“You did the right thing. I’ll make sure everything stays confidential between us. I promise.”
“But can you get to the bottom of this? Do you think you can find out what happened? I want you to—I really do.”
“I’m sure going to try,” I said. “I promise you that.”
Chapter Twenty
The skies were closing in as I drove away from Glenview, the rain picking up momentum once more, churning into a storm that was growing angrier by the minute.
Along with a story that was growing more tragic.
I struggled to readjust my perspective. Jean Kingsley, a murder victim. What she and her family endured; what Dennis must have endured.
Dennis. I needed to talk to him. I dialed his number.
“Did Mrs. Kingsley have a nephew?”
A brief pause. “No. She had a niece... Why?”
I tried to minimize the concern. “Just researching your family’s history. I thought I’d heard someone say she had a nephew, is all. Thanks for clearing it up.”
I hung up, dialed Sully’s number.
“You’re taking too long,” I said as soon he answered.
“Well hello to you, too, Mr. Manners.”
“I know you’ll forgive me. Got any answers about Samuels yet?”
He sighed. “Just now. It took some work. And the answer is, nothing.”
“Damn.”
“The D.L. number never existed, and the name Michael Samuels doesn’t match up with anything close to it, either.”
“Phony name and numbers.”
“Sure looks that way.”
“Okay. Thanks, Sully. I owe you one.”
“More than one.”
“I’ll take care of my tab later.”
“Have fun.”
“Doubt it.”
I hung up, thought for moment. Hiding his identity; I wasn’t surprised. Yet another shadow cast upon a case that was already looking awful shady.
Some things were starting to fall into place, but many others still weren’t. Jean Kingsley being murdered didn’t tell me a thing about my mother and Warren’s involvement; in fact, it only seemed to confuse things. No clear or logical connection that I could find.
And then there was the other missing link still pulling at my gut: Ronald Lucas. No association, no way to figure out why he killed the boy. Could he have somehow been in-cahoots with Samuels? If he was, I had nothing to prove it.
I stopped by the convenience store, grabbed a six-pack of soda, headed back to my motel room; it was starting to feel uncomfortably familiar. Not home, not even welcoming. Just recognizable.
And lonely.
I popped the top off my soda and wrote the word
I’m not sure how much time I spent stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how long I’d have to stay in Texas. How long until something here started making sense. Then the phone pulled me out of it. I grabbed it mid-ring.
“Mr. Bannister?”
“Who’s this?” I replied.
“My name’s Nissie,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. “I need to speak to you.”
“About what?”
She paused, and then, “In person.”
“Listen … Nissie. It’s late, and I’m tired—”
“You’ll want to see me,” she interrupted.
“Convince me,” I said, my tone quickly changing to match my annoyance. I reached for my notebook and wrote
“I have information you need. About Nathan Kingsley.”
I stopped writing. “Okay. You’ve got my attention. How did you find me?”
“It’s a small town Mr. Bannister. Everyone knows you’ve been asking questions about the Kingsley case. I think I may have some of the answers you’ve been looking for.”
Someone in Corvine who actually wanted to talk to me. “Okay, when and where?”
Chapter Twenty-One
I arrived at Jimmy’s All Night Diner and spotted her immediately: she had to be the nervous wreck in the booth at the back. Fifty-something, tiny, brownish hair with streaks of gray running through it. Worry lines all over her face.
She shifted awkwardly and gave a cautious smile as I took my seat.
I waved down a waitress with a coffee pot, who filled my cup and flashed a Big Texas Smile. Nissie was busily folding and unfolding an empty sugar packet.
“So…” I said, wrapping my hands around my cup. “Does Nissie have a last name?”
A single nod. “It’s Lambert.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lambert.”
“But you’ll probably do better with my maiden name. It’s Lucas.” She watched me with interest as if measuring my reaction, and then, “Ronnie was my brother.”
I tightened my feet around the base of the table, fought to keep my face from registering the shock I was feeling.
“He didn’t kill that boy.”
I gave her an appraising glance, then stared down at my cup, turning it slowly in its saucer. “Ms. Lambert, from what I’ve read and heard, there was a good amount of evidence against your brother, evidence that left little doubt that he—”
“Was guilty. Yes, I know how it appeared
“Okay,” I said, motioning for her to continue. “Care to enlighten me?”
She looked down and continued re-folding the empty sugar packet. “You’re aware that there were a few problems during the trial, aren’t you?”
I shook my head.
She gave a cutting grin. “Guess the papers buried that lead.”
“What kinds of problems?”
“Well, for one, their star witness? The mailman? Lou Taggert? Let’s just say he had some credibility issues.”
“Such as?”
“A drinking problem.”
“Sounds more like a personal issue than one concerning credibility.”
“Not when you consider what happened as a result.”
