Eve smiled again, ruefully this time. “After I call
Noah and a list of other people.”
Olivia’s brows lifted. “So it’s ‘Noah’ now? What’s
going on there, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Eve said truthfully.
“That’s fair.” Olivia hesitated. “Mia asks about you
every time we talk.”
“I’d be surprised if she didn’t. She grabbed me off
the streets, you know.”
“I didn’t know. She never told me how she met you.”
“I was a kid, living on the streets. Mia was still a
patrol officer. I was running a scam with a couple of other runaways and
somebody screamed ‘cop.’ I picked the wrong alley to duck into. Mia was there,
and next I knew, I was in the back of her squad car.”
Olivia grinned. “She arrested you?”
“Nah. She gave me hell and said she was taking me to
somebody who could straighten me out. That was Dana and Caroline and the
shelter.”
“I’d say they did a pretty good job of straightening
you out.”
“You should tell them that. What do you say when Mia
asks about me?”
“I tell her that I see you at Sal’s and you look
healthy and safe. Then she always asks if you’re happy and I have to tell her I
don’t know, that you watch us from behind the bar, but never join in. What
should I tell her the next time she asks if you’re happy?”
“Tell her I’m not unhappy. I’ve got to get to class.”
Eve had taken a step toward the door when a piece of paper on Olivia’s desk
caught her eye, a list of Twin Cities’ bars. “You planning on hosting a party
someplace other than Sal’s? He’ll be hurt.”
“We think last night’s victim met the killer at a
bar.”
Eve thought about the timeline. “It would have to be
one with a late last call. We close pretty early. When I ring the last-call
bell I can guarantee which customers are going to ask for another drink. It’s
like they’ll never see alcohol again. Others toss back what’s left in their
glass, settle their tab, then tell me they’re going to their late-night bar.”
She checked off several. “These are the places they tell me they’re going.”
“Excellent,” Olivia said, scanning the list. “This
will save us some time.”
“Good. I have to go now. I have class at one. Don’t
tell Noah I was here. I’m supposed to travel with an escort but that’s a pain
in the ass.”
“Web’s worried about this guy.” Olivia swung her boots
to the floor in a movement that was both athletic and graceful. “I haven’t had
lunch yet. I’ll follow behind you.”
Wednesday, February 24, 1:05 p.m.
“Thanks for seeing us, Mrs. Millhouse,” Noah said.
Geraldine Millhouse nodded tightly. “I always help the
police,” she said.
Jack had lost the toss on this one and he cleared his
throat to begin. “Ma’am, we’re here to talk to you about your daughter Amy’s
death.”
“My daughter committed suicide. So what?”
“We have some follow-up questions,” Jack said. “Our
records show she hanged herself, but that when the police arrived, she’d been
cut down. Did you do this?”
For a moment they thought she’d say no, but she
nodded, stiffly. “Yes.” She drew a jerky breath. “I couldn’t stand…” Her voice
broke. “I couldn’t stand to see her like that.”
“Ma’am, we need to know exactly how you found her,”
Jack said. “It’s important.”
“I found her hanging in her room,” she said. “I cut
her down and put her on her bed.”
“Did you change her clothes, Mrs. Millhouse?” Jack
asked and she flinched.
“No.” She stood, visibly trembling. “Go away, please.”
Both Noah and Jack stayed where they were.
“Mrs. Millhouse, we need to know,” Jack repeated. “We think
there’s a chance your daughter didn’t commit suicide. That perhaps she was
murdered.”
Mrs. Millhouse sank into her chair, the color drained
from her face. “What?”
“Have you read the paper in the last few days, ma’am?”
Noah asked gently.
“No. My eyes aren’t so good.”
Neither was her back or her hands. Noah could see the
signs of arthritis. There was no way this woman had cut her daughter down, at
least not by herself.
“Several women have been killed recently,” Jack said,
“their deaths staged to look like a suicide. Please be truthful with us. How
did you find your daughter? We need to know how the room looked, how she
looked, everything you can recall.”
