Survival Clause, стр. 67
“The victim?”
“The kid Jurgensson supposedly molested,” Grimaldi confirmed. “Mullinax’s nephew. His sister’s son. No way to ask him. He’s dead, too.”
We walked forward in silence. Until my phone rang and the Hallelujah Chorus rang through the trees. Grimaldi snorted, as she usually does when she hears my phone go off with this particular ring tone. Yung, who wasn’t in on the joke, just looked politely inquisitive.
“Hi,” I told Rafe.
“Darlin’. Where are you?”
“Walking through the woods, somewhere between Mullinax’s place and the road.”
“Nothing yet?” His tone told me clearly what he expected the answer to be.
“If we’d found remains,” I told him, “I would have called you.”
“Right. Well, I’m calling to let you know we’ve been and gone. We’re in the car on our way back to Sweetwater.”
“Already? Wasn’t he there?”
“Sure he was. We talked to him for fifteen minutes and left. You didn’t think it was gonna take all day, did you?”
Well, no. I guess we’d been out here longer than I thought. On the one hand, it felt like we’d been stomping through the trees forever. On the other, it didn’t seem as if he’d had enough time to properly interrogate Mullinax.
“Did he say anything you didn’t already know?”
“No,” Rafe said. “But then I didn’t expect him to come out and confess.”
“Do you think he might have done it?”
“Killed Jurgensson? I wouldn’t rule it out.”
So that was something, anyway. Grimaldi met my eyes across the phone—we were standing in a huddle around it, with the speaker on—and I knew she felt vindicated. If Rafe also thought Mullinax might have killed Jurgensson, at least Grimaldi wasn’t imagining things.
“What about the women?” Yung asked.
Rafe hesitated a second, as if he hadn’t expected to hear her voice. “That you, Yung?”
He went on without waiting for an answer. “Ain’t nothing to suggest he’s any kind of a serial killer. Don’t drive a truck, has what looks like a normal life with a wife, a couple kids, and grandkids.”
“But?”
He chuckled. “Can’t put nothing past you, can I, darlin’? He does own an RV. Somebody’s out here working on the engine right now.”
An RV? “Like a Winnebago? A motor home? Did anyone see a Winnebago at the truck stop the other day?”
“Nobody mentioned one,” Rafe said, “but they do stop at truck stops. Some stops even have designated overnight parking for RVs. Somebody in an RV’d look less outta place than someone in a regular car.”
Interesting. “So we might not be looking for a trucker at all. We could be looking for a family man with an RV.”
“As long as the family wasn’t with him,” Rafe said. “Most wives ain’t gonna be OK with their husband bringing prostitutes home and strangling them.”
“Maybe the husband brings the prostitute home and the wife strangles her.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen Mrs. Mullinax. She looks like your mama, only about ten years older.”
Yes, I had a hard time imagining Mother strangling anybody, too. And if Mrs. Mullinax was seventy, give or take, the chances that she could actually squeeze the life out of a woman half her age were probably slim to begin with.
“But it could be Mullinax,” I said. “On his own.”
“Might could,” Rafe agreed.
“Are you going to get a search warrant for the RV? To see if there are any traces of anything inside?”
“Bob’s gonna work on that. Anything on your end?”
“We’re standing in the middle of the woods,” I said, “with nothing around us but trees. I’m surprised we have cell service. And it’s really hard to tell the difference between a dry twig and an old bone.”
“Tell me about it.” I’m sure he, too, remembered that outing through the brush, looking for Hernandez’s victims. “We’ve headed out, so from now on, there’s nothing to keep him here. He was talking to the mechanic when we left, but if he gets the idea you’re back there, he might decide to come root you out.”
I looked around, at the wilderness we were standing in. It was hard to believe we were only a quarter mile or so from the road and the houses. “Does he have anything that’ll drive cross-country? Because there are no trails back here.”
“He has an ATV,” Rafe said.
“One of those little four-wheelers?” I met Grimaldi’s eyes over the phone. She grimaced.
“That’s it,” Rafe said. “Man likes his toys.”
He paused for a second before he added, “My advice? Get on outta there. The chances you were gonna find anything were slim anyway. It’s a big area, and what you’re looking for is tiny.”
No argument here. “I’ll see you at home,” I said, and hung up. “Guess we’ll make our way back.”
Grimaldi nodded. It was totally without enthusiasm. Yung, meanwhile, seemed delighted. “About time,” she said.
“Tell you what,” I told her. “We’re not that far from the road. Like Grimaldi said, we’re walking parallel to it. Since you’re not enjoying this, and you’re not really dressed for it, why don’t you strike out that way—” I pointed, “on your own, and you should get to the road in a few minutes. Then you can walk back to the car from there. It’s the same distance we’ve already covered, but at least you won’t have to deal with the rough terrain.”
And we wouldn’t have to deal with those frequent little sighs and muttered curses.
Not that I blamed her. For being a federal agent in a designer wool suit and high heels, she’d held up remarkably well. Much better than I would have under the circumstances. But if all we were doing were going back, there was no need to put her through it. And this way, Grimaldi and I could have a private conversation, too.
Not that I had anything I wanted to say that Yung couldn’t hear. But the group dynamic was different with an FBI agent in our midst.
Yung looked at once elated and suspicious. “Are you sure that’s the right direction?”
“Pretty sure. Grimaldi?”
She nodded.