What the River Knows (4 page)

Bates picked up his Styrofoam cup of coffee. “No semen, what little DNA there was is not on file.”

Scott shot a glance at him. “Bastard used a condom?”

Bates nodded. “Probably. Or a foreign object. They’re looking for more DNA. It’s in the file.”

Scott looked down at the single-spaced text. He slid the photos under the paper, trying not to look at them, at least not until he could psych himself to be dispassionate and clinical about them. He wasn’t there yet. He scanned the report. It appeared that Delia—the victim—had been penetrated, but there was no semen, no evidence of human contact. Perhaps a foreign object. That was odd. Men generally wanted to have sex with a woman for one of two reasons—either they found her desirable or they wanted to assert power over her. Whoever killed this victim had asserted the ultimate power; he had taken her life, but had refrained from actually having sex with her. Unless… Scott lifted the paper and started to slide the photos out when the door opened, and Ellery Enfield stepped past the uniformed officer who had opened the door.

“Have you found anything yet, Detective Bates?” Wearing a rumpled T-shirt that looked as if he had slept in it and stained jeans he must have worn to work at the motorcycle shop, Enfield stood as uncertain as a first-grader sent to the principal’s office the first time. He glanced at Scott before returning his gaze to Bates.

“Not yet, Mr. Enfield.” Bates waved at the chair across the table from him. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay.” Enfield shuffled toward the chair. Studying him full in the face, Scott thought he seemed dazed, his eyes red-rimmed, face unshaved for at least twenty-four hours, if not more. It appeared as if he had crawled out of bed and just run his fingers through his shaggy dark blonde hair. “My mom got here last night.” He stared into the corner of the room. “She’s stayin’ with Gloria.” Tears gathered in his eyes, and his lower lip quivered. “Baby doesn’t understand.” He looked down at his rough, grease-stained hands. “Keeps askin’ me when momma’s gonna pick her up.” His shoulders heaved, and he put his hand across his eyes. He took a deep breath and then, blinking several times, faced Bates. “What do you need from me?”

Bates held his face taut. Scott glanced at him, hoping he could maintain his demeanor in the presence of Enfield’s palpable grief. “We just need to know where you’ve been between three-thirty Tuesday and five o’clock Wednesday.”

Enfield gazed toward the ceiling, as if remembering a sequence of events. “Well, I was at work till six on Tuesday, then I drove across town to pick up Glo from the sitter.” He looked down at his hands. “Then we stopped at McDonald’s for a bite and so she could play in their play world.” He glanced up at Bates. “There’s not much shade in my yard, so I figured she could burn off some energy in the cool before we got home.”

Bates had made some notes on his pad. “And then what did you do, Ellery?”

“You can call me El, everybody does.” Enfield smiled with his mouth, though his eyes didn’t echo the move. “Or Joker. To match the tattoo.” He pointed to his left arm and the artwork partially visible under the sleeve. He looked down at his hands again, and his shoulders moved. “Though I don’t feel much like jokin’ now.” He drew another deep breath, and met Bates’ gaze. “Glo and I played in the house for a while, then I gave her a bath, put her jammies on, and we read
One Fish, Two Fish
three times before she finally fell asleep.” He gave a real smile then. “You know how a three-year-old is when they like a book. It’s ‘Read it again, Daddy’ over and over.” His face gentled beneath the tough biker exterior. “But I don’t mind readin’ to her. She’s so much like her momma. She’s got Delia’s eyes—” His shoulders convulsed, and he buried his face in his hands.

Without comment, Scott set a box of tissues in front of the big man. He grabbed several. He sobbed for several minutes, then finally blew his nose before he could face them again. “You think I killed Delia, don’t you?”

Scott’s gut told him it was real pain he saw in the watery gray eyes. Bates spoke. “We’re just covering all the bases, Mr. Enfield.”

Enfield sighed. “I guess you have to.” He faced Bates and then Scott. “But I could never have hurt Delia. I loved her, still do.” He looked down at his hands again, at the tissues crumpled there. “I just wasn’t enough class for her, too stupid about books and such.” He stared into the corner. “Don’t know why she ever fell for me in the first place, but I thank God she did, else we’d never have had Gloria.” He sighed.

