Heinous (10 page)

Jackson County Park, 2:00 p.m.

Jess sipped the icy cold Coca-Cola slowly. The weakness and dizziness were subsiding. On some level, she wanted to deny her reaction had anything to do with what they’d found at the Mooney crime scene, but that would be a lie. There was no denying her emotions had gotten the better of her.

She toyed with a French fry. A quick stop at the drive-thru window of the local Jack’s and she’d forced down a burger. Not that she’d felt like eating, Hayes had insisted. No, that wasn’t right. He’d blackmailed her into eating. She would eat or he would call Dan and tell him what happened. Since Dan had enough to worry about right now, she had chosen the former.

“Feeling better?” Hayes inquired, knowing the answer before he asked.

“Yes.” Jess stuffed the fries in the bag and reached for the Coke again. “I guess you were right and all I needed was lunch.”

“I did something right for once. I should mark this day on my calendar.”

“Ha ha.” She stretched her neck, wished she could ease the tension there. What the hell was taking Foster so long? He should have called by now.

Jess gazed out over the water. Ironically, it seemed to calm her. She hadn’t had a clue where they were going when Hayes swung through for the burgers, and then took off for what he called a quiet place. He was right. The park was basically deserted. He’d parked under a group of trees and rolled the windows down. The breeze coming off the water felt good against her face.

“I have no idea if the coroner I need to question is still alive.” She didn’t remember his name. Years ago she’d read his report, which had actually been nothing more than a death certificate. Coroners in Jackson County weren’t forensic or medical professionals, they were elected officials. At the time of her parents’ accident, the coroner was most often the funeral director. Blood Alcohol Tests, if deemed necessary, were run locally to determine if a deceased driver had been under the influence. If an autopsy was needed, the body was sent to a state forensics laboratory.

“I’m guessing we’d know something by now if he were dead.”

“You’re probably right.” She frowned. “I’m surprised we haven’t had an update from Wells or Cook.” Jess reached to fasten her seatbelt. “Maybe we should drop by the Brownfield farm while we’re waiting.”

“You were going to check back with Foster to ensure he released that one piece of evidence to BPD. I can call him if you’d like.”

“I’ll call him. It’ll give me an excuse to see where he is on finding the coroner for me.” She reached for her cell. “Meanwhile, let’s drive over to the Brownfield farm.”

While Hayes pointed his Audi in the proper direction, Jess put through a call to Foster. The sheriff explained that he’d been about to call her.

“I have that coroner for you, Chief Harris, and we’ve prepared the evidence you requested for transport.”

Surprised, Jess glanced at Hayes. “Great. We’ll be right there.”

Hayes executed a U-turn. The BPD cruiser that was her surveillance detail for the day did the same.

Jess took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. As hard as this part was, she had to figure out how Mooney and the... fetus played into Spears’s game besides the shock value and the purpose of distracting her.

There had to be something he wanted her to see. There always was.

Scottsboro Police Department, 3:10 p.m.

“Harvey Larimore retired as corner twenty years ago, but he didn’t retire from the family owned funeral business until about five years ago,” Foster explained. He hitched his head toward the elderly man who waited in the interview room. “He’s eighty-three years old. No criminal record. Deacon in the church he’s attended for better than seventy years.”

“He was a mortician?” Jess kept her focus on the questions she needed to ask and not the reason why.

“For most of his life. He started working with his father as soon as he was tall enough to see over the embalming table.”

“Family?”

Foster shook his head. “Outlived his wife and both his kids. He lives alone over on Scott Street in the same house where he grew up.”

Jess glanced at the sheriff. “Don’t tell me,” she guessed. “The family home was the funeral home.”

“Yes, ma’am. Larimores have been putting folks to rest around here for a hundred years. In that same house until just a few years ago.”

A new kind of determination kicked in. “The evidence I’m taking custody of, do you have that handy?”

“I’ll have it waiting for you when you finish your interview with Larimore.”

“I’d like to take it in with me, please.”

For a second or two she thought Foster would question her reasoning, instead he shrugged. “I’ll round it up.”

