Page 118 of Sting
The words came tumbling out of her along with quarts of tears. It took every ounce of self-discipline Shaw had to remain sitting there, pretending to be nothing more than a sounding board with no vested interest whatsoever in who’d killed Royce Sherman.
The longer she talked, the more emotional she became. When she got to the nitty-gritty and described the fatal shooting, Shaw thought his heart was going to beat itself out of his chest.
“I couldn’t believe it,” she said around a watery gulp. “But I knew he was dead.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I was so scared. Petrified, you know?”
Shaw nodded.
“I just sat there, frozen. I don’t even know for how long. When I came to my senses, I panicked. I guess I should’ve called the cops, but I knew they’d tell my daddy, and he’d skin me and hang me out to dry.
“So I called my friend and told her to come get me. I ran to the main road and hid in the bushes to wait for her. And all the time, I was so scared he’d come back and kill me, too. The wages of sin is death. That’s what I was thinking.”
She was crying so hard Shaw feared her breastbone would crack.
“I’m still scared he’ll track me down. That’s why I didn’t want to tell anybody. They’ll put it on the news. He’ll find out my name. Then he’ll find me.”
Shaw was like a racehorse waiting for the bell, but he kept himself slouched in the chair and shrugged with unconcern. “You said you didn’t see him.”
“I didn’t. But he might think I did. And I’m afraid he’ll—”
At that moment, the double doors at the end of the corridor burst open and a middle-aged couple came barreling through.
The girl shrieked and collapsed upon herself in the chair.
The man, obviously the wrathful preacher, was dressed in work clothes and heavy boots. Linda’s mother had an apron still tied around the waist of her flowered dress. Several deputies were right behind them, trying to stop the preacher’s march down the hallway. The two deputies who’d been in the interrogation room with Linda emerged from it, assessed the situation, and quickly hustled her back into the room.
In the midst of the uproar, Morrow went unnoticed as he unlocked Shaw’s handcuffs. They went back into his office where Wiley and Hickam were waiting.
Shaw pushed off the hood and removed the sunglassses. “How much did you hear?”
“Most,” Wiley said.
Morrow said, “He seduced her to go with him. Pulled off the side of the road to—”
“—get blown by a just-turned sixteen-year-old,” Shaw said. “A shot to the head was almost better than he deserved.”
Wiley said, “A vehicle pulled up behind them. Royce Sherman thought it was the police. He zipped up. She righted herself.”
Shaw took it from there. “The perp left the headlights on, so they couldn’t tell what kind of car he was driving or who he was as he approached. She claims she never saw his face.”
Wiley said, “That’s about the time she started crying so hard, we couldn’t understand anything else she said.”
“What she said,” Shaw told them, “was that she’s scared to death that the killer will come after her.”
“But she can’t ID him.”
“Not by his looks.” Shaw paused for effect. “But she might by his voice.”
Nobody said anything for several seconds, then Wiley fell back a step. “Oh, Christ.”
“Yeah,” Shaw said grimly. “The killer spoke a few words to Royce before he shot him. Linda’s not sure what he said because he talked funny. Like her uncle Clive. Who has this black thing he holds up to his voice box.”
Chapter 30
Jordie pressed the contraband cell phone against her ear and sat down on the edge of the bed. Guiltily, she glanced toward the connecting door to the living area of the suite and spoke in a hushed voice. “Josh? How—”
“Are you watching TV? Have you heard?”
“What? Heard what? How did you know I’d get this phone?”
