All Her Little Secrets, page 20
I sat in the small waiting area. The dreary blue walls seemed like they were wading in toward me, creating a claustrophobic little box I had neither the energy nor desire to leave. Even though he was dead, all I wanted to do was stay close to Sam now. I was entering the bewitching season Vera used to talk about. I had finally become everything I told people I was, an orphaned only child. All the paper-thin lies I told and the secrets I tried to squash had brought me and Sam to this cold, sterile building. And like everything else that happened between us, this, too, was my fault. Every time I tried to help Sam, I only made matters worse. Why hadn’t I ever been able to get things right for me and Sam?
For decades, I’d rejected everything that connected me to Chillicothe, embracing some ridiculous idea that successful lawyers didn’t come from backwoods towns with jailbird siblings and dark secrets. I was stupid. Someone had left a news article in my car about Willie Jay. And now, Sam was dead. Somebody was lurking in my life, creeping through my carpetbag of secrets, and they now had stolen the one person I loved more than anything. I once read somewhere that the things we regret the most are the things we didn’t do, the choices we didn’t make, the path we didn’t take. I’ve regretted so many things for so long. But nothing hurt more than the regret of not taking better care of my brother, of not fully acknowledging him in my life. Now Sam’s death was one more regret to tuck in my carpetbag of secrets.
“Ms. Littlejohn?”
I didn’t look up. I didn’t have to. I’d expected her to show up at some point, surprised even that it had taken this long.
“I’m sorry about your brother. I know this isn’t the most convenient time, but do you mind answering a few questions?” Detective Bradford inquired.
I didn’t answer her. I didn’t have the emotional stamina to deal with her right now.
“Do you know an attorney by the name of Geoffrey Gallagher?” she probed.
I still didn’t look at her. “No.”
“Are you sure about that? Chris Knight, Mr. Gallagher’s partner, told us you called his office. You were pretty adamant about speaking with Mr. Gallagher. Why?”
I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and fought back another round of tears. “I didn’t know him. I was just trying to get some files.”
“I see. What kind of files?”
I just stared at the brightly colored tissue box in my lap. “I thought he’d worked on some company matters but I was wrong. Chris Knight told me the firm didn’t have any company files.”
“Mr. Knight told us when he suggested the two of you call the police, you hesitated. Why is that?”
I remembered that exact conversation. I was trying to find Sam at the time, to protect him.
She took a few steps and stood over me. “When was the last time you spoke with your brother?”
“Last night.” I fiddled with the tissues.
“Did he seem unusual to you?”
“No.”
“So how did your brother know Mr. Gallagher?”
“Why are you asking?” I didn’t trust any cop. Willie Jay Groover had sucked up that commodity years ago.
“Mr. Gallagher was found dead in the trunk of a car and your brother’s body was found nearby.”
I finally looked at the detective for the first time since she’d entered the room. She was in her usual outfit of expensive pantsuit and professional demeanor. She looked so put together. I found myself wondering whether she had any brothers. Was she raised by a loving mother and a doting dad? She sat down in the chair beside me and for a moment, I thought she was going to reach for my hand or pat my arm in some display of concern. She didn’t and I appreciated her professionalism.
I blew my nose again. “So you think whoever killed Gallagher killed my brother?”
“Not exactly.” Bradford hesitated for a few seconds. “The gun found on your brother’s body was used to kill Mr. Gallagher. Your brother was killed with a different gun.”
“What? Are you trying to say my brother killed Gallagher and stuffed him in the trunk of a car?” I knew Sam better than anyone, and while he had an impressive rap sheet for low-level crimes, he was as likely to murder someone as a parish priest on Sunday. “You’re wrong. Sam wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Can you tell me why you lied to me when I showed you pictures of your brother the other day?”
“I didn’t lie. The photos were grainy. I wasn’t sure.” I snapped away from the detective’s glare. Maybe she’d known all along that it was Sam in those surveillance photos.
“Your brother is dead. Why are you being so evasive?”
