The Line

TWELVE


“Adam,” Oliver said and stepped aside to reveal Detective Cook.

“I’m sorry to bother y’all today,” Cook said. “But I have some news.”

“Come on in,” Oliver replied. For a brief second Oliver’s eyes locked with the detective’s and a nearly electrical charge shot between them, heavy with regret, false pride, and hunger. Oliver looked at Cook the same way I knew I looked at Jackson, guilt and desire wrestling it out in his gaze.

“Hello,” Cook half said, half asked as he took note of the golem. There remained nothing overtly supernatural about his appearance, so Cook seemed to accept him as a natural, if unknown quantity. “Uh, I have something I’d like to discuss with the immediate family, if that is all right.”

“It’s all right, Detective Cook,” Iris said, labeling the policeman for the golem’s benefit. “This is a dear friend of the family, and you can say anything you need to in front of him.”

“Okay,” Cook responded. “Pleased to meet you…”

“Clay,” I interjected. “Emmet Clay.”

“Mr. Clay,” Adam said. I looked over at the golem, surprised to see the corner of his mouth turned up into a sly smile. Emmet appeared to appreciate my humor, and I was glad to have a label for him.

“Detective,” he responded.

“So have you come to arrest us, officer?” Connor drawled, pushing his chair onto its back legs and resting his hands on his impressive stomach. He was itching for a fight, and right now he didn’t care whom it was with.

“No. Not at all.” Cook looked at me, his warm eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry if I was rough on you the other day. Like I said, in these cases there is usually a family member involved.”

“And in this case?” Maisie asked with a defiance I hadn’t heard in her voice since we were teens.

“No. Not in this case, Miss Taylor. As a matter of fact, I came to let you all know we have made an arrest.”

“You have the killer?” Ellen asked, her voice hopeful, relieved.

“We believe we do. A bit of good luck, actually. There was a break-in a few blocks away from Ginny’s. An officer caught a young man trying to sell some of the stolen items. When he searched the suspect’s car, he found a tire iron wrapped up in a towel. There was blood and bits of bone fragment both on the iron and in the fabric.”

“Ginny’s?” Maisie asked, deflating into her chair, all her defiance draining away.

“Yes. We got results back from the lab a short time ago. I’ve been holding this under my hat for a few days while we were waiting on them. The suspect left no fingerprints at the crime scene, but we found the tire iron in his possession. When he saw it, he started screaming like he’d seen a ghost. Passed out right in front of the arresting officer and had to be transported to the emergency room to be stabilized.”

“He on something? Meth?” Connor asked, leaning back toward the table. “Them damned meth heads are taking over the whole goddamned world around here.”

“No, sir. He tested negative for any drugs, but he seemed pretty near scared out of his mind. We had him on psychiatric restraint until we could get the results.”

“I thought those were usually only good for seventy-two hours,” I said.

“Well, you know how persuasive your Uncle Oliver can be. He convinced the judge to stretch the rules a little.”

“You knew about this, Oliver?” Connor spat out.

“Yes. I contacted Adam to chew him a new asshole for upsetting Mercy. As it happened, they had just pulled this guy in. I went and visited Judge Matthews to see if we could arrange for the bastard to stay behind bars until we knew for sure.”

“And you didn’t share this because?” Connor continued.

“Because you and Iris have already done enough to hurt the detective’s case. I figured the less you knew, the less damage you could do.”

The two men stared at each other with all the warmth and kindness of junkyard dogs greeting strangers at the gate. Connor broke his gaze and turned to Cook. “So who the hell is the prick, anyway?”

Cook flipped open his black notebook. “His name is Martell Burke. Does the name ring a bell with anyone?”

“Never heard it,” Iris responded. “Have you?” she asked her husband. Connor responded by shifting his chair back and shrugging his shoulders.

Ellen frowned slightly as she tried to match the name with a face. “No,” she responded after a few moments of quiet consideration. “I don’t think so.”

“No,” I seconded Ellen. “Me either.”

Maisie said nothing, but Cook didn’t press her. “I didn’t expect as much,” Cook continued. “He was raised up north, came to Savannah a few months ago. Has a pretty long record, reaching back to juvenile, but mostly small time offenses. Nothing violent,” Cook added.

“So maybe he broke into Ginny’s not knowing who he was taking on?” Maisie asked.

“That is where it gets interesting. Burke may be new to the area, but he has people here. People with deep roots.” Cook paused. “I am sure you are all acquainted with Jilo Wills.”

“Mother Jilo,” Ellen exhaled.

The blood drained from my face as I remembered Jilo’s promise to work the spell I had requested of her. My feelings toward Peter had not changed since my visit to the crossroads, but even with Maisie’s assurance that Ginny’s death had had nothing to do with me, I felt sick. I forced myself to concentrate on what the others were saying, hoping my thoughts wouldn’t betray me. I felt as though I should say something about being with Jilo the night before the murder, but I couldn’t, at least not for now. I looked at Maisie, but her eyes warned me to stay silent.

“That’s right. Martell is Mother Jilo’s great-grandson. So it’s looking much less like this was simply a home invasion turned violent.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why Jilo would want to harm Ginny,” Iris said. “Ginny never interfered with Jilo. She never even took her too seriously.”

