The Killing King of Gratis (22 page)

“Well, do you know when the cases, which you have no idea whether they exist or not, would have been from?” She was beginning to wonder how many members of the state bar Amy must have serviced to get her law license.

“I don’t know that either. Maybe as far back as 1960, or even further.”

LisaRae’s smile faded. “Well, I tell you what. Go into the books over there and find the cases you need.” She pointed to the annual archives attached by a chain to a table in the middle of the clerk’s office.

“Those go to 1975. If you need anything older than that, you’ll need to look in our microfishe.”

Amy smiled, “I’ll start in the microfiche first, and then go to the books if I need to.”

“You’re more than welcome to Ms. Delahunt, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m doing some research now myself, trying to audit some of our files. We only have one station to work from. I should be done by early afternoon tomorrow.”

LisaRae fought back a smile. Everything she just said was a lie. Her real plan for the day was reading the Ladies Home Journal in her office and watching her shows (close captioned, of course, so no-one could hear her not earning her salary).

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but time is of the essence. I would take it as a personal favor if you could let me see those records now. Newt MacElroy’s life is at stake, as is every woman’s in town.”

LisaRae cocked her head. The nerve of this little bitch, telling
her
when she was going to see
her
records. Worse yet, she called her ma’am.
I’m not some old lady at the drugstore blocking her way into the condom section.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Ms. Delahunt, but since your client is in jail I believe the women of this community are fine. Now, you won’t be able to access these records until I’m finished tomorrow afternoon, and only if I’m finished with my audit by then. I have no idea whether I will be done or not.”

Amy just smiled, “Well thank you anyway, Mrs. Johnson.” She turned and headed into the hallway.

LisaRae walked back into her office and felt very satisfied as she turned on her show. She was very much looking forward to getting her “All My Children” fix for the day. Her phone rang about two minutes after she sat down.

As she listened to the voice on the other end of the line her sense of satisfaction soured. The voice was very explicit with her. She noticed the click clack of Amy Delahunt’s shoes as she returned to the clerk’s office window. Amy saw her from the clerk’s window and smiled as LisaRae’s frown deepened.

Amy knew that Johnnie Lee was on the other end of the phone. She didn’t know what Johnnie was telling LisaRae, only that “Amy, you can call me if she doesn’t help you. I know exactly what she doesn’t want everybody to find out.”

After she hung up, LisaRae took a few seconds to get composed and then hoisted herself out of her chair. She went to the door at the side of the clerk’s window and opened it. Amy strolled in.

“Well LisaRae, you don’t mind if I call you that do you? Let’s just get to that microfiche station, okay? I might have a long day in front of me, and I want to get started.”

LisaRae led Amy to the machine, showed her how it worked and where the microfishe was kept, and left to go fume in her office. Before she could get out the door, Amy spoke again.

“LisaRae, just leave a key for me on the table. I might be here late, and I don’t want to trouble you if you need to go home. Be a dear and save some of that coffee for me, too, okay? I could drink an ocean of it when I’m researching.”

LisaRae fairly flew to her office and closed the door. She learned a lot about forgiveness and humility in church, but none of the apostles ever had to deal with a smarmy little bitch like Amy Delahunt. It was enough to make even the best woman sleep in on Sundays. She turned on her show and opened her magazine, but all joy in those for the moment was gone. She hoped Amy wouldn’t find what she was looking for, and daydreamed that some future courthouse scandal would chase her away for good, to God knows where.

Maybe lower Alabama
, she thought, smiling at the possibility, imagining how poorly Amy would fare in that exotic locale.

S
kipper sat in his father’s study contemplating the decaying corpse of the man he grew up fearing. He noted how the skin around the mouth was drawing up enough to give his father a sly grin. The eyelids, closed only the day before, were decaying such that his dad now looked at him as if he was in on some joke Skipper wasn’t privy to. Even in death’s repose he seemed to be one up, maybe two, on his only son.

