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58
GAFFER'S RIDGE
EAGLE'S NEST
FRIDAY, EARLY EVENING
Griffin pulled up to the gate to Eagle’s Nest, pressed the intercom. “Good evening, Mr. Bodine. I would like to speak with Rafer.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “I told you not to come here again, Agent Hammersmith. We do not have to speak to you. Go away.”
Griffin said easily, “Believe me, Mr. Bodine, this short interview with your son would be far preferable to me bringing a warrant and taking Rafer in for questioning under federal custody.”
Quint Bodine didn’t answer. The gate opened and they drove to the house. Quint was standing in the open doorway. Behind him stood his brother, Sheriff Booker Bodine.
Griffin pulled up in front. He said as he got out of the Range Rover, “As I said, I’d like to speak with Rafer.”
Quint raised his hand to keep Booker quiet. “I’m afraid it isn’t possible, Agent Hammersmith. My son is sleeping. He had a bad day. He took a good deal of pain medication, as you can well imagine, since it was you and this woman who hurt him so badly.” He looked past Griffin to Carson, now standing beside him.
Griffin said, “Unfortunately this is of great importance. Please wake him up, Mr. Bodine.”
Quint Bodine didn’t move. He crossed his arms. His voice was controlled and smooth even as his anger radiated off him in waves. “You will listen to me, Agent Hammersmith. I’m sure if I call Mr. Jobs, our attorney, he will agree you have no justification for being here, harassing us. Once again, you have no proof my son was involved in any of the kidnappings. You have no reason for coming.”
Griffin said, “Another sixteen-year-old girl, Linzie Drumm, disappeared today, assumed kidnapped from Whytheville.”
“That’s Sheriff Cruisie’s town.” Booker looked like he’d been kicked in the gut. He was slowly shaking his head. “Nobody called me. But how could this happen? Everyone was on the alert in this area, parents, all law enforcement. Every family with a daughter should have been watching over her.”
Quint said, “My son has been here since we brought him home from the hospital. He has not left the house.” He looked at Carson, and his mouth seamed. “What are you doing here?”
Griffin said over him, “I have questions for him, Mr. Bodine. As I said, I can talk to him here, or I can take him into custody for questioning.”
Booker laid his hand on his brother’s arm. “It’s okay, Quint. You told me Rafer hasn’t left the house. Cyndia can verify that. Let him speak to Rafer. It doesn’t matter.”
Quint Bodine didn’t say anything more, simply stepped back. “My wife and Jessalyn are making dinner, so be quick with your questions. I’ll go wake my son.”
Griffin studied Sheriff Bodine’s face. He saw no particular dislike, but he did see lots of questions, and something more—surprise. The sheriff said slowly, “You must have some reason you came here, something you found out about the girl in Whytheville. Come in, I don’t want Rafer talking to you in the doorway.”
Griffin and Carson followed Sheriff Bodine down the steps into the great room and seated themselves on one of the oversize leather sofas facing the huge windows and the darkening mountains beyond. It was magnificent, the sky turning a soft pearly gray. They smelled beef stew.
Cyndia and Jessalyn came out of the kitchen, walked through the open dining room and into the great room. They stopped close together, wary and stiff. Cyndia said to Carson, repeating her husband’s question, “What are you doing here? You have no business here.”
Carson gave them a friendly smile, waved toward the glass. “Agent Hammersmith insisted. Isn’t the view something? Like a painting. You’re very lucky to see it every day.”
They both ignored her. Jessalyn watched her husband walk to stand in front of the immense fireplace, legs spread, his thumbs hooked inside his wide leather belt, an old habit, one she’d thought was sexy before he’d gained thirty pounds. She said, “Booker, we heard the agent say there’s another missing teenager. That’s very upsetting. But why do they want to see Rafer?”
Booker locked eyes with Griffin, then his slid away, and Griffin wondered if he was remembering the duct tape removed from Rafer’s basement. Had he removed it himself? Did he have any doubts about his nephew’s guilt even now, with another young girl gone? Booker said to his wife, “It’s an investigation, Jess. He needs to speak to a lot of people.”
“But it happened in Whytheville! What is he doing here?” As she spoke she turned to give Griffin a long look. He felt the hair stir on the back of his neck. He focused back on Jessalyn Bodine’s strong-boned face, looked directly into her eyes and said clearly in his mind, Your nephew is very probably a killer. You know it, I know it. Will you ignore it forever?
She jerked back, shock on her face. Without a word, Jessalyn Bodine turned and walked back to the kitchen. Cyndia said, “What did you do to her? What?”
Griffin smiled at her. “Nothing. You’ve been here, I haven’t said a word to your sister, haven’t moved from this spot. It’s like you and Agent Sherlock—you didn’t say a word to her, either, did you, Mrs. Bodine? And you were even across the room.”
She looked like she would blast him, but Quint Bodine came into the great room with Rafer, his hand under his elbow, as if to support him. Rafer looked in no need of his father’s help. He looked tough and hardy with the dark beard scruff, tight jeans, black T-shirt, and scarred black boots. Then Rafer spotted Carson and took a quick step back.
“Hello, Rafer, how’s tricks?”
Rafer stared at her, said slowly, “Dad said Agent Hammersmith was here to question me about a missing teenager in Whytheville. Why are you here? You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” He gave her a knowing, hungry look that was potent indeed. He looked at Griffin. “Look, I don’t know anything about it, do you hear me?”
