Since You've Been Gone (14 page)

Bill realized he was stalling, not wanting to deal with the horror that was now Skeeter Dobbs. He looked across the street at the Klein Furniture. Skeeter had been huddled in the entrance of Vinson's when he'd seen someone in the attic.

“Curry, any sign that the body was moved here?” he asked abruptly.

G. C. Curry was stooping by the body. “Don't think so. If he was moved, the killer brought Skeeter's wine bottle with him. It's partly covered by his right arm.”

So Skeeter had been murdered in the same spot where, approximately 36 hours earlier, he had seen someone in the attic of Klein's, someone who had apparently been holding Todd Ryan prisoner.

Bill walked closer and looked at the body. Skeeter's long, skinny legs were splayed, his feet in their ragged shoes pointing outward, his frayed khaki pant legs pulled up to expose gray nylon socks that had once been white. Skeeter was folded at the waist, the upper part of his body partially hanging over his right leg and leaning against the door of the drugstore. His head was turned slightly to the left, clearly showing a metal handle protruding from the eye socket. The whole left side of his face and neck was a mass of dried blood, already drawing hungry summer flies. His left hand lay upturned, the fingers stiffened by rigor mortis.

“Get tape around this scene,” Bill said unnecessarily to Curry, who knew his job. Bill suddenly felt sad for this poor wreck of a man who'd never stood a chance in life
and died a brutal death. “And where's the damned coroner?”

“On his way, Chief. You know he always takes his time.”

“He'd like it if he called the cops and we took
our
time.”

“That's the truth.”

Bill knew he was near babbling and Curry was diplomatically easing him along. Curry was ten years younger than Bill and never seemed affected by anything he saw. Bill hadn't decided whether the man had a basically hard core, or he just reserved any tenderness for family. He didn't understand how Curry could seem so matter-of-fact about this murder. Of course Bill was more emotional than usual, rubbed raw by the abduction of Todd. Until the boy was taken, Bill hadn't realized how strongly he felt about the child.

He'd also been shaken by Rebecca finding a CD with “A Whiter Shade of Pale” in her car last night. She'd looked like death when she came tearing back into Molly's house to tell him, Clay Bellamy hot on her heels. The car had been unlocked, there had been a crowd on the street, and she'd driven the car all day. A lot of people could have realized she'd commandeered the red Thunderbird, and a lot of people could have easily opened the door and slipped in the CD. Then there was Jean Wright's half-hour absence and her return a good fifteen minutes after Rebecca had seen the lights go out at her home. She'd had plenty of time to place the CD in Rebecca's car.

“Do you think Skeeter's murder had anything to do with what he told us?” Curry asked.

Bill's gaze moved between Skeeter and the attic windows of Klein Furniture. “If it doesn't, it's a hell of a coincidence. My niece keeps talking about coincidences and I haven't wanted to face them, but I'm afraid there are just too many for me to ignore.” He frowned. “What we need to find out is who knew Skeeter saw someone in the attic.”

“That's the problem,” Curry said dourly. “He spent all day Sunday telling everyone he saw.”

Amy Tanner had been disappointed when she'd arrived at the volunteer center at 8:10 and found only eight other volunteers. But she had to remember this wasn't the police command center. Mr. Hardison had donated this building, but that awful county sheriff Lutz hadn't let all the efforts be coordinated from one place. He had a lot of policemen and computer people working at another building across town, which seemed like a waste of manpower to Amy. Also, it was Monday morning. People were returning to work. Some would probably drift in later and surely more would come this evening.

Normally she would be behind the counter of the 7-Eleven, but this was her vacation week. Last year she and her husband Alvin had taken a vacation together. They'd gone to Kings Island amusement park and acted like a couple of kids for three days. But even that modest trip had set them back more than they'd expected. This year Alvin had insisted on skipping his vacation time from the hospital where he was an orderly. He'd even been working overtime because the baby was due in three months and they were financially strapped.

Amy drew a cup of coffee from the urn and rubbed her back. She hadn't slept well. She never did without Alvin beside her, but he was on night shift. He promised to get his schedule changed by the end of summer. She smiled. By autumn, they would have a baby boy.

