Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (30 page)

“He did.”

“Maybe he was sick.” Ava thought of her father.  Of the grief that had caused him to snap.  “There’s a difference, I think, between sick and evil.  Not that I’m a bleeding heart, or in any way excuse what he may have done, but I think people don’t see the gray.  It’s either black or its white, and sometimes that’s true.  But there are a lot of shades in between.  If you take the time to look.”

Jordan raised a brow.  “That’s a very… well, I guess you could call it a very liberal viewpoint, though it so happens that I agree.  For a prosecutor, I tend to hover closer to the center than some would like.  But you’re right.  I think that Elijah Fuller was sick.  However, whoever killed those women was evil.”

“What?”  Puzzled, Ava sat on the fountain wall.  “I thought –”  

“Could you hold that one for a second?” Jordan asked as his phone shrilled in his pocket.  “Damn phone.  It’s been ringing off the hook all day.  Excuse me.”  He strode a few paces away before he answered.

And though she’d intended to respect his privacy, couldn’t help overhearing his violent curse.

“Where?”  His voice had taken on the density of lead.  He stood perfectly still, as if the slightest movement might cause him to break.  “I’ll be there.  No.  No, Chip, I do think it’s necessary.  Okay.  Give me thirty minutes.”

Letting his phone hand fall to his side, Jordan rubbed the other one over his face.  When he turned, his eyes showed the kind of emptiness that could only come from devastation.

“Jordan?”   Ava found her legs like rubber as she stood.

“What?” He looked down at his phone, seemed surprised to see it in his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I…” he shook his head, slid the phone into his pocket.  “I’m afraid that was really bad news.  Really, really bad news.  I have to go.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Truly looking at her for the first time since he took the call, Jordan stepped closer, lifted a hand to her cheek.  Then took her mouth with his in a kiss that was hard and desperate.  Some dark emotion surged through him in a quiet storm, leaving them both battered when he finally came up for air.

“I’m sorry, I –”

“No. No.”  She laid her own hand over his.  “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just, uh…”  He stabbed his fingers through his hair, looked away. “The night I got the head injury, I was attacked.  Pistol whipped, it looked like. Abducted, driven somewhere.”

When he saw her hand tremble up to her mouth, he turned it over, kissed her palm.  “I’m okay.  I know it sounds frightening, but I’m okay.”

Ava closed her eyes against the tears that threatened.

Was this it?  Dear God, had they somehow traced Jordan’s assault to her uncle?

“I’m okay,” he repeated softly.  “But there’s a woman I know.  A woman I dated.  And that night we bumped into each other after a symposium.  We argued.  She still wasn’t over the fact that we were no longer together.  And…”

He trailed off, and Ava saw his throat work.  And felt her own gorge start to rise.

“She must have followed me to my car, stumbled upon what was happening.”

No.  No.  Please don’t let him say it
..
.

“She’s been missing since that night.  But that was the detective.  On the phone.  The detective in charge of the investigation.  It seems a construction crew just broke ground for a new development across the river.  They, um, dug up a body that they’ve tentatively identified as Leslie.  That was her name.  Leslie Fitzsimmons.”

Stunned, heartsick, Ava lowered herself to the wall.

Her uncle’s men had killed that poor woman. Of that, she had no doubt.  Which meant that she no longer just had firsthand knowledge of Jordan’s assault, but now of a murder as well.  She had to tell him.  Somehow, she had to tell him.

“They’re expecting me at the scene.”

“Jordan.”  She lifted her eyes, felt the film of tears she had no right to.  Why hadn’t she spoken up before now?  For all her talk of backbone, she was a coward.  “I’m so sorry –”

“Shh.”  Squatting down, Jordan brushed at the tear that spilled over.  “Don’t cry for me, sweetheart.  But… I do have a favor to ask.  Two favors, actually.”

“Sure.”  She’d do anything.  Anything to take away this guilt.

