Screaming To Be Solved Page 3

  Groggy, she sat, stretched, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Liz had turned out the overhead light and put a blanket over Marxie. Desperate for a drink, she shrugged out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

  “Hey,” Liz said softly from the floor, rubbing her eyes as she turned over. “You’re up.”

  “Yep.”

  “You need anything?”

  “Just getting some water. Want any?”

  “No thanks. Want me to get it for you?”

  “Nah. I need to get up and move. I had a cry fest earlier; my body needs some hydration I think.”

  “I know.” Liz rose now, came and put a hand on Marxie’s back as Marxie stood at the petite vanity and filled a cup with water. “I heard you.”

  Marxie smiled sheepishly and looked back to Liz’s reflection. “Sorry. Didn’t know I was that loud.”

  “You weren’t at first. It grew steadily.” Just like the pain, Marxie thought. “I almost came down, but thought you might need some time alone. I parked on the floor after you dozed off, just in case you needed anything.”

  “You always know best when it comes to me.”

  “What else are best friends for? Remember when you told me, ‘Liz, do not go out with anyone named Vandal, do not.’ But I did, and where did I end up? Stranded, that’s right. Abandoned at the street corner like a regular hooker while the cops hauled his lying, stealing butt downtown. He had three flat screen’s, five MP3 players, and twenty blackberries in the back of that massive SUV. And I was riding around in there, clueless! Just like the bimbo blonde he hoped I was.”

  Marxie swallowed down a mouthful of water, shook her finger to Liz’s reflection. “Not so bimbo to realize it was all stolen when you finally got a look at it and turned him in.”

  “Oh the look on his face when they cuffed him, like ‘Baby, you betrayed me?’” Liz let out a peal of laughter. “We’d been on two dates and he acted like his dearest friend sold him out.”

  Marxie laughed too, remembering the tough exterior of the tattooed Vandal. She would’ve given anything to be a fly on the wall that night. She had been the one to go and rescue Liz off the corner, but it was about thirty minutes too late to see the action.

  After gulping down another glass of water and refilling her cup, Marxie threw an arm around Liz’s waist, gave her a tight squeeze. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “Anytime.”

  As Liz walked back to her pallet, Marxie smiled over her shoulder. “The floor is for pets, you know … or hookers.”

  “Ah! You little witch!” Liz hooted as she picked up her pillow off the floor and heaved it in Marxie’s direction.

  Laughing, Marxie hopped on her bed and patted the space beside her. “Just in case you think I’ll need you, you’re welcome to sleep here … so long as you don’t throw things.”

  “I can’t make any promises. And we can’t make a habit of this,” Liz said and she crawled into the turned down sheets. “We’re grown women you know.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Finding the wedding photo tangled in the blanket that had covered her, Marxie gently tucked it under her pillow and reached to snap off the lamp.

  As they were drifting off, Marxie mumbled. “Hey Liz?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tomorrow, will you help this grown woman get up? I have a lot to do.”

  “Sure. Seven okay?”

  But she was already asleep, dreaming of being alone in dark, cold water.

  SIX

  Liz had been reliable and woken her at a good time, given her enough of the morning to shower, pump herself with caffeine, and prepare for what she knew would be a long day.

  Chief Raines had called sometime last night, left a to-the-point voicemail. “Please call me when you get this. I have something I’d like to speak with you about.”

  She would do better than returning his call.

  She glanced at the digital clock in the dashboard of the Explorer, reminding herself she had to be back in town for the Monroe-Williams consultation at 11:00.

  She smiled and her heart warmed a fraction as she passed the “Welcome to Pembroke” sign. The quaint little town forty-five minutes northwest of Savannah had been where most of her fondest memories were made. She’d grown up there, been raised in its neighborhoods, ran on its streets, learned at its schools, made friends, fell in love. And every time she came back, it still felt like home.

  When she pulled into the police station lot, her heart lurched. She had spent so many days here, bringing Evan lunch, dropping him off on her way to work, coming by to visit and give a quick kiss when he worked late nights. Beautiful moments. Bittersweet memories.

