A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(19)

Steve shrugged. “I have no doubt that Grady Baldwin killed that family. They had evidence against him, but I doubt that was why he did it.”

“Why do you say that?”

The man looked away. “I don’t care to speak ill of the dead,” he said with discomfort in his tone.

“What if it helps someone else?”

He looked back at Truman, his eyes serious. “This is just my opinion, but Maria wasn’t the type to attract other men.”

“You can never tell what attracts another man.”

Steve grimaced. “True. But Maria would never look anyone in the eye. She always seemed terrified of speaking to anyone and practically hid behind her husband. Why would Grady hit on her?”

“Maybe he likes the victim type.”

“Maybe.” Steve didn’t sound convinced. “I celebrated the day they put Grady Baldwin away,” he stated. “I testified at his trial, and he sat there in the courtroom, staring straight ahead, no emotion at all.” He took a deep breath. “I had to describe the condition I found those little girls. Those twins . . . Astrid and Helena . . . they were tiny girls, and their little heads had been caved in. I’ll never get that sight out of my mind. It rushes in sometimes . . . Those memories can completely knock me down for a day.” His voice cracked. “It’s gotten better over the years, but it’s not gone.”

“I appreciate you telling me,” Truman told him, feeling guilty both for making the man revisit his hell and for talking to someone on Mercy’s review list.

It’s not like he’s a witness in the new murder. The case he was involved in is closed.

“I don’t know what happened to Britta. I know she went to live with an aunt or something. I tried to find her online a few years ago with no luck. I frequently wonder if she’s okay . . . if she’s a well-adjusted adult, or living on the street somewhere. I may have seen that horror, but Britta lost her family. I can’t imagine how that could affect a child.”

The man sitting across from him wasn’t the jerk who had argued with Truman about fire hydrants. Caught up in his memories, Steve looked broken.

“I know the FBI has been in touch with Britta,” Truman said kindly. “She’s doing okay and doesn’t live on the streets. I can’t tell you much else.” He’d had a brief phone call from Mercy after she’d talked with Britta.

Steve raised his head and met Truman’s gaze. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Steve seemed lost in thought for a few moments. “I’ve wondered about her for years. I hope this helps me sleep better at night.”

“Since the Deverell family had been murdered two months earlier, what went through your mind that day?”

“After I found the Verbeeks, I figured right away that it was the same guy. Once the cops discovered that Grady Baldwin had worked in both homes, they knew they had a strong suspect.”

“You said earlier that you didn’t think the motivation for the Verbeek murder was Maria Verbeek. Why do you think he did it?”

“He was insane,” Steve said in a low voice.

Truman knew the answer wasn’t ever that simple.



Several hours after he left Steve Harris’s home, Truman pulled open the door to the Brick Tavern, wishing he had backup. Samuel was at least ten minutes out.

Who gets in a bar fight in the middle of the afternoon?

Surprisingly, the bar was brightly lit inside, and he had a clear view of two men wrestling on the floor. A few bystanders idly watched.

“Hey, Chief.” The owner, Doug “the Brick” Breneman, appeared at his side, looking unconcerned about the brawling men. The Brick had been his wrestling name in Portland in the 1980s, when Portland Wrestling was on TV every week. He had been a local celebrity back then, and he was still built like a brick. Rectangular bald head, thick neck, and barrel torso. People had never stopped calling him Brick.

“What happened?” Truman asked.

“Dunno,” said Brick. “It’s the Moody brothers, Clint and Ryan.” He pointed at the men. “The one in the red shirt is Clint. They’re both pissed as hell at each other, which isn’t anything new. I tried to separate them, but I’m not as young as I used to be. Got back issues, so I turned up the lights. Usually that will stop a fight, but it didn’t work this time.”

Truman scanned the room, checking for anyone who looked as if they would cause a problem if he separated the two men. His gaze stopped on Owen Kilpatrick, Mercy’s brother. His surprise at seeing Owen was compounded with relief at the knowledge that the man would have Truman’s back if trouble arose. Brick would too.

Truman strode to the fighting men. Clint had a grip on Ryan’s ear, attempting to slam his head into the floor. Ryan was kicking and punching but landing few blows. “Police! Break it up!”

The men continued as if they hadn’t heard. The brothers were muscular and fit, but Truman had an advantage because both were severely inebriated.

“I said break it up!” Truman grabbed Clint’s shoulder and yanked him backward. He landed on his back, his head bouncing off the floor.

Shit.

Ryan lunged for Clint, but Truman knocked his legs out from under him, making the man land on his chest. “I said that’s enough!” He planted a foot on the center of the man’s back and pointed at Clint. “Stay right there!” He noted Owen and Brick had both moved within an arm’s distance of Clint, ready to keep him from diving at Ryan under Truman’s foot. He lowered himself to a knee on Ryan’s back, and told him to spread his arms out on the floor and then bring the right one behind his back. Truman cuffed one wrist and asked for the other arm, which he promptly secured.