“What did you think?” I asked Rafe when we were in the car and
headed up Hillsboro Road toward downtown.
He glanced at me. “About?”
“Any of it. Kylie. Lauren. The fact that Aislynn isn’t here.”
“The fact that your friend kept saying her name?”
“She was just wondering if Aislynn was OK,” I said. “Wasn’t she?”
Rafe shrugged.
“You don’t think Lauren was right, do you? That Aislynn wrote the letters, and when Kylie figured it out, she tried to kill her?”
“Dunno,” Rafe said. “You’re the one who knows them. You’d know that better than me.”
I should. But he’s got that criminal mind, always suspicious of other people’s motivations, while I tend to take things at face value. I rarely look for hidden agendas, and Rafe always does.
“Would they have called me to talk about the anonymous letters if Aislynn was the one who wrote them?”
“You told me,” Rafe said as he made the turn onto Division Street, “that Kylie was the one who wanted to contact you, and that Aislynn didn’t want her to.”
Yes, Kylie had said that.
“I’m confused,” I said. “Why would Aislynn write threatening letters to herself?”
“It happens. Kids do it sometimes to get attention. Or write love letters to themselves so the other kids will think someone’s interested in them.”
“She’s not a kid,” I said.
“Young, though. And Lauren said she’s immature.”
“I think that might be because Lauren is older than Kylie,” I said, “and she probably felt threatened by Aislynn.”
Rafe thought about that for a moment as we made our way past the Music City Center—the new convention center downtown—toward the bridge linking East Nashville to the SoBro area. “Could be she was worried that her girlfriend’s feelings had changed. She mighta started writing the letters just so Kylie would pay her more attention.”
“Possible,” I allowed. “I know she was worried about that. Lauren thinks Aislynn is immature and that Kylie needs someone older. And Aislynn thinks the same thing. That Kylie thinks she’s immature and wishes Aislynn was older. More like Lauren.”
“Tangled web,” Rafe said.
I nodded. “Confusing. And I don’t see where Virgil’s murder comes into it at all.”
“Maybe it don’t,” Rafe said, as we headed up and over the bridge. To the left was the downtown skyline and to the right the old Metro General Hospital, perched on a cliff overlooking the Cumberland River; now the site of a couple of new condo buildings. “Maybe they’re two different things.”
That made a lot more sense. Although at the same time, it didn’t. “Isn’t that too much of a coincidence?”
“Dunno,” Rafe said, cresting the bridge and heading down the other side, toward Nissan Stadium, where the Tennessee Titans play. Thank God it wasn’t football season yet. Sunday mornings in East Nashville during football season are gridlocked.
We crossed the interstate and headed up Shelby Avenue.
“Where are we going?” I inquired, when he didn’t signal to make the turn on South Fifth.
“I thought we’d take a walk in the park.”
“You mean you want to look at the crime scene?”
He shrugged. “I thought maybe you did.”
I did, as a matter of fact. And for a change, I was even dressed for it, in Capri pants and a T-shirt and semi-sensible shoes.
We entered the park at the Shelby Avenue entrance, and drove around the baseball fields, the same route Grimaldi had said Virgil had taken the night he was killed. We found a parking space in the lot at the bottom of the hill, on the edge of the lake and across from the small island with the duck habitat. Rafe turned the car off and got out to open my door. “You OK walking from here?”
“Of course,” I said, and took the hand he extended. “It’s just up the hill, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “If it’s the path I’m thinking of, it is. Let’s go take a look.”
We went, hand in hand along the edge of the water and then around the side of the hill. About halfway up, before we got to the golf course at the top, a path snaked into the growth on the right.
“This?” I asked Rafe.
He nodded. “You OK?”
“Fine. Let’s do it.” I let go of his hand and headed into the trees.
The path was narrow, so we had to go single file. The ground was mulched, but not paved like the road we’d just been on. And there were tall trees all around, blocking out the morning sun, casting us into semi-darkness. It wasn’t cool, though. It never is in Tennessee in July. The moisture in the air made the T-shirt cling to my back and made little pieces of mulch stick to my feet.
“This is nasty,” I told Rafe over my shoulder. “I’ll never understand why people choose to be outside in this.”
He chuckled. “Some people like to sweat.”
