Family Sins(83)

“When we get married, I don’t care where we go or what our house looks like. As long as you’re there, I’ll be happy.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” he said.

“I want babies,” she said.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of his child in her belly.

“So do I... Pretty little girls with curly hair and sassy smiles like their mama.”

“I’ve lost my sass,” Talia said.

“You’ll get it back,” he promised.

She didn’t say anything more, and when he heard her breathing change to a slow and steady pace, he knew she’d fallen asleep.

The next time he woke it was morning and Talia was lying on her side watching him sleep.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

He managed a sleepy grin.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

She touched his face, then ran her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the silky strands sliding between her fingers.

“You have sexy hair,” she said.

He chuckled. “The hell you say.”

She nodded.

“And you have a sexy body,” he said.

She made a face. “I have a skinny body,” she muttered.

He frowned.

“No, you don’t. You’re perfect—like a gorgeous car that just needs a tune-up.”

She laughed.

“I’d almost forgotten what man-speak sounded like.”

He grinned. “Want me to see if anyone is in the bathroom?”

She nodded.

He brushed a quick kiss across her lips and rolled out of bed, and so their day began.

*

Andrew chose his clothes carefully that morning. Good gabardine slacks, a pale blue shirt and a beige linen sport coat. He chose a pair of brown alligator shoes to add a little flash and made sure his short curly hair was moussed into place. On a good day his reputation was questionable, but being connected in any way whatsoever with the now infamous Waynes was dicey, and the thought of presenting himself at the police station with his information was unnerving. By the time he felt presentable it was almost 9:00 a.m., and his belly was churning. If only he could get this done without any ensuing notoriety he would be grateful.

He checked out of the motel, intent on leaving Eden after he got the video into the proper hands, and headed for downtown. He knew where the police station was located and arrived there without an issue. He grabbed his laptop, patted his pocket to make sure the disc was there and got out of the car.

It appeared to be the beginning of another sunny summer day, although it had yet to get hot. A stray cat ran across his path as he headed toward the station. He made the sign of the cross and whispered a quiet prayer of thanksgiving that the damn thing wasn’t black, then hastened his stride.

Once inside, he walked up to the receptionist at the front desk, a thirty-something woman with gray roots and red hair. He wanted to suggest another color to offset the reddish cast of her skin and tried not to stare.

“Good morning,” the woman said. “How can I help you?”

“I need to speak to Chief Clayton.”

“Your name?” she asked.

“Andrew Bingham.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asked.

“No. Just tell him it’s about Stanton Youngblood’s murder.”

“Are you from some newspaper?”

He frowned. He hadn’t driven all this distance to be grilled by a receptionist.

“I’m not going to discuss why I came with anyone but him. Just tell him it’s about the killer.”

“They already have the killer in custody.”

“No. They don’t,” he said, and watched the shock spread across her face.

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to a bank of chairs against the wall, then grabbed the phone.

Andrew didn’t bother sitting down, which was just as well, because he heard footsteps approaching at a fast pace. Then a door opened behind the reception area.

It was Clayton.

“Come with me,” the chief said shortly, and led the way back to his office, then waved at a chair on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat.”

Andrew sat.

“Who are you, and what the hell do you mean, we don’t have Youngblood’s killer?”

“My name is Andrew Bingham. Up until a few days ago I was Nita Wayne’s guest at your local hotel, and on call at any time, night or day, to appease her sexual whims.”

Clayton blinked. “You’re a gi—”

“I prefer ‘professional escort,’” Andrew said. “At times I was also an escort for Charles Wayne.”

Clayton frowned. “Okay, fine. You got paid for sex. Now speak your piece.”

Andrew nodded.

“It has been my habit for many years to record my activities with clients. Not for blackmail. Never for that. But as a kind of insurance against winding up in a serious situation not of my making, if you understand my meaning?”

Clayton shrugged. “I’m listening.”

“The regular meeting place where Charles and I...indulged was the Wayne family lake house. In fact, it was Charles who suggested it, because he said the family never went there anymore. So he gave me a key, and at agreed-upon times we met and we played, and unknown to him, I recorded our activities. The equipment was motion-activated, so all I had to do was show up and let the party begin. A few days ago I had a falling out with both Nita and Charles, so I packed up my things, including the video equipment, and left town. I’ve spent the past few days in Charleston, going through the recordings, and in doing so I came across a piece of video that you need to see.”