Mrs. Millhouse covered her face with her hands, a
strangled sob escaping her throat as she rocked pitifully. “She was hanging,
dressed like a whore. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Did you call someone?” Jack asked, still gently.
“My son, Larry. He came and took care of me. He took
care of everything.”
“We need to talk to Larry, ma’am,” Jack said softly.
“Where is he now?”
“At work. He works for 3M. He’s a chemist.”
Noah controlled the urge to snap his head up—3M made
glue. A quick glance told him Jack had come to the same conclusion.
Jack’s smile was both sad and encouraging. “Ma’am, it
would be a huge help if you could come down to the station and tell us
everything you remember about Amy’s death. We’ll bring you home when we’re
finished. Would you come with us?”
Shaken, she nodded. “I’ll get my coat after I call my
son.”
Noah and Jack stood when she did. “Let me help you
with your coat,” Noah said softly. “If you give me his number, I can call your
son for you.”
Wednesday, February 24, 1:05 p.m.
Eve slid into one of the empty chairs at the back of
the class, a few minutes late. It was Donner’s once-weekly ethics seminar and
she’d been dreading it all morning. Noah said Donner had apologized, but still…
Luckily, Donner wasn’t here yet. He’d been late a lot
recently, and sometimes when he showed up he was angry for no apparent reason.
It was a personality change that had the older grad students worried. Even two
years ago, Donner had been considered a mentor to most and a friend to some.
Not anymore.
And certainly not to me.
Her cell phone buzzed. It was Olivia. “I can’t talk
now,” Eve whispered. “I’m in class.”
“I’m out in front of your building. We need you down
at the station,” Olivia said tautly.
Eve’s gut twisted. “Noah?”
“No, Looey. You know, Kurt Buckland. He’s missing. We
need to walk through the events with you. Now. I’ll either drive you in or
drive behind you.”
Eve had already shouldered her computer bag. “On my
way.”
Wednesday, February 24, 2:30 p.m.
He was feeling downright lucky for the second time in
twenty-four hours. Had he lingered another minute over Rachel and the crime
scene last night, he would have been caught. Now, if he’d been another minute
later, he would have missed Eve.
He’d gone to her apartment hoping to find her home
alone, planning to force her into his SUV and bring her back to his pit.
Instead, he’d pulled onto her street just as her car was pulling away. He
followed, wondering if she’d seen his text, if she’d been afraid.
He so hoped she was afraid, or at the very least
angry. Angry people weren’t careful, weren’t aware. It would be easier to force
her off the road and into his SUV.
She’d be discovered missing soon enough. Her friends
within the police department would make it their quest to find her killer. But
they didn’t have a clue. Because he’d given them none.
Wednesday, February 24, 3:00 p.m.
Jack pulled up behind Noah’s car, then joined him on
the sidewalk in front of the Girards’ house. “You get your new phone?” Noah
asked.
Jack held up a shiny new cell phone in response. “But
I didn’t get lunch.”
“I went by the Deli,” Noah said, “hoping reporter-boy
would come back.”
“Did he?”
“No, but I did get you an extra sandwich in case you
didn’t have time to eat.”
Jack met his eyes for the first time all day. “Thanks.
I appreciate it. I’m not looking forward to this,” he said, turning his gaze to
Axel Girard’s front door.
“Me either, but we need to know how Girard ties,
because he can’t have killed Rachel Ward last night. I think Girard will be
more disposed to talk to us than his wife.”
“Why would you think that?” Jack asked, eyes narrowed.
“I went to see him last night. I felt I owed him some
explanation after yanking him from his bed. I told him his car was seen again,
pressed him to think of somebody who’d set him up. I should have told you
earlier, but other things kept coming up.”
Jack looked angry, but reined it in. “I guess I should
thank you for telling me now.”
Noah sighed. “Jack.”
“Forget it. We’ve only got an hour before Geraldine
Millhouse’s son’s plane gets in.”
