Perfect Justice (12 page)

“So tell me about yourself. What was it like growing up in—what was it, Montgomery?”

“Right. Well, the poor country on the outskirts of Montgomery, actually. Both my parents were killed in a car wreck when I was eight. My sister and I were shipped off to live with my aunt, my mother’s sister. Her husband had a small piece of land he sharecropped. They had four kids already and barely enough to go around. They didn’t need two more.”

“But they took you in?”

“Didn’t have too much choice, really. I got my first job when I was ten, sweeping out stores after hours. I spent most of my time trying to help make ends meet. And trying to keep my younger sister out of trouble.”

“How much younger?”

“We’re four years apart. Cindy Jo was a handful. Was—still is. Any kind of trouble you can think of, she’s probably been in it. And I was always the one who had to come in and try to make it better. Nothing against my aunt, but I took care of Cindy Jo.”

“And now you take care of everyone,” Ben commented.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Not that that makes me anything special. Jones told me you’ve been known to do some legal do-gooding yourself.”

“I went to law school because I wanted to be in a position to help other people. In between keeping my head above water and trying to ward off starvation, I try to remember that.”

Belinda beamed. “I went into law for exactly the same reasons. I think many people do. But most of them won’t admit it.” She jostled his shoulder affectionately. “Maybe you’re not such a bad sort after all, Kincaid.”

Ben led Belinda to Mary Sue’s front door. The sign on the porch still indicated that she had vacancies, although Ben doubted she would be any more willing to extend one to him than she had been the day before.

They slipped into the foyer together. Mary Sue was not at the Dutch door, although a clattering in the kitchen suggested she was home.

“I’d better handle this one,” Belinda said. She directed Ben to stand against the wall in the hallway. “You just stay out of sight.”

“All right.” Ben glanced up the staircase. Christina was nowhere in sight. He pressed against the wall so he could see Belinda and hear what was said without being seen by Mary Sue. “But watch out for her shotgun. She’s not quite the Donna Reed clone she appears to be.”

“Point taken.” Belinda rang the bell on the table.

A few moments later Mary Sue emerged from the kitchen. She was wearing a blue dress this morning, but she still had the apron tied around her waist. Her movements were slow and halting; her eyes seemed unfocused. She paused in the middle of the living room, as if momentarily unsure how to find her way to the Dutch door.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. I’d like to take a room, if that’s possible.”

“Of course.” Mary Sue brought out her guest book and opened it to the proper page. “How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure. At least a week.”

“That’ll do fine. We’ll just take it one week at a time.” Mary Sue offered Belinda the feather pen, then brought it back suddenly. “You’re not”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“a
lawyer
, are you?” She pronounced the word as if it were a synonym for
child molester.

“Why, yes,” Belinda said. “Why do you ask?”

“Are you associated with Donald Vick?”

“In a sense.”

Mary Sue withdrew the pen and closed the book.

“I’m with an organization called Hatewatch,” Belinda explained. “We investigate hate crimes and file lawsuits to make groups like ASP financially responsible for their actions.”

“Oh!” A relieved expression washed over Mary Sue’s face. “Then you’re not with that other gentleman.”

“Other gentleman?”

“Well, I use the term lightly. The Tulsa lawyer. He came here, you know.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes. Wanted a room. Practically demanded it.”

“How awful. What did you do?”

“I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t permit his kind of riffraff in my boardinghouse. And when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I brought Old Sally into the discussion.”

Belinda didn’t have to ask who—or what—Old Sally was. “My office is not connected to Mr. Vick’s defense,” she explained. “In fact, most people would say we’re on the opposite side.”

“Oh, well then. That’s all right.” She handed Belinda the pen and reopened the book.

“I understand Vick lived here.”

“That’s right. He was my tenant. Room six.”

“Did he cause any trouble?”

“Not at all. Quiet as a church mouse. Only saw him in the evenings. Most nights he didn’t even come to dinner. By the way, I’ll need a first night’s deposit.”

To give herself more time for casual questioning, Belinda slowed the check-in process as much as possible. “Of course. Did Vick get many visitors?”

“Only in the last week. Before that, he had been quite the loner.”

