Blindsighted Page 10

  “There you go,” Sara said. “The seeds are highly soluble. I imagine within minutes of drinking it she would have started experiencing elevated blood pressure, heart palpitations, dry mouth, and extreme nervousness. I would also guess this led her to the bathroom, where her rapist was waiting for her.”

  Frank turned to Jeffrey. “We need to talk to Pete Wayne. He served her lunch. He gave her the tea.”

  “No way,” Matt countered. “Pete’s lived in town all his life. This isn’t the kind of thing he’d do.” Then, as if this was the most important thing in Pete’s favor, Matt added, “He’s in the lodge.”

  Murmurs came from the other men. Someone, Jeffrey wasn’t sure who, said, “What about Pete’s colored man?”

  Jeffrey felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He could see where this was going already. He held his hands up for silence. “Frank and I will talk to Pete. You guys have your assignment. I want reports back at the end of the day.”

  Matt seemed about to say something, but Jeffrey stopped him. “We’re not helping Sibyl Adams by sitting in this room pulling theories out of our asses.” He paused, then indicated the packets Brad had handed out. “Knock on every goddamn door in town if you have to, but I want an accounting for every man on those lists.”

  * * *

  As Jeffrey and Frank walked to the diner, the words “Pete’s colored man” sat in the back of Jeffrey’s mind like a piece of hot coal. The vernacular was familiar from his childhood, but he had not heard it used in at least thirty years. It amazed Jeffrey to see that such overt racism still existed. It also scared him that he had heard it in his own squad room. Jeffrey had worked in Grant for ten years, but he was still an outsider. Even his southern roots didn’t pay his dues into the good old boy club. Coming from Alabama didn’t help matters. A typical prayer among southern states was “Thank God for Alabama,” meaning, Thank God we’re not as bad off as they are. This was part of the reason he was keeping Frank Wallace close at hand. Frank was a part of these men. He was in the club.

  Frank shucked off his coat, folding it across his arm as he walked. He was tall and thin like a reed with a face rendered unreadable from years of being a cop.

  Frank said, “This black guy, Will Harris. I got called in a few years back on a domestic dispute. He popped his wife.”

  Jeffrey stopped. “Yeah?”

  Frank stopped alongside him. “Yeah,” he said. “Beat her pretty bad. Busted her lip. When I got there, she was on the floor. She was wearing this cotton bag–looking kind of dress.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it was torn.”

  “You think he raped her?”

  Frank shrugged. “She wouldn’t press charges.”

  Jeffrey started walking again. “Anybody else know about this?”

  “Matt,” Frank said. “He was my partner then.”

  Jeffrey felt a sense of dread as he opened the door to the diner.

  “We’re closed,” Pete called from the back.

  Jeffrey said, “It’s Jeffrey, Pete.”

  He came out of the storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Hey, Jeffrey,” he said, nodding. Then, “Frank.”

  “We should be finished up in here this afternoon, Pete,” Jeffrey said. “You’ll be able to open tomorrow.”

  “Closing for the rest of the week,” Pete said as he retied his apron strings. “Don’t seem right to be open what with Sibyl and all.” He indicated the row of stools in front of the bar. “Get y’all some coffee?”

  “That’d be great,” Jeffrey said, taking the first stool. Frank followed suit, sitting down beside him.

  Jeffrey watched Pete walk around the counter and take out three thick ceramic mugs. The coffee steamed as he poured it into the cups.

  Pete asked, “You got anything yet?”

  Jeffrey took one of the mugs. “Can you run through what happened yesterday? I mean, from the point Sibyl Adams came into the restaurant?”

  Pete leaned back against the grill. “I guess she came in about one-thirty,” he said. “She always came in after the lunch rush. I guess she didn’t want to be poking around with her cane in front of all those people. I mean, we knew she was blind, sure, but she didn’t like drawing attention to it. You could see that. She was kind of nervous in crowds.”

  Jeffrey took out his notebook, though he didn’t really need to take notes. What he did know was that Pete seemed to know a lot about Sibyl Adams. “She come in here a lot?”

