Gardendale Drive
7:30 p.m.
Devine pulled into the driveway behind Bobbie’s Challenger. Bobbie had struggled with the frustration and anger she felt since they’d walked out of that church. Part of her argued that she was just as guilty of holding out as her partner. She hadn’t been totally honest about her meeting with Weller in the beginning and even when she had come clean she hadn’t mentioned Nick being in Montgomery.
Fury belted her again. Any way she looked at it, what she did wasn’t the same thing. This Consortium Weller had alerted her to had been ruled out by both Nick and the FBI. Until Nick confirmed that the MOs of the killer in the Parker and Manning murders was somehow related to him, the warning that he was in danger couldn’t be concretely connected to this case. Not to mention that Nigel and Heather Parker were dead. Slade Manning was dead. Any hesitation on her part in their investigation wasn’t going to change that unfortunate reality.
The youth camp, Hanover’s involvement and the link between Fern Parker and Vanessa Olson could potentially affect whether those two women continued breathing. Devine had held out on Bobbie until they stumbled upon the connection by sheer accident.
He shifted into Park and sighed. “You’re still angry with me.”
“You’re damned right I am.”
“I knew Hanover when I was a kid. How could I possibly anticipate that Parker and Olson had attended the same youth camp?”
“You couldn’t.” Bobbie turned to him, hoped he could see her frustration in the dim light coming from the dash. “That’s why we put it all out there. Everything. Anything. The second the Chastains mentioned the camp, you should have told me you’d attended.” She took a deep breath and reached for calm. “I asked you repeatedly whether you knew Hanover and you lied to me every damned time. You don’t get to decide what’s important in a life-and-death situation, Devine.”
Bobbie had called Owens and brought her up to speed. Liddell had gladly agreed to provide a list of camp participants for the past five years. She’d promised the complete list by noon tomorrow. For the better part of the rest of the day Bobbie and Devine had attempted to interview every kid who’d attended camp with Fern and Vanessa. Between interviews she had tried unsuccessfully to touch base with Hanover. He’d been away from his office and hadn’t showed up at home so far.
At seven tonight Bobbie had obtained authorization to inform Hanover’s assistant that if he didn’t make contact with the department by noon tomorrow he would be charged with obstruction of justice. How dare the man not mention knowing Vanessa Olson, much less the up close and fairly recent contact with Fern Parker.
“It won’t happen again, Bobbie,” Devine promised. “You have my word. My aunt would say that a man’s word is all he really has as proof of who he is.”
“Your aunt would be right.”
How many guys his age would move in with an elderly aunt to help with her final years of life? Bobbie liked Devine, respected him. Until today she’d found no fault in her new partner. Ultimately no matter how she rationalized it, she couldn’t hold it against him since she was almost as guilty.
“We’ll get past this,” she assured him. “In time.”
He nodded. “You giving me a second chance means a lot.”
“All right.” She reached for the door handle. “G’night.”
“I was wondering,” he said, making her hesitate. “What does your friend Nick Shade think about this case?”
Bobbie turned to him unable to keep the surprise off her face. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about Nick beyond what she’d revealed regarding Weller’s warning. Not once had she mentioned to Devine that she and Nick were friends. She certainly hadn’t mentioned having seen him or spoken to him.
“Bauer told me what Shade did to help you.” Devine looked down for a moment before meeting her gaze once more. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Why would Bauer do that? He knew how Bobbie felt about the subject. She dismissed the feeling of betrayal for the time being, but that didn’t mean she was going to answer Devine’s question. “When I hear his conclusions I’ll let you know. See you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
He gave her a two-fingered salute and Bobbie climbed out and headed for her front door. The cold air made her shiver. The evenings were growing cooler. Though Alabama was known for the occasional sixty-degree day in December, the winter season often showed its harsher side with temps well below freezing. Despite a few hotter than average days, the cool nights had come early this year. Bobbie, for one, was glad. She was ready for the heat to be over. The summer had been a long, scorching one.
When she unlocked the door the alarm was silent. Nick was here. D-Boy raced into the living room to greet her as he did every night. She couldn’t wait to see anything new Nick had added to the case map he’d started. She certainly had plenty to tell him. On the kitchen table stood a huge bouquet of flowers, roses, chrysanthemums and lots of other colorful flowers she couldn’t readily identify. She reached for the card and read the note.
Bobbie, I appreciate all you do for our community. You might find this place interesting. See you tomorrow before noon, as requested.
Regards, Mark Hanover
Bobbie looked at the book of matches he’d tucked in with the card. Rusty Fiddle. This was the place in the photo. Riveroaks Road. Established 1952 was stamped on the back.
“Looks like you have an admirer.”
She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice, startled that he was practically standing right next to her. The man was like smoke. He could be beside you before you recognized his presence in the room. “Mark Hanover.”
“Playing more games, is he?”
