Sandman (23 page)

“Murder,” Shadowhawk answered.

The room fell silent.

“I’ll get my log.” Jordan left the room. When he returned, he handed a black book to Thomas, who immediately skimmed it.

“This covers all the dates but one. I talked to your boss; he said you were fired. What have you been doing since?”

“I’m renting a rig. I work for myself now.”

“I’ll be checking that out.”

“Go ahead.”

“That still leaves the first date. Where were you?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I was living down here. Probably working.”

“Where?” Thomas asked.

“OC Sportswear.”

“So, you’re telling us you didn’t make a
special
trip up north to visit your
friend?
See if you could rekindle some of those old feelings? But maybe she didn’t feel the same, so you killed her!” Shadowhawk countered.

“Yes. No. Shit, I don’t know. I didn’t kill Cindy, why would I wanna do that? I barely knew her!”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Ace. We know you liked her.” Her voice softened. “We’re not saying you did it on purpose.”

Jordan squirmed in his chair.

“If you can’t give us a solid alibi for the date in question, we may have to haul your ass downtown and book you.” Shadowhawk threatened. “I suggest you think long and hard on that.”

Thomas stood and Shadowhawk followed his lead. “If you get your memory back, call me. I wouldn’t plan on any out-of-state trips in the near future. We’ll be checking out your alibis in the meantime.” Thomas handed him a card.

Jordan took the card, but didn’t get up.

By the time they stepped outside, the rain had stopped altogether. They walked in silence toward Cooper’s car and stopped within earshot of his open window.

“Well, what do you think?” Shadowhawk asked.

“I don’t know. His alibis for the other murders are pretty strong, if the log is correct. Looks like he was in other states when those girls went missing. I’m curious what he’ll come up with for the TOD on Cindy Gross. It’s possible she’s not tied to these other murders.”

“Oh, she’s tied in all right,” Shadowhawk said with confidence.

“What makes you say that?” Thomas asked.

“Call it a hunch.”

Thomas raised his brows. “Okay, Sherlock, tell me what
you
think of this guy.”

“He’s hiding something. A couple things stood out. First of all, he was calm, too calm. If you accused
me
of being a murderer, I’d be all over you like white on rice. At the very least, I’d be defending myself vehemently. The only girl he said he didn’t kill was Cindy and I’ve got to admit, he wasn’t very convincing at that. He acted like he knew we were coming and why. He answered our questions as if they were rehearsed.”

“Cooper did say they were used to having cops over. There had been a few domestic abuse calls.”

“So he beats his wife, I’m not surprised.”

“Actually, no, she beats him.”

“Now that’s a twist.”

“It bodes well for the overbearing woman in his life, though. You said there was something else?” Thomas said.

“He lied about how well he knew Cindy. So it makes me wonder what else he’s lying about?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I want you to interview his former boss at the trucking company.” He handed her the log.

She nodded. “Do you think he could be our Dark Knight? Maybe that’s how he lured her to meet him. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t go if she knew it was just plain old Jordan from the warehouse. So he makes up this phony persona. This Dark Knight knew how to get her attention, told her everything she wanted to hear.”

“You’re right. Keep on it. What did you pick up at the salon?” Thomas asked.

“A whole lotta nothing. No one saw anything. The businesses around them were closed when Lilah left, so no witnesses there. No one knew any of her friends. The boss, Jerome, is a major asshole. I’d love nothing more than to pin all of this on him, but his alibis are solid. He was safely tucked away in one salon or another. Several witnesses corroborate his story.”

Thomas nodded. “What about Meagan’s ex-boyfriend? Did you come up with anything on him?”

“He’s
another
piece of work.” She took out her notebook. “He’s been married for the last twenty years. His wife is fifteen years his senior. His affairs seemed to have started pretty much right after the wedding.

“No documentation stating that either one of them had ever filed for divorce. They live in one of those expensive houses in Laguna Niguel; it’s got to be worth close to a million even in this market. No priors. He’s VP of sales for some Fortune 500 company and travels a lot up and down the coast.

“I was going to interview him yesterday, but when I called his office the secretary told me he’d died three months ago. I checked into it. Suicide. Allegedly ate a bullet. No note. Cleaning crew found him in his office.”

“But you don’t buy it.”

“No. A guy like that is a narcissist with an ego the size of Texas. I can’t see him killing the one person he loves the most, himself. He may not be our perp, but he could be one of his victims. I thought I’d check into it further. What’s your schedule like?” she asked.

Thomas continued. “Meagan’s currently dating this guy who also fits the profile; still looking into the overbearing female. He’s a musician, travels a lot. Everything she’s told me about him doesn’t check out. If this Roberts doesn’t pan out, it’s possible that Jackson will. I’ve got Johnson learning everything she can about him and his band, The Ravens.

