Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

“Would your brother Hank laugh?”

Cindy didn’t even pause. “No, I guess Hank would tell me to get off my butt and go for it.”

Sherlock hugged her. “There you go. Maybe it’s time for you to be more open to things, to make a change. Skype Hank, see what he has to say. The important thing is not to waste this wonderful life you’ve been given, not to sell yourself short. Look at what you already did—you saved yourself from a very scary man.”

Cindy stared at Sherlock, then she laughed. “I’m not about to sell myself short, not anymore. And I’m not about to waste my time sitting on my hands in some dorky classroom with other kids who don’t give a crap about the history of the world. No thank you. I have better things to do.”

“What sorts of things, Cindy?”

“Well, before last night, before that crazy man Victor, I couldn’t make up my mind. I realize now I was too scared to take a chance, but it’s like you said, Agent Sherlock, I’m a hero. I saved myself. No more doubts, no more being scared. I’m not going to put up with all these local hicks shouting at me all the time. ‘Cindy? Get me catsup.’ ‘Sweet cheeks, get me another beer.’ ‘Hey, cutie, wanna go out with me?’?” She shuddered. “No more. I can do better than that. From today on, I’m going to be Tennessee. Yeah, Tennessee Wilcox—that name has guts, not a name to mess with, not like Cindy. The creeps can get their own catsup. And I’m going to save my money and go back to Las Vegas.” She beamed at Sherlock, hugged her again, and gave the chief back his jacket.

Back in the Volvo, Savich turned on the air-conditioning, leaned over to pat Sherlock’s arm, kissed her, and cupped her

face in his palm. “Good try, sweetheart. Tennessee has a real ring to it. Perfect for Las Vegas, don’t you think?”

54

* * *

SPARROW CREMATORIUM

HAGGERSVILLE, MARYLAND

WEDNESDAY

The Sparrow Crematorium was a modern two-story white stucco building with beautifully kept grounds, standing in the middle of a small park of pine and maple. Cars were tucked discreetly to the side with a dozen or so sitting under the blazing sun, most with sunscreens across the windshields. There was no hint of smoke or cinder in the air, maybe because they cremated at night. Like most people, Ty knew they burned bodies in an oven, then scooped up the ashes and put them in an urn of the family’s choosing. And like most people, she didn’t want any more particulars.

Sala and Ty walked a long flagstone path toward the main entrance set beneath two white Doric columns. No one seemed to be about.

“I’ve never been to a crematorium before,” Ty whispered. “All that white, it looks so clean, so—sanitary.”

“I guess that would relieve my mind if I planned to cremate one of my family, and that’s the point. Ty, pull up, I want to talk a minute. Let’s catch some shade under that oak tree.” The shade felt good, relieved the nearly skin-searing heat a bit. Sala said, “Here’s the thing about Mr. Henry LaRoque being cremated here: I can’t help but remember that crematorium in Noble, Georgia, the Tri-State Crematory. They weren’t burning bodies like they were supposed to, they were throwing them out like refuse on their property. I remember people even reported seeing bodies next to the building, but the local sheriff kept claiming everything was fine.

“It’s a textbook case, right? Lots of papers written about it, FBI profilers chewed it over, and yet I still don’t understand why they did it. Why didn’t the owners simply cremate the bodies like they were paid to do? Running the ovens costs that much? If so, why didn’t they simply pass the cost along? If it was only about greed, then why not at least bury the bodies deep? No one would have ever known what they did. It was rank stupidity—imagine dumping dead bodies like so much trash close to their facility. Didn’t the owners think people would notice? Didn’t they consider they’d be reported?”

He paused, looked out over the peaceful lawn. “And now we find a whole lot of bones in Lake Massey. And the belt buckle in among all those bones. And we are at another crematorium.”

Ty said, “I remember the owner, Ray Brent, served twelve years in prison. And of course many families sued in civil courts. But it’s not enough for what he did—for years. I remember thinking he should have gotten life imprisonment.”

Sala said, “There’s flat-out crazy, like Victor Nesser, and then there’s evil, people who are so perverted there don’t seem to be any limits, like Brent.”

Ty said, “Sala, I get it. We’ll find out if the Sparrows dumped those bodies in Lake Massey. Doesn’t exactly look like that kind of place, though, does it?”

“Neither did the Tri-State Crematory in Georgia.” He studied her face, summer tanned, her intelligent green eyes with absurdly long lashes, her curly dark brown hair blowing around her face, her stubborn chin and the line of freckles marching across her nose. Sala realized he admired her. More than that, he was grateful to her. “It’s all about helping the victims for you, isn’t it? Most recently me.” He squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Ty.”

Ty lightly touched her fingertips to his hand. “And thank you for being here with me. Now, let’s go have a talk with the Sparrows. I saw you on your iPad on the way over here. Did you find anything interesting?”

They looked up when an older couple walked past them, their heads close together, in quiet conversation. He waited until they were out of hearing. “I looked up the Sparrow Crematorium, established by the current owners’ grandparents in the mid-sixties. The parents, Elaine and Jonah Sparrow, were both killed in an auto accident five years ago, clearing the way for the current owners, their children, Landry and Eric. Landry, the older son, is forty-four years old, and he’s married to Susan. She’s thirty, married Landry nearly six years ago. A pretty big age difference between them.”

“So Susan married Landry Sparrow before the parents died in the auto accident.”

“Yes. Their car ran off a bridge into the Kersey River about thirty miles east of here during a bad snowstorm. It was ruled an accident. What a suspicious mind you have, Chief Christie.”

“No, not really. So now the younger generation is running things.” Ty waved her hand around her. “This place looks up-to-date, modern, well maintained. It’s in a beautiful setting. It looks prosperous, like they’re doing well financially.”

“And not all that far away from Lake Massey.”

“Sala, to be honest here, a Serial makes the most sense to me, not another rogue crematorium dumping bodies they were supposed to burn in the oven.”