“Did you tell him?” Jess asked, stopping the sheriff before he was out the door of the observation room.

Foster glanced at the man waiting beyond the glass. “I told him we had some questions for him about his work at the funeral home. I didn’t mention anything else.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

Jess watched Larimore for a while longer, assessing his body language. A tall man, his shoulders were broad and straight despite his age. His overall physical condition looked quite good. He had a full head of gray hair and was well dressed in khakis and a white polo. His hands were wide and remarkably steady. The idea that he had touched her parents’ bodies tried to invade her appraisal, but she forced it back. The elderly man showed no outward indication of anxiety as he waited.

Foster reentered the tiny room. “Here you go, Chief. Your detective signed the necessary paperwork already.”

Jess accepted the small Styrofoam tote, the kind labs used to transport specimens. “Thank you. Let’s not keep Mr. Larimore waiting any longer.”

Foster opened the door to the interview room and waited for Jess to go in first. Like all the others she’d ever been inside, the walls were a shade of white, and the serviceable commercial grade tile floor was beige. The table and chairs were more plastic than metal and had seen better days. Nothing about the room was designed to excite the person being interviewed, and there was nothing to focus on other than the law enforcement officer conducting the interview.

She walked directly to the small table in the center of the room and took a seat across from Mr. Larimore. She placed her bag on the floor on one side of her, the tote on the other. “Good afternoon, Mr. Larimore. I’m Deputy Chief Jess Harris from Birmingham PD. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me this evening.”

He eyed her speculatively. His eyes were pale, far too light to be considered brown. Gold, she decided. The eyeglasses made his eyes look far larger than they actually were.

“You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

Sheriff Foster pulled a chair up at the end of the table. “She used to be with the FBI, Harv. She’s been all over the news for weeks now.”

Harv
. So the sheriff and Larimore were well acquainted. As Foster had said before, Scottsboro was a small town where everyone knew everyone else. Before Jess could ask her first question, Larimore shook his head.

“Don’t think it was the news.” He narrowed his gaze as if trying harder to recall where he’d seen her.

“Mr. Larimore, did Sheriff Foster make you aware of your rights?”

One gray eyebrow hiked up higher than the other. “Does he need to?”

Jess smiled, hoping to appear at ease despite the whirlwind of emotions making her jittery. She crossed her feet at the ankles to prevent them from tapping. “I find it’s best to take care of that right up front. They teach us to be extra cautious in the FBI.” Might as well blame it on the Bureau.

Larimore turned to Foster. “What about it, Sheriff?”

Foster cleared his throat and recited the Miranda rights. When he’d finished, Larimore waved him off. “I don’t need no blood-sucking lawyer. Now,” he fixed that pale gaze back on Jess, “what do you want to ask me?” He tapped his temple. “Got a mind like a steel trap. Give me a name. If I prepared them for eternal rest, I can tell you everything there is to know about their final journey.”

Jess squeezed her hands together in her lap and ignored the way her throat tightened. “Thirty-two years ago there was an accident at Comer Bridge. You took care of the victims.”

He nodded. “Most likely. There’ve been a few accidents around that bridge. I don’t always recall the exact date but I never forget a name or a face.”

“Lee and Helen Harris.”

He stared at Jess for a long moment, and then he smiled. “That’s it. She must have been your mother. You look just like her.”

Another wave of emotion washed over her. Jess steadied herself. “Did you pronounce them dead at the scene and have their bodies transported to your funeral home to await further instructions from the family?”

“Who else?” Larimore glanced at Foster. “I was the coroner and the funeral director.”

“How long were their bodies in your possession?” Jess wished she had a drink of water, but she didn’t want anything to break the moment.

“Let’s see.” Larimore furrowed his brow in concentration. “The accident happened on a Friday afternoon, and the funeral home in Birmingham didn’t make it up here until Monday. I cleaned them up, out of respect you know, put their clothes and personal possessions in bags, draped the bodies with fresh clean sheets, and stored them in the cooler.”

“Did you discover anything unusual among their personal possessions?”

