February's Regrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 4) Page 2

  I stood up. “Let’s split up and interview as many people as possible. Did Pete put out a BOLO on her car?”

  “Oh, yeah. Pete knew he wasn’t going to get rid of me without doing that at least.” She shook her head. “The car has to be here someplace. It’s so old and broken down, I don’t think it can make it out of the county.”

  Chapter Two

  I started with a list of almost a dozen people and possible job search locations. I planned to get through as many of them as possible, regardless of whether Shantel had already talked with them or not. A pair of fresh eyes and ears wouldn’t hurt. Shantel headed out to put some pressure on some of Tonya’s friends and family to start taking a more active role in looking for her.

  On the off chance that you might strike gold on the first try, it’s common practice to start with a missing person’s last known location or contact, then work backward. First on my list was Jenny Caroll, Tonya’s friend since middle school and the last person Shantel knew for sure had been with her.

  I pulled up to the daycare where Jenny worked. Shantel had called ahead and told her to expect me. When I got out of my car, I realized how odd it felt going to interview someone in my own car and without my badge. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t official business. I was just playing private eye for the moment. With luck, we’d either find Tonya or have enough evidence to convince the sheriff’s department to make her disappearance a priority.

  Jenny left her terrifying minions in someone else’s care and came outside to talk to me. “I told her auntie that I don’t know where Tonya is,” she said, a little too quickly.

  “We’re trying to trace all of her movements Saturday night, and I’d like to get a sense of her mood. What did she talk about?”

  “We just hung out for an hour.” Jenny shrugged.

  “What’d you do?”

  “You know, like, hung out.”

  There are times I despair for the younger generation. We’d have to do this the hard way. “Where did you hang out?”

  “My boyfriend’s place.” Nothing more. Some interviews were like pulling teeth.

  “Where’s your boyfriend’s place?”

  “I don’t know, north side of town. Like, he’s got a trailer up there,” Jenny said, waving her hand in a southerly direction.

  “I know you all were hanging out, but what were you doing?” I didn’t want to mention any specific activity, such as watching TV, because I was sure she’d say, Yeah, watching TV.

  “Are you, like, a real cop?”

  “Yes, I’m a real deputy, but I’m not on duty right now. I’m helping out Ms. Williams. She’s a friend of mine like Tonya’s a friend of yours,” I reminded her. “You don’t seem very concerned?” I made it a question, hoping to draw more out of her.

  “Well… I don’t know,” she said.

  People let her watch their kids? I wondered.

  “What don’t you know?” I tried to press her.

  “It’s just… She wanted to do some stuff, she needed money, but, like, she knew her aunt wouldn’t like her doing them,” she rambled.

  “I need to know what you’re talking about. All her aunt and I care about is that Tonya is safe. Once we know she’s safe, we won’t be pestering her friends anymore. And, to be clear, by pestering I mean coming over to their boyfriend’s house unexpectedly and looking around to see what kind of trouble I can cause him.” I hoped that a none-too-subtle threat might make some impression and help Jenny focus.

  “Yeah, well, okay, I guess. She couldn’t find work. Like, nothing, and she really, really tried. I tried to get her on here,” Jenny indicated the daycare, “but she’d been arrested in Tallahassee and had a minor drug thing on her record so she couldn’t pass the background check. Stupid.”

  I shook my head, but probably not for the reason she thought. There was a long pause, then Jenny finally said, “She thought she might be able to get work at the Sweet Spot.”

  My heart sped up. The Sweet Spot was a booze-and-whatever joint that the sheriff’s office was constantly trying to close down. It had been shuttered for a couple of weeks after the owner, Justin Thompson, was arrested by the DEA. But a few transfer-of-ownership papers later and it was back open. You’d have to be pretty naïve to believe that it was really under new management. It was a very bad sign if Tonya had gone there looking for work. The place usually employed a couple of women to show cleavage and encourage the men to drink. The joint also served as a place for men who were looking for companionship to find women who were looking for cash.

  “When was she going to the Sweet Spot?”

  “Jerry, my boyfriend, gave her a hard time. Like, told her that she didn’t have big enough… breasts to work there. He got her real mad and she said she was going there right away. Wanted me to come, but I didn’t want to. She kind of left, you know, in a pissy mood.”

  “You think she went straight there? What time was it?” I couldn’t believe what an airhead this woman was.

  “Yeah… Nine maybe?”

  An older woman stuck her head out the door. “Jenny, you need to get your butt back in here and watch some of these kids.” The woman apparently knew the addle-headed Jenny well because she added, “Now!”

  Jenny frowned at me.

  “Go on, but if you think of anything else, call me.” I handed her one of my cards. I was still waiting on new ones reflecting my reserve status, but what Jenny didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “The sooner we find Tonya, the sooner we quit bothering you.”

  “Jeez, she probably just got a job and didn’t want her aunt to know. Gawd. You know, I care too.” She turned and stomped back into the daycare.