“Some people sweat nicely.” Like him. He glistens. I turn pink and moist, like a pig’s snout. “Some people don’t.”
We walked another few feet.
“Dark in here,” I added.
“The better to kill you,” Rafe told me. I shot a startled look over my shoulder, and he grinned. “Not you. But it’s a nice, private place if you wanted to get rid of someone.”
It was. And that was probably why the murderer had chosen this path to commit his dastardly deed. Especially if it was part of Virgil’s usual route.
“So it was probably premeditated.”
“Looks that way,” Rafe agreed, trudging along behind me, looking around. “I don’t see a lot of rocks. He had to go find one and then wait for Virgil to come running up the path. Not like anybody would be hanging out in here otherwise.”
“Drug deal gone wrong? Virgil accidentally came upon something criminal, and the criminals killed him?”
“No drug dealer in his right mind would wanna do business here,” Rafe said. “It’s outta the way, and there’s kids and dogs and people jogging. Besides, you’ve seen’em. They hang out on the street corners where we live.”
They did. The buyers, anyway. And then the dealers would drive by and do business out of the windows of their cars.
“So whoever killed Virgil was waiting for him,” I said. “Unless it was just some nutcase who wanted to commit murder and didn’t care who he killed.”
“Those don’t come along that often,” Rafe told me. “Most killers have a type. Even Huron,” the serial killer from last month, “only killed young women.”
“So maybe this was a serial killer who only kills 30-something gay guys. Or joggers. Men with muscles. Watch out.”
He arched a brow. “How d’you know he had muscles?”
“He jogged,” I said. “I assumed he kept in shape. Stacy had muscles.”
Rafe scowled.
“He was wearing a towel,” I said.
“I know.”
“It’s not like I could avoid noticing what he looked like.”
“I know.”
“He’s gay. I’m sure he was more excited to see you than me.”
“No doubt,” Rafe said, “but he still shouldn’ta opened the door like that.”
“He probably likes to stir people up. I told you what happened at the visitation yesterday, didn’t I?”
He shook his head.
“It must have slipped my mind in the excitement.” I gave him the rundown and watched him, unsuccessfully, try not to laugh.
“Wish I coulda seen that.”
“It was quite something. Horrible, of course. That poor coffin. Talk about undignified.”
“It didn’t feel nothing,” Rafe said, his voice uneven. “The guy inside didn’t, either.”
“I know that. It’s still awful. Anyway, Stacy started it. Probably on purpose.”
Rafe arched a brow, and I added, “It took guts—or stupidity, or something—to show up there in the first place. It was Kenny’s memorial for Virgil. Stacy’s the ex. He must have known he wouldn’t be welcome.”
“He mighta been telling the truth,” Rafe said. “Maybe he still cared.”
“That doesn’t mean he had to behave inappropriately. And crashing someone else’s funeral for a dead ex-lover, is inappropriate.”
Rafe just shrugged, so I guess he didn’t see the big deal. Maybe I thought the deal was bigger than it was, being my mother’s daughter. Mother has a lot to say about inappropriate behavior. Especially mine.
“Anyway,” I said, “that’s what happened. And whatever Stacy’s motivation for being there, he started it. When Kenny challenged him, he could have backed down. Left. Said something conciliatory. But instead he egged him on. Deliberately. I heard him giggle when Kenny charged him.”
“Maybe he was just squeaking,” Rafe said. “In fear.”
Sure. “When I left there, he was barricaded in his Jeep, and the rest of them were trying to tip him over. I called Mendoza, and he said he’d send a couple of cars to break it up. I wonder if they arrested anyone.”
“You saw him last night,” Rafe said. “Why didn’t you just ask?”
I’d forgotten, truth be told. In all my concern over Grimaldi’s possible date with someone other than my brother, I’d forgotten all about Stacy’s plight.
“We should probably call him anyway. And tell him that Kylie is awake, and that Lauren came to see her.”
“And that Aislynn didn’t,” Rafe said. But instead of digging out his phone, he looked around. “This looks like a good spot.”
While I’d just been moving forward, intent on putting one foot in front of the other and on the conversation, he’d actually been looking around. I stopped, too. “For what?”
“Murder,” Rafe said. “See how the path curves around this big tree?” He reached out and put his palm against it. “If I was gonna kill somebody, here’s where I’d wait. On the other side of the tree. And when the guy I was waiting for came up the path, I’d step out.”
