Hard Truth (13 page)

“You know, Regan, there just might be.”

“Chief Walker, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I know this must be a busy time for you and your men.” Regan smiled into the chief’s eyes.

“Busiest we’ve ever been, with the body count rising every day.” He guided her by the elbow to his office. “But when you called, how could I say no? I’ve been a big fan of your father’s—and you, too, of course—for many years now. He was a great friend to law enforcement, Ms. Landry, and well respected.”

“Thank you, Chief. And it’s Regan.” She sat in the chair he pointed to. “Please call me Regan.”

“Well, Regan, we’re honored to have you here. Now, what’s this about a book in the works?”

“As I told you, it’s really just a gleam in my eye right now, but I thought if I were to give it any real consideration, I should go right to the source, and what better time than now, while events are still unfolding?”

“I’ll help you where I can, but there’s still a lot we don’t know, you understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure. And I hesitated to call, but you know, the more I heard about your case through the media, the more I thought it sounded familiar. Like something I read in one of my dad’s files. And I thought, hey, if it turns out that these cases are related, and there was something I could share with you—well, I just had to call. It’s a long shot, of course . . .”

“Long shots have been known to pull through sometimes.”

“True enough.” She nodded as she took a notebook from her shoulder bag. “I thought we could compare notes.”

“You know the basics. What more did you want to know?”

“Frst of all, have you determined if there’s a connection between the little girl who disappeared all those years ago—”

“Melinda Eagan.”

“Right. Melinda Eagan.” She paused, then asked, as if the thought had just occurred to her, “Was any trace of her ever found?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Not a shoe, not a—”

He cut her off. “Nothing.”

“Do you think her disappearance is somehow connected to the victims you’ve found this week?”

“Don’t know. The ME says the remains we’ve uncovered are all males. Adolescent males. ‘Course, so far, we haven’t been able to identify anyone but Jason Eagan, her brother. We’re still working on that.”

“Similar cause of death?”

“Yes, ma’am, fractured skulls, every one of them.”

She pretended to make notes in her file while she asked, “Have there been reports of boys of that age going missing over the past years?”

“Only Jason.”

“So these boys would have come from someplace else.”

“Most likely. Unless those remains are better’n fifty years old or so, I’d say they’d have to have been brought in from elsewhere. I’ve lived here all my sixty-five years, and I’d have heard if anyone else had disappeared.”

“The FBI files might be able to help you there,” she said. Then, noticing the way his eyes narrowed, she added, “But of course I’m sure you have contacts with other local police departments. Those boys could have lived in some of the nearby towns.”

“Most of the towns out here are little bigger than this one. And some of them have no police force. Much of the area falls to the state police. Here in Callen, we’ve always had our own department. Some of the other towns never have.”

“Well, that’s quite remarkable, don’t you think, that your career has spanned all those years successfully, here in your hometown?”

He nodded. “Only job I ever had, after I left the army. I’ve been grateful for the opportunity to serve my community.”

“I was wondering, will you be reopening Melinda’s missing-persons case? It seems like it all started with her.”

“In a sense, maybe it did.” He tapped his fingers on the desktop.

“Is her mother still under arrest for Jason’s murder?”

His eyes narrowed again.

“I was just wondering,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “since the mother has been arrested for killing her son, and he died of a fractured skull . . . if all these other boys were killed in the same manner, is it likely that she killed them all?”

“I still believe she’s guilty of the death of her son, yes. I haven’t seen anything that would rule that out.”

And not much to rule it in, either,
Regan thought.

“Far as these other boys are concerned, how does that match up to the case you were looking into?” he asked. “That case of your father’s that you mentioned.”

“Actually, it doesn’t match up at all, now that I have the facts straight from you.” She folded her notebook. “The cases I was interested in were all gunshot victims. Had I mentioned that?”

“No, you did not.”

“I thought I had.” She tucked the notebook back into her bag and stood up. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your time, Chief.”

“That’s all you wanted? You sure?” He stood, but remained behind his desk.

