He’d sped away from Airlee, six miles gone before he let off the gas and cruised to a stop on a logging road deep in the forest. Shutting off the engine, he rolled down the window and inhaled the night air. Around him pulsed the memories of primordial swamps filled in and covered over by silt from the Yazoo and Mississippi Rivers. Panthers, bears, and wildcats once moved among the ancient trees. The Chickasaw and Choctaw tribes had ruled the forests. Break the levees, let the winter floods run wild, and the taming of the Mississippi Delta would be undone. “Wild” wins in the end.
In the silence he heard Saunders’s cry of grief. The sound would visit his dreams, the place where he had no defense. Everyone touched by murder becomes its casualty. The longer a case drags on, the deeper the wound. He could feel the killer ahead of him, around the corner, out of sight, doing away with evidence. He clicked on the dome light and took out his memo book to complete the notes he’d started earlier.
Gracie Ella Adams—Saunders Lee’s sister and Caroline Lee’s aunt. Mental breakdown after disappearance of son. Delusional during interview. Knew about Caroline’s pregnancy. Did Caroline visit or call her aunt the night of the murder? Accusation made against Rosalyn Lee—You killed my Caroline. Meaning what?? Unreliable witness.
He thought about Rosalyn Lee’s behavior. She’d been like a rattlesnake striking anything that moves. She could stir up a stink with Director Davis over his conversation with Saunders if she wanted to. He rolled up the window and started the engine. He’d have to deal with that later.
Ten miles down the road his mobile rang. It was Blue.
“We just loaded Mr. Lee in an ambulance.”
“What happened?”
“Slurred speech. His left arm went weak. It’s happened before. The docs will run a CT to find out if it’s a TIA or a stroke. They’ll keep him overnight.”
“Anything I can do?” A stupid question. Stay away from a sick old man whose daughter has been murdered.
“Find the son of a bitch who killed Caroline, okay? I’ll let you know if the test shows anything significant.”
They hung up. A text popped up from Frankie:
5:03 pm. Call me.
That had been two hours ago. Cell service was spotty. He started to call then decided he needed time to think. Thirty minutes later on Highway 61 and his mobile rang again. He grabbed it expecting an update from Blue. It was Frankie.
“Did you get my text?”
“A little while ago. I’m driving.”
“Can you pull off? It’s important.”
She sounded excited. A sign on a pole flashed Pal’s Gas in the sky farther down the highway. He put the phone on speaker and took the winding access road to the aging truck stop and parked by the front door. A heavyset man came out carrying a case of Tecate hooked under one arm with a Chihuahua riding on top of the box.
Billy leaned forward and rested his forearms on the top of the steering wheel. “What’s up?”
“I searched Caroline’s office and found what looks like a draft of a letter. It starts out ‘My Dearest Raj.’”
He sat up. “Whoa.”
“It’s handwritten on a page torn off a legal pad. She crossed out lines, added words. Here’s the gist. There’d been a lot of good things between them in the past. She wants the fighting to stop. She was contacting him against the advice of her attorney who recommended she file a protective order. She would prefer they work things out.”
“That opens a lot of doors.”
“She wrote several versions of the next lines: ‘I wasn’t truthful about the reason I called off the wedding. I apologize for not telling you in person. I was embarrassed to tell you. I have something important to tell you.’ In the margin she wrote ‘couldn’t admit and ashamed to admit.’ She crossed out both of those phrases.”
“Sounds like another man in the picture,” he said.
“Not definitively, but I agree.”
“Have you seen the ME report?”
“Yes,” she said. “The baby. That’s a real twist. I wondered if she knew she was pregnant when she called off the ceremony. If Sharma was the father she might have been trying to draw him in with this letter.”
“Or these notes could’ve turned into a phone call,” he said.
“I don’t think so. She’s a letter writer. Her assistant said she broke up with Sharma by letter. From the sound of it, she never told him why she walked.”
Caroline breaking up by letter was no surprise. She’d left a note for him on the counter at the diner. Sorry. I can’t do this anymore. She’d returned to Memphis for her fall school term and never came to see him at the diner again.
“Do you know if a letter went out to Sharma?” he asked.
“Her assistant said nothing has been mailed to him since the breakup, but Caroline dropped off her personal mail on her way home, so it’s possible. Wish we could get a sample of Sharma’s DNA. We’d know if it was his child,” she said.
“That won’t happen.”
A semi parked behind him released its airbrakes with a pop and a whoosh.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“A truck stop off Highway 61. A friend who manages the Lee’s plantation had information for me, so I drove down.”
He briefed her on Caroline’s wedding plans, his talk with Gracie Ella Adams, and Rosalyn’s blowup. He didn’t mention her threat to call Davis. He was tired and had a taste for a burger and a cold Tecate.
“We’ll go over all of it tomorrow.” He put the car into reverse. Two kids appeared out of nowhere, running from behind the semi. He slammed on his brakes.
“Let’s talk now,” she said. “I want to think about this overnight.”
“Not now, Frankie.”
“This is business. I’m not a girlfriend you can put off.”
He started to fire back then remembered Frankie’s persistence was one of the reasons he’d wanted her for his partner.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, hearing the drag in his voice.
She paused. Her tone softened. “Okay, drive safe. I’ll be in early.”
He hung up. Drive safe. He felt like he’d been driving on the wrong side of the road all day. One more call to make. He dialed Jerry Vanderman and left a message about the existence of a letter. Ten miles from Memphis his mobile rang.
“What’s this about a letter?” Vanderman asked.
“It’s in Ms. Lee’s handwriting. Starts out ‘My Dearest Raj.’”
“I’m in criminal court in the morning. I’ll come by after. My client has a right—”
“He has no rights unless he’s been charged. If he cooperates, he can see the letter.” He heard muffled profanity from Vanderman. The phone went dead.
He slapped his palm on the steering wheel. Damn that felt good. He clicked on a Trace Adkins CD, the best company a man can have on the road.