Mind Games (25 page)

“I’ve been a damn fool.”

“Yes, you have.” Her smile faded in concert with her drooping eyelids, and she fell asleep.

When his cell phone chirped, Lucier hurried from the room.

“Lucier? Jenrette. A fourteen-year-old girl went missing from a church group party at a local roller skating rink. A friend saw her talking to a tall good-looking guy, and when she looked again, the girl was gone.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Unfinished Business

J
esus, something’s crawling on my dick. Not something, Alice. He could see her form under the sheet. What a way to wake up. And it only got better. They stopped for bathroom breaks, food, and a beer or two. She turned on the television. He turned it off.

“I hate screwing to noise,” he said.

“Noise is good.” She convinced him to make some.

* * * * *

E
merging from a shower wrapped in a towel, Macon’s face filled the small television screen in the kitchen. Alice, in the midst of brewing coffee, stood riveted to the news. She scooped the coffee into the brewing basket, flipped it into place, and turned.

“That’s you, ain’t it?”

“Sure looks like me, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.” She opened a king loaf of white bread. “So, your real name’s Harley?”

“Yup.”

“Want eggs and toast?”

“Why not. Got jam?”

“Sure do. Grape or strawberry?”

“Grape.”

“You do all them things they’re sayin’?”

He watched her, gauging her reactions. “Sure did.”

“Hmmm.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Excited. You want to eat first or fuck?”

“Eat. I can’t fuck on an empty stomach.”

She put the eggs in front of him. Macon forked the yolk and spread the yellow ooze over the rest of the eggs. “You know I’ve got to stay out of sight for a few days.”

“I figured.”

“You gonna tell?”

“Why would I do that? I hate cops. My daddy was a slug. He was a mean drunk, but he was my daddy. Then one night, the meanest cop in town picked him up on a drunk charge. Him and another cop beat the shit out of him. Beat him so bad, he limped from then on, in pain all the time. That just made him drunker and meaner than a rabid dog. He never left the house after that. Just beat up on my mother and sister and me. Later, that same cop tried to get in my pants. Slapped me around good when I refused. Tore off my clothes until the other cop stopped him. I’d never do nothing to help the bastards.” Her face turned red telling the story.

“That sucks. No wonder you hate them.” He smiled at her between bites of egg. She smiled back.

“Besides, you’re the best lay I’ve had in years. You on Viagra or something? I ain’t never seen no one get it up again as quick as you.”

“Blessed, I guess.”

“What’d you do all them years in prison? A man with drives like yours must’ve been frustrated as hell. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

She didn’t answer.

“If you’re thinking what I think you are, forget it. The first guy that came on to me got his neck broken. No one tried after that.”

“So what’d you do?”

“What do you think? Jacked off, that’s what.”

“You must have had one hell of a sore arm.”

Macon broke out laughing.

“You’re not getting bored, are ya?” she asked.

“No, not yet.”

She pulled her chair closer to his. “So what’re your plans?

“I’ve got some unfinished business.”

“That psychic lady?”

“Yup.”

“You gonna kill her?”

He snorted. “It’d be tough. The cops will be all over her like skin.”

“I can help.”

Macon did a double take. Her earnest expression caught him off guard. Sure, she had some wear on her. He felt her life when he touched her. She’d been around the block more times than the years he spent in prison. But the woman did something to him. They were cut from the same rough-hewn cloth.

“I could leave here today and no one would be the wiser. You’d be in the clear. Just your car gone. Why would you want to get messed up with my problems?”

“I don’t know.” She poured a cup of coffee, dumped half a bowl of sugar in it, and took a giant gulp. “Ya know, I’ve spent my whole life in this boony hick town. By lookin’ at me, you gotta know I ain’t no prize. Been married twice. Last divorce gave the kids to my ex-husband. Called me an unfit mother. I didn’t argue. They was right. Booze, drugs, you name it. I’ve done ’em all. I’ve cleaned up my act some. Oh, I still drink, still do a little weed, but don’t matter. People around here never forget.”

She put her hands under her breasts, lifted them. “You see these? They grew big when I was thirteen. That’s all men ever saw in me. I used to charge a dollar to let the boys look, two dollars to touch, and three for a nibble. My daddy did ’em all for nothing.”

Macon looked, felt himself swelling. “You undercharged.”

Alice laughed. “Probably. You heard them guys last night. Hell, I’ve done ’em all. To them I ain’t nothing more than a used piece of ass. Hey, you might feel the same way. I ain’t smart enough to figure it all out. But one thing I know: right now we both need someone.”

Macon gulped his coffee. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that.”

“Never could lie. You’re the most exciting man I ever met, Harley. Somehow all them things you done turn me on. Crazy, ain’t it?”

“Hell, you’re as fucked up as I am.”

“Sure am, and now I’m gonna show you just how right you are.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Little Brown Box

A
fter Lucier obtained temporary reassignment from his captain, he commandeered a desk in Jenrette’s station and set about the task of tracking Macon. Beecher, Halloran, and Cash went back to New Orleans per the captain’s orders, while Amos Moseley returned to his boat, saying if Ernie needed him for any reason, he’d be available.

Worried that Macon might make another try at Diana, Lucier asked Jenrette to assign a twenty-four-hour guard at the hospital. Jenrette complied. He also arranged a room in the local boarding house for Galen and Blanche Racine. The same boarding house where Lucier stayed.

