“So maybe whoever killed Rickman took a bus out of town.”
“I thought that, too. We’ll be checking with the bus company, but since we don’t know who we’re looking for, I don’t expect to get much at this point.”
She saw an officer leading a young man in shackles. “Is Lewis considered violent?”
Janson shrugged. “He pulled a twenty-two on the convenience store owner who in turn pulled a Saturday Night Special from behind the counter. Lewis apparently got the deer in the headlights look and the store owner ended up bashing him on the head with a sack of quarters he had sitting next to the register.”
“Has he said how he came to have Rickman’s laptop power cord in his backpack?”
“No. He hasn’t said a word except for one phone call. He said he’d called a relative, but no one came to bail him out. He was arraigned for the attempted robbery on Friday.”
They went into the small interview room and sat across the table from the sullen young man and his young attorney. It was Janson’s interview, so Lou sat back and listened.
“I’m Detective Janson with the Morgantown, West Virginia, Police Department,” he said. “I investigate homicides.” He let the statement hover but Lewis looked bored. “This is Sheriff Moore. She’s the sheriff in Wight’s Landing.”
For a split second, Lewis’s shoulders tensed. To his credit, his attorney didn’t bat an eye. “I’m Stuart Fletcher, public defender’s office. Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
Janson shrugged. “I have a body in my morgue. Female, twenty-six years old.”
“Killed when?” Fletcher asked.
Janson sucked in one cheek. “Thursday morning last week, between midnight and six.”
The defender’s laugh was derisive. “My client was arrested here at midnight, six hours by car from your body. I think we have a pretty airtight alibi, Detective.”
Janson remained unruffled. “Your client was in possession of one of my victim’s belongings at the time of his arrest.”
“And this belonging would be—?”
“A power cord for her laptop computer.”
Fletcher snorted. “Tell me you came all the way from West Virginia with more than that.”
There was a very long pause during which Janson and the defender didn’t break eye contact. Lou knew Fletcher knew something. Privilege my Aunt Fannie. The boy had told him something and Fletcher didn’t plan to reveal a damn thing.
“Paul McMillan,” Lou said and once again saw the boy flinch. “Vaughn,” she added, and the kid nearly jumped from his chair. She looked at Janson and he nodded, pleased. “I also have a body,” she said, “for which your client’s alibi won’t hold. My body is the fiancé of Detective Janson’s body. An interesting coincidence, you’ll allow.”
“Time of death?” Fletcher asked impatiently.
“This past Wednesday morning, between one and four a.m.”
Fletcher tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Precise.”
“My ME analyzed the bugs eating what was left of Paul McMillan’s head.”
Lewis jumped up and tripped on his ankle shackles, fell to his knees, and threw up.
Fletcher didn’t bat an eye. “The food here sucks,” he said calmly. “And this interview is over. Guard, please take Mr. Lewis back to his cell.” He leaned over, whispered in Lewis’s ear, then straightened and presented them with a smile. “I hope you have a pleasant drive back to West Virginia, Detective.”
When they’d gone, Lou frowned. “He had to have been working with someone.”
“It’s the only way to explain Rickman’s murder,” Janson agreed. “I’ll let you know if anything turns up from Rickman’s car. If we can put Bryce Lewis in the car, that may be enough for an indictment, which might shake him up enough into revealing his partner. As long as he’s only facing the robbery, he has nothing to lose by keeping his mouth shut.”
Lou shook his hand good-bye. “Nobody’s bailed him out yet, so at least we don’t have to worry about him going anywhere. It buys us some time.”
Ocean City, Maryland, Tuesday, August 3,
11:30 A.M. Eastern (10:30 A.M. Central)
James Lorenzano sat on the other side of the visitation glass, waiting patiently. Sue wasn’t here, but her brother was. Got himself arrested for knocking off a convenience store. James had to smile, picturing Sue’s reaction to that news. Whatever her plan had been, her brother had taken it the opposite direction. He hoped she was adopting, adapting, and improving. Wherever the hell she was.
James knew that when compared to his own skills, Moore and her detective were mere amateurs. The boy would talk. Maybe not today, but definitely tomorrow.
Bryce Lewis sat down on the other side of the glass and just looked at him.
“I came from your uncle’s house,” James said, forgoing formal introduction. He saw a little spark of hope, which he would squash like a bug. “He’s dead.”
