“Damn right, Detective. You’re stuck with an unsolved crime that you’re trying to pin on a villain that’s into moon worship.”
She snorted with contempt, then turned to Beth. “Your true crime TV show is about to air a program that’s pure fiction. That presents you with a problem, too, doesn’t it? For the next few days, you two are gonna be awful busy. Now, get out of my house.”
She left the room, went to the front door and pulled it open, then slammed it behind them as they crossed the threshold.
Without a word being spoken between them, they got into the car. John drove to a municipal recreational complex where he parked facing a sodden soccer field dotted with puddles of rainwater.
Staring out across it, he said, “When we were talking to Carla about Billy’s difficulties in school, why didn’t she tell us then? Why did she let us go on about the moon, etcetera, then smugly play the dyslexia like a winning ace?”
“She wanted to hit us hard with it.”
“Which is probably the only reason she allowed us inside.”
“Maybe,” Beth said, “but I think she wanted us to know about Billy so we would keep looking for the real culprit.”
“Then why didn’t she just come right out and say so?”
“Not her way.”
“You’ve got that right.” His desolation obvious, he stared through the rain-streaked windshield. “Doesn’t matter how she told us. What am I going to do with this new information? Somebody wrote that confession and made certain it would be found on Billy.”
“Tom Barker.”
“He wouldn’t have done it himself.”
“If he orchestrated it, he’s as good as guilty of doing it.”
“Absolutely, but if I go barging into headquarters hurling accusations, he’ll have me arrested on the spot for reconfiguring his nose.”
“Skip him, then. Go to the top of the food chain.”
“The superintendent?” He grimaced. “That would be dicey. He was pissed over my bad-mouthing during that investigation, and Barker has further soured him on me.”
“What about someone in the DA’s office?”
“First thing they’d ask is, ‘Where’s your evidence?’ I don’t have any. All I have is a picture of the confession. The real one, if it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared, might have some forensic evidence on it, but it’s locked up in the evidence room, and I can’t even get into the building.
“The dyslexia is hearsay, told to me by a woman whose bitterness against the PD is well documented. Nothing Carla told us can be corroborated. To a prosecutor it would look like my allegations are payback for Barker’s firing me.”
“Then what do you intend to do?”
“Keep going at it but stay off Barker’s radar for as long as I can. Even now he’ll have hounds like the ogre trying to sniff me out.” He paused, then added, “I’m afraid Carla could catch some blowback.”
“From Barker?”
“Up till now, he’s considered her an outspoken pest, but if he finds out she knows about Billy’s dyslexia and the fraudulent confession, she’ll be elevated to a threat.”
“What could he do to her?”
“When he’s backed against a wall, and his position is at stake? I hazard to think what he’d do. She’s a scorpion with a nasty sting, but who could blame her? Her daughter disappeared without a trace.
“I know what it feels like to have a child missing for just a few days. Even a few hours is more torture than any parent should have to endure. Carla is far from my favorite person, but I don’t want to cause her any more hardship.”
This coming from the man Beth had accused of having no feelings for anyone or anything. She wished she could take back those harsh words. She wished she could advise him, but she didn’t see a way out of his conundrum, either.
Besides, as Carla had cited, she had a problem of her own. “I can’t sit on this and let that program be aired next week. I need to consult with Max on how we should approach Winston Brady with the bad news that the episode will have to be revised or scrapped altogether. Either way, Brady isn’t going to be happy. He’ll probably want to shoot the messenger. Moi.”
“Make your call. I’m going to get some air.” He opened his car door.
“It’s raining.”
“I won’t melt. Honk if you need me.” He got out, flipped up his hood, and started walking across the soccer field unmindful of the puddles.
She got Max’s voice mail and left a message, telling him that she was all right but that there’d been a rather startling development. “It’s a game changer, so call me back as soon as you can.” She also sent him a text to that effect.
On the far side of the field, John was walking along the sideline, a phone to his ear. Raising the hood on her rain jacket, she got out and jogged across the field. He saw her coming and ended his call. When she got close, he asked, “What did Longren say?”
“I couldn’t reach him and tried not to sound too frantic on his voice mail. I considered calling Richard, but I don’t trust him not to raise a hue and cry throughout the production office.” She gestured at his phone. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody’s answering. I left messages for Roberts and Cougar, telling them about Billy.”
“What do you think they will take from that?”
“If they’re smart, the same thing I take from it. If Billy is ruled out as the perp here—and I think that’s safe to say—it’s an even greater likelihood that we’re all looking for the same unidentified suspect. For the hell of it, I also called Gayle Morris in Galveston and left her the same message.”
Beth fell into step with him as he resumed pacing. “What are you thinking?”
“I’ve been running through the list of people Barker could have either bribed or coerced to write that confession and plant it on Billy to be easily found.”