  There were more people on my list and another fellow I wanted to chat with, but Jenny’s news about the Sweet Spot made it the top priority. Going there without a badge and backup was stupid, but I couldn’t wait. I needed someone to know where I was headed and my only real choice was Shantel. I called her as I started driving.

  “I’m going around to the Sweet Spot. I just wanted you to know in case you don’t hear from me for a couple of months.” I tried to make a joke, but we both knew it wasn’t funny.

  “Why?” I heard the puzzlement in Shantel’s voice. I wasn’t going to tell her that Tonya might have gone there Saturday night. Not until I’d had a chance to check it out. The last thing I needed was an angry aunt kicking down the walls.

  “I want to talk to someone,” I said, leaving it very vague.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  No, I thought. But aloud I said, “The Thompsons don’t own the place anymore,” not believing it for a minute.

  “Every one of them are out on bail except for Justin, and he’s perfectly capable of running things from his county jail cell.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. I’ll be fine.” There was some truth to that. There were places and streets that were deadly after midnight, but were perfectly safe before noon.

  “Well, what’s the lead?”

  “I’ll call you in an hour. If you don’t hear from me, send lawyers, guns and money,” I answered and hung up before she could ask any more questions.

  The parking lot of the Sweet Spot was a horseshoe of grass and dirt surrounding a garishly painted cinderblock building. I pulled in and parked as close to the front door as I could. Two other cars were parked nearby. Both of them looked like mid-level management for the drug trade—nice rims on crappy cars.

  I got out and looked around. I wasn’t wearing my badge, but I did have my gun, concealed by law since I wasn’t on duty. Tougher to get to if needed, but if I needed it in the Sweet Spot it probably wouldn’t matter where I was carrying it.

  I stepped inside the building and let the door close behind me. It was very dark—the only windows had been painted over years ago. I stood there, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light. There was one man behind the bar, another picking up trash and putting it in a bag and two men seated with their back
s against the far wall. No one was over thirty and they all looked like life had run them over several times. Stale beer and urine competed for the strongest odor.

  “Mister, you got the wrong bar,” the man behind the counter told me.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh, shit,” said one of the men against the wall. “That’s the sheriff’s son.”

  “You definitely have the wrong bar,” the bartender told me.

  “I’ve got a few questions and then you can go back to business as usual.”

  “Hell, no,” the bartender said. He was tall with broad shoulders, but a thin waist. In the dark of the bar I couldn’t make out his features.

  “You might want to reconsider that answer,” I told him.

  “They’d fire my ass if I talked to you,” he said with certainty.

  “Whoever owns this building probably doesn’t want any more crap coming down on them right now.” I moved toward him so he knew I wasn’t intimidated. “There’s a girl missing. I want to ask a few questions and get a few honest answers. Once that’s done I’ll walk out the door and everything goes back to normal. But if you stonewall me, I’ll see how much trouble we can bring down on this joint, making damn sure that your bosses know you could have stopped it.”

  One of the men with his back to the wall cackled. The man picking up trash hadn’t looked up since I came in and now I noticed that he was wearing earbuds, the cord running to his phone.

  “Bullshit,” the bartender said.

  “I’m Larry Macklin,” I said, as though introducing myself at a party.

  He didn’t say a word.

  “The polite thing would be for you to give me your name.”

  The bartender looked over at the men against the wall. They both shrugged. “Who are you looking for?” the bartender asked me. Progress.

  Reluctantly I went over to the bar, putting myself farther away from the door. I carefully reached into my pocket and brought out my phone. Shantel had sent me a couple pictures and a short video of Tonya. I pulled up one of the pictures and turned the phone to the man.

  “Her name’s Tonya Williams.”

  He made the classic mistake of looking up at me from the picture. I could tell that he recognized her. Now he was trying to figure out what to tell me. “The truth,” I suggested.

  “She’s been here. So what?” He was trying to play it tough for the audience.

  “When? Was she with anyone?”

  “Been here a couple of times with some guy. Knew they were trouble,” he grumbled.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause they didn’t belong here. Should have been gettin’ ice cream or some shit. Asked stupid questions and didn’t know nothin’,” he said, sounding disgusted at their naiveté.

  “Was she here Saturday night?”

  The bartender paused, thinking about his answer. “Yes. Stupid tail wanted a job. I told her this wasn’t damn Walmart or some crap. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Saturday night, we’re busy, I didn’t have time for that. She hung around and hung around until some old-timer grabbed her tender parts. She got all offended and ran out.”

  “Oh, hell, I remember that,” said one of the men against the wall. He started to laugh. “First piece of anything ol’ Ray’s gotten in years.” This caused the other man to laugh too.

  The man collecting trash seemed to realize he was being left out of a joke and took out his earbuds. “What?” he asked loudly, causing the other men to laugh harder.

  “Did you see her or hear anything else about her after she left?”

  “No, nothing. Like I said, it was Saturday night. It was busy.”

  “What time did she run out?”

  “How the hell…” he started to say and then saw the hard look in my eyes. “Maybe eleven? Best I can do.”

  I turned to walk out.

