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“First, we need to talk to this woman. If she can verify what Pearl told us, it blows up Battle’s entire case.”
CHAPTER 50
THERE IT IS,” SAID JACK as they pulled up to a bland rowhouse two blocks behind the county hospital. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Those places never do. That’s the point.”
He shot her a look. “You have experience with women getting abortions?”
“Not personally, but I know in some places you can get an abortion by a licensed physician. The doctor just says it’s for therapeutic reasons, and the request to end the pregnancy gets approved by a review board. Or you travel to New York or one of the few states where it’s legal. If you’re not well-off or well-connected, you go to places like this, if there even is one nearby, and hope you don’t die.”
They knocked on the door. No one answered. They knocked again—no answer.
“She’s gone.”
They turned to see an elderly man smartly dressed in a suit and tie calling out to them from a house directly across the street, where he was sitting on the porch. A table with a water pitcher and a glass, and a small TV perched on it, was next to him. “Saw her leave the other day with her suitcase, and a box of stuff.”
“Did you know her?” asked DuBose.
“No, not really, ma’am. She wasn’t here long. Oh, about three weeks or so.”
“Did you ever see anyone going or coming here?” asked Jack.
“Oh, yes. I sit out here on my porch every day and see lots of things. I’ve watched young ladies go in and out that place every single day. What do you think was going on there? Some sort of bingo parlor?” He glanced from side to side, looking intrigued. “Or maybe it’s one of those houses of sin? Only I never saw any men go in, come to think.”
“Do you have her name? Did you notice her car?” asked DuBose.
“First name was Janice, least that’s what she said. Nice lady. Around forty. Redhead, like my dear, departed Emily. Car was a four-door Chevrolet Bel Air. Real pretty turquoise color.”
“License plate?” asked Jack.
“Yellow numbers and letters and a blue background.”
“Did you notice the state?”
“Oh yes, New York. Stood out, you see.”
“Was she renting?”
“That’s right. Woman who owns it lives right over there,” he added, pointing across the street and two doors down. “Mrs. Burton. Angela Burton. Very nice woman. Makes the finest corn bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
“I’m sure,” said DuBose. “Well, thank you.”
The man nodded and sat back down in his chair.
Angela Burton was very nice, and did offer them corn bread, which they declined.
She readily answered their questions about her renter. “Janice Evans, said she was from Rye, New York. Rented the place for a month. Paid in advance. She had to leave early on account of her mother had taken ill.”
“Was she here on business?” asked Jack.
“She didn’t say. And I didn’t ask.”
“You have a phone number and address for her?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I can give that out.”
Jack held out his state bar card. “The thing is, she could be a very important witness in a murder case we’re handling.”