“I’m sure.” Regan turned on the charm. “I’m disappointed to learn that our cases aren’t as similar as I first thought they might be. I would’ve enjoyed working with you.”

“Well, perhaps some other time. And who knows, maybe the next victim we dig up might have some bullet holes in him.”

“You think there are more victims out there?” she asked as he escorted her to the door.

“Yeah, there are more. We’re working to keep it quiet, because we want to keep the press out, keep the publicity down. The county boys are excavating as cautiously as they can, but it’s tedious work. They’re trying not to lose any evidence. We’re not sure just how carefully those first couple boys were dug up, between you and me.”

He opened the door and held it for her.

“Thanks again for your time.”

“Been a pleasure.”

Chief Walker stood in the doorway of his station and watched Regan drive off. She gave a little wave when she passed him, and he waved back.

Now, what was that about?
he wondered as he watched her drive away. He shook his head and went back inside, walking right past Mrs. Rusk as if he didn’t see her and straight on to his office. He closed the door and sat in his old brown leather chair. He lit a cigarette—opening the window to let the smoke out, since Callen’s municipal building was supposed to be smoke-free—and leaned back in the chair. The interview had left him unsettled.

He had been a great fan of Josh Landry’s, that was certainly true enough. His gaze searched the nearby bookcase for some of Landry’s titles. He’d meant to point them out to the daughter, but they hadn’t gotten far into the conversation before something seemed off-kilter. Of course, he’d never been interviewed by a writer of her stature before, so maybe he simply wasn’t aware of how it was done. He’d expected more questions about the remains they’d just found, and fewer about the Eagan kids. And he hadn’t expected any questions about Billie.

Thinking about the Eagan kids always made him uneasy.

He’d always believed Billie had killed her son. There’d been no doubt in his mind about that. He could see how it happened, how she’d killed him in anger, smacked him in the head with something hard, something they’d never found. But the girl . . . he’d never had a feel for what had happened to the little girl.

He blew out a long breath, and recalled the night when the call had come in from Billie Eagan that her daughter was missing. His first year on the job, and he’d been so eager to make a good impression on the chief. He was one of the first ones on the scene, and helped lead the search party through the fields, calling for her.

He was on his way back across the field when he found the brown paper bag. He’d looked inside and seen the yellow-and-white fabric. He’d tucked it under his arm, and was almost back to the Eagan house when one of the others called him for assistance. Billie Eagan had just about collapsed at the edge of the field. He set the bag down to help carry her into the house.

When he went back for the bag a few minutes later, it had disappeared.

He had walked into the field again, and looked all around the back of the house, but the bag was gone.

Some of Jason’s friends had gathered in the yard—they’d all taken part in the search for Melinda—but the bag wasn’t there. He’d thought maybe one of them had picked it up, but when he asked if anyone had found anything that might have belonged to Melinda, they all said no.

He’d hoped against hope that the bag hadn’t contained anything important. All he’d seen was some yellow-and-white fabric.

But as soon as he’d spoken with the Stiles girl, he’d known what was in the bag.

Melinda Eagan’s birthday dress.

He should have told someone at the time, but he hadn’t. He was new to the force. If the old chief had known that evidence had disappeared because the rookie had left it unattended in the field, well, they probably wouldn’t be calling him Chief Walker today. It was a lesson Walker had never forgotten.

He’d turned his back for just a few minutes, and the damned bag had disappeared into thin air.

Billie hadn’t taken it. She was with him and his partner. Jason was being questioned at the time.

So, who had taken it? And why?

And why did it seem to matter more now than it had then?

T
welve

“Hey, Regan, how’d it go?” Lorna called from the front porch, where she sat in one of the rocking chairs.

“Pretty much par,” Regan replied as she walked toward the porch. She smiled at the man sitting in the rocker next to Lorna. “You must be T.J. We have a mutual friend in Mitch Peyton.”

“So I understand.” T.J. stood and offered both his hand and the chair. “He mentioned you when he called me on Thursday.”