“Okay, after Glo-baby went to sleep, I looked at the newspaper, watched TV, and went to bed. Got up at 5:30, got Glo up at 6:30 and took her to Sharon’s, and then went to work.”

“And you called Delia’s office in the afternoon to talk to her.”

“Yeah.” Enfield looked serious. “We were gonna have lunch, talk about Gloria goin’ to pre-school in the fall, but I waited and waited and she never showed. I called her office when I got back to work, and they said she never came in.” He looked at Bates. “That’s when I called 911, ’cause Delia took her work serious. She would never just not show up without callin’ in.”

“The office didn’t seem too worried about it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think the chick at the front desk likes guys like me very much.”

“What do you mean by ‘guys like you?’” Bates focused on him.

“Rough guys. Bikers, laborers, uneducated guys.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, when I’d call, she’d always sound real nice and perky, but when she heard my voice, hers would change.” He met Bates’ eyes. “Like you sound when you’re scrapin’ shit off your shoes, know what I mean?”

Bates nodded. “Okay, I get your drift. What TV show did you watch?”

Enfield stared at the table. “Whatever was on the channel Glo had been watchin’ before her bath. PBS channel. I think I stayed on that through a commercial or two, then flipped to Monster Trucks. Then I watched the news and a few minutes of Conan. I was pretty tired by then. You know our shop’s not air-conditioned very much, and it takes it outta ya. Took a shower and went to bed.”

“Do you know if Delia was seeing anyone?”

A frown crossed Enfield’s face. “She’d been out to bars a few times with some of her friends from work, but I never heard nothin’ about her goin’ on any dates.”

“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Enfield ducked his head. “There’s a gal comes in for work at the shop sometimes. We go out for a couple beers.” He stopped.

Bates raised his eyebrows. “Just friends?”

Enfield glanced from Bates to Scott and back. “Well, if Glo’s with Delia, we go to her place sometimes.”

The room was silent except for the scratching of Bates’ pen as he made some notes. Enfield sniffled a couple of times. “Anything else you want to tell us, Mr. Enfield.”

“Naw, Mr. Bates.” Enfield leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I been thinkin’ and thinkin’ since Delia didn’t show up for lunch. At first, I thought maybe she met somebody and run off, but that wasn’t like her. I think I knew from the first that somethin’ bad had happened to her.” He leaned forward to place his elbows on the table. A Harley tattoo covered most of his right bicep. “Somebody took my little girl’s momma away from us. And now I’m all she has left.” He sniffled. “I wish they’d killed me instead; Delia’s a much better parent than me.”

“What about Delia’s family?” Scott couldn’t remember much about them.

“Her mom’s bad off, went to live with Delia’s brother. I think she’s in a nursing home now.”

“How did you and Delia meet, Mr. Enfield?” Scott couldn’t imagine a circumstance that would have crossed their paths.

“Delia was volunteerin’ with a literacy program as a tutor.” Enfield gazed off toward the upper right corner of the room. “I had decided I had to get my GED no matter how much it hurt my head to do it, or I was never gonna be nothin’.” His face relaxed as if the memory was pleasant. “Delia was the tutor that was available when my turn came up. She was so good, so gentle, never made fun of how stupid I was.” He faced Bates. “Took me three months to work up the guts to ask her out for coffee. I ’bout couldn’t talk when she said yes.” He looked down at the crumpled tissues in his huge hands. “Delia was like an angel come to earth to save me.” His shoulders heaved. “I guess she’s back in heaven where she belongs now.” He brought the tissues to his face as the sobs overcame him.

Bates glanced at Scott. They gave Enfield a few minutes, until the sobs slowed. He sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Enfield.” He stood and Scott scrambled to his feet. Enfield rose more slowly. “The officers will take you back home.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bates.” Enfield offered his huge hand. “Please, catch the bastard that did this to my Delia.” With that, he turned and shuffled from the room.

Scott took a deep breath as the door closed. “What do you think, Del?”

Bates picked up his Styrofoam cup and glanced at the coffee before bringing it to his lips. He rose and tossed the cup in the trash. “On paper, he’s the most likely suspect. He was paying some hefty child support, and he was still in love with his ex-wife.” He stared at the cup in the can. “He’s certainly big enough and strong enough to cut a woman’s throat.” He sat back down.

“But—” Scott began. “Your gut says he didn’t do it.”

