The Dying Room (8 page)

The Book Shop

23rd and 10th Terrace South, Noon

“Thanks, DeeAnn.” Buddy held up the book he’d just paid sixty bucks for and gave the bookstore owner a wink. He’d come to the bookstore as soon as he’d gotten DeeAnn’s call.

DeeAnn Garner owned and operated The Book Shop, a bookstore that offered a few extra services like providing communications options for those who didn’t want to leave a paper or electronic trail. Besides being the owner of the shop, DeeAnn was one damned fine woman. Buddy liked her, but lately he’d been too hung up on another woman who was so far out of his league he had no chance in hell of catching up. Sure, he could light her fire easy enough, but making a woman happy between the sheets was way different than pleasing her on an intellectual level. Or, in this case, even on a social level. What the hell was he doing falling for a rich chick—a senator’s daughter at that. Jesus Christ. A damned medical examiner. Buddy groaned inwardly. He was so screwed.

Oblivious to his dilemma, DeeAnn blushed. “My pleasure, Buddy. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

He heaved a big old sigh. Why hadn’t he played it smart and set his sights on this sweet, prim little blonde?
Cause you’re an idiot, Corlew
. “Sure thing, doll.”

DeeAnn giggled as Buddy walked away. He waited until he was out of the store and in his Charger before he thumbed through the book. The note, addressed to #10—his secret ID number—was tucked neatly in the center of the paperback copy of
Little Women
.

Let’s have a beer. I got what you need
.

“That didn’t take you long,” Buddy muttered. He’d asked a good friend to look into the adoption of Sylvia’s daughter. Since the legal proceedings had taken place more than two decades ago and in another state, he’d needed an assist. His friend had the right kind of connections.

No private investigator knew it all or could handle it all, but the best PIs found and maintained the right contacts. Contacts were key in this business. Buddy had cultivated a number of contacts during his days in the BPD. The more important ones he’d discovered in this gig. A good PI couldn’t always be a good guy. Sometimes his work required crossing certain lines, like the one he’d had a contact bulldoze right over to find Sylvia’s daughter.

“That’s why you get the big bucks,” he grumbled as he slowly backed out of the parking spot and drove just around the corner to his favorite watering hole.

The Garage Café was a vintage joint with a rustic vibe. Buddy was a regular so he knew the people behind the counter. Trust was another essential element in his business. He trusted the folks who operated The Garage. So did several of his contacts.

Buddy spotted the one he was meeting today. He slid onto the stool next to him. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“I ordered you a cheeseburger.” Rob Johns jerked his head toward the kitchen. “It’s lunch time, you know. You don’t eat, you can’t do your best work.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buddy hitched his head toward the bartender, and then turned to Rob. “Tell it to your kids.”

Rob grinned. “Everyday, man. Everyday. I got three in school, you know.”

Buddy grunted. He didn’t see how the guy kept his sanity with three kids. The bartender, Casey, left a Corona in front of Buddy. He took a swig before asking, “So, what’s the lowdown out in Cali?”

Rob shrugged and reached for his beer. “I got the 411 on your college girl, only she ain’t no college girl anymore. She graduated early. Evidently she’s some sort of brainiac.”

Buddy didn’t see a file or a briefcase or any damned thing else he might be carrying a report in. What he had spotted was an attitude he recognized all too well. “What’s your bump in price? I don’t have all day. I have stuff to do.”

“I figure a rich client’s kid is worth double the usual run of the mill offspring. You got an issue with a price adjustment, or maybe a nice tip?”

Buddy laughed. “Nah. I would’ve done the same thing. In fact...” He took a long draw from the bottle and made a satisfied sound. “I was thinking though, about those photos your ex hired me to take of you when you were cheating on her.”

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “You trying to blackmail me, Corlew?”

Buddy shook his head. “No way, man. I’m just showing you how things can have a different value under the right circumstances. I didn’t charge you for taking those extra kinky pics out of the mix.”

“She still sued me for divorce,” Rob argued. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, I know a city councilman who could make your life hell if he found out you’d screwed around with his wife. Especially in some of those positions.” Buddy grinned. “I didn’t charge you a dime for keeping your fat out of the fire.”

Rob waved him off. “Man, that was two years ago. What’re you doing bringing up the past?”

“Sometimes we need to remember the past so we know the right way to go in the future.” Buddy was a fine one to be spouting advice. As true as that was, he wasn’t about to be taken to the cleaners by this guy. It wasn’t as much about the money as it was about making sure he didn’t get any ideas about the future potential of the info he now possessed. Protecting Sylvia was too important to let this guy get a whiff of fear.

