Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 5

"Nonsense. Come along."

He ushered her toward the main building even as she grappled for a reason she couldn't go. She hadn't set foot inside this school since graduation, and she'd only attended that meaningless event to make her parents happy. No one understood why Emily refused to make a speech about her dead best friend. They didn't get that all the right words had been trapped in a place Emily couldn't touch.

Five feet inside the main entrance and Emily wanted to run. Her knees tried to buckle, but the princ.i.p.al's hand at her back kept her moving forward. He'd been talking nonstop, but not a word had penetrated the barrier of dread swaddling her brain and rendering the organ inaccessible.

Air rushed into her lungs when she wanted desperately to hold her breath. The smell... the scents found nowhere else except inside this building awakened a part of her mind that she'd shut down out of necessity long ago. Pencils and books, markers and reams of paper.

He steered her forward and, as if she had suddenly been transported back in time, the empty corridor filled with faces and sounds from the past. The rush of students late for homeroom... the excited chatter about the coming dance... the teasing, flirting, and whispered gossip.

The princ.i.p.al's voice dragged her back to the present "We dedicated the senior hall to Heather."

Heather Baker Hall Emily managed a shaky smile even as the urge to cry knocked against her unsteady defenses. "It's great, Mr. Call. A beautiful tribute." Somehow her voice came out admirably composed.

"We wanted to keep her memory alive." Mr. Call stared at the plaque that showed Heather in her cheerleading uniform and proclaimed this wing her namesake.

"Everybody loved her," Emily murmured. "No way anyone would have wanted to hurt her... she didn't have any enemies."

"Not the first one," he agreed. "Heather was one of our most loved students."

Emily hadn't meant to say that out loud. Since she had, she might as well get an answer to the question she'd come here to ask. "Mr. Call?"

The princ.i.p.al's expectant gaze s.h.i.+fted to her.

"That... night." She moistened her lips and fought to keep her voice steady. "Did you see anyone on my street? Another car? Someone walking?" Princ.i.p.al Call's house had been the target that night. Hazing week. Emily's turn to lead. Another of the senior cheerleaders, her good friend Megan, had helped, along with the new freshman members of the squad. Emily had sneaked out of the house... left Heather in her room to cover for her in case her parents came home early.

Princ.i.p.al Call stroked his chin. "The police asked me that," he said, his voice sounding distant, as if he had gone back to that awful night as Emily had so many, many times. "I tried my best to recall if I'd seen anyone, but I couldn't be absolutely certain there wasn't someone lurking around the neighborhood. It all happened too fast."

"But you told the police you didn't see anyone, right?" She needed to hear him say that. Needed that confirmation. Probably the pa.s.sage of time had clouded his memory. She didn't even remember him testifying at the trial and she'd thought she would never forget a moment of it. "You were called as a witness at the trial, weren't you?"

He nodded: "That's right, but it was dark, Emily. I can't be certain there was no one on the sidewalk or in one of the yards that I simply didn't see. I was too fired up at you and Megan for hitting my mailbox and then driving away so recklessly."

Emily managed a shaky smile. "I understand. I don't know if I ever told you, but I'm sorry we hit your mailbox." It was the only time she and her friends had ever gotten caught, and getting away had been instinct.

He patted Emily on the shoulder. "It was no big deal, Emily. I really just wanted to make sure you girls got home okay considering the way Megan was driving." His brow furrowed. "Are you thinking that Clint Austin had an accomplice that night?"

She should have antic.i.p.ated that his curiosity would be roused by her question. "No. I... I just wondered." He was looking at her the way her parents did... entering one of those zones that spoke of sympathy or concern. She couldn't go there. She had to get out of here before the questions and advice started to flow. "I really have to go."

"You know," the princ.i.p.al said, his expression turning somber to match his tone, "I've wondered many times if I'd stopped at your house first instead of following Megan down the block I might have been able to help... Calling the police after I heard the screams just wasn't enough." He shook his head and heaved a heart-heavy sigh. "How could anyone possibly have imagined what that boy was doing that night?" The big man shuddered visibly.

