Rue and I headed in the general vicinity of my home. Apparently, Sherry still lived with her folks, and they had a house in Thomas Square too. I was curious to see it, and as it turned out, the Lyman home was only two blocks from my own.
It was early for us to be showing up on a Sunday. I assumed Sherry hadn’t gone anywhere yet and was possibly still asleep at nine a.m. I parked along the curb, and we walked up the sidewalk of the manicured property. When we reached the porch, Rue rang the doorbell.
I felt bad about stopping in, but murder and death of a friend didn’t follow a schedule. We needed to speak with Sherry right away. The only thing she knew at that moment was that Valerie was missing—nothing more.
It took a few minutes before the sound of footsteps got closer then stopped. I imagined whoever was on the other side of the door was sizing us up through the peephole. I held out my badge so there would be no mistaking us for salesmen.
A man who looked to be in his mid-forties, wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt, answered the door. He ran his fingers through his hair as if to make sure it was lying flat.
“Can I help you officers?”
“Are you Mr. Lyman?” I asked.
He appeared concerned. “I am. Why?”
“And you have a daughter named Sherry?”
“I do.” He pointed over his shoulder. “She’s in bed asleep. What’s this about?”
“Mr. Lyman, may we come in? It’s imperative we speak to Sherry. You’ll need to wake her up.”
“Um, can you tell me why?”
“Sir. You can’t help us. Only your daughter can.”
He called out over his shoulder. “Mary Beth, go wake up Sherry.” He turned back to us. “Please come in.”
Rue and I entered the nicely furnished house, and I made the introductions while we stood in the foyer.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Please come into the living room and have a seat,” Mr. Lyman said.
Rue and I sat for several minutes before a sleepy-looking young woman with tousled hair came from the hallway area and into the living room. We stood, introduced ourselves, and asked her to have a seat next to her parents. I explained why we were there and said that unfortunately, Valerie had been found dead that morning. I told them that I couldn’t go into details about Valerie’s death. What we needed to know was every move they had made and everywhere they had gone before parting ways on Friday night.
Sherry began to sob, and we waited for her to compose herself so we could continue the interview. Once she took a gulp of water from the glass that her mom handed her, Sherry began.
“It was Val, Becky, and me together on Friday night. We each drove separately and met on Congress Street. We went to three bars that night—Delilah’s, The Grinch, and Sparky’s.” She looked from Rue to me then continued. “We closed Sparky’s and planned to go on to a house party, but we’d already had enough to drink and decided to call it a night instead.” A look of fear took over her face. “Am I going to be arrested for drunk driving?”
I shook my head. “That’s not our concern right now, but driving when you’ve drunk too much could cause problems for you going forward. You could be arrested or cause an accident and have your license revoked.”
She glanced at her parents and then at the floor.
“Tell us what took place at each bar, who you spoke with, and if anyone seemed to cause a ruckus at the bar or with you girls.”
“Um, I don’t recall anything bad happening at any of the bars. We were just having the typical Friday night fun. We do the same thing every Friday night.”
“Nobody came on to any of you or seemed to be a pest? Someone who wanted to buy you drinks, or did?”
“Oh yeah. There were two guys at Delilah’s who bought beer for us, but we made sure the cans hadn’t been opened before the bartender gave them to us.”
“Smart thinking, and then?” Rue asked.
“We made small talk with them for a while then moved on to The Grinch. I didn’t notice them there.”
“And what about at The Grinch and Sparky’s? Anything that stood out?”
Sherry looked at me with teary eyes. “No, and I had no idea that would be the last time I’d see Val alive.” She leaned into her mother’s arms and sobbed. “She was my best friend since junior high. We did everything together.”
I nodded. “We’re so sorry for your loss. We’re almost done here. We’ll need Becky’s last name and contact information. Also, did those guys at Delilah’s give you their names?”
“Yes but no last names. They said they were Scott and Billy, buddies in town for the weekend.”
“Did they say from where?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, and how did you ladies part ways when Sparky’s closed?”
“They don’t have a parking lot, so we all found street parking wherever we could. That’s how everyone does it. I guess we each went our own way.”
