The Root of Murder Page 20

  Both Joshua and Hunter were silent.

  “I didn’t think so.” Sheriff Sawyer handed the report back to Hunter.

  “Is the Ellison car still around?” Joshua asked.

  “If it is, it’s probably out at the impound yard,” the sheriff said.

  “Maybe if we take a good look at it, we’ll be able to find some—” Hunter said.

  “Elizabeth stated that Lindsay drove her to the park that evening,” the sheriff said. “So if you find any evidence that she was in the car, she’ll simply say she left it there on the way to the park.”

  “You’ll never know what you might find if you don’t look,” Joshua said.

  “Knock yourselves out,” Sheriff Sawyer said.

  Cameron turned into the apartment complex directly behind Tony’s cruiser. They parked next to each other in the visitors’ lot. Lieutenant Parks’s car and an additional marked sheriff deputy’s cruiser took up two other spaces.

  Cameron greeted Tony with a nod of her head. Beyond him, she saw Ross Bayles strapping down a rolled up carpet in the bed of his pickup truck.

  When the apartment manager saw the police, he waved to them. “Back again?”

  Lieutenant Parks took the search warrant from his coat pocket as the group made their way toward him. “Mr. Bayles, we’ve got a warrant to search your office, apartment, and vehicles.” He held the warrant out for him to examine.

  Ross took the papers. “Why would I have wanted to hurt Moore?”

  “Not you,” Cameron said. “Your wife. Brenda. Back forty years ago, her sixteen-year-old boyfriend and she robbed a convenience store in Canfield. One of them shot and killed the clerk. Her boyfriend testified against her—saying that she pulled the trigger. Because of him, she spent seven years in jail for second-degree murder.”

  “We got the court to unseal the records,” Lieutenant Parks said. “Her boyfriend’s name was Bishop Moore.”

  “But then, you already knew that,” Cameron said. “The night we searched Moore’s apartment, you told us that Bishop Moore was from Canfield. Yet, nowhere on his apartment paperwork did Bishop Moore indicate that he was from Canfield. Your wife recognized the name and she told you that he was the one who sold her out forty years ago.”

  “Yeah, I knew all about Bishop Moore.” Ross jerked his thumb in the direction of the apartment where Davis had been killed. “But that guy wasn’t the same Bishop Moore. That bum was killed years ago. Some drunk ran their truck over him.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know her former boyfriend was dead,” Tony said.

  “Nah, she knew. She was the one who told me about it.”

  Lieutenant Parks gestured for Ross to open the office door. “We’ll be wanting to interview your wife.”

  Ross’s face turned red. “She’s gone. Had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

  “If she’s at the doctor’s office, what are you doing here?” Cameron asked. “She certainly couldn’t have taken herself.”

  “A friend.” Ross cast quick glances at Tony and one of the deputies moving toward the back of the truck. The deputy carried a forensics kit to search for physical evidence.

  Cameron bit her tongue to keep from expressing doubt about Brenda Bayles having a friend to take her to the doctor’s office.

  Ross wiped his brow, which was drenched in sweat despite the bitterly cold day. “Listen. I’ll be the first to admit that my wife is a psychopath. She killed a man and spent time in prison. She came out crazier than she was when she went in. Whatever she did to Moore, I had no part of. I work hard to make an honest day’s pay. I have to get this carpet over to a unit on the other side of the complex now or the installers are going to leave and then it’ll be a bear trying to get them back.”

  “You can leave after we search your truck.” Lieutenant Parks instructed the deputy to start with the bed of the truck.

  “For what?”

  “Whoever dumped the victim’s body in Hookstown left tire tracks in the mud. Forensics cast impressions of them.” Cameron circled the truck while examining the tires. “Based on the tread marks, our forensics people told us that we’re looking for a full-sized truck or SUV.” She rounded the front of the truck.

  “Okay, if you insist. I need my phone to call the tenant to let him know that I’m gonna be late.” Ross yanked open the driver’s side door.

  Cameron stepped toward the open driver’s door. As she approached, she saw Ross reach under the seat. She noticed that his phone was in a case on his belt. She saw the handle of the pistol as he pulled the weapon out. “Gun!” she screamed while yanking her weapon from the holster on her hip. She jumped back, brought her foot up and delivered a kick to the door. The door slammed against Ross Bayles.

  Before he was hit against the door frame, Ross managed to fire one shot at the sheriff deputy crouching in front of his open forensics case. The deputy went down with a bullet to the chest. Tony ducked behind the rear of the truck.

  The door was still between Cameron and Ross Bayles. Stunned, he fumbled on his knees to get a firm grip on the gun. He intended to go down fighting. She threw her full weight against the door. The door hit Ross in the head. As he fell, Cameron held him against the door frame.

  Seeing that Cameron had him pinned, Lieutenant Parks ran around and aimed his gun at Ross’s head. “Drop the gun, Bayles!”

  Wedged between the door and the seat of the truck, Ross seemed to consider firing his weapon again.

  “I said drop it! I will shoot you!” the police lieutenant shouted at him.

  His eyes wide, Ross dropped the pistol to the ground.