Emily wasn't sure how she resisted the impulse to run away from the moment or how she managed to reach for his hand and shake it, but somehow she did. "You couldn't have known." She cleared her throat and gestured to the plaque. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

"It was really good to see you, Emily. You'll have to be sure and attend the reunion this fall," he implored, his dark eyes suspiciously bright. "Ten years is a major milestone."

Ten years... a milestone all right. Just not the one he thought. He said something else, she was pretty sure she called an answer over her shoulder, but she couldn't be certain and she definitely couldn't look back.

Don't run. Walk. One foot in front of the other. She cleared the main entrance... had to grab on to the railing as she descended the steps and fought back the smothering panic.

"Emily!"

Her hand on the car door, she almost got in without acknowledging the person who'd called out to her. She recognized the voice... didn't want to do this.

"I thought that was you." The voice was closer now, practically right next to her.

She couldn't pretend not to hear.

Emily forced her lips back into a smile and turned to greet the woman who had been her coach. "Ms. Mallory, how are you?"

Justine Mallory rolled her eyes as she propped against Emily's car, delaying her escape. "Please, you're not a student anymore; call me Justine."

"Justine," Emily amended, keeping her lips bent in what had to be a sorry excuse for a smile.

Pay attention. Compliment her. Ten years and she was still as stunning, if not more so, as she had been when Emily was in high school. Blonde hair, deep blue eyes. Makeup always perfect. Long, toned legs leading up to a body to die for. Justine had to be on top of forty and still she looked amazing. The tan, the shorts, the Pine Bluff High T-s.h.i.+rt, all of it made her look like one of the students rather than a tenured teacher of higher math.

"You look great." The words came out a little stilted.

"So do you," Justine said, giving Emily a thorough onceover. "Where have you been keeping yourself? I've asked your parents about you from time to time. Megan, Cathy, Violet, and I were talking about you at the beauty shop just the other day."

"I've been really busy," Emily lied. She cleared her throat in an effort to force it open as she tried to think of something else to say. She should ask how the others were doing. She had cheered all through high school with those girls... until Heather's murder.

"So, you finally decided to take a vacation and leave the big city?"

Emily nodded. More lies. She needed a swift subject change. "How's your squad this year?"

Justine glanced toward the girls performing on the field. "They're not as good as you guys were. But they'll do." She studied Emily a moment with a critical eye. "In case I never told you, we missed you that last year."

Emily couldn't respond to that. She couldn't possibly have cheered her senior year without Heather.

Justine reached out, took hold of Emily's arm, and squeezed. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you." She shook her head. "His parole should have been denied."

The punch of emotions held Emily mute for several more seconds... long enough for Justine to keep going with things that Emily didn't want to hear.

"I shouldn't have allowed hazing week." Justine looked away a moment. "We haven't done it since that summer."

Emily braced one hand against the car in an effort to remain steady and vertical. If she'd stayed home that night... if Heather hadn't been in her bed. "It wasn't your fault."

"You wouldn't have sneaked out of your room and left the window unlocked. G.o.d." Justine hugged her arms around herself. "I should've put a stop to that tradition before someone got hurt."

It had been Emily's turn. The rising seniors were supposed to head up hazing week. It was tradition, like Justine said. The upcoming freshmen expected it. No one ever got hurt. Just silly pranks like rolling the a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al's yard.

No harm done. Until that night...

Her parents had ordered her to stay home with her brother. It was Ed and Carol's anniversary; they had plans. They would be home by midnight, but that would have been too late. Midnight was Justine Mallory's strictly imposed curfew. Heather had volunteered to stay at Emily's house just in case her brother woke up and needed something or her parents returned early. If they peeked in Emily's room they would see someone sleeping in her bed. All bases had been covered.

