Once Shadows Fall (33 page)

T
he sheriff’s office was located in the basement of the courthouse. It contained a total of three cells, only two of which had ever been in use at the same time, according to Max Blaylock. A small lobby separated their work area from the public. Beyond that was Blaylock’s office. While the town of Jordan only employed two deputies, he explained, the third desk was for a part-time clerk who came in on weekends to file and do typing. Avilles and Barbara Tucker, who Jack had met at the Donneley farm, looked up when they brought Tony Gillam in.

Avilles informed the sheriff, “I called Detective Childers like you asked and let him know you were bringing in a suspect. He said he’ll be here as soon as they finish at the Curry house. He didn’t sound happy.”

“Tough business,” Blaylock said without sincerity.

“His partner doesn’t want us to question the suspect unless they’re present.”

“Is that so?”

“Just what he said, Max.”

“Did he say please?”

“No, sir, he didn’t.”

“Then it don’t count.”

Blaylock turned to Tony Gillam and tried again to convince him to cooperate.

“Son, you can do yourself a lot of good. Why don’t you level with us and tell us why you screwed around with them security discs?”

Gillam’s face was pale. He just shook his head as he had before and offered no response.

Jack didn’t think he would change his mind. On the ride in, he and Pappas had discussed what Gillam had to gain by his actions. Neither
thought he was the killer. He was too short and he was right-handed. The fact that his DNA didn’t match the samples from the killer meant nothing, since he was in charge of forwarding the samples to the GBI for processing. It would have been an easy matter to switch his own out for someone else’s.

“You think Curry bought him off?” Pappas asked.

“It’s possible,” Jack said. “Guess we’ll know more after we examine his accounts. He certainly wasn’t living like a king.”

“You really believe they were working together?”

Jack shook his head. “This isn’t very scientific, but Gillam feels wrong to me. He isn’t someone I’d pick for a crazed killer.”

“Me either.”

There was no doubt Gillam and whoever had taken Ron Curry’s place were linked together. No doubt at all. A lot would depend on what Ben Furman came up with—and Tony Gillam, assuming he could be convinced to cooperate. He took the copy of the newspaper article he’d made out of his briefcase and studied the image of Albert Lemon for a full minute. He could have kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. He had the first half of his answer. Jack shook his head and leaned across the desk and asked Barbara Tucker if he could borrow her computer. When he was done, he asked the sheriff if he could have a few minutes alone with Gillam.

Blaylock shrugged and motioned for him to go ahead.

Folding the newspaper article lengthwise, he placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket and headed back to the cells.

Minus his belt and shoelaces, Tony Gillam was sitting on the cot in his cell, head down, elbows on his knees. He glanced up at the sound of a key turning in the lock. Jack nodded his thanks to the deputy, entered the cell, and sat on a small metal bench directly across from him.

“I don’t have anything to say, Dr. Kale.”

“I know. And I think I know why. You don’t need to say anything, Tony. Just listen . . . and look.” Jack opened the newspaper article and placed it on the cot next to Gillam. “This is an artist’s rendition of Albert Lemon, Atlanta’s first serial killer. Take a close look at the face. You’ve seen it before.”

Gillam started to reply, but Jack held up his hand. “It might be more accurate to say it looks familiar to you. It did to me, too, until I made the connection a little while ago.”

Gillam examined the illustration again. It took a moment before the realization dawned on him. His eyes widened.

“I thought so,” Jack said. “Your wife’s name is Moira, isn’t it?”

Unable to pull his eyes away from the drawing, Gillam nodded.

“How long has she been missing, Tony?”

Gillam’s answer also made sense and coincided with the fake Ron Curry’s arrival at Meadbrook. It simply confirmed the conclusion Jack had already reached.

“We don’t have much time, so I’m going to be blunt with you. There’s a chance that your Moira is still alive. I know you’ve been clinging to that hope, but I have to tell you I don’t think she is. I’m terribly sorry to say it, but that’s the truth. Neither Albert Lemon nor Howard Pell ever returned any of their victims. The copycat’s following the path they laid out. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

When Gillam finally pulled his eyes away from the article and looked at Jack, they were red. “Yes.” The answer came out as a whisper.

“And you went along with them hoping to save her life.”

“They sent me her finger.”

The words struck at Jack’s stomach, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I hope I’m wrong, truly I do. And I hope we can find some way to save her. The bottom line is that Beth Sturgis is alive, at least I pray she is. Like you, I keep going back and forth believing and not believing. If there’s even the slightest chance to help either of them, I need your help.

