Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My fingers tightened against his flesh and I froze. I heard his words, could understand them even. But that didn't make it easy to hear. We'd loved each other our whole lives. Not always romantically, but the love had been there. I'd never understood why he'd wanted me. Why he'd chosen me. But I could understand this. Why would he want a woman who couldn't give him children?

"Jaye," he said, shaking me slightly. "Jaye, are you listening?"

I'd gone numb inside somewhere along the way. What I did know was that I was a survivor. And I'd survive this too. No matter how much it hurt.

"What's wrong?" he asked, holding my chin up so he could see my face.

I shook my head and said, "Nothing," and I tried to pull out of his arms, but he wouldn't let me go.

And then his eyes narrowed and I saw anger flash in them. It was rare Jack got angry—really angry.

"You're a fool," he said. "How many times does a man need to say he loves you before you actually believe it?"

"What?" I asked, confused but also irritated at being called a fool.

"I can see it all over your face," he accused. "You think I mean to take a break from us. Like my love for you is so shallow that us not being able to conceive would be a deal breaker for me? Let me make myself clear. Children are a temporary assignment, whether we choose to have them or not, and they'll eventually leave us to start their own families. But you're my wife until I take my last breath on this earth. Nothing changes that."

He moved to shift out of the way and get out of the shower, but I held on tight.

"I know," I said. "You're right and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know this is hurting you as much as it hurts me. But to tell you the truth I just feel stupid and like an inept failure. I'm not a stupid person. And anything I've failed at in life I've pushed myself and learned and studied until I at least had a cursory understanding. I know the biology of my body. I know how it's supposed to work. And yet it doesn't."

His face was like stone. "Please don't give up on me," I said. "Between all of this and standing over Evie Lidle's body this morning, I'm just not thinking clearly. I know you love me. And I know there's nothing in heaven or hell that could separate us. I was just being…stupid. I'm sorry."

"See that you remember it," he said. "And you're not stupid. You brain just stopped functioning for a moment. It's understandable after a day like today."

"I don't mean to be so hard to love," I said. "I really don't."

"I'm hopeful in twenty or thirty years you'll make it a little easier," he said, kissing the top of my head. "But I've always loved a challenge. My mother says it's because I have a head like a rock."

"And thank God for it," I said. "Not that I'm complaining. But why are you here in the shower with me?"

"I told you," he said. "They cut me loose for court. I've already finished testifying. Cole worked the majority of that case so he'll be more involved. But I just need to stay available in case I need to be called back to testify. And I'm not normally one to rush these situations when you're naked and pliable in the shower, but I've told Martinez I'd be an extra set of hands on this case."

I grunted and let him help me to my feet, and I stepped out of the shower and dried off. "What time is it? I told him I'd text as soon as the autopsy was done. I got a little sidetracked."

"So did he," Jack said. "I was coming into the station as he was leaving, and he told me to tell you he was headed to King George to see Kitty Lidle in the hospital. They're not sure she's going to make it. She was in respiratory distress for a long time before she was found, and she's got some bleeding on the brain from several mini-strokes. They're still waiting for toxicology to come back, but she was given something."

I hurriedly dressed and ran a brush through my mostly damp hair, and then I looked in the mirror and grimaced. There was no amount of ice packs or makeup that was going to help my swollen face.

"Martinez asked if we'd go interview Jackson Sparrow," Jack said. "He should be home from work by now."

I looked at the time on my phone and grimaced. It was after five. I hadn't really had time to have a mental breakdown in the shower, but here we were. I grabbed the makeup bag I kept in the drawer and hurriedly put on concealer and mascara, hoping that would conceal the obvious signs of tears, but there was no hope.

"Maybe just wear your sunglasses," Jack said. "It works for Cher."

I made a face in his direction and said, "I've got to run downstairs and get the autopsy report of Alan Goble for Martinez. And then we can head out. Is Sheldon still here?"

"He and Emmy Lu were packing it in for the day when I got here," Jack said. "Sheldon said he had a date with the donut girl."

"Lord," I said. "Lily thinks he's going to end up as some voodoo sacrifice or something."

"I've seen that girl at the donut shop," Jack said. "I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," I said. "I'm going to have to go by and get a look for myself. I don't want to end up having to rescue him from some bizarre hostage situation. He's been known to make bad decisions when it comes to women in the past."