Except it hadn't been enough... Emily hadn't seen disaster coming. There hadn't been any signs... other than that one ugly episode with Austin at the bowling alley. But that had been a whole week before. Clint Austin had waited for her outside the bowling alley. He'd teased and flirted the way he'd always done, but that time had been different. She'd still been stinging from the way he'd kissed her a few days before and then just walked away. She'd let him have it. Called him a thug and a few other choice words. He'd lashed out at her, and everyone in the parking lot had witnessed the scene.

She shouldn't have antagonized him.

She shouldn't have left her bedroom window unlocked.

She shouldn't have let Heather stay in her place.

She should have been the one to die.

"You can't blame yourself, Emily." Justine reached out, gave her hand a quick squeeze, looked at her as if she feared Emily might be about to fly to pieces. "It wasn't your fault he went crazy. G.o.d only knows what set him off. They talked about drugs. He may not have even known what planet he was on."

But Emily did know what set him off. And they hadn't been able to prove the drug theory.

"Hey, Ms. Mallory!"

Justine turned to greet the football team jogging by in a haphazard formation. "Morning, boys."

A couple of the guys grabbed their chests dramatically at the idea that she'd even spoken. Wolf calls and flagrant gestures of adoration were showered on the school's favorite teacher as the team shuffled past like misfit military recruits in boot camp. Justine Mallory had been and, evidently, still was every high school boy's fantasy.

Justine waved off the last of the hoots and hollers. "Those boys. I swear, they never change."

"I really have to go." Emily couldn't be here any longer. "It was good seeing you again, Justine." Emily opened the car door, the panic threatening to swell again.

Justine touched Emily's shoulder. "You stay away from him, Em. You've been through enough."

Emily tensed. The breakdown had been kept a secret, but like everything else in this town, rumors got around. Folks still whispered behind their hands about her. She'd learned to hate that about Pine Bluff.

"I don't mean to scare you," Justine went on, "but he could still be dangerous. Maybe even more so now. It's not safe to get too close."

Emily introduced as much confusion as she could summon considering the realization that comment had prompted. "Why would you think I would do that?"

Had she really expected to be able to hide it? Some folks had nothing better to do. Gossip radars had likely gone up the moment she entered the city limits.

"Rumors get around." Sympathy marred Justine's remarkably unlined face. "There isn't anything you can do, you know. You need to let this go. We all do. Did you see the paper?" She visibly bristled. "They're even bringing up that nonsense about his so-called alibi. He lied then; he'll lie now... or worse. Stay away from him, Em."

Emily shook her head. She hadn't seen the paper. "I appreciate your concern, Justine, but I'm fine. Really." This time Emily got into the car. Her parents had the market cornered on concern for her. She didn't need any more, not even from the teacher and the princ.i.p.al she'd always admired.

"You let me know if you need anything."

Emily managed a wobbly "thank you" before starting the engine and backing out of the parking slot.

Waving, Justine watched her go.

Before Emily pulled out onto the street she glanced in her rearview mirror. Another woman had joined Justine. To get the latest gossip no doubt. Emily squinted to make out who she was. Haphazard ponytail, baggy clothes, a stark contrast to Justine's model-perfect appearance. The other woman looked toward Emily's car and waved. The odor of formaldehyde and mutilated frogs resurrected in her olfactory. Misty Briggs. Biology and chemistry. Batty Briggs. Emily waved back, then drove away.

The rumors were spreading.

Already all eyes were on her. Watching to see what she would do next... to see if she'd fall apart.

Poor Emily Wallace.

Everyone knew that Heather was dead because of her.

CHAPTER NINE.

City Hall 11:30 a.m.

"Chief."

Ray looked up from the report on an attempted robbery at the Sack&Go last week. His secretary hovered at his door. "What's up, Mary Alice?"

"Granville Turner called. He's headed over here. Says he needs to talk to you, that it can't wait."

"Send him on in when he gets here."

