Chapter Twenty-Nine DAWSON

Chapter Twenty-Nine

D AWSON

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

11:45 a.m.

Dawson parked in front of the hospital and walked through the main entrance doors. Inside, he found the receptionist desk, showed his badge, and located Ms. Yeats’s floor.

“Can you ask her to come to the lobby?” he said to the receptionist.

“Sure.” She lifted the phone and quickly relayed his message.

A tall woman with mousy-brown hair pulled into a ponytail pushed through the swinging doors. She was wearing scrubs, white sneakers, and a name badge that read Lynn Yeats . It struck him that she wasn’t what he’d considered Tanner’s type. Sandra and Scarlett had blond hair. Tiffany was a redhead but young, long, lean, and attractive. Maybe Lynn was the kind of woman Tanner thought he needed to cover for his secret life.

Lynn’s gaze was cautious as she looked at Dawson. When he raised his badge and introduced himself, her flat lips deepened into a frown. “Are you here about that woman?”

Dawson asked, “What woman is that?”

“I don’t know, and no one got her name. She came by the hospital and said my house flooded. I left a patient and raced home. There was nothing wrong with my house. It was all bull.”

“Not cool,” Dawson said. “Why would someone do that?” If he were Scarlett, he’d pull a similar stunt to find out where Lynn lived.

“I’ve no idea why people do what they do.”

“Having trouble with anyone? Boyfriend? Neighbor?”

“No. At least not that I’m aware.”

Dawson shook his head. “I’m not here about that. I came to ask you if you remember a Tiffany Patterson or a Sandra Taylor.”

Lynn groaned, shaking her head. “This is about Tanner, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve had nothing to do with anyone associated with him for a decade. I’ve worked hard so people forget I was the girlfriend and alleged accomplice who helped him brutalize those women. I had no idea what he was doing.”

“You’ve not spoken to Tiffany at all?” Dawson asked.

“The cops asked me about Scarlett, Della, Tiffany, and this Sandra chick, but like I told them years ago, I never met any of them except for Tiffany, briefly.”

“Did the officer show you any pictures of these women? Did he say anything about them?”

“He showed me pictures, but I didn’t know any of them.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pale-blue smock. “The media linked me to Tanner, and that story rolled around the internet for years. Tanner did a fantastic job of screwing up my life. You know how many men want a woman who dated a guy like that?”

“I don’t know,” Dawson said.

“A lot. And they’re all weird as hell. One boyfriend wanted to simulate strangulation with me. Another asked if I liked being tied up.”

He shifted. “Must have been rough.”

“You’ve no idea. What kind of guy likes tying up a woman?”

He stilled. “Did you ever meet Scarlett Crosby?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Why would she and I meet?”

“I looked over your old interviews. Did Tanner call you Scarlett once?”

Her face reddened. “Once. He realized what he’d done immediately and apologized. Said it was a volatile ex. Said what he loved about me was that I was so normal. I was mad, but I never could stay angry at him long. The bastard was charming.”

“Scarlett Crosby never reached out to you?”

Her brows furrowed. “Why would she?”

“Might help her make sense of what happened to her.”

Lynn shook her head. “I didn’t know anything about her. I had no idea she was in the basement.” She shifted her stance.

“Nothing ever hit your radar about Tanner?” Dawson asked. “Nothing?”

“No. He was normal with me.”

Many men like Tanner could cleave their dark and light worlds in two. Some could live a double life for years and no one noticed enough inconsistencies to sound an alarm bell. But in most cases, Dawson found if he pressed, family members or loved ones could look back and identify warning signs.

“Never heard muffles, odd sounds, or even banging on the pipes?” he asked.

Lynn slowly shook her head but stopped. “The pipes,” she said, more to herself. “The pipes clanged from time to time. Tanner told me he had bad pipes, but after I mentioned it, I never heard the sound again.”

“What did you hear exactly?” Dawson asked.

“Random clanging. It only happened a few times.”

“You were at the house often?”

“A couple of times a week in the spring of 2014. We usually made dinner and watched television. Tanner wasn’t always the most amorous guy, if you know what I mean.”

“He didn’t want to have sex with you?” Dawson asked.

“Sometimes he did, but it was never really super sexy.” Lynn glanced toward Dawson. “I offered to spice it up many times.”

“How, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Her gaze flickered down. “I don’t know. The usual ways.”

“What’re the usual ways?”

“Role-play, costumes, devices.”

“But that was tame for him, wasn’t it? He had girls locked in the basement to satisfy his spicier needs,” Dawson said.

Her fingers curled into fists. “I thought he had a problem with me or was a prude.”

“When exactly did you hear the pipes?”

“April or May. I don’t remember the actual day.”

Sandra was last seen April 1, 2014, so if Tanner had her, that fit into the time frame. “How did he seem after you heard the pipes?”

“Annoyed. Said he’d have to fix them.”

The fatal blow to Sandra’s head could have been unintentional. She’d tried to alert Lynn for help, and he’d lashed out and killed her in the process. “You’re sure it was April or May?”

“I remember it was spring. Still chilly outside.”

June 2014 had seen record-high temperatures, so chances were if someone had reached out for help, it wasn’t Scarlett. “What can you tell me about Tanner?”

She threaded trembling fingers together. “I told all this to the cops ten years ago. Can’t you read the files?”

“Humor me,” Dawson said. “Sometimes the passing of time jostles memories. Whatever might have stressed you out then might have faded. It’s understandable you’d have been under a great deal of pressure after Tanner’s death.”

Frustration tightened her face before it melted into resignation. “That was the worst time of my life. I could barely think.”

“It had to have been horrible.” The comment was rote, but he managed to make it sound sincere. “And I appreciate your help. This can’t be easy.”