“I don’t suppose you remember who his visitors were?”

“I didn’t know who they were at the time. Didn’t know it was going to be important.”

“Probably men from that awful training camp outside of town.”

“No,” Mary Sue replied. “You’d be amazed—the man who came to see him two nights before the murder was Vietnamese.”

Belinda’s eyes widened. “You’re certain?”

“Of course. How could I mistake something like that? I thought it was a hopeful sign—maybe the two groups were finally learning to get along. And then tragedy struck.”

“Do you think you would recognize this Vietnamese man if you saw him again?”

Mary Sue reflected for a moment. “I don’t know. Just between us chickens, those Vietnamese all look the same to me.”

Belinda reached into her purse and made a slow show of counting out the first night’s rent. “Do you remember anything distinctive about Vick’s other visitors?”

Mary Sue hiccuped. “Excuse me. Well, of course, his caller the night before the murder was a woman.”

Belinda became intensely interested. “A woman! Can you describe her?”

“Oh, dark hair, slim figure. Sorta like you. Maybe a tad shorter.”

“Why was she seeing Vick?”

“Well, I was afraid”—her neck stiffened—“that something not quite proper was taking place. But it turned out I was wrong. They talked for about half an hour. Then she left.”

Belinda phrased her next question delicately. “You’re certain they just … talked?”

Mary Sue’s darting eyes moved over Belinda’s head and up the stairs. “I happened to be in the hallway outside his room. I overheard them talking.”

“Did you overhear what they were saying?”

“Of course not. What do you take me for, a busybody?”

Ben suppressed a guffaw.

“I do remember this,” Mary Sue said. “The woman’s voice was almost hysterical. She was crying, gasping words between sobs. I became concerned and listened more carefully. I heard her say, ‘I don’t know what to do,’ and then, not too long after that, I heard a sentence that ended with, ‘a baby.’ ”

Ben committed the remarks to memory.

“Sounded to me like they had done something they shouldn’t and Donald was pressuring her to—well, you know. Men are like that. Only one thing on their minds, and once they’ve had it, they don’t care what happens to you.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“No. After that, I went downstairs for Old Sally. I figured the two of us would intercede before he compromised that poor girl any further. But by the time I got back upstairs, it was too late. I heard a banging noise, and for the first time ever I heard Donald raise his voice. And then the woman left. Went flying out of his room, ran down the stairs, and disappeared.”

“Have you seen this woman since that time?”

“Nope. Never saw her before, never seen her since. Don’t know where she went.”

Well, Ben thought, they would just have to find out.

“I don’t suppose you were at the fight the next day,” Belinda asked. “At the Bluebell Bar?”

“Indeed I was. Quite an eye-opener.”

“Would you mind telling me what happened?”

“It was pretty much like the paper described it. The
Herald
don’t make many mistakes.” Ben attempted to contain himself. “There was one detail they left out, though.”

“What was that?”

“Well, the article made it sound as if Donald just walked up to Vuong and started slugging. Not so. Believe me, I was there, and I watched them the whole time. Donald talked to Vuong for two or three minutes first. They were whispering, but I could tell it was a heated conversation all the same.”

“And then?”

“I guess Vuong said something Donald didn’t like. I never saw anything like it before. Donald’s face just changed—it was like Jekyll turning into Hyde. He became enraged. Grabbed Vuong by the collar and slung him across the bar. That’s how the fight began.”

Belinda nodded. “Thank you so much for your kindness. I’ll be in late tonight, probably after dinnertime.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll put a cold plate in the fridge for you.”

“That would be wonderful. Say, is something in the kitchen burning?”

“Oh my!” Mary Sue skittered back toward the kitchen, banging her leg on the coffee table on her way. Belinda took advantage of her absence to grab Ben and pull him out the door.

“G
OOD WORK,” BEN SAID
as they walked down Maple together. “You got a lot more out of Mary Sue than I did. Despite the fact that you’re”—he lowered his voice to a hush—“a
lawyer.
”

Belinda laughed. “Mary Sue certainly has been taking an active interest in the affairs of her lodgers. I’m not sure how reliable her information is, though.”

“Why is that?”

