The General's Secretary. Debby Giusti

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      Dawson made another notation on his tablet. “At the time of her disappearance, the townspeople thought your mother had run off to Atlanta with her boyfriend.”

      “That’s...that’s what I thought too.”

      “Finding her remains must have changed local opinions.”

      “The folks in town started to realize my mother had probably been killed the night she disappeared.”

      “What did you think, Lillie?”

      “I didn’t know what to believe.”

      Dawson heard the confusion in her voice. “What happened next?”

      She hesitated before she spoke. “Granger Ford worked for Nelson Construction at the time. The police were investigating the employees and found a picture of my mother under his mattress in the motel where he was staying. They accused him of murder. He was found guilty and sent to jail.”

      Dawson tapped his pencil against his notepad. “Did you testify at the trial?”

      “Supposedly, the case was open and shut. They didn’t need to place me on the stand.”

      Hearing Lillie’s response ignited a fire deep within Dawson’s belly. From what he had read about the trial, the prosecution had deemed the case open and shut because Granger was a drifter who worked construction when he needed money. Personnel records at Nelson Construction verified the laborer had been on the payroll at the time of Irene Beaumont’s disappearance and again when the steel drum, bearing the Nelson Construction name and logo, had been found.

      “Do you know anything about the case?” Pritchard stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Dawson hadn’t heard him come back inside.

      “I did an internet search before I got here.” Dawson pocketed his notebook. “Easy enough to access news stories about Granger’s release from prison. The article included information about Irene Beaumont’s murder.”

      “The article probably didn’t mention that they found the T-shirt she must have been wearing in the drum along with her decomposed body.” Pritchard sniffed, unaware of the pained expression on Lillie’s face. “Two blood types were identified on the fabric. A-positive, which was Irene Beaumont’s blood type, and B-negative. That matched Granger Ford’s type.”

      Anger welled up within Dawson. He had read the transcript of the trial and knew Granger had denied, under oath, ever seeing the bloodied T-shirt or having known the victim.

      Dawson made sure his voice was even, his gaze level, before he spoke again. “Yet Mr. Ford was recently released from prison?”

      The cocky cop nodded. “Law students from the University of Georgia got wind of the case. They probably hoped to make a name for themselves.”

      “And the outcome?” Dawson knew too well what the determination had been.

      Pritchard pursed his lips. “Something about the blood type being incorrect.”

      Granger’s blood had proved to be a rare “Du”-positive, which would appear negative on an initial rapid-slide test. More definitive blood typing had not been run prior to his trial, and the jury found Granger guilty because of a bloodied T-shirt and an inaccurate blood type. In addition, DNA testing had not been done, and as Lillie had mentioned, a photo of the deceased had been found under the mattress in Granger’s motel room, which anyone on the housekeeping or janitorial staffs could have accessed.

      “An open-and-shut case, eh?” Dawson couldn’t resist the barb that went over Pritchard’s head.

      “Recent DNA testing verified the B-negative blood on the T-shirt wasn’t Granger’s. He was released from prison ten days ago, but we’re not sure when he arrived in Freemont.”

      At least seventy-two hours earlier, judging from the phone call Dawson had received when Granger got to town. He kept the information to himself. Pritchard could do his own investigation.

      A second cop opened the back door. “Sarge, we’re ready to transport the body.” Pritchard followed him outside.

      Once they were alone, Dawson turned back to Lillie. “What did Granger say when you opened the door tonight?”

      “That someone had found him and beat him. I heard the shot. He fell forward.” She stared at her hands. “I...I tried to catch him.”

      “Did he mention who had found him or did he say anything about your mother?”

      She shook her head, but something about her expression told Dawson the secretary knew more than she had revealed.

      “Do you think Granger killed your mother?”

      She chewed her lip. “I...I don’t know.”

      “Don’t know or won’t say?”

      She hesitated.

      “Did Granger contact you after he was released from prison?”

      “He called me and wanted to meet. I refused. He said he had information about my mother’s death.”

      “Yet you turned him down?”

      “Part of me didn’t believe him. The other part wanted to keep the past locked away.”

      She lowered her gaze and picked at her sleeve.

      “There’s something else, isn’t there?” Dawson asked.

      “I know it sounds crazy after a man has died, but...” She pulled in a nervous breath. “I’m worried about what this will do to military and civilian relations in the local area.”

      “Meaning?”

      “You’ve heard about the new Fort Rickman Museum scheduled to be built on post?”

      Dawson narrowed his gaze, trying to make the connection. With construction ready to commence, the huge, multistoried structure promised to be state of the art, with an extensive collection of historical memorabilia and artifacts. In addition, a grand ballroom, auditorium and banquet facilities would attract large-scale events and needed revenue to this part of Georgia.

      “I know the museum will be a boon to the local economy,” Dawson said, “but I don’t see how one man’s death could adversely affect the project.”

      “Funding is the problem.” She sighed. “Which sounds so inconsequential compared to the taking of a human life.”

      “But—”

      “That’s why I didn’t want to meet Granger when he called a few days ago. I knew if anything about my mother’s death was brought to light, the construction project could be affected.”

      Dawson rubbed his hand over his jaw and let out a frustrated breath. “I still don’t get the tie-in.”

      “You’re not from around here so you probably don’t know Karl Nelson.”

      “Only СКАЧАТЬ