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Ellen frowned slightly as she tried to match the name with a face. “No,” she responded after a few moments of quiet consideration. “I don’t think so.”
“No,” I seconded Ellen. “Me either.”
Maisie said nothing, but Cook didn’t press her. “I didn’t expect as much,” Cook continued. “He was raised up north, came to Savannah a few months ago. Has a pretty long record, reaching back to juvenile, but mostly small time offenses. Nothing violent,” Cook added.
“So maybe he broke into Ginny’s not knowing who he was taking on?” Maisie asked.
“That is where it gets interesting. Burke may be new to the area, but he has people here. People with deep roots.” Cook paused. “I am sure you are all acquainted with Jilo Wills.”
“Mother Jilo,” Ellen exhaled.
The blood drained from my face as I remembered Jilo’s promise to work the spell I had requested of her. My feelings toward Peter had not changed since my visit to the crossroads, but even with Maisie’s assurance that Ginny’s death had had nothing to do with me, I felt sick. I forced myself to concentrate on what the others were saying, hoping my thoughts wouldn’t betray me. I felt as though I should say something about being with Jilo the night before the murder, but I couldn’t, at least not for now. I looked at Maisie, but her eyes warned me to stay silent.
“That’s right. Martell is Mother Jilo’s great-grandson. So it’s looking much less like this was simply a home invasion turned violent.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why Jilo would want to harm Ginny,” Iris said. “Ginny never interfered with Jilo. She never even took her too seriously.”
“And that could be reason enough for some folk,” Connor offered.
“Wounded pride,” the officer considered. “You could be right there, Mr. Flynn.”
“Have you questioned him? What is he saying about what happened?” Ellen demanded.
“He admits to being at Ginny’s, but swears he never stepped foot inside. We can’t get anything else out of him.”
“Well, let Oliver have a little time with him. That’ll get him talking. And if that don’t work, let me have him for a while,” Connor said, leaning back in his chair again.
“I already proposed that,” Oliver said. “The part about my questioning him, not the part where you try to hold onto the illusion of being a young cock. Detective Cook here would have none of it.” All eyes turned toward Cook.
“Listen, I don’t pretend to understand how y’all do this ‘woo-woo’ stuff that you are into, but I know it’s real. When I was a little boy my grandmother told me that if I couldn’t avoid you Taylors, I’d better make it my business to befriend y’all. I can’t let Oliver near this guy. If I did, I could never be sure that Oliver hadn’t influenced him not only to talk, but also on what to say.”
“You saying you don’t trust me, Adam?” Oliver asked.
“I’m saying I can’t trust you, and Mister, you know why.”
Oliver and Cook locked eyes, and a long moment of silence stretched out as we waited to see who would call chicken first. Cook let it drop. “Burke says he’ll tell us everything after he talks to Mother, but we can’t find her. No one’s seen her at her usual haunt in Colonial lately, and she’s done a good job of staying off the grid other than her appearances at the cemetery.”
“You won’t find her unless she wants to be found,” Iris said.
“That may well be,” Cook responded, “but I was hoping that perhaps Mr. Flynn would be able to give us a lead on where she might be located. Your reputation,” he addressed Connor, “for tracking things down is legendary, and with your vested interest in the matter, I thought perhaps you would be willing to do a little off the record investigating of your own.”
Connor puffed up with the praise, but his response was cautious. “Jilo is a slippery one, Detective. I’ll be happy to give it a go, but I suspect that if she don’t want to be found, I ain’t going to find her.”
“I’d appreciate any help you can offer in the matter—” Cook’s sentence was cut short by the ringing of his cell. He pulled the phone out of its holder, his gaze drifting back to Oliver. He seemed to have a hard time not looking at Oliver; it was as if his eyes were hungry for the sight.
“Cook,” the detective answered his phone. “Yes. That’s correct. I am here with the family now.” As he listened, his reaction indicated bad news—his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “He what? How the hell could he do that? All right. You sure as hell had better. You tell March I want to talk to him the second I get there.” He turned off his phone and looked at us. “Martell Burke disappeared—literally disappeared—from his cell, and I want you all to tell me just how the hell that could have happened.”
“Detective Cook,” Aunt Iris said with raised eyebrows, smiling with only the right side of her mouth. “We want Ginny’s killer brought to justice. I certainly hope you’re not suggesting that we would free the man you suspect of killing her?”
“No ma’am, I don’t think you’d free him, but I sure as hell better not find myself stumbling over his body in a day or two. I need to get back to the station, but y’all can help me by getting me the names and contact information of any relatives who’ve been here for the funeral in case I need to get in touch them.”
He gave Oliver a cold and pointed look. “And don’t you even think of leaving town, Mr. Taylor. If my suspect turns up looking any less than healthy, you, sir, will be the first person I pay a visit. I would suggest you send up a little prayer for Martell’s prompt and safe return to custody.” Cook stared at Oliver for a moment more before slamming out the door.
“We should all keep an eye on each other until they catch this guy,” Connor stated flatly as the sound of Cook’s steps faded away.
“But how could this Burke fellow up and disappear?” Ellen asked. “Unless Mother’s behind it?”