A woman turned from the copying machine where she was running off more leaflets bearing Todd's photo. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes. Just a little tired this morning.”

“You should sit down. I remember when I was as far
along as you—twice. My legs and feet gave me the most trouble with all that swelling.”

Amy looked down at her own slender legs and narrow feet in white Keds. “Thank goodness that hasn't happened to me.”

“
Yet
. Then there are the hemorrhoids. And God, the stretch marks afterward!” the woman said and turned back to the machine, laughing. She sounds like she wants me to have swollen legs and hemorrhoids and stretch marks, Amy thought, hurt. She knew she was too sensitive, but she couldn't help it. She was gentle and easily wounded. Perhaps that was what had drawn her to Alvin. They'd both had rough childhoods. They were battered from old tragedies and slightly at sea in the world. They clung to each other for hope and strength, although Amy's hope seemed much stronger than Alvin's.

A phone rang and Amy quickly set down her coffee, grabbed a pen and paper, and answered. A woman reported seeing Todd Ryan in the company of a bald man on a Greyhound bus headed for Cleveland.

“When was this, ma'am?” Amy asked, trying to contain her excitement.

“Thursday night.”

“Did you say Thursday?”

“I certainly did. Around eight o'clock. The boy looked terrified.”

Amy's elation faded. “Ma'am, Todd Ryan was abducted on Friday night.”

“I know what I saw,” the woman said emphatically. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

“No ma'am. I thought you might be mistaken about the night.”

“I'm not.”

“You're sure it was Thursday?”

“
Yes
. Are you deaf?”

Amy sighed and asked the woman for her name and phone number. Chief Garrett had instructed volunteers to take this information, even if the caller was obviously a
crank or a crazy. As she hung up, Alvin walked in looking especially tired, almost haggard. His straight dark hair, in need of a trim, hung over his forehead and his eyes were red-rimmed behind their glasses.

“Good heavens, Alvin. You look awful!” Amy exclaimed.

“It was a long night. I called home before I left the hospital and when I didn't get an answer, I figured you were here.”

“I expected you home before I left.” Alvin was five-ten and she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Are you sure something hasn't happened?”

He smiled wanly. “Not to me. Did you hear about Skeeter Dobbs?” She shook her head. “He's dead.”

“Oh.” Amy was twenty-two but she had the voice of a little girl. “Well, he wasn't all that old but considering the way he lived—no proper food, all that liquor—I guess it's no surprise.”

“He was murdered.”

Amy's pixie face blanched. “Oh! Oh my! How? Why?”

“I'm going on hospital gossip. Someone jammed something in his eye. I've heard screwdriver, knife, ice pick.” He lifted his stooped shoulders. “I don't know why. Skeeter wasn't the type to brawl.”

“Oh gosh.” Amy shook her head slowly. “I remember when I was little and I'd see him in the park talking to squirrels. I was scared of him. Mama told me not to say anything except ‘hi' if he spoke to me. She said he was one of God's unfortunates.”

“Your mother constantly talked about God, about how good He was. It must have been hard for her to explain Skeeter to herself.”

Amy drew back, half afraid of any implied criticism of God. “God doesn't create everyone equal. I mean, in His eyes they're equal, but not in ours.” She smiled. She wasn't sure that reasoning was correct, but it sounded good. “Anyway, she said Skeeter was one of God's unfortunates and
I decided right then that although they deserve our pity, I didn't want to be one of
them.
”

Sadness flickered in Alvin's dark eyes behind the thick glasses that had a tendency to slip too low on his narrow nose. “You didn't exactly hit the jackpot with me.”

Amy cocked her head. “Now that's just your tiredness talking, Alvin Tanner! Of all the things to say! I'm the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I can't even afford to take you on a vacation.”

“I don't need to go anywhere. I'm happy staying in Sinclair.”

“I guess you'll have to be.” He glanced around. “Why are you here? You spent all day yesterday at this place. You took your vacation time so you could rest.”