Shock. A little grief. Mostly fear. “Why?”
James smiled. “I think you already know. Where is she, Bryce?”
Bryce licked his lips. “Where is who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
James stood up. “Fine. We’ll play this your way today. I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll play it mine.”
Chicago, Tuesday, August 3, 11:00 A.M.
Dana sank onto the old sofa in the waiting room, drained. Physically. Emotionally.
David sat down on the cushion next to her. Stiffly. He looked as weary as she was sure she did. He still wore the clothes he’d had on last night. At least she’d been able to get a shower and a fresh set of clothes at Hanover House before Max had called. By the time she’d arrived, the worst of the crisis was again over and Caroline was resting. The tense smile Caroline had managed when Dana barreled through the doorway broke her heart more than the sight of Max’s gaunt face, streaked with tears. All Dana had been able to think was that this was all her fault. All my fault. Because it was.
Bent over, his balled fists pressing into his eyes, David sighed. “I’m sorry, Dana.”
She glanced over in surprise. “Why?”
His hands fell limply between his spread knees, but his back stayed bowed. “Everything, I guess. I was out of line last night. You didn’t cause this. I was just mad and scared.”
Dana leaned into him, rested her forehead on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, too. You were right. This isn’t a game and I’ve put Caroline and Evie and everyone else in danger. I want you to know I’ve been doing some serious thinking about it. I’m not sure what I’ll do about it, but I’ll be making some changes.” She had been thinking about it, all through the night. All through the last three hours of hell.
Her work was important. Vital. Caroline believed it as much as she did. And Dana knew Caroline would never voluntarily walk away. Caroline had received too much from Hanover House. It was a debt Caroline would try to repay until the day she died.
Dana swallowed hard. Bad choice of words. Or maybe not. Her best friend might have died yesterday and if she had, Dana would have lost something bigger than herself. Therefore, sometime in the last few hours, she’d decided that the only way to keep Caroline from the work was to move the work away from Caroline.
I’ll leave Chicago. It was a terrifying thought, leaving behind all she knew. Now she knew how her clients felt. It was a humbling realization.
David had been silent for a long stretch. “Did you hear me?” she said. “I’ll be making changes. Caroline and Evie won’t be in danger anymore.”
David turned then, his eyes sad. “I heard you,” he said quietly. “I know what you’ve done for Caroline and for women like her. And for my brother and my family I’m grateful. But not enough to see you get hurt, or worse. One of these days it’s going to be me or Evie or, God forbid, Caroline, who finds you beaten to death on your living-room floor.”
Dana flinched, the image he’d purposely conjured hitting way too close to home. “You cross the line, David.”
“I’m your friend, Dana. I’m allowed to cross the line.”
“Not that one.”
He stood up, jaw taut. “Well, now I know where I stand, at least.”
“David, wait.” But he gestured for her to be quiet and headed for the door.
“No, it’s all right, Dana. I’m going home for a while. Tell Max if he comes looking for me.”
And he was gone, leaving her alone in the deserted waiting room. Her pager buzzed again on her hip and wearily she checked the number. It was Evie, again. She’d buzzed five times in the last three hours, but never with their emergency 911 code, so Dana had waited until Caroline’s crisis was over.
With a sigh she pulled Ethan’s cell phone from her pocket. Stared at the pretty numbers. Punched in the number for Hanover House. Listened in the top and talked in the bottom. And remembering, smiled wistfully. “Evie, it’s Dana.”
“What number are you calling from?”
Caller ID. At least Evie would have the number now. “My . . . my new cell phone.”
Evie laughed in disbelief. “Where did you get a cell phone, Miss Skinflint?”
The taunt was not in jest. She and Evie had some things to work out. “It was a gift. You can use it from now on if you want to get in touch with me.”
“Is Caro okay?”
“She is. So is the baby.” For now. “What’s up?”
“It’s Jane and Erik.”
Dana sighed. “What about them?” And she listened as Evie explained her concerns. Then frowned as Evie related the latest. The missing Benadryl.
“I should have just dispensed a dose, but I was upset over Lillian. It’s not an excuse.”
“It’s okay. It’s not like we don’t all make mistakes. Is he awake now?”
