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“The person who built it.”
King nodded. “And that person could presume that valuables would be kept in there. In fact, it might be the same person who built Remmy’s. Bobby might have hired him to do his without bothering to tell his wife.”
Michelle said, “Well, I guess we can rule out Remmy’s hiring Junior to break into the house and steal what was in her husband’s drawer. If she knew where it was, she could’ve done it herself.”
“If she knew where it was. Maybe she didn’t or couldn’t find it on her own, and hired Junior to find it for her and make it look like a burglary.”
“But if she had hired him, she never would have called the police.”
King shook his head. “Not true if Junior double-crossed her and stole her things while he was looking for Bobby’s secret cache. And maybe Junior’s not telling everything just yet because he wants to see how the cards fall.”
“Why am I suddenly thinking this case is far more complicated than people think it is?” said Michelle wearily.
“I never thought it was simple.”
They both turned in the direction of the van pulling up to the trailer.
King glanced at the occupants of the vehicle and then looked at Michelle. “Lulu must have scored the bail. That’s Junior Deaver in the passenger seat. Let’s see if we can get the truth out of him.”
“With the way things have been going so far, don’t hold your breath on that. Straight answers seem to be in short supply.”
CHAPTER
20
JUNIOR DEAVER LOOKED
like a man who made his living with his hands. His jeans and T-shirt were streaked with paint smears and seemed permanently coated with drywall dust. He was over six feet four, and his arms were thick and powerful, deeply bronzed by the sun, and bore numerous scars, scabs and at least five tattoos, by Michelle’s count, covering a variety of subject matter from mothers to Lulu to Harley-Davidson. His hair was brown and thinning, and he wore it long and pulled back in a ponytail that unfortunately emphasized his graying and receding hairline. A small, bristly goatee covered his chin, and his bushy sideburns had been grown down past his Santa Claus cheeks. He lifted his smallest child, a six-year-old girl with beautifully soft brown eyes and slender pigtails, out of the van with a tenderness that Michelle would hardly have given him credit for.
Lulu Oxley was thin and wore a crisp-looking black business suit and low heels. Her brown hair was done up professionally in a complicated braid and bun, and she wore chic eyeglasses with slender gold frames. She held a briefcase in one hand and in the other the small hand of what looked to be an eight-year-old boy. The third child, a girl of about twelve, followed behind carrying a large school bag. All the children wore the uniform of one of the local Catholic schools.
King stepped forward and extended his hand to Junior.
“Junior, I’m Sean King. Harry Carrick hired us to work on your behalf.”
Junior eyed Lulu, who nodded, and then he very grudgingly took King’s hand and squeezed. Michelle saw her partner wince before the big man let go.
“This is my partner, Michelle Maxwell.”
Lulu studied both of them very closely. “Harry said you’d be coming by. I just got Junior out, and I don’t want him to go back in.”
“I ain’t going back in,” growled Junior. “ ’Cause I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
As he said this, the little girl in his arms began to quietly cry.
“Oh, dang,” he said, “Mary Margaret, now don’t you cry no more. Daddy ain’t going no place ’cept home.” The little girl continued to sob.
“Mama,” called out Lulu, “come and get the children, will you?”
Priscilla appeared at the door, minus the gun, and shooed the older children inside before holding out her arms for Mary Margaret and taking the sobbing girl.
She glared at Junior. “Well, I see they let anybody out of jail these days.”
“Mama,” exclaimed Lulu sharply, “just go inside and see to the children.”
Priscilla put down Mary Margaret, and the little girl fled into the trailer. Priscilla nodded at King an
d Michelle. “This slick-talking feller and his chickie come ’round asking a bunch of questions. Say they’re working for Junior. I say you should fire a bullet over their heads and tell them where they can go.”