Rob grinned. “I guess you got a point. Let’s enjoy our lunch while I fill you in and we’ll settle up afterwards.”

“Works for me.”

On cue the bartender dropped two plates loaded with cheeseburgers and fries on the counter in front of them.

After downing a few bites, Rob started talking. “Finding the people who adopted her was easy. I tracked down the private service your client used first, and then I located a retired file clerk. It cost me five G’s to get her to give me the name.”

“Reasonable under the circumstances,” Buddy allowed.

Rob tore off another bite of his burger. Buddy did the same, his patience thinning a little. He’d never known the guy to beat around the bush, but he was damned sure doing exactly that today.

“The young lady graduated from UCLA. She’s a nurse. Graduated at the very top of her class. Some of the Facebook posts from her friends suggested she could have done anything she chose. Her friends were all complaining that she didn’t continue on to med school with them. Evidently, she dropped pre-med and switched to nursing at the end of her second year in college.”

“I guess she just decided she didn’t want to be a doctor. So what about the couple who adopted her?” Buddy hoped the kid had lived a happy life so far and had been treated well. Sylvia already punished herself enough for giving the kid up. He could imagine how she would suffer if her daughter had been treated badly.

“Rich folks. In their early fifties when they adopted her. The father was a heart surgeon. The mother was a pediatric surgeon.”

“Was?” Buddy frowned. “Both parents are deceased?”

Rob nodded. “The father had a heart attack. The wife had a heart attack trying to save him. They both died right there in their living room and the daughter found them.”

“Damn.” He shook his head.

“Hell of a thing,” Rob agreed. “Bad for the kid. That was a couple years ago, around the same time she changed her career path. I looked back a few years on her Facebook. It seemed like her parents were not only in a stressful field but they were involved in all kinds of humanitarian work. They went to foreign countries and helped the needy rather than take vacations. The kid worked right alongside them until she went off to college. The parents retired five years ago and had been spending a lot more time overseas.”

“Sounds like a hardworking family.”

“Maybe too hard,” Rob said. “Sounds like a lot of stress to me. Maybe the kid decided she didn’t want that much stress in her life.”

“Maybe so.” Buddy knew how it felt to hold another person’s life in his hands. Though he’d never had to take anyone’s life when he was a cop, he’d come close. Those few seconds had felt like an eternity. Trying to save someone’s life would be a similar desperation. Doctors, especially surgeons, he supposed, faced intense situations every day. In recent years going overseas, even to serve the communities there, could be a dangerous business. “Kid still living in Cali?”

Rob downed the last of his fries. “That’s where things get interesting. As soon as she graduated, she closed up the family home place in Sacramento and took off.”

“Did you find her current address?” Buddy found himself holding his breath... for Sylvia.

“This is the part you’re not going to believe.”

Buddy shook his head. “If you tell me the kid is dead—”

“No. No.” Rob held up a hand. “She’s
here
.”

Another of those deep frowns furrowed Buddy’s face. “In Birmingham?”

Rob moved his head up and down in a slow, firm nod. “She hired a West Coast PI and tracked down her biological mother. Whoever the dad is, she didn’t find him, but she knows who your client is, Corlew. She’s been watching her for the past two months. She works at UAB Hospital.”

A new kind of tension stirred in Buddy. He tossed payment for their lunch on the counter. “I’m ready to settle up now.”

Rob tossed back the last of his beer. He followed Buddy outside, retrieved the file and his itemized bill from his car, and handed both over to Buddy.

“This—minus the price bump—will be in your bank account before the end of the day,” Buddy assured him.

“Nice doing business with you.” Before climbing behind the steering wheel of his sedan, Rob added, “I want those pics burned or shredded.”

Buddy waved him off. “Consider it done.”

When he’d dropped behind the wheel of his Charger and had the doors closed and locked, Buddy opened the large envelope that held Rob’s reports and the photos he’d taken. He scanned the summary report. Buddy wouldn’t deny being grateful finding the girl had been this easy. The problem was, any time something was this easy there was trouble.

If Miss Addison Devers wanted to know her biological mother, why not talk to her after she’d found her? Buddy could understand some amount of uncertainty, but this went way beyond simply taking some time to take stock or to shore up her courage. This was almost stalking. Had she been following Sylvia around? Buddy studied the photo of Addison. She was a heartbreaker just like her mother. The girl—young woman—could be a runway model. She had the same long legs and killer figure her mother had. Her hair was a darker brown, almost black, and the eyes were different. Addison’s were a cool gray.

