There was a single name that didn’t belong to an attorney or a detective associated with the case. Alisha Arrington. She was listed as the inmate’s sister.
The thing was, Holmes didn’t have any siblings. Parents were deceased. No known next of kin.
“I need an image of this visitor.” Finley tapped the screen and stated the date.
Mickey leaned in close to the monitor. “I can get that for you. Maybe not today. I’ll send it to your email as soon as I can.”
“That would be great.”
Scrolling in reverse-chronological order, she spotted that same visitor’s name once each month all the way back to barely a month after Holmes was delivered to Riverbend. The woman—his alleged sister—had abruptly ended her monthly visits in February of this year.
Finley had a new mission for the day: find Alisha Arrington.
Mickey escorted Finley back to the docks. “I’ll keep working on the Preacher. You’ll hear from me if seeing him today is possible.” He hitched his head. “Stay against the building. I adjusted the angle of the security camera away from it. Once you reach the end of the building, walk beyond the pavement, on the grass, until you get to your car.”
“Good deal.” She passed the badge back to him. “Thanks, Mickey. I’ll be looking for that image.”
He nodded and headed back inside.
Finley made the trek as directed, then settled into her Subaru. She checked the time. She still had a few minutes to drive over to unit one of the complex and visit Arlo. Getting an opportunity to speak with the Preacher would be great, but she would take what she could get. Arlo was very good at finding information. Every piece of info, no matter how small, helped fill in the blanks. Sometimes it was the most unexpected tidbit that made all the difference.
Arlo wasn’t one of the worst offenders at Riverbend, which allowed him to meet face to face with visitors in a supervised visitation area. Finley parked and headed into the building. She signed in and waited for the next visitation time. Other visitors were there to see their friends or loved ones. A few minutes elapsed before the bell rang and the current group of inmates said their goodbyes and left the area. Maybe two minutes later the next group was allowed entrance. Arlo was at the front of the line of inmates. He walked straight over to Finley’s table. The thing she didn’t get about Arlo was that he was smart. Really smart. She hoped when he’d served his time he would go to college or do something worthwhile with his life. At thirty, he was still young enough to start over and have a long and full life.
“You’re looking good, Fin.” He grinned.
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Arlo.”
He laughed. Any compliment she paid him made him smile.
“So, Charlie Holmes.” He scanned the visiting area, ever watchful. “He’s the talk of the house these days.”
“Is this whole ‘found Jesus’ claim legit?” She had her doubts, but it happened. There were inmates who found religion, decided to educate themselves or learn a trade. Being incarcerated gave one time to reflect and to change life for the better. It also provided an opportunity to go down a darker path. Prisons had their societal hierarchies and their secrets. There was more than one world within these walls. There were numerous kings and lords. The secret to staying alive was often as simple as keeping your mouth shut and your eyes forward. Other times it was a battle of wills or sheer luck.
“The guy Rudy, Rudy Davis,” Arlo explained, “Charlie’s best friend since like three months ago, is a serious Bible thumper. Walks around with the Bible in his hand all the time. Quoting scripture and shit, which is why they call him the Preacher.”
“Three months.” Didn’t seem like much time for a lifelong criminal to become a changed man.
Arlo leaned forward. “Story is, old Charlie is making preparations for taking care of his family.”
“Family?” He’d had one female visitor in all this time, and she hadn’t visited recently. “Are you talking about his followers?”
Holmes had a small cult following related to his short-lived attempt at fame in the country music industry. Dozens wrote to him. Women and men. Some claimed to be in love with him; others wanted to be him. It wasn’t unusual for a high-profile criminal to have followers. For a while there was some trouble in Nashville. Mostly private-property damage. Names of jurors were leaked and their homes vandalized. From time to time billboards were painted over with phrases proclaiming his innocence. Until recently, the group had basically faded into history. Now there was a social media page and protestors showing up on street corners who passed along warnings about the leads she was following. Finley expected to find them at her door any day now.