“Went down to St. George for a couple of days of R and R. I’m keeping an eye on the place.”
“Was Jimmy a regular?”
“Sure was. Came in at least once a week.”
“He tell you he was going anywhere?”
Ron rubbed the bristles on his chin. “As a matter of fact, he did. Said he was taking a trip to see the country.”
“When was this?”
“Long time ago. It was still cold—I remember talkin’ to him outside, and as I recall, there was a hard frost from the night before.”
“He say anything else?”
Ron thought about it. “I don’t think so.”
“You know Jimmy very well?”
“Just, he likes his burgers. Every time he come in here he ordered a burger medium rare. Ron don’t cook medium rare anymore. They’d go round and round on that.”
“Jimmy have a girlfriend?”
“Never saw him with anybody. I don’t remember him socializing with anybody, male or female. Real quiet guy, kind of kept to himself.”
“How come he told you he was going on a trip?”
“I don’t remember how that came up. Is it important?” He peered in through the window again. “Did he do something in Arizona?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Redbone said. “Somebody still breaking into those vending machines?”
“Nope. But it don’t hurt to check.”
Laura asked, “Do you know if he had an RV? Camper, motor home?”
Ron shook his head. “Heck, I was surprised when he told me he was going on a trip. Must have been feeling talkative that day.”
Back at Apalachicola PD, Redbone showed Laura the file on Linnet Sobek. It was a thin file because she was considered a missing person. The photograph attached was eerily similar in appearance to that of Alison Burns. Same heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, child’s small nose. Blond hair.
They could have been twins.
Scanning the file, Laura saw nothing that Redbone hadn’t already told her, but she asked for a copy of the file anyway.
“I’ll just run him on NCIC and see what comes up,” Redbone said.
There were no wants or warrants on a Jimmy de Seroux. No previous convictions. If he was who Laura thought he was, he had been very successful as a criminal, sailing under the radar all his adult life.
Next, Redbone checked the Motor Vehicle Division records. Jimmy de Seroux owned only one vehicle, the blue 1967 Chevrolet pickup.
“So much for the motor home theory,” the chief said. “You ask me, it’s pretty thin.”
“What’s pretty thin?”
An Apalachicola PD officer appeared in the doorway and the room decreased in size by twenty-five percent.
“Just helpin’ out a fellow peace officer run down a suspect.” Chief Redbone introduced Laura to the officer, Jerry Oliver.
Oliver took off his hat and Laura saw the sweat line in his hair above his moon face. She also noticed that his brass was unpolished, his nameplate so filmy,she couldn’t read his name.
“So who’s the guy?” Oliver said. “Maybe I know him.”
“It’s none of—“
“Jimmy de Seroux,” Laura said.
“Jimmy?” Oliver snorted. “No way. No way he’d do anything violent, considering what—”
“Jerry, did you go by Mrs. Darling’s?” Chief Redbone said. “She’s mighty agitated about that Buckner kid and his loud music.”
“I’ve talked to her three times. The kid doesn’t play that loud.”
“Well, go talk to her anyway. See if you can work it out. Use your negotiating skills.”
Oliver’s face turned stubborn, and he rested his hand on his nightstick. “Let me at least get a drink of water. It’s hot as Hades out there.” He crossed over to the water cooler. “Arizona, huh? How’d you get a line on Jimmy?” he asked Laura, pouring water on his hands and rubbing his face.
“Jerry, I want you to get your butt out there now.” Redbone’s voice boomed. Laura looked at him. She saw a hard light in his eyes.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin.’”
Chief Redbone watched him leave.
“That boy is the laziest sonofagun I ever saw.” Back to his easy-going, affable self. Smiling, expansive. “Can’t do a thing about it, though. His daddy’s on the city council.”
When Laura got back to the Gibson Inn, she checked at the front desk for messages. Victor still hadn’t called back. She called him and got his voice mail. Left her own and paged him, too.
She wondered if Lehman had confessed. There might already be a deal in the works. And here she was in Florida with nothing.
Tilting at windmills.
She looked at her list again.
Alison Burns - similar
Dress patterns – Inspirational Woman
Motor home seen at Brewery Gulch
Motor home seen near primary crime scene
Digital camera, jewelry sent to Alison/Internet connection (?)
CRZYGRL12
The man in the photo—beach house?
Peter Dorrance
Serial killer, organized type?
Differences between Jessica and Alison: period of time kept, age, manner of death
Postmortem vs. antemortem
She had added five items to the list:
Dorrance – J. de Seroux photog
Tire treads at J’s
Linnet Sobek – last seen near oyster bar
J.S. regular at oyster bar
Linnet Sobek looks like Alison and Jessica
Chief Redbone was right: Pretty thin.
De Seroux had no criminal record. He didn’t own a motor home. And as Victor had pointed out, anyone could have downloaded Dorrance’s picture from the Internet.
Laura stared at the picture of de Seroux she had photocopied. The deadness in his eyes didn’t translate to the dark photocopy, or it could be that she had attached too much significance to it. A lot of people looked dull. Her conviction that he was Jessica’s killer was starting to evaporate.
To cheer herself up, she went out and treated herself on her own money to a good dinner. Oysters, crab cakes, and Merlot at the Owl Café. The place was small and intimate. The rest of the diners were all couples.
Usually, she wasn’t bothered about dining out alone. But tonight she felt self-conscious, as if people were looking at her. That wasn’t true—one glance at the other diners told her that. They were too concerned with each other.
Maybe that was it. She pictured Tom opposite her, their heads bent together over wine glasses. Pictured them walking out on the marina dock set in a plain of marsh and sawgrass, holding hands and watching the sun set on the water. Or on the porch at the Gibson Inn, listening to the night sounds, making out if no one else was around.
In the king-sized bed.
His presence, the way he looked at her, the quiet way he talked. Never, ever in a hurry. His life just the way he wanted it. Something to be said for that.
Except his life wasn’t exactly the way he wanted or else he wouldn’t want her.
As a cop, she always worked with a partner. Someone to watch her back, an ally. Not being alone …
It always came as a surprise to her that she didn’t have any family. There were relatives back east, people she hardly knew. She doubted they would welcome her intrusion and she didn’t want anything from them. She was used to being alone; only children were, as a rule, self-reliant.
Still, she’d always thought she would find someone. She had thought that Billy Linton would solve all her problems, that he could wipe out the idea of her parents dying by gunshot at close-range. Of course that had not worked. She and Billy didn’t have the stuff to sustain even a normal relationship, let alone one that was that had been banged up from the beginning. Ever since, all she had to show for a personal life was a string of failed relationships.