Chapter 54
“The police took Jorge this morning,” Randy whispered into the phone. “Came here and got him early, like at five-thirty.”
“What? Why?” Annie said.
“I’m not sure, but I think someone saw him with one of the sisters before—”
“Maybe that’s who Cookie saw. She was at the station last night giving them a description,” Annie said.
“Cookie? I wouldn’t trust her memory.”
“Memory is an odd thing. She suddenly remembered seeing Marina sitting with a man on the front porch of the Drummond house,” Annie said.
“Just because they were sitting there doesn’t mean he killed her. He’s odd, but I don’t think he’d hurt a fly.”
Where had Annie heard that before? People who killed were often everyday sorts that momentarily lost it. Was Jorge a killer? She took a deep breath and calmed herself. Randy was right. Just because Marina had been seen with Jorge before her death didn’t mean he’d killed her. The police must just be questioning him.
“I guess I should go down to the station. Who picked him up, Bryant or Sheriff Bixby?” asked Annie.
“Bryant.”
“Shoot, I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Randy laughed. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Annie finished loading the dishwasher and then drove to the station, shifting through the cases in her mind yet again. What did the police know? Two sisters were dead. Both of them had scrapbooking pages on their bodies, documenting the same day.
The sisters weren’t involved in any of the assorted gang activities in Cumberland Creek, but their deaths were not accidental or coincidental. Someone was making a statement. A cry for help?
That profile might fit Jorge, despite what Randy thought. Jorge didn’t seem quite together—maybe he was disturbed.
And then there was Hathaway Transatlantic. Could they have embroiled the sisters in something that got them killed? But what? That didn’t make much sense, even though Annie saw them for what they were—a shade away from human trafficking. But she couldn’t imagine what would involve them in the murder of women in small-town Cumberland Creek. What had the sisters known? What had they had that was worth killing them for?
As she pulled into the police station parking lot, Pamela’s cherry red 1957 Chevy roared in front of her. And what about Pamela? Did Pamela have it in her to kill?
Annie grimaced at the thought. Women did kill, she reminded herself. But Pamela seemed genuinely distraught over the murder of Marina. Of course, it could be an act, but what would Pamela’s motive be? Why would she kill her own employees? That didn’t make sense.
What did make sense was that Pamela was at the police station. Likely there to help Jorge, who was probably frightened beyond belief. He seemed very little-boy-like.
Annie opened the door to a crowded waiting area. There sat Pamela with Irina, Jorge’s aunt. They looked up at Annie. Pamela looked worried, but Irina looked haunted, stricken.
“Any ideas you have about writing a story about Jorge, you can just forget it,” said Pamela.
“I’m just here to see what’s happening,” Annie said. “It’s part of the story I’m already working on. If he’s innocent, there’s no reason I need to write about this.”
Pamela seemed awfully protective of Jorge. Was she hiding something?
“Of course, he’s innocent,” Irina said. “Of course he is.” She was adamant. Her eyes flared with anger.
Annie left to find the bathroom, then slipped down the hall to have a look around. The doors were all closed. A uniformed officer passed by her and she turned to go back to the waiting area.
At the corner she heard voices so she stopped and listened. She peeked around the corner and saw Bryant standing in the waiting area, shaking Pamela’s hand, then Irina’s. Then he started walking down the hallway toward her.
Damn.
“What are you doing here?” he said when he approached her.
“I was in the ladies’ room. You know what goes on in there, right?”
Bryant placed his hands on his hips. “That’s not what I meant, Annie. Come to my office please.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m in kind of a hurry. Maybe for a few minutes.” She followed him down the snaking gray hallway.
After they were situated, he looked at her and said, “Spill.”
“I was just here checking on Jorge. Someone said you brought him in.” Why did she feel like she was lying, when she was telling the truth?
“We just brought him in to see if he knew anything about the murders or the sisters. He’s not a suspect,” Bryant said. “You could have just asked me. It’s really not a big deal.”
“How close are you to solving this case?”
“Very.”
“Can you give me any details?”
“Of course not.”
“But you can say that Jorge is not a suspect.”
“Not at this point.”
“Interesting that his aunt and employer both came in so quickly,” Annie said, gauging Bryant’s reaction carefully.
He lifted one eyebrow. “I guess they care about him or something.”
“Was he dating Marina?” Annie hated to ask, but she had to.
He guffawed. “No. He wanted to, but nothing came of it.”
“I’m assuming he’s the man Cookie saw with her at the Drummond place?” Annie asked.
Bryant nodded.
“What were they doing together, then?”
“I think there was a scrapbooking crop there that night and they had stepped outside for some air. It was a Friday night.”
“What was Cookie doing there?” Annie wondered out loud.
Adam tensed and moved around in his seat. “Ask her. She’s your friend, isn’t she?”
“I will,” Annie said.
“Have you been back to the apartments?” Bryant asked.
“Not since the day I saw you there. I haven’t seen any evidence of gangs, Adam.”
“What do you think a gang looks like?” he asked in a patronizing tone.
“Not like the group of middle-aged guys standing around in the parking lot,” Annie answered quickly.
“You need to adjust your vision. Don’t trust just anybody.”
“I don’t. But the only time I’ve felt threatened over there is by the manager of the place. And I haven’t seen him since that day at the grocery store.”
Bryant looked at her with his head tilted and eyebrows hitched. “Be careful, Annie. Gang members come in all shapes, ages, sizes . . . and genders.”
“Were the sisters involved with a gang?” she asked again. She was certain she’d asked that question a million times or more.
“Not that I know of.”
“Their deaths seem linked and personal and, well, I have to say it’s just not making any sense to me. I can’t figure out what the motive would be for killing two young women who mostly kept to themselves, worked hard, liked to get together with friends and scrapbook. I just don’t know!” She flung her arms out.
“Most murders are linked to drugs these days,” Bryant said. “Once you rule that out, it gets murkier.”
His office door opened. A uniformed officer entered the room and handed him a file.
“Thanks,” Bryant said, accepting the file.
“So are you saying their deaths had nothing to do with drugs?” Annie asked as the officer left the room.
“I think we can safely rule that out,” Bryant replied.
“The other motive for murder is passion,” Annie said almost to herself. “Money. Secrets they may have stumbled on.”
Adam looked up from his files quickly, blinked, then looked away.
Something caught in Annie’s chest. The young women had stumbled upon someone’s secret. Bryant must be on the trail of that secret. And it was a big one. The momentary look in his eyes, the lifting of his chin at that precise moment told her that.
“Annie, leave the sleuthing up to us, and I promise we’ll let you know once we find out something.”
If only she could believe that. If she left it up to him, she’d never get the story.