Dead By Morning

Chapter 13

Derek had known that they wouldn’t get any information by going through legal channels there in Macon. At least, not yet. The detectives in charge of the case had remained tight-lipped, as had the emergency personnel involved. He and Maleah had separated and moved through the crowd as discreetly as possible, both showing a casual interest in what was happening. Downtown Macon on a Friday afternoon buzzed with activity and the entire block swarmed with curiosity seekers. The police had sealed off the building and rounded up all the occupants for questioning. The one person Derek would love to talk to—the secretary interviewee—would be detained, questioned, and cautioned not to speak to the press.

Thirty minutes after they had parted company and circulated through the on-lookers, Derek and Maleah reconnected at the end of the block.

“Anything?” Maleah asked.

Derek shook his head. “Not much. I heard the name Wyman Scudder more than once. It seems to be the consensus that the victim was the newest renter in the building, a lawyer named Scudder.”

“I tried speaking to the policemen in charge of crowd control, but that got me nowhere.”

“They won’t bring the secretary out the front way,” Derek said. “Which means they’ll take her out a back exit and possibly escort her to the police station or at the very least walk her to wherever she parked her car.”

“Even if we knew the location of that exit, we have no idea when they’ll bring her out. And it’s not as if they’re going to let us get anywhere near her.”

“You’re right, but we could get a good look at her and I could snap her photo with my phone.”

“I don’t think we should go the let’s-play-secret-agent route,” Maleah told him. “But I assume you weren’t serious. I think our best course of action is to call Sanders and let the agency contact the Macon Police Department and see what information they’re willing to share.”

Derek grinned. “Ah, gee whiz, Mom, you won’t let me have any fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. You can call Sanders while I drive.”

“Why don’t we find a downtown hotel, check in and then go out for dinner while Sanders is working Powell Agency magic to get us the info we need about Scudder’s death?”

Why not? She knew her easy acquiesce to his suggestion would surprise Derek, but in this instance she agreed with him.

“I’m okay with going out to dinner and possibly staying overnight.” Zigzagging through the slow-moving traffic, they crossed the street together, Maleah a few steps ahead of Derek. “When you talk to Sanders, be sure to ask him about any updates on Cindy Di Blasi and Albert Durham.”

“Yes, ma’am. Glad you thought of it.”

“Bite me.” Maleah snapped out the words.

Not slowing her pace as they left the bedlam behind them and walked up the block, she cut him a sideways glance. “We need to know for sure that Scudder was murdered, that he didn’t have a heart attack or anything.”

“Your gut instinct has to be telling you that he was murdered. I’d say what we really need to know is how he was murdered and if the police have any suspects.”

Maleah led Derek to her SUV. “You think the Copycat Carver killed him?”

“Don’t you?” Derek asked as he sat down in the passenger seat.

Maleah slid into the driver’s seat, inserted the key into the ignition and started the SUV. “Probably. Apparently Scudder knew too much and could ID the copycat, so he had become a liability.”

“Of course being murdered eliminates Scudder as a suspect. So, at least for the time being, that leaves Cindy and Durham as our only leads.”

“I think there’s a good chance that Durham is our copycat.”

“I think you could be right,” Derek said.

As she eased the Equinox into traffic, Maleah cast a quick glance in Derek’s direction. “If we’re right, then he’ll go after Cindy next, won’t he?”

“More than likely. And if Durham isn’t our guy, then he and Cindy probably know who he is and that puts them both in danger.”

“What we should be concentrating on is finding Cindy and Durham. If Sanders has any leads on either of them, I say we head out tonight. There’s no point in our staying on here in Macon, is there?”

“Nothing except a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.”

“Call Sanders now,” Maleah said. “There’s no point in checking into a hotel until we know for sure whether we’ll be staying or moving on tonight. I’ll drive around for a few minutes while you call him.”

Derek put a call through to Sanders’s private number, used only by Powell agents. It was no surprise when Barbara Jean answered.

“We’re in Macon,” Derek said. “We just left a crime scene on Third Street. We’re relatively certain that Wyman Scudder has been murdered. We need the agency to find out the particulars ASAP.”

“I’ll let Sanders know immediately and we’ll get back to you with that info once we have it,” Barbara Jean said.

“Anything on Cindy or Durham? If the copycat killed Scudder—”

“We believe we located Cindy. Her real name is Cindy Dobbins. She worked as a stripper for a while when she was younger. That’s when she started using the name Di Blasi. She’s been arrested half a dozen times in the past few years. Solicitation. Drug possession. Public intoxication,” Barbara Jean said. “Check your e-mail. I sent you a complete report about half an hour ago, along with several arrest photos. Cindy’s thirty-five. She looks fifty.”

