Biloxi Sunrise (The Biloxi Series Book 1)

  Biloxi Sunrise

  Jerri L Ledford

  Deep South Press

  Copyright 2011 Jerri L Ledford

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidently.

  Biloxi Sunrise

  Second Edition

  Published by Deep South Press

  Copyright © 2011 Jerri Lynn Ledford

  Cover Design: Suzanne Wesley

  Photos: © jonnysek, tverdohlib / Dollar Photo Club and © istock.com / STILLFX.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Learn more about The Biloxi Series at

  www.TheBiloxiSeries.com

  This book is dedicated to my children. You’re my special gifts and I’m so grateful for each day that I have with you. I love you both dearly!

  PROLOGUE

  Marlee huddled deep in her covers, hoping the sound that woke her wasn’t the door slam she thought it was. If it had been the front door slamming, that meant he was home. She squinted at the clock glowing in the dark room. After midnight. That meant he’d been drinking again and hadn’t found anyone at the bar to go home with.

  As she tried to calm her pounding heart, Marlee listened intently for any sound. At first, there was nothing. Then she heard it. The quiet creak of the stairs. Her parent’s room was downstairs. She and her sister had rooms upstairs. But her sister had died a year ago, leaving her alone to deal with the monster who called himself her father.

  No, she hadn’t died. She had been killed. By him. And now he was on his way upstairs to visit Marlee. But she was ready for him this time. For a year, he’d been coming into her room at night after he’d been out drinking. Before that, he spent his time in her sister Dana’s room.

  But Dana made a mistake. She’d tried to run away. Father caught her, and decided she needed to learn a lesson about what it was like to live on the streets. It had started as a game, while Marlee had lain in her bed in the other room trying to pretend she didn’t hear the horrible things that went on next door.

  Father was toying with Dana, showing her all the terrible things that could happen to a pretty girl on the streets. He’d raped her repeatedly, and then pulled a knife on her when she fought back.

  “You think you can fight me, girl?” Marlee could hear him through the paper thin walls, and the drunken sneer of his voice had scared her stiff. “Girls that fight on the street get knocked around.”

  The first thick thud of his fist into Dana’s face made Marlee throw up. She’d cleaned it up with a shirt that she carried to school the next day and threw in the trash can so she wouldn’t get beat with the belt for making a mess.

  “Girls that fight get cut,” Dana whimpered, then screamed a shallow scream that was cut short.

  Where was Momma? Why didn’t she stop Father? Marlee had wondered these same questions over and over again, night after night. But Momma never came to help Dana. And nothing was ever said about the noises upstairs at night.

  Eventually, there was no sound at all from the next room. Then Marlee could hear Father’s soft footsteps on the stairs. Funny, she’d thought at the time, he could barely walk straight, but somehow he always managed to walk up and down the stairs as quietly as a light breeze creeps through the trees.

  Marlee had listened intently that night; afraid to move from her spot in the bottom of the closet for fear that he would hear her. When finally she heard him in the kitchen, rustling through the refrigerator for leftovers from dinner she snuck out of her closet, across the bedroom floor, and quietly pulled her door open.

  She listened again, waiting for the television to come on. She knew his routine. He would sit down in front of the television and eat cold leftovers. Eventually he would go to sleep and tomorrow he’d wake with a nasty disposition. She would try to be out of the house on her way to school before that happened, because when he was in a “morning after” mood, his hand would lash out in a flash and leave a welt on her face or arms or legs. He hit where ever he could for just about any reason when he was in that kind of mood.

  Marlee heard the television switch on to some late-night talk show and crept down the hall to Dana’s room. She eased the door open. Father kept all of the hinges in the house well-oiled so he could come and go without giving himself away.

  “Dana?” she whispered. No answer. “Dana?” she hated how her voice shook, how her whole body shook. It was fear and rage combined into a tight ball that she pushed deep inside so the outside world wouldn’t know what happened in her house at night when the lights were out.

  Dana didn’t answer, so Marlee tip-toed to her bed and reached out to shake her. But something was wrong. Her hand found Dana, but she was wet and sticky. And cold. Much too cold. She shook Dana. No response. Shook her again. Nothing. And at that moment, Marlee believed what she’d already suspected. Dana was dead. Father had finally killed her.

  Marlee ran back to her room, forgetting to be quiet, forgetting Father was still awake downstairs. Once in her room, she climbed into the back of her closet where she’d been hiding before and threw up into her shirt again and again until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Eventually she’d fallen asleep from exhaustion, only to wake the next morning with muscles bound so tight she was hardly able to move.

  She prayed that she’d had a nightmare. And when she snuck into Dana’s room to see, Dana was gone. The bed was made. Everything looked normal except that the bedding on Dana’s bed was different. It had been changed in the night.

