“It’s Betty Roe and she says it’s important,” Felicity announced through the speaker.
Lacy rolled her eyes and sighed with frustration. She had hoped that she might be able to go a few days without hearing Jeri’s voice, but wasn’t really surprised. Darren bolted for the door on his coffee run. Sadelle closed her eyes as if ready for another nap.
“Good morning, Betty,” Lacy said.
“We can drop the Betty routine, can’t we now, Lacy?”
“Sure. And how are you this morning, Jeri?”
“Marvelous. I feel fifty pounds lighter and I can’t stop smiling. The fact that he’s gone is such a burden off my brain and body. I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels.”
“That’s great to hear, Jeri. It’s been a long time.”
“It’s been a lifetime, Lacy. I’ve lived with that creep for decades. Anyway, though, I couldn’t sleep. I was up all night because I thought of one more little adventure and I need your help. Preferably with Allie in tow.”
“Allie left this morning, for parts unknown.”
“Then bring Darren. I suppose he’s the next available white boy.”
“I guess. Bring him where?”
“To Pensacola.”
“I’m listening but I’m already skeptical.”
“Don’t be. Trust me. Surely I’ve earned your trust by now.”
“You have.”
“Good. Please drop what you’re doing and come to Pensacola.”
“Okay, I’m struggling but still listening. It’s not exactly right around the corner.”
“I know, I know. One hour for me, three for you, but it could be crucial. It could put the final nail in his coffin.”
“So to speak. He didn’t want a coffin.”
“Right. Look, Lacy, I’ve found the truck.”
“Which truck?”
“The truck Bannick was driving the day he killed Verno and Dunwoody in Biloxi. The truck that was spotted by the old man sitting on his porch in downtown Neely, Mississippi, when Bannick dropped the phones in the mailbox. That truck.”
Lacy slowly said, “So?”
“So, it hasn’t been checked for prints.”
“Wait. I believe Darren tracked it down.”
“Yes, sort of. It’s a 2009 half-ton pickup, light gray in color, purchased by Bannick in 2012. He owned it for two years, used it in the Biloxi murders, then traded it in a month later. A man named Trager bought it from a used car lot, drove it two months until he was hit by a drunk driver. State Farm totaled the truck and gave a check to Trager, who signed over the title. State Farm sold it for scrap. This is all according to what you told me three weeks ago.”
“Right, I remember now. Darren said it was a dead end.”
“Well, not exactly. The truck was not sold for scrap, but for parts. I think I’ve found it in a salvage yard outside of Milton, just north of Pensacola. Do you have Google Maps?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll send you the link for Dusty’s Salvage outside of Milton. It buys wrecks from insurance companies, sells off the parts. Ninety acres of nothing but banged-up cars and trucks. I tracked down the adjuster who handled the Trager claim and he’s pretty sure the truck went to Dusty’s.”
Expecting the worst, Lacy asked, “And what am I supposed to do?”
“Right. The three of us—you, me, Darren—are going to find the truck and have a look. If Bannick owned it for two years then there might be prints. He wouldn’t wipe it down because he didn’t know about his wayward thumb on Verno’s phone. He sold it months before that.”
“Ninety acres?”
“Come on, Lacy, this might be our big break. Sure, it’s a needle in a haystack, but the needle is there.”
“How long do prints last?”
“Years, depending on a bunch of factors—surface, weather, imprint, etc.”
Lacy was not surprised that Jeri knew the ins and outs of fingerprints. “Let’s just call the FBI.”
“Gee, I’ve never heard that before. We’ll call them later. Let’s find the truck first, then decide what to do.”
The impulse was to tell Jeri how swamped she was, how chaotic the office had become in her absence, and so on, but she knew any and all excuses would be blown off, completely ignored. Jeri had tracked down a serial killer the police had never heard of, and she had done so by being tenacious. Lacy simply wasn’t up to an argument.