Millhouse’s boss had reluctantly provided his travel
itinerary. Luckily Larry Millhouse was at thirty thousand feet at the moment,
unable to get cell phone calls or escape.
As predicted, Joan Girard was not happy to see them.
“Go away,” she said, very politely, and shut the door in their faces.
Noah knocked again. “Mrs. Girard, please tell your
husband we’re here.”
“No!” The answer came through the closed door. “Go
away.”
Jack started to leave, but Noah shook his head. “Axel
Girard will come to the door.”
Sure enough, the door opened about a minute later.
Axel Girard’s face was weary and haggard. “Come in,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Girard was standing to one side, arms crossed
tightly over her chest. She said nothing, but her eyes were furious. “Let’s sit
in the living room,” Axel said.
“Did you tell your wife what we talked about last
night?” Noah said when they’d all sat down. “About the newest victim?”
Axel nodded. “I did.”
“My husband is not guilty,” Joan hissed. “But you
dragged him off in the night. To jail. And our children had to see it.”
“I’m sorry your kids had to see it,” Noah said calmly,
“but we have five dead women and so far, no one in custody. We can trace your
husband’s vehicles to some element of two of the crimes. Now, I don’t think
he’s guilty, ma’am, but there is an undeniable connection. If you know
anything, you have to help us, or we could have another victim.”
“We can’t think of anyone who hates us that much,”
Axel said, exhausted. “I had an argument with Mrs. Rickman about her dog
pooping in our yard, but that’s it.”
“Do you have any contact with Marshall University?”
Noah asked.
“I’ve taken a few classes there,” Joan said, “but not
in a long time. Why?”
“Mr. Girard?” Noah asked.
“I’ve driven past Marshall, but I’ve never been on the
campus. Why?”
“We need to talk about tonight,” Noah said, easing the
subject away.
Axel’s eyes narrowed. “What about tonight?”
“We’d like to maintain surveillance over you during
the night. It would be,” Noah rushed to add when Joan opened her mouth
indignantly, “the best alibi you could hope to get. Last night we had an
unmarked car watching your house. We’d like to put those detectives in the
house with you tonight, watching all your doors from the inside.”
“You want to put policemen in our house?” Joan asked,
her teeth clenched.
“Joan,” Axel said, sliding his hand across hers. “If
it will put this behind us, let them. All right, Detectives. Anything else?”
“No, that’s all for now,” Noah said. “We’ll be in
touch.” When he and Jack were back on the sidewalk, Noah sighed. “Somehow I
knew there wouldn’t be an easy connection between Girard and our guy.”
“I know,” Jack said, unlocking his car. “Next stop,
the airport?”
“Yep. Millhouse’s plane arrives in—” Noah’s cell
buzzed. He frowned at the 708 area code. “Webster.”
“This is David Hunter.”
Noah’s frown deepened. Hunter’s voice was slightly
slurred, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of fear. “What’s wrong?”
“I called 911 first, you second,” Hunter said thickly.
“Someone just ran me off the road. I was headed west when a black SUV came up
behind me. Lincoln Navigator, maybe two years old. It’ll have a broken front
right headlight. I slowed down, thinking they wanted to pass, but they pushed
me off the road when we got to a curve. I fli-lipped,” he stumbled over the
word. “Dammit. Hurts like a bitch.”
“How badly are you hurt?” Noah asked tersely.
“Hit my head. Can’t get out of the car. Door’s stu…
stuck.” He forced the word.
A chill raced down Noah’s spine. “You’re in Eve’s
car.”
“Exactly. Find her.”
“I’ll make sure she’s in class, then I’ll meet you at
the hospital.”
“Fine.” Hunter’s voice sounded thinner. “Damn, this hurts.
I think my arm is broken.”
“Stay on the phone with my partner while I call her.
Keep talking, Hunter.” Noah handed his cell to Jack. “Somebody ran Hunter off
the road,” he said, fury roiling within him. “It was supposed to have been
Eve.”
Somebody tried to kill Eve
.
Buckland, or whoever he was
.
“Give me your phone. I need to find her.”