“Go piss up a rope,” Grace said, and she hung up the phone.
She went into the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of hot tea. Her hands were shaking. She thought back over everything. Darren had left early Thursday and had come back Saturday afternoon. She had no idea where he’d gone. He said he’d gone fishing, but he hadn’t said where. She remembered asking him whether he caught anything, and he’d said, “Two big ones.” He also said he’d left them where he caught them.
Could Darren possibly have killed two people? Grace didn’t think him capable of such a horrific act, but he’d been under such tremendous mental and emotional strain that perhaps he’d done something she couldn’t imagine. And the sudden change in him after he’d returned—the seemingly brighter outlook, the voracious sexual appetite—made her wonder what had really gone on over those two days. And he’d lied to her earlier about the police showing up at her house. He’d said he was talking to Jehovah’s Witnesses. Something significant had occurred, but murder? Surely not murder.
She picked up her phone and punched in Darren’s number.
“Where are you?” she said when he answered.
“On the way. I stopped and picked us up some breakfast.”
“A detective named Dawn Rule just called me.”
There was silence for ten full seconds. “Okay, what did she want?”
“You know exactly what she wanted since she talked to you earlier this morning. She wanted to know where you were on Friday.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk over the phone,” Darren said.
“Maybe not. You’re coming straight here?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
CHAPTER 22
“I just lied to a police officer,” Grace said as soon as I walked in the door.
I’d never seen her angry, at least not angry with me. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were narrow and intense. Her mouth was a tight line.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I told her you were here with me Friday night.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you? Thank you? Is that all you have to say? Where in the hell were you Friday night?”
“I told you, I went fishing.”
“Where?”
“At Abrams Creek near Cades Cove.”
“Did you stay at the campground?”
“No, I slept on the bank by the creek.”
“It was cold Friday night, Darren.”
“I made a fire and a shelter, and I had a tent and sleeping bag. They’re in my car. Would you like me to go and get them? In fact, I bought quite a bit of gear. It’s all in the trunk if you’d like to come out and take a look.”
“As a matter of fact, I think I would,” she said.
We walked together to the parking lot of her apartment complex, and I popped the trunk on my car. The fishing gear, sleeping bag, small tent, and light I’d purchased were all there. I’d had the foresight to remove the price tags and wrinkle some things. There were even a couple of bags of Outfitter’s Choice dehydrated camping entrées. I patted myself on the back mentally. It was a pretty convincing show.
“Satisfied?” I said as she looked over the gear.
“You’ve never told me you were a camper,” she said, still looking down at the trunk.
“You know I like to fish.”
“So?”
“Fishing and camping go hand in hand. I’ve camped a bunch of times in my life.”
“Why haven’t you ever mentioned it?”
“I guess it’s just never come up. You never talk about camping.”
“I’ve never been camping,” Grace said. “I’ve never spent a night in the woods. A lot of people around San Diego camped, but my parents weren’t among them and neither were any of my friends. The closest I’ve ever come to camping was a sleepover at my girlfriend’s when I was a teenager. We pitched a tent in the backyard, but we went into the house around midnight.”
“I guess I’ll have to take you and introduce you to the wonders of the great outdoors,” I said.
“Swear to me on your mother’s life that you didn’t go anywhere near West Virginia on Friday night.”
My mother was dead. There was no life on which to swear. And I needed Grace on my side. “I swear on my mother’s life that I wasn’t anywhere near West Virginia on Friday night.”
“The police think otherwise.”
“I know. But they have this little problem. It’s called proof.”
We turned and walked back toward her apartment.
“Have they told you that two men suspected of killing your mom were murdered Friday night?” she asked.
“Yes. Do you know what else they told me?”
“What’s that?”
“Last week, they told me they had a suspect in Mom’s murder. They told me his name and where he was from.”
“Why would they do that?” Grace said.
“I think they were just trying to make me feel better, letting me know they were working the case and that they had what they thought was a solid suspect.”
“Cops don’t usually do that, do they?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been the son of a murder victim before. You would think they’d keep that kind of information to themselves, though, unless, at some level, they wanted me to go up there and do something about it.”
“You think they were trying to set you up?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “After what I went through a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t put anything past a cop or a prosecutor. But I didn’t kill them, Grace. I swear it. Do you believe me?”
She nodded her head slowly and looked up into my eyes. “Be careful, Darren. They’re after you. I don’t want them to take you again.”
CHAPTER 23
I was leaving Criminal Court Monday afternoon after having my vehicular assault client arraigned when my cell phone rang. Luanne “Granny” Tipton was calling. Granny was the matriarch of the Tipton family, the grandmother of the same James Tipton, who had been both my friend and enemy in the past.
“Hi, Granny,” I said when I answered the phone.
“We have a problem, Darren,” she said. “A serious problem. Could you come up here and try to help?”
“Of course,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“It’s James. He wants to kill himself, and I’m afraid he might do it.”
I jumped in my car and headed toward Gatlinburg. The Tiptons lived in the mountains a few miles outside the resort town in the Smokies. It took me about forty minutes to get there. I called Grace on my way and left her a message that I was going to visit the Tiptons. I didn’t tell her why. When I pulled up in front of Granny’s white frame house, her son Eugene was sitting on a four-wheeler. He motioned for me to get on behind him. I did so, and we headed up a mountain trail. Ten minutes later, we topped a small ridge and Eugene stopped the four-wheeler and cut the engine.
“He’s not far from here,” Eugene said. “I don’t want to shake him up any more than he already is. Let’s walk.”
“Granny said he wants to kill himself,” I said.
“Looks that way,” Eugene said. “He’s smoking dope and drinking moonshine. My boy was squirrel hunting up here a couple of hours ago and heard him talking to himself. He has a pistol with him.”