“He might strangle a woman by accident or in sudden anger, but slash the throat of someone he cares about?” Bates shook his head. “From what I hear, he’s a genius at tuning Harleys, but pretty challenged when it comes to the rest of life.”

“I wonder what Delia ever saw in him.”

Bates leaned back in the chair. “What was she like in school?”

Scott shook his head. “Not very memorable, except for that one incident I told you about. Bookish, pretty much hung out with the quiet girls, except for a couple of wild girls who transferred in from the city to foster at her house and didn’t fit in with any other group.” He slid out the photos from the file, concentrating on the one of her at the picnic, avoiding the clinical shots. “She certainly never looked so pretty then as she did here.”

Bates glanced at the photo and nodded. “Late bloomer, maybe.”

Scott shrugged. “Could be.”

“I need more coffee.” Bates stood. “Let’s get this report done up, then start doing more in-depth with the co-workers she went out with, see if there was anyone she met up with at the bar.”

Chapter 7

Scott’s cell phone vibrated when he was within two strides of the Moran Construction Company’s front door. Bates was already stepping inside. “Aylward.” He stopped outside.

“Scott.” Rica’s voice carried excitement. “Come home as soon as you get off shift.”

“Why? What’s up?” Ordinarily she just accepted whatever time he got home and went on with her own plans.

“We’re invited to a cookout at Dr. Ambrose’s tonight at six!” She sounded like she was announcing that they had just won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes. “You’ll need to shower and change—wear your new khakis and your sport coat.” She paused for breath.

“Okay, I’ll be home as soon as possible, but you know things can come up.”

Her voice stiffened. “I hope not tonight, Scott.” She paused, evidently waiting for him to assure her that it would not. “This dinner is important for my career, Scott.” He hated it when she pleaded with him over the phone; a wife shouldn’t have to beg her husband to be there for her. He gave himself a silent tongue-lashing. “Dr. Ambrose can recommend who will be the next chief surgical nurse.”

“I’m sorry, Rica. I know it’s important.” He sighed. “I’ll make sure I leave here on time.”

“Thank you, Scott.” He almost felt the kiss blown through the phone. “I’ll see you at home.”

The receptionist flashed a smile as soon as he walked through the door. She glanced at Bates and then swept Scott with a more assessing gaze. Scott rested his left hand, with its very visible wedding ring, on the counter in front of her. Her gaze dropped to the ring. “What can I do for you today, detectives?”

Bates opened his notebook, removing the pen. “We have a few more questions for some of your co-workers.”

“Sure, Detective. Who would you like to talk to?” Once again, she smiled at Scott. She recovered from the loss of Delia rather quickly. Yesterday, he worried that she would suffer a breakdown at the thought that Delia was simply missing. Now that she was found murdered, gruesome details spread across the headlines despite the District Attorney’s careful statements, the girl acted like it bothered her no more than a parcel lost in shipping. He stepped back from the counter.

“Let’s start with the office manager.” Bates consulted his notes, but Sandy offered the name before he said it. Bates probably had the names memorized.

“Pat Green.” She picked up her phone and punched in the extension. “Pat, the detectives would like to talk to you again.”

Ms. Green met them at the reception desk and then led them to her office. Glancing at the curious faces of her co-workers, she shut the door and then seated herself behind the desk. “It must have been horrible for poor Delia.” She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Taking a deep breath, she put her glasses back on. “What can I do to help?”

Bates flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “Any idea who Delia hung out with outside of work?”

Ms. Green leaned back in her chair. “She didn’t go out much, as far as I know. She had lunch with Trish O’Reilly and Shawna Turner once in a while. They could tell you if she ever spent time with them other than that.” She looked down at her hands. “About once a month, a group of about a half dozen girls would go to a bar for a drink after work.” Her lips tightened. “From what I hear, they usually ended up having dinner there and staying until the place closed. She might have joined them.”

Bates glanced at Scott. “Do you know the name of the bar?”

She shook her head. “Sandy knows. I’m not sure it was always the same place.”

“You didn’t go with them?” Scott almost called her Mrs. Brady, after his childhood Sunday school teacher. They both made the same disapproving scowl.

Ms. Green shot him a look that made him want to sit in the corner facing the wall. “I would never go to one of those places.”