  At breakfast, Momma pushed her stringy hair out of her face and lit a cigarette then made the announcement that Dana had run away again during the night. “I heard her creepin’ around up there. I figured she was up to something. Ungrateful little wretch. Let her stay on the streets. If she don’t wanna be here, we don’t want her here.”

  Father had just grunted and nothing more was ever said about Dana. It was as if she’d never actually existed outside the memories that Marlee had of her.

  Hearing the floor boards outside her door creek, Marlee tightened her grip on the handle of the knife she held by her side. She was ready. It had taken her time to work up the nerve to steal the knife from the grocery store. If she’d been caught, Father probably would have killed her too.

  “Don’t you get outta line, girl,” he’d said on more than one occasion. “I was your beginning, and I can just as easily be your end.”

  Marlee had found the courage to steal that knife, though, and tonight would be the last time he came into this room and took what he wanted. Tonight he would know what Dana felt as she took her last terrified breath on this earth. Momma would know too. Both of them would pay for what they’d done to Dana and to her.

  The door creaked open, letting a sliver of light fall across the bedroom floor. A shadow passed through the light and Marlee tightened her grip on the handle of the knife.

  “Wake
up, girl. Your Father needs your attention.”

  ONE

  Jack Roe pulled the unmarked silver police cruiser onto Highway 90 and pressed the accelerator to the floorboard. He flipped on the blue lights mounted in the grill of the car, but decided the early morning traffic wasn’t heavy enough to warrant using the siren. Might as well let folks sleep if they can. The car reached eighty miles an hour. He eased his foot off the gas pedal and cruised past the casinos and dark, empty beaches.

  The miles between his condo at The Ocean Club and Gulfport Memorial Hospital sped by. His mind whirled around the conversation with his sister just a few minutes before. All she said was meet her at the hospital as soon as possible. Now, he hurtled across the Coast waffling between anger and worry.

  Leslie was always more dramatic than necessary, and Jack had made many trips similar to this one. Usually, her daughter, Lisa, had some minor ailment which convinced Leslie the seventeen-year-old was dying. But something felt different tonight—maybe the tone of Leslie’s voice, or her refusal to elaborate. The situation made Jack’s stomach churn and tighten.

  The sight of the now familiar detour signs pointed Jack toward the hospital. Five years after Hurricane Katrina, the damage from the storm was still evident in the construction of new houses and road work that changed existing routes. His tires squealed, and the car rocked as he made the turn too fast. Jack regained control, drawing from his experience racing across uneven terrain while stationed in Afghanistan, and then floored the accelerator again.

  The car flew up the short road and bounced hard over the railroad tracks. Two turns and red light later, the hospital loomed above the street, four floors of dimly lit windows staring at him. Jack swung the car into the parking lot and screeched to a stop in a spot reserved for police officers.

  Through the windshield, he saw Leslie in the light bleeding through the thick glass doors of the emergency room. Her head drooped like a wilted flower around which a halo of smoke undulated.

  “Leslie?” He got out of the car and pushed the door closed.

  Her head jerked up, and without speaking, she dropped the cigarette and ran to him. Her momentum sent Jack back a step as he wrapped his thick arms around her small frame. In the protective circle of his arms, he felt her jaws moving against his chest, but her words were choked by sobs. Had he been in this situation with any other woman, Jack would have been awkward, searching for words to comfort her. But with Leslie this was commonplace. She had something go very wrong in her life at least once a month, sometimes more often. Most usually, it was a mess of her own making.

  Finally, Leslie gained control of herself, and Jack pushed her away, then placed his closed fist under her jaw and lifted her face until he could look into her swollen, red eyes. He searched there for some answer as to what the problem might be this time. Finding none, he asked, “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Lisa. She…I…” Leslie took a deep breath and covered her face with her hands. “I came home from work early. They were…” She dropped her hands away from her face, and it looked as if she closed in on herself, wilting the way a dying flower might. “They were having sex. I think…I don’t know. I just didn’t know what else to do, so I made her come here with me.”

  The words echoed dully in his ears. He took a step backward, one hand groping for something to lend support. He found nothing, and the hand fell limp at his side. For the first time since his wife's and daughter’s deaths, Jack didn’t know what to say. His stomach wound around his spine and the back of his throat burned. His tongue felt thick as he tried to swallow the rage and crushing failure that threatened to consume him.

  “He raped her?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” Leslie’s voice trailed off.

  “Where is she?” His voice shook. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from hitting something.

  “With a doctor. They’re doing tests.”

  “And where’s that no good boyfriend of yours?” Jack hoped for his sake that Tim was in jail or well on his way to another country.

  “I don’t know. When I came home early and saw what was going on…” Leslie’s face twisted with a rush of emotion and Jack couldn’t decide if it was anger, regret, or something else.

  “I just went off. I grabbed Lisa and ran. I didn’t know what else to do.” She began crying again, but Jack stayed planted where he stood, hands buried deep in his pockets.