“And that could be reason enough for some folk,” Connor offered.

“Wounded pride,” the officer considered. “You could be right there, Mr. Flynn.”

“Have you questioned him? What is he saying about what happened?” Ellen demanded.

“He admits to being at Ginny’s, but swears he never stepped foot inside. We can’t get anything else out of him.”

“Well, let Oliver have a little time with him. That’ll get him talking. And if that don’t work, let me have him for a while,” Connor said, leaning back in his chair again.

“I already proposed that,” Oliver said. “The part about my questioning him, not the part where you try to hold onto the illusion of being a young cock. Detective Cook here would have none of it.” All eyes turned toward Cook.

“Listen, I don’t pretend to understand how y’all do this ‘woo-woo’ stuff that you are into, but I know it’s real. When I was a little boy my grandmother told me that if I couldn’t avoid you Taylors, I’d better make it my business to befriend y’all. I can’t let Oliver near this guy. If I did, I could never be sure that Oliver hadn’t influenced him not only to talk, but also on what to say.”

“You saying you don’t trust me, Adam?” Oliver asked.

“I’m saying I can’t trust you, and Mister, you know why.”

Oliver and Cook locked eyes, and a long moment of silence stretched out as we waited to see who would call chicken first. Cook let it drop. “Burke says he’ll tell us everything after he talks to Mother, but we can’t find her. No one’s seen her at her usual haunt in Colonial lately, and she’s done a good job of staying off the grid other than her appearances at the cemetery.”

“You won’t find her unless she wants to be found,” Iris said.

“That may well be,” Cook responded, “but I was hoping that perhaps Mr. Flynn would be able to give us a lead on where she might be located. Your reputation,” he addressed Connor, “for tracking things down is legendary, and with your vested interest in the matter, I thought perhaps you would be willing to do a little off the record investigating of your own.”

Connor puffed up with the praise, but his response was cautious. “Jilo is a slippery one, Detective. I’ll be happy to give it a go, but I suspect that if she don’t want to be found, I ain’t going to find her.”

“I’d appreciate any help you can offer in the matter—” Cook’s sentence was cut short by the ringing of his cell. He pulled the phone out of its holder, his gaze drifting back to Oliver. He seemed to have a hard time not looking at Oliver; it was as if his eyes were hungry for the sight.

“Cook,” the detective answered his phone. “Yes. That’s correct. I am here with the family now.” As he listened, his reaction indicated bad news—his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “He what? How the hell could he do that? All right. You sure as hell had better. You tell March I want to talk to him the second I get there.” He turned off his phone and looked at us. “Martell Burke disappeared—literally disappeared—from his cell, and I want you all to tell me just how the hell that could have happened.”

“Detective Cook,” Aunt Iris said with raised eyebrows, smiling with only the right side of her mouth. “We want Ginny’s killer brought to justice. I certainly hope you’re not suggesting that we would free the man you suspect of killing her?”

“No ma’am, I don’t think you’d free him, but I sure as hell better not find myself stumbling over his body in a day or two. I need to get back to the station, but y’all can help me by getting me the names and contact information of any relatives who’ve been here for the funeral in case I need to get in touch them.”

He gave Oliver a cold and pointed look. “And don’t you even think of leaving town, Mr. Taylor. If my suspect turns up looking any less than healthy, you, sir, will be the first person I pay a visit. I would suggest you send up a little prayer for Martell’s prompt and safe return to custody.” Cook stared at Oliver for a moment more before slamming out the door.

“We should all keep an eye on each other until they catch this guy,” Connor stated flatly as the sound of Cook’s steps faded away.

“But how could this Burke fellow up and disappear?” Ellen asked. “Unless Mother’s behind it?”

Connor laughed. “Mother ain’t got the juice to pull this kind of stunt off.”

“It appears you are mistaken,” Emmet responded, “as it is unlikely anyone else would have had the motivation to free the man.”

Iris shocked us all by slamming her hands down on the table. “Oliver. Tell me you had nothing to do with this disappearance! You swear to me!”

Oliver’s eyes widened as he shrugged and tried to look innocent. For once he succeeded. “I didn’t Iris. I swear. I didn’t do a thing to Burke.” We all fell quiet and waited. “Nor,” Oliver continued in a somewhat hurt tone, “did I convince anyone else, including Burke himself, to do anything. I really and truly have no idea where he is, or how he managed his Houdini, unless Mother somehow pulled it off.”

“Damned shame.” Connor chuckled. “I would have respected you more if you had. But it is what it is, and we have bigger fish to fry. Let Cook try to round Burke up. We need to deal with the lot drawing. Once we get that handled, we can turn our attention to Burke.”

“He’s right,” Iris said. “We must deal with the matter at hand, and then if the detective still hasn’t apprehended this man, we can deal with the situation ourselves.”

“Wow, you light up the torches and I’ll grab the pitchforks.” Oliver smirked, but Iris’s expression told him she was having none of her little brother’s nonsense at the moment.

“We’ll give the law their chance, but if they can’t handle it, we will,” she replied, stressing the word “we” to let Oliver know that he was indeed part of that pronoun. “Ginny’s blood is crying out for justice, and I for one will not ignore its call.”