Minutes to Kill (21 page)

“I know,” Chet slurred. He was drinking. Damn it.

“How did you know?” Brody asked.

“I found an old e-mail. One of my contacts said she was seen in Vegas last month with a known pimp.”

“I’m sorry, Chet.” Brody could feel his friend’s pain through the connection.

“Don’t be sorry. At least she’s still alive.” Glass clinked in the background. Chet wasn’t hopping back on the wagon tonight.

“Are you all right?” Brody asked. “I can come there when I’m done at the scene.”

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Chet hiccupped. “I hid my keys from myself.”

“She’s alive, Chet.”

“She’s being trafficked, Brody.”

Shit!
Brody curled his fingers and punched his thigh. “I’ll come over when I’ve finished here.”

“I know you’re worried, but if you go anywhere tonight, go see Hannah. You need her. She needs you. Don’t fuck that up.” His voice slurred. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass came over the line. “I’ll be out cold as soon as I finish this last drink.”

Damn it. He should have known Chet had a stash of booze. Brody wanted to go to Chet’s house and, once again, pour every ounce of liquor down the drain. As sad as it was, passing out for the night was likely Chet’s safest option. Besides, Brody wasn’t likely to have any time until morning. Maybe not even then. “Tomorrow we’re calling your sponsor. Together.”

Chet answered with a long sigh filled with resignation. “Fine.”

“Detective McNamara?”
Ripton
prompted.

Brody nodded and held up one finger. “I have to go, Chet.”

He ended the call. Officer
Ripton
pointed toward the back door to the trailer. “I want to show you something in the shed.”

They walked across the yard. The rain had stopped, but the cold air blowing across the field was frosty. Brody buttoned his overcoat. It seemed unbelievable that a couple of hours ago, he’d been in a warm bed with a woman. They walked into a sagging shed. Two portable lamps brightened the space. A cheap oriental-style rug lay on the barn floor. The center was stained dark red. Hair and other matter clumped on the pile.

Brody shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “The missing rug.”

Ripton
’s mouth went flat. “We found teeth, Brody. Six teeth.”

The sound of a trunk popping echoed in the open space.

“
Ripton
, over here,” another cop called.

Brody and
Ripton
walked to the rear of another car, a battered old Corolla. The trunk stood open. Inside, the nude body of a young woman lay on its side. Brody gasped, and his pulse stuttered a beat. For a second he’d thought it was Hannah. But a second glance told him that other than the short blond hair, there was little resemblance. This girl was younger. Her eyes were brown instead of blue. She was a head shorter and curvier. Plus, he’d just left Hannah alive and well.

The hair must be a coincidence, but the similarity left him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his belly. He would not breathe easily until they caught Joleen’s killer.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brody spent the early morning hours on Thursday walking through the rest of the scene with the lead crime scene tech. The shooting of a police officer and the sheer brutality of Joleen’s killing eliminated the normal gallows humor of a death scene.

The second woman had been identified as Chrissi Tyler. A few phone calls determined that she’d had a fight with her boyfriend Tuesday night at The Scarlet Lounge. The security tapes showed a man following her out the door, a man who knew how to keep his face away from the surveillance cameras. Both Chrissi and the man had disappeared from the range of the parking lot cameras. Chrissi’s hair had been long in the tape, and a few snipped strands had been found in the mobile home bedroom. The killer had given her a haircut that looked just like Hannah’s. How the hell could that be a coincidence?

Brody drove toward the station but somehow ended up sitting in front of the Barrett farmhouse. Through the windshield, dawn brightened the tops of the trees. For a minute, he leaned on the headrest and closed his eyes. The things human beings did to one another never ceased to appall him. That was probably a good thing. The day he could shrug off a man beating a woman to death with a baseball bat was the day he should hand in his badge.

He checked the time on his phone. Six thirty. Would Hannah be awake? Probably. She had an early morning meeting with the prosecutor. His morning, maybe his whole day, would be consumed with Joleen’s murder case and assisting the task force formed to find her killer. Good luck to him in trying to make sense of a total cluster of a night. What he needed was twelve hours of solid sleep. But how would he get the image of that girl out of his head? Sure, there were plenty of women with short blond hair, and the other victim had been a brunette, but Brody was still uncomfortable.

He dialed Hannah’s number.

“Brody.” The sound of her voice smoothed his rough edges. It also highlighted the horrors he’d witnessed in the last few hours. “I assume you had an awful night.”

“Good assumption. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. Where are you?” she asked.

“Outside.”

She paused. “Well, come in.”

