Body Heat (22 page)

“So where's Rod?”

Sophia had been in law enforcement long enough that she hated a liar and didn't want to be one. She tried to sidestep the question rather than answer it directly. “Have you tried his cell?”

“At least a dozen times. He's not answering.”

“I'm pretty sure he never found Stuart, if that's what you want to ask him. We were at a safe house that might be connected to the UDA murders until pretty late.”

“But someone has to know where Stuart is. And if Rod was out searching for him, maybe he found him….”

Her home phone began to ring. Sophia glanced at it. This interruption was harder to ignore because she wasn't the only one to hear it. Excusing herself for a minute, she went to answer.

Because she'd left the door open, he stepped into her living room. Knowing Rod was so close, she felt a jolt of alarm, but Bruce stayed by the door as she lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Chief?”

Her alarm grew but for a different reason. It was Joe, and his tone was somber. “Yes?”

“We've got another murder on our hands.”

Closing her eyes, she dropped her head in her free hand, bracing for the worst. “Just one?”

“Just one.”

“Another UDA?”

“Not this time.”

She snapped up straight and eyed Bruce, who was watching her curiously. “Who, then?”

“Stuart Dunlap. Someone shot him in the head.”

R
od had no idea how to react. He dropped the sheet he'd been holding around his waist while listening at the door, and simply stood there, waiting for the reality of what Sophia had told his father to sink in. The wail Bruce had emitted when he learned his youngest son—youngest with Edna, anyway—was dead set Rod's teeth on edge. It was a wail of torment, of pain.

All the time he was growing up, Rod had told himself he hated the Dunlaps. At times, he'd grown so bitter he'd wished them dead. But he wasn't glad to hear of Stuart's murder.

The door opened and almost hit him before he could make himself move. Once he'd stepped aside, Sophia came in, but she was so busy staring at his face she didn't seem to notice he'd dropped his only covering. He didn't care,
couldn't
care, about modesty or propriety. He couldn't feel anything at all, except guilt. He wasn't sure why. He'd had nothing to do with his half brother's death. Was it just because he'd always hated Stuart? There were times when the depth of his hate made him feel capable of almost anything. Or maybe his return to Bordertown had in some way contributed….

He closed his eyes as the truth—the truth he'd refused
to face—became clearer. He didn't really hate Stuart. His feelings about Stuart were strong but they had more to do with jealousy than hate.

“You heard?” she murmured.

“Yeah.” He bent to reclaim the sheet. He had to get out of here. He didn't want her to see how deeply this affected him. He'd acted so tough where Stuart and Patrick and his father were concerned. And now, somehow, he didn't feel tough at all. He felt raw and vulnerable and as exposed emotionally as he was physically….

“Hey.” She put a hand on his bare back. Her fingers were cool, delicate. He could remember her threading them through his as he made love to her, remembered thinking that Stuart would give anything to be in
his
place for once.

God, he was screwed up. Was that why he'd stayed with her—to punish his half brother? “I gotta go.”

“Where?” she said.

He wasn't sure. He wanted to leave town and pretend he'd never returned, wanted to ignore that Stuart's death had ever happened, as if it didn't relate to him in any way. His life in California was so far removed. He felt compelled to get back to it right away, to force down all the emotions that'd been dredged up since he drove into town, including his attraction to Sophia, which suddenly seemed as threatening as everything else.

But his father's wail would stay with him forever. He knew that. Just as he knew Bruce had to be wondering if he'd killed Stuart. “I've gotta get some toiletries so I can at least brush my teeth and replace the clothes that were ruined in my motel room. Then I'll get to work on the UDA murders.”

Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall as she watched him dress. “This could be related.”

“You can brief me on any similarities you find later.”

He had his shorts on and was reaching for his T-shirt when she came over and held it away from him. “Of course he thinks it's you, Rod.” She didn't have to say who “he” was. “As far as he knows, Stuart doesn't have any other enemies. You come back to town, your motel room gets trashed, you go on the warpath searching for the person who was most likely responsible and that person winds up dead. It doesn't look good, but it's all circumstantial. So why don't we go to the crime scene and find some evidence that proves otherwise?”

He didn't want to see Stuart's body, didn't want to witness any more of Bruce's heartbreak.

“Someone could be setting you up,” she went on. “You realize that.”