  “Every Monday like clockwork.” He squinted his eyes, thinking. “I guess for the last five years or so. She came in sometimes late at night with other teachers or Nan from the library. I think they rented a house over on Cooper.”

  Jeffrey nodded.

  “But that was only occasionally. Mostly it was Mondays, always by herself. She walked here, ordered her lunch, then was out by around two usually.” He rubbed his chin, a sad look coming over his face. “She always left a nice tip. I didn’t think anything about it when I saw her table empty. I guess I just thought she had gone while I wasn’t looking.”

  Jeffrey asked, “What’d she order?”

  “Same thing as always,” Pete said. “The number three.”

  Jeffrey knew this was the waffle platter with eggs, bacon, and a side of grits.

  “Only,” Pete clarified, “she didn’t eat meat, so I always left off the bacon. And she didn’t drink coffee, so I gave her some hot tea.”

  Jeffrey wrote this down. “What kind of tea?”

  He rooted around behind the counter and pulled out a box of generic brand tea bags. “I picked it up for her at the grocery store. She didn’t drink caffeine.” He gave a small laugh. “I liked to make her comfortable, you know? She didn’t get out much. She used to say to me that she liked coming here, that she felt comfortable.” He fiddled with the box of tea.

  “What about the cup she used?” Jeffrey asked.

  “I don’t know about that. They all look the same.” He walked to the end of the counter and pulled out a large metal drawer. Jeffrey leaned over to look inside. The drawer was actually a large dishwasher filled with cups and plates.

  Jeffrey asked, “Those from yesterday?”

  Pete nodded. “I can’t begin to guess which one was hers. I started the washer before she was—” He stopped, looking down at his hands. “My dad, he always told me to take care of the customers and they’d take care of you.” He looked up, tears in his eyes. “She was a nice girl, you know? Why would anybody want to hurt her?”

  “I don’t know, Pete,” Jeffrey said. “Mind if we take this?” He pointed to the box of tea.

  Pete shrugged. “Sure, nobody else drank it.” The laugh came again. “I tried it once just to see. Tasted like brown water.”

  Frank pulled a tea bag out of the box. Each bag was wrapped and sealed in a paper envelope. He asked, “Was old Will working here yesterday?”

  Pete seemed taken aback by the question. “Sure, he’s worked lunch every day for the last fifty years. Comes in about eleven, leaves by two or so.” He studied Jeffrey. “He does odd jobs for people around town after he leaves here. Mostly yard work, some light carpentry.”

  “He buses tables here?” Jeffrey asked, though he had eaten enough lunches in the diner to know what Will Harris did.

  “Sure,” Pete said. “Buses tables, mops the floors, takes people their food.” He gave Jeffrey a curious look. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Jeffrey answered. Leaning over, he shook the man’s hand, saying, “Thanks, Pete. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

  10

  Lena traced her finger along the street map in her lap. “Left here,” she told Brad.

  He did as he was told, steering the cruiser onto Baker Street. Brad was okay, but he tended to take people at face value, which is why back at the station when Lena said she had to go to the bathroom, then headed the exact opposite direction of the women’s room, he hadn’t said anything. A joke around the station house was to hide Brad’s patrolman’s hat from him. At C
hristmas, they had stuck it on top of one of the reindeer on display in front of city hall. A month ago, Lena had spotted the hat on top of the statue of Robert E. Lee in front of the high school.

  Lena knew Jeffrey partnering her with Brad Stephens was his way of keeping her at the periphery of the investigation. If she had to guess, she would say that every man on their list was either dead or too old to stand up without help.

  “The next right,” she said, folding the map. She had sneaked into Marla’s office and looked up Will Harris’s address in the phone book during her alleged trip to the bathroom. Jeffrey would interview Pete first. Lena wanted a crack at Will Harris before her chief could get to him.

  “Right here,” Lena said, indicating he could pull over. “You can stay here.”

  Brad slowed the car, putting his fingers to his mouth. “What’s the address?”

