Minutes to Kill (15 page)

“Chet. He’s getting into it with another customer. They’re both acting like assholes. So far it’s just posturing and insults, but Chet’s in a foul mood tonight, and I’m too damned old to break up a fight.”

“I’m on my way.”

The sound of indecipherable shouting came over the line.

“If shit gets physical, I’m calling the police,” Todd warned.

“Be there in five.” Brody made a U-turn and headed into town. He pressed the pedal to the floor. The SUV shot forward. The Pub was a quiet neighborhood bar. Most of the clientele would be regulars stopping for a few beers after work or popping in to catch the hockey game.

Hannah grabbed for the armrest. “Is something wrong?”

“Sorry.” Brody straightened the wheel. “Yes. Do you mind if we make a stop? I should have asked you before I agreed.”

“It’s fine. I’m not in a rush to get anywhere.”

“But you’re exhausted, and I promised to feed you.”

“I just slept for three hours and finished a large coffee. I feel better than I have all day. Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s complicated.” Brody stopped at a red light. “I’ll tell you the long story later. For now, my friend Chet is in trouble. He’s an alcoholic and waiting on some bad news. He’s been in AA and mostly sober for a couple of years, but this week was more than he could take. According to The Pub’s bartender, Chet is looking for trouble and so are the guys he found.”

The Pub sat on the outskirts of Scarlet Falls. The bar had a long history. Like every other old building in New England, The Pub professed that George Washington had slept, eaten pot roast, or changed his socks under its roof. After all, no one could prove he hadn’t. Brody parked in the gravel lot and went inside. Hannah followed him. The halls were lined with historical photos and pictures of the owner with local celebrities. A row of beer mugs etched with the names of regulars hung over the bar.

Behind the polished wooden bar, Todd rubbed a beer glass with a dish towel. His ruddy Scottish complexion had gone red, and anger lent vigor to his strokes. He inclined his head toward a doorway. In the next room, Chet paced back and forth in front of the pool table, his movements too quick, jerky, and uneven.

Holding a tumbler of Johnnie Walker, he was gesturing at a big guy dressed like a biker in torn jeans, boots, and a dirty bandana over an equally dirty gray ponytail. Two more biker types occupied the table with Mr. Big.

“What’s the fight about?” Brody asked. Hannah stepped up next to him. She pressed her arms against his.

Todd shelved the glass and flipped the towel over his broad shoulder. “The big dude recognized him and started in on him with the usual cop-themed insults. And Brody . . .” Todd waved him closer.

When Brody leaned over the bar, Todd said in a low voice, “Chet was in here the other day. He was on duty. He only had a couple of drinks, but I thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” Brody turned to Hannah. “Please go back to the car.”

She eased backward toward the door.

Brody crossed the scarred pine floor and assessed the scene in the billiard room, a long, narrow, and dark space. Three pool tables were strung out end-to-end. Brody scanned the room. Shadows darkened the corners, but the room appeared to be empty except for Chet and the three bikers.

Should he call for backup? He didn’t want the incident to get back to the chief. If he could defuse the situation, he wouldn’t need assistance.

Mandatory retirement loomed in Chet’s near future, but he was all cop, from his ugly shoes to his calculating brown eyes. Sober, he could ignore insults to the badge. But alcohol sharpened his temper and thinned his tolerance.

Standing in front of the three bikers, Chet raised the tumbler of amber liquid and used it to gesture at the bikers. “You think you’re so tough?”

“Tougher than any cop.” Mr. Big stood. He looked familiar in a been-arrested kind of way.

Chet tossed back his drink. “I don’t think so.”

Brody entered the room. “Hey, Chet.”

Chet’s chin jerked around. Bleary eyes blinked at Brody. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking up your sorry butt.” Brody nodded at Mr. Big. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

“We’re in the middle of something,” Mr. Big said.

“Tell you what, guys. My friend had a few too many. I’m going to take him home. Why don’t you guys sit back, relax, and have a drink on me?” Brody waved at the bartender through the doorway. “Hey, Todd, bring these boys a round of whatever they’re drinking.”

Brody was carrying his off-duty gun, but he’d prefer a quiet resolution. Besides, pulling his weapon would generate an excruciating amount of paperwork.

But Mr. Big wasn’t sober or smart enough to take the bone Brody was waving under his nose. “I ain’t done with him yet. I’ll bet you’re a cop, too.”