The front door opened as he climbed the steps. She was in full lawyer mode. Tailored gray slacks and a charcoal blouse draped her slim body. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Her hair was polished rather than tousled. When was the last time he’d seen her wearing makeup? She was stunning, but seemed less touchable, less approachable, in her corporate attorney persona. He suppressed the urge to ruffle her hair.

“Do you want some coffee?” She led the way back to the kitchen. A mug of coffee cooled on the counter. Next to it, a plate held a slice of toast.

Brody followed her. “Sure.”

“Are you hungry?” She pushed the plate of toast toward him then poured a mug from the thermal carafe.

“Not really.” He wandered to the window and watched the treetops sway in the morning breeze. A squirrel raced across the grass and ran up the trunk of the big oak in the backyard.

Hannah’s arms slid around his waist, and her body pressed against his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

She rested her head on the back of his shoulder. In her heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him.

“He’d been living in her house, sitting on her sofa, watching her TV, without even cleaning her bloodstains off the walls.” Brody turned around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that. You don’t need those images in your head.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Don’t ever think you can’t be honest with me.”

“Thankfully, I rarely see cases this bad.”

“Still, if you need to unload, unload.” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “I’m tough.”

“You are.” He leaned into her hand. “But I prefer to leave the violence at work.”

“I understand that, too,” she said.

“Be careful today.” He told her about the second victim’s haircut. “It’s probably a coincidence, but . . .”

“I should be safe enough at the courthouse.” She registered the information with a tight nod. “How is Chet? Relieved?”

“I think so, but his reaction wasn’t as joyous as I expected.” How would Chet have fared if his wife hadn’t died? If he’d had someone to support him in his time of need? Brody had seen marriages torn apart by tragedy, and other couples brought closer. “He was drinking last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Brody squeezed her hand.

She moved to the counter, picked up both mugs of coffee, and handed him one. When he perched on the edge of a stool, she nudged the toast toward him. “Want me to check on him on my way home?”

“I’ll do it later. He might be in a state.”

Hannah put two more slices of bread into the toaster. “I grew up with a disabled father, and I nursed my mother through hospice. Trust me. I’ve seen worse than a man with a hangover.”

She hadn’t had an easy life. Brody resolved they’d talk about her past, just not today. But when? It wasn’t likely she’d be here much longer. She looked and seemed recovered. Even though the neurologist hadn’t cleared her for work this week, it would have to be soon. Then she’d be on a plane. Brody wouldn’t see her for weeks. Maybe digging into her emotions wasn’t the best idea.

“Chet would be embarrassed if you found him like that,” he said.

She nodded. “All right, but if you change your mind, call me.”

“I will.”

Her toast popped up. She buttered it and bit a corner. “Mac is supposed to be home today.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Hannah snorted. “Of course not. It’s Mac we’re talking about.”

“What is up with him?”

“He’s Mac.” She shrugged. “Of the four of us, Mac was the one who really needed a firm hand. Unfortunately, by the time he came along, there wasn’t one available. Mom was overwhelmed, and the Colonel wrote off his wildness as boys-will-be-boys behavior.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Escapism. Mac loved being in the woods because the forest wasn’t filled with medical equipment and suffering. My father was paralyzed. He was also in constant pain. Therapists and nurses were in our house all the time. The Colonel was tough, but he was also obsessed and bitter. Our home wasn’t always a pleasant place to be.” Hannah crumbled the remaining corner of her breakfast. “Grant was away at the military academy at least part of the time. Lee and I had our books, and Mac had the woods.”

Brody looked down at the plate. Empty. He’d eaten without thought, and the toast had soaked up the pool of acid sitting in the center of his gut. Or maybe talking to Hannah had eased the tension inside him.

“I have to go.” He stood, fortified by more than the coffee and food.

“Will I see you later?” She set the mugs and plates in the sink and reached for the dog’s leash. Wagging, AnnaBelle rushed to the door and waited.

“Want me to walk her?”

Hannah donned a short trench coat and snapped the leash onto the dog’s collar. “No. She already had a long walk at five thirty. She can pee next to the deck.”

Brody laughed. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Thanks for this.”

“For what?”

“Just this.” He kissed her again, and this time he lingered for just a few seconds. When he’d stopped here, there’d been an empty space in the center of his chest. But now he felt whole again. He was still exhausted, but she’d recharged him enough to get through the next couple of hours.

What would he do when she was gone?

Jewel curled on her side and put her arm over her ear to drown out the sound of Penny snoring from the next cot. The girl slept like the dead. Jewel would love to turn off her brain like that. As it was, she was too tired to keep her thoughts from straying to the past, to what happened six months ago in Toledo. To the beginning of her nightmare.