“It’s likely to be a long night, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to check on Finn.  Clay’s gone back to Virginia, so I’m short an extra dog walker.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.  And more importantly, can you promise me to be careful?  I’m not going to press, just now, but we both know there’s more happening than what you’re telling me.  This thing with Leslie – it’s tearing me up, Ava, and she hadn’t really meant anything to me for a
while.  If something happened to you –”

“I’ll be careful.”  She couldn’t let him finish that thought.  He was right.  There was so much he didn’t know, so much she needed to tell him.   But she was afraid that once she had, she wouldn’t mean anything to him, either.

“Good.”  He slipped a key off his ring, passed it over.  “My front door.  You can just leave it under the big pot of Easter lilies when you’re finished.”

With a final kiss, Ava watched him walk off into the gathering darkness.

And sat there for long minutes after, listening to her heart break.

THE billboard for Pine Bluff advertised it, in a nutshell, as unspoiled Lowcountry beauty meets upscale human development. Of course, in Jordan’s experience, humans tended to spoil things no matter how upscale they might be.

He looked at the artist’s rendering of a smiling father pushing a smiling young boy on a tire swing, overlooking pristine marshland and ancient maritime forest, while a smiling mother stood drinking a glass of lemonade – fresh squeezed, no doubt – on the wide, covered veranda of an enormous wood frame house.  

In reality, the would-be development was a stretch of old cow pasture shaded by water oaks and loblolly pines, and dotted with giant earthmovers instead of houses.  The marsh was back there somewhere, he was sure.  Though this particular stretch tended to be smelly due to the nearly defunct paper mill across the river.  

Package it right, Jordan mused, and people would buy any damn thing.

Turning into the gravel lane, he noted the billboard was faded, as the downturn in the housing industry had put the whole thing on the skids for the past couple years.  But apparently the company had found some new backing, and started making tentative moves toward clearing the land a couple days ago.

Of course, all that activity had ground to a halt with the discovery of Leslie’s remains. 

And the others.  It seemed Leslie wasn’t the only one to have been buried there.               

Sick at heart, Jordan parked in front of the construction trailer, and then picked his way over the carnage of churned earth and fallen trees left in the bulldozer’s wake.  Roots speared up, dirty fingers, and ruts deep as a grave threatened to swallow a man who wasn’t careful.

Jordan
fought off the vertigo that threaten
ed to pitch him into the nearest one.

The air hung still and heavy, as if too shocked by the scene to move.  But in the stillness, other things walked, and droned. 

Jordan swatted at the insect biting his neck and followed the sound of human activity.

The smell of freshly turned earth mingled with the odor of diesel, the punch of brine drifting in from the marsh. And as he drew closer to the scene, the unmistakable insult of decay.

Taking a moment – just one more – to steady himself, Jordan pushed down the guilt, the rage that wanted to empty his stomach.  And walked toward the klieg lights and crime scene tape, knowing that he owed Leslie at least that much.

A uniformed patrolman stopped his progress, but waved him on after he showed his ID.  Jordan spotted Chip Coleman, round face grim, along with a contingent of county deputies, some South Carolina state boys and what looked to be two different crime scene teams.  Jordan didn’t even have to hear any of the conversation to know what was taking place. 

There was a disagreement over jurisdiction.

As Coleman was otherwise occupied, Jordan approached one of the crime scene techs whom he recognized from SCMPD.  “Denise.” He greeted the woman.  “What do we have?”

“What we have is a bona fide mess. That guy over there,” she pointed to a short, pot
-
bellied man in mud-stained work boots and a John Deere hat, “is the one who uncovered the remains.  Mass grave sort of deal, and the bulldozer really screwed things up by scattering bones like pickup sticks. But judging by the skull count, there appears to be four, all basically skeletal except for the one that’s causing most of the fuss.  No positive ID on any of them as of yet, but there’s a tag from the symposium where that councilwoman was last seen still attached to the jacket on the…” 

Jordan saw the moment it sank in.  Color stained her cheeks even as she rolled her dark eyes.  “Give me an F for sensitivity.  I’m sorry, Jordan.  I’d forgotten you were… involved.”

