“How was she killed?”
“That coroner said there hadn’t been no gun and no knife. She’d been beat with something, but he didn’t know what it was.”
“Why do you think McDaniel should know about that case?” Faye asked, hoping the answer wasn’t that the poor woman in Mississippi had also been buried alive.
“He told Laneer that the devil what killed Frida didn’t use a gun nor a knife. Said she was beat with something big and wide. And heavy. The way her skull was cracked and—”
Sylvia choked and tried again. “And the way the marks on her face was curved, well, they make him think the bastard killed Frida with a shovel.”
“The shovel he buried her with?”
Another choking noise sounded and then, “Most likely. I thought we was going to lose Laneer when he found that out. He took to his bed. I know he’s awake in there, ’cause I hear him crying, but he won’t answer when I knock on the door. If he won’t come out tomorrow, Kali won’t know what’s wrong, but there ain’t no way we need to tell her every last little thing about what happened to her mama.”
Faye agreed, without reservation. “What happened in Arkansas?”
“Laneer’s second cousin knew about a woman south of Earle who went missing and turned up dead. Two years back, I think. Beat to death, and they never found the one that did it. Found her buried in a state park, and the killer had done a fine job of covering up the grave. Even laid out some grass seed. They only found her by accident. Some little kid picked that spot to dig a fort, and ain’t that a terrible thing?”
“Worse than terrible. And it makes you wonder how many times he covered up the grave so well that nobody ever found it.”
“Exactly.”
“What else makes you think the Arkansas murder is related to Frida’s?”
“The police never did turn up a murder weapon. Never even decided what it was. Laneer’s cousin would tell you she didn’t think they tried too hard, but maybe that’s just her.”
Faye tried to retain her objectivity. Lots of murder victims were buried by their killers, or so she thought. Maybe they were almost all dumped without a burial. How would she know? She didn’t have McDaniel’s experience, which is why Sylvia should have been talking to him and not to her.
She supposed a good percentage of those lonely corpses, buried and unburied, were beaten to death by unidentifiable weapons. It was hard to make a case that all murders accomplished by bludgeoning were related.
“Can you think of anything else, Sylvia? Anything that would make you think that the same person did all the killing?”
“The only other thing I know about is that all three of ’em turned up right around the Fourth of July.”
It crossed Faye’s mind that bodies, even well-buried bodies, might be easier to find in July, when the heat would make odors more noticeable. To people…to animals…to insects and larvae and worms…
She stopped her mind from traveling down that path. “I’ll tell McDaniel everything you’ve told me, Sylvia. I’ll tell him right now.” She almost said, “You should talk to him yourself. I think you can trust him,” but she didn’t, because she was no longer sure that it was true.
She said good-bye to Sylvia and dialed McDaniel, trying and failing to make herself feel safe in the spartan but well-lit stairwell.
When he answered, Faye got right to the point.
“Sylvia called and she told me some things that can’t wait until morning. She wanted me to tell you about an unsolved case in Corinth you should check out. A woman was found buried in an unmarked grave in a church cemetery.”
“I’m already on it. Not a lot of clues that I know of, but I’ve got the case file in my stack of things to read.”
“What about the woman found near Earle? In Arkansas.”
“Don’t know about that one. What did Sylvia say about it?
“She said that the body turned up buried in a state park.”
Faye could almost hear McDaniel sit up straighter as he said, “Another state park?”
“Yes.”
“Murder weapon?” he asked.
“None found. They don’t even know what he used to beat her to death.”
“I’ll get on the phone with folks in Earle first thing in the morning. Tell Sylvia thank you for me. And tell her that she could have told me this herself. I don’t bite.”
“It never occurred to me before how important it is for people to trust the law. The people, I mean. Laws aren’t much good without trustworthy people to enforce them.”
He didn’t answer her right away. Finally, he said, “Maybe I’m missing your point, because I am really, really sleepy, but do I hear an accusation in what you just said? And a passive-aggressive one, I might add? Because honestly, Dr. Longchamp-Mantooth, I didn’t sleep last night and I don’t expect to sleep tonight. It wears on my nerves to think that I’m working myself to death hunting Frida Stone’s killer, but her family still doesn’t trust me. Or you.”
“Trust goes both ways.” Faye was flabbergasted to hear her voice tremble. Where did her unflappability go? If she couldn’t hang onto that, she was in uncharted waters.
“What are you saying? That I should have told you how Frida died before I told her family?”
“You’re in charge of how information flows. It’s your case. But you asked me to help you, then you talked to me for the better part of an hour and didn’t tell me something really important. Critically important. It’s hard for me to tell Frida’s family how trustworthy you are when, at the very same time, they can see that you’re keeping things from me.”
“As you said, it’s my case.” His voice had dropped in pitch. Faye couldn’t tell whether she was hearing his anger or whether she was hearing an effort to soothe hers. “Faye, I
