TWENTY-TWO

James Island County Park sits along the Stono River, a tidal channel that separates James Island from Johns Island. The park is lovely, with mature trees and lots of natural areas. The Turpitts’ Catalina Legacy travel trailer was parked at site one twenty-five, tucked into the shade. The white Chevrolet 4x4 had Arkansas plates.

The couple sat under the awning in outdoor zero gravity recliners having coffee when we pulled up. They smiled and waved like they knew us. The black and tan dachshund stretched out between the chairs stood and commenced barking.

“Missy, shh,” said the man. He was bald with a sturdy look about him.

“Hey, y’all,” I said as Nate and I climbed out of the Explorer.

“Good morning.” They looked to be active sixty-somethings. They both lowered their chairs, stood, and walked towards us.

Nate and I showed them our identification. As with the twins, I did the talking.

“I’m Liz Talbot. This is my husband, Nate.”

“Jim and Vicki Turpitt.” He held out a hand.

We all shook hands, said hello again.

“We’re private investigators looking into what happened downtown Sunday evening,” I said. “We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time.”

“Sure,” they both said.

“But I’m afraid I can’t tell you a thing,” said Jim. “I was waiting for Vicki on the swings.”

“Vicki, would you tell us what you remember?” I asked.

She was a strawberry blonde who wore her hair styled short and straight, but with a little lift and a scatter of bangs. It suited her. She regarded me with intelligent eyes. “We had dinner at Hank’s around 8:00. It was maybe 9:30 when we left. We went for a walk. Headed down Church to Market, then over to Concord. We walked down to the north entrance of Waterfront Park—where the fountain is. We sat on a bench nearby, in the terraced area under the trees. Then we walked out to the swings. I wanted to walk some more, but Jim wanted to enjoy the swing.”

“I knew it was a mistake, letting her take off by herself,” he said.

“I walked down Vendue Range, crossed East Bay,” said Vicki. “I was a little more than a block down Queen Street when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. Then I saw a woman come running out of Philadelphia Alley. She was dressed in black from head to toe. Had on a hoodie drawn tight around her face, and large sunglasses.”

“You’re positive it was a woman?” I asked.

“She had a woman’s shape, curves. And she moved like a woman, if you know what I mean,” said Vicki.

“Could you make out anything else about her appearance? Race? Height? Her build?”

“She was white, I’m almost positive. But I couldn’t see much of her face. It’s possible she was Asian, or a light-skinned Hispanic. She was average height, I guess. Trim.”

“Which way did she go?” I asked.

“She crossed the street and ran down Queen, back towards East Bay,” said Vicki.

“Did you see if she had a gun?” I asked.

“No. She could have. The hoodie was the kind with a big pocket in front,” said Vicki.

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“I had to decide whether I should follow her or see if someone needed help. I thought that was more important. And then I saw that poor woman, just lying there in the alley. There were two other ladies there. They had already called the police. I knew Jim would be worried, especially with the sirens, which I could already hear. I gave the women my name and went back to the swings.”

“Did the police come and talk to you?” I asked.

“No,” said Vicki. “I really thought they would. But then we saw in the news they’d arrested Darius Baker. We just love Main Street USA. We couldn’t believe it. After that, I figured the woman I saw was another witness. But you asked me if she had a gun. Are you thinking maybe she’s the one who shot that reporter?”

Just then I was busy thinking how Sonny had to be under the threat of being fired or worse. He was too good a detective to have not followed through and at least spoken to Vicki.

“We don’t know yet,” I said. “We’re just gathering information. Did you see anyone else come out of Philadelphia Alley, either before or after the woman?”

“No,” said Vicki. “Just her.”

“Did you see anything else out of the ordinary?”

“No,” said Vicki. “I just feel awful I didn’t get a better description of her or something.”

“You did the right thing,” I said. “And you’ve been very helpful.”

Nate’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stepped away.

“Please call us if you think of anything else,” I said.

We both waved and climbed into the Explorer.

Nate ended the call and pressed the button to start the car. As we drove back towards the gate, the Explorer hesitated.

An irritated look crossed Nate’s face. “Dammit. I’m going to have to take a look at that. We’ve got a cylinder misfiring. It’s either a plug wire or the coil connection.”

“Should we take it in for service?”

“It’s probably something simple I can take care of. But I can’t do it now. We need to be at the jail by 1:00.”