Despite it being late morning on a Saturday, Nat looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon, her hair and makeup perfect to a fault, her blazer’s lines crisp enough to cut lines of coke. She looked at Jake’s face and then past him into the apartment.
“Love what you did to the place.”
“I have you to thank for all the housewarming gifts.”
“Shame you couldn’t use Kathleen’s stuff.”
“Yeah, but the off-white Bernhardt chaise lounge would have clashed with the peeling lead paint and cracked Formica.”
Nat smirked. “Bitch had no class but impeccable taste. So,” she looked down at the papers on her desk, “let’s review.”
Jake expected her to go straight for his throat over Rachael. Their hot and heavy kiss toward the end of the recording was pretty obvious. While some agents had no qualms getting physical with their contacts in the name of information gathering, Natalie knew that wasn’t Jake’s style. If anything, he was known for playing hard-to-get and that worked even better—women seemed to think he’d sleep with them if they poured out their dirty secrets to impress the tough guy. Instead they got to sleep alone in cold cells. Case in point—Kathleen.
“I want to talk to you about Rachael’s mother,” Nat said as she typed. “I’m uploading the profile we have on her, skinny as it is.”
Whoa. It wasn’t like Nat to beat around the bush, but Jake wasn’t about to complain about the reprieve. “Why so skinny?” Jake split his screen and opened the file, expecting to see that Linda Murphy nee Deal was a waitress somewhere in Pisswater, Alabama with a second divorce under her belt and three kids to feed. As much love as Rachael seemed to have for the woman, Jake could never respect any parent who would just run out on their kid, leaving them behind to suffer the same abuse.
The old photo stopped Jake’s heart and for a second he thought there’d been a mistake. This was Rachael, not Linda Deal. But no, this woman’s hair was deep dark brown, not quite the midnight waves under Jake’s fingers last night, though they shared the same striking blue eyes. He shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair when that memory hit. Damn, he wanted more.
He went back to studying Linda’s photo. Her face was rounder than Rachael’s and she looked younger than Rachael was now. Her smile made you believe bright and good things were in her future. She obviously hadn’t married Ernest yet.Little do you know, your daughter’s probably the only nice thing you have to look forward to, and you left her, Jake thought.
“The first photo’s from her high school graduation,” Natalie said. “She took some classes at a community college, did really well, but then quit. She immediately became Mrs. Ernie Deal, and then about eight months later, along came their first and only kid, Rachael Deal.”
Jake couldn’t mistake the probing tone in Nat’s voice when she said Rachael’s name. He kept his face neutral as he scrolled down to the next photo, where that became impossible.
“Holy fucking Christ.” A mug shot, Linda almost unrecognizable under the bruising and swelling, her split and bleeding lips, her broken nose. Jake doubted this was the first beating Linda endured. He looked at the date. Rachael would have been three. Had Daddy beaten her at this point, too, or was all the love still reserved for Mama?
Natalie waited while Jake read the report. The beating occurred—or rather finished up—in public, because Linda had run from their house and stumbled into a convenience mart a few blocks away. The clerk called the police when she came in, not knowing who she was, just that she was hurt and begging for help. A few minutes later on the recording, the clerk said, “A man just came in,” then, “Oh, Mr. Deal,” and he abruptly hung up with 911. The sheriff showed up shortly after that, and from there, Linda Deal was taken in and booked for being a public nuisance, then fined and released to the custody of her husband.
“Mother. Fucker.” Jake’s blood ran ice-cold.
“You okay, Jake?” Nat’s voice held a professional-level of concern, which for her was overflowing with warmth.
“Yeah. Just…men who get away with that shit, and the assholes who cover for them.”
A line appeared between Natalie’s brows. “I know this brings up bad memories for you. Your mother—”
“I said I’m fine. That’s why I do this job.” Jake scrubbed his face with his hands. “But, thank you, Nat.”
“Anytime.” Natalie cleared her throat. “One guy did object, but later rescinded his objection.”
“The store clerk?”
“No. A deputy. Lewis Broggart. Looks like he kept his job, probably in return for his silence, and then retired about three years ago.”
“So I’ll go talk to him.”
“Negative. He suffered a massive coronary six months after that. Unless you have a Ouija board?”
“Well, shit, I’m fresh out of Ouija boards.”
“Then why don’t you go talk to his son, Lewis Junior? Followed right in his dad’s footsteps. He’s currently a deputy working for the original sheriff, Wilbur Stevenson.” Nat smirked. “I’d suggest talking to old Wilbur, but…”
“He’s best bros with Daddy Deal,” Jake finished. “They probably picked out curtains for their man cave together.”
“Precisely. But, hey, maybe Lewis Junior’s cut from the same cloth as the old man and has a conscience. Might’ve heard stories. He went to high school with Rachael, at least.”
Jake nodded. “Wilco.” He turned his attention back to Linda’s file. “Any more reports of Ms. Deal making a nuisance of herself?” He couldn’t help but spit out the word,nuisance.