"I still don't understand how he's gotten one woman to sleep with him," Jack said. "Much less multiple women."

"I guess he appeals to a certain type," I said. "He does seem sweet and cuddly."

I ran downstairs and grabbed the file and was back up before Jack had his weapon strapped back on. It was still daylight outside, so I took Jack's advice and put on my sunglasses and got my bag, even though it looked like the sun was fighting a losing battle against another wave of gray clouds rolling in.

"Maybe we should move to Arizona," he said, eyeing the same clouds as we left the funeral home. "I wouldn't mind a dry heat."

I snorted out a laugh and got in his police unit.

"Don't get me wrong," I said as we headed back toward Regent Park. "Martinez is a great cop, and he's pretty fun. But this is what I've been missing today."

"It's pretty rare for people to get to be partners at work and home," he said. "I worry about Martinez sometimes. Losing a partner is like losing a close family member. He still never talks about Lewis. I'm not sure he's ever really processed his grief."

In reality, I couldn't blame Martinez. And I certainly made it a point to never bring up Lewis when he was around. It had been my father who'd killed Martinez's partner.

"What'd you find out about the second victim?" Jack asked. "Goble."

"Cause of death was three gunshot wounds to the chest," I said. "Close range. Any of the three bullets were fatal. Everything else came back normal. The only thing that came back abnormal was that he'd had sex shortly before death."

"With the woman who shot him?" Jack asked.

"Possibly," I said. "But I don't think so. Astrid told us she'd come into work that day around ten, which was also confirmed by the chef. She found Kitty Lidle sometime after noon. We've got the 911 call for a time stamp. And she was at the house when Plank arrived with the EMTs. I don't know how she would have had time to get back down to her place and meet up with the walking STD."

"He had an STD?" Jack asked.

"A couple of them," I said. "Showed up in the blood work. We probably need to have a conversation with Lizzie Ryan. That's the granddaughter of the woman who's been with Kitty Lidle since her childhood. Lizzie and Alan Goble were caught in the act not long ago. When I say he'd recently had sex, there was seminal fluid on the inside of his jeans and on him. No underwear."

"Like he'd dressed in a hurry," Jack said. "Maybe he and Astrid have something going on the side and she finds out about the other girl. Uses the confusion at the house and the kidnapping to kill him in cold blood. Scorned lover."

"It's as plausible as anything," I said.

Jack slowed as we drove past Regent Park. The evidence of any semblance of a crime scene at the park had been washed away. Gone were the evidence tags and spatters of blood on the sidewalk. And all that was left of the crime-scene tape was a last remaining scrap that clung to a tree.

"I hope to God we got all the evidence we needed," Jack said.

"We've not recovered the pajamas she'd been wearing," I said. "Or whatever he used to strangle her with. We've got DNA out the wazoo, but it doesn't matter if there's no suspect. And as much as I wanted it to be so, there were no fresh wounds or scratches on Alan Goble. He wasn't her attacker."

"Making it all the more curious as to why Astrid killed him," Jack said. "I did a cursory check on Goble. He's got a sealed file."

"Sealed is just a word," I said, making Jack wince.

"Carver was a bad influence on you," he said.

Jack was a by-the-book kind of guy. But Carver had worked for the FBI and they were a little more relaxed when it came to the gray areas. Doug was very much like his uncle, and I knew the seal on Alan Goble's file would be an open book by the end of the night.

Myrtle Sparrow's house was painted a soft green, and it had the best curb appeal on the block. There were plants everywhere. There was a beige Corolla parked under the carport and a black truck parked in front of the house. Jack parked behind the Corolla in the driveway.

"Looks like he's home," I said.

Jack and I got out of the car, and before we could get to the front door the screen opened and a man stepped out and started toward us. I saw Jack casually put his hand on his weapon.

"Who are you?" the man said.

"Sheriff Jack Lawson," he said. "And this is Dr. Graves with the coroner's office. Are you Jackson Sparrow?"

He made a snorting sound and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket and then moved to stand under the carport.

"My mother won't let me smoke in the house," he said. "Have to come out here. Feels just like it did when I was in high school."