“No, keep the rocker, I’ll sit right here on the steps.” Regan lowered herself to the top step. “So what did he say?”

“What did who say?” Lorna asked.

“Mitch,” Regan responded, looking intently at T.J.

T.J. shrugged. “Oh, just that you had a friend who needed a little help with something he thought I might be able to assist with.”

“That’s all?” She frowned.

“Well, he did say that you and he were friends, that you worked together on some case up in New Jersey a couple months ago, and you’ve stayed in touch.”

“Oh.” Regan appeared disappointed to hear that Mitch hadn’t had more to say about her.

“What did you learn from Chief Walker?” Lorna asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Regan admitted. “There’s been no trace of Melinda found, not an article of clothing, nothing. I asked. So to answer your earlier question, the dress wasn’t recovered. He still thinks the mother killed the brother, by the way. This in spite of the fact that all the remains recovered show that every victim was an adolescent male with a fractured skull. What are the chances the mother killed all the other vics? Is she a big woman? Could she have taken these guys?”

“She’s a tiny thing, thin, frail. And back then, she was a heavy drinker. I don’t think she’d be hauling strangers across the field to kill them. She wouldn’t have had the strength.”

“What makes you think the bodies were all strangers?”

“There haven’t been that many young males reported missing in Callen since the beginning of time. They had to have come from someplace else.”

“Is someone doing a search on missing persons in the area?” T.J. asked.

“Not yet. I asked about that, and Chief Walker said they don’t have the manpower right now.” Regan leaned back against the porch rail. “Apparently everyone is out in the field, digging.”

“I’m sure they have computers,” T.J. said.

“Maybe they don’t have anyone on staff trained to do the searches,” Regan offered. “I’ve run into a lot of smaller police forces that don’t know how to access or input information into the national databases. Some others, I’ve found, simply don’t want to be bothered.”

“Maybe we could help them out. Do a little research for them.” T.J. smiled.

“How would we do that?” Lorna asked.

“We’d call Mitch and see if he can do a search for missing boys between the ages of, say, twelve and eighteen, over the past, what, twenty-five years?” T.J. thought for a moment, then said, “They should probably be bringing in the Bureau, anyway. They’re going to be in over their heads, if they aren’t already.”

“You’ll never get Chief Walker to admit that.”

“It’s a capital case, there’s every indication that there could be a serial killer involved here. It has FBI written all over it,” T.J. told them. “Regan, why don’t you give Mitch a call, see what he thinks.”

“I’ll do that. And we’ll ask him to go back thirty years, just in case.” Regan reached for her handbag and took out her phone and began to dial.

“When’s Billie’s preliminary hearing?” T.J. asked Lorna.

“One day next week, I haven’t heard a date yet.”

“I’m betting the charges are dropped between now and then. You know I haven’t thought they had enough evidence against Billie, but with these other victims being found,” he shrugged, “I don’t see them proceeding at this point. Unless they can finger her for all the killings, I think they’re going to have to go back to square one. I guess I’ll have a better feel for it after I’ve met Billie.”

“We can do that now, if you like,” Lorna suggested.

“The sooner the better.” T.J. stood. “You’re coming with me, though, right? I think she’d be much more comfortable if you were there.”

“Sure. I’d planned on being there. Let me give her a call and let her know we’re stopping over.” Lorna got out of the chair and went into the house.

“Where is everyone going?” Regan asked as she put her cell phone back in her handbag.

“Lorna and I are going over to talk to Billie Eagan.”

“I’ll wait here. For one thing, I think the poor woman would probably feel overwhelmed if the three of us showed up. Besides, I’m waiting for Mitch to call back. I had to leave voice mail.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lorna asked as she came out through the front door.

“Not at all.” Regan got up and walked over to the rocking chair Lorna had been sitting in. “It’s a beautiful day, the humidity has dropped, it’s nice and shady here on the porch, and I have a book in here somewhere . . .”

Regan began rooting through her handbag.

