“Maybe not.” Kerry swallowed hard, thinking of the trauma Susan had suffered. “Grandpa said you’d met someone in Florida.”
She shook her head. “I told Grandpa that. I was pregnant with a little girl and had to make up an imaginary man. Brad was the father.”
The first hint of excitement raced through her. “You have a baby?” Without thinking, her own hand shot to her belly.
“I had a baby. Eventually, Brad found me. I called you when Grandpa told me Mom had died.”
“I remember.”
“I was careless with my landline. Brad arrived on my front doorstep about a week later.”
Kerry couldn’t imagine her sister’s pain. “And your daughter?”
Tears streaked down Susan’s face. “He stole her.”
“Stole her?” Kerry could only imagine the trauma. When her unborn child had died, devastation kept her company for months. “Why didn’t you report him?”
“I did, but what could the police do? They couldn’t find him.”
“Didn’t you look for Brad and your baby yourself?”
Choked up, Susan couldn’t speak for a moment. “Yes, but I never found them. I went back to Ohio, thinking he may have gone back there. I’ve been looking ever since.”
Susan’s story explained everything. How could Kerry have been so angry that she didn’t search deeper for the truth? She’d dismissed her sister, thinking she was evil.
Who else had she misjudged?
Phil shaded his eyes from the strong sun. “Mr. Lamont, would you mind if we look in the cemetery’s storage shed?”
Lamont swiped a clean handkerchief over his forehead. “No, but whatever for?” His shoulders straightened. “You don’t think I had anything to do with Willie’s death do you?”
A yellow jacket buzzed near Phil’s head. He stood still, not wanting to piss off the pesky insect. “We have no cause to suspect you.”
Lamont’s muscles relaxed. “Look away. The shed is unlocked.” He pointed to the small storage unit.
Unlocked? Great. Anyone could have accessed the lawn equipment. “Come on, Gina, let’s explore.”
She lifted the edge of her shirt, dipped her head and wiped her brow. “Aren’t you hot in those long pants?”
Hot for her, maybe. “I’m used to the heat.” Not really, but wearing shorts was unprofessional.
“Can’t we use the golf cart?” she whispered. He could tell she was trying to keep the whine out of her tone, but she had failed.
“The walk’s less than the length of a football field.”
He took off and Gina followed. “What are you hoping to find in that dirty old building?” she yelled after him.
“A shovel with a bent edge.”
She rushed next to him. “You think Willie Wyble had something to do with the murders?”
Phil chuckled. “Let’s not jump to conclusions so fast. There are probably a hundred bent shovels in Tampa alone, but I need to make sure there isn’t one here.”
Gina jogged next to him to keep up. How did she stay so upbeat? Looking at Willie should have made her sick. Women. He’d never understand them.
As Lamont had claimed, the shed door was unlocked. In fact, it was half-open, which would give easy access to anyone.
Once inside, he squinted to adjust to the darkness. Gina extracted a small Mag light from her purse and flicked it on. Her level of preparedness impressed him. She was a real girl scout. The thin wash of light allowed them to maneuver in the cramped space without tripping. Bags of fertilizer, rakes, mulch, and a riding lawn mower took up most of the space.
Gina swung the light around the fifteen by ten foot room. “There are a bunch of shovels,” she said, pointing the light to the far corner.
Phil pulled on a new pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. “Gimme the light.”
She obliged. “What is it?”
Phil lifted one of the shovels. “See here. The tip is bent. Looks like it might match the Jane Doe case Hunter’s working on.”
“Cool.”
“Or else I’m desperate to find something.” Phil returned the light to Gina. They left with the shovel, hoping Lamont wouldn’t mind if they processed it. The CSU team was finishing up across the grassy lot, and the medical examiner and his technicians were loading Willie’s body into the van. Time to see Lamont.
A slew of cars were pulling into the half-full parking area, indicative of a viewing. He turned to Gina. “Why don’t you wait in the car and start the AC? I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’d rather come with you,” Gina said.
He didn’t have time to argue. “Wait in the car. Please.” He held out the keys.
She snatched them and shuffled back to the vehicle. Phil entered the chapel and asked for Mr. Lamont. A young woman directing the grieving relatives and friends to the chapel, pointed to an office down the corridor.
Phil knocked and entered. Lamont lifted his head. “Yes, Detective?”
Phil raised the shovel. “Do you mind if we process this?”
His lips pulled back into a thin line. “Whatever for?”
“Willie, or someone, might have used this in another crime.”
“I think you’re grasping at straws. Willie would never harm anyone.” He waved a hand. “But go ahead if you think it will help. I have nothing to hide.”
“Do you know Mr. Wyble’s home address?”
Lamont huffed out a laugh. “Willie didn’t even have a home that I knew of. I’m not sure where he went when he left work.”
“Did he have any relatives?”
Lamont’s focus shifted down to the right. A moment later, he pulled open a desk drawer. “I did have him fill out an application. Or rather, I filled out his application for him. Willie said his hand shook too much to write, but I don’t think he knew how.”
“If the letters in the dirt by his head are any indication, he did.”
Lamont opened a file and handed Phil the paper. “Home address is blank, but he does give an address for a sister.”
“Could you make a copy for me?”
“You can have this one. I have no use for his information anymore.”
“Thanks.”
Phil and Gina left with the shovel in hand. Phil wasn’t sure if there was any connection between Willie Wyble’s death and the four Jane Doe murders, but he needed to follow every clue. Right now, it was all they had to go on.
On the way out of the cemetery, Phil called Willie’s sister’s cell phone. She said she wouldn’t be home until five thirty. “We’ve got an hour to kill. You up for a bite?”
“Sure, why not?” While her words sounded chipper, her tone did not. Gina’s enthusiasm for crime solving seemed to have dried up.
In fact, instead of blasting him with a thousand theories about Willie’s death and the connection to the shovel, she stared out the cruiser window. She appeared to be more affected by the corpse than he’d realized, so Phil let her mull over her thoughts in peace.
Once they were served at the restaurant, Gina picked at her food, but he wisely didn’t razz her about her reaction.
Phil swiped a napkin across his mouth and signaled the waitress for the check. “Time to interview the sister.”
They followed Ella Wyble Jones’ directions to her home in a posh neighborhood in South Tampa, which came as quite a surprise given Willie’s homeless state.
A Hummer sat in Mrs. Jones’ drive. Phil estimated the house to be about thirty-five hundred square feet and the lot about seventy-five by one hundred. The zero lot line was too claustrophobic for him. The rows of colored flowers that bordered the walkway were a nice touch, but he wouldn’t live on such a busy street. He liked a neighborhood where kids could run down the middle of the road and play ball.
“Nice place,” Gina said. She tugged on her skirt as they neared the front door.
“If you like the up tight, money kind of place. I’d be surprised if she ever let Willie in her house.”
Mrs. Jones answered after the first ring. He flashed his badge.
“Detectives. Please come in.”
He guessed her to be in her mid to late forties. Although her makeup was perfect, it didn’t hide the red color rimming her eyes.
Mrs. Jones directed them to two leather chairs facing the screened-in pool. She sat opposite them on a new-looking suede sofa.