“Yeah. It sucks,” Cass said, rubbing at her eyes. “I just feel bad for Lanier’s daughter.”
“I’ve talked to Emma,” Mak said. “She’s had a bad time, for sure, but she’s a tough little thing. A survivor. Kind of like you, Ms. Cass.”
“We’ll see,” Cass said, her voice trailing off.
* * *
Makarowicz parked his cruiser in the driveway, behind Holland Creedmore Jr.’s car. He allowed himself a grim congratulatory smile as he traversed the cracked concrete sidewalk to the front door. It was just eight in the morning. A set of golf clubs was leaned against the wall, and a pair of golf spikes was sitting beside the doormat.
He rang the doorbell, and waited. No answer. He turned around and looked out at the quiet street. It was a weekday. Most of the neighbors were at work, or inside, watching the news. At the house across the street, an older man trained a garden hose on a bed of wilted flowers. A mom pushed a stroller past, with a tiny, yappy dog trailing behind on a retractable leash. She stopped at the curb, waiting while the dog lifted a leg on the unmown grass.
Mak rang the doorbell again, then pounded on the door with his fist.
“Hang on, I’m coming.” The door opened a crack, with the chain lock engaged.
“Mr. Creedmore,” he started, but the door slammed.
“Not talking to you, asshole,” Creedmore called.
Makarowicz leaned against the door. “Lanier Ragan’s skeletal remains were found at your family’s property yesterday afternoon. You need to open this door, or I’ll arrest you and drag you out in handcuffs in front of all your neighbors.”
The door flew open. Holland Jr.’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”
“We found Lanier Ragan,” Mak repeated loudly. “Right where you put her, seventeen years ago.”
Creedmore peered out toward the street. The old man across the street was leaning on the side of his car, unabashedly watching the unfolding scene before him while his hose trickled water on the driveway. The lady with the stroller and the dog were paused too.
“You’re crazy,” he said. “I never…”
“You need to come with me right now,” Mak said. “Or I can call the station and request a couple of cruisers to respond to this address with lights and sirens.”
“Unbelievable,” Creedmore muttered, shaking his head. “I had nothing to do with this shit.” He was tucking his polo shirt into his pants. “Hang on. I need to find my phone. I need to call my lawyer.”
Makarowicz gestured toward his cruiser. “Later. Right now we need to take a ride.”
* * *
“You know I’m gonna sue y’all for false arrest, right?” Creedmore said, as they walked into the station house.
“Who said anything about an arrest?” Mak said. “We’re just talking.”
He ushered Creedmore down the corridor into a small interview room. He indicated one of the three chairs in the room and Creedmore sat, his back rigid. Makarowicz sat across from him at a small table. He placed his phone on the tabletop and tapped the record button.
“I’m Detective Allan Makarowicz of the Tybee Island Police Department, it’s nine A.M. on May twenty-sixth, and this is an interview with Holland Creedmore Junior.”
Mak crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “So, Junior. Tell me how a snot-nosed nineteen-year-old manages to seduce a married, twenty-five-year-old English teacher.”
“Didn’t happen,” Creedmore said. “I don’t know who you’re listening to, but those are just old, bullshit rumors.”
“I listened to a woman who saw Lanier Ragan with you, in your vehicle, late at night, after a football game ten weeks before she went missing,” Makarowicz said. “On the date of November twenty-seventh, this witness saw Lanier emerge from your vehicle, laughing, adjusting her clothing, before getting into her own car and driving away.”
Creedmore’s eyes flickered. “What woman? Tell me her name. She’s a liar.”
“I don’t think so,” Makarowicz said. He leaned forward. “Lanier was supposed to be tutoring you in English. But who got schooled? How long had it been going on?”
“Didn’t happen,” Creedmore said.
“Her husband knew she was having an affair that fall,” Makarowicz said. “Whispered late-night phone calls, mysterious ‘meetings’ at school. Only the meetings were with you, weren’t they, sport?”