Cruel Justice

30

LOVING CHECKED THE ADDRESS again: 6826 South Sandusky.

He checked the number on the curb. Sure enough. This was the place.

He’d had a hell of a time finding it. Jones identified Carlee Toller on the list he’d compiled of people who worked at the Utica Greens Country Club ten years ago, but the Tulsa Metro residential records showed no trace of any such person. Searching the court records, Loving eventually discovered that Carlee Toller had become Carlee Crane about a year after the murder. And Carlee Crane was listed in the residential records. She co-owned a house with her husband, David Elroy Crane.

And here it was. Nothing fancy, but a decent spread with a nice view. A lot better than Loving got out the one window of his fleabag apartment on Sixty-first. Seemed like all the lowlifes in Tulsa hung out there. Of course, as far as Loving was concerned, that was part of its appeal.

He approached the door and knocked. A few moments later a young woman with long blonde hair answered the door.

“Yes?”

“Afternoon, ma’am.” Loving squared his shoulders and tried to look reasonably respectable. “I’m a private investigator. I’m workin’ for a lawyer, Ben Kincaid.”

Her eyes darted, just for a fleeting instant. A telltale sign, Loving thought. She recognized the name. “May I ask why you’re here?”

“You worked at the Utica Greens Country Club ten years ago, didn’t you, ma’am?”

“Well … yes.” The woman licked her lips. “That was a long time ago, though.! quit after just a few months.”

“I know. But you were there at the time Maria Alvarez was murdered, weren’t you?”

She made several false starts before answering. “Maria … Alvarez? I don’t think I know her.”

“Did more than one woman get murdered at the country club that year?” Pull back, Loving, he told himself. It’s too soon to get tough with her. “You must remember when this happened.”

The woman’s voice seemed to come from far away. “I do recall … something along those lines. Not much.”

“You don’t remember a murder that happened where you worked? I woulda thought that was all people talked about for days.”

“But—I mean—you have to understand—it’s been so long—”

Loving frowned. Something about this woman’s answers made him very suspicious. They just didn’t ring true. He’d had innumerable interviewees lie to him over the years, and he thought he knew what it sounded like.

“Ma’am, Mr. Kincaid represents Leeman Hayes, a nice young guy who’s been accused of murderin’ this woman. Hayes goes on trial soon. If you know anything about this, you need to tell me.”

“I don’t know anything about it. How could I? I didn’t see it, did I?”

Loving wasn’t sure if she was asking the question of him or herself.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” She began to close the door.

Loving jammed his foot in the path. “Ma’am, I’ll do whatever I can to protect you. If you’re worried about the newshounds hasslin’ you or the killer comin’ after you or somethin’, don’t. I’ll be your personal bodyguard.” He flexed his impressive biceps. “And I’m pretty good at it.”

“That isn’t it. I just don’t know anything, that’s all.” She tried again to close the door. “If you don’t move your foot, I’ll have to call the police.”

“At least take Mr. Kincaid’s card,” Loving said, pressing it through the doorway. “If you think of anything that might be helpful, call. Please, A man’s life is at stake. You may be his only hope.”

The woman took the card, then slammed the door shut.

With someone else, Loving might’ve been tempted to get tough and play the bullyboy, but he had a hunch he wouldn’t get anywhere that way with this woman. No amount of badgering was going to change her mind.

He would just have to wait and hope she changed it herself.