Palindrome (24 page)

"Which was?"

"Some time between midnight Friday and noon Saturday."

"What was the nature of the more recent damage?"

"Not sex, not in the usual sense, anyway." Hopkins opened his old-fashioned briefcase and took out a large Ziploc bag. He placed it on the captain's desk. Williams had trouble keeping his face expressionless. The bag contained a pointed wooden stake.

"It looks like the sort of thing you'd buy at a gardening store," he said.

"It is. I don't know if you remember, but at the airport, the bit of land between the parking lot and the airplane tie-down area had recently been seeded. The area had been cordoned off with string, and a 'keep off' sign put up. I think this is one of the stakes the string was tied to."

"I don't remember it in or around the car. Where did you find it?"

"In her colon," Hopkins said. His eyes focused on the floor. "All of it. That's why we didn't see it sooner."

"Jesus God," Williams moaned. "It's twelve inches long!"

"It's fourteen inches long."

"Was she alive when it happened?"

"Yes, and she's had it in her vagina, as well." Williams looked at the stake again. It was of rough lumber, not planed or sanded. Hopkins read his mind. "There were a number of splinters present in both areas."

Williams looked up and saw Bake Ramsey and another man approaching the glassed-in office. "Anything else? I'm out of time."

"Nothing that would be of any immediate help. The car had some prints that weren't the woman's. I've given them to your people for running, but they're consistent with what might be picked up in a gas station or car wash. The driver's door handle and the trunk latch area showed signs of having been handled by someone with a cloth or gloves. That's your man, I'd bet."

"Thanks, Mike," Williams said. "Now you'll have to excuse me. I've got this meeting." Hopkins handed him the written report and left. Williams quickly put the report and the bagged stake in a desk drawer, then he rose to greet Baker Ramsey.

"Morning, Lee," Ramsey said, sounding somewhat subdued. "This is Henry Hoyt, the team's lawyer. You said to bring one."

"Morning, Bake," Williams said, trying to settle himself down and sound normal. "Morning, Mr. Hoyt, I'm glad to meet you. Bake, I want to express my sympathy for the loss of your girl. I know it must have come as an awful shock." He managed to say this with a straight face.

"Thank you, Lee," Ramsey replied softly. "Yes, it was a shock. I can't imagine who'd want to hurt Mary Alice." His voice rose. "I'd sure like to get my hands on the guy for five minutes." If you would just do that, Williams thought, you'd save us all a lot of trouble.

"Is Mr. Ramsey under suspicion?" the lawyer asked.

"We don't have a suspect, yet, Mr. Hoyt," Williams lied. "It's just that Bake seems to have been one of the last people to see Miss Taylor alive, and I need his statement on the record." He went to the door and beckoned to a woman. She came in with a stenographic machine, plugged it in, and sat down next to a desk. "Miss Jordan, here, will take down everything we say, then she'll type it up. Later, I'll ask Bake to read it and sign it, if it's accurate."

"I see," Hoyt said. "This is standard procedure, Bake."

"Now, Bake, the department insists that I tell you that you have the right to remain silent, and you have the right to have an attorney, which right you have availed yourself of. If you choose to answer my questions, and you're later charged with a crime, your answers could be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights?"

"That's standard, too," Hoyt said.

"Sure, I understand my rights," Ramsey said.

"Let the record show that Mr. Henry Hoyt, Esquire, is present, representing Baker Ramsey; also present are Sergeant Lee Williams of the Atlanta Police Department and Miss Evelyn Jordan, a stenographer and court reporter. Are you willing to answer my questions, Bake?"

"Of course," Ramsey said. "I'll do anything I can to help. I'm very upset about Mary Alice's death."

"I'm sure you must be. Let's begin at the beginning. When did you meet Miss Taylor for the first time?"

"When I checked in to the hospital for my knee surgery a few weeks ago."

"By the way, how's the knee coming?" Williams asked. "You can keep this out of the record," he said to the stenographer.

"We thought I'd be ready next weekend, but the doctor and the coach want to wait another week."

"Okay, back on the record. Did you see Mary Alice Taylor often?"

