FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (26 page)

He started tugging the arms of the jacket tight behind her. Her fingers curled around fabric, pinching it and pulling outward.

He cinched the arms together and didn’t seem to notice the lumps that were her hands fisted around clumps of canvas. He patted her shoulder. “There you go. Fresh as a daisy. Now have a seat and I’ll feed you this delicious dinner.”

She complied, still clutching the excess fabric and avoiding eye contact.

~~~~~~~~

4:00 p.m. Sunday

Every nerve in Kate’s body had a case of the jitters. Her fingers hurt. She eased her grip on the steering wheel. “This whole real estate idea is feeling like a futile effort.”

She started to make a left turn from a rolling stop. A horn blared. Tires screeched. She slammed on the brake.

The car she hadn’t seen veered around her hood, the driver giving her a one-finger salute out his window as he accelerated.

Heart pounding, she quickly checked for other traffic, completed the turn onto York Road, then drove into the first parking lot she came to. She braked and put the car in park.

“I’m usually a better driver than that.” Her voice was shaky. Then all of her started shaking.

Tim’s arms wrapped around her. She buried her face in his shoulder, fighting back tears. If she started crying, she might never stop.

Sally was going to die. They weren’t going to find her in time. And a madman would go on to kill more innocents.

A sob escaped from her throat. The arms around her tightened. She let their warmth spread through her.

For a moment, she imagined letting that warmth grow, become true heat. She breathed in the faint remnants of two-day-old woodsy aftershave, with a touch of citrus.

The citrus reminded her of her husband’s scent, brought her back to reality.

What the hell am I doing?

She told her muscles to pull away from this man. They ignored her.

Tim loosened his arms. “You okay now?”

She lingered another second, soaking in the warmth, then she pulled back a little. “Yeah. The crazy woman inside just got the better of me for a moment.”

He let her go and straightened in the passenger seat. “
Crazy
is the last word I would use to describe you.”

“Yeah, well, normally I’d agree with you, but… It may look like I’m sitting here reasonably sane. But inside, I’m running around in circles, screaming at the top of my lungs.”

“Understandable, under the circumstances. Why don’t you let me drive?” He gave her a small smile. “I think we’d both be less tense that way.”

“Good idea.” She got out and walked around the front of the car. Tim headed in the opposite direction around the trunk.

She paused outside the passenger door, took a deep breath.

I’m just sleep-deprived, crazy with worry. That’s the only reason I’m attracted to him.

Tim, now in the driver’s seat, leaned over and opened the passenger door. “You coming?”

She got in. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the car, then he drove out of the parking lot.

“This seems so futile,” she said, returning to her earlier point.

Tim glanced her way, raising his eyebrows in the air. “What would you have us do instead?”

“I don’t know. Something more aggressive.”

“Such as?”

The silence stretched out as Kate racked her brain for new ideas. “Can’t think of a damned thing, unfortunately.”

“This is police work. Mostly it’s downright tedious.”

“I know. Skip complains about that sometimes, especially when he has to do surveillance.”

Tim glanced over, then returned his gaze to the road. “It’s a whole different ball game when you care about the victim.”

“Yeah.” Dread lay heavy in her chest.

Tim drove in silence for a couple minutes. Then, still staring straight ahead, he said in a low voice, “We might not find her in time.”

“That’s not helping the screaming, crazy lady inside.”

“No, but it’s a reality you may have to face.”

“Trying not to go there.”

Tim sucked in air, then blew it out. “Try not to feel guilty about it if it comes to that.
You
didn’t kidnap her.”

Kate took a deep breath and turned to study his profile as he drove. “And you’re so convinced you’d make a lousy therapist.”

“No, I’d be okay at it. It would just make me suicidal after a while.”

“You use detachment to keep that from happening. I have this ritual at the end of the day. I’m allowed to think about clients until I get to my car in the parking lot across from my office building. Once I start the engine, I literally shrug my shoulders and leave those thoughts behind.”

“Doesn’t it ever get to you?”

“Occasionally, but I remind myself of exactly what you just said. I didn’t cause my clients’ problems. And sometimes no matter what you do, it isn’t enough. The roots of their issues just go too deep and you can’t pull them out.”

“Is that how you think of it, like weeding a garden?”

Kate snorted. “More like weeding an overgrown forest in some cases.”

“So you won’t feel guilty if…” He let the sentence dangle.

“Oh, I probably will at first. It’s only natural, but I’ve worked through guilt before. My first husband was killed because of one of my therapy cases.”

“I read about that.”

“You did? The FBI wasn’t involved.”

He gave her another sideways glance. “No, but I requested the file.”