“A jury may understand a desperate husband trying to save his wife. I promise you, if push comes to shove, I’ll testify to that. Right now, you have an opportunity to help me save Beth’s life. If you’re the kind of man I believe you are, you’ll take it. Say no, and I’ll walk out of here and it will be the last time we speak.”

Jack waited.

“What is it you want?”

“Tell me everything you know about these people. Don’t leave anything out, Tony.”

Gillam related the phone call he received the night his wife didn’t come home. That was followed by a visit to his house the following morning by a man bearing an article of her clothing and her cell phone. They were threatening to send Moira back in pieces if he didn’t cooperate. Their plan was simple: work with them for several days and allow the imposter to take the real Ron Curry’s place and falsify the security records and tapes.

“You believed they wanted to break Howard Pell out of Mayfield?” Jack said.

“Right.”

“Is that it?”

“On the second night, I followed him, thinking he would lead me to my wife. But he didn’t. He went to the Curry house and changed cars, then went to a motel. The room was registered to someone named Mathias Lemon. The name meant nothing to me until a few minutes ago. I went back for my gun, but I screwed up. He was gone by the time I returned.”

“And you never thought to call the police?”

“I received her finger the next morning. Do you understand that?”

Fifteen minutes later, Jack returned to the lobby, where Dave Childers, James Spruell, Pappas, and the sheriff were waiting.

“Did you get your confession, Kale?” Spruell asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Even if you did, it wouldn’t be worth spit. The sheriff told us Gillam already invoked Miranda. You had no right to speak with him.”

Jack nodded slowly. Spruell turned away in disgust.

Childers asked, “Has he lawyered up yet?”

“He mentioned a lawyer at his house but never specifically asked for one,” Blaylock said.

“But you did Mirandize him?” Spruell said.

“Of course.”

“Was it videotaped?” Spruell asked.

“Nothing fancy here, Detective. I just read him his rights.”

“The reason we do things fancy, Sheriff, is we don’t want to screw up an arrest. Did you at least have him sign the Miranda card?”

“Nope. We all heard him answer.”

Spruell shrugged. “I guess it is what it is. Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, Sheriff. We simply don’t want a killer walking on a technicality.”

“He’s not the killer,” Jack said. “Alton Cairo is.”

Everyone turned to him at the same time.

“The doctor?” Max Blaylock said, surprised.

“Gillam altered the security disc to protect his wife. He also never sent the imposter’s security file to the GBI for a background check.”

“What makes you say that, Jack?” Childers asked.

“Because he told me.”

Childers and Spruell looked at each other, then the older detective asked, “But why alter the disc?”

“Gillam was forced into it on the promise they would return his wife. He needed to cover what’s really going on between Howard Pell, Cairo, and the man calling himself Ron Curry, though that isn’t his real name. It is Mathias Lemon.”

“Bullshit,” Spruell said. “You’re basing this on a two-second slice of video and the outline of a book. Talk about a thin case.”

“It happened more than once,” Jack said. “Cairo had a good explanation for his recent increase in visits, but that doesn’t fly for a number of reasons. First, Dan told me Pell was an iceberg when they met. He appeared self-contained, calm, and not at all in crisis as Cairo represented. Next, he said Dr. Raymond increased the medication Pell was taking, but there’s no evidence on the video Raymond ever saw him during this time. The only place Pell went when he left his cell was to their recreation area. Even a doctor who’s not terribly hands-on would want to see a patient before increasing his medical dosage. He’d certainly do some follow-up because antianxiety meds are tricky and have serious side effects if they’re not managed correctly.”

“I’m not convinced,” Spruell said.

“I’m not surprised,” Jack said.

“That’s all you have, Kale? Pell looked calm and Raymond didn’t hold his hand?”

“There’s a reason Charles Raymond didn’t hold his hand,” Jack said. “The same reason nobody in Mayfield does. They’re afraid of him. The people there exercise a great deal of caution around Dr. Pell. During interviews, he’s handcuffed and shackled to a chair. Visitors are warned not to get too close to him.”

“So?” Spruell said.

“So what was Alton Cairo doing going into the cell of an insane killer alone two or three times a week? Cairo is left-handed and six foot two, which fits with what Donna Camp and the Dorseys told us. I’d say Lemon is about five foot eight and fairly wide in the body. Actually, he looks a lot like his grandfather, Albert.”

