Honor Code (7 page)

The door shut with a resounding slam.

Okay. Robbins rocked back on his heels. Now he knew why Tyrell joined the army.

And he doubted the guy would come back here unless it was to dance on one of his parents’ graves.

Robbins gave the unforgiving house one last look.

He shook the dirt from his shoes before he climbed into his car.

Robbins thought about his own kids on the drive back to Newberry. Neither one was an angel. And he knew it could be tough on a teenager when your dad was a cop.

Of course, he’d worried about them. About dumb things they did. About things they might do. About things that could happen to them.

But kicking them out had never crossed his mind.

The somber mood followed him back to Newberry, all the way inside to his desk. After twenty years in law enforcement, he thought he’d seen it all—gotten too cynical to believe any sob story. But instead of a young punk, he kept seeing a confused kid. Angry his dad died, chafing against the arbitrary hypocrisy of his mom and stepfather.

Lashing out.

That was where Robbins’ empathy stopped.

And Beason… What was he supposed to think about him? According to his neighbors and most of his family, Beason was a good guy. The last guy to go on a joy ride with a criminal.

Robbins sat and stared at the whiteboard. He was fresh out of ideas on where to look for George Beason or Tyrell Hayes.

With a sigh, he turned back to paperwork for other cases he had going.

Time passed. He updated the chief and filled out reports. First one, then another of the parole officers checked in, confirming their charges weren’t running around Greenville with George Beason. He handled paperwork on some cases and updated the chief. The chief had the same question he asked himself. Was Hayes their guy?

Jordan finally called at 3:12. “Hayes was court-martialed for stealing while he was in Iraq.”

Robbins didn’t ask how Jordan got the information. He felt an unexpected surge of pride that the kid had extracted it from a prison guard. “What did he take?”

“I haven’t found out yet. They wouldn’t let me see his file. But get this. His
last visitor was Gloria Beason Washington.”

Robbins nearly dropped the phone. “The daughter?”

“None other. The guards’ description matches her, too.

“You’re shitting me. What was she doing down there?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t just walk in down there and ask to see somebody.”

“Hayes put her on his mailing and visitor list.”

Robbins ran a hand over his face. “Putting a non-relative on those lists taking planning.”

“I was surprised the brig let her in, period.”

“The court-martial’s conducted under army rules, but incarceration is run by the feds. They’re all about criminal rights. When was Washington down there?”

“March 23rd. Right before Hayes was released.”

“And a week later Hayes showed up at her father’s house.”

“Think she hired Hayes to take out her dad?” Jordan asked.

“The thought crossed my mind. One of the many questions I have for her. Starting with how’d she even know the guy? And why was she lying through her teeth when I talked to her yesterday?”

“We didn’t ask her about Hayes.”

“She knew about him. Mighty interesting coincidence he just happened to show up at her dad’s.”

“Too big a coincidence,” Jordan said. “Anything else you want me to do while I’m here?”

“You talk to his friends down there?”

“According to the guards, Hayes kept to himself. Worked out. Spent time in the library. I got a list of the books.”

“Okay. Get copies of the visitor ledger and anything else they’ll let you copy. Then head back up here. I’ll have another talk with Mrs. Washington.”

Robbins hung up and immediately dialed Washington’s number. He listened to the phone ring. After six blaring tones, her answering machine picked up. “This is Detective Robbins. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

He pulled over the Beason file and found the phone number for the dentist office where Washington worked.

He poked in the digits and asked for the office manager. A minute later he was speaking with a pleasant-sounding woman. He identified himself, then said, “I’m looking for one of your employees. Gloria Washington.”

“Join the crowd, Detective.” The tone was wry. “I’m looking for her, too. She didn’t show up for work today. She hasn’t called in, either. Has she done something I should know about?”

Interesting that her thoughts went first to dishonesty by Washington. From his previous checking, he knew Washington didn’t have a record. “Has she missed work before?”

“No,” the manager admitted. “But she has an attitude. Did something happen to her?”

“I’m trying to locate her. If she comes into the office, or calls, please let me know. It’s extremely important.”

He gave the woman his contact information and hung up.

Where was Washington?

What was her role in all this? She was connected to both Beason and Hayes, but Robbins didn’t know enough about either relationship. Angry with her father, she’d reached out to Hayes…why?

Things could go in too many different directions. He needed more information. More facts.

If Hayes and Beason were planning something, was Washington an innocent bystander or part of the crazy business up in Greenville? Did she take off because she knew what the men were up to and didn’t want to be involved? Or was she the mastermind behind the plan?

Had events gone sideways, with the missing seals and the botched picture theft? When Jordan and he came around asking questions, had she taken off, afraid she’d get caught?

If Beason didn’t go with Hayes willingly—Robbins flashed on the dog. He couldn’t shake the gut instinct that said Beason was a victim in the whole mess—then Washington could’ve set her father up. Her disappearing could be an attempt to distance herself from events. She might have an alibi for her father’s disappearance, but the visit to the Charleston brig screamed conspiracy.

Robbins leaned against the seatback and stared at the notes on the whiteboard. There was a third possibility. Washington could’ve learned something about Hayes from the phone calls and visit to the brig. Something that sent her running—away from Hayes.

Something that made her hide.

Where the hell was she?