  “I can tell you one more thing. If she hung around outside on a Saturday night, she’d get more than a little groping from Ray,” he said to my back. I felt my face flush. With my blood growing hot, I stalked out of the bar.

  Chapter Three

  I drove around the neighborhood for a bit to see if Tonya’s car was parked somewhere near the Sweet Spot. Nothing. Giving up, I looked at the clock on the dash. It was noon so I called my girlfriend, Cara Laursen, and offered to take her to Winston’s Grill for lunch. Then I dialed Shantel.

  “I survived.”

  “What was that all about? Don’t you dare say nothing.”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. Let’s meet about three o’clock in the parking lot of the Walgreens. Have you had any luck?”

  “I’ve got some family and friends beating the bushes. No one’s heard from her. But some of them are finally getting concerned.”

  “We’ll find her.” Why do we promise things like that when so much is beyond our control?

  As we ate lunch, Cara filled me in on her morning spent with the dogs and cats of Adams County. She worked at Dr. Barnhill’s clinic as a vet tech. I loved listening to her prattle on about the clients and their animals. We’d only been dating for a few months, and I wondered if the glow I felt watching and listening to her was something that would wear off in time. I hoped not.

  “Not looking for work,” I responded cheerily when she asked me what I’d been up to.

  “Okay, that’s not good,” she said, but with a laugh in her voice. She came from a family of modern hippies, and jobs and money were not her highest priorities.

  “Shantel’s niece is missing. Shantel came by this morning and asked if I would help look for her.”

  “Missing? How old is she?”

  I gave her all the details, making the trip to the Sweet Spot sound a bit more causal than it was.

  “Poor Shantel. So you’re like a private detective now?” Cara asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Never,” I said firmly.

  “Never say never.”

  “Being a private detective would require that I be a good detective and a good businessman. I’m neither. Plus, you’d have to be a snoop.”

  “I’m snoop enough for both of us,” she laughed.

  “You’re enjoying this. I’m out of work and you’re having a good time at my expense.”

  “It’s going to be funny right up to the point that you and Ivy get foreclosed on and you all have to come live with Alvin and me.” Alvin was her Pug.

  “I can think of worse things,” I said suggestively. “We could have lots of… fun.”

  “We can do all of that without the horror of actually cohabitating.”

  I thought for a minute. “Fair enough.”

  After I dropped Cara off at the vet, I drove out to Albert Griffin’s place. Mr. Griffin was the county’s unofficial official historian. He ran the local historical society and had taken over the newspaper’s morgue when it went out of business, archiving many county and city records that would otherwise have been discarded.

  I knocked on his door, wondering if I should have called first, but the robust old man smiled brightly when he opened the door.

  “Macklin, first name, Larry,” he greeted me. “You were here back in November when there was all that trouble.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Griffin.” He made me feel like a ten year-old talking to my teacher.

  “Come on in. That cold air doesn’t do any good for these old bones,” he said, ushering me in. The house was filled with books and papers. The odor was that of an old bookstore and cats.

  “What can I do for you today? I heard about that business at the parade last month. The world gets crazier and crazier.” I was following him into the living room, but he stopped in the doorway and turned back to me. “I say that, but there have been wild things taking place in this county going back to the first settlers. I’m sure that the Creek and Cherokee, and the Apalachee before them, would all have their stories to tell. No, people don’t change much.”

  I had to rearrange some papers and displace a cat to find a seat in the living
room. This particular feline was a playful black-and-white kittenish thing. I didn’t see the large black tom who’d tried to stare me down during my last visit.

  “I’m looking for information on the Swamp Hacker,” I explained. The thought that he might be back had been eating at me. I’d come to Mr. Griffin because I couldn’t pull any files at the department without attracting attention. He was my next best option.

  “The Hacker.” He shuddered. “Dark times. Our own version of the Zodiac, Son of Sam or the Texarkana Killer. For months we became the town that dreaded sundown.” He got quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Then his eyes came back to me. “Why are you interested in him now?”

  “I don’t know if you heard or not, but I resigned from the department after the trouble at the parade.”

  “No, I didn’t. Sorry to hear that. You seem like just the type of man who should be in law enforcement.” He sounded sincere.

  “I appreciate that, but there’s too much water under that bridge. Anyway, I’ve got some time and I thought I might write an article on the Hacker,” I said, making up a story as I went along.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Griffin’s face lit up. “I’ve said for years that someone should write a book about the murders. It’s probably not even a downside for a book that he was never caught. How many books have been written about the Zodiac or Jack the Ripper? Wow, where to start? I guess you should tell me what you need. Do you have access to the police records?”

  “Only those that are available to the public. It’s still an open case.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Maybe I can start with some questions.”

  “Wait! I remember your father was the lead investigator from Adams County. That’s right. Though the task force and the authority was with the Leon County Sheriff’s Office. No wonder you’re interested in the case. Ask me anything.” He opened his arms wide.

  I knew quite a bit about the cases, but I still had a lot of questions. “There were six bodies found over a six-month period. The one in Adams County was the fourth one, right?” I asked.