“Here we go. The newest thriller from my favorite author.” She moved the chair, then sat and rested her feet on the porch railing. Since she was shorter than Lorna by several inches, the rail would have been out of reach if she hadn’t moved the rocker. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Lorna swung her bag over her shoulder and followed T.J. down the steps.

Regan waved them on.

Lorna paused next to T.J.’s car.

“Maybe we should drive over.”

“Isn’t Billie’s house right across the field?”

“Yes, but it
is
several acres away.” She was still staring at the car.

“You’re incredibly subtle.” He took his keys out of his pocket and opened the driver’s-side door.

“Great. I’ve been dying for a ride in this machine all week.” Lorna grinned, opened the passenger door, and got in.

“You should have said something. I’d have been happy to show ‘er off.” T.J. slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “You want the top up?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Just asking. Some women don’t like to have their hair blown around.”

“I’m not one of them.”

He turned the car around and stopped at the end of the drive.

“Which way?”

“Turn right,” Lorna told him. “Then right again in about a quarter of a mile.”

He accelerated slowly, then proceeded to the intersection, where he made a right at the stop sign. Lorna leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow around her. She was smiling, and he found himself smiling, too.

“That was nice,” she told him when he pulled up in front of Billie’s house and cut the engine.

“Not much of a ride. We’ll take the long way home.”

“Yay.” She got out of the car and waited for T.J., then walked up the two steps leading to the front door. She was about to ring the bell when the door opened.

“Billie, this is T. J. Dawson, the private investigator I told you about,” Lorna said.

“Pleased to meet you.” Billie did not offer her hand, but appeared to be studying him. After a long moment, apparently approving of what she saw, she stepped aside and gestured for her visitors to come inside. “I don’t know what there is to investigate, but we can talk.”

She led them into the living room, which was furnished with an old blue sofa—the cushions of which were sagging slightly—one end table, a floor lamp that Lorna recognized as having come from her family’s attic, a chair with a makeshift slipcover, and a television set on top of a bookcase.

Billie must have caught Lorna’s glance at the lamp, because she said, “That lamp, your momma gave it to me. If you need it, or you want it, you can have it back.”

“No, no, I don’t need it,” Lorna assured her.

“Well, you ever feel you do, you just tell me.” Billie sat in the corner chair.

Lorna and T.J. sat side by side on the sofa.

“Billie, have you been hearing about all the bodies found in the back field?” Lorna asked.

“You tell me what that all means,” Billie visibly shivered, “ ’cause I never heard tell of such a thing. Bodies all through the woods, they’re saying on the news.” She looked from Lorna to T.J. and back again. “You don’t think they believe I had anything to do with all that, do you?”

“Billie, I honestly don’t know what anyone is thinking at this point,” Lorna told her. “But if they gave it serious thought, they’d figure out that you’re not a likely suspect. You’re not physically big enough, or strong enough, to have pulled it off. So I think that shouldn’t be a worry right now.”

“Well, it ain’t like I got nothing else on my mind.” She turned to T.J. “Lorna said you wanted to ask me some questions. You go right ahead. What do you want to talk about first?”

“Let’s talk about the night Jason disappeared,” T.J. said.

“Go ’head.”

“Do you remember where you had been that night before Jason came home?”

“I was right there at home. I’d worked until nine-thirty at the diner, then had to wait for almost forty minutes for Stella’s husband to come pick us up.” Billie turned to Lorna and said, “Stella Rusznick worked the same shift as me, and her husband picked her up every night. Nights when I didn’t have a ride, they’d drop me off. Most nights he was there by ten, but that night he was a little late. He’d stopped at Kelly’s Tavern on the way and had himself a few.”

Billie laughed hoarsely.

“I never knew how scared you could get when a drunk was behind the wheel. All the times I drove drunk, or rode with someone who was, I never was scared. Once I stopped drinking, though, whoa! Scared the bejesus outta me to be in that car with Stella’s husband. Never knew what sober people felt, driving with me, until I sobered up myself.”

“So you got home around ten after ten that night,” Lorna said.