She flexed her fingers. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you meet?”

“We met at Mike’s Diner. I ate there every morning before my shift at the hospital. We were always the first two in the diner most mornings, and it got to be a regular thing. Then one day he invited me to join him. I was charmed.”

“That’s the same diner where Sandra Taylor and Tiffany Patterson worked.”

“I don’t remember Sandra at all, but I remember the waitress with red hair.”

“Tiffany Patterson?”

“Yes. She was my waitress. She served me and went about her job. We didn’t chat beyond ‘Is there anything else I can get you’ to ‘No, thank you.’ I do remember Tanner joked with her. She smiled at him like so many women did.”

“What did he talk to her about?”

“The regular flirty-guy stuff. Said he appreciated her. Asked her what she would order even though he always ordered the eggs over easy. Asked her if all redheads had a temper. He left her a good tip. When I asked why he was flirty with her, he told me once she reminded him of his sister.”

“Tanner had distant cousins but no siblings.”

“I didn’t know that at the time.”

“Did he talk about his past?”

“Beyond the ex, not much. Said his parents were dead. I never pushed.”

“You ever go into the basement?” Dawson asked.

“I never, ever went to the basement,” Lynn insisted.

“You weren’t curious about the basement?”

“Maybe a little. But the door to it was locked. He said the stairway was steep and he was afraid someone would open the door, not realize the steps were there, and fall.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Dawson said.

“That’s what I thought,” Lynn said.

“Mind if I double back for a second?” When a witness relaxed a fraction, he often returned to touchier topics.

“Sure.”

“I apologize, but I must be direct again,” Dawson said.

Lynn stiffened. “Okay, sure.”

“You said you tried to spice things up. Was there any kind of aggressive play when you two were romantic?”

Lynn shook her head. “Nothing weird happened. He wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. I kind of wanted him to be more aggressive.”

“It’s been ten years,” Dawson coaxed. “Tanner’s dead, and honestly the Sandra Taylor homicide isn’t high profile. I got a day or two more to work it, and then I’m going to have to move on to a new case. My point is, you’re not getting dragged into anything.”

Lynn drew in a breath. “Why does our sex life matter?”

“Because guys like Tanner do their best to keep their worlds separate, but the darkness often leaks into the light.”

She shook her head. “I just made suggestions I’d read about in novels. Nothing super violent.”

Everyone wanted to believe they were in the normal range, including himself. But normal was relative, until it wasn’t. “But a little violent.”

“He put his hands on my neck. His hold was loose at first. Then his fingers tightened. It was scary, I kind of panicked. He squeezed until I couldn’t breathe, and I was forced to relax. My acceptance seemed to turn him on.”

“He liked to be in charge,” Dawson said.

“I guess so.”

“That was the only time?”

“Yeah. He said later he didn’t know what had gotten into him. He apologized.”

Dawson cleared his throat. “When was this?”

“August 29. A dating milestone. Five months.” Her fingers absently rose to her collar, as if covering red marks that no longer existed.

Scarlett had been in the basement August 29, 2014, and Tanner’s attempt to snatch Tiffany would happen days later. “Is that the day he called you Scarlett?”

Her breath was ragged. “How do you know that?”

“Just a guess.”

“Yes, but he brought me flowers after.” She spoke quickly, as if she needed to defend him and even herself. “I forgave him. I loved him. He died days later.”

“Have you ever been back to the diner?” Dawson asked.

“No,” Lynn said. “I don’t go to that part of town at all. I would’ve moved away, but my mother is still in Norfolk, and she’s getting old.”

“Okay, Ms. Yeats. Thank you for your time.”

“Are you going to investigate my false alarm?”

“I’ll ask around,” he lied with a smile.

As Dawson left, his smile faded into a deep frown. He knew enough about people to know that Lynn Yeats was lying—or at least holding back. He wasn’t sure whether the information was small or large, but she was hiding something. In his car, he started the engine. Rattling pipes. Aggressive sex play. Heightened interest after she submitted. Calling her Scarlett. A locked basement. People saw what they wanted to see. Confirmation bias. She wanted a steady guy who made a decent income. So she ignored all the signs that he might have other issues.

He called Margo. First ring. Second. Third. Was she blowing him off?

She answered on the fourth ring. “Detective.”

“What are you doing?” He pictured her in her hotel room wearing black silk.

“Talking to movers. Logistics irritate me. What about you?”

“Thinking about you.” Gravel in his throat roughened his voice.

“Are you?” She sounded disinterested. She was making him work for it.

“You free?”

“You can come to my hotel room in an hour,” she said.

“I thought you moved.”

“Working on it.”

He checked his watch. He’d have to leave now and hope there wasn’t much traffic. “I’m on the way.”

“Don’t be late.”

Tension coiled in his gut as he drove across town to her hotel room. When he arrived, he took a second to tuck in his shirt and smooth his fingers over his short hair. Not wanting to appear so stiff, he shrugged off his jacket, removed his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He knocked.

When she snapped open the door, she was standing on the threshold wearing a raincoat and heels. “You’re late.”

He wasn’t. “Sorry.”

She nodded for him to enter her room. When she closed the door, anticipation buzzed in his body. “Why the nooner?”

Tension was building inside him. Separating the light from the dark was getting trickier. “Take off the coat.”

She moved toward the bed, carefully unknotting the cloth belt. “No sweet words or a warm-up?”

“Want me to braid your hair?”

She chuckled as she shrugged off the coat, letting it drop and pool around her black high heels. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

For all the power she gave him, he’d never felt more out of control. The more she gave, the more he wanted. In this moment, he understood Tanner, and that scared the shit out of him. “Get on the bed.”