“How many murders did you have last year?” I asked, turning to the sheriff.
He thought for a minute. “One guy killed his fifth wife, murder-suicide. He thought she was messing around. She wasn’t. Not much of an investigation. He chased her out into the front yard with the gun. The neighbors saw him do it. Nobody left to have a trial.”
I needed to be delicate, not to come on too strong, but I guessed they had no idea what to do with a murder case. Max was the only one with experience and he couldn’t do it all. If that was Delilah, any of the girls out there, I had to make sure it was done right. “As you can imagine, we have more than that in Dallas. I specialize in violent crimes, especially homicides,” I said. The sheriff appeared interested, while Barstow scowled. “I personally worked thirty-six homicides last year. I cleared all of them.”
Barstow eyed me, distrustful. I ignored him and concentrated on the sheriff. In his office, he’d wanted me gone. I knew that. He sounded angry at Max for even asking me to come. But in rural counties, budgets rarely covered more than the basic costs. Most sheriffs struggled to pay wages and finance expenses. Sheriffs like Virgil Holmes, with a vast county to patrol, had to work every angle to make ends meet. Investigating a murder case took time and resources, both of which he probably didn’t have. It would be hard for a man in his position to turn down an experienced detective offering to work a case for free.
“I’m volunteering to help.”
“Why do we want that? Not gonna happen, Detective. We don’t need outsiders coming in here and—” Gerard started. “The sheriff and me, we don’t—”
Sheriff Holmes cut him off. “Things have changed, Chief,” he said, giving Gerard a cautionary look. “We have a dead body. I’m looking at a full-fledged murder investigation here. That’s something we don’t have often in Smith County. “
“But Sheriff—” the chief tried to interrupt.
Then Sheriff Holmes said something I hadn’t expected. “And I’ve been thinking. Maybe the detective is right about those girls. Maybe they need some looking into.”
“What’s that got to do with her?” Gerard pressed, motioning toward me. “If that needs doing, I can do it. My men will—”
“This woman’s got more experience than either one of us. Look, it could turn out that those girls were taken. If it’s true, Detective Jefferies here was the only one who realized it,” the sheriff said, eyeing Gerard. “The rest of us didn’t put it together.”
“Damn it, Virgil,” the chief objected. “We don’t need any help. We got this covered.”
“Gerard, I got a dozen deputies and a handful of detectives to cover nearly a thousand square miles. This is my case, and I could use the help.” At that, the sheriff turned toward me. “Detective Jefferies, I’d appreciate your assistance.” He gave Gerard a cautionary look. “And I’m sure the chief is grateful as well.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I said.
Gerard Barstow cinched in his lower lip and didn’t answer.
The discussion ended, I turned my back on both men while I fought the impulse to run toward the rock pile, to throw off stone after stone until I knew who lay beneath it.
Twenty-Five
The day was beginning to feel like a marathon. An hour earlier I’d been hungry for lunch, but my appetite vanished once I heard about the body in the field. Still, my stomach hadn’t gotten the message, and it growled in emptiness. At twelve thirty, when the medical examiner arrived, I’d been up and working for more than six hours with no end in sight. Craig Wiley MD parked his green pickup about a hundred feet from the body. Impatient, I’d hung back like the others to wait for him, careful not to contaminate the scene. But the longer I cooled my heels, the more I worried that we’d found my sister.
An internist who’d practiced in Smith County for decades, Doc Wiley sauntered over to where I stood. He hovered close to sixty, and his silver hair had thinned, the hairline receding, since I’d last seen him. I didn’t remember glasses, but he wore round, brass-rimmed spectacles. A prominent potbelly strained his khaki pants and the buttons on his plaid shirt, and a patchwork of blotches from the sun speckled his exposed scalp and ears, his hands and cheeks. It appeared that he didn’t take his profession’s own advice to wear sunscreen.
My family didn’t believe in doctors. Not many in our community did. Add to that Mother’s talent for mixing herbal concoctions that she claimed could kill any infection, treat any malady, heal any wound, and our family never had much need for or confidence in Gentile doctors, as we called them.
I knew Doc Wiley because he’d once taken care of me. Hannah brought me to see him a month before she helped me escape Alber. I was bruised and bloody. I couldn’t go to Mother. She wouldn’t have understood. Doc Wiley put me back together.
“Good to see you, Doc,” I said. “Glad you’re here. We’ve got a situation.”
“So it seems. I was surprised to hear that you’d come back, Clara. Didn’t think you’d do that, under the circumstances,” he said, giving me a curious look.
“Max called me to consult on a case.”
“Ah. Well, that explains it, I guess. Then the rumors are right? You’re a cop now?”
“In Dallas.”
“Hot damn,” he said, slipping his thumbs behind the straps of his black suspenders. Those and a bow tie were the doc’s signature accessories. “The world is changing.”
“That it is. Certainly around here.” Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded a chat, but all my attention was focused on the pile of rocks under Samuel’s Peak. “The body is over there,” I said, pointing at the place. “I’ll lead you and take photos with one of the CSI unit’s cameras, if that’s okay?”
“You bet,” he said. “Have at it.”
I put on shoe covers and pulled on
