hospital.”
We drive along quietly for several miles. Tom finally says, “What are you going to do about Sam?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I still have a hard time believing he’s mixed up in something.”
“Helen, he’s on the board of directors of Shady Meadows,” Tom says. “It’s clear those people are trying to cover up what happened. You have to accept the fact that he’s part of it.”
“Tom, I have no proof of that!” I snap.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” Tom replies. “And you’re wrong, by the way. You have the facts about the tox screen. Have you heard from Martin yet about the results of the retest?”
“No. I need to call him. I’ll do it when I get back.”
My phone rings. “Get that for me, will you, honey?”
Tom begins digging through my tote bag. “It didn’t take you long to fill this back up, did it?” he mutters.
“It’s not even half full,” I say.
He pauses. “Yeah. You still have enough room for the potted palm and the hall tree.”
I slap him on the shoulder as he laughs. “Yeah, Helen’s phone,” he says. “Oh, hi, Nina. Yeah, she’s right here. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“What you got, Nina?”
“Chief, I showed that photograph of Lindy Roderick you sent me to Gwen,” Nina says. “She said it looked like the woman who came into the bakery after Deacon Roderick.”
Tom and I look at each other. “Thanks, Nina. Good work.”
“Thank you, Chief,” she says before she hangs up.
“Well, she definitely got to Myerton,” Tom says. “She was the one Dan saw following Derek. Lindy must have caught up with him. But you know, there’s one question we haven’t asked.”
Before I can ask what he’s talking about, I know what he means. “How did she get back to Shady Meadows?” I say.
Before I can ask him to, he has my phone. “I’m dialing Gladys,” he says. “I assume you want her to check Derek’s calls on the last day of his life?”
“You read my mind, darling.”
He dials Gladys and puts the phone on speaker. “Hi, Mom,” she says. “I was just about to call you.”
“Gladys, we still have Deacon Derek’s phone in evidence, right?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I need you to find out who he called on the thirty-first.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I called you,” she says. “I had a feeling you’d want me to do that. Other than a couple of calls to local numbers, he only called two other numbers that day. One was to his wife–or sister, I guess. The other was to Shady Meadows.”
“So that’s how they knew where to find her,” he says.
“He placed the call at 10:45 p.m. and lasted ten minutes.”
“Good work, Gladys,” I say. “You said you were about to call me?”
“Yeah, I ran that plate you sent me,” she says. “It came back to a 2021 Cadillac Escalade registered to an Oscar Simpson.”
“Good work, Gladys,” I say. “Find out everything you can about him.”
“Well, that’s a problem,” she says. “I have his address from DMV records. He has no criminal record, at least not what I can find under his name. But I ran into a brick wall when I tried to find a military record.”
“What kind of brick wall?” I ask.
“According to the DOD,” Gladys says, “Oscar Simpson was reported killed in action in Afghanistan back in 2009.”