“It’s okay.”  He squeezed her shoulder.

“Anyhoo.”  She sucked in an embarrassed breath and gestured with a gloved hand.  “John Deere over there, after upchucking all over his Timberlands, dialed nine-one-one like a good, responsible citizen should.  County deputy responded, realized something of this magnitude might call for state resources, so in comes SLED.  But then our good, responsible citizen decided to stand on the shoulders of the capitalism that’s made our country great, and called the eight hundred number Ms. Fitzsimmons mother set up so that he could be sure to claim the reward.”

Jordan’s own tricky stomach heaved.  “Don’t tell me –”

“Oh yeah.”  Knowing where he was going with that, Denise nodded toward a patrol car parked at the edge of the trees.  “Eugenia Fitzsimmons, present, accounted for, and currently detained.  She was, well, I’ll just try for sensitive this time and say she wasn’t doin’ anyone any good with her presence.”

“Shit.”  He rubbed a hand over his face.  Leslie’s mother had been quite vocal in her opinions of him recently, none of which had been good. 

“She don’t like you much, seems like.”

Regardless, Jordan resolved to express his condolences to the woman in person, as soon as the storm died down.  “This sucks even worse than I imagined.”

“’Bout to get worse.”  Denise whistled low as a pair of figures emerged from the shadows behind the lights.  “The councilwoman was transported across state lines, and that means the feds. Unless my eyesight is playing tricks on me, I believe that’s your brother.”

Jordan turned to see Jesse, followed closely by fellow agent Brian Parker.  Spying Jordan, Jesse waved Brian off to intercede in the growing battle between Detective Coleman and the South Carolinians, while he himself picked his way across the uneven ground.

“Denise, if you’ll excuse me.”  Jordan caught the look on his brother’s face, and figured they’d both be happier without an audience.  “I need to speak with my brother.” 

He stepped around the bright yellow tape, raised a hand in greeting.  And then stuffed it into his pocket, because he was desperately afraid it might shake.  “Jesse. Fancy meeting you here.”

But his brother wasn’t buying the casual tone.  “You shouldn’t be.  You shouldn’t be here, Jordan.”

Feeling the impact of that like an uppercut, Jordan’s head snapped to the side.  And he fought the urge to slap back at his brother, knowing Jesse had his best interests at heart.

“I had to come.”

“It’s not your fault.  I don’t care what that old bat’s been saying, you know you did not cause this.”

“I know.  Jesse, look at me,” he said when his brother turned to scowl.  “She lost her daughter.  She’s been worried sick, now she’s grieving, and I’ve been the easiest target for both.  It’s normal, it’s expected, and I’m not going to hold it against her.  And I had to come. For myself as much as for Leslie.  You know me.  You know I couldn’t stay away.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  But affection softened the words.  “Yeah, I know you.”  Jesse pushed his glasses up and sighed.  “Since I do, and since you’re here, I might as well pump you for information.  I understand they’ve uncovered four separate sets of remains?”        

“That’s the way it looks.” Jordan scanned the raw and ragged patch of ground, eyes helplessly drawn toward a snatch of dirty red hair.  “Apparently this is somebody’s own personal burial ground.” 

And if things had gone another way, Jordan realized that he might have been interred there.  “What do you think we have here, Jesse?  I mean Christ, another serial killer?”

“Either that, or a professional dumping ground.”

“Professional, as in, hit man?”

“Could be.”  And the implication of that stained the already fetid air.  “We’ll get a forensic anthropologist in here to see if we can identify the other bodies.  If we know who’s buried here we might get a better handle on why they’re here, who we need to be looking for in connection to their deaths.  It…”

When his brother’s voice broke Jordan’s gaze flashed to him in surprise. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, but I have to get this out.  It could have been you,” Jesse said.  “I know you realize that, too, and it goes without saying.  But I just can’t get past the fact that I could have been called to this scene, and stood by as other people argued over who had the right to dig up your grave.”