a spot on it, but at least you gave me a chance. I owe you for that. But a thank-you-nothing more.”
Clemmons’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he was about to say something when the trailer door flew open and the pale, ovoid face of his producer poked out.
“Got a phone call ’bout the show, Rick. Guy says his cell ran outta juice afore he could get through. He wants to talk to our guest here. Won’t tell me what it’s about.”
Jillian groaned. She knew the call would most likely be crude or abusive, but she trudged back up the trailer stairs anyway.
“Hello? This is Jillian,” she said, slightly breathless from fatigue and the short climb.
“Ah, hey there, Jillian. Name’s Roach, Kyle Roach, from out Oak-bridge way.”
“Yes, Kyle. Do you have information for me?”
Jillian tensed at what she was certain was going to be a crude retort.
“Tough callers t’night. Real bottom-feeders if ya ask me.” He sounded like all the others, and Jillian was about to thank him and hang up when he added, “But I ain’t one of them, I assure you. I have a wife and two kids at home. I listen to Rick Clemmons because I work the night shift at the Daimler plant, and those idiot callers he gets keep me laughing and awake.”
“I’m listening,” Jillian said.
“I would have called in to the show and all, but my cell phone here died on me.”
“Yes, yes. The producer told me that. Now what is it?”
“I think we might want to get together and talk.”
Jillian had had enough.
“Good-bye, Mr. Roach,” she said.
“Wait. I said I was serious and I meant it.”
Jillian was poised to cut him off but something made her stop. “Go ahead,” she said, “but one crude word and you’re gone.”
“Okay. Here’s why I think we should meet. I know who Dr. Nick Fury is.”
“What?”
“I served with him in Afghanistan.”
CHAPTER 10
When Jillian arrived at the Calderwood Diner, Kyle Roach was right where he had promised he would be. He spotted her the moment she stepped inside the folksy roadside grill, and rose from his booth, farthest from the door. He was wearing a baseball cap, tattered along the rim, and a pair of faded olive green overalls that did little to mask his expansive girth. He was nothing like the crackpot Clemmons Night Owl she had been expecting, and his manner and aura immediately put Jillian at ease.
Despite her exhaustion, Jillian had spent much of the past day and evening awake in her hotel room, pondering the link between Belle and Dr. Nick Fury. Finally, after leaving a wake-up-call request for five, she dozed off, twisting her brain into knots over what sort of monster could have done such a thing to such an incredible woman, and how they could have done it. After a brief shower, she stopped by Belle’s apartment before heading for the diner.
Roach extended a hand to her as she neared. His calloused palm was that of a workman, his melancholy blue-green eyes those of a soldier.
“Jillian Coates?” Kyle asked, in a logy drawl.
“That’s me.”
“Kyle Roach, a pleasure to meet you.” He guided her back to the booth and motioned the waitress for two coffees. “First off, let me say how truly sorry I am about the passing of your sister. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I lost quite a few buddies in the war, and one real good friend, but the years have taken the edge off some. That’s about the best I can hope for. Same with you, I suspect.”
Jillian thanked him for his understanding and especially for his honesty. After a string of reflexive “I know what you’re going through” sentiments from friends and coworkers, his remark was refreshing.
In hindsight, her decision to pay one last visit to Belle’s apartment had not been a wise one. Seeing the dark windows from the street had been heart wrenching enough. Her last walk through the empty rooms, now filmy with dust, left her sobbing on the hardwood floor. The closure she had hoped for was absent, and she had trudged back to the street consumed by an insatiable hunger for answers.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet me, Kyle,” Jillian said.
“Heck, it’s nothing at all. I come here most every morning anyway, after I get out of the plant. I couldn’t meet you yesterday because I was working a double. Sorry I troubled you to take an extra day here in Charlotte.”
“It wasn’t any trouble at all, really. As you can tell from the show, I’m desperate for information. Can I get you breakfast?”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“No limits.”
“You should watch me eat before you say somethin’ like that.”
Roach ordered three fried eggs, sausage, bacon, two biscuits, gravy, and grits; Jillian, fresh fruit and yogurt. She felt herself shaking with the notion that she might be close to learning something, anything, that connected to Belle, even if the connection was a tenuous one. Forty-seven different issues of the same comic book, set in Belle’s closet. No copies of even one other title. “Doctor” written in several ways on a number of the covers. Clearly Belle wasn’t in it as a collector. The comics store around the corner from Jillian’s place in D.C. had priced the complete issuance at just over a hundred dollars.
“Maybe we ought to talk before that breakfast arrives,” Jillian said, “unless you can guarantee me you can stay awake after you eat it.”
“Heck, I was thinkin’ of makin’ the grits a double order.”
“Kyle, you know why I’m here. I’m here because I’m very interested in learning more about this Dr. Nick Fury.”
“Well, what do you know so far?” Roach asked.
“Nothing really,” Jillian confessed. “I spent a few hours in the hotel business center Googling every combination of ‘Nick Fury,’ ‘Dr. Nick Fury,’ ‘N. Fury’ I could imagine. All I turned up were references to the comic book character.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. Like I said, I know only one Dr. Nick Fury and I doubt he’s going to come up in any Web search,” Roach explained. “See, Nick Fury, he’s a comic book character, all right. But
“You convinced me it was important we meet in person to share what you know. Why? Is he some sort of criminal or something? Do you think he murdered my sister?”
Roach laughed in a deep, engaging way. “Ma’am, Dr. Nick Fury is a saint, not a killer. At one and the same time, he ’uz one of the most caring doctors and one of the toughest soldiers I’ve ever known.”
The waitress brought over their food. Jillian studied Roach as he took a sip of his black coffee and a lengthy gulp of water before digging in. For a man of war, he seemed very much at peace-except for his eyes. She remembered the serenity in her own life before Belle died. Getting over their parents’ death had been such a long climb for both sisters. Belle had been a constant source of strength throughout the ordeal and together they kept each other grounded.
“I want to know everything I can about him,” Jillian said.
Roach paused and looked beyond her. She could see the years in Afghanistan cross his countenance like a cloud.
“I didn’t join the army until I was twenty-eight,” he began. “My skill wasn’t with a gun much as it was with a wrench. But I was sent out on patrol more than once. Did HVAC work before, so naturally I eventually became an army mechanic. They shipped me all over the world fixing stuff.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah. Good work. Steady pay. Saw the world. I was in my midthirties when I got the call to go to
