Chapter 9

 

I awoke the next morning feeling none too rested, and was moving out onto the highway of a city that was already hopping with activity, when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and checked the incoming number. It wasn’t one that I recognized. 

“Longville.” 

“Yes, hello. Is this Mr. Roland Longville?” 

“That’s right.” 

“A friend tells me that you are trying to locate Miss Constance Patrick.” 

“That’s correct, I am. Who is this?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Randy Cross.” 

“Mr. Cross, do you know Constance Patrick’s whereabouts?” 

Randy Cross paused for a moment. “Not exactly. Listen, Mr. Longville, I think it might be better if you came over to my home, where we could talk this whole thing over. I live out in Marietta. You know where Delk Road is?” 

I told him that I didn’t. He gave me directions, and fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a massive apartment complex in a neighborhood that had seen its better days. It wasn’t necessarily on a bad street, but the urban sprawl and the general crumbling of civilization would soon see to that. 

The apartments were enlarged versions of what realtors call a ranch-style home, sanitized versions of what the lowest bidder erects in the poor parts of cities the world over. There was a feeling of dispossession, of dejection that hung over the sunny parking lot, that behind the efficiently but artlessly trimmed hedges, everyone around here was just going through the motions and waiting out their time. 

The man who answered the door confirmed this impression. Randy was a tall, thin, soft-spoken man. He was in his late twenties, and looked a bit weathered for his age. He led me into the front room and settled down on a leather sofa. He nodded at a chair nearby, and I sat down opposite him. 

“You wanted to talk with me?” 

“Yeah. I hear that you’re looking for my sister.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Oh, I get it. You’ve probably never even heard of me.” He arose and said, “Hang on a second,” as he walked out of the room. 

He returned with a photo album in his hands. “Take a look,” he said in his soft voice, and sat down again. 

I opened the album. What I saw were pictures of a younger Randy with a younger Connie Patrick, and to my complete surprise, a younger Senator Keith Patrick. Or, the man before he became senator, I thought most likely. 

“You’re saying that you are Senator Patrick’s son?” 

“I’m his son, yeah. Not that you’ll see me in any of those pictures they show on his campaign commercials on T.V. I’m his bastard son, you see. He and my mother were never married. They saw each other before he met his late wife. I’m sort of an embarrassment to him, first because I was born out of wedlock in a time when that was still a big deal; and because I’ve had problems with drugs, been in jail, stuff like possession, you know? So he doesn’t really claim me. I did a couple of years down in Atmore. He gave me some money to go away, basically. He helped me get this place after I got out of jail. Payment for keeping my mouth shut about who my father is. But Connie and me, well, we stayed close over the years. We care about each other.” 

“So you and the senator don’t talk?” 

“Ah, no. Not really. If I need something, I talk to his assistant, that Baucom guy. He sends me money through Baucom around Christmas every year, more to make himself feel good than anything, I guess.” 

“Has he contacted you to see if maybe you heard from your sister?” 

“Like I said, I haven’t heard anything from him, and I haven’t seen Connie, lately. She usually calls me fairly often, so that’s why I became worried when I didn’t hear from her. So I asked around about what to do, and I went to see this private investigator, Bowman.” 

I was taken aback again. “So it was you who hired Bowman to look for Connie?” 

“That’s right. You look surprised. I didn’t tell anyone about hiring him, because I didn’t want it to get back to Senator Patrick. I figured Connie had disappeared for a reason, like maybe she had argued with the senator. That happens from time to time. But still, it isn’t like her not to call me. Whenever they got into a fight, I’m usually the first person she would call.” 

“What do you know about Anthony Herron?” 

Randy’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sorry. Who?” 

“Your father said that she’d started seeing him when the last trouble started. They argued about him. It seems your father didn’t approve of him.” 

Randy grinned. “Well, I haven’t met the guy, but I can guess. Connie likes a certain type, you know? She was all set to marry some lawyer—” 

“—Young Millard Brooks IV.” 