“Then you would be right.” Brody slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open, showed his badge, and stowed it back in his jacket. He had no doubt the big dude saw his off-duty weapon on his hip. “But there’s no need for this to go any further. I’m taking my friend out of here. You can enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“But Brody, he said cops were pussies.” Chet pressed forward.

Brody stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Everyone is entitled to his opinion.”

“See? Cops are pussies.” Mr. Big reached out. He shoved Chet’s shoulder. “Pussy.”

Chet threw the first punch. Stepping between them, Brody blocked it with his shoulder. He put his back to Chet and faced the biker. This was getting out of hand fast. He sent a silent prayer of thanks that he’d sent Hannah outside.

Without taking his eyes off the three bikers, Brody shouted, “Todd, call for backup.”

“Already done,” Todd yelled back.

Mr. Big puffed out a stream of angry air and sent a fist the size of a bowling ball straight at Brody’s head.

Chapter Eighteen

Jewel woke to darkness. Somewhere outside, an engine rumbled. Disoriented, she lifted her head from the dirt floor. She’d lost track of time. How many days had passed? Mick hadn’t made another appearance. Lisa had brought a small amount of water and food twice a day. Jewel had been hungry and desperate enough to devour leftover fries, lettuce and tomatoes picked off burgers, and pizza crusts with chew marks. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d been hungry enough to eat another person’s scraps. If she was going to escape,
if
being the important word, she couldn’t afford to be picky.

Her chances weren’t promising. She sat up, the movement sending her brain into a spin. The heat and Mick’s beating were taking their toll.

The engine sound grew louder. Deliveries weren’t normal for this neighborhood. No one around here had the money to order stuff online. Brakes squealed. The engine idled. A door creaked open and slammed shut.

The truck had stopped.

Sweat broke out on Jewel’s arms. For the next few minutes, she listened to the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Shoes scraped in the dirt outside the shed. The door opened, and cool evening air swept into the space, chilling Jewel’s damp skin. The beam of a bright flashlight seared her eyes. She raised a hand to block the light, but the man set it down on the floor just inside the shed, pointing it toward the ceiling.

Grinning, he moved toward her. He was short and stocky, in baggy jeans and an oversize T-shirt. There was another man standing behind him. The uplight illuminated his face with devilish shadows. Jewel cringed, shrinking against the wall. Rough concrete scraped the skin of her back.

He unlocked the cuffs, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet.

“What’s happening?” Jewel hated the tremble in her voice, but panic sliced through her control.

He said something in Spanish.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her voice calm.

“Don’t bother.” Lisa stood by the door, arms crossed over her chest. “They don’t speak English.”

Outside, twilight had fallen, but the early evening wasn’t completely dark yet. They switched off the flashlight, walked her out of the shed, and steered her toward the gate that led to the front of the house. There was no point in screaming. No one would respond. She’d tested that fact out a few times over the last few days. This was not the kind of neighborhood where people looked out for one another. Jewel walked through the opening. A U-Haul-size truck was parked at the curb. Once she was inside of it, there was no chance of her getting out. She knew it. Beyond it, the empty street stretched out in front of her. Freedom.

Jewel jerked her arm free. She sprinted toward the blacktop, but days in the shed with little food left her weak. A whimper left her mouth as footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. A hand grabbed her hair. She skidded to a stop, her scalp screaming. Or maybe that was her voice.

Tears streamed down her face as the man led her back to the truck by the hair. The second man was rolling the rear door up.

The driver said something in Spanish. Jewel didn’t understand the words, but the shove to the middle of her back got the message across. Resigned, she turned to the open back of the truck, reached for the bumper, and hauled herself up. The cargo area was dark, but moonlight slanted inside. Jewel squinted. Figures lined the sides of the truck. She counted four thin, dirty, and shivering girls.

The driver climbed up beside her. He gripped her arm and led her to the side of the truck. He handcuffed her to a metal pole affixed to the floor of the truck. Horror slid over her like a layer of greasy sweat. Jewel put her back to the wall and slid to the floor. The metal was cold against her bare skin. Dressed in only a tank top and short shorts, she shivered. She hugged her knees. Sobs bubbled into her throat.