Heaving a disgusted breath, Buddy shook his head. Since his conversation with Dan, he’d done his research on Benton Murdock. The guy had the same almost black hair and those pale gray eyes. Addison also had a chin dimple that matched the one Murdock sported in all his media pics. At least now Buddy knew.

Murdock was married with two kids in college. The man had political aspirations. Buddy wasn’t sure how well he would take having a secret from the past revealed. Since Sylvia had never listed him as the father, Addison wouldn’t have had any way to locate him.

Addison had leased a loft apartment in Five Points. She’d been hired after her first interview at UAB. She drove a BMW convertible. A snazzy little red one. Sylvia’s daughter was not only alive and well but right here in the Magic City.

Was she looking for a relationship with her mother or to get a little revenge for having been given away at birth?

He had a few good contacts at the hospital. Maybe he’d find out just what Miss Addison was up to and maybe even have a chat with her.

Buddy placed the photos and reports back into the envelope. Having a client who meant something more than a paycheck made things complicated.

Unfortunately, this was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Birmingham Police Department, 1:20 p.m.

Jess placed Joseph Pratt’s photo on the case board. Lori immediately stepped in to add relevant data beneath the photo. There was a lot they knew about Pratt. Jess shifted her attention to the photo of the judge. The same could be said for Rutledge. Yet, with all that they had gleaned about the victims from research and interviews, there was no smoking gun or clear motive for their murders.

All aspects of the crime scenes indicated the murders had been carried out by the same killer. Where was the connection? More importantly, what motive fit both crimes?

“What did you two have in common that put you in the same crosshairs?” Jess muttered, mostly to herself.

Harper rounded his desk and moved to her side. “I’m thinking they were part of a secret group that screwed over the wrong guy and that guy has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to have his revenge.”

“Except,” Cook spoke up from his desk, “everyone we’ve interviewed claims Rutledge rarely left his home during the last two years.” He pushed out of his chair and strolled up to stand next to Jess. “Wouldn’t this secret group have meetings or something?”

Jess wasn’t sure the good old boys club was what the sergeant had in mind, but she had a feeling he was on the right track. “Maybe this secret group had a falling out and stopped having meetings.”

Lori glanced over her shoulder. “You guys have watched way too many movies.” She offered the marker. “But if you want to put your thoughts on the board, you might start with civic organizations and fundraising committees the vics had in common. I’m sticking with the theory that our killer is someone who feels wronged by both vics.”

Harper reached for the marker. “I’ll put my money on a secret club.” He walked up to the board and added his theory to the other data already listed.

Before Jess could voice her own ideas, the door to the SPU shared office space opened and Hayes breezed in. He took a moment to assess the case board before closing the door behind him.

“Where’ve you been?” Cook asked. “You didn’t make it to Cappy’s for lunch.”

“Sorry.” Hayes pushed aside the lapels of his designer suit jacket and tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers before joining the group at the case board. “Lunch is on me next time.”

Cook shrugged. “Works for me.”

“You’re late,” Jess reminded the lieutenant. They had all agreed to meet back at the office at one. She had been impressed with his team attitude the past few months. Hopefully, this wasn’t the first sign of a regression.

“I have a very good defense, Chief.” He held out his hand to Harper. “May I?”

Harper passed him the marker. “You find a lead?”

Hayes grinned. “I did.” He wrote the name Ronald Durham on the case board. “I don’t have a photo just yet, but this one is a game changer.”

“Tell me about him,” Jess prompted, anticipation lighting in her chest. They badly needed a big break on this case.

“One year before he retired,” Hayes capped the marker and tossed it back to Harper, “Judge Rutledge received a number of threats, including having his tires slit and his windshield smashed.”

“There’s no record of any threats in the past seven years,” Lori countered.

“He didn’t want an official case opened,” Hayes explained. “His wife was very ill and he didn’t want her seeing anything about it on the news. So he handled it off the record. A couple of retired BPD detectives found the guy responsible—one Oden Pitts. He had a couple of outstanding warrants so it was easy to get him off the street. Pitts claimed that Durham paid him to give the judge some trouble.”

“Who’s your source?” Lori asked, still visibly skeptical.

