one thing. Three guesses.”
“A tape. With my wife’s murder on it.”
“A tape showing
“Why the hell should I believe you talked to this Gene guy about this tape? How do you know him?”
“Gene is — was — my cousin.” Burns leaned forward and lowered his voice, as though there was a reason to keep quiet. “He told me a woman was killed right next door to the station and that the deal smelled dirty to him. Turns out he was right. Some scary dude came to him, demanding the video that night before the cops even thought to talk to him. He didn’t want no part of that, see? To the scary dude and then the cops he says, ‘No tape.’ He takes the thing home, hides it good, and tells me all this the day before he’s whacked. Me, I don’t want no part of it, either, and I decide it’s healthier to forget all about it.”
“And at what point did you connect any of this to me?”
“Your guards were talkin’ about you. Ain’t shit down here to do but listen. I heard them sayin’ you seemed happier, and how worried they was about you when your woman got mugged and knifed to death last year over on Holland Drive. Couldn’t be two different women who done got killed over there in the same way.”
The blood was rushing in Michael’s ears. He was vaguely aware of a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Where is the tape now?”
“I expect it’s still in my cousin’s house someplace. I don’t think the scary dude found what he was lookin’ for.”
“Have you ever killed anyone, Burns? Don’t bother to lie, because I’ll find out within the hour.”
“No. I took the job on Chevalier because I needed the money, pure and simple. But I fucked it up like I’ve done most everything else.”
That, he could believe.
“Mostly I provide a little weed, some blow, to a few clients to make ends meet. Or I did. I won’t do nothin’ like that again if you let me go.”
He seriously doubted that. “I’m going to need your cousin’s address.”
Burns rattled it off. “Gene’s sister lives there now.” He flinched as Michael stood. “What do I get if the tape has what you need on it?”
With a cold smile, he said, “You get to live, Burns.”
He walked out, his men on his heels.
Mae Burns was a thin woman in her mid-thirties with stringy, unkempt hair who looked like life had beaten her with a hammer, then shit on her for good measure. She granted them entry into the house with a minimum of fuss, considering she’d initially demanded to see their warrant. When Michael presented her with ten crisp one- hundred-dollar bills and a promise not to disturb so much as a dust bunny, she’d pocketed the cash, stepped aside, and offered them all a beer. Which they’d regretfully declined.
“Miss Burns, the item we’re looking for is most likely the same one your brother’s killers were after the night they broke in. We believe it could still be hidden here, and if so, you could be in danger.”
“What’s everyone so hot to find? My brother led the most average, boring life imaginable,” she said doubtfully. “He was hardly the type to inspire intrigue or passion.”
“Sometimes they find us.” Quickly, he related her cousin’s tale about the tape allegedly showing a murder, her brother being visited by dangerous men who wanted it, and his lie that the tape was blank. He left out the part about the victim being his wife.
“Randall claims your brother was frightened because of what was in his possession. I speculate he kept it from the cops partly out of fear of reprisal from the men who’d come calling. Though in the end, his silence didn’t buy his life.”
“Gene never said anything to me about any of this, but he wouldn’t have.”
“Why’s that?”
“He was a card-carrying member of the good-old-boy system. What women don’t know won’t hurt them and all that.”
Michael checked the urge to curl his lip in disgust. Maybe the man’s prehistoric attitude had saved his sister. They’d never know for sure. “If it’s all right with you, we’ll get started and be out of your hair in no time.”
She regarded them, head cocked like a bird. “Just out of curiosity, what will you do with this tape if you find it?”
“Hopefully identify the men who murdered the woman.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Go ahead,” she said with a shrug. “Never have seen any strange tape, but knock yourselves out.”
Michael, Blaze, Ozzie, and Willis spread themselves throughout the small house and began a methodical search. Michael started in the kitchen, opening every drawer, peering into the pantry. He looked in the cereal, flour, and sugar, knowing that it could be stashed inside a container, sealed in a plastic bag. He even searched in the freezer and refrigerator. Any nook or cranny of the appropriate size to hold a security video was fair game.
Next was the living room. Their searches would overlap, but that was okay. One person could see something another missed. On it went. The hall closet, the two small bedrooms and one bathroom, and the rest of the closets. Boxes and drawers were checked. The mattresses. They were out of options and standing in the deceased brother’s bedroom when Ozzie blew out a frustrated breath and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Damn, what a waste of…” Ozzie trailed off, brows rising.
“What?” Michael and the other two men followed his gaze.
Straight to an air-conditioning vent high on the wall, near the ceiling. Ozzie fished a pocket knife from his pants and flipped out a blade.
“No way,” Willis said.
Ozzie grabbed a chair from a small desk and positioned it under the vent. “Why not? Nobody ever thinks to look
He climbed on the chair, reached up, and used the blade to work at the screws, dropping each one into Michael’s hand. Then he used it to pry the vent frame from the wall and lifted it out, handing it to Blaze.
He stuck his hand in the hole and made a face. “Nasty. They need a duct-cleaning service.”
“They need to bulldoze the place and start over,” Willis suggested.
“They need — wait.” He twisted his arm deeper into the hole, and something rattled. “Hey, what do we have here?”
The rattle came from a plastic grocery bag. As his hand emerged, they saw it was wrapped around a small, rectangular object.
“Bingo,” Ozzie crowed, climbing down from his perch. After putting away his knife, he unfolded the bag and drew out the object.
The black videotape seemed to glare at them all, daring them to learn its secrets. Michael’s stomach did a slow roll. Very soon he might well learn the truth of what had happened to Maggie the night she never came home.
Ozzie studied the tape. “Jesus, the camera at the gas station must be, like, fifteen years old or more. Do we even have anything that will play this?”
Michael nodded. “Katrina will have the necessary equipment to get this on digital. She can probably get a better picture than these old things have, too.”
The question was, now that he had the tape in his hand, could he stand to watch it?
On the way out, he thanked Mae Burns and handed her another four thousand. “Do you have other family, Miss Burns?”
The woman’s eyes bulged at the unforeseen extra windfall. “I got a cousin in Seattle; she’s been wanting me to come out for some time.”
“Go visit her,” he said. “Indefinitely.”
Her mouth tightened in understanding. Beaten down she might be, but not stupid. “I’ll do that. But… why so much money? I didn’t ask for any.”
“The woman on that tape was my wife, Miss Burns,” he said quietly. “And she would’ve given you the shirt