The interior was dark, but whenever they passed under a light, a small amount of light filtered through vents high on the truck’s walls. She swallowed and hitched her breath. She turned to the girl next to her. Black eyes, hopeless and sunken, stared out of a gaunt face. The girl was about the same age as Jewel. Dark hair fell in a tangled mess to her chin.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Jewel asked.

The girl shook her head and lifted a bony shoulder. “Does it matter?”

Jewel thought that it did, but she kept her mouth shut. The truck lurched over a bump and made a turn. Jewel braced herself by grabbing the pipe behind her. The vehicle sped up. The ride smoothed out, and she guessed they had hit the interstate.

The girl next to her stared at the floor. In her eyes, Jewel saw no trace of the terror that filled her own body to the point of bursting. She scanned the rest of the girls. They slumped, bodies limp. Two slept, awkwardly hunched against their neighbors. No fight left in any of them. No will to live. Nothing. They were empty. The girl across from her stroked a very pregnant belly and hummed softly.

This will be me if I don’t get away.

But with every mile of highway that passed under the wheels of the truck, her chances at freedom ebbed away. For the first time Jewel thought that maybe it would have been better if Mick had killed her. Dying of thirst in the shed might have been a better end than what awaited her at the end of this journey. She thought of all the things she’d been forced to do over the last six months. Could she do this for years and years? Or was she better off dead?

Chapter Nineteen

Moving in, Brody caught the punch early, wrapped both hands around the thick wrist, and twisted the biker’s hand into a wristlock. Applying pressure, he forced Mr. Big onto his knees. Then Brody angled his body to keep the biker’s two friends in his line of sight.

“Help me out, assholes,” Mr. Big called. His buddies lunged toward Brody.

He swung around to use Big’s body as a barrier. The friends split up, circling around to attack Brody from either flank.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The one on the left reached into his back pocket. The overhead light gleamed off a knife blade.

Brody dropped Big’s wrist and backed up to gain distance. He reached for his gun. Before the barrel cleared the holster, something moved in Brody’s peripheral vision. A cue stick arced through the air.
Crack!
The end struck the biker’s knife hand. The weapon hit the floor and slid across the wide planks.

Hannah stepped out of the shadow. She held the cue stick in a wide grip with both hands. The biker lunged at her. Twisting the staff, she caught him across the temple with the tip. His knees buckled, and he face-planted on the floor. Man number two moved toward her.

No!
Brody’s vision tunneled.

“Watch out!” Brody cleared his gun from the holster, but the only man he had a clear line on was Mr. Big, who was climbing to his feet. The huge biker stood between Brody and the man threatening Hannah. “Freeze! Police!”

Mr. Big raised both hands in the air.
Not helping.

“Get on the floor!” Brody circled around. Fear gripped his insides. Why didn’t she stay outside? She was going to get hurt.

Her gaze was focused as she spun to face the new threat. She turned the stick ninety degrees to vertical and whipped the butt end upward right between the second man’s legs. Shock saucered his eyes. He dropped to his knees, clutching his groin with both hands, and went over like a pine tree.

Stunned, Mr. Big froze halfway to the floor. “That was hot.”

“Holy crap,” Todd said from the doorway.

Sirens wailed. The door opened, and two uniforms came in. Brody holstered his gun and circled his finger in the air around the three bikers. “Handcuffs all round.”

Officer Lance Kruger cuffed Mr. Big and took the arrest information from Brody.

“I’ll write up a report in the morning,” Brody said.

“We’ve got this, Brody.” Lance heaved one of the bikers to his feet. “Just take care of Chet.”

“Thanks.” Brody watched the biker limp away.

He turned back to Chet. His friend hadn’t moved. He was staring at Hannah with respect. Clutched in his fingers was the broken base of the tumbler. Light glinted off the shiny points of glass, and blood dripped from Chet’s hand to the floor. Blood pooled in fat drops at Chet’s feet.

“Looks like you cut yourself.” Brody started toward him.

Chet lifted his hand and drew his brows together. “I didn’t even feel that.”

Brody didn’t like the confused cast to Chet’s eyes. “You must have crushed the glass in your hand. Maybe you should lay off the steroids.”

But Chet wasn’t listening. He turned his hand over and stared at the palm.

“You’re bleeding all over the floor. How about you put down that glass before you make a bigger mess?” Brody asked.