  “Four-thirty-one,” she said, spotting the mailbox. She slipped off her seat belt and opened her door before the car came to a complete stop. She was walking up the driveway by the time Brad caught up with her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, trotting alongside her like a puppy. “Lena?”

  She stopped, putting her hand in her pocket. “Listen, Brad, just go back to the car.” She was two ranks above him. Technically, Brad was supposed to follow her orders. This thought seemed to cross his mind, but he shook his head no.

  He said, “This is Will Harris’s place, isn’t it?”

  Lena turned her back to him, continuing up the driveway.

  Will Harris’s house was small, probably little more than two rooms and a bath. The clapboard was painted bright white and the lawn was neatly tended. There was a well-tended look to the place that set Lena on edge. She could not think that the person who lived in this house could do such a thing to her sister.

  Lena knocked on the screen door. She could hear a television inside, and distant movement. Through the screen mesh, she could see a man struggling to get out of his chair. He was wearing a white undershirt and white pajama pants. A puzzled expression was on his face.

  Unlike most people who worked in town, Lena wasn’t a regular at the diner. Somewhere in the back of her mind Lena had considered the diner Sibyl’s territory and hadn’t wanted to intrude. Lena had never really met Will Harris. She had been expecting someone younger. Someone more menacing. Will Harris was an old man.

  When he finally reached the door and saw Lena, his lips parted in surprise. Neither spoke for a moment, then Will finally said, “You must be her sister.”

  Lena stared at the old man. She knew in her gut that Will Harris had not killed her sister, but there was still the possibility that he knew who had.

  She said, “Yes, sir. Do you mind if I come in?”

  The hinge on the screen door screeched as it opened. He stepped aside, holding the door open for Lena.

  “You gotta excuse my appearance,” he said, indicating his pajamas. “I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

  “That’s okay,” Lena offered, glancing around the small room. The living room and kitchen space were blended, a couch delineating the two. There was a square hallway off the left through which Lena could see a bathroom. She guessed the bedroom was on the other side of the wall. Like the outside of the house, everything was neat and tidy, well cared for despite its age. A television dominated the living room. Surrounding the set were wall-to-wall bookcases packed with videos.

  “I like to watch a lot of movies,” Will said.

  Lena smiled. “Obviously.”

  “Mostly, I like the old black and white ones,” the old man started, then turned his head toward the large picture window lining the front of the room. “Lord a’mighty,” he mumbled. “I seem to be real popular today.”

  Lena suppressed a groan as Jeffrey Tolliver walked up the driveway. Either Brad had told on her or Pete Wayne had fingered Will.

  “Morning, sir,” Will said, opening the screen door for Jeffrey.

  Jeffrey gave him a nod, then shot Lena the kind of look that made her palms sweat.

  Will seemed to sense the tension in the room. “I can go in the back if you need.”

  Jeffrey turned to the old man and shook his hand. “No need, Will,” he said. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”

  Will indicated the couch with a sweep of his hand. “Mind if I get me some more coffee?”

  “No, sir,” Jeffrey answered, walking past Lena toward the couch. He fixed her with the same hard look, but Lena sat beside him anyway.

  Will shuffled back to his chair, groaning as he sat. His knees popped and he smiled apologetically, explaining, “Spend most of my days on my knees in the yard.”

  Jeffrey took out his notebook. Lena could almost feel the anger coming off of him. “Will, I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You know what happened at the diner yesterday?”

  Will placed his coffee cup down on a small side table. “That girl never hurt nobody,” he said. “What was done to her—” He stopped, looking at Lena. “My heart goes out to you and your family, sweetheart. It really does.”

  Lena cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  Jeffrey had obviously been expecting a different response from her. His look changed, but she couldn’t make out what he was thinking. He turned back to Will. “You were at the diner until what time yesterday?”

  “Oh, around one-thirty or a little before two, I think. I saw your sister,” he told Lena, “just as I was leaving.”

  Jeffrey waited a few beats, then said, “You’re sure about that?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Will returned. “I had to go pick up my auntie at the church. They get out of choir practice at two-fifteen sharp. She don’t like to wait.”