"Yeah, we were going out steadily."

"Did you have an intimate relationship with her?"

"Yes."

"By that, I mean were you having regular sexual intercourse with her?"

"When did you last see Mary Alice?"

"Last Thursday night. We had dinner at her house."

"Did you have sexual intercourse with her that evening?"

"Yes, a couple or three times."

"Did she exhibit any signs of distress during your sexual relations?"

"Well, there was some blood."

"And yet you continued to have sex with her?"

"It was only the last time that she bled some, and it wasn't all that unusual. She didn't want to stop; she never did."

"Did you leave a deposit of semen on her bed that night?"

"I guess so."

"Was the sexual intercourse entirely voluntary on her part?"

"Entirely. She loved sex."

"Did you have to persuade or force her?"

"No, not at all. It was pretty much the way we usually made love. Listen, is this really necessary? It's pretty personal."

"I'm afraid so, Bake." It's a little late to object, isn't it? Williams thought to himself. "Let me change the subject, if talk of sex makes you uncomfortable."

"It's not that I'm uncomfortable; it's just private."

"Let's talk about dinner. You say you ate at her apartment?"

"Yeah, she cooked." Ramsey suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, uh, she was cooking, but we didn't exactly eat it. We, uh, started fooling around in the kitchen and she spilled something, and then we went into the bedroom and made love."

"And this lovemaking was entirely voluntary," Williams said.

"Yes, I said so before."

"Bake, you later left a message on Mary Alice's answering machine which was apologetic, as if you'd done something to offend her and were sorry. What was that about?" Ramsey suddenly looked furtive.

"It was, uh, just something personal."

"This is a very personal interview, Bake. What was your apology for?"

"I'm not going to talk about it," he said vehemently. Williams paused and pretended to jot a note on a pad. Ramsey would talk about it as soon as he had time to make up a good story.

"What time did you leave her apartment that night?" Williams said finally.

"I went home some time after midnight, maybe twelve-thirty."

"And you did not see Mary Alice Taylor again?"

"No, I didn't. The team left for Miami on Friday afternoon, and we didn't get back until Monday."

"And you went with the team?"

"Yes."

"How did you travel?"

"By air. We always do."

"Who did you sit next to on the airplane going down?"

"An assistant coach, Manny Davis."

"And coming back?"

"Manny again. We're good friends; we sometimes room together on the road."

"Did you room together that weekend?"

"No, I had a room to myself."

"What did you do on Friday evening?"

"I had dinner with Manny in the hotel restaurant, and then I went to bed early, about ten."

"What time did you get up?"

"I usually wake up about eight."

"Where did you have breakfast?"

"In the dining room with Manny and a couple of other players, Ralph James and Bobby Martino."

"What time?"

"About nine. There was a light workout that day, and I went out to the practice field on the team bus."

"How long did you stay there?"

"Until about four in the afternoon. When the bus got back, I had a nap."

"And what did you do between that time and the game the next day?"

"I watched some TV, and I had dinner with Manny again. We went out to a seafood place and had a couple of drinks at a sports bar called the End Zone."

"Anybody see you there?"

"Everybody. I got into a little altercation with a guy there."

"Were blows exchanged?"

"Nah, just some name-calling. The bartender broke it up."

"What time did you get back to the hotel?"

"Around midnight. I wasn't playing the next day."

"And what time did you get up?"

"Around eight. I had breakfast downstairs with the same guys." The rest of Ramsey's story was much the same. His time, except when he was alone in his room, was accounted for, and that time overlapped the period when Hopkins had said the girl had died.

"On Friday night, did you leave your room again after you went to bed at ten o'clock?"

"Not until breakfast the next morning."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate that?"

"No, I slept alone."

"Do you know how to fly an airplane?"

"Nope. Never had a lesson."

"Do you know anyone in the Miami area who has a private airplane?"

Ramsey looked puzzled. "No."

"Do you know anybody in Atlanta who has one, or who sometimes rents one?"

"No. Well, yes, a couple of guys on the team fly those little single-engine jobs."

"Have you ever chartered an airplane, Bake?"

"Not for several years."

