Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

Florida was outside her jurisdiction.
    For the second time since he had sat down, he updated his palmtop and checked his list of things-to-do. Find a killer was at the top of his list, and it would stay first until he’d done it. He’d spoken with Faye at length on the day of the murders, but that was before he’d laid eyes on her interesting roommate, so he added Joe’s name to his suspect list and put Faye’s name back on his list of witnesses to interview. Above Faye’s friend Joe, the name “Douglass Everett” festered. The man’s very name still made his blood boil.
    Sheriff Mike was only on his third Coca-Cola when Faye walked in, dressed to the nines and looking nothing like a woman who depended on a shower fed from a tiny boat-mounted tank of stale water. He patted one of the bar stools beside him. Both were empty; Wally’s patrons were also wary of venturing too close to the law. “Let’s talk,” he said.
    She looked confused by his request, but she showed no signs of the run-when-you-see-a-cop-coming syndrome that afflicted Wally and his customers. Good. He rather liked Ms. Longchamp.
    “You look nice,” he said as a brief and inadequate warmup before he got to the point. “Tell me about this guy I saw you with—the one who put on such a performance over on Seagreen Island yesterday.”
    “Joe Wolf?”
    “That’s his full name?”
    “No, his full name’s Joe Wolf Mantooth. What do you mean by saying Joe ‘put on a performance’ yesterday? He was worried about me. What’s wrong with that?”
    “Maybe nothing. Maybe I just want to talk to him in case he knows something that could help the investigation. Tell me where he lives.”
    Her silence caught him off guard. He repeated the question. “So where does Mr. Mantooth live?”
    She was slow in responding, although she did eventually respond. It didn’t take a law enforcement officer of his experience to see that the witness was suddenly resistant. He wasn’t surprised when she changed the subject, although the direction she took the conversation caught him with his pants down.
    “You’re about the age…” She pursed her lips a second, then asked, “Did you know Abigail Williford?”
    Something in the innocence of Faye’s question and the soft brown of her eyes conjured up Abby’s face, and he felt a prickle of tears that he had thought were thirty years gone. He managed a quick, “Why do you ask?” and was surprised to hear his voice sound so casual.
    “It’s just that I’d never heard of her until just recently. It’s hard to believe that I grew up thirty or forty miles away in Tallahassee and I’ve spent years down here, yet I’ve never once heard her name mentioned. I mean, she disappeared five years before I was born, but still you’d think I would have heard something . Anyway, I heard you were from around here and I’m guessing you’re about her age. Maybe you were already doing law enforcement by that time.”
    “My deputy’s badge still had its brand-new shine when Abby disappeared. There weren’t thirty-five people in our graduating class. Of course I knew her.” Seeking to regain control of the conversation, he gestured out the window. “By the way, no matter what you gave me as a permanent address, no way do I believe that either you or Mr. Mantooth live on that leaky bucket. A man his size would go stir-crazy on that boat. And you—you look like the type that likes to bathe more than once a week. So where does Joe Wolf Mantooth live?”
    “He lives with me.”
    “On the boat?”
    “On the boat.”
    “Is he on the boat now?”
    “No. He’s probably out on his johnboat, fishing.”
    Ms. Longchamp needed to shake her quiet wise-ass attitude, so he delivered the big question, the hard one, the one designed to make her think. “Where was Joe Wolf Mantooth on Tuesday morning, day before yesterday?”
    He was unprepared for her expression of total shock. If she hadn’t suspected where he was going with his questions, then what had caused her to turn into a wise ass when he started asking where she and Joe lived?
    “You think Joe killed Sam and Krista? You’re crazy. He’d never hurt anybody. The world should take care of people like Joe, innocent to the bone, instead of persecuting them. Leave him alone.”
    “Do you know a lot about him? Where he came from? Who his people are?”
    “No. What’s your point?”
    Good. He had successfully pushed a well-bred, soft-spoken woman to the edge of