Jenna contemplated the rows of candy. Boxes and boxes lined up on the convenience store shelves. Not the most nutritious food in the convenience store but small, compact, and easily slipped into a pocket. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Her stomach grumbled as pangs of hunger turned to demands.

Her gaze swept the store. A guy was paying for cigarettes at the counter. The door buzzed as another guy came through it. The clerk’s interest was divided between making change and watching a tiny TV on the countertop. No one was paying her any attention.

She angled her body away from the security camera that hung from the ceiling. Her hand swiped three packs of peanut M&M’s. She walked up to the register and dug into her pocket. She plunked one bag of candy and a dollar onto the counter. The other two bags nestled in the front pocket of her hoodie. The clerk rang her up, his eyes drifting to the old TV, where a rerun of
Friends
played on the six-inch screen.

She pushed through the glass door out into the parking lot and zipped her hoodie against the cool air. Dawn was only a few hours away. In another few weeks, the temperature wouldn’t drop so much when the sun went down, but so far this May, the nights had remained cool. Pausing at the curb, she ripped open the top of the bag and shoved a few pieces of candy into her mouth. Sugar and chocolate burst on her tongue. She ate the rest of the small bag in three handfuls. She’d ration the rest. Where now? She needed a place to hide, to sleep. At night, staying out of sight was easy. But in the daytime, she was too visible. Not that her mom would be looking for her. She was busy with her new boyfriend, Lenny. Her last words had been “You’ll be back.” Then Lenny had called Jenna an ungrateful little bitch.

The street stretched out in front of her, the surrounding blocks, the entire city, flat as a griddle. Her gaze crossed an empty lot and settled on a strip mall. Laundromat, check cashing, pawnshop, pizza. The smell of fresh pizza wafted toward her, her stomach cramping as if her nose was screaming that the candy in her pocket was inadequate. She needed money, but she’d been turned down for six jobs today. Legitimate employment wasn’t an option at fourteen.

Yesterday, she’d slept in a shed behind her neighbor’s house, slinking out like a stray cat to feed at night. Maybe she could slip in there again if she was sure the neighbor was still asleep. She couldn’t risk being seen. If Lenny spotted her, he’d come after her, and she wasn’t going back home until he was gone. Resigned to another night nestled between two rusted bicycles and a stinking bag of potting soil, she stepped off the curb.

Whatever. She wasn’t going home. Not while Lenny was there. For all her mom’s stranger warnings, she’d brought a creep right into their house. What really hurt was Mom not believing her when she’d told her what he’d done.

Jenna tensed. Her instincts warned her as a tall man coming out of the store focused on her.

“Hey,” he called, quickening his steps to catch up.

Since Lenny, she was on alert for unwanted male attention, so she headed away from him.

“I saw what you did,” he said to her back.

His words stopped her. Fear whirled inside her. Would he turn her in? The cops would call her mom. She’d end up back at home, with Lenny sneaking into her bedroom while her mom was working the night shift.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugged, setting her gaze on two young men in the rear of the empty lot. A discreet exchange was made, cash for a baggie.

“Hey, I’m not judging.” He fell into step beside her. “Do you need a job?”

She hesitated. Her mother’s endless warnings about talking to strangers echoed in her head. But Mom had brought home Lenny, so what did she know? “What kind of job?”

“Waitressing.”

“You got a restaurant?”

He nodded.

“What kind?” she asked, suspicious. In her world, people didn’t do other people favors. Everything had a price.

He shrugged. “Pizza and sandwiches. Nothing fancy.”

At the word
pizza
, her stomach got excited.

“I’m only fourteen,” she admitted. As she’d learned, jobs required ID, and fake IDs required cash. How could she get one without the other?

“Not a problem,” he said. “It’s all under the table. What’s your name?”

“Jenna.”

“Nice to meet you, Jenna, I’m Mick.”

She squinted at him. The yellow glow of the streetlight highlighted a lean face. A thin scar bisected his cheek, but he was still good-looking. She guessed he was about twenty-five, with short black hair and a goatee. His jeans and T-shirt were clean, and his broad-shouldered body hadn’t regularly missed many meals. He didn’t live on the street. A gold chain gleamed from around his neck, just under the tattoo of a skull. There wasn’t anything special about him, no warning signs that she should have seen.

But still . . . It seemed too easy. Nothing in Jenna’s life was ever easy. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever.” He lifted a hand and started to turn away. “But a pretty girl like you don’t have to be dirty.”