Blood in the Water(50)

“You’re gonna let me do most of the talkin’.” Byron checked his reflection on a steel gurney as though making sure he was still handsome.

All this lying was awkward anyway. “Fine, I’ll go along with it.”

Minutes later, a diminutive older woman walked into the room, who looked like she was nearing a hundred. She wore blue scrubs and a matching cap. Her gray hair was gathered up in a bun at the base of her neck, and her keen brown eyes were big and bright. Deep wrinkles lined either side of her mouth and wore a path between her gray tufted eyebrows.

She walked up to Byron, placed the tortoiseshell glasses on the end of her snub nose from the silver chain around her neck, and inspected him like another body on her table.

“Who the hell are ya and whatcha doin’ here, pretty boy?”

Her bedside manner suited her vocation.

“I’m Byron Beauregard, ma’am, and this here’s Jane. You must be Doc Wilkins?”

“I am. What’s it to ya?”

He held out his hand to shake hers. After hesitating a second, she shook it, and there must’ve been something disgusting on the doctor’s latex-gloved hand because he grimaced and glanced down at his palm.

Doc held her hand out to Jane and she shook her head.

“Don’t make me ask what you want again.”

“We’re here about the Betsy Spellman case—happened about a decade ago. Remember it?”

“’Course I do.” She snorted. “Hard to forget. We don’t get many murders in this town, especially such a grisly one. Why do you want to know?” Doc walked to the gurney and grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray.

Jane averted her eyes. “I’m doing some research.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged. “It’s a matter of public record anyhow.”

“What happened?” Jane asked.

“It was a busy time—Fourth of July weekend, and we had a crap-ton of tourists. Who gets married on a holiday weekend? That’s just rude. Not to mention, three idiots blowed themselves up with fireworks. I’ve never seen such a—”

“About the murder, ma’am…?” Byron interrupted.

“Right. The body was found lying on the rocks at the north end of the lake. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Her throat had been slashed, the blood drained out of her body.”

“Any other particulars?”

“Oh, yeah, the perp took the time to dress her in a white bathing suit cover-up.”

It sounded an awful lot like Valentine’s modus operandi, only a quicker, dirtier version. She exchanged a look with Byron. Clearly, he thought the same thing.

“Any DNA evidence?”

“Ain’t got the fundin’ for forensics in a county this small, but there was evidence she’d had sexual intercourse—tissue trauma. Couldn’t say whether or not she’d been forced, and the semen was probably washed away by the lake water.” Doc made an incision into the corpse’s belly.

Jane swayed on her feet and shut her eyes. So much for an easy case. She’d been hoping they’d find some DNA evidence from a cold case and she could tip off the FBI without any fuss.

“Besides, we already caught the killer.”

Jane hadn’t expected that, but then again she hadn’t specified unsolved murders, when she spoke to Skeeter.

“Who’s in jail for the crime?” Because Jane doubted he’d killed Betsy.

“It was the Valentines’ handyman, Benjamin Jessup. He’s on death row as we speak. Justice system moves too slow if you ask me. Jessup’s a piece of trash who should’ve been executed sooner. At least it’s all comin’ to an end—his execution date’s set for the end of this month.”

Byron sighed as though he could read her thoughts. A trip to the federal prison was in the works.

Now it wasn’t only justice for Valentine’s victims as well as her safety and career on the line.

An innocent man’s life also hung in the balance.


***

“I got some good news and bad.”

After they’d finished speaking with the coroner, Jane and Byron went back to the hotel. She sat on the ridiculously white gauzy bed with her laptop open, in the middle of a Skype session with Vick.

Jane braced herself. “Tell me the bad part first.”

“First off, Oscar Valentine is a real son of a biscuit. The perv had cameras in every room, and all of them were active from what I can tell.” She wrinkled her nose. “And seriously, who watches people usin’ the potty? Yuck.”

“I expect he was more interested in bath time.” Byron sat next to her on the bed.

In all likelihood, he’d been watching her undress for months. Jane closed her eyes and tried to suppress a renewed wave of revulsion.