Chet took the glass in his uninjured hand and poised the sharp tip over his opposite wrist. “Two inches north and I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this shit anymore.” A wistful look passed over his face.

Brody swallowed. His throat went dry as a sandbox. He’d been sweating from his altercation with the bikers, but his skin went clammy at Chet’s suicidal reference. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s her this time. You know that, right?” Chet’s lack of inflection was equally alarming. He was losing it.

Brody shook his head. “No. I won’t know anything until Thursday. I know the waiting feels impossible, but I need you to hold it together just a little longer.”

In truth, Chet could never be whole again. He was already as broken as the glass in his hand. His daughter’s disappearance and wife’s death had shattered him until all that was left was a ruined shell. How much longer could he hang on? How much grief could a person handle?

Chet shook the tumbler at Brody. “I saw her hair. Her clothes. It’s her.”

“So you’re basing the identification of a woman on the fact that she’s brunette and is wearing a New York T-shirt in the state of New York?” There were other similarities as well, but Brody wasn’t going to bring any of them up. Logically, the chance that the body was Teresa was small, but if a doctor says the odds a tumor is cancerous are five percent, no one focuses on the ninety-five. “You know the chances are far greater that it
isn’t
her. She hasn’t been near Scarlet Falls in years. All we have are a couple of coincidences. If you were working this case, you would never make assumptions on this little information.”

“Cops don’t believe in coincidences.” His craggy face cracked. A tear slid into the wrinkles below one eye as grief drowned his temper.

Brody softened his voice. His heart broke for his friend. In the last few years, Chet had lost everything. “How about you put that glass down?”

“OK, Brody. You win. This time.” Chet sighed, and his chest deflated like a tire with a puncture. He set the tumbler on the pool table. He turned his hand over as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow. That’s a nasty cut.”

“It is. Come on. We’ll get that taken care of.”

Chet frowned. He pressed a fist to the center of his chest and burped. “That’s prolly a good idea.”

“OK, you ready then?”

“Yup.” Chet lurched forward. Brody caught him, looping an arm over his shoulders to steady the older man.

But Chet straightened suddenly. “Hey, blondie.”

Leaning on the wall, Hannah rolled the pool cue between her palms. “I’m Hannah Barrett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Chet slurred. “She with you, Brody?” He waved his loose hand. Blood droplets flew through the air.

“She is,” Brody said.

“Since when?” Chet’s feet tangled, and his body sagged.

Brody hefted him higher. “Since none of your business.”

With a glance at the glass on the green felt, Hannah set the long stick next to it. She grabbed a cloth napkin from a nearby table and wrapped it around Chet’s bleeding hand.

Brody half carried the older cop through the bar. Hannah opened the rear door. She put a hand on the back of his head to keep him from striking the roof of the car. He half fell into the seat and curled on his side. His emotions had run out of steam. Hannah made a futile effort to buckle the seat belt, but Chet couldn’t stay upright. She gave up.

“I’ll have to get my car,” Chet slurred. “Todd has the keys.”

Hannah dangled keys from her fingers. “Already got them. I’ll drive it to your house.”

“Sorry for dragging you out, Brody.” Chet burped.

“Not a problem.” Brody drove away. Hannah followed him. They stopped at an urgent care center. Everyone in the hospital ER knew Chet and Brody and all the other SFPD cops. By morning, everyone in town would know about Chet’s cannonball off the AA wagon. His mandatory retirement likely just fast-tracked. But he still deserved some privacy. His life was in shambles, and Brody would not parade him in public in his current condition.

Chet was cooperative as the doctor closed the wound with a half dozen stitches. Hannah helped Brody get Chet in and out of the car. Ten minutes later, Brody parked in the narrow drive at Chet’s house. The front yard was dark. Chet must have gone to the bar long before the sun set. Most likely he’d skipped dinner, maybe even lunch.

“Would you mind getting the door?” Brody handed Hannah the keys. He helped Chet into the house. After settling him at the table, Brody flipped on the porch light and went back out to turn off the car. “Hungry?”

Chet shook his head. “I just wanna sleep.”

“You should eat.” Brody pointed to a cardboard pizza box on the counter. “How old is that pizza?”

“Dunno.” Chet shrugged. “Going to bed.”

He stood, swayed, then staggered down the hall. A door closed. Springs creaked. And that was that.