“Do you have a last known address?”

“We do, but she’s not there. Hasn’t been there in three weeks. We sent a local Atlanta contact to check it out.”

“Do we know where Cindy was from originally?”

“Sure do. She was born and raised in a little wideplace-in-the-road town just over the Georgia state line, outside of Augusta. A placed called Apple Orchard, South Carolina. She’s got a sister who still lives there.”

“Maybe our little bird went home to roost,” Derek said.

“The sister lives on Lancaster Road, number fourteen twenty. Her name is Jeri Paulk.”

“Thanks, Barbara Jean. I’ll fill Maleah in.” He was pretty sure they would be heading straight to Apple Orchard, South Carolina. “By the way, anything else on Durham?”

“Durham owns three homes, a house in Tennessee, a condo in Aspen, and an apartment in New York City. But according to our investigation, he rents out all three. From what his agent told us, apparently he travels a great deal. The last time he checked in with her, he was in Virginia doing some Civil War research, but they haven’t been in contact for nearly two weeks. It seems Durham doesn’t own a cell phone.”

“Doesn’t this guy have any family or close friends?”

“He’s a widower. No children. We’re digging deeper to see if we can come up with relatives. According to his agent, the guy is a loner. He has dozens of acquaintances, but no bosom buddies.”

“Got any recent photos of him?”

“Book jacket photo,” Barbara Jean said. “I can send you a copy of that.”

“What about his age? His background? Any military service?”

“Durham is sixty-three. No military background. The guy is an academic. He’s got half a dozen degrees. Actually, he’s Dr. Albert Durham.”

“Doesn’t sound like the type who’d get involved with a serial killer.”

“Or become a copycat killer,” Barbara Jean said.

After his conversation with Barbara Jean, Derek relayed all the information to Maleah. And just as he’d thought, she didn’t hesitate to tell them they were going straight to Apple Orchard this evening. Checking online, Derek quickly found out that the small South Carolina town was a two-hour-and-forty-minute drive from downtown Macon.

“Let’s at least stop for fast food on the way,” Derek suggested.

She groaned. “You’d think you could skip a meal every once in a while.”

“Drive-through will be fine.”

She didn’t reply.

Maleah headed the SUV north and continued in that direction on the interstate.

Poppy Chappelle had no idea she was being watched. Otherwise, he doubted the teenager would have removed her bikini top while she sunbathed in what she believed to be the privacy of her grandmother’s backyard. No doubt, she and her cousins had spent the afternoon frolicking in the pool, but Court and Anne Lee Dandridge had left over an hour ago, only moments after he arrived. Poppy was now enjoying the late afternoon sunshine all alone while she stretched languidly on a padded chaise lounge.

It would be so easy to kill her. The grandmother probably hadn’t come outside all day. He suspected the old woman took afternoon naps and avoided the June heat by staying indoors. The housekeeper had backed the late-model Mercedes from the garage fifteen minutes ago and headed toward downtown Savannah.

A brick fence flanked the back courtyard on either side and connected to an eight-foot-high iron fence that ran across the back of the property. Towering crape myrtles heavy-laden with buds just beginning to burst open lined the fencerow. Although neatly maintained, an assortment of trees, shrubs, and flowers grew in profusion and partially obscured the view. He stood less than thirty feet from Saxon Chappelle’s young niece, just beyond the unlocked back gate. He had parked his rental car blocks away, wore a ball cap and dark sunglasses, and had tossed his hand up and spoken to neighbors down the street as he passed by. If they remembered him, it was doubtful they could give anyone an even halfway accurate description of him. After all, he was just an average-looking white guy. His ability to appear quite generic had always given him an advantage.

He didn’t especially like the idea of killing a sixteen-year-old, but she wouldn’t be the first. In order to get the message across, he needed for the victim’s death to matter. He supposed he could have chosen Saxon Chappelle’s mother or his sister or the nephew or even the other niece, but his employer had seen Poppy’s unusual given name as a sign, like a beacon glowing in the dark. She was the one.

Standing at the gate, he watched the rise and fall of Poppy’s small, perky breasts. Her tiny rosebud pink nipples puckered as a warm breeze swept over her naked skin. He reached out and quietly lifted the latch. His pulse raced as the pre-kill adrenaline rush swept through his body, but it was only the first stage of the incredible high yet to come at the moment of the actual kill.

The urge to kill her now almost overwhelmed him.

But years of experience had taught him how to control his urges.

Wait. Now is not the right time. This is only a preliminary scouting trip.

“Poppy, what the devil are you doing?” a female voice demanded.