“ ‘Round there. I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. Never drank it until I stopped— Well, anyway, I made tea and took it outside and I sat on the back steps. Looked out across that field, looked up into the sky. Wondered where my girl was.” Billie stopped and swallowed hard. “With Mellie gone, I had a lot of time to think, mostly about how bad a mother I’d been. Mother from hell, I’d say, and that would be the truth. I prayed every night that wherever she was, she might know how sorry I was for every time I hurt her. Every time I raised my voice when I didn’t have to. Every time I ignored her or made her feel like she didn’t matter. I sat there each night after she disappeared, wondering if she was still alive . . . wondering if she’d just gotten so tired of me being the way I was that maybe she simply up and ran off.”

The small house was still and silent as a tomb. Billie’s pain and guilt were palpable, her words so soft, both Lorna and T.J. had to lean forward to hear her.

“Hasn’t a night passed since that I haven’t wondered.” Billie’s gaze shifted and she stared out the window to her right. “Even now . . .”

“Where were you when Jason got home that night?” T.J. tried to steer the conversation back on topic.

“I was still there, out on the back steps. I heard the car pull up and I heard the door slam and I waited to see if he was going to come out, but he didn’t, so I went on into the kitchen.”

“Talk to me about that,” T.J. said. “About what happened when you went into the kitchen.”

“Well, it’s like I told Walker. I went inside and there he was, stumbling drunk. Pissed me off so bad, I could hardly see. I hadn’t had a drop since my girl disappeared, and there was my boy, drunk as a skunk at three in the morning. He’s there, looking for something to eat, and we have words. He’s fourteen years old and he’s shit-faced in my kitchen.”

“What did you say?” T.J. asked.

“What do you think I said?” Billie raised an eyebrow. “So he starts yelling at me, about the pot callin’ the kettle black. We stood around doing a lot of shouting, I remember that. He’s yelling at me, about me teaching him how to be a drunk, and I’m yelling at him to look at my life and learn from it. That I wanted better for him, that I may not have given him much in the past, but I was trying to give him something right then and there. Drinking like that ain’t no kind of life. I ruined myself and I ruined my children, but it could end with me, if he did better than what I had done. And then it just stopped.”

Her voice was thin, almost wistful, like a girl’s.

“The yelling just stopped. And I told him how sorry I was for the way things had been, for all I’d done to him and to Mellie.” Her eyes filled. “And he said, ‘That’s easy to say, now that she’s gone.’ ”

Billie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, that was like a slap in the face, but one I deserved—I did—and I told him that. I deserved to have him hate me and I wouldn’t have blamed him one damned bit if he did.”

“And then what?” Lorna asked.

“And then my big, strapping, drunk fourteen-year-old man-child put his head on my shoulder and he started to cry.” She nodded her head. “Just like that. Jason started to cry. Hadn’t cried since he was maybe three, four years old. And I put my arms around him and I rocked him, just like I did when he was a baby. At least, I rocked him best I could, him being so much taller than me and all. But it was okay, he was okay after that. And I thought, ‘Maybe it’s not too late, for me to be more of a mother, him to be more of a son.’ ”

“Why did he leave, Billie?”

“Sir, I have asked myself that question a hundred times, I surely have.” She turned to T.J. “One second, he was all peaceful and resting his head right here,” she patted her left shoulder, “and the next thing I knew, he was cursing and running out the back door.”

“What did he say?” a puzzled Lorna asked.

“He said, ‘You son of a bitch,’ and went right on out the back door like he was being chased. I looked out the window, but I couldn’t see nobody, not even him. I don’t know why he started cursing at me after he’d been so calm, or why he ran out like that.”

“Where was the window in relation to where he was standing?” Lorna asked.

Billie thought for a moment, then said, “It was to my left.”

“Could you see out the window, Billie?” T.J. resumed the questioning.

“I couldn’t, no, I wasn’t facing it.” She thought for a moment, then said, “But he probably could have. His head was on my left shoulder, looking away from me.” She focused on them and said, “He probably could have seen out the window, but if he did, he wasn’t saying what he saw.”