community theater programs, school programs-graduation programs, PTA bulletins-sports schedules, jobs like that. We employ fifteen people full time and two part-timers, which is up from the five who worked here when I took over.”
Rawlings led Harry behind a customer counter and fired up a computer. Within minutes he had brought up the church account and checked the inventory of finished materials on hand. “As you can see, everything we printed was sent on to the church. You know, it’s funny, but after you telephoned I remembered that I had a call from someone at the church asking about this same bulletin.”
“When was that?” Harry asked.
“Just last week. Pretty insistent too. Asked me to go into the stock room and make sure I didn’t have any overruns on hand. I told him print quantities were tightly controlled, but when we had any overruns we always shipped them to the customer. He still insisted that I physically check, so I did. We didn’t have any.”
“Was this a man or woman who called?”
“It was a man. He identified himself as one of the assistant ministers. Said his name was Stark, Starkey, something like that. I must have gotten it wrong, though, because when I called back the person I spoke to had no idea who I was talking about.”
“Why’d you call back?”
“Well, after I hung up I started thinking that maybe he needed another small run of that bulletin, a hundred or so.” Rawlings gave Harry a decidedly boyish smile. “Can’t afford to lose business. And since I had the printing proofs it would have been easy to set up a small run and accommodate them.”
“You have a proof copy of the bulletin?” Harry asked.
“Of course,” Rawlings said. “We always keep proofs on file for at least a year. That way we have it if a job has to be repeated, or someone wants to see what was done the previous year for a Christmas program, or if there are any complaints about errors or omissions.”
“But you didn’t tell that to the man who called?”
“No. He caught me at a busy moment and I didn’t think of it. Later, I did, and decided to see if there was any additional business available.”
“I’d like to see those proofs,” Harry said.
Vicky and Marty LeBaron faced Harry across the conference table. Vicky had just briefed them both about her interview with Joe Hall.
“I’d like to get my hands on that knife,” Marty LeBaron said. “If it’s old, like he said it is, the blade would have some pretty distinctive markings.”
“We’ll get a warrant if it proves necessary,” Harry said. “But first I want you both to take a look at these printing proofs.” He slid a manila folder across the conference table. “Take a look at page three,” he added as Vicky picked it up.
Her eyes began to scan the page and then suddenly stopped. When she peered up at Harry her face looked stunned. “I don’t believe this,” she said. She handed the folder to Marty LeBaron. “How did we miss this?”
“We had no reason to look for it,” Harry said. “None at all.”
“Well, we do now,” Vicky said.
Marty LeBaron put the folder down. “You think he could be our killer?”
“I do,” Harry said. He looked at Vicky. “I want you to run a complete background check. And I mean complete-all the way back to when our friend here was in diapers.” He turned to Marty. “In the meantime, I’ll get you a warrant to go through our friend’s home, cars, workplace, the whole shot. I want it done before anyone outside of us knows it’s happening.” His jaw line hardened. “This is one suspect who’s not going to get a chance to lawyer up or deep six any evidence.” He paused and looked at each of them in turn. “I want it done before I get back tomorrow afternoon.”
Vicky’s eyebrows shot up. “Get back? Where are you going?”
“I’ll be out of the loop in the morning. I’ve got to go to the Central Florida Women’s Correctional Facility. It’ll probably be mid-afternoon before I get back.” He looked Vicky in the eye; held it. “I have to meet with my mother. It’s something they say I have to do if I want to fight her parole, and there’s no other time.”
“I understand,” she said needlessly. “I’ll handle things while you’re there.” She paused, trying to decide if she should wish him luck. She just nodded instead.
Harry returned her nod. If you understand, you’re one up on me, he thought.
A Clearwater patrol car was parked in front of Harry’s house, and a second four-wheel-drive unit was on the beach with a view of his rear yard. Harry checked in with both before going inside.
Jeanie was sitting on the lanai with Rubio when Harry entered the house. He kissed the top of Jeanie’s head, gave Rubio a shoulder squeeze. “How are you?” he asked Jeanie.
“I’m fine,” Jeanie replied. “Rubio is great company.”
“I think she’s hot for me,” Rubio said.
Harry jabbed a finger at him, then explained that he had some papers to go through to prepare for a meeting he needed to attend the next day.
“Hey, my man, before you go off, I gotta tell you somethin’,” Rubio called out as he started to leave.
Harry glanced back and saw Rubio grinning at him. “What’s that?”
“I jus’ want you to know that you don’t need all them cops outside.
Not when you got Rubio Marti inside. And that’s truth, my man.”
Harry glanced at Jeanie and saw her smiling at Rubio’s macho act. He brought his eyes back to the twelve- year-old gangsta. “Yeah, I know that, my man. But my dad, Jocko, he’s an old time copper, and you know how that is. They think there’s never enough backup.” Rubio gave off a little snort and Harry turned away before he could see him smiling. “Give me a half hour,” he said as he walked away.
Returning to the living room, Harry retrieved the box that held his mother’s letters and placed it next to him on the sofa. The letters stood on end, the box serving as a makeshift file cabinet, each letter sorted by the date it had been received. There had never been more than one letter per year, each arriving on the anniversary of his brother’s death. He knew the letter he wanted. It was the eighth one he had received, arriving only a few days after his eighteenth birthday. It was also the only letter he had repeatedly read.
My son,
Your brother, Jimmy, has been with Jesus for eight years now. How I wish you were with him too. Last night Jimmy came to me in a dream and told me how happy he is in heaven, sitting at the foot of our Lord, seeing Him in all His heavenly glory. It was a beautiful dream. In it Jimmy told me that he talks to you and that you hear every word he says. Jesus told him it is a power you have had since you were a small child. The dead speak to all of us, of course, but only a few people have the ability to hear what they are saying. I have this power, and now I know that you do too. I hope you will write to me and tell me what Jimmy has told you. It is important for me to know this. It is my right as a mother to know.
I also hope you will tell me what other dead people say to you. What the dead say is very, very important. They see things that are hidden from us. The dead see everything because Jesus has opened their eyes to all the things the living cannot see. If only we knew the things the dead know. If we did all the mysteries of life and death would fall away and we would have the knowledge of the angels. That is what I want. I want that heavenly knowledge that will allow me to continue to do the bidding of our Lord. You can help me do this if you tell me what the dead are saying…
Harry saw that his hands were shaking and he put the letter aside without finishing it. His mother’s madness overwhelmed him, but it also struck something deep inside. He wondered if this was where it came from, this sense of hearing the dead speak. Did it come from this insane letter he had received when he was an eighteen-year-old boy? He had always described what happened in his work as nothing more than intuition. But was it more? Was it a piece of a mother’s madness passed on to her son in a prison letter? He doubted he would ever know the answer.
Harry folded the letter and placed it back in the box. All that mattered now was keeping his mother behind bars. He would go and see her tomorrow, and then, on Tuesday, he would take the letters to the hearing and let the parole board members read them. He’d even read the letters to them if he had to. He had made a promise to his brother and he had repeated it each time he visited his grave. And, yes, Jimmy had spoken to him. He had asked him to keep his promise; keep his mother locked away so she could not hurt anyone else.
If she gets out she’ll kill you, Harry. She’ll send you to be with me.
