Wickner took a plaid handkerchief out of his pocket. He unfolded it slowly and wiped his nose as if he were buffing a fender. Then he folded it up again and put it back in his pocket. “I didn’t like what I saw,” he said. “So I ran over to Roy and told him we had to stop it. Roy said, how would we explain even being here? What would we say, that we were helping Bradford cover up a smaller crime? He was right, of course. There was nothing we could do. So I went back to the end of the corridor. Sam was back in the room by now. I heard him using a vacuum. He took his time and cleaned the entire room. I kept telling myself it was no big deal. She was just a black woman from Newark. Hell, they all did drugs, right? And she was gorgeous. Probably partying with one of the Bradford boys and it got out of hand. Maybe she OD’d. Maybe Sam was going to take her someplace and get her some help and give her money. Just like he said. So I watched Sam finish cleaning up. I saw him get in the car. And I saw him drive away with Chance Bradford.”
“Chance?” Myron repeated. “Chance Bradford was there?”
“Yes. Chance was the boy in trouble.” Wickner sat back. He stared at the gun. “And that’s the end of my tale, Myron.”
“Wait a second. Anita Slaughter checked into that hotel with her daughter. Did you see her there?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea where Brenda is now?”
“She probably got tangled up with the Bradfords. Like her mother.”
“Help me save her, Eli.”
Wickner shook his head. “I’m tired, Myron. And I got nothing more to say.”
Eli Wickner lifted the shotgun.
“It’s going to come out,” Myron said. “Even if you kill me, you can’t cover it all up.”
Wickner nodded. “I know.” He didn’t lower the weapon.
“My telephone is on,” Myron continued quickly. “My friend has heard every word. Even if you kill me—”
“I know that too, Myron.” A tear slid out of Eli’s eye. He tossed Myron a small key. For the handcuffs. “Tell everyone I’m sorry.”
Then he put the shotgun in his mouth.
Myron tried to bolt from the chair, the cuff holding him back. He yelled, “No!” But the sound was drowned out by the blast of the shotgun. Bats squealed and flew away. Then all was silent again.
Win arrived a few minutes later. He looked down at the two bodies and said, “Tidy.”
Myron did not reply.
“Did you touch anything?”
“I already wiped the place down,” Myron said.
“A request,” Win said.
Myron looked at him.
“Next time a gun is fired under similar circumstances, say something immediately. A good example might be ‘I’m not dead.’ ”
“Next time,” Myron said.
They left the cabin. They drove to a nearby twenty-four-hour supermarket. Myron parked the Taurus and got in the Jag with Win.
“Where to?” Win asked.
“You heard what Wickner said?”
“Yes.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I’m still processing,” Win said. “But clearly the answer lies within Bradford Farms.”
“So most likely does Brenda.”
Win nodded. “If she’s still alive.”
“So that’s where we should go.”
“Rescuing the fair maiden from the tower?”
“If she’s even there, which is a big if. And we can’t go in with guns blazing. Someone might panic and kill her.” Myron reached for his phone. “Arthur Bradford wants an update. I think I’ll give him one. Now. In person.”
“They may very well try to kill you.”
“That’s where you come in,” Myron said.
Win smiled. “Bitching.” His word of the week.
They turned onto Route 80 and headed east.
“Let me bounce a few thoughts off you,” Myron said.
Win nodded. He was used to this game.
“Here’s what we know,” Myron said. “Anita Slaughter is assaulted. Three weeks later she witnesses Elizabeth Bradford’s suicide. Nine months pass. Then she runs away from Horace. She empties out the bank account, grabs her daughter, and hides out at the Holiday Inn. Now here is where things get murky. We know that Chance Bradford and Sam end up there. We know they end up taking an injured Anita off the premises. We also know that sometime before that Anita calls Horace and tells him to pick up Brenda—”
Myron broke off and looked at Win. “What time would that have been?”
“Pardon?”
“Anita called Horace to pick up Brenda. That had to be before Sam arrived on the scene, right?”
“Yes.”
“But here’s the thing. Horace told Mabel that Anita called him. But maybe Horace was lying. I mean, why would Anita call Horace? It makes no sense. She’s running away from the man. She’s taken all his money. Why would she then call Horace and give away her location? She might call Mabel, for example, but never Horace.”
Win nodded. “Go on.”
“Suppose … suppose we’re looking at this all wrong. Forget the Bradfords for the moment. Take it from Horace’s viewpoint. He gets home. He finds the note. Maybe he even learns that his money is gone. He’d be furious. So suppose Horace tracked Anita down at the Holiday Inn. Suppose he went there to take back his child and his money.”
“By force,” Win added.
“Yes.”
“Then he killed Anita?”
“Not killed. But maybe he beat the hell out of her. Maybe he even left her for dead. Either way, he takes Brenda and the money back. Horace calls his sister. He tells her that Anita called him to pick up Brenda.”
Win frowned. “And then what? Anita hides from Horace for twenty years—lets him raise her daughter by himself—because she was scared of him?”
Myron didn’t like that. “Maybe,” he said.
“And then, if I follow your logic, twenty years later Anita becomes aware that Horace is looking for her. So is she the one who killed him? A final showdown? But then who grabbed Brenda? And why? Or is Brenda in cahoots with her mother? And while we’ve dismissed the Bradfords for the sake of hypothesizing, how do they factor into all this? Why would they be concerned enough to cover up Horace Slaughter’s crime? Why was Chance Bradford at the hotel that night in the first place?”
“There are holes,” Myron admitted.