The Homewreckers(96)

“We weren’t cops,” Dorcas protested. “We were scared.”

“Did you ask your son, point-blank, if he killed Lanier Ragan?”

Dorcas stood up, grasping her empty glass. She swayed slightly as she walked back toward the kitchen.

Watching her, Creedmore let out a long, martyred sigh. “Christ. Drunk and it’s not even noon yet.”

“Mr. Creedmore, did you or your wife discuss what had happened to Lanier Ragan with your son? Did you tell him you’d discovered her body the night before? And that you’d moved it?”

“No.”

“So you actually have no idea whether or not he had anything to do with her murder.”

“We know he couldn’t have done it. He was never violent. Never been in any real trouble.”

“That you know of,” Makarowicz said. “The fact is, I’ve spoken to a woman whom he sexually assaulted, when she was fifteen and he was nineteen.”

“I don’t believe it,” Creedmore said flatly. “Who is this person? Why is she just now coming forward with an accusation like this?”

“She was embarrassed. Ashamed, like most women who’ve been the victim of sexual assault. Her name doesn’t matter. I find her credible, and she’s the one who tipped us that your son was involved with Lanier Ragan, a fact which your son does not deny.”

“What’s that?” Dorcas Creedmore stood in the doorway, with another tumbler of what the detective assumed was vodka. “Are you calling our son a rapist?”

“It’s more of this ‘me too’ bullshit,” Creedmore said. “Probably some girl who had a crush on Holland and led him on. He was big man on campus. He wouldn’t have had to ‘assault’ anyone.”

“It’s true,” Dorcas agreed, slurring her words a little. “Our son could have had any girl he wanted. They were always calling him, showing up at football games, mooning over him.”

“Tell me about that septic tank,” Makarowicz said, abruptly changing the subject.

“The city ran sewer lines down Chatham Avenue back in the nineties, I think. My mother had someone pump out the old tank. She thought it was low class that those old houses were on septic tanks up until then,” Creedmore said.

“Who knew that tank was still there?” the detective asked. “I walked all around that property after the billfold was found and before the body was found. That manhole cover was completely buried. So whoever dumped that body there knew of its existence.”

“It was more than thirty years ago. I can’t remember back that far,” Creedmore groused.

“Your mother knew, but she’s dead.” Dorcas sipped her vodka with a slight smile.

“What about the rest of the family? Did Holland Junior know about it? Anyone else?”

“Little Holl was fascinated with the pump truck,” Dorcas said dreamily.

“Dorcas!” Creedmore snapped. “Shut it.”

“Well, he was. As a little boy, he was always fascinated with trucks, heavy equipment, whatever. I always thought maybe someday he’d go into the construction business.”

“Anybody could have known about that old septic tank,” Creedmore said. “The company that pumped it out, the landscapers my mother used for years to keep the grass mowed back there. Hell, even that crazy old coot Mavis knew all about it.”

“You and your wife knew about it too, right?” Mak asked.

“Enough,” Creedmore said. “We’ve cooperated with you, told you everything we know, against the advice of our lawyer, I might add. We’re through talking. Holland is through too. I sent our lawyer out to your police station. We’re not saying another word.”





51

The Camera Sometimes Lies




Trae breezed into the makeup tent as Lisa was taking the hot rollers from Hattie’s hair. He squeezed her shoulder. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Cass, out of Trae’s line of vision, rolled her eyes. Hattie found herself blushing with discomfort.

“Did I say something wrong?” He set a mug of coffee on the makeup table and tied a cape around his neck.

“It’s just … been a weird morning,” Hattie said. “Makarowicz is going to pick up Holland Creedmore to question him about Lanier Ragan.”

“Cool.” Trae leaned forward to examine his image in the mirror. “I swear, there must be something in the water here in Savannah. I’ve never had problems with dark circles under my eyes in California.”

“Oh, please,” Lisa said. “Your skin is perfection. But if you want, I’ll mix you up some concealer.” She misted Hattie with hair spray, then turned her attention to him.

Trae closed his eyes while she applied toner, moisturizer, and concealer. “So, the police think that’s the guy? He just killed this teacher, like, for the thrill of it, and tossed her in that old septic tank? Damn.” He shuddered. “That’s cold.”

“Something like that,” Hattie said.

“Hey, Cass,” Trae said. “I think we’re about done with the electrical and plumbing in the kitchen. Can you call for an inspection tomorrow? I want to get everything ready for the painters.”

“Already?” Cass frowned.