Page 46 of Bone Echo

“We’re found the children. Alive and well. They were with Edna Sue’s brother in Horn Lake.”

Anna Lisa and Patrick Williams had spent the night with their cousins in the suburb of Memphis and left early that morning to spend the day at a farm and petting zoo outside New Albany, Mississippi. From there, the couple, Ted and Joan Shumpert, drove to Oxford with their two children as well as the Williams children to tour the home of famous novelist William Faulkner.

No one except the parents knew where the missing children were, and the tragic news didn’t reach the shocked couple until they returned to Horn Lake. Child Protective Services was already involved, and had determined the children should stay with their aunt and uncle until permanent custody could be determined in court.

The Shumpert house would be under twenty-four/seven surveillance until the killer was caught

The manhunt was on.

Dudley didn’t leave the station until ten o’clock that evening. He was so exhausted he could barely hold his eyes open long enough for the drive home.

It was in total darkness. Not even an outside light to show that anybody inside cared whether he could see to get into his own house. Sighing, he trudged up the uneven sidewalk that needed repair to the front door that needed a fresh coat of paint.

Gloria Jean wanted to paint it blue, but he liked barn red. They couldn’t agree on the color, so it remained green with peeling paint that revealed a putrid looking yellow underneath.

Inside, he flipped on the lights, and tiptoed to the hall closet to get a pillow and blanket. He’d sleep on the couch. No use waking his family

The door squeaked when he opened it, and he froze, expecting Gloria Jean to call out for him toget quiet.Nothing happened, so he pulled out a blue wool blanket and a pillow too flat for his taste. Who cared? At this point, he could sleep on a pile of bricks.

He made his way back to the sofa, and that’s when he saw it. Lying on the coffee table. The envelope as stark as a heart attack. His name scrawled across the top.

I’ve taken the children to the mountains. Why disappoint them? They’ve had enough disappointment to last a lifetime. And so have I.

I can’t go on like this, taking care of our children by myself, explaining why Daddy is hardly ever here, making excuses that even children can see through. Even worse, making promises they know you will never keep.

The worry, the disappointment, the loneliness are just too much. I want a life.

Don’t bother coming to the mountains. I’m done. When I get home, I want you gone.

My attorney will be in touch with you about terms of a divorce.

Gloria Jean

P.S. I’m sorry about Charlie. He was a good man.

If his wife hadn’t added the PS, Dudley would have hated her. As it stood, he couldn’t hate her. Or even be mad at her. She was right. She deserved a life, and so did his children.

He carefully folded the letter back into the envelope and centered it on the coffee table so he wouldn’t forget to take it when he left. It was a map to his future.

CHAPTER 16

Germantown

While a team worked feverishly processing the evidence found at the Williams’ home, a wide net was spread all over the city to catch the killer who slaughtered the couple, and most likely Charlie, too. Boots were on the ground, questioning everyone in Germantown about what they saw the morning of the murders.

Dudley and Jack focused on nearby businesses that had cameras. Their first stop was the Dunkin’ Donuts closest to the Williams residence. Camera footage of the hour leading up to the murders showed nothing except a couple of senior citizens and a smartly dressed young woman with a briefcase who had stopped there.

They systematically worked the shops in the franchise, fanning out from there. Half a mile from the Germantown neighborhood, they hit pay-dirt. Camera footage showed a man of slightly more than medium height, dressed in black jeans and jersey, entering the shop, a generic black baseball cap angled so the bill put his face in shadow. But his bull-like neck was on full display. As were the arm muscles that bulged under his jerseytop. He bought a cup of coffee but was careful to angle his face away from the camera when he paid. His exit showed the lithe, quick-footed walk of a boxer.

Or a professional killer.

“Do you remember this man?” Dudley asked the shop owner.

“Yeah. Swarthy skin. Beefy hands. Couldn’t see his face, but there was something about him—his attitude, maybe—that made me want to back up and stay out of trouble.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. Just paid with cash and walked out.”

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