“Send me what you have when you have it—don’t wait for all of them. I’ll start running them.”
“No hits on the others?”
“No, but you’ll see there’s distinct differences. They’re a type, you might think cousins at best.”
“Send it on. I’ve got some clear time this morning.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
She sent the file, then pulled up the information on Lisa McKinney’s half sister.
Irene Jasper, age seventy-four, married to Phillip Jasper, two offspring. Freelance photographer.
Irene answered on the second ring, a sharp-featured woman with a disordered crown of maroon hair. “Police,” she said in a raspy voice with a lot of drawl. “New York. This must be about Lisa and her boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My brother just filled me in. Good thing I’m an early riser, but I don’t know how I can help you. I met Lisa exactly once, when my mother insisted we drive up to Tennessee so Harry and I—he’d have been three, I guess—could meet our half sister. I don’t remember much of it other than a lot of shouting, and hearing words I was, at that time, unfamiliar with.”
She smiled a little. “I do remember we stayed in a motel that had a swimming pool—the height of luxury for me. And that my mother cried that night when she thought Harry and I were asleep. He was, I wasn’t.”
“You never had contact with her again?”
“I didn’t, no. My mother pushed for it off and on later, when Lisa had the child, but my father was adamant. And, to be honest, I was fine with that.”
“Do you know her son’s name?”
“I don’t. If I ever did, it’s long gone. My father died ten years ago, and Mama left us this past winter. They might have known, I suppose they did, but there’s no asking them now. I can tell you, it’s clear—from what I heard growing up, and the usual gossip in a small town where I grew up—that my father’s first wife was a wild one. Trouble in school, liked the fast times, the fast boys, and drank and used as much as she could get when she could get it. About the opposite of my own. Mama was a rule follower, as softhearted as they came. My daddy’s estrangement from his oldest child troubled that soft heart.”
“Did Lisa ever try to exploit that?”
Irene pursed her lips. “Now, that’s a thought, and I’ll admit it would have been easy enough. I don’t think so. Mama would’ve told me. Maybe not when I was a young thing, but later on. Now, I do know Lisa’s grandma divorced her grandpa before Lisa was born. He liked his drink, and chasing the ladies, wedding ring or not. He even did some time for beating some guy—and this is after, the story goes, he gave his wife a taste of it more than once.”
Irene lifted a bright red mug of something, chugged as she angled her head and thought back.
“I heard tales of Big Beau Boswell plenty, as when they locked him up a second time—for putting his hands on a woman who objected—he got himself beat to death in prison.
“Lisa would’ve been a baby, I expect, when her grandma married again and she moved back up to Tennessee. So when my daddy divorced Lisa’s mama—and she married and divorced right quick after—she moved on up there, too. Shook small-town Bigsby off her high-heeled shoes. Married again, I’m told, and that didn’t take. Don’t suppose it’s a wonder Lisa was a wild one.”
Irene paused. “I expect you’re thinking her boy’s more than wild.”
The boy, Eve thought, had over six decades under his belt. “He’s a suspect in two murders and at least three abductions.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sorry to know that somebody who came from my daddy would turn out so wrong. My daddy was a good man, a good father. Funny and hardworking. Could be stern, but could be sweet, too. I know that first marriage had some ugly moments, things he never spoke of—but small towns have big ears and bigger mouths. And I’ll tell you, word was maybe the baby was his, maybe not. She was wild, Lisa’s mama, and enjoyed the back seat of many a car, so the stories say. But Daddy married her, and was a father to that girl until they took off.
“I believe Daddy’s first wife died some thirty years back or more. Pills and liquor, word was.”
“Do you know if there were any photographs of Lisa and her son?”
“I never saw any. The fact is, I couldn’t tell you what she looked like, even from meeting her that one time. I remember that swimming pool, and my mama crying that night, but I can’t get myself a picture of that girl’s face.”