Robbins tapped his fingers on his desk, stalling. He stared at the final contact listing for Gloria Washington. He’d run through family, neighbors, anybody who might know where Washington had gone. The last person he wanted to talk to was Dr. McKinley, aka the Cat Woman.

With a deep sigh, figuring it was probably futile, he punched in the digits for her office. “Doctor’s office. Please hold,” a well-modulated voice answered.

Why did medical staff always immediately put you on hold? He listened to the syrupy new age music for a moment, then the receptionist returned. “How may I help you?”

He introduced himself. “I’d like to speak with Dr. McKinley please.”

“Dr. McKinley is with a patient. I’ll be glad to take a message.”

Robbins hesitated, not wanting to filter the information through the receptionist. “Please have her call me,” he said. “It could be a matter of life and death.”

There was a short pause, He wondered if she thought he was being over-dramatic, but there could be a life at stake—George Beason’s life.

The receptionist said, “The doctor’s session is about to wrap up if you’d like to hold.”

He turned his wrist, glanced at his watch. Nearly five. “Sure. I can wait a few minutes.”

Was this McKinley’s last appointment for the day or did she conduct evening sessions for people who had day jobs? He’d only have a moment of her time if she had another patient scheduled.

He picked up his pen and tapped it against the Beason file. McKinley didn’t seem the type to put herself out to accommodate anybody. He’d have to play to her professional responsibility rather than personal feelings.

There was more of the new age music crap, then the Cat Woman’s voice filled his ear. “How may I help you, Detective?”

“I’m calling about Gloria Washington.”

“I cannot reveal any patient information. It’s highly confidential.”

“I’m aware of the confidentiality requirements in your field, but Mrs. Washington is missing under unusual circumstances. I know you’re aware her father is also missing.”

“Do you think the same person kidnapped both of them?” A touch of concern filtered into the doctor’s voice.

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm either of them,” he countered.

“I can’t help you with that. I can’t reveal whether Mrs. Washington is a patient, much less anything a patient might disclose during one of our sessions.”

“Even if her life is in danger?” As long as Washington wasn’t with Hayes and her father, there was no reason to think she might be in trouble. Even if she was with the two men, odds were she was there by her own choice. The trouble was going to start when he caught up with her and started asking questions about her relationship with Tyrell Hayes.

But if expressing concern—raising the possibility—was what it took to get the doctor talking, he’d be happy to go down that path. “Anything you tell me could help her. Help us find her.”

There was a long pause, thankfully without the new age music, then the doctor said, “I won’t address specifics, but in estranged family situations, I often suggest the patient reach out to the rest of the family, to reconnect. Often a conflict with one family member will lead to tension among the extended family, which can exacerbate the patient’s sense of loss, abandonment or isolation.”

He’d already run through the in-state family. Washington wasn’t with them. “You never discuss contingency plans? A safe haven?”

“Those discussions are standard in a domestic violence or stalking situation, but I was not aware that was your concern today.”

It wasn’t, as far as he knew. “If Mrs. Washington were to reach out to you, if she indicated she was in danger, please let me know and ask her to contact me as well.”

In the following silence, he could envision her struggling to address that request while still maintaining that Washington wasn’t necessarily a patient.

“If—and I stress
if
—Mrs. Washington contacts me –”

Robbins rolled his eyes. Like he didn’t know Washington was seeing the bitch.

“– of course I will assess her immediate safety issues and ensure she is in a secure location.”

“If someone is gunning for her—or anyone else—it’s better to let the police handle it. Don’t attempt it yourself.” He really wanted to hang up, but forced himself to wait for her acknowledgement.

“I understand my role.” The tone had returned to deep freeze. “Do you?”

He was still sorting out the nuances of her comment when the phone switched from dead air to the annoying voice recording about hanging up the phone to make another call.

His life would be a hell of a lot easier if he knew everybody’s role.

Or if he even knew who all the players were.

Jordan burst into the squad room at 5:47 that afternoon. “Did you find them?”

“I didn’t expect you for another twenty minutes.” Robbins dropped his pen onto the notes he’d been writing about his session with Dr. McKinley. The drive from Charleston took roughly two and a half hours—at the posted speed limits.

Jordan grinned. “You aren’t the only one with friends. I got an escort.”

Robbins snorted. “Did you use the time to come up with a different scenario on what these guys are up to? ‘Cause no, I don’t have a fuckin’ clue where they are.”

Jordan placed his briefcase—a new, leather-sided one he was proud of—on his desk. “I was thinking about the Center, up in Greenville. Maybe the picture—picking it up the way Beason did—was another message. Remember you said him mentioning his wife was some kind of a signal. Hayes is a thief. Maybe Beason was trying to tell us Hayes intends to steal something.”

“Steal what? The director said they don’t keep a permanent collection.”

“Would Hayes or Beason know that? It sure sounded like Beason told Hayes there were cylinder seals up there. Maybe that’s what he was looking to steal.” Jordan dropped into his desk chair and unloaded a sheaf of paper from his briefcase.

Robbins shook his head. “If you’re going to steal something, you rob a bank or grab stuff you know you can convert to cash in a hurry. What are two black guys going to do with a bunch of antique things? Sell ‘em on eBay?”

“Then why were they asking about the seals?”