Lucier slapped the folder on the desk. “Nothing. The man’s disappeared off the face of the earth. No car, no reported sightings. Nothing. Now a fourteen-year-old girl is missing.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Jenrette asked.

“Personally, no. Macon doesn’t leave witnesses, and up until he kidnapped Diana, he never left clues either. He knows this time it’s death row, and she can put him there.”

“You’re kind of sweet on this little girl, ain’t ya, Ernie?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah, McCoy, I am. And before you say anything, I don’t believe in interracial relationships any more than you probably do, but as much as I tried to ignore this one, I couldn’t.”

“You’re assuming something not in evidence, son. It’s a different world out there now. Not like when I was growing up. Hell, back then no one I knew would ever vote for a black president. If that don’t tell you something.”

“Still, it’s different when it hits home. What if your daughter wanted to date a black man?”

Jenrette took his time answering. “Well, I don’t have a daughter, but if I did—and I’m being honest here—I wouldn’t be thrilled. But it’d be her choice, wouldn’t it? Can’t fight things like that. Besides, I read it won’t be long before more than half the population’s gonna look like you.”

Lucier laughed and shuffled a few papers on his requisitioned desk. “There’s going to be some people who won’t be happy with that.”

“They’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Enough digression for one day. Back to work. Any cars reported stolen?”

“Nope, just a fourteen-year old girl.”

“What do you say we call on the missing girl’s parents?”

“They’re not in my county, but I’m sure they’ll talk to us.”

* * * * *

R
enee and Barton Mc
Cl
ellan lived in a red brick ranch-style house much like all the others on a street that boasted neat yards, flowerpots at the front door, and two compact cars in the driveway. Today, in addition to the cars of friends and family, television vans, reporters, and camera crews cluttered the street. The temperature had cooled, and dark clouds were rolling in from the west.

Lucier’s heart wrenched at the sight of the girl’s parents, average middle-class, hard-working Americans—the foundation of the country. He remembered the pain of losing a child, of losing three children, but he knew their fate. The McClellans didn’t know whether their daughter was dead or alive, whether treated well or in the hands of a perverted monster. Lucier hoped they hadn’t read or heard about the sexual aspects of Macon’s crimes. No parent wanted to think such things. Hope lingered in their hearts as words of prayer spilled from their lips. Maybe this is worse than finality, but remembering back, he thought again.

A local reporter interviewed Mrs.
McClellan
with all the pathos that contributed to a good story. The cameraman filmed her begging whoever took her baby to please, please return her. They would give everything they owned to get her back. No questions asked. Tears fell from her red, swollen eyes. Mr.
McClellan
sat off to the side, dazed, staring into space, unable to comprehend the confusion around him. When the interview ended, Renee
McClellan
took a seat next to her husband and tried to break into the other world that had possessed him.

Jenrette showed his identification and waved off the reporters who badgered him with questions. “We’re sorry to intrude, ma’am, but we’d appreciate if you could answer some questions for us. It’s important.”

Mrs.
McClellan
patted her husband’s hand and got up, gesturing the two officers to follow. She wiped tears from her eyes with a handkerchief and led them into the kitchen.

“This is a terrible time for us, especially for my husband. He’s not handling this very well. Jenny was…is…the world to him.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the man who spoke to your daughter?” Lucier asked. “Anything at all.”

“I’m afraid we weren’t there. A few parents chaperoned the party, but no one saw anything except one of Jenny’s friends.”

“Is she here now?”

“No, she’s at home. She was really upset when she found out about Jenny.” Mrs.
McClellan
focused on Jenrette. “We’ve told her time and time again not to talk to strangers. She was old enough to understand. She’s a good girl. Never a problem. Went to church with us every Sunday, even on Wednesday nights for dinner. She’s a good girl.”

“I’m sure she is, Mrs.
McClellan
,” Jenrette said, “but this man is handsome and charismatic. She wasn’t the only one taken in by his charm.”

“A reporter on television said he killed two women. You think that’s what he did to my Jenny?” She leaned against the kitchen counter for support. Her chin rippled with the effort to hold back the tears.

“We hope not, ma’am,” Jenrette said. “We’re doing everything in our power to find her.”

“Can you tell us where Jenny’s friend lives?” Lucier asked. “We’d like to talk to her.”

“The sheriff’s deputy has already done that. She told them what she remembered.”

“You never know. Sometimes people know things they don’t even know they know.”

* * * * *

L
ori Carteret, her hands in constant motion, wore the typical teenage uniform: tight T-shirt cropped above the waist and jeans cut low enough to display an ample amount of midriff. Clothes that would make any father want to lock his daughter in her room and be thankful if he had sons.

“When I saw Jenny talking to that guy last night I felt kind of jealous. I mean, he was hot. He had this great body, you know, tall, with muscles on his arms and washboard abs under a tight T-shirt. His hair was dirty blonde and kind of long, and he had this way cool sexy voice.”

Lucier showed her Macon’s picture.

“That’s him. I’m sure,” Lori said.

“You heard him talking to Jenny.” Lucier asked.

“Yes. I told that to the other policeman.”

“What were they talking about?”

“He was playing with her locket, telling her how pretty it looked on her. He said he knew someone who would like to see it. I was so jealous. I wondered why he picked her and not me. I mean Jenny’s cute and all, but—” She looked at Lucier. “Now I’m glad. Isn’t that an awful thing to say?” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “I feel really bad about that.”