  He was the reason for today’s visit. She had to remember that and get answers. Focus on today.

  Briskly, she hopped down from the SUV, untangled her dress from around her knees, watching it fall to skirt her calves, and made her way inside.

  “Marxie, so nice to see you!” Dispatcher Rita stood from behind the desk and held out her arms for a hug. Rita was the station’s surrogate mother to men and women alike, as much a staple of the place as the name itself. Her graying hair was cropped close, her deep blue eyes creased with years of smiling in the face of a tiring job.

  “How are you?” Rita held on to Marxie’s arms as she pulled away from the embrace. Rita had been on duty the night Evan was killed. She had dispatched him to the scene and Marxie could always see that somewhere she harbored guilt for it. Obviously, Rita hadn’t been informed of the new development. She would have mentioned it otherwise.

  “I’m well, Rita. Truly.” Marxie smiled convincingly. “I’m still living with my friend—you remember Liz—in Savannah, and my business is doing quite well. In fact, I have to meet some clients in about two hours so my visit is short today. I actually need to see the chief for a minute, he available?”

  “Let me check, dear.” Rita sat, picked up the phone and punched a button on a board busy with flashing red and green lights. “Chief, Marxie Vaughn’s here. Can I send her back?”

  After hanging up, Rita smiled up at her and winked. “Chief says go on back. I’m so proud of you, Marxie. I always knew you’d do just fine. You’ve got a lot of strength for such a little gal.”

  “Evan always did say the good Lord packed a punch in when he made me.”

  Rita shrieked with laughter and slapped a hand to the desk. “Sounds just like him.”

  Marxie grinned and wiggled a wave as she headed off down the hall.

  “Oh, by the way dear,” Rita called after her as the phone’s monotone ringing began, “you look wonderful!”

  Marxie waved it off but smiled back over her shoulder. “Always making me blush, Rita. And you know how it shows on me.”

  Marxie heard the familiar peal of laugher as she rounded the corner to the back offices. Sighing, she scrubbed at the cheeks that revealed her color so well—yet another trademark of fair skin and red hair—and tried to put some life in them so the chief wouldn’t look as worried as Rita had. She knew her swollen, tired eyes couldn’t be hid, even if she had applied her make-up with expert care this morning.

  She rapped twice on the dark wooden door of the appropriate office and heard a muffled, “Come in.”

  “Marxie.” Chief Robert Raines dropped the folder he’d been poring over and crossed the room to take both her hands in his.

  “Chief.” She smiled and squeezed his large palms. They were warm and solid over hers. No matter what Detective Carter had said, Marxie was sure she would leave today with information and peace about the confusion with Evan. Chief Raines would help. He knew Evan. He knew the circumstances. The detective didn’t.

  “How you been?” he asked.

  “Better, actually.” She shrugged and dropped her purse from her shoulder to her hand.

  He crossed the room, gestured to a navy cushioned chair opposite his deep mahogany desk. He sat behind the desk, turned grim, gray eyes on her. “The news of Evan reached you. I tried to cal
l.”

  She nodded, sitting in the wide chair. “What’s happening, Chief? I’m so confused. I need some kind of explanation.”

  “I know you do. We all do.” He paused and clasped his hands together. “What do you know so far?”

  “Well, a man named Carter—a cold case detective in Savannah—came to my door and just told me, flat out: ‘We’ve found your husband’s remains, Ms. Vaughn,’ or something like that.”

  She waved a hand and Chief Raines frowned.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be the one to do it. It all happened so fast, my shock may near be rivaling yours. By the time Savannah-Chatham’s department called, verified the facts and answered my badgering questions, they were sending the cold case guy to your place. They didn’t leave me many options.” He sighed. “The news should’ve come from one of us here. He was one of ours.”

  She agreed but figured the news would’ve been just as dreadful, no matter the source. “It wasn’t that bad, Chief,” she smiled sadly. “He did the best he could. He said he’d be working overtime to get to the bottom of this . . . we’ll see if he’s good for it.”