“Not really. Just groggy and he stares like I’m not getting through. I have no idea how much she gave him. His heartbeat seems normal though.”
Dana checked her watch. “Dr. Lee is coming over this afternoon. Where is Jane now?”
“Job hunting.”
“Call Dr. Lee and ask if he can come a bit earlier. I’d like him to take a look at Erik without Jane around. He should be bringing Erik some new epilepsy medicine. Maybe that’s why Jane was using the Benadryl—because she was out of his meds.”
Evie was silent for a second. “Do you really think so?”
Dana sighed again. Thought about the little scars on Jane’s arms, the hostile, explosive glare that had hardened in her translucent eyes when she’d realized Dana had seen them. They were three for three on Jane. She, Caroline, and now Evie. “No. Tell Dr. Lee that, too. Oh, and, Evie? Nice work. Really, really nice work.”
Another silence, one of surprise this time. “Thanks. I needed to hear that. Dana, you sound tired. I can handle this here. Why don’t you go to your place and get some sleep?”
“Mia doesn’t want me to go back to my place in case Goodman’s there. I’ll sleep here.”
“Um . . . Dana, did you take my makeup? It’s not in my room and I can’t leave without it.”
The makeup Evie never left the house without. Her shield. Dana supposed they all had their shields. Evie’s just came in a plastic case. “Evie, you know I wouldn’t touch your makeup. But I can pick you up some more. Go check on Erik. I’ll see you later.”
Dana hung up and laid her head against the sofa. Slept. And dreamed.
Chicago, Tuesday, August 3, 12:40 P.M.
It was fair to say he’d never seen it coming. Because Fred was a fucking moron. Now she had him where she wanted him and his pretty quarter kilo of coke to boot.
Where she wanted him was gagged with his own smelly socks, handcuffed to a bed with his own cuffs, spread-eagled and ready for her worst. Her worst would be very bad indeed. He’d extorted, blackmailed. Treated her like a whore. Like his little slave.
Sue was nobody’s slave. A fact Fred was about to learn.
She’d met him at the motel room he’d designated promptly at noon, the quarter kilo she’d picked up for him in her backpack along with her weapons, the paperwork for the offshore bank accounts she’d just opened, as well as several other goodies that were part of her plan. It had been a very productive morning.
She’d also brought the last little bit of the powder she’d bought to make James sleep at that celebration picnic all those weeks ago. She’d given James enough to knock him out cold. She’d only given Fred enough to make him sleep for a little while. She wanted Fred awake, lucid. She wanted him to know exactly what was going to happen to him. She wanted him to feel every little cut, every little frisson of pain.
She’d seen the lascivious pleasure in Fred’s eyes when she’d pulled a little lace teddy from her backpack. Seen his eyes sparkle when she drew a small bottle of sparkling wine and two cold flutes from the cooler she’d bought especially for this occasion. They were celebrating, she’d said. The beginning of what would be a fruitful business relationship.
He’d bought it, lock, stock, and barrel. After two glasses of cheap, twist-top wine, he started to weave on his feet. Before he’d been able to protest, she’d had him on the bed, his hands cuffed to the headboard with the plastic flex-cuffs she’d taken from his own pockets. From experience she knew he always carried at least a half dozen of the flex-cuffs that looked like trash bag ties, but were ultra strong. Fred had used them on her more than once during those Hillsboro “heart-to-hearts.” Just because he could.
Well now, she could. And she did. One of the advertised benefits of the flex-cuffs was that they wouldn’t cut the skin like conventional metal cuffs. Sue grinned as she stripped the shoes and socks from his feet, then pulled his ankles over the bottom edge of the bed and firmly secured them to the legs of the bed frame with very strong twine. The flex-cuffs wouldn’t cut his skin, but she sure planned to.
She hadn’t originally planned to include Fred in her retribution, but hell. Adopt, adapt, and improve. She couldn’t think of a more deserving recipient of retribution and knew there were hundreds of women at Hillsboro who would pay to be in her shoes right now.
Because right now Fred was waking up and he was pissed. He pulled at the cuffs but they were way too strong and he was way too weak from the spiked wine. He lifted his head and glared at her first, then lifted his brows in speculation. She stood before him nude. Fred, the sorry fucker, thought he was about to get lucky. Sue didn’t want to ruin her clothing with his blood. She’d shower when she was finished.