She was right. Sam was gone. I couldn’t protect him anymore. No more lies. No more dances around the fringes of truth. “I don’t know what’s going on myself. I stopped by my brother’s house last night. I found out that someone from my company hired him to trail Gallagher.”
“Who?”
I hesitated for a beat, not knowing what the implications would be on my new status in the executive suite. “Jonathan Everett.”
“The CFO? Why would Mr. Everett hire your brother to trail Gallagher?”
“I honestly don’t know. I do know that my brother would never kill anyone.”
“How does Mr. Everett know your brother? Did you introduce them?”
“Of course not! I have no idea how he knows Jonathan. Sam told me a friend of his got him the job working for Jonathan.”
“What else did your brother tell you?”
“He told me the last time he saw Gallagher was Monday and Gallagher was alive. I’m telling you, I know my brother. He’s never hurt anyone in his life.”
“Why would your brother be inside Houghton’s lobby the day before Mr. Sayles was murdered? Did you give him your badge to enter the building?”
“I told you before, I lost my badge. I didn’t give my brother my badge. He said Jonathan gave him the badge. I told you everything I know. Detective, please!” I slammed the box of tissues in the chair beside me. “Can we do this another time? I just saw my kid brother dead on a metal table. I can’t do this right now.” I jumped up and headed for the door.
Detective Bradford stood as well, taking a couple of power strides in the same direction, blocking my exit from the waiting area. “I understand this is a difficult time, Ms. Littlejohn. I’m sure answering questions can’t be easy right now. But it will help us find his killer.” Her voice was calm and caught me off guard. “Trust me, I know the line between loyalty and a lie is razor thin, but right now, we have three dead men and all of them are connected to Houghton. I really need your help.”
“Detective, I told you everything I know. I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” I stormed past the detective and out of the building.
* * *
Inside my car, my cell phone rang.
“Ellice, it’s Juice. I got your message. Is everything okay?”
“It’s Sam!” I cried into the phone.
It took me nearly ten minutes to compose myself before I could say another word.
Chapter 27
I left the coroner’s office and ran back to the one person I could find solace and comfort in: Vera.
I entered the lobby, surprised to find it completely empty, the front desk unoccupied. Strange for a late afternoon. I signed in anyway and headed for Vera’s room. I tapped lightly on the door before entering. Vera was sound asleep in the chair, her head tilted back, the TV off. The entire room was a quiet oasis.
I gently kissed Vera on top of her head and stood over her. She looked so peaceful. She’d never know the pain of losing Sam. And that was a good thing. I waited for a minute, debating whether to wake her or just let her rest. The selfish part of me opted for the solitude and calm of just being near her. I slung my coat across the foot of her bed and spotted a vase with two dozen long-stemmed yellow roses on her bedside table.
Who sent Vera flowers?
I walked closer and lifted the envelope leaning against the vase. I read the words typed across the front of the envelope: Some secrets are worth keeping. The same words from last night’s envelope.
My heart gave a thud as I ripped it open. Inside, a 1967 black-and-white mug shot of Vera. Her almond eyes cold, her long wavy hair sweeping against her shoulders. Even the scowl she wore couldn’t hide her redbone beauty. I’d never seen this picture before.
Every muscle inside me tightened. Someone had killed Sam and now they’d been close enough to Vera to harm her, too. Who was playing this sick game?
I rustled Vera awake. “Vee . . . Vee, wake up.” Vera stirred a bit before opening her eyes. “Vee, it’s me . . . Ellie. Did somebody come by to visit you today? Who left these flowers honey?”
Vera smiled. “Hey, Ellie, baby. I must have fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Vee! Who left these flowers?”
Vera craned her fragile frame in the direction of the bedside table. “Oooh . . . how pretty. Did you pick ’em?”
“I’ll be right back.” I shot from the room, my heels racing up the hall so fast that a young aide at the nurses’ station stood from her chair.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Littlejohn?” the aide asked.
“Someone’s been in Vera’s room—they left roses. Who’s been here to see her?”