  “Hope so. I know Carter. He’s worked a few cases here, has ties to our boys. The man has his hands in a few pies across several of our counties—”

  “Yes.” Marxie interrupted. “He explained about his position.”

  “Good.” He nodded, hesitated. “I hate to tell you this, Marxie, but to be honest, I know about as much as you at this point. And for the time being, Carter’s all you’ve got, at least officially.”

  “What?” She leaned forward, wide-eyed. “You mean you’re not going to investigate this? We have to find out what happened—this is crazy, Chief! We buried what little there was left of Evan two years ago and now we find out he’s been in Savannah in a canal all this time! I know he’s not back from the dead, but isn’t there going to be some kind of investigation? If I don’t deserve some peace about it, at the very least he does.”

  “Marxie, calm down.” Chief Raines reached across the desk as if to settle her. “Of course there’ll be an investigation. It’s going on right now. Didn’t a detective come to your door? Savannah-Chatham Metro PD already have people on it.” He frowned again and his brow knit with it. “Balls in their court now and they’re shutting us out—shutting me out. It’s all about jurisdiction and the chief there is standing his ground. Evan was found there, they do the investigation.”

  He scooted his chair back, swiveled to face the large window beside the desk. “Officially, we’re out of the loop, unless Carter pulls in some of our guys, asks for their help as a favor to us. Unofficially, you know I feel just as strongly about this as you. This is a huge blow for us. One of our men, found after we’ve buried him, locked up his killer? It’s not only a stain on the department, but personal. Deeply personal.” Chief Raines turned back to her, ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Everyone here, me included, wants to know, needs to know, what is going on.”

  “Rita doesn’t know. I could tell.” Marxie shot him a hurtful look.

  “You’re right. I haven’t told anyone yet. They’ll find out soon enough. Once the press gets a hold of it, you know how it goes from there.” He cleared his throat. “I know it doesn’t mean much to you in a time like this, but we’re working on a big case here, Marxie. I was hoping to keep my men focused, at least until word gets out. Sex offender—sick middle-aged guy—moved over on Maple few months back, violated his parole and lots of other moral codes on some of the kids over there; we’re working on getting the charges to stick—for a long time. So, no, I haven’t told them. Trite as it may sound to you, we’ve all done our fair share of round-the-clocks on this one. I’m thinking of their morale.”

  Marxie nodded, but didn’t understand how the sick guy on Maple had anything to do with telling Evan’s former colleagues the truth.

  The chief sighed and reclined in his big chair. “Maybe it’s a mistake not to say anything. Maybe I was hoping it could be explained before I had to tell them we’ve got no answers on a case we thought was closed with a new development that makes absolutely no sense. I don’t want them to go through this again.” He lowered his voice and eyed her. “Don’t want you to either.”

  Slightly ashamed that she’d lashed out her grief and confusion on an old friend, Marxie rose and went to the side of the desk, placed a hand over his. “It’s not your fault, Chief. None of it ever was.” She squeezed his hand. “Sorry to blow up on you. When a wound is reopened, I think it stings a lot worse. At least the first time you don’t know how bad it’s going to hurt.”

  She strolled to the window where the blinds were raised to let the sun in and looked out on a fading dogwood. The heat must’ve been scorching it, she thought briefly. Such a shame all those beautiful white blossoms were already fading so early in the summer. “Now I do know. And I don’t think I can make it through the nightmare again.”

  “Might not end up being a nightmare. Ever thought of that?” He rose now and came to stand by her. “I’ll agree I let myself get carried away too when I was first informed. ‘What did we miss? Who made the mistake? One of our team? The coroner, ME? How could this have happened?’ It’s humiliating to think you bobbled such an important matter, appalling that you or the department didn’t do right by one of their own.