“Apparently.” Bobbie tossed the card aside but hung on to the matches. “Today I learned he’s a major financial force behind a summer youth camp both our missing victims attended.”
“Do you find it strange that the only potential leads you’ve found seem to steer right back to him?”
Nick was right. The dagger and now the youth camp. It would be easy to lean toward the idea that Hanover was their killer, but when something was too obvious it was rarely what it appeared to be. “I do.”
“He’s toying with you, that’s a certainty.” His dark eyes searched her face. “But is he actually involved with the murders or is someone trying to distract you? Perhaps even to frame him?”
“His connection to Nigel Parker as well as to the youth camp would make him an easy target.” Bobbie tucked the matches into her pocket. “How do you feel about going out tonight?”
“Why not?” He touched the petals of one of the roses. “You can tell me about your visit to the church.”
So he was following her. “You got it. Give me five minutes to change.”
Bobbie hadn’t been out since she and James went to a restaurant downtown for their anniversary last November. Of course this wasn’t a date. It was work...or sort of, anyway. Mainly it was personal. She wanted to know whatever it was Hanover thought he knew about her mother. More important, she needed to know if he had anything to do with those missing women and her three murder vics.
She shuffled through the hangers, realizing she had no dresses or skirts. She’d never expected to need one again. She’d never intended to go out—not even with friends—ever again. A pair of jeans and a sweater would have to do. The sweater was soft and pink, not her favorite color, but Jamie had picked it out for her as a Christmas gift last year. Bobbie touched the soft fabric and her heart ached. Until three weeks ago she hadn’t been able to open the gifts that had sat under the artificial Christmas tree she refused to take down. She’d left every single thing in the house just as it had been that last day of the life she’d lived there. Somehow seeing the presents sitting there whenever she went to the old house had felt oddly comforting. Maybe deep inside she’d hoped she would open that door one day and find James and Jamie waiting for her.
They’re gone, Bobbie.
Recently, she’d stopped allowing herself to pretend. Three weeks ago she’d sat down in front of the Christmas tree and opened the gifts from her husband and child. The present from James had been far more intimate. Silky lingerie. She smiled. He’d always bought her the non-practical things she never bought for herself. And the sweater from her baby. She smoothed a hand over the soft fabric.
Bobbie drew in a deep breath and blinked back the burn of tears. “Miss you.”
Centering on the here and now, she ran a brush through her hair and called herself ready. She took the matches from the pocket of her discarded trousers and tossed them on the nightstand. Nick waited where she’d left him, in the kitchen. He surveyed her from head to toe and back as she walked across the room.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks.” She gave D-Boy a treat and grabbed her keys. She decided that going out was a good thing. If they stayed closed up in this house things could get even more complicated than they had last night. On some level she wanted to explore the feelings developing between them, but she had to be smart. When this was done, Nick would be leaving again. Her life was here...his was wherever the hunt took him. Her life was only now beginning to get back on track—primarily because of Nick Shade. He was important to her in ways she couldn’t quite articulate. She didn’t want to do anything that might damage this...whatever it was. Not quite a relationship, but something on that order.
Keep it real, Bobbie.
The club was only a few miles out of town. It wouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes to reach their destination. As Nick drove she told him about the Life Church. When she’d finished, he said, “Tell me about your new partner.”
“He’s a couple years younger than me. He cut his teeth in Major Crimes in Birmingham.”
“He saw plenty of homicide cases.”
“He did.”
“Not married?”
“No wife, no kids. He moved to Montgomery to take care of his elderly aunt.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
Bobbie wasn’t sure if he meant the observation as a compliment or was being facetious. “So far.”
“You think it’s the face he wants you to see.”
After a bit, she admitted, “Maybe. He seems...overly anxious to prove how nice he is. Too willing to go out of the way to please.” She shrugged, mostly at herself for the unexpected harsh characterizations. When had she decided to fault Devine for the traits she’d thought she admired? She was tired and frustrated, mostly at her partner and Hanover. This wasn’t a good time to ask her about either. “For the most part I think he’s a good cop.”
“But there’s something that feels off.”
“Maybe. Yes.” This was the first time she’d admitted those feelings to herself, much less out loud. It had started with the Parker case. From the moment they interviewed Hanover the first time Devine had turned anxious. Having the Parker kid say the killer looked like him hadn’t helped. Now the youth camp business. Their relationship was a little rocky at the moment. Owens had ordered Bobbie to put her phone on Speaker when she’d called. The LT had chewed out Devine for failing to mention the youth camp and his knowledge that Hanover was involved. She’d thrown in a few shots at Bobbie for failing to set a good example for her new partner and it was true. She hadn’t exactly been a stellar role model.
“He’s down two strikes,” Nick commented. “Keeping his knowledge of Hanover from you and then the youth camp. I’d hate to be him if he hits the third strike.”
