Read Online Lady Midnight by Timothy C. Phillips - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Timothy C. Phillips
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Constance Patrick’s whereabouts?”
Randy Cross paused for a moment. “Not exactly. Listen, Mr. Longville, I think it might be better if you came over to my home, where we could talk this whole thing over. I live out in Marietta. You know where Delk Road is?”
I told him that I didn’t. He gave me directions, and fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a massive apartment complex in a neighborhood that had seen its better days. It wasn’t necessarily on a bad street, but the urban sprawl and the general crumbling of civilization would soon see to that.
The apartments were enlarged versions of what realtors call a ranch-style home, sanitized versions of what the lowest bidder erects in the poor parts of cities the world over. There was a feeling of dispossession, of dejection that hung over the sunny parking lot, that behind the efficiently but artlessly trimmed hedges, everyone around here was just going through the motions and waiting out their time.
The man who answered the door confirmed this impression. Randy was a tall, thin, soft-spoken man. He was in his late twenties, and looked a bit weathered for his age. He led me into the front room and settled down on a leather sofa. He nodded at a chair nearby, and I sat down opposite him.
“You wanted to talk with me?”
“Yeah. I hear that you’re looking for my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Oh, I get it. You’ve probably never even heard of me.” He arose and said, “Hang on a second,” as he walked out of the room.
He returned with a photo album in his hands. “Take a look,” he said in his soft voice, and sat down again.
I opened the album. What I saw were pictures of a younger Randy with a younger Connie Patrick, and to my complete surprise, a younger Senator Keith Patrick. Or, the man before he became senator, I thought most likely.
“You’re saying that you are Senator Patrick’s son?”
“I’m his son, yeah. Not that you’ll see me in any of those pictures they show on his campaign commercials on T.V. I’m his bastard son, you see. He and my mother were never married. They saw each other before he met his late wife. I’m sort of an embarrassment to him, first because I was born out of wedlock in a time when that was still a big deal; and because I’ve had problems with drugs, been in jail, stuff like possession, you know? So he doesn’t really claim me. I did a couple of years down in Atmore. He gave me some money to go away, basically. He helped me get this place after I got out of jail. Payment for keeping my mouth shut about who my father is. But Connie and me, well, we stayed close over the years. We care about each other.”
“So you and the senator don’t talk?”
“Ah, no. Not really. If I need something, I talk to his assistant, that Baucom guy. He sends me money through Baucom around Christmas every year, more to make himself feel good than anything, I guess.”
“Has he contacted you to see if maybe you heard from your sister?”
“Like I said, I haven’t heard anything from him, and I haven’t seen Connie, lately. She usually calls me fairly often, so that’s why I became worried when I didn’t hear from her. So I asked around about what to do, and I went to see this private investigator, Bowman.”
I was taken aback again. “So it was you who hired Bowman to look for Connie?”
“That’s right. You look surprised. I didn’t tell anyone about hiring him, because I didn’t want it to get back to Senator Patrick. I figured Connie had disappeared for a reason, like maybe she had argued with the senator. That happens from time to time. But still, it isn’t like her not to call me. Whenever they got into a fight, I’m usually the first person she would call.”
“What do you know about Anthony Herron?”
Randy’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sorry. Who?”
“Your father said that she’d started seeing him when the
Randy Cross paused for a moment. “Not exactly. Listen, Mr. Longville, I think it might be better if you came over to my home, where we could talk this whole thing over. I live out in Marietta. You know where Delk Road is?”
I told him that I didn’t. He gave me directions, and fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a massive apartment complex in a neighborhood that had seen its better days. It wasn’t necessarily on a bad street, but the urban sprawl and the general crumbling of civilization would soon see to that.
The apartments were enlarged versions of what realtors call a ranch-style home, sanitized versions of what the lowest bidder erects in the poor parts of cities the world over. There was a feeling of dispossession, of dejection that hung over the sunny parking lot, that behind the efficiently but artlessly trimmed hedges, everyone around here was just going through the motions and waiting out their time.
The man who answered the door confirmed this impression. Randy was a tall, thin, soft-spoken man. He was in his late twenties, and looked a bit weathered for his age. He led me into the front room and settled down on a leather sofa. He nodded at a chair nearby, and I sat down opposite him.
“You wanted to talk with me?”
“Yeah. I hear that you’re looking for my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Oh, I get it. You’ve probably never even heard of me.” He arose and said, “Hang on a second,” as he walked out of the room.
He returned with a photo album in his hands. “Take a look,” he said in his soft voice, and sat down again.
I opened the album. What I saw were pictures of a younger Randy with a younger Connie Patrick, and to my complete surprise, a younger Senator Keith Patrick. Or, the man before he became senator, I thought most likely.
“You’re saying that you are Senator Patrick’s son?”
“I’m his son, yeah. Not that you’ll see me in any of those pictures they show on his campaign commercials on T.V. I’m his bastard son, you see. He and my mother were never married. They saw each other before he met his late wife. I’m sort of an embarrassment to him, first because I was born out of wedlock in a time when that was still a big deal; and because I’ve had problems with drugs, been in jail, stuff like possession, you know? So he doesn’t really claim me. I did a couple of years down in Atmore. He gave me some money to go away, basically. He helped me get this place after I got out of jail. Payment for keeping my mouth shut about who my father is. But Connie and me, well, we stayed close over the years. We care about each other.”
“So you and the senator don’t talk?”
“Ah, no. Not really. If I need something, I talk to his assistant, that Baucom guy. He sends me money through Baucom around Christmas every year, more to make himself feel good than anything, I guess.”
“Has he contacted you to see if maybe you heard from your sister?”
“Like I said, I haven’t heard anything from him, and I haven’t seen Connie, lately. She usually calls me fairly often, so that’s why I became worried when I didn’t hear from her. So I asked around about what to do, and I went to see this private investigator, Bowman.”
I was taken aback again. “So it was you who hired Bowman to look for Connie?”
“That’s right. You look surprised. I didn’t tell anyone about hiring him, because I didn’t want it to get back to Senator Patrick. I figured Connie had disappeared for a reason, like maybe she had argued with the senator. That happens from time to time. But still, it isn’t like her not to call me. Whenever they got into a fight, I’m usually the first person she would call.”
“What do you know about Anthony Herron?”
Randy’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sorry. Who?”
“Your father said that she’d started seeing him when the
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