“Willow Andersen. She’s just hung her shingle over on Seventh Avenue. Her first job out of law school was as a legal clerk for Rutledge.”

Lori walked over to Hayes and tugged at his shirt collar. “Did you check out her new office over lunch?”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his lipstick-stained collar. “No comment.”

Lori shook her head. Cook and Harper struggled not to grin. Jess didn’t care where he’d had lunch or who had been on the menu. “Where is this Oden Pitts?”

“Dead,” Hayes answered. “Car accident last summer.”

“What about Durham?” Dammit. They needed a break here.

“Donaldson Correctional Facility.” Hayes grinned. “You want to take a guess at who put him there?”

Now they were getting somewhere.

Donaldson Correctional Facility

Bessemer, 3:30 p.m.

It was always a pleasant experience to visit a maximum-security institution, particularly one that specialized in controlling hard to manage violent offenders. Rapists, killers, the worst of the worst were housed here.

Inside, the cold concrete floors went on forever. The clang of steel doors punctuated the somber silence. Jess took a seat at the austere metal table and flipped to a clean page in her notepad. This was the end of the line for many of those unlucky enough to find themselves inmates of Donaldson Correctional Facility. The man they’d come to visit today was no exception.

Lori paced the floor. “If you go into labor while we’re here, you could end up having your baby in the prison infirmary.”

As a friend, Lori was not happy with Jess’s decision to conduct this interview personally. “Think what a story it’ll make for our grandchildren one day.”

Lori tossed her a look. “I know you did not just say that.”

Jess flashed her a smile. The steel on steel jangle of the door being unlocked drew her attention as it opened with a whine. Two guards, one on either side of the shackled inmate, led him into the room. His ankles were constrained, as were his wrists. The wrist restraints were additionally secured to the belly shackle at his waist. When he took the seat opposite Jess, he was further chained to the massive hook in the floor that would prevent him moving more than a few inches in any direction. Jess would be the first to admit that the extensive security measures allowed her to breathe easier. When it came to inmates with nothing left to lose, it paid to be prepared for most anything.

“We’ll be right outside the door. Let us know if you need anything else, Chief,” Officer Simmons, the lead guard, said as they left the interview room.

Lori took a position a couple of feet behind Jess. Their weapons and cell phones as well as their bags remained at the check-in desk. All Jess needed to conduct this interview was her badge and her notepad. Well, and her pencil.

“Hello, Mr. Durham. I’m Deputy Chief Jess Burnett from the Birmingham Police Department.”

Ronald Durham cocked his head and openly studied Jess. He was only thirty-five years old. Ten of those years had been spent right here on death row. Ronald had been convicted of killing his grandmother for her social security check. At the time, he’d been an addict desperate for another hit of his drug of choice. Today, he was the only prisoner still on death row who had been sentenced by Rutledge.

“You here for the meditation, Chief?”

Jess smiled. A few years ago the prison, named after a corrections officer slain here, had started a centuries old meditation program. According to all reports, the program was transforming violent inmates into much calmer men. Maybe she could use a little meditation in her life but so far she hadn’t found the time. She spent too many of her days and nights tracking down men like Durham so they could be put in places like this, and have all the time in the world for meditation.

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you about Judge Harmon Rutledge.”

“The judge who made sure I would spend the rest of my life here.” Durham laughed. “Yeah, I heard the old bastard finally got his. I can die happy now.”

So much for the calming effects of the meditation program. “You have, what? A hundred or so days left before you’re scheduled for execution?”

“One hundred and one.”

Durham carried the scars that told the story of his life. A particularly ugly one dissected his left cheek and disappeared beneath his collar. There were others, mostly hidden by his jumpsuit. He was a victim of child abuse. A criminal with a long rap sheet of violent crimes that had landed him behind bars numerous times even before he committed murder. According to his version of the story, killing his grandmother had been easy since she’d overlooked the abuse he’d suffered his whole life. In his mind,
the old bitch had it coming.

“You made certain threats against the judge,” Jess reminded him. “You hired people on the outside to do things to intimidate him. Maybe this time, you decided to have a more permanent revenge.”

He shrugged. “I could have. I have my resources and he did send me here to rot.” Durham leaned forward.

Jess braced against the urge to draw away.

“This place is the bottom of hell. It stinks of evil and death. Everything in here is rotting from the inside out. Those twenty-four cells they got for guys like me, we call them the
dying rooms
. You know, like those orphanages in China. We’re tossed in there like unwanted trash and then we’re left to die. The sooner the better. If we don’t die before the scheduled date, then they send us to hell with a lethal cocktail. I hope the judge got that kind of send-off. I hope he saw just a little bit of what it’s like to stare at the same walls... the same memories of what you know you did... before he died.”