Mary Alice Sullenger nodded and went back to her desk. She'd worked with Ray long enough to understand the visits he looked forward to and the ones he didn't. Though he considered Granville Turner an ally in many ways, Ray also knew firsthand what a royal pain the man could be when he got a burr under his saddle.

Ray heaved a disgusted breath and moved on to the next report. He'd worry about Granville when he got here; until then Ray had a job to do.

At least the phone was quiet for a change. Mary Alice had fielded calls all morning from concerned citizens who wanted to know the real story on Clint's release from prison.

Ray scowled at the copy of the Pine Bluff Sentinel lying on one corner of his desk. The picture La.s.siter had taken in Brady's office was front-page news. The article read like a political debate with Troy Baker and his devastated family at one podium and Ray at the other. The whole d.a.m.n mess was ridiculous, a one-sided story of Clint's upbringing. How his daddy had deserted Clint and his mother had been forced to work day and night to make ends meet, leaving him to his own devices. Every schoolyard scuffle and speeding ticket the man had ever gotten was laid out for the community to devour. If that wasn't bad enough, La.s.siter had related numerous details, some he'd obviously taken from hearsay, regarding the night of Heather Baker's murder.

The entire page was dedicated to trying Clint Austin all over again. Ray had called Jacob Talbot, the other owner of the Sentinel, and told him how he felt about the smear campaign his paper appeared to be waging. Didn't matter one bit. Talbot's son had gone to school with Heather Baker.

Annoyed, Ray signed off on the report he'd just skimmed and reached for the next one. He could remember a time when the chief of police got a little respect around here. He wondered how Don Ledbetter would handle the situation if he were still alive and serving as chief.

Ray heard Granville Turner's arrival well before he reached the door to his office. Granville had the kind of boisterous, self-important voice that carried across a room and demanded attention.

Pus.h.i.+ng to his feet, Ray donned a patient, welcoming demeanor. "Good to see you, Granville. How's Becky? Up and around by now, I hope." Becky was the rich old b.a.s.t.a.r.d's prized bluetick hound. He treated that dog better than some of his own kin. She'd had surgery recently to remove a small tumor that, thankfully, wasn't malignant.

Granville reached across the desk and pumped Ray's outstretched hand. "She's doing just fine, Chief. Thanks for asking." Without further ado, he settled into a chair.

Ray took his seat and got right to the point: "What can I do for you today, Granville?"

Mary Alice closed the door Ray's visitor had left open. She knew from past experience that a meeting with this particular citizen could get sensitive and loud.

Granville Turner was past sixty years old, with the build of an athlete. His hair had grayed into that distinguished shade that spoke of power and means rather than age. His gray eyes were clear and likely as keen as they'd been forty years ago. He was highly intelligent and filthy rich. He'd inherited well and invested better and was of the widely proclaimed opinion that he owned this town. Ray was intimately familiar with the way Granville did business, having learned fast the pecking order for keeping folks happy. Granville Turner was at the very top of that list. Whatever he wanted he generally got.

"I'd like to know what your plans are for getting Clint Austin the h.e.l.l out of my town."

No mincing of words there.

"I understand your misgivings, Granville," Ray began, knowing he was wasting his breath. "But you have to understand that my hands are tied. Clint Austin served his time. Unless he breaks the law or the conditions of his parole, there isn't a thing I can do about his decision to return to Pine Bluff."

Granville Turner eased forward in his chair, his gaze narrowing. "If that boy even looks at anyone in this town crosseyed I want you to find a way to send him back to Holman. Do you hear me, Ray? You watch him like he's your G.o.dd.a.m.ned reflection." Granville pointed a finger. "When I think about what that b.a.s.t.a.r.d could do to this towna"-to my sona"it makes me want to tear him apart with my bare hands."

Ray chose his words carefully. "Granville, you and Keith have nothing to be concerned about. I've got the Austin situation under control. We won't have any trouble out of him."