Kate wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wanted to ask if he did so before or after he asked her out. But there was no graceful way to ask that question.

“Look,” Tim said, “there’s something
I’m
feeling guilty about. I’ve noticed that things aren’t exactly peachy keen between you and your husband. I hope I haven’t contributed to that.”

Not directly.

Out loud, she opted for teasing. “
Peachy
keen
?”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “I guess I’m showing my age with that line.”

She studied his profile. She could love this man. But why would she want to. She was already in love with a good man. And she’d always been a one-man-at-a-time woman. She’d sucked at casual dating in college.

But the man she loved wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Why not?

Her stomach clenched, but she admitted to herself that there was bound to be a logical explanation.

We’re not the cheating type, neither one of us.

She thought of her parents, married over fifty years, and of Skip’s, married for thirty-nine, until his dad had died of cancer. They both came from faithful stock.

The GPS instructed them to turn right at the next light. After Tim had complied, Kate said, “There’s some tension there at the moment, but we’ll work through it.”

“Because of me, or Julie?”

Heat rose in her cheeks. She wanted to lie and say it was just Julie, but that seemed unfair to Skip. “Some of both. But the reality is that neither Skip nor I would be unfaithful. It isn’t in our make-up.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Her head snapped around toward him. “Oh yeah?”

Tim gave her a quick, hard-to-read glance. “When my wife decided she was tired of being a cop’s wife, before she told me about that decision, she told her lover.”

“Oh, Tim. I’m sorry.” She tried to imagine what that kind of betrayal must feel like, and failed. She realized how lucky she was to have had two faithful men in her life.

Yeah, now you just need to get your own cheatin’ heart under control.

Tim stared straight ahead. “Thank you.”

Her GPS informed them that their destination was ahead on the left. Tim pulled to the curb a half block from the duplex.

They watched the property for a few minutes. Kate’s anxiety returned. Sally’s life was ticking away.

Kate was about to suggest they go knock on the front door when a man came out of that door. He was slightly built and carried himself like an older man, but his face and hair were obscured by the big, black garbage bag he was carrying.

Tim sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Shit!”

Kate glanced at him, then back at the man. When she realized what Tim had seen, her stomach heaved. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream.

A human hand was sticking out of a tear in the bag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

4:30 p.m. Sunday

Sally glanced at the ticking clock as she chewed on a piece of steak. Five-thirty.

Oh my God, what if he doesn’t leave again before seven.

She chewed and swallowed.

Dear Lord, I apologize for taking Your name in vain, but I’m a little distraught here.
A sense of peace enveloped her, and for a moment her chest filled with hope.

Then her captor poked a forkful of food at her face. “I hope they change.”

She dispatched the shrimp and rice to her stomach as quickly as she could. “Change what?”

Maybe if she could figure out his twisted agenda, she could buy into it and… She wasn’t sure what that would accomplish, but it was worth a try.

“Their attitudes,” he said.

Huh? How could dead people change their attitudes?

“Whose attitudes?”

“The authorities.”

“What attitudes do they need to change?”

He smiled at her as he brought another bite of food to her mouth. “Never mind. Suffice it to say that your sacrifice will help others.”

While she was chewing, he said, “By the way, I heard you pounding on the wall.”

She froze, then swallowed hard, and choked a little on a piece of broccoli.

He smiled benevolently but his eyes had that sly look in them. “Did you hear me tapping back?”

She shook her head slightly, out of puzzlement, not negation.

“Oh, dear. I must not have knocked loud enough. You see there’s a closet between that wall and the next apartment, so no one but me could hear your pounding.”

She was glad he thought she hadn’t heard him tapping back. The bastard enjoyed this mental torture. She wasn’t giving him any more satisfaction than she had to.

“We’re not at the same apartment,” she said.

“No, we’re not.” He beamed at her, his prize pupil. “You are so clever, my dear.”

He poked a forkful of noodles at her.

She turned her head a little. “I’m starting to get full.”

He grinned. “Well, let’s not waste your remaining room on anything but the good stuff.” He stabbed another shrimp and held it up to her mouth.

She accepted it and chewed.

“By the way, I’ve taken good care of your young man.”

She froze, resisting with all her will the urge to spit shrimp bits in his face.

He looked at her expectantly, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking.

“I’ve hidden him in a safe place, but don’t worry, I’ll go back and take care of him later.”

She couldn’t help herself. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll give him a Christian burial.”

