Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘Who was this Friday?’

‘A pimp, predator, and sexual torturer. He worked the waifs and strays at bus stations while handing out miniature Bibles and religious literature. He’d feed the kids drugged soup, and then they’d vanish. Later, someone would spot one of them in a pornographic photograph or film, but most were never seen again.’

‘You’re telling me that Parker killed him?’

‘I’m telling you that Parker was spotted at the Port Authority in the hours before Friday died, and it looked as though he might have been watching Friday for a while. But nobody witnessed the attack, because whoever killed Friday timed his move well. The restroom was almost empty, apart from a junkie who’d locked himself in one of the stalls and wouldn’t have woken if the walls fell in around him. The janitor had given up monitoring his clientele during the Carter administration, and his radio was playing at full volume to discourage loitering. Finally, nobody wanted to know, because to know would be to get involved. It was only when the blood started flowing that someone saw fit to tell the janitor, and he did the smart thing and went to find a cop. A man was seen leaving the scene, but it was cold, so he had a scarf over the lower half of his face, and the hood on his jacket was raised. By the time the uniforms arrived, he was gone.’

‘Was Parker questioned?’

‘Not until a few days later. He admitted to being at the bus station, but said he was waiting for a contact that never showed.’

‘Did they ask him about those cuts?’ said Griffin.

‘Accident with a car jack, more or less the same as he told you.’

‘And they bought all this?’

‘No witnesses, and no prints. Jack says the Port Authority Criminal Investigations Bureau thinks the killer might have taped his fingertips, because one of the witnesses saw what looked like plastic on the suspect’s hands. There was some talk of getting a warrant and looking for bloodstains on Parker’s clothing, but they didn’t think they had enough to satisfy a judge, and it could be that the will wasn’t there, not after what happened to Parker’s family. And no one was weeping for Johnny Friday. If Parker did take him out, certain parties might have chosen to regard it as an act of public service.’

‘But there’s no evidence that he did?’ said Griffin.

Kel Knight wasn’t sure that he liked the look on Griffin’s face. It bore definite signs of contemplating expediency.

‘None, beyond circumstantial. Why?’

‘Just get him out of that cell,’ said Griffin. ‘I want to talk to him.’

22

Tucker McKenzie was working his way through the Kernigan residence, but had so far found nothing to suggest that Donna Lee might have been abducted from her home. Still, he had dusted for prints, and suggested to Naylor possible avenues for investigation, although it was Naylor himself who spotted the obvious.

‘Where’s her school bag?’ he asked.

He was right: there was no trace of Donna Lee’s bag. If she had returned home at any point over the weekend, the bag should have been in the house, teenage girls, in Naylor’s experience, being reluctant to carry textbooks around unnecessarily; and the small desk in Donna Lee’s bedroom, at which she presumably studied, bore no traces of schoolwork.

Colson was already at Hindman High. Naylor called and asked her to check if Donna Lee had been carrying her school bag when last seen. Colson said she’d get him back to him, which she did five minutes later.

‘She had the bag with her,’ she said.

It was therefore possible that Donna Lee Kernigan had never returned home following band practice, making it all the more important to identify the driver of the truck that picked her up.

Which was precisely what Colson was currently attempting to do.

The three girls seated before her had all been crying, but one had obviously been crying more than the others. Her name was Vernia Crane. Her eyes were swollen, and she clasped a wad of tissues in her left hand so that they resembled, to Colson’s eye, a white flower. The two remaining girls, Lashaye Jenkins and Shari Hill, looked nervous and sad, but Crane’s grief was of another magnitude entirely. According to the school, and the three girls themselves, they had been Donna Lee Kernigan’s closest friends.

Colson started slowly, asking about their routine that morning, and how and when they’d heard about Donna Lee’s death. She then progressed to the nature of their friendship with the deceased girl, how long they’d known her, and the kind of person she was. Colson was gentle throughout, permitting them the latitude to digress, trying to keep the conversation as informal as possible under the circumstances. Crane spoke less than her peers, but contributed when questioned directly. Gradually Colson worked her way around to Friday band practice, at which two of the girls, Crane and Hill, had been in attendance. Colson asked if Donna Lee had appeared troubled or distressed that day or earlier in the week. Had her behavior changed lately?

At this, Crane reacted. It was the slightest of responses – a tensing, a movement of the eyes – but Colson picked up on it, and she thought the other girls did too. Colson didn’t immediately pursue it, though, and instead asked if any of them had been present when Donna Lee was collected by the truck on Friday evening. All three said they’d left before Donna Lee, which had already been confirmed by the music teacher, but already it was clear that the dynamic in the room had altered. Whatever Colson might learn, it would have to come from Vernia Crane. Colson tossed a few more softball questions, and received assurances that none of them had seen or heard from Donna Lee since Friday, before thanking them for their time and informing them that they could leave.

But as they stood to go, Colson asked Crane to remain for a moment. Crane visibly sagged, like a prisoner who had, for an instant, believed she might yet escape the gallows. She returned to her chair, but kept her eyes on the floor.

‘How close were you and Donna Lee?’

‘We were best friends,’ said Crane.

‘Were you closer to her than Shari and Lashaye were?’

‘I guess.’

‘Did you share a lot?’

Crane nodded.

‘Everything?’

‘No, not everything.’

‘What things didn’t you share?’

‘Stuff.’

‘You must know, Vernia, that we’re anxious to speak with whoever was driving that truck. The driver may have been the last person to see Donna Lee alive.’

She didn’t add that the driver might also have killed Donna Lee. She didn’t have to, because Vernia would have to be dim-witted not to have come to that conclusion without help, but neither did Colson wish to voice an accusation that might cause Crane to protect this unknown party.

‘I know that,’ said Crane.

‘Then do you also know who was driving the truck?’

She shook her head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘I wasn’t implying that you were,’ said Colson, although she kind of was. ‘But if you even had a suspicion, or a thought of who it might be, that would be a help.’

Crane assembled and disassembled the tissue rose in her hand. She had very long fingers. According to the music teacher, she was already a skillful pianist, helped by an analytical mind and a natural inquisitiveness.

‘It only started recently,’ she said at last.

‘What started recently? A relationship?’

‘Yes.’

‘How recently?’

‘A couple of weeks. Might be a month.’

‘Was it sexual?’

‘I think so. Donna Lee talked about being on the pill. The guy didn’t like to use rubbers.’

‘And this relationship, was it with the driver of the truck?’