“I know you’re dead, asshole. I killed you myself while you begged for mercy. You are not grinning, you are rotting.” Saying this out loud steadied him against the rising stench and toothy smile. If he was willing to touch the body he would wipe the smile off the corpse, maybe even wipe the whole face off. As it was, all he could do was rebuke it verbally, not wanting to touch the man he so seldom touched, if receiving whippings didn’t count, in life.

Skipper was pondering his schedule. He had time right now, in the late afternoon, to rush out and throw his father to the gators. Then he could motor away in the cruiser and be done with this place. He wanted to get far from here and felt the time to do that was yesterday. Time wasted was time he would never get back, and he had wasted so much time already.

But leaving this shithole in style is only going to happen once
,
and why shouldn’t I leave in style,
he thought. Right now, he was somewhat satisfied with his preparation. He had everything he needed for his soon to be guests, even packing two syringes filled with ketamine solution if they got too naughty. It worked well on the cart girl, Mandy, and on all the girls during his fraternity days at Florida. Even Millie, with toxins always floating in her system, couldn’t fight it after she stepped into his truck on her last day.

“I deserve this,” he whispered, “I have worked for this and there is no reason to hurry.”

He left his father’s company and went to the bar to pour another gin and tonic. He regretted not picking up more limes before it was too late to go out in public. He made do with lime juice from the kitchen. He hadn’t been to the store in days, forgetting that he would need to stock up before killing his dad.

“Note to self, when you’re trying to stay out of sight, buy limes first.” His voice echoed in the empty room.

He walked around the too quiet house, wandering upstairs, sipping his drink and settling on a plan. First he would have his session with Meg. Then he would come back, take care of Dad, and cruise out to the Atlantic. He decided he would leave Meg’s body where he killed her. He would leave her little brother there, too.
They started the summer together, so they may as well end up that way.

Skipper knew enough about forensics to know that Newt wouldn’t be exonerated by the discovery of the children’s bodies. He was going to leave the two in a place where they wouldn’t be found for some time. Decomposition would make pinpointing a time and day of death nearly impossible. It would be obvious that Newt was incarcerated when the children went missing, but who knows whether he had an accomplice, or whether this some copycat killing. Either way Newt would go down for three murders, and nobody would ever feel safe in Gratis again. If anything, the thought of a copycat would keep folks up at night, listening to the wind.

“See? The bad guy was even able to get me and my old pappy,” Skipper almost sang to himself, tripping down the staircase as he made his way back to the bar for another drink.

He poured himself one more gin and tonic and then went to the pool house to dress. He would be leaving soon and wanted to take his time getting ready. There would be no excuse for not presenting his best for Meg. She would only get one date with a real man in this lifetime, after all. Skipper would be that real man, and he would make sure to look good, even with all he had to do in front of him. His Meg deserved it.

T
he afternoon shadows crept around the office as Delroy sat at his desk going through the details of each murder. The differences in each struck him as extreme.

Millie’s murder was frenzied. The body was mutilated almost beyond recognition, and the killer allowed himself and his vehicle to be seen. The killer was new and excited at this point. Delroy wondered whether he even meant to kill Millie. Terrence said that Millie’s head disappeared when she got into the truck, but that could mean a couple of things with her. Either way the whole thing was messy and passionate and sloppily planned.

Althea was different. Her killing was economical and precise. Where Millie’s body showed overkill, Althea was only stabbed once and thoroughly enough to ensure death. She was attacked when she was the most vulnerable, and this time the killer was discrete. Althea’s murder obviously covered the killer’s tracks. The only passion was for self-preservation. It did show a coldness, though, and that the killer was smart enough to learn from his one previous experience.

Merry’s killing was the one that really fascinated Delroy. The killer was able to act with some measure of restraint, although the details showed he took some joy out of it. He (was it a he?) set her up so she would be vulnerable when he came to her apartment. The frame job he did on Newt was spectacular. Delroy didn’t admire anything about it, but had to acknowledge the cunning behind it.

Wow, you’re really figuring out this cat
, he thought, rubbing his eyes,
but you still don’t know who it is, Mr. Genius.

