Where was this guy going?

Past a United Parcel Service (UPS) plant, Glover watched the van pull back onto Lorna Road and into the parking lot of Uncle Bob’s Self-Storage. Albert Bailey was either picking something up or dropping something off. Either way, Glover knew, it would be smart to continue following him. By this point HPD had called the Birmingham Police Department (BPD) and Homewood Police Department, inviting both agencies into the tail. Depending on which town Bailey was eventually pulled over in, there would need to be officers from that town on site.

The van pulled out of Uncle Bob’s parking lot a few minutes later and Glover followed.

Albert Bailey drove around the area, in and out of several businesses, before entering a warehouse parking lot. A minute later, he found his way back onto the main road, where he cut over to Green Springs Highway and proceeded into the town of Birmingham. Glover lost sight of the van at various intervals, but never entirely.

Following once again behind the van, now heading down Oxmoor Road for a second time (now near a strip mall), Bailey put on his blinker and moved into the left lane to turn into the parking lot.

Birmingham and Homewood patrol cars following Albert Bailey hit their lights and made the stop.

Glover pulled up behind the van and got out of his car.

He walked to the back of the vehicle and took a quick look inside.

A couch?

Indeed. Bailey had one of the McCords’ couches (from the family room downstairs) inside his messy van. The padding on the back support of the couch was stripped clean, leaving the framework of it exposed.

The cushions were gone, too.

But why?

Glover walked over to the driver’s-side door of the van and had a few words with Albert Bailey. Then he got back into his unmarked police vehicle and drove away.

Officer Glover told Bailey he was free to go.

11

The Baileys’ modest-sized ranch house in Hoover stood on a corner lot, almost hugging an adjacent road. Toward the backyard there were several lots from a major industrial area of the city, completely congested with traffic and people. The neighborhood was middle-class. Modern, normal families locked in the bliss of enjoying their little slice of the American pie.

When GBI investigator Kimberly Williams and MCSO investigator Sheron Vance arrived, HPD sergeant Tom McDanal led the way to the front door. McDanal indicated he would knock. It was better this way. A local cop. As it was, the two dead bodies (DBs) in the trunk of Alan’s rental were quickly (and clearly) looking to be the Hoover PD’s case. The GBI and MCSO, Williams and Vance knew, were going to be supporting Hoover, but Hoover was about to take control of this investigation.

Dian Bailey answered the door; then she walked outside, closing it behind her, as if not wanting to disturb someone on the other side of the door.

“We’re looking for Jessica McCord, ma’am,” McDanal said. Williams and Vance stood in back of him.

“I’ll get her.” Dian walked back inside. It was clear she didn’t want to be followed.

Jessica walked out the front door and toward the driveway. Dian followed her daughter. The three investigators behind them.

“Can we go inside and talk, ma’am?” Williams asked cordially. The Southern thing to do was to invite people into your home, not keep them outside during the winter. What was she so concerned about? Why the driveway?

Jessica snapped: “No!” She looked tired, pale. Her eyes were sunken. Her brown hair was knotty and unkempt. She wore glasses. She came across “extremely defensive,” Williams said. They knew Jessica had probably been up all night. So she had every reason to be tired and, well, bitchy. The kids were inside the house. Perhaps she didn’t want them to hear what was going to be said.

That would be logical.

Dian looked edgy, nervous. “You stay here,” Jessica told her mother. “Don’t go back inside.” They stood in the driveway, yards away from the front porch. Dian was in back of her bossy daughter.

Dian had her arms folded in front of her chest. She was there, Williams guessed, for support. As they all stood together, there was this feeling that both knew, or had been expecting, the GBI and HPD would show up.

“What do you want?” Jessica asked sharply. She looked at Vance, then at Williams, bypassing McDanal.

Williams stepped forward, introduced herself and Vance. Then: “Can we ask you a few questions about Alan and Terra Bates?”

“She was short with us,” Williams recalled. “Which we took as odd, simply because we’re coming to ask about overdue people, specifically the father of her children.”

Jessica snapped, “Why?” She didn’t seem to understand what the investigators meant. Was there a problem? Two children walked out the door. They stood near their mother, looking curiously up at the investigators.

“They’re considered missing, ma’am . . . and we want to collect some information to help us in our investigation.” Williams didn’t feel right talking about this in front of the kids. Didn’t Jessica care what the children heard?

“Oh,” Jessica said. She seemed stressed by this revelation.

“Would you like to go somewhere else to talk?” Williams asked. She and Vance figured with the kids wandering around, they didn’t want to burden anybody or make the kids or Jessica feel uncomfortable.

“No,” Jessica said quickly. “This is fine.”

“We were wondering about Alan and Terra—” Williams started to say.

Jessica interrupted. “They never showed up!” She sounded bitter and frustrated by the idea that it appeared Alan blew the kids off—and had never even called or given her an explanation why.

Williams asked Jessica where she was the previous night. She didn’t phrase it with an accusatory tone. It was more of a casual question.

Jessica explained: dinner, movies, that walk with her husband. As she spoke, Williams thought how identical her story was to what Jeff had said earlier. But then, well, there came a point when Jessica made a mistake, or had a lapse in memory.

“We even came back here, near midnight, to pick up the kids,” Jessica said, “but ended up letting them sleep over because they were already in bed sleeping when we arrived.”

Jeff never mentioned this fact. He didn’t say anything about stopping by Jessica’s mother’s house. It seemed to be an important part of the night. A pivotal point on which every moment after was able to happen. If they had the kids all night, they certainly could not have been out on the town until the wee hours of the morning. But Jeff had never said anything about this.

Williams and Vance put up their radar.

Vance watched Dian as Jessica explained how she and Jeff stopped by the house. Dian didn’t see the investigator looking at her. Dian rolled her eyes when Jessica mentioned that she and Jeff came to the house near midnight. She had this I can’t believe she just said that look about her, the investigator explained later. Dian actually cringed at what her daughter had just told three investigators.

Williams saw a door. “Did you take the children over here?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Near five-thirty,” Jessica said. “Alan was supposed to pick them up over at my mother’s house.”

“Did Alan ever make it into your house at all?”

“No! Alan is not allowed in my home. He has never been in my home. He’s been there on one occasion to pick up the kids, only because I was directed to allow him by the court and my attorney.” Jessica was firm on this point. She seemed to suggest that this was why they dropped the kids off at her mother’s house—because Alan was not allowed at her house.

These answers struck Williams and Vance. Jeff McCord had said something entirely different. One hour and fifteen minutes different, to be exact. And the location of the pickup: Jeff was certain Alan was supposed to pick the kids up at the McCord home. How could they not know (or confuse) these two simple facts?