~~~~~~~~

Tim had his phone out and was punching in a number.

“It’s not Sally.” Kate pointed to where the man was trying to heft the bag into a large gray trash can. “The hand is white.”

“Yeah well, we’ve still got a guy carting around body parts in trash bags.” Into the phone he said, “This is SSA Cornelius, FBI. I need some back up at 8519 Garrison Road.”

A brief pause, then he disconnected. “They’re sending a couple of uniforms.”

“Uh, I hate to tell you how to do your job, but wouldn’t it be better to stop him out here, rather than letting him barricade himself in the house.”

“Good point. He could have weapons in there. Stay here.” He pulled out his gun with one hand while opening his car door with the other.

Kate gave him a head start, then followed from a distance.

Tim called out, “Mr. Paulson–”

The guy’s head spun around. His eyes zeroed in on Tim’s gun. Confusion morphed to fear on his face. He bolted for the house.

“Stop!” Tim shouted. “FBI. Don’t move.”

Paulson froze. Raising his arms in the air, he slowly turned around.

“Do you mind if I check you for weapons, sir?”

The guy shook his head. “I don’t own a gun.”

“Hands on your head, sir, and turn back around.”

The man complied.

Tim patted him down with one hand, then stepped back away and lowered his gun. But he didn’t holster it.

“What’s in the bag, sir?”

“Some of my daughter’s junk.”

Kate walked over to the trash can. The hand was definitely too small and too pale to be Sally’s. She blew out air.

It was more the size of a child’s hand, and looked like it might be plastic. She reached out and touched it.

Tim glanced her way. He narrowed his eyes at her for a second before returning his gaze to Paulson.

“It’s a doll.” She turned to Mr. Paulson. “You mind if I open the bag?”

“No, go ahead.”

She undid the twist-tie and looked inside. What initially looked like pink and white cotton candy came into focus. Stuffed animals. And on the side that was torn, a large doll, the size of a small child only proportioned like an adult. Kate recognized it as a life-sized Barbie doll. Her niece had one when she was little.

“Why are you getting rid of your daughter’s things?” she asked.

“Look, can I lower my arms?” Paulson said. “I only ran because I thought you were a robber or something, when I saw that gun.”

Tim nodded. “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

Paulson brought his arms down and stretched his hands out toward Kate in a please-understand gesture. “The girl’s mother and I split a few months ago. We had to sell the house and each move into smaller places. My daughter said she didn’t want all this
kid’s stuff
as she called it, but I thought she might change her mind.”

“So you brought it to your house,” Kate said.

“Yeah, but we had a big fight about it yesterday. She said she hated looking at the stuff.”

Because it reminds her of happier times.

“How old’s your daughter?” she asked.

“Thirteen.”

Kate gave Tim a small nod to indicate she bought the guy’s story.