Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Germantown

While a team worked feverishly processing the evidence found at the Williams’ home, a wide net was spread all over the city to catch the killer who slaughtered the couple, and most likely Charlie, too. Boots were on the ground, questioning everyone in Germantown about what they saw the morning of the murders.

Dudley and Jack focused on nearby businesses that had cameras. Their first stop was the Dunkin’ Donuts closest to the Williams residence. Camera footage of the hour leading up to the murders showed nothing except a couple of senior citizens and a smartly dressed young woman with a briefcase who had stopped there.

They systematically worked the shops in the franchise, fanning out from there. Half a mile from the Germantown neighborhood, they hit pay-dirt. Camera footage showed a man of slightly more than medium height, dressed in black jeans and jersey, entering the shop, a generic black baseball cap angled so the bill put his face in shadow. But his bull-like neck was on full display. As were the arm muscles that bulged under his jersey top. He bought a cup of coffee but was careful to angle his face away from the camera when he paid. His exit showed the lithe, quick-footed walk of a boxer.

Or a professional killer.

“Do you remember this man?” Dudley asked the shop owner.

“Yeah. Swarthy skin. Beefy hands. Couldn’t see his face, but there was something about him—his attitude, maybe—that made me want to back up and stay out of trouble.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. Just paid with cash and walked out.”

The outdoor footage during that timeframe showed no car arriving or leaving, which didn’t surprise Dudley. Any criminal with a mission to murder would park on a street that had no cameras.

“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?” he asked.

“Naw. He just walked in and walked out. Quick like.”

Back in their car, Jack said, “I have a gut feeling.”

“Me, too. That’s our man.”

In the few years the two of them had been partners in homicide division, their instincts had been ninety-five percent accurate while their thorough investigations did the rest. Based on their record of arrests and convictions, Dudley and Jack had built up an unmatched reputation.

When they got DNA from the coffee cup Dudley had spotted in the victims’ home, they might match it against the database of criminals’ DNA and discover the killer’s name.

But what were the chances he would still be hanging around in Memphis? He could be anywhere in the word by now, including holed up in one of the hideouts Ancira had all over Mexico and South America.

It was dark before Dudley and Jack headed back to the station and assembled with the rest of the team. They had found no further leads, but a graying detective nearing retirement who had worked Germantown found a neighbor who remembered seeing a gray Toyota Camry driving slowly through the neighborhood the day before the killings. They had checked with rental agencies and discovered a man named Kelly Briley with a driver’s license from Arizona, had rented car that fit the description. It had not been returned.

A copy of the license, now tacked on the crime board, showed a clean-cut young man who looked like somebody’s beloved little league coach, the kind of man who might have a wife and a new baby waiting for him back home.

The seasoned detective told the team, “The girl at the counter said the man didn’t look much like his picture, but he told her he just got back from a month working an off-shore oil rig and his wife probably wouldn’t let him in the door without ID. The good news is, the man rented the car for a week.”

Jack pointed to a photo of the rental car with the license plate blown up to show the numbers. “We’ve issued an APB for the car and this man.” He pointed out the photo taken from the footage at Dunkin’ Donuts. “Unless he headed southwest and drove across the border, he’s still in the city. And we’re going to find him.”

Dudley was relieved to finally leave the investigation in the hands of the undercover homicide detectives coming in for the night shift. He went to the restroom and pulled out his Blackberry.

Gloria Jean might be regretting the letter. She might have changed her mind.

He could hardly catch as his breath as her cell phone rang. His hopes soared and then plunged as the ring went unanswered. Finally, he pocketed his phone.

But what if she was helping the girls with their baths and didn’t hear her phone? What if she heard it but decided to make him sweat before she talked to him?

He called her again then leaned against the wall as if it might hold him up in case of another blow from his unhappy wife. She didn’t answer that call either. Or the third.

He was too proud to try a fourth time. Hadn’t she been plain enough in the letter? What more did he want from her? Additional salt rubbed into his wounds?

He hurried outside, welcomed the blast of chill night air that made it possible to breathe again without aching.

Jack caught up with him in the parking lot. “You can tell me now. What’s eating you?”

It never entered Dudley’s mind to hide the miserable state of his broken marriage. After he’d finished the telling, Jack got straight to the point. “There are plenty of apartments for rent in my shabby building. Nobody else wants to live there but me. Come on. I’ll help you move.”

“Tonight?’

“Might as well. Unless you think she might change and come back.”

He thought back over the month, days, and hours that had led him to this. They had been going through the motions for a long time. The ending was inevitable. At least Gloria Jean had the courage to finish it.

It hurt him to think about moving out of the house where he had once been happy with his beautiful wife and precious daughters. Still, the only thing he wanted was the eight by ten photograph of them that sat atop the chest of drawers in his bedroom.

And his camping equipment. He would need that.

He turned to his friend Jack. “No. She won’t.”