He hadn't thought about it until this moment. He'd been dealing with the sudden panic.

“Why let them get away with it?” she pressed.

“I shouldn't have come back here.” He grabbed his shirt from her.

She released it but didn't back off. “Yet you did. And this happened. And now you have to make sure the right person gets punished.”

He didn't know how to describe to her how it would feel to have his father blame him. Stuart's murder would destroy the few ounces of pride Bruce was finally exhibiting in his bastard son, would make Bruce regret the overtures he'd made in recent years. And although Rod had told himself all along that he didn't care whether his father was proud of him or not, that Bruce was wasting his time hoping for forgiveness, he knew now it wasn't
true. Maybe he'd rejected his father's advances, but only because he was afraid to trust them. More than anything, he wanted to avoid feeling the way he'd felt as a child—worthless, unloved, less than his white half brothers.

“If I show up there, things could get ugly. I don't want to wind up making this worse by hurting Bruce or Patrick.”

“They don't even know where his body is yet. They may get word somehow and show up, but if that happens, you'll just have to control yourself. Because if you take off, they'll have one more reason to think you did it.”

She had a point. Now that he'd stopped reacting and started thinking, he knew he
had
to go to wherever Stuart had been shot. He
wanted
to go, wasn't sure why he'd initially thought the opposite. He didn't care about the Dunlaps. How could he have forgotten? Not caring was the only way to survive.

Setting his jaw, he found his flip-flops where she'd placed them neatly in her closet and put them on. “Fine. Let's go.”

 

Sophia drove in silence. Rod sat in the passenger seat. He wouldn't have a vehicle until they could get over to the tow yard to pick up the Hummer, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. It was just something to fixate on instead of thinking about the fact that Stuart Dunlap, a man she'd known her whole life, had been murdered. It was difficult enough to confront a crime scene involving complete strangers. Sophia had no idea how she was going to hold up while viewing Stuart—who'd been very much alive when she'd last seen him at the jail—gazing sightlessly up at her.

Despite the early hour, it was ninety degrees outside.
She unfastened the top button of her uniform, then turned on the air-conditioning and stole a glance at Rod. He sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. A bruise blossomed on his left cheek, more purple than red now that some time had passed since the injury occurred. And there was a cut on his lip, which was still a little swollen. But those injuries hadn't slowed him down last night, and she knew they weren't bothering him now. He was dealing with something deeper.

Not that he'd be willing to share what was going on in his head. He'd completely withdrawn. As open and gentle, even funny, as he'd been last night, he connected her with his past, and when he couldn't bear the pain associated with those years, he shut her out. She was a reminder of who he'd been, part of the town and everything he'd worked so hard to escape since he was sixteen.

Sophia understood, but it was difficult not to try and comfort him. Knowing she'd be rebuffed was all that stopped her. “You okay?” she asked, in spite of herself.

His manner remained aloof, his eyes flat when they shifted to her face, nothing like the eyes he'd turned on her yesterday. And that stony look was the only response he gave her.

“Okay,” she said. “Good to know.”

Another mile passed before he spoke. “Who would do this? You've been here your whole life. What enemies did Stuart have?”

She couldn't name any. He was popular among single men because he was a frequent visitor at the Firelight and bought them a lot of drinks. He had a Harley and occasionally rode with Starkey and his friends, so he blended with a variety of groups, even the Hells Angels. He was just as popular among single women because he was considered
a “catch.” Even married couples and families seemed to like him, mostly because of Bruce's and Edna's standing in the community, but that borrowed respectability hadn't been difficult for him to maintain. He wasn't a nuisance to anyone except her. He used to call and ask her out much more often than she wanted to hear from him, and it became awkward to keep refusing him. But…

She couldn't imagine anyone wanting him
dead.

“It might not have been an enemy. Maybe he was killed because he saw something he shouldn't have,” she said.

“You think he witnessed the UDA killer?”

“The shell casings, if they're there, or the bullet, if it's recoverable, should tell us more. But it's entirely possible that there's a connection between the two. He died the same way as the illegals, right? By gunshot. His body was discovered on the Simpsons' ranch, out in the desert—a similar setting to where the UDAs were killed. And if he's the one who trashed your motel room, he was okay midevening, which means he died after that. Murder in the middle of the night is also typical of the UDA killer's work.” She glanced at him again. “Besides, Bordertown has only had one other murder in the past ten years, and even that was a domestic dispute. Nothing like this, ever. How many killers do you think we have running around here?”