  Lena asked, “Where does she sing?”

  “The AME over in Madison,” he answered. “You ever been there?”

  She shook her head, doing the math in her head. Even if Will Harris had been a viable suspect, there was no way he could have killed Sibyl, then made it to Madison in time to pick up his aunt. A quick phone call would give Will Harris an airtight alibi.

  “Will,” Jeffrey began, “I hate to ask you about this, but my man Frank says there was some problem a while back.”

  Will’s face dropped. He had been looking at Lena up until this point, but now he stared at the carpet. “Yes, sir, that’s right.” He looked over Jeffrey’s shoulder as he spoke. “My wife, Eileen. I used to go at her something bad. I guess it was before your time we got into a scuffle. Maybe eighteen, nineteen years ago.” He shrugged. “She left me after that. I guess I let the drink lead me down the wrong path, but I’m a good Christian man now. I don’t go in for all that. I don’t see my son much, but I see my daughter often as I can. She lives in Savannah now.” His smile came back. “I got two grandbabies.”

  Jeffrey tapped his pen on the notebook. Lena could see over his shoulder that he had not written anything. He asked, “Did you ever take Sibyl her meals? In the diner, I mean.”

  If he was surprised by the question, Will didn’t let it register. “I guess I did. Most days I help Pete out with things like that. His daddy kept a woman around to wait tables when he was running the place, but Pete,” he said, chuckling, “old Pete, he can hold on to a dollar.” Will waved his hand, dismissing the trouble. “It don’t hurt me none to fetch some ketchup or make sure somebody gets their coffee.”

  Jeffrey asked, “Did you serve Sibyl tea?”

  “Sometimes. Is there a problem?”

  Jeffrey closed his notebook. “Not at all,” he said. “Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around the diner yesterday?”

  “Lord God,” Will breathed. “I surely would’ve told you by now. It was just me and Pete there, and all the regulars for lunch.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Jeffrey stood and Lena followed suit. Will shook first Jeffrey’s, then Lena’s hand.

  He held on to hers a little longer, saying, “God bless you, girl. You ta
ke care now.”

  “Goddamnit, Lena,” Jeffrey cursed, slamming his notebook into the dashboard of the car. The pages fluttered out, and Lena held her hands up in front of her to keep from getting whacked in the head. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Lena picked up the notebook off the floor. “I wasn’t thinking,” she answered.

  “No fucking joke,” he snapped, grabbing the notebook.

  His jaw was a tight line as he backed the car out of Will Harris’s driveway. Frank had gone back to the station with Brad while Lena had been practically thrown into Jeffrey’s car. He bumped the gear on the steering wheel column and the car jerked into drive.

  “Why can’t I trust you?” he demanded. “Why can’t I trust you to do one thing I tell you to do?” He did not wait for her answer. “I sent you out with Brad to do something, Lena. I gave you a job on this investigation because you asked me, not because I thought you were in any position to do it. And what’s my reward for this? I’ve got Frank and Brad seeing you go behind my back like some teenager sneaking out of the house. Are you a fucking cop or are you a fucking kid?” He slammed on the brakes, and Lena felt her seat belt cutting into her chest. They were stopped in the middle of the road, but Jeffrey did not seem to notice.

  “Look at me,” he said, turning to her. Lena did as she was told, trying to keep the fear out of her eyes. Jeffrey had been mad at her plenty of times, but never like this. If she had been right about Will Harris, Lena might have a leg to stand on; as it was, she was screwed.

  “You have got to get your head on straight. Do you hear me?”

  She gave a sharp nod.

  “I can’t have you going around behind my back. What if he had done something to you?” He let that sink in. “What if Will Harris is the man who killed your sister? What if he opened his door, saw you, and freaked out?” Jeffrey slammed his fist into the steering wheel, hissing another curse. “You have got to do what I say, Lena. Is that clear? From now on.” He jabbed his finger in her face. “If I tell you to interview every ant on the playground, you bring me back signed depositions on each one. Is that clear?”