“I haven’t seen anyone. Is she okay?”
I ran off without answering. I raced down the staircase to the front desk in the lobby.
“Hey, Ms. Littlejohn,” Quineisha said.
“I need to see the visitors’ log.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Did Vera have any visitors today?”
“I’m not sure. I just came on duty. Is everything okay with Ms. Henderson?”
I didn’t answer. I scanned the log from the bottom up. Only one visitor. Me. What was Jonathan’s deal?! Why was he doing this?
I ran back to Vera’s room. I was both terrified and livid. Jonathan’s little games were beyond the pale. Why was he threatening me with secrets from my past? How did he know about Willie Jay? And how did he get a mug shot of Vera that I didn’t even know about?
By the time I got back inside Vera’s room she was wide awake and eating a cup of fruit cocktail from her lunch tray.
“Hey, Ellie, baby. Did you bring me those flowers? They so beautiful.”
I gave a weary smile at Vera. Her smooth brown face lit up with pleasure. A stark contrast to the mug shot I held in my hand.
“Those flowers smell so good. Did Sammy pick ’em?”
“Yeah, Vee . . . they smell really good,” I said before falling into a chair, rubbing my left temple.
“Where is he?” Vera said.
“Who?”
“Sammy.”
I gazed at Vera and shook my head. I couldn’t explain to Vera that Sam was dead. It would only upset her, and it would be forgotten fifteen minutes after that.
“Sammy’s not here right now, Vee. He . . . he had to go away.”
He had to go away.
I started to cry as I gazed down at the crumpled picture in my hand. Vera was all I had left. I wouldn’t put another person I loved in harm’s way. Vera had saved me so many times before. Now, I had to save her.
Chillicothe, Georgia, July 1979
Martha had left the house earlier in the day, off to the Blackjack Tavern or wherever she spent her days when she didn’t want to spend them with us. Sam and I sat on the front porch steps. We’d just finished eating fish sticks and pork ’n’ beans I’d made for the two of us. I was just weeks away from leaving Chillicothe for boarding school. All I had to do now was survive the last few summer days and then I would be free of this town. I heard the putter of a car engine and glanced up from the book I was reading. A police cruiser pulled up to Willie Jay’s ranch house in the cul-de-sac. Every time I saw a police car, it rattled me and set my stomach churning.
Sheriff Coogler stepped out of the car, coughed up a big fat wad of spit onto the ground, and hiked his pants up. The day’s heat had plastered his comb-over against the thick red skin of his scalp. He waddled up to the porch and rested a thick flat foot on the third step just beneath mine.
“Willie Jay ain’t showed up for work in two days. Either of you monkeys know anything about that?”
Sam and I both shook our heads no.
“Where’s your momma?”
“She’s not here,” I said.
Coogler stared at me. “Well, where is she?”
I shrugged. I really was telling the truth.
“What about it, boy? Where yo’ daddy?”
Sam scowled up at Coogler. “Willie Jay ain’t my daddy.”
Coogler sneered at me then gazed up at the porch, trying to see through the screen door. “So you won’t mind if a take a look around?”
“Martha said we can’t let nobody in the house when she’s not home.” I said.
Coogler spat again, off to the side of the porch. “This is official police business, gal.”
He removed his foot and climbed the stairs to the front door. I whispered to Sam, “Go next door and call Miss Vee. Hurry!”
As soon as Coogler walked inside the house, Sam took off like a shot.
I tried to go back to my book like everything was normal.
Coogler’s heavy boots slowly moved from room to room. I didn’t flinch. But I knew if Sam didn’t make it back before Coogler returned to the front porch, he might consider it suspicious enough to put us both in the back seat of the cruiser and off to the police station. I remembered Mario Jackson. I wouldn’t let that happen. I knew the only chance we stood of staying alive was to avoid getting into that cruiser in the first place.
Hurry, Sam.