“But we haven't heard of any other murders occurring last night,” he said. “What could Stuart have seen?”

“Maybe the UDA killer shot some Mexicans first and their bodies haven't been discovered. Or he interrupted a murder attempt and the illegals got away.”

There was a call on her radio—Officer Fitzer.

She removed the handset and pressed the button. “What do you have for me, Joe?”

“Just wanted to let you know that the ballistics report you've been waiting for came in.”

Sophia could feel Rod's interest spike along with her own. “What does it say?”

“The casings you found at the Sanchez murders match the bullet lodged in the spine of victim number three, the unidentified male at the very first crime scene.”

That was good. That tied the murders together forensically—important if it ever came to prosecuting a defendant. But it didn't bring her any closer to naming a suspect.

“Any word on the type of gun?”

“Yeah. Pretty specific, actually. Hang on, I'll read you part of the report.”

She heard some paper shuffling as Joe searched for what he wanted to share with her. “‘Bulge in the web area…very distinctive…have seen this one before…'” He cleared his throat. “Here we go.” He began to read. “‘This type of deformity most often occurs in .40/10 mm and .45-caliber Glock pistols with higher than normal pressure ammunition, poor quality brass, or both.'”

“So the killer's using a .45 Glock pistol and some cheap ammo.”

“Says here the ammo might've been reloaded or re-manufactured.”

Sophia wasn't convinced that really meant anything.
Could
be.
Might've
been. Maybe it was just a bad box of ammo. “Have we heard anything from the coroner's office about when the Sanchez autopsies will be done?” Among other things, she needed to know if they'd be able to recover any bullets from the bodies.

“Not yet. Vonnegut's had the flu, at least that's what my mother told me. She's good friends with his wife.”

“Will you call over there and find out? The flu doesn't usually last for days.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

She was about to hang up when he spoke again. “One more thing, Chief.”

“What is it?”

“Detective Lindstrom stopped by a few minutes ago.”

Sophia recalled Lindstrom's anger at the FBI meeting yesterday. The detective wasn't even making an effort to be civil anymore. Learning about that cigarette butt, and believing Sophia had purposely withheld the information regarding it, had proven to be the point where subtle signs of dislike and resentment transformed into outright hostility. “Did you tell her about Stuart Dunlap?”

“I didn't. I wasn't sure if you wanted her to know.”

At least her staff was loyal. At this point, they felt like the only ones who were willing to stick by her. “Thanks. I'll give her a call.”

“She said something that struck me as odd,” he said.

“What?”

“It wasn't to me. She got a call on her cell phone while I was making her a copy of the ballistics report. I have no idea who she was talking to, but she said, ‘I'm meeting Stuart for breakfast at Bailey's. I'll let you know what I find out after we're through.'”

“Stuart,” she repeated.

“That's right. Since I'd received the call about Stuart Dunlap's death only a few minutes before she walked in, the name jumped out at me. You don't suppose she meant
him,
do you?”

“It's possible she knows some other Stuart.” But Bailey's
was a local restaurant. Sophia doubted there was another eating establishment with the same name in all of southern Arizona. And Stuart Dunlap was the only Stuart in Bordertown. “She say anything else?”

“Nope. She started to whisper as if she was afraid I was listening in, then said she had to go. That's it. It may be nothing, but…I don't know. It felt funny.”

Sophia could see why. As far as she was aware, Stuart and Lindstrom didn't know each other. Lindstrom was at least six years older than he was, so even when she'd lived in Bordertown and attended Bordertown High they wouldn't have gone to school together. What business could she and Stuart have had together? How had their paths crossed? “This
just
happened, Joe?”

“She walked out the door less than five minutes ago.”

They'd passed Bailey's a mile or so back. Sophia was in a hurry to reach the crime scene, but this made her curious enough to turn the car around. It might be in some way related to Stuart's death, or provide information that could help with the coming investigation.

Lindstrom was at Bailey's, all right. Sophia spotted her car in the parking lot. And when she and Rod went inside, they found the detective sitting in a corner booth, wearing an orange sheath dress with her red hair pulled back in her typical tight fashion. She was alone and had her nose in a menu, but a second menu lay near the place setting across from her. She was obviously expecting another person.