She laughed. “I might have to kick his ass.”
Nick laughed. The sound startled Bobbie at first. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh—the real thing, anyway. She liked it.
After a minute or two of quiet, she asked, “Did you learn anything new today?”
“I reached out to a few of my less palatable sources and the one thing they all agreed on was that somehow Weller has been reaching outside his prison walls.”
She glanced from the road to him. “How can the FBI not know about this?”
“It’s not unusual for inmates to manage connections to the outside through guards and other prison staff.”
“Wouldn’t they watch Weller more closely?” Bobbie shook her head. “Have more rigorous checks and balances for anyone allowed to interact with him?”
“Presumably.”
Bobbie opened her mouth to speak twice before she decided how to ask. “Could he want you dead? I mean, could he really have sent someone to kill you?” Weller had acted so concerned for Nick’s safety. Maybe it was, as Nick said, only the face he wanted her to see.
“If it suits his purpose.”
The words were spoken in such a matter-of-fact tone. She bit her lip and considered how to ask about the part that troubled her most. “Are you afraid he might succeed?”
“Death is the only true guarantee in life.” He glanced at her. “Being afraid wouldn’t help me stay alive.”
“Good point.” Even if she didn’t like it much.
“The real question is how many will die before I find the killer he sent.”
“Is that what you’re doing when we’re not together? Looking for the killer?”
“I’m doing what I always do. Watching, analyzing and researching.”
“You make it seem so ordinary.”
“This is what I do. Don’t you feel like the routine of investigating a murder is ordinary for you?”
“But I’m not generally the target.”
“You were the target last time.”
He had her there.
“I’m glad you’re back.” Her words rang in the silence for what felt like forever. She wondered if she should have kept them to herself. Now that she’d said them the least she could do was say the rest of what was on her mind. “I wish the circumstances were different.”
He glanced at her again, lingering a little longer this time. “Me, too.”
She resisted the impulse to touch him. Things had gotten a little out of control last night. It was imperative they stay focused on the case. Maybe another time. The realization that she wanted it to happen again surprised her. Rather than resist the idea, she tucked it away for later consideration.
Nick slowed for the final turn. The parking lot of the Rusty Fiddle was empty, but there were lights on inside the long, low building. Neon beer signs were dark. A large black door served as the main entrance. A single streetlamp lit the parking lot.
Nick reached for the door before she could. “Do we know why we’re here? What Hanover wants you to discover?”
She shook her head. “I guess we’ll see.”
He opened the door and the smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer filled her lungs. Chairs sat on top of tables. Stools lined a long bar on the other side of the room. The jukebox blared a slow country tune. Whoever was here was obviously in the back. Nick walked to the doors beyond the bar and called a hello.
While Nick spoke to the man who appeared from the kitchen or whatever lay beyond the bar, Bobbie walked over to the jukebox. This was where the photo had been taken. The jukebox was newer but the sign hanging above it was the same. Rusty Fiddle.
Bobbie scanned the place again, more slowly this time. Why would her mother be here? Had she and her friends come just to have fun? Had it even been a club back then? Maybe it had been a restaurant?
Bobbie wandered over to the bar where the man had set up a beer for Nick.
“Can I get you something, ma’am?”
“No, thanks. Has this place always been a club?”
“Sure has.” He braced his forearms on the bar. “From the fifties all the way through the eighties, all kinds of bands came through that door hoping to be noticed. A lot of music scouts hung out on these very stools.” He indicated the ones along the bar. “More than one country star got a start here.” He gestured to the other end of the room where a small stage stood. “There’s lots of photos of the groups and people who performed here back in the day if you care to have a look.”
Bobbie nodded. “I’d love to.”
He led the way, turning on the lights as he went. Just as he said, the back wall beyond the dance floor and the small stage was crowded with photos.
“Some of ’em are dated. Some aren’t.”
Bobbie scanned the framed photos, moving from one side of the wall to the other, until she reached the decade she was looking for.
Her gaze landed on a photograph identical to the one Hanover had given her. She pointed to the photo. “Do you know these people?”
He shook his head. “My old man could have told you every one of ’em’s name. I can’t remember the ones that far back.”
“I’d like to speak to him. Your father, I mean.”
“He died a couple of years ago.”
Damn it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The man shrugged. “He had a good life. Sometimes a man just has to realize when his dance is over.”
Bobbie nodded as she studied the photo once more. How could her mother have performed at a club like this and she not know it?
“I should get back to work,” the man said.
Bobbie thanked him, her attention still on the photo. The whole idea was crazy.
As if her concern had beckoned him, Nick was suddenly at her side. “We all have our secrets, Bobbie. Your mother was no different.”
She nodded, uncertain of her voice.
“The first question you need to ask is why Hanover would want you to know it.”
Nick was right. “He wants me off balance.”
“Your next question should be why.”
The answer to that question worried her the most.