Jake’s money, where’d you go and who’d you see?”
“Guess I got up to piss a time or two. Don’t remember seein’ much of nobody.”
“Do you remember anybody leaving the house for a long period of time and coming back?”
“Didn’t really notice, John, but even if I had, I don’t think any of ’em are capable of killin’ anybody––even a hooker––so I wouldn’t point a finger of suspicion at ’em.”
“Why do you think someone stole the body?” I asked.
“Reckon he wasn’t finished with her,” he said.
After leaving the courthouse, I walked over to the sheriff ’s department to discover that Andrew Sullivan was off duty, but Dad was in his office.
“Was hoping to talk to Sullivan,” I said. “Really? Why?”
“He was one of the ones at the after-party,” I said. “And one of the few, according to Jake, who left long enough to have committed the murder and moved the body.”
“I’ll set up a time for us to talk to him.”
“ How long were you in there?”
“Where?”
“The farmhouse.”
He shrugged. “Not too long. Shook a few hands.
Said some thank yous. You suspect me?”
I shook my head. “Did you see the victim at any point?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I was just waiting for the right time to mention it. No I didn’t see her. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I would’ve already said something if I had.”
“Who was in there when you were?”
“Jake, Stockton, Andrew, Potter, and Felix were already playin’ cards. If the girls were there they must’ve been in the back. I never saw any of them. Ralph Long was in there running his mouth a mile a minute but nobody was listening. The judge came in and sat for a while but not long. He left before I did. I don’t remember anybody else but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Wasn’t payin’ too close attention. And I was exhausted.”
“Nothing on the body yet?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in all my time in law enforcement. It’s just gone. Have you had any ideas where it might be?”
“Not any you haven’t,” I said. “Put out a description to all agencies in the area. Check all the hospitals and morgues for Jane Does. Beyond that, I’m at a loss.”
“Had any more thoughts on why the body was stolen?” he asked.
“See previous answer,” I said. “None you haven’t.”
I then told him about some of the ideas that had occurred to me earlier in the afternoon as I was walking on the compound.
“The hell you say,” he said. “That’s several I didn’t.
Necrophilia never crossed my mind, you sick bastard.”
Chapter Twenty-one
L ater that night I drove.
As Anna and much of the world slept, I ran the roads.
I had too much on my mind, too many things to process, and I felt a restlessness I knew driving Anna’s car would soothe.
Anna’s car was a nearly new Mustang GT—another reason I was jonesin’ to drive.
I was still driving a loaner, a tricked-out black 1985 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS seized by the Potter County Sheriff ’s Department in a big drug bust. Dad had been letting me use it since I wrecked my truck while in pursuit of an escaped inmate.
The Monte Carlo, which had T-tops, pinstriping, a six-inch lift kit, twenty-six-inch chrome rims, illegally dark tinted windows, and a loud dual exhaust, was about as inconspicuous as Liberace at the First Baptist Church’s annual children’s piano recital, and I was sick of it.
Before I left, I created a new playlist for my ipod that fit my dark disposition, which included some Joan Osborne, Emmylou Harris, Jann Arden, and several covers of “Losing My Religion,”
“ Ain’t No Sunshine,”
“ Paint it Black,” and “California Dreaming.”
The GT had a kickass sound system and I planned to take advantage of it.
As soon as I was on the dark rural highway leading out of Pottersville, I cranked the volume and opened her up, the haunting, mournful sounds of Emmylou Harris’s “Wrecking
“Guess I got up to piss a time or two. Don’t remember seein’ much of nobody.”
“Do you remember anybody leaving the house for a long period of time and coming back?”
“Didn’t really notice, John, but even if I had, I don’t think any of ’em are capable of killin’ anybody––even a hooker––so I wouldn’t point a finger of suspicion at ’em.”
“Why do you think someone stole the body?” I asked.
“Reckon he wasn’t finished with her,” he said.
After leaving the courthouse, I walked over to the sheriff ’s department to discover that Andrew Sullivan was off duty, but Dad was in his office.
“Was hoping to talk to Sullivan,” I said. “Really? Why?”
“He was one of the ones at the after-party,” I said. “And one of the few, according to Jake, who left long enough to have committed the murder and moved the body.”
“I’ll set up a time for us to talk to him.”
“ How long were you in there?”
“Where?”
“The farmhouse.”
He shrugged. “Not too long. Shook a few hands.
Said some thank yous. You suspect me?”
I shook my head. “Did you see the victim at any point?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I was just waiting for the right time to mention it. No I didn’t see her. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I would’ve already said something if I had.”
“Who was in there when you were?”
“Jake, Stockton, Andrew, Potter, and Felix were already playin’ cards. If the girls were there they must’ve been in the back. I never saw any of them. Ralph Long was in there running his mouth a mile a minute but nobody was listening. The judge came in and sat for a while but not long. He left before I did. I don’t remember anybody else but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Wasn’t payin’ too close attention. And I was exhausted.”
“Nothing on the body yet?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in all my time in law enforcement. It’s just gone. Have you had any ideas where it might be?”
“Not any you haven’t,” I said. “Put out a description to all agencies in the area. Check all the hospitals and morgues for Jane Does. Beyond that, I’m at a loss.”
“Had any more thoughts on why the body was stolen?” he asked.
“See previous answer,” I said. “None you haven’t.”
I then told him about some of the ideas that had occurred to me earlier in the afternoon as I was walking on the compound.
“The hell you say,” he said. “That’s several I didn’t.
Necrophilia never crossed my mind, you sick bastard.”
Chapter Twenty-one
L ater that night I drove.
As Anna and much of the world slept, I ran the roads.
I had too much on my mind, too many things to process, and I felt a restlessness I knew driving Anna’s car would soothe.
Anna’s car was a nearly new Mustang GT—another reason I was jonesin’ to drive.
I was still driving a loaner, a tricked-out black 1985 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS seized by the Potter County Sheriff ’s Department in a big drug bust. Dad had been letting me use it since I wrecked my truck while in pursuit of an escaped inmate.
The Monte Carlo, which had T-tops, pinstriping, a six-inch lift kit, twenty-six-inch chrome rims, illegally dark tinted windows, and a loud dual exhaust, was about as inconspicuous as Liberace at the First Baptist Church’s annual children’s piano recital, and I was sick of it.
Before I left, I created a new playlist for my ipod that fit my dark disposition, which included some Joan Osborne, Emmylou Harris, Jann Arden, and several covers of “Losing My Religion,”
“ Ain’t No Sunshine,”
“ Paint it Black,” and “California Dreaming.”
The GT had a kickass sound system and I planned to take advantage of it.
As soon as I was on the dark rural highway leading out of Pottersville, I cranked the volume and opened her up, the haunting, mournful sounds of Emmylou Harris’s “Wrecking
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