Larimore shook his head. “A wallet and some change. If your mother had a purse, it must have been left in the car.”

Jess’s heart bumped her sternum. “Beyond the services you described providing, was any other examination or procedure performed while the bodies were in your custody?”

He shook his head. “No need. State Trooper said it was an accident. Single car. One of those freak things, you know. The driver lost control of the vehicle. I listed the manner of death as accidental. Cause of death was consistent with drowning. White froth in the mouth and nose. Skin was wrinkled from being in the water. No reason whatsoever to send them over to the lab for an autopsy.”

She tightened her ankles when one foot jerked. “There were no other injuries to the bodies?”

“Only the expected bruising from the seatbelts.”

Jess steadied her hand when it trembled as she reached down for the Styrofoam tote. She placed it on the table, removed the top, then the jar, and sat it on the table. “Can you explain to me, Mr. Larimore, how this, along with numerous other body parts from other victims, made their way into Eli Mooney’s workshop?”

Larimore stared at the jar then reared back, anger sparking in his eyes. “Are you telling me that you found such as this in that low down, no account’s possession?”

“You have a beef with Mooney?” Foster was visibly startled by Larimore’s reaction.

The former coroner swung a now furious gaze toward Foster. “I fired that no good snake in the grass fifteen years ago.”

Foster and Jess exchanged a look. “He worked for you?” she managed to ask without her voice quivering.

Larimore scoffed. “He was my janitor. He wasn’t supposed to go near the bodies. Never! I warned him that even looking at them was a sin. Wasted my breath. I caught that devil taking pictures. I fired him on the spot. Beat the hell out of him first.”

“Why didn’t I hear about this?” Foster demanded. “I was already a deputy back then.”

“I didn’t want that kind of gossip floating around. I told Mooney if I ever heard any talk or saw any photos go public, I’d kill him.” He shook his head. “I might be an old man, but that SOB is a dead one! You hear me, Sheriff, I’m going to kill him. I should’ve killed him when I caught him taking those pictures!”

“Somebody already did, Mr. Larimore,” Jess announced. “What I need to know from you is if Eli Mooney had the opportunity and means to do this without leaving behind any evidence of the deed.” She gestured to the jar.

“That moron? Impossible?” Larimore visibly wilted. “My son, on the other hand, would’ve known exactly how to do it. That boy got nearly all the way through medical school before flunking out his final semester.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “God have mercy on his soul. He and Mooney were bosom buddies. They’re no doubt both burning in hell right now.”

“His son died ten years ago,” Foster explained.

Jess couldn’t summon any sympathy for his loss. “Was it customary practice at your funeral home to perform an internal examination on a victim?”

Larimore removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Certainly not.”

“Did you notice anything at all unusual about my parents’ bodies or perhaps something the State Trooper or others involved with the recovery said?”

“Nothing at all.” He settled his glasses back into place and rested his gaze on Jess.

“Did...” She moistened her lips. “Did my mother appear pregnant?” The coroner certainly hadn’t mentioned the possibility.

“She was small, like you, Chief Harris. If she was pregnant, she wasn’t showing at all.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Larimore.” Jess stood. “I may have additional questions for you at another time.”

“Whatever you need.” He shook his head and muttered more scorching oaths under his breath.

Jess turned to Foster. “Sheriff, may I have a word with you?”

“Sure thing.” To Larimore he said, “I’ll be right back, Harv. We’ll figure out what to do next then.”

With her bag draped on one shoulder, Jess placed the jar back into the Styrofoam tote, incredibly without her hand shaking. Foster picked it up before she could and then held the door for her to exit the interview room.

In the corridor, Foster passed the tote to Hayes.

Jess struggled to hang onto her composure. There were several things she needed to do, but the one at the top of her priority list was getting back to Birmingham. First, though, she needed to ensure she and Foster were on the same page. “Sheriff, you and Mr. Larimore, assuming all these body parts came from the Larimore Funeral home, have your work cut out for you. I don’t envy you this task.”

Foster planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it, that’s for sure.”