I was well aware of the lack of parking lots in the historic district. A parking lot at any establishment would be a godsend, but few places had that luxury. If they did, the lots would have been small and likely for employees only.
After I glanced at Rue, we stood and thanked the Lyman family for their time, then I handed Sherry my card. “If anything else comes to mind, please call. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Once seated in the cruiser, I checked the time. It was still too early to pay Sparky’s a visit. They didn’t open until the lunch hour.
“Let’s go to the area where the high heel was found. I know the first responders scoured the sidewalk and curbs for evidence, but I doubt that they were looking for cameras right then. We’ll take note of every camera in a two-block area then visit those businesses tomorrow.”
“We should also follow Valerie on camera after leaving Sparky’s. We’ll look at their footage while she was there and then whatever cameras we can find of her walking to her car.”
“Absolutely.”
I aimed the cruiser north on Abercorn and toward the historic district. Valerie’s high heel had been found on the sidewalk at Whitaker Street, two blocks south of Congress. I was familiar with the area, primarily a mix of bars and restaurants, but none were open yet.
The evening hours between six and closing were when the bar and restaurant scene was hopping. After two a.m., when the bars emptied, the streets were all but deserted.
After cutting over on Congress, I turned south on Whitaker, a one-way street. After pulling over at the curb where Valerie’s shoe was found, I cut the engine, and we climbed out. Out of habit, I patted my chest pocket to make sure I had my notepad and pen, and I did. We planned to check the buildings for cameras and the ground for clues. To my knowledge, another set of eyes or two had never hurt an investigation.
Over the next hour and in a two-block area, we found six businesses with cameras mounted outside. That didn’t necessarily mean they were real cameras or that they’d caught the street, but we would know more after talking to the managers. We still had an hour to go before Sparky’s opened for their lunch crowd. The other two bars served only snacks, so they didn’t open until after four o’clock.
“Let’s walk from Sparky’s to Whitaker and note the cameras along that route,” I said.
At that time of day, there wasn’t a lot of traffic, and curb parking was plentiful. I slid into a spot just outside the front door of the bar, and we headed out on foot.
It was only a two-block walk to the intersection of Congress and Whitaker, but that would still take longer than usual with my stiff leg. I suggested we continue with those additional blocks south on Whitaker until we reached the location where the high heel was found. That time, we would check the opposite side of the street to cover all options. By the time we returned to Sparky’s on the opposite side, they’d be open for business.
Rue frowned. “So essentially, Valerie walked nearly four blocks from where she parked her car to Sparky’s?”
I shrugged. “If my math is correct, yeah, that’s what she did. Seems like quite the distance to find a parking spot.”
“Maybe not during the weekend. The bars are crazy busy Friday and Saturday nights.”
“I suppose you’re right, and it wouldn’t seem so far if she wasn’t walking alone but—”
Rue finished my thought. “But a somewhat inebriated young woman walking four blocks alone after bar hours could be easy prey.”
I let out a groan. “And it looks like she was.” We continued down the street, and I pointed at a camera in front of the Bar Association, a popular nightspot with attorneys. I pulled out my notepad and wrote down the name.
“I always thought that place had a catchy name,” Rue said.
“Yep, it sure does. I’ve heard there’s a similar nightclub in Charleston called Passing the Bar.”
Rue nodded. “We should have a bar specifically for cops.”
I grinned and played along while keeping my eyes focused on the buildings. “What would we call it?”
“Behind Bars?” Rue chuckled.
I added my take. “How about Cuffed?”
“Or Savannah Blues?”
“Yeah, I like that one.”
We reached the intersection of Congress and Whitaker and headed south on the opposite side of the street from where we had been earlier.
Rue tipped his chin at Margie’s, a corner diner with a camera outside that pointed toward the entryway, not the street. He wrote it down anyway.
Once we reached the location where we had been before, we turned back.
Devon gave the area a final look. “That didn’t help much.”
“No, it didn’t, but normally during bar hours, there’s plenty of foot traffic and beat cops out and about. Once everything shuts down, the bar crowd heads to the after-parties.”
“And unfortunately for Valerie, the cops leave too,” Rue said.