Jackson Sparrow wasn't an attractive man. He wasn't an unattractive man. He was medium. That was the only way I could think to describe him. Medium height, medium weight, with a medium amount of hair on his medium-brown head.

He wore a pair of rumpled khakis and a brown flannel shirt over a white undershirt. He smelled of cigarettes and beer.

"Mom told me about the kid in the park," he said, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep inhale. "She said y'all were looking for me."

I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually seen someone smoke a cigarette. I saw the occasional vape haze, but cigarettes were outlawed in and around all public buildings in Virginia, which was where I spent most of my time.

"That's right," Jack said. "We're trying to get statements from all the neighbors to catch whoever did this to her. Maybe someone saw something unusual. You work at the airport?"

"Yeah," he said. "Been there a couple years now. It's an okay job. Traffic sucks, but what are you gonna do when your ex bleeds you for everything you have?"

Jack nodded sympathetically and asked, "What time did you get home yesterday?"

"I get off shift at four," he said. "But there's this bar not far from work where all the guys go on Monday nights. Had some dinner. Drank a few beers. Watched a Nationals game."

"What time did you get home?" Jack asked.

"A little after eleven," he said, flicking ash next to his work boots. "You'd think it was the middle of the night to hear Mom talk. She always falls asleep in her chair about seven thirty. Then she'll wake up about nine and shuffle off to bed. This whole town drives me crazy. Nothing to do but watch the grass grow and paint dry."

"Tell me about when you got home," Jack said. "Any other drivers on the road?"

He flicked the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, and then tapped another out of the pack from his pocket, lighting it with the ease of long practice.

"Hard to say," he said. "I wasn't really paying attention. Just wanted to get home and get to bed. I have to leave for work around four every morning."

"I'm not here to bust you for drinking and driving," Jack said affably. "We're looking for someone who raped and beat a twelve-year-old to death. So I'll ask you again if you saw anyone on your way home."

Jackson let out a long stream of smoke and sized Jack up. And then he must have believed him because he said, "Passed a black SUV on Jane Seymour." He pointed to the corner less than twenty yards away.

"At least tried to pass it," he said. "I was a little buzzed and I wasn't expecting anyone to be driving around the neighborhood so it took me off guard. Their lights flashed right in my eyes and I might have swerved off the road some. And then I turned the corner and there was another car. They honked and I just kind of parked as close to the house as I could get and stumbled inside."

"You said the lights flashed right in your eyes," Jack said. "Brights or regular lights?"

"Felt like brights," he said. "I couldn't see anything. Blinded me for a second. Thought I was going to take that mailbox out over there."

"Did you see who was driving?"

"I just told you I couldn't see anything. At least not in that car."

"But in the other?" Jack prompted.

"Looked like a woman," he said. "I think I scared her as much as she scared me. But she drove on."

"The first car," Jack said. "You remember what it looked like?"

"Dark," he said. "Might have been an SUV. But it was a small one if so. Big headlights."

"Was it going fast or slow?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped and closed it again. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"Huh," he said. "I would have said he was going fast, but I don't think he was. I think I was the one going fast. I think he might have just been sitting there at the corner. Or moving real slow." He closed his eyes like he was trying to conjure up the scene in his head. "I think that's why I swerved. It was real dark. That streetlight on the corner over there is out. And the angle the car was sitting made it kind of blend into the darkness. That's why I was so surprised. It's like the headlights were all of a sudden right there, so I swerved into that yard over there. Sobered me up for a second. I didn't need that headache on top of everything else going on in my life right now."

"Was the car still there when you went inside?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Just driving around the park."

"How long have you lived here?" I asked him.

His gaze shifted to me. "Six months. Been going through a divorce. Had to sell the house to pay off all the credit-card debt she racked up in my name, so I was forced to move in with Mom."

"You ever see those vehicles in this area before?" I asked him. "Maybe parked in one of the neighbors' driveways?"

"No," he said immediately. "The people around here are mostly older. They don't have cars like that. Too new. Too nice."

"What was the name of that bar you were at last night?" Jack asked.

"Rawley's," he said. "It's off 295."

"Thanks for your time," Jack said. "Let us know if you remember anything else."

The guy grunted and tossed his cigarette in a puddle before heading back inside.