I tried to picture it. It made sense.
“A couple words,” Rafe said, “maybe an argument, and as the guy tries to brush past me, or run back the way he came, a quick tap to the head.”
He lifted his arm and mimed a quick strike down.
“It was probably more than a tap,” I told him. “I don’t think a tap would kill someone.”
“Depends on who’s doing the tapping,” Rafe said. “You can kill somebody with a single blow if you’re strong enough. And if the angle’s right.”
“Angle?”
He motioned me down the path ahead of him. “You ever meet him?”
“Virgil?” I shook my head. “Not to my recollection. We didn’t close together in January. And I don’t remember either him or Stacy being home when we were at their house. Although I admit my mind was on other things then.”
Namely, the fact that Rafe had shown up at my mother’s house on Christmas Eve to tell me that he’d retired from undercover work and was ready to settle down. We’d lived together from then on, and my days—and nights—were filled with much more pleasant concerns than real estate. I’d done my job, of course, making sure that Aislynn and Kylie did their due diligence in home inspections and surveys and the like, but I’d walked around in a haze of love and lust, and couldn’t remember many of the details of most of the month of January.
“Does it matter?” I added.
He shrugged. “If he was tall, and he was hit standing up, whoever hit him had to be pretty tall, too. Especially if it took only one blow to kill him. It’s hard to get that kind of velocity if you’re a half a foot shorter and hitting up.”
I’d take his word for it. “But?”
“If he was on the ground,” Rafe said, “anybody coulda killed him. It’s a lot easier to hit down than up. You get some help from gravity.”
That made sense. “What makes you think he was on the ground?”
“Couple things,” Rafe said, as I saw the end of the path ahead of us. “Did you see the handprints in the dirt on the side of the path?”
I shook my head.
“That prob’ly happened the night of the murder. It’d stopped raining by then, but the ground woulda been wet. By the next morning, it woulda been dry.”
I nodded. “That could have happened if someone hit him from behind, though. Couldn’t it? One blow to drop him, and another to kill?”
“Could,” Rafe agreed. “I dunno whether he was hit more’n once. Did anyone ever tell you?”
I didn’t think anyone had, and said so.
“Also, there was some bark rubbed off a couple trees. One on each side of the path. Like somebody’d strung a wire, maybe.”
“You think the police noticed?”
“Mendoza don’t strike me as stupid,” Rafe said, “so he musta seen it, too.”
I nodded. “So someone may have strung a trip wire across the path, and when Virgil came running, he fell. And caught himself on the edge of the path. And then someone picked up a rock and killed him.”
We passed from the mulched path onto the paved road, and from under the canopy of trees into sunlight. I took a deep breath, and it wasn’t until I did that I realized how much the atmosphere under the trees had affected me.
“Something like that,” Rafe said, and took my hand now that we could walk side by side again. “You all right?”
“I will be. It’s just sad, to think of that happening. Just where we were standing, someone died. Someone killed someone else. In a very nasty way.”
Rafe nodded. “Sorry, darlin’. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “It’s just disturbing to think about. Who’d do something like that?”
Mine had been more of a philosophical question, but Rafe took it literally.
“Someone who couldn’t do it while he was standing up,” he said. “When we practice hand-to-hand in the gym, it’s all about taking your opponent down. If you can get him on the ground and get on top of him, it don’t matter how much bigger and stronger he is.”
“That’s interesting. So the killer could have been someone much smaller and weaker.”
“Coulda been,” Rafe agreed. “I’m bigger and stronger than you are, but if you could drop me, you’d have the advantage over me.”
“I can drop you anytime I want to,” I informed him.
He grinned. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.” I smiled back. “Want to have sex?”
“Sure. Now?”
I looked around. “I’m sure there’s a private spot around here somewhere. I get to be on top, right?”
“Whatever you want,” Rafe said.
“See how easy that was?”
It took him a second—it’s that male brain; once you dangle the prospect of sex in front of it, it’s all it can focus on—and then he chuckled. “Touché. So no sex?”
“We can have sex. Let’s go home first, though. There are too many people here.”
He nodded.
“Do you think somebody might have offered Virgil sex, and that’s why he was on the ground on his hands and knees?”
“You never know,” Rafe said and hustled me toward the car.