“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Antifreeze.” He held up the gallon jug. “Know anything else it’s used for?”
“Poisoning loud dogs?”
“Bingo. And remember, Samson was poisoned the same night Miss Alma was killed and Yvette had her last visit from the Artist.”
“Her supposed visit from the Artist.”
Stacy suddenly remembered her first night staying here with Yvette, pictured her using the chopsticks. “Did you say left-handed?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Yvette’s left-handed.”
“Are you certain?”
“Pretty damn.” She paused. “You know, without a search warrant, anything you find is inadmissible.”
“That’s why I’m not finding anything.” He closed the cabinet door. “Don’t say anything to Patti just yet. I’m going to do a bit of research, see what I come up with.”
“There’s something I haven’t told you. It’s about Patti. She promised Yvette fifty thousand dollars if she’d stay and help her catch the guy. Ten grand of it up front.”
A deep, angry flush crept from his neck to his hairline. “Part of Sammy’s life insurance money. A big part. Son of a bitch.”
“I’m really sorry, Spencer.”
He took two steps toward her, caught her by the upper arms and pulled her against him. “You and I,” he said, “have unfinished business. Personal business. Unfortunately it’ll have to wait.”
He kissed her, then released her. A moment later, he was gone. Leaving her with even more to stew about.
57
Thursday, May 17, 2007
1:30 a.m.
Some believed that new life could be found in the waters of baptism. That water cleansed the soul.
But water could also destroy. Overwhelm everything in its path. Leaving behind nothing but stinking, rotting waste.
It could burn. Strip flesh from bones.
Stop punishing yourself! It’s not your fault. It’s hers.
No. Please, no. She’s the one. She has to be. Pure. Sinless. My perfect muse.
Turn off the water. Step out of the shower.
A rush of cool air. Goose bumps. Shudders of relief. And agony.
She is just like the others. A cheap, faithless whore.
A sound resounded off the walls. Of despair. Hollow and hopeless. Cross to the mirror. Wipe away the fog. What do you see?
A distorted image. A stranger. A lost soul.
No! She threw your love and trust back in your face. But unlike the other whores, she had help.
Yes. Yes. Fellow betrayers. Their fault.
Punish her. Punish them. Make them all pay the price for your pain.
58
Thursday, May 17, 2007
8:35 a.m.
Spencer sat at his desk, a cup of cooling coffee in front of him. He’d drunk too many cups already, and a dull headache throbbed at the base of his skull.
He had left Stacy last night and come directly here. He spent the time since tracking down the story of Yvette Borger’s life, then had carefully fitted those pieces with the various parts of this investigative puzzle.
A picture had begun to emerge. One of a troubled young woman with many secrets.
Yvette’s real name was Carrie Sue Borger. She came from Greenwood, Mississippi, a small town in the heart of the Delta. An only child, her mother had died in a fall when Yvette was nine. The girl’s relationship with the Greenwood PD started the next year. She’d been picked up a dozen times between then and her sixteenth birthday.
At sixteen, she’d worked briefly at the local Waffle House, then disappeared, apparently having decided to leave both Greenwood and her dad behind. The really interesting part of the story came here: before she left home, she hit her father in the head with a coffeepot and left him for dead.
But Vic Borger hadn’t died. He’d called the cops on his only child but she had been long gone.
“How long’ve you been here, Slick?”
Spencer lifted his gaze to his partner. “Most of the night.”
“You look it.”
“Thanks.” Spencer cocked an eyebrow. “Three doughnuts, Pasta Man?”
“One’s for you. Heard you’d been burning the midnight oil and thought a little sustenance might be in order.”
Tony handed him a doughnut and napkin, which Spencer accepted. He took a big bite, only realizing then how hungry he was. Too bad he was eating the nutritional equivalent of crap.
Tony settled on the edge of his desk and started in on his pastry. “Heard ’bout last night,” he said, mouth full. “Borger gave Stacy the slip.”
Spencer smiled involuntarily. “Stacy’s really pissed.”
“Borger better watch out. That girl’s got a temper.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I got a positive ID on our Jane Doe.”
“Jessica Skye?”
His friend polished off the first doughnut, started on the second and nodded.
“I’ll be damned. Who from?”
“Her mother. IDed her from the photo of the facial reconstruction. Daphne PD said it seemed legit. Woman broke down sobbing.”
He popped the last bite into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “We’re working on securing dental records now, just to be certain.”
What did that bring to the party? Did it give weight to Yvette’s claims? Or make her look more guilty?
“A couple of the dancers from the Hustle recognized Franklin. He was a regular before the storm. Since Katrina he’s been in a few times.”
Another thing Yvette had lied about. And a solid connection between Franklin and a known Handyman victim.
“Patti know any of this yet?”
“Just found out myself.” He dusted his fingers on a napkin, then tossed it in the trash. “Got one more thing. One of Messinger’s neighbors saw her drive off with a woman that Sunday. A woman with long, dark hair.”
Spencer saw by Tony’s expression that he was thinking the same thing: Yvette had long, dark hair.
“She’s certain it was that Sunday?”
“Absolutely. She was returning from mass, thought about the fact Messinger never went to church. Said a little prayer for her eternal soul.”
“Thoughtful. What kind of car?”
“Couldn’t recall. A sedan. Nondescript.”
“A dark-haired woman. The witness give you anything more than that?”
“This witness was no spring chicken. Personally, I think we’re lucky she gave us that much. I’m not certain which was worse, her memory or her eyesight. She agreed to come in for a photo lineup. I suggest we see what we get and use her as a last resort or icing on the cake.”
Spencer pushed away from the desk and stood. “It’s meeting time.”
Tony followed him to his feet. “I prefer Miller time.”
“We’re going to need a beer after the captain hears everything I’ve got to say.”
They found Patti in her office, on the phone. She waved them in. “Stay put. If Borger shows, call me and bring her downtown.”
She ended the call and looked at them. “I’ve got a unit outside Yvette’s building. Frankly it doesn’t look good. She’s been gone more than twelve hours. She skipped out on Stacy around 6:00 p.m. and no one’s heard a word from her since. What do you have?”
Tony began. He filled her in on the positive ID and the witness who claimed to have seen Tonya drive off with a dark-haired woman.
“In addition, two of the Hustle’s dancers called Franklin a prestorm regular.”
Spencer took over. “That’s very good news, Captain. A known victim with a substantiated connection to Franklin.”
“Franklin can’t be our man now. While he’s been locked up, the Handyman gave us an eighth victim. Tonya Messinger.”