He dropped his hand away from the gate and took several careful steps backward while he searched for the source of the voice. An old woman, straight and tall, her white hair gleaming in the sunlight, came through the French doors that led into a back room of the two-story house.

Poppy reached down and grabbed her bikini top off the patio floor and hurriedly slipped it on before she got up and faced her grandmother. “I was sunbathing.”

“In the nude?” the old woman asked.

“I wasn’t nude. Besides, I’m all alone out here.”

“In my day, a proper young lady—”

“Please, don’t preach to me,” Poppy said as she walked toward her grandmother. “I get enough of that from Mom.”

Mrs. Chappelle sighed and shook her head, but when Poppy approached her, she opened her arms to give the girl a hug. “Your father was always testing my patience. He had a mind of his own and so do you. I can’t tell you how much you remind me of him.” She grasped Poppy’s chin. “You’re a Chappelle through and through. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, come on inside and have a glass of the fresh lemonade Heloise made before she left to go shopping.” Mrs. Chappelle took hold of her granddaughter’s hand. “I do so love these weeks you spend with me every summer.”

“So do I, Grandmother.”

He waited until Poppy disappeared inside the house before he latched the gate and turned to leave. As he walked away, the excitement coursing through his body began to fade ever so gradually, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal by the time he reached his car. He had checked out of the hotel in downtown Macon several hours ago and driven straight to Savannah without stopping. Two hours and fifty minutes. He had been careful to drive at the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to be stopped by the highway patrol.

Despite the desire to kill Poppy right then and there, he had not acted on impulse. He hadn’t planned to kill Poppy today. In keeping to the Carver’s timeline, he knew that the body should never be found before morning. There was no hurry, of course. He could come back tonight or tomorrow night or even the night after that, and kill her before dawn. When the moment was right, he would act. He would slit her throat, remove the small triangular pieces of flesh, and leave her body floating in her grandmother’s pool.

You don’t have to be satisfied with only one kill today, he told himself as he slid behind the wheel of his rental car. Humming softly, a favorite tune from childhood, he drove down the street and within minutes left Ardsley Park.

They traveled east on I-20, went through Augusta and exited off US 25 North going toward Newberry, but they left the main highway after less than fifteen miles. Derek had spent most of the trip reading aloud the reports that Barbara Jean had sent via e-mail attachments and they had discussed the information. A strong wind had blown in from the south, rocking the SUV and forecasting an oncoming storm. Keeping control of the Equinox, Maleah followed the road signs that led them straight to Apple Orchard, an unincorporated town in Edgefield County. Maleah had traveled around the U.S. and definitely throughout the South enough to recognize the signs of a dying small town. Apparently, the only remaining business was the mini-mart / gas station up ahead. To her left, the rusted hull of an old cotton gin near the railroad tracks rose into the eerily golden twilight sky like the giant carcass of an ancient beast. On the opposite side of the road, a centuries-old clapboard church stood vacant. Half the windows were broken and one of the double front doors, hanging precariously by a single hinge, thumped rhythmically in the wind.

They hadn’t met a single vehicle in the past five minutes and she didn’t see even one human being anywhere.

Derek hummed the theme from the old Twilight Zone TV show.

“Will you shut up,” Maleah snapped at him as she slowed the SUV and turned off into the mini-mart parking lot. “Apparently there are very few street signs around here. We’ll probably have to go in and ask directions.”

“Actually, there are very few streets around here.” Derek grinned.

Did he always have to have a smartass comeback? Okay, she knew that wasn’t true. She was tired, frustrated, and hungry, but she shouldn’t take it out on Derek. And yes, if she had driven through a fast-food place on the way here from Macon, as he had suggested, she wouldn’t be hungry.

Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Why was she having so much difficulty accepting the fact that she didn’t have to fight Derek for control? He was her partner, a co-worker she had learned to respect, and a man she was beginning to actually like. He deserved better from her.

Derek cleared his throat. “Want me to go in and ask directions or would you prefer to do it?”

“Why don’t we both go in,” Maleah replied. “I need to use the bathroom and I wouldn’t mind picking up something to eat. Maybe a pack of crackers and a Dr Pepper.”

She halfway expected him to mention his earlier suggestion about fast food, but he didn’t. Instead, he got out, came around to her side of the SUV and walked alongside her toward the mini-mart. In the early days of their working relationship, he had acted like a real gentleman, but after she’d bitten his head off a few times, he had backed off. Occasionally, he still did little things like opening a door for her, and she had stopped reprimanding him for his good manners. She appreciated that a lot of men still treated a lady like a lady, but with Derek, she had seen it as condescension. But she had been wrong. So wrong. Derek didn’t look down on her for being female or consider her a member of the weaker sex.