He knew it was someone close but that was it. He could look at the case file until his eyes fell out and wouldn’t be any closer than he was right now. Something else would have to break. The problem was that he didn’t have any moves left to make that happen. Every idea he had was used up, and still nothing was really any better.

Delroy lay down on his office couch and woke when the phone rang. He didn’t know what time it was, but the afternoon shadows were starting to give way to the gray of dusk. Answering with a weak “yeah,” the voice on the other end jolted him awake.

“Delroy, I am going to be at your office in five minutes. We have to go see a judge.” Amy sounded breathless.

“Slow down, girl. We can’t go see a judge about Newt’s case, if that’s what it’s about, without the prosecutor there. That’s ex parte and they’ll have our asses for that.”

“Oh, it’s about the case, but this won’t be ex parte, not for what we’re going about. Just get your ass outside your office now.” She hung up.

Delroy staggered off the couch and, without thinking about it, put his pistol in his waistband. He didn’t know what Amy’s opinion was about guns, but he wasn’t going anywhere without one. It would be easy enough to sneak it under the seat of her car, just in case he needed it. He then went to the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror.
Damn this bedhead
. He wet his hair and combed it down as well as he could. It was still wet when Amy came driving up to the front of his office. She stopped the car and he hopped in.

“Did you just take a shower or something?”

Delroy ignored her question and asked his own.

“What is this about going to see the judge? It’s after hours and we’re not going to find him at the courthouse. This ain’t some TV show where lawyers go around getting judges out of bed, or their son’s wedding, or some other mess like that.” He was happy to be near Amy but was totally in the dark.

Amy slowed down and rolled into a parking space in front of the old courthouse, not one hundred yards from where she picked him up. She looked down for a moment once she parked, and then replied.

“Look, I know this isn’t a TV show. On a TV show I’m wealthy, and my husband is a sexy millionaire who’s hung like a yak. On a TV show I’m not hanging out with an attorney who can’t pay me and looks like his mommy just dabbed his hair with wet fingers. While you’ve been hanging out, or bathing, or doing whatever you’ve been doing, I’ve been researching records at the clerk’s office with a very nasty old woman making ugly faces at me, so don’t talk to me like I’m an extra on LA Law, dumbass.”

Delroy enjoyed the peculiar feeling of being ashamed and turned on at the same time.

“Amy, I’m really sorry. You know I think you’re great, so tell me, what do we want with this judge we’re about to go see? Judge Motte, right?” He smiled weakly, wishing he’d brushed his teeth as well.

She backed the car out of the parking space and started driving down Spring Street. She didn’t answer him immediately but let him hang for a moment. Finally she told him.

“Well, I think the first thing we’re going to ask him, and you’re right about it being Judge Motte, is how his truck came to be used in the murder of one Millicent Knox.”

Delroy sat back in his seat, stunned. He looked for a clue in Amy’s face to tell him that she was kidding or confused. She just kept driving and looking determined. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to come to terms with “how his truck came to be used in the murder of one Millicent Knox.”

Amy continued. “Before you ask, I thought I would check the dead people on your truck list against old court records. I figured maybe they got involved in some litigation that involved their truck in some way, or maybe were involved in some crime or DUI where they wrecked their truck or it got stolen or something. I know it was grasping at straws but, well, that’s what we’re doing. That’s why I had to deal with the ugly stares of old LisaRae Johnson all day.”

Delroy grimaced. He had received a number of those stares himself.

“Anyway, a Sammy Stone owned one of those trucks, a green Ford with the round headlights, and passed away years ago. It turns out he was involved in a couple of court cases at the same time back in 1973. The first was a public indecency charge where he was accused of slinging his privates around. He claimed that he was only peeing behind some bushes, from what I could tell, but there just happened to be a meeting of the Four H Club on the other side of the same shrubbery. Not surprisingly, the other case was his divorce. His attorney for both proceedings was Judge Motte. Our judge, for a very little bit of time, was in private practice.”