Chapter 45

A freezing downpour bombarded the city. In typical Atlanta fashion, that meant everyone, from natives to area transplants to visitors, suddenly forgot how to drive. Joshua found himself mired in traffic on I-75/I-85 South, barely a mile removed from downtown, an ocean of red tail lights surrounding him.

He swore under his breath. A traffic update on the radio told of a major accident a couple of miles ahead that had resulted in the closure of three out of the six interstate highway lanes. He could try to take surface streets to bypass the wreck, but in circumstances like this, about a thousand other drivers usually had the same notion, guaranteeing gridlock at every turn.

He sighed. He was going to be stuck in his SUV for a while.

As he inched forward, windshield wipers ticking across the glass, he reflected on his conversation with LaVosha. I can tell you that Rachel loves her property dearly. It’s been . . . a part of her for a very long time. A profound remark, yet he had no idea what she could be talking about. He felt that he should, however; it was as though the gears of his brain had locked up, inhibiting him from reaching the revelation that danced around the border of his thoughts.

Maybe the answer would pop into his mind later that day. As a graphic artist, he’d learned that inspiration could be cajoled and encouraged, but never forced. He had to give his subconscious a chance to work out the solution, though he was eager to get to the bottom of things, once and for all. He felt as if time were running out.

To distract himself, he switched to a music station. “This Christmas,” by Donnie Hathaway, was playing. It was Rachel’s favorite holiday song. Such a hard knot formed in his throat that he had to change the channel to talk radio.

A half hour later, while Joshua was still swimming in the traffic swamp, Eddie called his cell.

“Hey, man,” Eddie said. “Got some answers for you.”

“That was fast. What’d you find out?”

“Joy—I mean, Rachel—married Bates seven years ago, in Chi-town. She filed for divorce four years ago, after he was convicted of trying to kill her with a knife.”

The image of the scar curving around Rachel’s left side flashed through Joshua’s mind. An accident, she had said. His suspicions of the truth had been correct.

“What else?” Joshua asked.

“Her real maiden name is Williams—Hall, the name she was using when you met her, was her mom’s maiden name. And Rachel is her middle name, like her friend said. She was born in a suburb of Chicago called Waukegan, but grew up in Zion, another ‘burb. She went to high school there, got her cosmetology license in Illinois. She was twenty-three when she married Bates.”

“Pretty young,” Joshua said. “Still, I wonder what attracted her to him? The guy’s obviously an asshole.”

“But he was successful. Used to be a hotshot attorney at a corporate law firm in downtown Chicago. Although Rachel doesn’t seem like the type of woman who’d be drawn to someone because of his money—I mean, she married you.”

“Very funny.” Joshua smiled briefly. “You find out anything on her family . . . or children?”

“No record of any kids,” Eddie said, and Joshua let out a grateful sigh.

“Her parents have been deceased for a while, too,” Eddie said. “Didn’t she tell you that?”

“She did, yeah.” At least she hadn’t lied about everything in her background.

“But I think Bates murdered a relative of hers a couple of days ago.”

“What?”

“I found a news story that ran in the Zion area paper. Betty Leonard, an elderly black woman, was found dead in her home. Butchered.”

“Jesus.” Joshua shivered. “I remember Thad saying that he was sending money to an aunt Betty, for Rachel.”

“Sounds like Bates got to her, then. Sick motherfucker.”

It explained Rachel’s mournful mood the afternoon that she had left. It explained Tanisha’s account of Rachel abruptly leaving the salon, teary-eyed.

Most of all, it explained why Rachel had run away. If Bates had murdered her aunt, she rightly believed that her own life, and the life of their child, was in jeopardy.

Rachel, why didn’t you tell me?

“Bates was named as a person of interest in the investigation,” Eddie said. “The cops in Illinois have been searching for him. Both you and I know he’s probably already in ATL.”

Joshua looked warily at the cars around him, as if he would see Bates behind the wheel of one of the vehicles, slyly watching him. He wished that he had brought the gun with him, the hell with breaking the law.

“Did you find any records of Rachel owning property here?”

“None,” Eddie said. “It’s possible that if she owns a place, it’s held in a trust, which would keep her identity concealed from publicly accessible court records. With the all the trouble she’s gone through to hide from Bates, I think she’d take a precaution like that.”

“I agree. But I don’t know how Bates could find us. He forced Thad to tell him that she was in Atlanta, but I think that’s all he knows.”

“Yeah, and?”

“According to the records you found, her real maiden name is Williams. But when I met her, her last name was Hall, which you said was her mom’s maiden name. I think she legally changed her name—I know for a fact that her SSN is tied to Hall.”

“Bates may be a psycho, Josh, but he’s no fool,” Eddie said. “He’s got a law degree, man. He’d know how to do research to find out whatever he needs to know. Don’t underestimate this dude.”

“Good point.”

“Honestly, dawg, I think it’s time for us to give up the amateur detective work and call the pros. The cops need to take this guy down before he gets any closer to you or Rachel.”

“I’ll call the cops when I get home. I’m stuck in traffic right now.”

“Figures. Nothing worse than driving around ATL in the rain. Some houses over here have lost power. Winter’s finally here.”

“Thanks for everything, Eddie. I’ll call you later.”

“Be careful. I’m not a psychic, but I have a really bad feeling about Bates. Anyone who would kill an elderly lady . . . well, he’s one cold-blooded motherfucker.”

“I’ll be fine,” Joshua said, but his assurance sounded empty, even to himself. The truth, which he would never admit to anyone, was that he was scared. The swagger he’d projected that morning to Eddie had departed, and he was left with only a cold dread coagulating in the pit of his stomach like a ball of ice.

Almost an hour later, Joshua finally turned into his subdivision. Although it was only a few minutes past noon, the storm had brought a premature twilight, which normally triggered the community’s streetlamps. But the lights were dead. A power line must have been down somewhere in the vicinity.

He pulled into his driveway. The rain was coming down in sheets. He hit the remote control button to open the garage door, but nothing happened. His home was without power, too.

He would have to go inside through the front door.