Fifteen

The next morning, I was all set to start interviewing parents of miscreants, but by the time I got back from the Y, helped Burke get set up, took a shower, and got dressed, it was too late even to consider such a thing (okay, so it was 9:30, but I just couldn’t think of a way to do this gracefully). Freelancers are without question the finest, most diligent procrastinators on the planet.

Still, there were at least two other mysteries to be solved, and one of them was actually a paying job, so I called Lydia Soriano at Snapdragon to keep the boss happy. That was easier said than done.

“I called over the weekend, Aaron, and today is Wednesday,” she said grumpily. “Couldn’t you have called sooner?”

“I was away in Washington, actually doing interviews for the story,” I told her. “My wife doesn’t let me check in for messages while we’re away.”

She laughed. “Well, she’s a wise woman. What have you found out so far?”

I filled her in on my minute progress, and told her about the hair and the gathering I had organized for the evening. “At the very least, I figure I can get the guys to talk about what Legs was like in the old days,” I said.

“It’s decent background,” she said. “But if I want to get it into an issue that’s going to be at all relevant to the event, you’re going to have to write something soon, Aaron.”

“How soon?”

“Like, Monday.” I believe something akin to a sharp intake of breath took place on my end of the phone. “Okay,” I breathed.

“It’s been over a month since the assignment,” Lydia reminded me. “I know I haven’t been breathing down your neck, but if I hold this much later than the January issue, it’s going to be such old news that my readers will wonder why we ran it at all.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “But does there have to be a solution to the mystery in the article?”

I have no idea what Lydia Soriano looks like, so the image of a woman pursing her lips in thought is probably just conjecture. Besides, the woman looked a little like Abigail.

“I don’t want to press you for it, Aaron, since any arrests will hit the papers long before we run a story, but if we run a story that doesn’t at least speculate on who killed Gibson, and arrests are made in the interim, we’re going to look awfully foolish.”

“Okay, Lydia. I’m close. Really. I’ll have something for you Monday.”

“Thanks, Aaron. And, if this works out, there may be more we can do in the future.” We hung up.

Four days to unravel Legs Gibson’s murder, and all I had was a hair from a dead man and a whole lot of missing money.

Piece of cake.

Not that I had any idea what to do, but a piece of cake sounded like a good idea. I walked into the kitchen in search of one before I remembered that Preston Burke was watching through my front window, and used him as an imaginary diet cop to stop myself from becoming obese. It was even too early in the morning for a Diet Coke. Luckily for me, the phone rang.

Lucille Purell Watkins had a Texas twang that could snap a rubber band. And if it was 9:45 a.m. where I was sitting, it was 8:45 where she was, so the slurred words and thick pronunciations that come with drinking were even more jarring than they normally would be.

“Is this Mr. Aaron Tucker?”

“Last time I checked.”

“This is Lucille Watkins. I’m Branford Purell’s sister.” At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. I activated my tape recorder as quickly as I could, but even after multiple subsequent listenings, Lucille was not easy to decipher.

“Mrs. Watkins, thank you for calling back.”

“You can call me Lucille. But I don’t understan’ why you’re calling me about my brother, Mr. Tucker. He’s been gone for seven year’.”

“I know, Lucille. I’m writing a story about someone else for Snapdragon Magazine, and your brother’s name came up, so I need some background on him. And you can call me Aaron.”

I got up and started to pace, which is a habit I have whenever the call I’m on is not routine, or I have to be on my best behavior. Like when my mother calls.

“I don’t know what I can tell ya, Aaron. My brother was a bad guy who killed some women and paid the price for it.” Lucille was nothing if not to the point.

“Well, tell me. Did he ever mention a man by the name of Louis Gibson?”

“No. He did know a Marvin Gibson, I think. Worked in the Mobil station on Route. . .”

“I don’t think that was him, Lucille. Did Branford ever go to Washington, D.C.? Ever give any money to political causes, get involved in groups against abortion, anything like that?” Okay, so I was grasping at straws. I was hanging by a hair, literally.

“No, sir. I don’t think Branford even noticed there was politics. Only time he ever joined anything was when he joined the gun club, and I think that was just to meet girls.” I did my very best not to speculate on the kind of girls one meets at the gun club, and pressed on.

“How did Branford make a living after the oil rig shut down?” I asked. “That must have been tough.”

Lucille took a long pause, which I initially thought was reflection. After repeated playings of the tape, I finally discerned a long pull on a bottle of some beverage. From the burp that followed, I’d guess beer.

“Well, it was rough,” she agreed. “He never really held a steady job after that. Just bummed around, picked up money doing odd construction work, but there wasn’t much of that, either. He actually sold his blood a couple of times for medical research at a lab near here. Then, he just took to driving around, and as it turned out, to shooting people.”

“Can you imagine why DNA evidence would surface that suggests your brother was in a Washington, D.C. apartment a little over a month ago?”

This time, the pause was out of sheer confusion. “Did I hear you right? There’s DNA of Branford in Washington last month?”

“I can’t be sure, but that is the indication.” I was still pacing, and I’m willing to bet Lucille was on her feet, too.

“I can’t tell you, Aaron,” she said. “I saw the man fry more than seven years ago, with my own eyes. If he was in Washington last month, it’s only because he rose from the dead, and I don’t think that’s all that likely.”

“No, ma’am,” I said.