When they entered the Apple Orchard mini-mart, Maleah noted that the place was all but deserted. Odd, considering this was a Friday night. But then, the population might top out at less than a hundred people. Maleah spotted the bathroom and made a beeline in that direction while Derek meandered along at the back of the store where the giant coolers were located.

A few minutes later when Maleah and Derek approached the checkout, the young, bubble gum smacking clerk eyed them suspiciously. “Can I help you folks?”

“We’re from out of town.” Derek grinned at the girl, whose chin-length, dark brown hair was streaked with purple highlights. “We’re looking for someone. We have her address and were hoping you could help us out with directions.”

The plump, pug-faced clerk sported a shiny gold nose ring and a band of script tattoos circled each bicep revealed by her skimpy yellow tank top. A row of belly fat protruded between the end of the top and the waistband of her low-riding jeans. “Who you folks looking for?”

Derek smiled. Few women could resist his charm. “We’re looking for my girlfriend’s cousin.” He glanced at Maleah to indicate she was the girlfriend. “Blondie hasn’t seen her cousin since they were kids, but since we were on our way up to Columbia, another cousin suggested we look her up.”

The girl smiled when Derek leaned over the counter and looked right at her. “You know a woman named Jeri Paulk? That’s my girlfriend’s cousin.” Not taking his eyes off the clerk, he called to Maleah, who had gone in search of a canned cola. “Honey, what’s that address your cousin Barbara Jean gave you for Jeri?”

“I know where Jeri lives,” the girl said. “It ain’t half a mile from here.” She practically drooled while licking her lips, all the while looking as if she could swallow Derek whole.

Maleah scanned the refrigerated coolers across the back of the store, searching for a Dr Pepper while listening to the girl.

“Y’all remember passing an old church right before you got here?”

“Yes,” Derek replied.

“Just go back and turn off on the road by the church. Jeri lives down the road a piece. You can’t miss it. She painted the place bright blue last year. I told her that I’d bet the astronauts could see her place from outer space.”

“Sure do thank you for your help,” Derek said. “Honey, you got our colas and crackers?”

Maleah removed two canned Dr Peppers from the giant coolers and then grabbed a couple of packs of peanut butter and crackers off the shelves on her way back to the checkout counter.

After laying her items down, she said, “Yeah, thanks for helping us out. I sure am looking forward to seeing Jeri again after all these years.”

“Sure, no problem.” The girl rang up their order.

Maleah waited for Derek to pay for the items, then picked them up and headed out of the store. Halfway to the SUV, she handed him one of the colas and a pack of crackers.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. You practically had that girl eating out of your hand.”

Derek chuckled. “What can I say, the ladies like me.”

She punched him in the arm playfully and they both laughed.

They sat in the mini-mart parking lot long enough to devour the crackers and finish off part of their canned colas. Maleah started the SUV and went back the way they had come into Apple Orchard. She turned at the old church and headed down the narrow paved road that twisted and turned, carrying them farther and farther away from civilization. It was past sunset and darkness was fast approaching. Without lights along the road, Maleah had to rely totally on the Equinox’s headlights to guide them. Just as Miss Purple-streaked-hair had told them, the bright blue house came into view less than half a mile from the mini-mart. Even in the encroaching gloom of nightfall, the small wooden house was visible. An older model Chevy truck and a late model Ford Mustang were parked in the gravel drive. Maleah pulled in behind the Mustang.

“So, what do we say to Jeri Paulk? Do we tell her why we’re looking for her sister Cindy or do we make up some lie like we did back at the mini-mart?” Maleah asked.

“I suggest we play it by ear,” Derek told her. “Let’s see what kind of reception we get. If you’re agreeable, let me take the lead and you just follow along with whatever I say. Can you do that?”

“Of course, I can.”

They got out of the SUV and walked toward the porch. As they drew closer Maleah noticed the broken recliner, the vinyl ripped and the padding showing through, sitting beside two metal lawn chairs on the right side of the porch. Suddenly a dog reared his head up off the floor on the other side of the porch and barked. Maleah jumped. Derek cursed.

The dog kept barking, but didn’t move toward them. The porch light came on and the front door flew open. A bear of a man wearing overalls and no shirt and carrying a shotgun in his meaty hand stood in the doorway. Behind his massive frame, a TV screen flashed and the sound of recorded laughter drifted outside.

“Get the hell off my property,” the man yelled. “I know why you’re here and you ain’t welcome.”

Maleah opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter the first word, the man aimed the shotgun and pulled the trigger, sending a blast of buckshot in their direction.

Derek shoved Maleah out of the line of fire, tossed her onto the ground and came down over her. Eye to eye with her, his heavy weight a protective shield, Derek said, “Maybe we should have called first.”