Lisa Gardner - Say Goodbye

The Burgerman stood behind me.

He smiled in the dark.

And in that smile, I knew what was about to happen next.

Time belongs to other boys. Boys that have not been beaten and starved and raped. Boys that have not stood there and watched a grown man kill a kid with his bare hands.

Boys that were not then handed a shovel and made to go out and help dig the grave.

“You want to die, son?” the Burgerman asked casually, standing back from the hole, leaning on his spade.

The body was wrapped in an old towel, lying beneath an azalea bush. I didn’t look at it.

“It’s not hard,” the Burgerman continued on. “Hell, climb into the hole. Lie down next to your little friend. I won’t stop you.”

I didn’t move. After a moment, the Burgerman laughed.

“See, you still want to live, boy. No shame in that.”

He gave me an almost affectionate pat on the head. “Pick up the shovel, son. I’ll show you a trick to save your back. That’s it, put your legs into it. See? Now repeat.”

Burgerman taught me how to dig a perfect grave. Then we returned to the apartment, packed up our clothes, and vanished.

KIMBERLY FOUND SAL AT THE ATLANTA BREAD COMPANY. He was munching on a sandwich, a smear of mayo dotting his right cheek. Though he’d agreed to the rendezvous, he still appeared wary as she approached.

“Sprouts?” she asked, inspecting his lunch. “Funny, you didn’t strike me as a sprouts man.”

“Hey, I like veggies. Besides, after Sausage McMuffins for breakfast…”

“You ever cook, Sal?”

“As little as possible.”

“Me, too.”

She took a seat, sliding her brown leather saddlebag from her shoulder and digging around for her lunch.

“Are you eatin’ pudding again?” Sal wanted to know.

“Cottage cheese with blueberries. Gotta get protein somehow.”

“How far along?”

“Nearly twenty-two weeks.”

“Don’t look it.”

“It’s the pudding,” she assured him. “Have kids?”

He shook his head. “Don’t even have a wife.”

“Hasn’t stopped other guys from procreating.”

“True, but I’m a traditionalist. Or a procrastinator. Haven’t decided which. Does it move?”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes, the baby. It’s not like I care about cottage cheese.”

“Yeah, she’s starting to. Lots of little movements that get progressively worse if I’m trying to eat or sleep. If I’m doing nothing, of course, she’s perfectly quiet.”

“She?”

“That’s my guess. Mac wants a boy. Major league pitcher, I think. What’s with you guys?”

“Sports matter,” Sal said seriously. “What else would we do on Monday nights?”

Kimberly dug into her cottage cheese. She had a lot to report, but figured it was only fair to let Sal call the shots. He probably had some aggression to work out. Sure enough, he got straight into it.

“Nice, Quincy. Tossing me a name like that. Just enough information to make me feel like you cared without actually putting out. I have to say, at least when I got screwed, it was by a class act.”

“Think I shoulda told you ’bout the ring, huh?”

“It crossed my mind.”

Kimberly spread her hands. She’d given this some thought, and this was the best she could offer. “Look: We can spend the next fifteen minutes with you feeling pissy because I didn’t share the ring, and me feeling pissy because you tried to muscle in on an informant who’d already asked for me, or we can agree that we’re both aggressive investigators, and get on with the matters at hand.”

“I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me, but because we’re both untrustworthy, we oughtta get along fine?”

“Exactly.”

Sal considered the matter. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Proceed.”

He finished his sandwich, dabbing at his face. He missed the mayo on his cheek, and without thinking, she reached across the table and got it with her finger. The intimacy of the gesture struck her after the fact, and she sat back, embarrassed.

“So, ummm”-she dug around in her cottage cheese, fishing for a blueberry-“Delilah Rose gave me a class ring that allegedly belonged to Ginny Jones. I traced the ring to Tommy Mark Evans, who graduated from Alpharetta High School in oh-six. Ginny Jones was one of his classmates.”

“They were an item?”

“Coach Urey didn’t think so. His memory was that Tommy had been dating a girl named Darlene Angler for most of the season, but maybe broke up before graduation. He wasn’t clear on that detail. I spoke to the school secretary, however, and she’s getting her hands on a yearbook for us. Hopefully that’ll arrive by end of week. She looked up Virginia Jones for me-”

“Without a warrant?” Sal asked in surprise.

“I was using my nice voice. Besides, that’s why you ask the secretary. They’re preprogrammed to look up files for everyone at any time. They don’t stop to ask why.”

“Good point.”

“So, Ginny attended Alpharetta for four years, but didn’t graduate. Dropped out in February. Never returned. According to her files, calls were made to her home, but never answered. Finally, there’s a yellow sticky with a handwritten note-‘family appears to have left town.’ Guess that was the end of matters.

“Ginny had one parent listed as guardian. A mother, Veronica L. Jones. I made a couple of quick phone calls: Veronica L. Jones used to work as a waitress at the Hungryman Diner, but according to the manager, she no-showed her shifts and they never heard from her again. They do, however, have a last paycheck for her to pick up, should I locate her current whereabouts.”

Sal’s eyes widened. “She left behind a paycheck? That doesn’t sound good.”

“Don’t think it is. The Joneses owned a house in Alpharetta. The town filed a lien against it in the spring of oh-seven to collect back property taxes. House is now in foreclosure. I couldn’t find any trace of a missing persons report filed for either Veronica or Virginia Jones, and yet both of them are clearly gone.”

“As of February oh-six?” Sal asked with a frown.

Kimberly shrugged. “February is when Ginny stopped attending school, so I would assume somewhere in that time frame.”

“But according to your friend Delilah Rose, Ginny didn’t disappear until three months ago, November oh-seven. So color me confused.”

“Ah, but this is where the phone call gets interesting. Assume for a moment that the woman on the tape is Ginny’s mother, Veronica Jones.”

“She says she is, so good assumption.”

“Well, let’s say she was kidnapped in February oh-six. Now, Ginny comes home, but it’s an empty house. And night after night, it remains an empty house. Ginny could do the sensible thing and contact the authorities, but what kind of teenager does that? Instead, she splits. Maybe she has friends in Sandy Springs, or thinks it’ll be great to go clubbing for a bit, live on the wild side, never have a curfew…”

“Takes off to party, gets sucked into the scene, never gets back out.”

“Yeah. So mom’s victim number one.”

“And nearly two years later,” Sal filled in skeptically, “Ginny is victim number two?”

“Actually,” Kimberly said, “Ginny is victim number three.”

“Tommy Mark Evans graduated from Alpharetta in June oh-six. Star quarterback, magna cum laude, all-round hometown hero. Got a full scholarship to Penn State and took off for college in the fall. He returned for Christmas break. December twenty-seventh, he told his parents he was going out for a drive. Never came home.