"When was the last time?"

"About four years ago, when my mother got sick."

"How did you go about chartering the airplane?"

"The team fixed it up. They're real good about stuff like that."

Williams stretched. "Well, I guess that's about it." Ramsey made to get up. "Oh, just a couple more questions, Bake." Ramsey sat down again. His lawyer was looking bored.

"Bake, did you ever hit Mary Alice Taylor?"

"No, of course not."

The lawyer was suddenly alert. "I don't think that's an appropriate question, Sergeant."

"I think it is. Never, Bake? You never slapped her, even?"

"No, I don't do that sort of thing."

"Bake, in July of this year, did you beat up your wife and put her in the hospital?"

"Now just a minute," Hoyt said, half-rising.

"Answer the question, Bake. Did you beat your wife nearly to death?"

"I don't have to take this kind of stuff," Ramsey said, rising.

"Let the record show that Ramsey suddenly refuses to answer questions," Williams said to the stenographer. "What would you say, Bake, if I told you that I can produce your ex-wife as a witness, and that she will testify that you beat her so badly that she had to have major reconstructive cranial surgery? And that her doctor will testify that she could have died from her injuries? What would you say to that?"

"This interview is concluded," Henry Hoyt said.

"Oh, just before you go, Mr. Hoyt, let me show you and Bake something." He reached into the desk drawer and took out the bagged stake. "The medical examiner removed this from Mary Alice Taylor's rectum during the autopsy last night. The man who killed her did that to her." He was trying not to shout.

Hoyt blanced at at the sight of the stake.

"Stop this, Sergeant, or I'll report your conduct to your captain!" The lawyer had gone pale, and sweat was starting to run from his face.

"It's not my conduct that's in question, Counselor, it's your client's conduct!"

"We're getting out of here right this minute, Baker," Hoyt said, grabbing his client's elbow and steering him from the office. "Good day, Sergeant; your superiors will be hearing from me."

"Go on, get him out of here," Williams said, then sank back into the chair.

"I got all that, Lee, anything else?" the stenographer asked.

"Cut it at Ramsey's refusal to answer, and get it typed up as soon as you can," Williams said, trying to calm himself.

Captain Haynes appeared. "I was next door," he said. "You kind of lost it there at the end, didn't you?"

"Sorry about that, Cap. At least I waited until the end."

"You going to get this guy?"

"You better believe it!"

"Whatever you need, Lee. I want him, too."

"I want an officer to confirm Ramsey's story with the assistant coach and two players."

"Okay. Ramsey was in Miami, though. I saw him on TV Sunday, on the sidelines at the game."

"And I want to go to Miami. I caught him lying in LA; maybe I can catch him out in Miami, too."

"Go. What's your theory?"

"The girl was found at a general-aviation airport. I think Ramsey got somebody to fly him to Atlanta on Friday night; he killed the woman, then flew back to Miami; it's the only thing that makes sense. I want somebody checking that out from this end; I'll do it in Miami."

"Don't spend your own money this time. I'll sign the chit."

"You think we're going to start getting heat from the Bobcats' owners about this?"

"Not yet; they won't want it in the papers. When it comes out, then they'll yell bloody murder."

Williams managed a smile. "That's appropriate." He didn't feel like smiling, though; this was becoming personal. The sight of that stake had made it impossible to keep any detachment. He wanted Bake Ramsey.

CHAPTER 38

Liz found Germaine in her office at the inn, adding up receipts. "Come on in, kiddo, and sit yourself down," Germaine said. "You look beat; didn't you sleep last night?"

"Off and on," Liz said, sinking into a chair.

"You still thinking about your discovery at Lake Whitney?"

Liz nodded. "Can't get it off my mind."

"I can't get it off my guests' minds," Germaine said, giving up the calculator and turning in her chair to face Liz. "If I'd let them, they'd all be trooping up there to take pictures of the gator. I've had to tell my girls who conduct the nature tours not to let anybody out of the van when they're near the lake. All I need is to have a guest eaten."

Liz managed a smile. "From their reaction to Jimmy's demise, it sounds like having a guest eaten would be good for business."