A look of shock appeared on each of the faces in the room one at a time. Jack placed the security file photo of Mathias Lemon next to the artist’s rendition of his grandfather. He then explained how Tony Gillam had followed him to the motel and discovered his real name, though it meant nothing to him at the time.

Max Blaylock recovered first and said, “Maybe you boys should leave my prisoner where he is and go have a talk with Dr. Cairo.”

An unspoken communication passed between Childers and Spruell. They started for the door. Pappas and Jack were about to follow them out when James Spruell stopped and informed Jack, “We spoke with Lieutenant Fancher again. According to her, your status at the Atlanta Police Department is now officially over, which makes you a civilian again. Go back to teaching, Kale.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Childers said. He looked embarrassed. “I’ll keep you in the loop, civilian or not. Detective Pappas is welcome to join us.”

“You go on,” Pappas said. “I’m his ride.”

“Understood,” Childers said.

“Before you leave,” Pappas said, “One of you geniuses ought to tell Tony Gillam there’s a good chance his wife won’t be coming home—ever.”

T
here wasn’t much talk on the ride back to Atlanta. Pappas dropped Jack off at his car and said good-bye. They promised to stay in touch.

The light on his answering machine was blinking. Jack ignored it, fed Marta, then played the message.

“Jack, this is Penny Fancher. I just received a call from Dave Childers. They went to Cairo’s home and found the place empty. It’s possible he’s headed your way. Call us immediately if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

He’s not headed this way
, Jack thought. He already knew where Cairo was going.

Jack clipped on Marta’s leash and went outside. As they moved through Brookwood’s streets, his thoughts turned inward. He was consumed by guilt. He had failed Beth. There was no denying it. He should have figured out the game Pell and Cairo were playing sooner. Based on the DNA, he also knew where Mathias Lemon fit in now. If he was right, too bad for Mathias now that their use for him was over.

Please, God, let her be alive
.

The first signs of a panic attack appeared as he turned the corner onto his street. He recognized the pain building in his chest and the shortness of breath immediately.

Not now. Anytime but now
.

Just as he’d rehearsed with Shottner, Jack shut his eyes and imagined he was sitting on a quiet beach. To his right was a calm ocean, the water indigo. To his left, clusters of vegetation, grasses, sea grape, and palm trees. The sound of waves dying against the shore reached him. He knew this beach. Knew the familiar clouds. The sand was so bright,
it was almost painful to look at. He’d been to this place many times in his mind.

In the distance, he became aware of a solitary figure slowly walking toward him in a white dress. As the waves rolled in to the shore, water splashed across her ankles. The dress reached the middle of her calves. He couldn’t see her face, but there was no mistaking her shape. Beth Sturgis came to him out of the light and placed her hand gently against his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Shh,” Beth said. There was no accusation in her face. No recrimination in tone. She looked beautiful. Serene. Her green eyes met his.

“I failed,” Jack said.

“You didn’t.”

Tears began to well up in Jack’s eyes. “I should have been there to protect you.”

“My job. My choices. I knew the danger when I took it, Jack. Don’t you see that? We made a difference.”

Her words had little effect on him. The pressure in his chest worsened.

“We never danced,” he said. “I would have liked that. I would have tried.”

Beth reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead. She smiled.

“I know.”

The thought of her alone with the killer was overwhelming, sapping the strength from his limbs. In that instant, he knew she was dead. The pain of her loss engulfed him so completely, he was certain his heart would break. He dropped to the ground. Felt the warm, powdery sand between his fingers. Overhead, a tern glided soundlessly across the water’s surface.

Beth stroked his head.

“It’s not over,” she said. “You still have a job to do. It’s who you are. What you’ve always been. Everyone matters, Jack.”

He tried to answer, but the words caught in his throat. Unable to move, he watched her turn and walk back up the beach. Sunlight merged with the white sand and the water’s glare until it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. The air tasted of salt.

Beth’s figure receded farther and farther until she was gone. A minute passed and then another. Jack found himself down on his hands and knees. Marta was licking his face and trying to move him with her head. The street was deserted. Silent.

Slowly, gradually, the pressure in his chest eased. His heart rate returned to normal.

I’m losing it. She’s not dead. Can’t be
.

Jack pushed himself up and wiped his eyes. The mind was a marvelous, complex thing. If he gave up, gave in to the killer’s game, there was no hope. None at all. He had to believe there was still a chance. She’d been there. Spoken to him. Comforted him. He could still feel her fingers on his face. He closed his eyes, breathed in the heavy night air, and started for home.

“I still have a job to do.”