“It was a home of sorts to him for a while, but basically, it’s my gut talking.”
Savich knew Victor might already have been to the Smiley house and dug up the bank robbery money as soon as he’d escaped. He had shown off a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills to Cindy last night. Then why would he go back? If he already had all that money, not just a roll but a suitcase full, why was he still here? There had to be a reason, besides revenge. Savich already had agents camped out at the Smiley house in Fort Pessel, watching for any sign of Victor.
He studied Cindy’s pale, very pretty face. “Cindy, I’d like you to tell me as best you can exactly what Victor was like when he attacked you and you kicked him in the stomach.”
“It was sort of like that old movie about that weird guy who was two people—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” She shrugged. “That sounds crazy, but really, all of a sudden, he looked like he wanted to rip off my face. I remember his eyes, they were darker, slitted, and mean, really mean. The change in him, it was scary, terrifying.” She swallowed. “Do you believe me?”
Savich said, “Yes, I believe you.”
Sherlock said, “So you were hoping this cute guy with his wad of bills could be your ticket out of Winslow?”
Cindy’s eyes fell to her flip-flops. “Well, yes, I guess.”
Sherlock looked at the girl who’d survived Victor Nesser. “How old are you, Cindy?”
Her eyes went to Sherlock’s face. “Twenty. On August twenty-ninth. I’m a Virgo.”
“Virgos with guts are really good at applying themselves, Cindy. Sounds like you could make a top-notch Virgo.”
“How?”
“First thing, figure out what interests you. If you don’t know, go online and look at some of the curriculums of the state schools in this area. You could take some required classes this fall. It would help you figure out what you want to do.”
Cindy looked at her in amazement. “You want me to go to college? Some dumb state school? My folks would laugh at me, tell me I’m wasting my time. My friends would laugh at me for trying to be a geek, and worse. As for my sister, she’d tell me to marry Jimmy Folks and have babies.” Cindy actually shuddered.
“Would your brother Hank laugh?”
Cindy didn’t even pause. “No, I guess Hank would tell me to get off my butt and go for it.”
Sherlock hugged her. “There you go. Maybe it’s time for you to be more open to things, to make a change. Skype Hank, see what he has to say. The important thing is not to waste this wonderful life you’ve been given, not to sell yourself short. Look at what you already did—you saved yourself from a very scary man.”
Cindy stared at Sherlock, then she laughed. “I’m not about to sell myself short, not anymore. And I’m not about to waste my time sitting on my hands in some dorky classroom with other kids who don’t give a crap about the history of the world. No thank you. I have better things to do.”
“What sorts of things, Cindy?”
“Well, before last night, before that crazy man Victor, I couldn’t make up my mind. I realize now I was too scared to take a chance, but it’s like you said, Agent Sherlock, I’m a hero. I saved myself. No more doubts, no more being scared. I’m not going to put up with all these local hicks shouting at me all the time. ‘Cindy? Get me catsup.’ ‘Sweet cheeks, get me another beer.’ ‘Hey, cutie, wanna go out with me?’?” She shuddered. “No more. I can do better than that. From today on, I’m going to be Tennessee. Yeah, Tennessee Wilcox—that name has guts, not a name to mess with, not like Cindy. The creeps can get their own catsup. And I’m going to save my money and go back to Las Vegas.” She beamed at Sherlock, hugged her again, and gave the chief back his jacket.
Back in the Volvo, Savich turned on the air-conditioning, leaned over to pat Sherlock’s arm, kissed her, and cupped her face in his palm. “Good try, sweetheart. Tennessee has a real ring to it. Perfect for Las Vegas, don’t you think?”
54
* * *
SPARROW CREMATORIUM
HAGGERSVILLE, MARYLAND
WEDNESDAY
The Sparrow Crematorium was a modern two-story white stucco building with beautifully kept grounds, standing in the middle of a small park of pine and maple. Cars were tucked discreetly to the side with a dozen or so sitting under the blazing sun, most with sunscreens across the windshields. There was no hint of smoke or cinder in the air, maybe because they cremated at night. Like most people, Ty knew they burned bodies in an oven, then scooped up the ashes and put them in an urn of the family’s choosing. And like most people, she didn’t want any more particulars.
Sala and Ty walked a long flagstone path toward the main entrance set beneath two white Doric columns. No one seemed to be about.
“I’ve never been to a crematorium before,” Ty whispered. “All that white, it looks so clean, so—sanitary.”
“I guess that would relieve my mind if I planned to cremate one of my family, and that’s the point. Ty, pull up, I want to talk a minute. Let’s catch some shade under that oak tree.” The shade felt good, relieved the nearly skin-searing heat a bit. Sala said, “Here’s the thing about Mr. Henry LaRoque being cremated here: I can’t help but remember that crematorium in Noble, Georgia, the Tri-State Crematory. They weren’t burning bodies like they were supposed to, they were throwing them out like refuse on their property. I remember people even reported seeing bodies next to the building, but the local sheriff kept claiming everything was fine.
“It’s a textbook case, right? Lots of papers written about it, FBI profilers chewed it over, and yet I still don’t understand why they did it. Why didn’t the owners simply cremate the bodies like they were paid to do? Running the ovens costs that much? If so, why didn’t they simply pass the cost along? If it was only about greed, then why not at least bury the bodies deep? No one would have ever known what they did. It was rank stupidity—imagine dumping dead bodies like so much trash close to their facility. Didn’t the owners think people would notice? Didn’t they consider they’d be reported?”
He paused, looked out over the peaceful lawn. “And now we find a whole lot of bones in Lake Massey. And the belt buckle in among all those bones. And we are at another crematorium.”
Ty said, “I remember the owner, Ray Brent, served twelve years in prison. And of course many families sued in civil courts. But it’s not enough for what he did—for years. I remember thinking he should have gotten life imprisonment.”
Sala said, “There’s flat-out crazy, like Victor Nesser, and then there’s evil, people who are so perverted there don’t seem to be any limits, like Brent.”
Ty said, “Sala, I get it. We’ll find out if the Sparrows dumped those bodies in Lake Massey. Doesn’t exactly look like that kind of place, though, does it?”
“Neither did the Tri-State Crematory in Georgia.” He studied her face, summer tanned, her intelligent green eyes with absurdly long lashes, her curly dark brown hair blowing around her face, her stubborn chin and the line of freckles marching across her nose. Sala realized he admired her. More than that, he was grateful to her. “It’s all about helping the victims for you, isn’t it? Most recently me.” He squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Ty.”
Ty lightly touched her fingertips to his hand. “And thank you for being here with me. Now, let’s go have a talk with the Sparrows. I saw you on your iPad on the way over here. Did you find anything interesting?”