  “Then I reigned myself in, told myself to take it one step at a time. Sure, we’re confused right now, but we fear because we don’t have answers. But they’ll begin to trickle in, and once they do, we’ll start piecing it together, find out what’s really going on. Meantime, I’m telling myself this might not be bad.” He turned to face her. “Medical examiner could’ve made a mistake. Bodies are misidentified more than people like to think. Might not be Evan they’ve got.”

  “I hoped the same,” Marxie supplied. “Detective Carter was adamant. Said identification was positively made.”

  “Even so, the Henry kid could’ve done anything after the accident, including dragging a body out of a car and dumping it. We didn’t catch him until after the car was blown, remember. My take is, while this does indeed merit an investigation, we’re still dealing with the same circumstances. Chaz Henry drove a car at an ungodly rate of speed to keep from getting caught with those drugs. Evan pursued and at some point, wrecked the vehicle. Whether Henry pulled Evan from the vehicle after the wreck or even if Evan managed to escape before succumbing to injuries, then was pulled to water by Henry, there are numerous plausible scenarios. Hard still, but the truth is, we’re dealing with the same circumstances, just a slightly different spin on them. Albeit one we didn’t see coming, but still.” He patted her shoulder. “Think on that before you let yourself get worked up for anything else.”

  She nodded and watched as one more bundle of blossom fell. She didn’t agree though. How could it not be bad when everyone thought a man had died in an explosion, then his body, whole and in tact, showed up two years later in a channel of water forty miles from the place of his death?

  As they said their goodbyes with the chief insisting he would be available anytime and keeping his own private tabs on the progress of the investigation, disappointment and heavy despair crept its way through Marxie. She had been certain today’s visit was going to be profitable and put her mind at ease. Truth was, she felt no better than when she’d come.

  In fact, she realized as she rubbed at her chest to dull the ache that had begun, she felt worse.

  SEVEN

  Marxie smiled warmly at the tall, round man looming over her. John Monroe was anything but frightening, though, even with his great height. He was jovial and easygoing and agreed with whatever it was Marxie recommended for the redesign of his office. He was her favorite kind of client—little fuss, lots of budget.

  “So the chocolate suede chairs then, for this little nook right here?” Marxie gestured to a small sitting area near a mini wet bar. She crossed to it, walked in the space and made some notes on measurements, color schemes, ideas.

&nb
sp; “Sure, fine, Ms. Vaughn.” John waved a hand and grinned. “You’re the expert on this. My wife tells me I don’t know black from navy—a travesty in her book—so I’ll leave the decisions to you. Rick tells me you’re doing great too. That means you must’ve made some kind of impression.”

  Rick Williams, the other namesake in Monroe & Williams was not as jovial or relaxed as his partner. He, the classic vision of well-to-do, big business lawyer, was regularly decked out in a polished designer suit and equally expensive shoes, complete with bright silk tie, slicked back ebony hair and a blinding white smile.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you’re both happy so far.”

  She chuckled a little when John raised his brows and with a roll of his eyes huffed to sit in the oversized chair behind his desk. “He’s not easy to please. And I should know after twenty years of sharing a practice with the man.”

  “Talking about me, John?” Rick Williams smiled affably, revealing those bright teeth as he breezed through the open door. He glanced at Marxie, gave an appreciative nod.

  “Just saying how disagreeable you are, Rick.”

  “One of us has to be.” Rick sat elegantly in a chair opposite John, scooted a stack of papers from his hands to the desk in front of him. “If it were up to you, we’d let every client walk out of here paying us a pocket full of change for our legal expertise.”

  John turned to Marxie, rolled his eyes again. “Rick continues to antagonize me about pro-bono work.”

  “Nothing in this world is ever free, John. Not even for the people who spend their life trying to find every pushover like you.”

  Oh, she did despise the man, Marxie thought, jotting figures and rounding out sketches on her pad.

  “Our designer here seems to be nothing of the sort, though, does she?” Rick quipped. “She’s a lively one, I can tell.”

  Marxie didn’t realize she was the object of his judgment until she looked up and both men were staring.