“Being here is nothing like being at the store,” Amy said quickly, hoping he would not insist she leave, even though Alvin wasn't one to insist on anything. “I sit a lot and I'll only stay a few hours today. Besides, I keep thinking about how I'd feel if our little boy was lost. If I can help in any way to get Todd back to his mother, I'll do it.”

“You feel really bad about that kid, don't you?”

“I feel awful about him! You do, too, don't you?”

Alvin nodded. “Sure. But you had cramping. You should be resting. And you shouldn't go back to the 7-Eleven job at all.”

Amy smiled. “Alvin, I
have
to. We need the money. And after the baby is born—”

“After the baby is born you won't be working. You're going to get to stay home and be a full-time mother!”

Color tinged Alvin's high cheekbones and perspiration had broken out on his upper lip. Amy, suddenly looking worried and surprised, stroked his arm, “Honey, that's just not possible.”

“It
is
” Alvin said passionately. “I'm going to make it possible.”

Amy had never had much in the way of material things in her life, but she'd always been an innately cheerful, hopeful person who believed in the basic goodness of the
human heart and the benevolence of a God who loved all His little children. Alvin, on the other hand, had little faith in people besides his adored wife. He also had a tendency toward deep depression. Amy always thought the fate of his mother caused his depression. Slim Tanner sat wasting away in prison for murdering her husband, which everyone knew was because he'd been beating her and nearly killed Alvin with his savagery. Alvin never talked about those days. He'd also never let Amy visit his mother, saying the prison environment would upset her too much; he returned from his own visits looking worn and desolate. Lately, though, his usual mildness had given away to flashes of temper directed not at Amy, but at their situation. She thought he was worried about the baby. They both wanted him desperately. They wanted to give him what neither of them had when they were children.

“Alvin, honey, you're awful tired. You go on home. I'll only stay another hour if it'll make you feel better. And you quit worrying about things. We'll be fine.”

Alvin nodded, the fierceness seeming to leak out of him. “I know we will.”

“God will provide.”

“I've learned not to count on God to provide anything,” Alvin said bleakly. “I will provide for my wife and child. You'll see, Amy. Our lives are going to change.”

After forcing herself to make a few pleasant comments to a thankfully subdued Matilda Vinson, Lynn raced for home. She had a feeling Doug would be headed for the volunteer center and she was right. He was picking up his car keys, starting out the door. They almost collided.

“Lynn, what are you doing here?”

“You will not believe what's happened.”

Doug's expression froze. “They found Todd.”

“Todd? No. You would have known about that before me. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just…” Doug swallowed. “Got my hopes up, that's all.” He looked tired, his eyelids slightly swollen from lack of sleep. Lynn was unhappy to see him wearing his oldest pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt he'd obviously pulled from the dryer without waiting for her to iron it. She liked for Doug to look good. His recent weight gain and his sleepless nights weren't helping, but he could at least wear decent clothes, she thought in annoyance. People would think he was unhappy with her and that she was a bad wife who didn't even take care of his wardrobe.

“Doug, that shirt—”

“Don't carp about my clothes. Come in and tell me what's going on.”

Their house was small and spare, much newer than Molly's but less lavish and built of cheap materials. Frank had offered to buy them something nicer, but to Lynn's frustration Doug had turned him down. He wanted to live on what they earned. He still wasn't happy about the store Frank had bought for Lynn, although Frank agreed to let Lynn pay him back over time. Douglas and Lynn had argued over that one. Argued, made up, argued again. And finally Lynn had prevailed.

She didn't like her house, but she kept it spotless and had just finished painting the kitchen and living room. She pulled Doug over to a hard blue couch she hated and sat down beside him. “Skeeter Dobbs has been murdered. Miss Vinson found him in the doorway of the store. Fell right over him.”

“Murdered?” Doug repeated woodenly. “You're sure he was
murdered!
”

“Someone jabbed an ice pick in his eye.” Finally she looked repelled. “I got a closer look than I would have liked. It was gross. The thing must have gone clear into his brain. The blood—”