  While Cameron kicked the dropped weapon out of reach, Parks shoved Ross to the ground and handcuffed him.

  “How’s the deputy?” Cameron ran over to where Tony was knelt over the deputy sprawled out on the ground.

  “Wind was knocked out of him,” Tony said. “The ballistics vest took the full force of the bullet.

  Gasping for his breath, the deputy peeled his hands away to reveal the bullet hole. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  “If you weren’t wearing that vest, it would have left a whole lot more than a mark,” Cameron said.

  Lieutenant Parks joined them once his other deputy took charge of placing Ross Bayles in the back of their cruiser. “I guess we finally got our man.”

  “He didn’t want us searching this truck.” Cameron looked in the back of the truck. The only thing inside was the rolled-up carpet.

  “Because he used this truck to dump Davis’s body and knows that we’ll find forensic evidence to prove it once we examine it,” Tony said.

  “I don’t believe Brenda Bayles has any friends.” Cameron tested the weight of the carpet and found it extremely heavy. “Help me pull this out.”

  Together, the three of them pulled the carpet from the truck and unrolled it. As they did so, Brenda Bayles’s lifeless body tumbled out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Madison arrived at the old-fashioned coffee-shop before Heather. Unlike the trendy crowded one on the other side of the shopping plaza, they preferred the one that was inexpensive, something the two young women just starting out needed. The diner had greasy food, plastic booths, and fast service.

  She took a corner booth and ordered two bottled waters and grilled chicken Caesar salads. While waiting, she recalled a previous lunch at the same diner.

  Was it really less than a month ago?

  She was the one who had suggested to the mysterious sister that they meet there. It would have been too easy for them to miss each other in the crowd at the other coffee shop.

  Madison was surprised that her sister knew precisely which diner she was suggesting. “I don’t live far from there at all,” she had written in her email.

  The thought had crossed Madison’s mind that she could have met her sister without knowing it. It
was definitely a possibility in the rural tri-state area.

  She racked her brain trying to figure out not only who her half-sibling could be, but also her mother’s identity. The existence of a half-sibling meant her father had been unfaithful to her mother. That reality rendered Madison numb.

  After getting over the initial shock, she thought over what she had seen of her parents’ marriage. They were a loving family. Physically demonstrative of their affection. Madison’s memory was filled with images of her parents constantly hugging and kissing each other. When in a room together, her mother always had a hand on her father, stroking him. Holding his hand. Sometimes, she would simply rest her hand on his arm.

  During her adolescence, Madison would be embarrassed by how affectionate they were in public.

  Maybe, Madison concluded, they had been in the middle of a trial separation during which her father had a brief relationship with another woman.

  Discretely, Madison had asked her mother if she and her father ever had any problems during their marriage. After a hearty laugh, Sherry replied with a firm, “No. Why do you ask?”

  Madison said she was just wondering what the secret was to a happy marriage.

  “Trust,” her mother answered. “Complete trust.”

  At that all-important meeting, Madison instantly recognized Heather Davis when she walked in.

  Figures, my archenemy shows up just as I’m about to meet dad’s love child. What a sure way for it to get all over the Ohio Valley.

  Heather recognized her, too. Seeing Madison, she came to a halt and looked around the diner. Madison prayed she’d sit on the other side of the restaurant—far out of earshot.

  It seemed like an answer to her prayers when Heather turned on her heels and went to a booth in the opposite corner. With her back to Madison, she faced the door.

  They sat—both staring at the door.

  The minutes ticked by.

  With dread, Madison recalled that the Heather in the email had said that she had long brunette hair.

  Heather Davis had long brunette hair.

  Her half-sister was the same age as she.

  Heather Davis was her age.

  Their meeting was twelve noon.

  Heather Davis came in at twelve noon on the dot.

  The flush rose from her chest, up her neck, to her cheeks.

  Is it possible? No, it can’t be! Heather’s dad is a big shot at the nuclear power plant. Her mother is a refined lady—super mom. Dad have an affair with Kathleen Davis? In his dreams!

  “Excuse me.”

  Madison jumped in her seat.

  There she was. Heather Davis standing over her. That arrogant expression that Madison recalled from years before was gone. It was replaced with—what?

  “Madison,”—she paused to lick her lips—“are you here to meet …”—she swallowed—“your sister?”

  “Are you …”

  Yep, it was humility on Heather Davis’s face. It looked so strange there.

  Madison nodded her head. “That would be me. You?”

  Heather nodded her head.

  Together they regarded each other in silence—their memories flooding with slights, insults, and fights over clothes, boys, and dance competitions from long ago.

  “Now what do we do?” Heather asked.

  Madison slipped out of the booth. “We hug it out and start all over, sister.” She wrapped her arms around Heather and held her tight until she relented and hugged her back.

  From that moment on, the past was gone.

  A new relationship of sisterhood was born.

  If they had been shocked numb by the news that they were half-sisters—the shock was heightened with the realization that their relationship was not so much the result of infidelity on their father’s part but a seemingly well-organized life of bigamy.

  “Hey, sis!” Heather snapped her fingers in front of Madison’s face to jolt her out of her memories. “You were a thousand miles away.” She slid into the other side of the booth and took her laptop out of her briefcase. “Wait until you see what I’ve done.” She opened her laptop.