“Surely you noticed. Mary Sue is an alcoholic.”

“What? How can you tell?”

“Didn’t have much choice. I smelled her breath. Plus, I saw her tentative stride, her glazed eyes. She’d definitely had a few.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make her an alcoholic.”

“It’s still morning, Ben. No one drinks this time of day unless they need it. And let’s not forget she was at the Bluebell Bar when the big fight occurred. In the afternoon.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Still, she couldn’t have imagined that entire story about the woman who visited Vick.”

“No. Pity we don’t know who the woman was.”

“Agreed. I’ll ask Vick, but I don’t think he’ll tell me.” Ben thought for a moment. “I wonder if any of Vick’s comrades-in-hate would know?”

“It’s possible. Especially if she was a woman they were passing around.”

“That settles it. I’m going to pay the ASP camp a visit.”

“Ben—no!” Belinda reached out and pressed her hand against his shoulder. “Those men are killers. Every one of them.”

“The fact that they belong to a repellent organization doesn’t necessarily make them killers.”

“Ben, believe me. I’ve been tracking these creeps for years. They’ve left a trail of bodies in their wake a mile long. They’re remorseless.”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

Belinda shook her head. “You remind me so much of myself it’s scary. You sound just like I did two years ago. Before I learned better.” She turned away and gazed up at the clear blue sky. “You remember John mentioning that ASP came after me, in Birmingham.”

Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. “He said Frank saved you.”

“Eventually, yes. After they’d held me captive over four hours.” Despite the brightness of the sun, her eyes became dark and clouded. “I was leaving Hatewatch late one night, alone. They grabbed me outside my office. Four of them. All wearing hoods. Twisted my arms behind my back, tied a gag so tight it cut my face. They threw me in the back of my car and pinned me down with a boot in my back.”

Instinctively Ben reached out and took her hand.

“After over an hour’s drive we arrived at their secret meeting place. At least fifty of them were there, all hiding beneath hoods. They dragged me to the center of a field—by my hair. Tore big chunks of it out of my scalp. Then they tied me to a wooden cross surrounded by kindling and wrapped a rope around my neck. Made me think they were going to burn me alive. Or hang me. Or both.”

She inhaled deeply. “Then the leader approached me. With a knife.”

Ben squeezed her hand tighter.

“He pressed the knife against my neck, my face. He toyed with me. Of course, it was Grand Dragon Dunagan, but I’ll never be able to prove it. He hooked the knife inside the collar of my blouse …” She looked down at the ground and covered her eyes. “… then cut the blouse off my body. Then he cut loose my skirt. Underclothes, too. Bra, panties. I was tied to that cross, stark naked, clothes dangling from my wrists and around my ankles.”

Ben’s hands trembled. “Did—did they … ?”

“Rape? No, that wasn’t the first item on his agenda. He ran the blade all over my body, threatening me. Fondling me with his knife. Then he put it down and took up a bullwhip.”

“My God! They didn’t—”

“They did. Twenty-five times.” Her eyes began to well up. “I’ve still got the scars to prove it. They might still be beating me if Frank hadn’t shown up with the cops. Although I think they had something else planned for me later.”

Ben took her into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder.

“The ASPers got away, but at least Frank rescued me before—” Her voice choked. “Before it was too late.”

“And after all that,” he murmured, “you’re still fighting them.”

“More than ever,” she said solemnly. “So you see how dangerous it would be for you to go to that camp.”

Ben embraced her tightly. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to end it. “Well, at the moment they seem to be my friends.”

“That won’t last long once you start asking the hard questions. Ben, this is not a smart idea.”

“I’m sorry. I have to.”

Belinda gripped his arm. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. I don’t want you to—I—” She stopped, reformulated her sentence. “Ben, don’t do it.”

They looked at one another, their lips barely inches apart. “I don’t have any choice,” Ben said. He stroked her cheek. “But thanks for being concerned. It’s a refreshing change.”

F
INDING THE ASP ENCAMPMENT
deep in the Ouachita Mountains was not easy for Ben, but then, Ben was not great with directions. Geographically challenged, Christina called him. Being male, of course he didn’t ask for help. Not that there was anyone to ask on this particular occasion.