dead herself in a matter of days. I don’t believe in coincidence. I don’t care how Judge Mosley ruled.’ She glared at Faith Hubble, then turned to Lucinda. ‘I never thought your son committed suicide. Senator, and I think so even less now. You have anything you want to tell me?’
Lucinda folded her hands in her lap. ‘I can think of nothing that could help you. I’m horrified beyond belief that such a crime could happen here.’
Faith said, ‘Let’s call Delford,’ as though Claudia were not sitting there.
That boiled Claudia’s blood. ‘We have another young woman missing, and if Heather’s death is not related to Pete’s, I think it’s related to this other case. Have either of you heard of Marcy Ballew?’
Both women shook their heads.
‘She vanished from Deshay, in western Louisiana. She worked at a nursing home there.’
Faith shook her head, but Lucinda’s mouth worked and she made a noise in her throat.
‘Senator?’ Claudia asked.
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t know her. Or of her.’
‘In Heather’s jeans we found a piece of paper that had your home phone number on it. Had either of you been in contact with her?’
Faith looked stunned. ‘Lord, no.’
‘I gave the girl that number,’ Lucinda said quickly. Faith looked over at her, surprised.
‘When did you see Heather Farrell?’ Claudia asked.
Lucinda folded her hands in her lap. ‘I ran into her. On the street on Wednesday, I think it was. I gave her our number in case she needed any help. You know, a place to stay, food, perhaps some clothes or money. I – felt sorry for her.’
How did you even know what she looked like? Claudia wondered, but she decided to play this out. She turned to Faith. ‘Did Heather Farrell ever call you?’
‘No,’ Faith said. She glanced over at Lucinda, and some unspoken code seemed to hover in the air between them.
‘I’d like to talk with Sam.’
‘Why?’ Faith asked.
Claudia decided to fish a little. ‘Heather Farrell hung out a lot at Little Mischief Beach. If Sam hung out there, he might have seen who else was around Heather.’
‘I don’t think Sam knew the girl. I mean, I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he had,’ Faith said.
Claudia watched her. ‘I’m quite sure Sam knew her. She left a notebook in her duffel with hearts drawn around their names. Along with two bus tickets to Houston.’
Both women stared.
‘I think I should call Delford,’ Lucinda finally said.
‘Fine.’ Claudia smiled. She played her trump cards. ‘I suspect the FBI will be interested in talking to Sam even more than I am. If Farrell’s death is related to Ballew’s disappearance, and Ballew was kidnapped and brought across state lines, the FBI takes the case. Maybe even before the election.’ She let the cold knife sink and twist. ‘Should I have the agents call you. Faith, or you. Senator?’
‘You despicable bitch,’ Faith said under her breath.
‘Faith!’ Lucinda gasped.
Faith grasped the arms of her chair. ‘She’s enjoying this. She’s wanted to turn the screws on us for a long time.’
‘You don’t matter one iota to me,’ Claudia said evenly. ‘But I’d like to talk to your son. Now, please.’
Faith closed her eyes and a shudder went through her body. ‘You can’t. We don’t know where Sam is.’
A minute later Claudia called Delford at the police station.
‘Sam Hubble is missing.’ She told him what she had found in the Farrell girl’s belongings. ‘I just spoke with the senator and Faith. Sam is gone. No sign of him. He took his own car.’
Delford wheezed. ‘Goddamn it, you had no right to go over there…’
‘That suicide note can’t be for real. Sam Hubble faked it.’
‘You think… that boy killed his daddy and Heather Farrell?’
‘I don’t know, but we need to find him.’ She paused. ‘Did you find Eddie?’
‘No. He’s gone. His car, everything, his apartment’s empty. I… sent Fox over to Junior Deloache’s. I just got a call. They found Deloache there. Stabbed to death, stabbed like two dozen times. Jesus, what’s happening?’
Claudia leaned against the kitchen counter, Lucinda and Faith watching her. Sam Hubble, Jabez Jones, and Eddie Gardner had all gone missing. Heather Farrell was dead and her story about Pete Hubble was a lie. Junior Deloache was dead. Welcome to chaos.
‘What’s happening is that Pete Hubble stirred up the wrong hornet’s nest. He stirred up the past. People are dying because of what happened to Corey Hubble all those years ago.’ She waited for him to react, to speak, and he said nothing. ‘If there’s anything else you can tell me you better tell me right now, Delford.’
His breathing grew harsh. ‘You’re goddamned leaping to conclusions. No reason to think that note’s a fake. Boy might have just gone partying in Corpus. You’re making all kinds of unsubstantiated claims, bothering Lucinda. I won’t have it, I won’t have it from an officer of mine.’
She started to speak again. ‘Delford…’
‘Shut up. You’re fired, Claudia.’
37
Whit and Gooch barreled on deep into Friday night, north, heading for Missatuck, Texas. They had left Gooch’s car parked in a brightly lit trucker’s stop on the outskirts of Beaumont. The easternmost slice of Texas unfolded ahead of their headlights, an endless ribbon of road bordered by tall loblolly pines. The weather cleared, the cool night the luxuriant reward for a too-long, sweltering summer. Whit drove, and Gooch sat in the front seat, reading a battered Mickey Spillane paperback by penlight.
‘I can’t read in a car, it makes me sick,’ Whit said. There had been little conversation between them since leaving Beaumont, although Whit’s mind was full of questions over Gooch’s ability to make felons disappear.
‘I’m highlighting the appropriate tough guy phrases for you so you know what to say the next time you encounter an Anson type. You’re a little too Larry McMurtry for that crowd.’ Gooch glanced. ‘Although you acquitted yourself well against that slab of a kid.’
‘I feel like I broke every finger in my hands on his face.’
‘If you did, you couldn’t steer,’ Gooch said matter-of-factly. ‘Enough self-congratulations. What matters is that Junior thinks you’ve got his moolah.’ He shut the Spillane. ‘Moolah, there’s a word that needs a renaissance.’
‘Perhaps Pete hid the money somewhere before he died.’
‘For what purpose? Stealing from mobsters, even the IQ-challenged contingent that Junior represents, is an extremely bad idea.’ Gooch shrugged. ‘We may be crediting Pete with greater brains than he deserves. He may have only had one large working organ. I think that Junior-boy had Pete killed.’
‘So where is the money? I would think if Pete doesn’t have it. Velvet might.’
‘I’m sitting in slack-jawed amazement. You generally consider Velvet as some whore with the heart of gold, pardon the cliche.’
‘If she had the half million, wouldn’t she give it back to Junior, having seen what happened to Pete? And if she took it she’d be gone, and Junior and Anson would be off in hot pursuit.’
‘We don’t know Pete ever kept it on the boat, but they thought it was on the boat.’
‘Where else might he hide it?’
‘Gee, in a bank?’ Gooch asked. ‘Has anyone looked in the poor schmuck’s accounts?’
‘Yes. Claudia researched his bank accounts. It’s not there.’
‘So who could have taken it?’
‘Velvet. Anyone who came on the boat… me, Claudia, Delford, Gardner, the other cops. Heather Farrell. Sam Hubble.’