  When the server arrived with their lunch. Madison waited for her to leave before she said in a soft voice, “I was just thinking about Mom and Dad. She’s still hanging onto the hope that he’s alive. It’s going to be bad enough finding out that he’s been murdered, but to find out that he had a whole second family ….” Her voice trailed off. “She’s going to be heartbroken.”

  “Dad loved your mom,” Heather said in a strong voice. “He loved you.”

  “You say that like he didn’t love your mom.”

  “He did go off and marry another woman and start a family with her,” Heather said.

  “Why would he have stayed with your mom and go to all that trouble of setting up a half-way place and going back and forth if he didn’t want to be with her,” Madison said. “He told us. He loved both families the same amount and couldn’t leave either one.”

  “Even if Mom is OCD.” Heather dragged her eyes from the laptop to look at Madison. “Everyone loves your mom.”

  “That’s not true. Mom is loud and uncouth.”

  “You could hear her laugh all throughout that dance studio when she was there.”

  “Like I said, she’s loud. I could be so mortified by her.”

  “We were both mortified by our mothers,” Heather said. “Your mother just naturally makes everyone smile when they’re around her.” She pointed to herself. “My mom scares the crap out of them. The woman goes through three admin assistants a year.”

  “Maybe she’s tough because she feels like she has to be,” Madison said. “Obviously, Dad needed someone to keep him in line. That someone definitely isn’t my mom. Every year, she has to file for an extension on her income tax because she forgets to do them.”

  “I remember once when Mom and I walked into Miss Charlotte’s studio. Your mom was in the middle of singing with—what was her name?” She snapped her fingers. “Rosie! Linda’s mom. Remember that! Your mom was cleaning up some sort of mess that some kid had made in the reception area. She had the vacuum cleaner and was singing that song from Mrs. Doubtfire.”

  “That scene where Robin Williams was dressed up like Mrs. Doubtfire and vacuuming the floor to Aerosmith’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’!” Madison laughed.

  “Everyone was doubled over crying they were laughing so hard! Rosie and your mom were dancing with the vacuum cleaner! I thought it was so cool that your mother knew all of the words to that song.”

  Madison sighed. “I was horrified.”

  “My mom thought it was disgraceful that your mother dancing and singing that song in front of innocent children.”

  “Why would she think that?” Madison asked.

  “Our family had a certain reputation to maintain,” Heather said. “I think Dad liked being with your mother because she allowed him to take off his mask—to be who he really wanted to be. He could enjoy life.” She sighed. “There isn’t a lot of joy in our house—especially since Lindsay …” Her voice trailed off.

  Together, they ate in silence. Madison studied Heather’s sad expression. She always turned quiet when Lindsay came up.

  “Why did you take dance lessons?” Madison asked.

  “Why not?”

  “You were already a cheerleading captain,” Madison said.

  Heather corrected her. “Co-captain. Mom was very disappointed that I had to share that with Tracy Thornton.”

  “Student council. Newspaper. All of these things—and always at the top. You didn’t need dance for your college resume. Why take it?”

  “Because I like to dance,” Heather said. “How’s that for a reason?”

  “Did you really? Do you dance now?”

  “I haven’t danced in years.”

  �
��At what point did it stop being fun?”

  “When you started beating my butt in competition.”

  “Dancing isn’t meant to be a competitive sport,” Madison said. “Dancing is about letting the music take over your body to move you—like the way Aerosmith took over my mother that night. When you allow that to happen—then it can create a complete feeling of joy like no other. That’s not competition. That’s art.”

  Heather stared at Madison, who turned her attention to her salad. “I don’t remember ever feeling anything like what you’re describing.”

  “Because everything in your life has always been about being number one. That makes it work,” Madison said. “That’s why you kept coming in second in dance competitions. Your technique was perfect—every time. Every step. But you were so focused on technique that you weren’t enjoying it—and the judges could see that. I heard the judges say time and time again that your technique was perfect, but there was something missing. They couldn’t see what it was, but I could. You were missing the joy that comes with loving what you’re doing. If you had just loosened up to enjoy the routine, then you would have blown me out of the water.”

  “Is that why you left New York?” Heather asked. “The competition took the joy out of dance?”

  “I can’t even say when it started. I was living in a dumpy apartment with five other dancers. Everyone was taking pills to keep their energy up to take lessons all day long. Waiting tables or tending bars at night—all so that we could be professional dancers. It was all about the dance. Then, one day, I was at yet another audition. I had danced my heart out that day. The choreographer told me that everything was perfect. My leaps were the highest. My turns were right on point.” She kissed her fingertips. “Perfect-o!” She uttered a sarcastic giggle. “Then, he told me that my breasts were too small.” She took a bite of her salad. “I was out.”

  “You didn’t get the job because your breasts were too small?”

  “A few minutes later, I got a call from my agent. He said this was not the first choreographer who had said that. He suggested that I get implants. Told me that I would be guaranteed to get more jobs if I did that. He knew a doctor who could do it right away and give me an artists’ discount.”