“I just want to check a few things, if you don’t mind.” Brody went to Chet’s fridge. He removed three moldy containers of Chinese takeout and sniffed the milk. Old. Fetching a trash bag from under the sink, he cleaned out the refrigerator.

Hannah peered around his body. “Is he trying to commit suicide by food poisoning?”

“He just might be.” He made a mental note to bring Chet groceries the next day. Then he opened the cabinets and found a bottle of Johnnie Walker under the sink. He poured the liquor down the drain and rinsed out the bottle.

“Is he going to be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Brody said. “Chet’s a detective on the SFPD. His daughter has been missing for a few years, and she looks a little like that body that turned up on Sunday.”

“Oh, no.” Hannah pressed a hand over her heart. “That poor man.”

“I’m doing everything possible to identify her, but the waiting is killing him.”

“I’ll bet. When will you know?”

“Thursday.” He led the way out the front door and locked up the house.

“It’s only Tuesday.” Hannah paused. “That’s a long time. Why can’t he identify his own daughter?”

Brody didn’t want to add to Hannah’s nightmares. “The victim’s identity can’t be determined visually.”

“Oh.” Her chin dropped as she continued to the car.

Brody opened the passenger door for her before getting behind the wheel. He started the engine.

Hannah stared up at the house. “Will he be all right tonight alone?”

“He’ll probably be out cold until morning. But I’ll come back here and sleep on the sofa after I take you home. Sorry about dinner.” He pulled out of the driveway. Her brother’s house was fifteen minutes from Chet’s place. “It’s almost ten o’clock, and you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Your friend needs you.” She might have a few faults, but she didn’t suffer from any lack of loyalty. Hannah stuck by those she loved. She reached across the console and grasped his hand. “You can cook for me another night.”

Considering the disaster of the past few hours, her invitation sent a surprising jolt of joy through him.

He intertwined their fingers. “How did you get into the pool room?”

“Back door.”

He felt her focus on his profile. At a stop sign, he turned to meet her gaze. Light from the streetlamp spilled through the windshield and highlighted the delicate bone structure of her face. “I asked you to stay outside. You could have been hurt. What if you’d been struck in the head?”

“First of all, if you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have a mark on me,” she said. “Secondly, you had no backup. While I hoped you could defuse the situation verbally, those bikers were goading your friend. They were looking for a fight.”

“You’re right.”

“Chet was easy for those men to engage. Does he usually carry his weapon off duty?”

“Yes. But he wouldn’t take it to a bar.” Or would he? Todd had said Chet was at the bar on duty. But as Brody answered, he realized the truth behind her words. Chet was unstable. He shouldn’t be on duty, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be walking around with a gun. He needed to be put on leave. Brody’s heart sank as if it had been filled with concrete and dumped in the Hudson. Tomorrow morning was going to be the worst day he’d faced in the past eight years. “Thanks for looking out for me, but next time, please let me know you’re there.”

“I didn’t want to advertise my presence. I was just watching your back.” She lifted a shoulder as if it were no big deal.

He squeezed her hand. “Thanks for that.”

To Brody, that was the biggest deal of all.

Hannah took her keys from her purse as Brody pulled into the driveway. He followed her to the front porch. On the other side of the door, the dog barked.

“So along with survival skills, the Colonel taught you to fight?”

“Yes. We did all sorts of drills.” She opened the front door. AnnaBelle was all wags and snuffles. Hannah rubbed her silky ears. “I have to visit him this week. I promised Grant.”

“Will that be hard for you?”

“It will.” Straightening, she hung her jacket on the newel post. “He doesn’t remember us, and he gets agitated, but mostly, it’s hard to see such a strong man so helpless and weak.”

“I could go with you.”

“You have enough on your plate.” And Hannah could get too accustomed to leaning on him. “You don’t need any more of my family drama.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t have a family.”

“You have Chet, and it seems he’s a handful.”

Brody sighed. “Thank you for saving my ass tonight.”

She sure as hell wasn’t going to sit outside in the car while Brody faced three bikers alone.

The dog whined.

“Poor thing. I’m sure she’s hungry, and she needs to go out. We’ve been gone a long time.” Hannah started toward the back of the house.

Brody was right behind her. “After the porcupine incident last night, she probably slept all day.”

Halfway down the hallway, her foot went out from under her body. Brody grabbed her elbow.