  “She fought me. Screamed at me. At me! But I forced her to come here, and I called the police. I didn’t know what else to do.” He pulled his cell phone from the clip at his waist.

  He punched in the number for the precinct and gritted his teeth through four rings before the desk sergeant picked up the phone.

  “Sergeant Wilson.” A familiar voice jumped through the line.

  “Mike. It’s Jack.”

  “Hey, Jack, can’t stay away from this place can you? What’s up?”

  “I need to know if a report was filed on a Tim Burris at the Gulfport PD tonight. And I need to know the status if one has.”

  “You mean your sister’s boyfriend, Jack? What’s going on?” Everyone in Jack’s circle knew Leslie and her live-in. This wasn’t the first time there had been trouble with her. In a not-too-distance past, Leslie and Tim had been involved in BBQs and beach trips that included Jack’s colleagues. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago, but in truth, it had been only a couple of years.

  “Mike, I don’t have time to go into it right now. Can you just check on it for me?”

  “Sure. Hang on.”

  Jack listened to the tinny, hold music. He walked away from Leslie, wanting to talk to Mike without her overhearing.

  “Jack?” Mike came back on the line.

  Jack thought he sounded worried. “I’m still here. What’ve you got?”

  “We did get a call on him. From Gulfport PD. They received a 911 call and a separate report from the ER at Gulfport Memorial that he was implicated in a statutory rape case. We’ve got a BOLO out on him, and Sinclair is headed for the hospital to get statements. What’s going on Jack?”

  “It’s my niece.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair, but offered no more details.

  A soft whistle preceded Mike’s words. “Jack, man, I’m sorry.”

  “Look Mike, can we get someone out looking for him? Start at Leslie’s house. I doubt he’ll be there, but he might be that stupid. The address is—”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll send somebody over there to pick this pervert up if he’s stupid enough to still be around. You okay?”

  “No.” Jack disconnected, ending the call before more questions started.

  Jack walked past Leslie, neither of them speaking. The doors to the emergency room slid open automatically and an antiseptic smell greeted him. He glanced around the dingy yellow waiting room. Only two people were there and they seemed to be together.

  He pulled his badge from his pocket and flipped it open as he stepped up to the nurse’s station. “Jack Roe, Harrison County Special Investigations. Where is Lisa Reynolds’s room?”

  The young nurse looked at the badge with wide eyes and then pointed down the hall to his left. “Third door on the right, but the doctor’s in there.”

  “Good.” Jack strode down the hall. Why had they put Lisa in a private room rather than in the general triage area?

  He rapped twice on the door then pushed through it without waiting for an answer. The doctor turned to face him, a stern look on his face that dissolved when he saw the badge that Jack thrust toward him.

  “Jack Roe,” he said as he fought to maintain his professional distance and forget that the small form on the large bed was his only niece.

  “I’m just getting started. If you’ll just wait in the hall for a few minutes, we can talk when I’m finished.” The stern look that had greeted Jack when he walked through the door returned.

  Jack tried to look past the doctor to catch Lisa’s attention, but her head was turned away from him and her eyes
were closed. The only indication he had that she wasn’t sleeping was the emotion that carved hard lines and angles into her pale skin and made her look stiff as a concrete statue. The doctor stepped into his line of vision and Jack nodded and backed out the door.

  In the stark white hallway, Jack leaned against the wall and tried to breathe. It was so easy to turn off his feelings when it was someone else’s kid. But now, it took all the strength he had to maintain a little distance from what was happening. Instinct urged him to gather Lisa into his arms and carry her as far away from all the pain as he could. But common sense told him he would never be able to get her far enough away to escape the memories that would surely haunt her. She would be eighteen in a few months and this was just another messed up aspect of her anger with the whole world right now. How bad had he allowed Leslie to screw this kid up?

  He should have seen it. After what Leslie did to Susan and Lilly, he should have taken Lisa and run. Maybe he could have saved her. That was his job. He devoted his life to protecting people. But he had failed. He hadn’t protected his wife and daughter, and now he realized he hadn’t protected Lisa either.

  When Leslie laid her hand on his arm, he started and took a step back. The sight of her stirred anger he thought he had buried. His heart did a wild dance in his chest. His vision narrowed, and he had to concentrate to keep from lashing accusations at her.

  Don’t lose your temper. Remember Lisa, he repeated in his mind, willing his heart to calm.

  Leslie rested her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Leslie. I just don’t know.” He stepped back, breaking contact with her.

  They stood together, the silence an ever widening gulf until the doctor came through the door. Leslie looked at him with pleading eyes, and when he nodded, she rushed into the room. Jack faced the older man, trying to put his stone face back into place, but failed when he heard Lisa’s voice, tough and forceful, “Get Out!”