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“He came to see me while he was working that Hangman case. Asked me if my cover had ever been compromised in the Popov case. I didn’t believe so. Jim was still worried Donnie had talked. Popov was the kind of guy who liked to serve his revenge ice cold. The Hangman killings would have been Popov’s style. By then I’d quit the fieldwork, cut my hair, and was riding a desk, which is where I stayed until I got my pension.”
“Do you remember which victims he asked you about?” Novak reached into his breast pocket for his phone as Unger watched him closely. He found the picture of Rene Tanner and handed the phone to Unger.
The old man squinted, then pulled glasses from his back pocket. “Yeah, I remember her. Rene Tanner. She worked as a bartender in the Bottom. Jim mentioned her and Tamara Brown during that last visit.”
“They informed for Vargas?”
Unger handed back the phone. “He busted Rene on a cocaine possession charge. It was a large enough bust to ensure she spent ten to fifteen years in jail. Classic case of not wanting to go to jail and cutting a deal to get out of serving. Same with Brown. Busted and flipped.”
“Rumor has Vargas and Rene sleeping together.”
Unger let out a sigh. “Look, the work we did wasn’t black-and-white, and living a lie all the time tossed a lot of gray in our lives.”
“That a yes or no?”
“It’s a yes. But it was an on-and-off relationship with them. It meant nothing to Jim, but Rene feared her husband would find out. The guy left bruises on her for a lot less.”
“When Jim told you Rene and Tamara had been murdered, did you think it was odd they’d been targeted by a serial killer?”
“Sure. I worried about it. So did Jim. Who wouldn’t as long as Popov was alive? But both women had been hookers, and they hung out in a rough section of town. Perfect hunting ground for a serial killer.”
“How about Vicky Wayne? What did you think when she was found strung up?”
“Honestly, relieved. I didn’t recognize her name, and I figured if she was connected to our old work, Jim would have told me.”
Novak scrolled to her face and handed the phone to Unger.
Unger shook his head. “I don’t remember her.”
Novak located Rita Gallagher’s photo. “How about this one?”
Unger studied the picture a little longer. “Yeah, I do remember her.”
“Really, from where?”
He rubbed the back of his neck with a bent, lined hand. “There were so many women back in the day, but she was hard to forget. Built like a brick house. She could have any man.”
“She worked in Amy Vargas’s bar as a waitress. That’s an odd coincidence,” Riggs said.
“Jim set the job up. He told me she came to him. She wanted to go straight. She was tired of the life.”
“He do that often?” Novak asked.
“Believe it or not, Jim cared about people. Said many were lost souls and he’d give a hand up when he could. If they didn’t take it, so be it.”
Novak closed his phone. “So she comes to him and tells him she wants to go straight, and he buys it?”
Unger shook his head. “I told him to steer clear of that one.”
“Why?”
“Because Popov fucked her.”
“Rita slept with Popov?” Novak asked.
“Yeah. Not for long, but yeah. He grew tired of his women easily.” He split another log. “Why are you asking about Rita?”
“Rita’s brother remembered her saying she had a big job that would make her serious money,” Novak said. “Know anything about that?”
“I don’t,” Unger said. “Where’s she now?”
“We found her body a couple of days ago. Looks like she was murdered about twenty-five years ago.”
“When the Hangman was active?”
“We think she died within a day or two of Jim. We were able to connect her to Jim when we found a picture in her purse of Jim and his daughter, Julia. It was taken shortly before he died.”
“She had a picture of Jim and his kid?” Unger asked.
“Know why?”
Absently he traced circles on the top of the wooden ax handle. “Last I saw Jim was October of ’92. He admitted he and his wife had split over his affair with Rita, but were now trying to reconcile. He was torn up with guilt and shame.” He curled his hands around the handle. “I told him she was trouble and to cut her loose. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Said there were other factors.”
“What other factors?”
“Didn’t say.”
“There’s evidence to suggest that Rita was four or five months pregnant,” Novak said.
“Shit, I had no idea about that.”
“You think Popov knew Jim was sleeping with Rita?”
Unger set up another log on the block and sliced it in half with one chop. “Popov knew.”
“How can you be so sure?” Riggs asked.
“After the arrest, Popov made a point to find out who had ratted him out. I always thought he never found out it was Jim and me.” Unger drew in a breath. “But as I get older, I’ve gotten a little paranoid. I stay out here away from people because I still worry that Popov might have known more than I realized. The old man might be dead, but there are those willing to carry out one of his old vendettas to win the favor of the remaining family.”
“What’s that mean?” Novak asked.
“Keep a close eye on Julia Vargas. She is Jim’s daughter, which makes her a target for the Popov family.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, November 3, 3:30 p.m.
Using information from Andrews, Julia found Vicky Wayne’s mother, who lived in the south side of Richmond just over the James River. Parking in front of a brick rancher, she tugged off her sunglasses and walked across the small yard carpeted in weeks’ worth of leaves. There was an old green van in the driveway and several kids’ toys.
She walked up the concrete steps and knocked. Inside the house, she heard the hum of a kid’s TV show and then the steady thump of footsteps moving toward the door. Seconds later, the door opened to an older woman with gray hair tucked back in a ponytail, tired blue eyes, and a drawn face. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Frannie Wayne?”
“Yes.”
Julia introduced herself and showed her badge. “I’m reopening your daughter’s murder case. I was hoping you had time to talk.”
The old woman’s face wrinkled into a frown. “My Vicky has been gone twenty-five years. Why would anyone care about that now?”
“I care,” Julia said.
“Why? You were barely a child when it happened.”
“My father worked the original case. I know it troubled him that the case was never solved.”
“Might have been if he’d not killed himself.”
“I understand.”
The woman stared at Julia a long moment, as if sensing they both had a lot of hurt vested in this case.
“Could I come inside so we can talk?” Julia prompted.
“Let me see your badge again.”
Julia held it up, allowing the woman to study it closely.
She sighed. “Okay, sure. I’m not certain I’ll be of any help, but come on inside.”
Julia entered the dimly lit house. The thermostat was turned up, and the air smelled stale. On one wall hung a collection of crucifixes. Some were simply made of wood, while a few were inlaid with silver or engraved with chapters and verses that Julia suddenly felt guilty not knowing.
She followed the woman past two glass cabinets filled with angel and small dove figurines.
“This is a lovely collection,” Julia said, pausing to study the cases.
“After Vicky died, I was interviewed by some reporter. I said that Vicky liked angels and doves. People started sending them to me. At first I set them anywhere, but after a while so many came I bought those cabinets secondhand.”
“How many do you
have?”