Jess scribbled a few notes on her pad before meeting those eerie gold eyes once more. “You did a very good job of describing my crime scene.”

He grinned. “I guess my dream came true.”

“You’ve had one visitor in the past year besides your attorney.” Jess cocked her head and studied the man. He knew something. She was certain of it. “He was here this past Monday. I’m sure you remember him. Tall, slim man?”

Durham shrugged. “Just another writer wanting to do my story.”

Oh, yes. Mr. Durham was lying. The way he averted his eyes when he made that last statement told the tale. “Really. Did this writer,” Jess turned back a page and glanced at her notes, “Al Hitchcock, have a real name?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know him. Never seen him before in my life.” This time he looked straight at Jess when he spoke. “He came to see me. He had an interest in my history. That’s all I know.”

“I see.” Jess surveyed her notes once more. “You withdrew your appeal this week.”

“I did.”

Jess watched his face very carefully for any reaction. “Couldn’t keep a decent lawyer? Or did you give up fighting for your life? It takes a lot of courage to keep banging your head against that same brick wall. I guess you decided to give up on winning.”

“Like I said, the meditation did the trick.” He made a bored face. “I’m through pretending I was wrongly accused and sentenced. I did a lot of bad things. I killed my own grandmother. Even if the bitch deserved to die, it was wrong of me to take her life.”

Too bad he couldn’t muster up any regret in his expression or his tone. “When did you complete the meditation course, Mr. Durham?” The ten-day course was held four times per year. According to Durham’s medical jacket, he attended the program this time last year.

“What difference does that make?” He made another of those negligent shrugs. “Ain’t a man like me allowed to change?”

“Certainly. I’m simply trying to work out how you suddenly came to feel you deserved your sentence and the timing of the withdrawal of your appeal. There’s quite a gap there. If your meditation experience opened your eyes to the truth, then why wait a whole year to drop the appeal.”

When he only stared at her, Jess went on, “I mean, that’s a huge decision. I’m sure something new happened—an epiphany of some sort—that motivated you to make the decision.”

He laughed. “You got me, Chief. When I heard the news about Rutledge, I dropped the appeal. I was so happy I wanted to celebrate.” He looked down at his shackles and then back at her. “You know how it is. You don’t always get everything you want.”

“But you got one thing, didn’t you, Mr. Durham?”

“You accusing me of something?” He leaned forward again. “You know, you are one sexy lady cop. I could—”

Before Jess could blink Lori had rounded the table, grabbed him by the collar, and jerked him back. “Answer the question, Durham.”

“Hmmm. I love strong women. We could have a threesome.” He flicked out his tongue in a vulgar manner. “Guess this is my lucky day. Did you know you’re never hotter than you are when you’re pregnant?”

“Enough,” Lori growled close to his face. “I wish I had my nine millimeter and I would wipe that smirk off your ugly face. Now, answer the question.”

He glared at Jess as if she should do something about her detective. She did the shrugging this time. “What can I say? She’s likes keeping me happy.”

Lori released him and Durham stretched his neck to the right and then to the left before responding. “You want to know if I had anything to do with the judge’s death.” He shook his head. “I wish I could claim it and you better believe if I could I would. I’m on death row. It ain’t like I got anything to lose. I would shout it until these nasty ass walls rung with the glory hallelujah sound of it. But no. It wasn’t me.”

“Still, you’ve heard rumors,” Jess suggested. He was far too cocky and informed to have heard nothing. He knew the damned crime scene, for Heaven’s sake. “Maybe your Mr. Hitchcock told you a little something about it.”

“I heard it was one of the judge’s own.” Durham grinned. “Or maybe it was that crazy ass serial killer who spent all last year chasing after you.” He leaned forward again. “Maybe the ghost of Eric Spears is back just to make sure you don’t get bored... or lonely.”

Jess stood. She’d heard enough for today. “Thank you, Mr. Durham.”

“Can’t take the heat can you, Chief?” he shouted at her back as she strode to the door. “I see why killers go for you. You got an aura about you, Chief. It’s tempting as hell. Makes a guy want to do anything just to get your attention.”

Before Jess could urge her to let it go, Lori had returned to the table and leaned down to Durham.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something, asshole?” she demanded.