That drew a laugh from Randy. “Right. I never met him, either, but I can tell you that she only saw him to appease the old man. The senator, I mean. Our father. She laughed about that, when we’d talk on the phone sometimes. She never had the least intention of actually marrying the guy. Whoever this Anthony—” 

“—Herron. Anthony Herron.” 

“Well, I’ve never met the guy, but whoever he is, you can bet he’s more the type she really likes.” 

“What type is that?” 

“Counterculture, alternative, a real dropout. He’s probably on the wild side, too, just like dear little Connie.” 

“Well, I’m told he is a musician of some kind. You said that you had drug problems before. Does Connie have a drug past, too?” 

“I don’t know about past.” Randy gave a dry smile. “Connie likes cocaine, Mr. Longville, and the senator knows about it. Believe me. He spends a lot of money keeping that hushed up. A lot more than he gives me to stay out of his life.” 

“Senator Patrick alluded to Connie having wild habits.” 

“Yeah. She has always liked to have a good time, and she had some scrapes in college that the senator got her out of. As for ‘wild habits,’ well, he should know. Anyway, I hired Bowman, and he agreed to find her just for retainer because he knew I didn’t have a lot of dough. I just wanted him to locate my sister and make sure she was okay. But, I mean, well, I—I heard he got shot. I heard he’s dead.” 

“Yeah. I heard about that, too.” I thought about the dead man slumped in his out-of-place Mercedes, then pushed the image away. “Any idea why someone would want him dead?” 

“No clue. I mean, he was over in Alabama— Birmingham, right? I can’t imagine what he was doing there. It’s all so strange. I thought he’d find Connie in a couple of days, tops, but it had been a week or more since I even heard from him.” 

“It sounds like you two knew each other. How did you meet him?” 

“Oh, you don’t know that either?” Randy smiled and shook his head. “I can see that my dear father is up to his old tricks. He likes to be the only one holding all the cards, no matter what the game.” 

“What ‘game’ are you referring to?” 

“Well, those earlier scrapes I mentioned, that Connie had gotten herself into? Sometimes she would drop out of sight, so she didn’t have to hear it from the old man. They really got into some heated arguments, so she got to where she would just stay away from him until things cooled down a bit.” 

“I think Senator Patrick mentioned that,” I replied, and let him go on. 

“Well, he hired the firm of Bowman and Grant to find her once before. That’s how I knew who Bowman was.” 

“If Senator Patrick had hired Bowman and Grant to find Connie on a previous occasion, I’m afraid I wasn’t told that.” I smiled wanly to myself. Neither had Grant. Grant surely had been lying, when I had visited him. 

“You see, that’s why I hired Bowman. Senator Patrick knew that she crashed here sometimes, especially on those occasions when she wanted to get away from him, so he sent Bowman around to check once before, when Connie had pulled her disappearing act. She wasn’t here, but Bowman came by to ask some questions, see if I knew where she might be. Anyway, he was a pretty nice guy, and so when I needed somebody to look for her myself, I remembered him and gave him a call. He had left his card with me.” 

I got up. “Well, thanks, Randy.” I gave him a card of my own. “If you hear from your sister, please have her call me; I’m concerned for her safety. If you get any more information, don’t hesitate to call me yourself.” 

“I’ll do that.” 

I walked out the door and headed for my Buick. Connie had been born into a life of privilege, wealth, and position. However alluring that life might be to some, she was trying like hell to get out of it. People run away from things all the time. They get born into situations where they feel they don’t belong. Maybe they live on a farm and want to be an actor. Or maybe their parents are theater types and they want to study the law or become a priest. It happens. But most people, I have found, run without a plan. They run away from something, without any idea where they’re heading. Many of them end up in deep trouble. Sometimes it’s better to sit tight. Better to bear those ills we have than fly to others we know not of. 

I have that on good authority.