My edginess turned to panic when I heard the screen door from the kitchen open with a long, slow squeak and quickly slam against the doorjamb. Coogler was looking out in the back now. Was he looking in the utility shed? All I could think about was Willie Jay’s rule that kids should be seen and not heard. A rule he reinforced by locking us in that shed out back, cigar burns, and threats to throw us into the alligator-laden swamp out behind his house.
Sam, please hurry.
It was quiet now. Coogler was probably headed across the backyard for the shed. I was too scared to leave the porch and peep in the backyard. He would be back inside the house at any minute and there was no sign of Sam. I didn’t want to be alone with Coogler, especially in the police cruiser.
Come on, Sam.
Finally, I saw a small ball of chugging arms and legs. Sam came sprinting across the cul-de-sac from next door. He ran so fast, his legs reminded me of the spinning limbs of one of those cartoon characters on TV. Only a few seconds more until he made it back to the front porch beside me. I blew a sigh of relief. Sam jumped the small hedges at the edge of the driveway, his eyes full of excitement at having made it back. He crossed the lawn just as Coogler rounded the side of the house.
“Hey, boy! Stop!”
Sam froze in his tracks. Coogler hustled in and snatched Sam up by the back of his collar, his feet barely touching the ground. I had visions of Mario Jackson and my instincts kicked in.
“Leave him alone!” I dropped my book and raced over to Sam. “Get your hands off him,” I yelled. I yanked at Coogler’s arm trying to free Sam.
“Where you run off to, boy?” Coogler asked.
“I just went to look for my ball, that’s all.” Sam struggled against the man’s thick paunch.
I pulled at Sam’s arm, trying to wrestle him away. A few seconds later, Coogler’s thick, hard palm slapped me across the face. The hot, stinging force sent me flying backward to the ground. “Stay out of this, gal. This between me and the boy. Now tell me where you ran off to.”
Sam was still squirming. Coogler’s strong grip unyielding. I shook the burn from my face and watched as Coogler grabbed a billy club from his waistband.
“NOOO!” I screamed.
Coogler threw Sam to the ground. He raised his arm and brought down the club in a quick hard crack against Sam’s head. This time, I jumped to my feet and lunged for the billy club from behind as Coogler pulled back his arm to swing at Sam again. Although I didn’t weigh much, I was tall, as tall as Coogler. The surprise of my body on top of his caught him off guard. Coogler stumbled. I straddled his back. One hand around his neck and the other trying to keep him from hitting Sam again. He almost had the upper hand. He flung his stick behind his head, narrowly missing my head.
He still held a tight grip on Sam. I fought with everything inside me to keep Sam alive. Coogler zigzagged trying to shake me from his back. I held on, digging my nails into the flabby flesh of his neck. Sam twisted and contorted himself, trying to get free of Coogler’s grip. The tables were turning and now the fat cop was struggling against two squirming bodies instead of one. Sweat poured off Coogler’s head, but I ducked his billy club again and leaned in toward him. This time, I bit down on his ear so hard I could taste blood and the salt of his sweat.
“Aaaaah!” he screamed. Coogler staggered backward and I nearly fell off his back.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of tires screeching behind me and then the rusty scrape of a car door swinging open. “Hey!” a booming voice called out behind us. “Coogler! Turn them kids loose.”
Vera.
For a second, it felt like the earth was moving beneath us as Vera stormed in. We all froze, me still straddling Coogler’s back and Sam on the ground caught up in the knot of the man’s fist. Vera barreled in, first helping Sam from the ground. I jumped off Coogler’s back. She pushed the two of us behind her.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?! What are you doing?” she yelled. Vera, dressed to the nines in a fire-engine-red dress, pearls, and heels, looked like she was going out for a gala celebration instead of rescuing a couple kids from a backwoods sheriff.
“This ain’t got nothing to do with you, Miss Vera. I’m aiming to find out what they know about Willie Jay. He ain’t been seen for two days and I think them kids might know something about it.”
“With all the people around this town that hate that mean-ass son of a bitch, you may as well arrest half of Chillicothe.”
“I told you,” Coogler barked through panting breaths. “This here ain’t none of yo’ business.”