“His address is in Eureka, California. He claimed his parents died in a car crash, but there are no death certificates for either one. He was arrested for assault and battery on a girlfriend in 1991, but the charges were dropped. I want to check him out further.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

When Thomas arrived at OC Sportswear, he showed the receptionist his ID and asked to see the head of Human Resources. While he waited, he wandered around the lobby looking at the giant posters depicting athletes in every sport. All at once, he had that prickly feeling of someone watching him, he turned his head. The blond receptionist smiled at him, he smiled back, then pretended to be engrossed by the runners in a track event before him. A woman’s voice broke the silence.

“I’m Sally Braverman.”

Thomas turned around. A petite brunette in her fifties stood behind him, offering him her hand. He shook it and introduced himself.

“What is this about, detective?”

“How long have you been working here, ma’am?”

“About fifteen years, why?”

“Do you remember an employee by the name of Jordan Roberts? He worked in your warehouse four years ago. Five-ten, brown curly hair, brown eyes, on the quiet side.”

“Yes, I do remember him. My daughter worked here that summer in shipping and she had a big crush on him. She was a high school senior. She’d come home from work and everything was Jordan this and Jordan that.” She smiled. “He wasn’t here long, maybe about six months or so.

“At first, he was a sweet boy, very charming, a good worker, then that changed. He became moody, problematic, calling in sick for the dumbest reasons. The last was for a sunburn, can you believe that?” She laughed. “Not too bright, that one. I had to let him go. Why all the interest. What has he done?”

“He’s a person of interest in a case I’m working on. Would it be all right if I take a look at his file? I’m particularly interested in his attendance.”

“I guess that would be okay.” She glanced over her shoulder to the receptionist. “Heather, get Judy on the line, will you?” The receptionist picked up the phone, dialed, said a few words, then handed the phone over to Sally.

“Judy, I need the employee file on a Jordan Roberts. He worked here about four years ago.” She was quiet as she listened to the woman on the other end. “Right. I forgot. Thanks.” After she hung up, she turned to Thomas.

“Our computer system crashed last year and we didn’t bother to enter the past employees, just the ones currently working here. We only have the hard copies of the files of ex-employees dating back about two years. The rest are stored at our old building down the street. We moved into this larger facility in ’09. I’ll need to send someone over to search. I’m sorry, but it could take a little while.”

“This is very important,” Thomas said. “If you could get someone on that right away, I would truly appreciate it. Here’s my card. Please call the minute you have that file in your hand.” He was disappointed, but at least Sally Braverman was cooperating and didn’t ask for a warrant.

The moment Thomas arrived at the station, he headed to Kim Johnson’s office. “How’s the background check going on our Mr. Jackson? Have you learned anything new since we last spoke?” He slumped down into the chair next to her desk.

Johnson clicked her computer. “To begin with, your boy was in the Navy, but only a short time. Dishonorable discharge. Evidently, our government decided he wasn’t mentally stable enough to kill people. After that he did six months in a VA mental ward before he was released, supposedly cured. Which is just another way of saying that they were out of beds and needed the space.

“Then he vacillated between jobs. Construction here, roadwork there, bartending, never staying in one place long. He was living with the girlfriend that had him arrested for assault and battery. That was up in Sausalito on her houseboat. She threw him out after that. Smart girl. He returned to Eureka, then nothing for a few years until he resurfaced as the lead singer in The Ravens three years ago.

“There’s a little mystery behind that. It seems the original lead singer, David Neusbaum, was a ‘friend’ of this Andrew Jackson.” She did air quotation marks on the word
friend
before she continued. “He became mysteriously ill and had to drop out of the tour. He almost died. Doctors never did find out what was wrong with him.

“So, in stepped our boy. Then, just as suddenly and without explanation, David regained his health. But by the time he was ready to perform, the band had decided to keep Jackson as their front man.”

“So you think Jackson poisoned his friend so he could take his job?” Thomas asked.

“It crossed my mind, but proving it is your department.”

“Yeah, lucky me. Do you think you can track Jackson down for me in L.A., maybe find out where he’s staying? Allegedly, his band is recording with JWI, that label that Josh Whitman started.”

“No problem.”

Thomas headed to his office. The last time he’d checked in with Meagan was around noon, so he decided to give her a call. She didn’t answer after five rings and the phone went to voicemail. He shoved all the case files into his briefcase, then called again. When she didn’t answer a second time, he got that prickly feeling that something was wrong. He grabbed his briefcase and headed out.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Thomas stepped into the house and noticed the alarm was still set, so he punched in the code, disarmed it, and called out to Meagan. When there was no reply, he took a deep breath and searched the lower level of the house. No success.

Once he reached the base of the stairs, he yelled up. No luck. A niggling feeling at the back of his mind made him draw his gun. He tried to reason with himself: the alarm was still on, no one had gotten in. But it was no good. He was worried. Soundlessly, he proceeded up the stairs with his back to the wall. He was able to keep an eye on the bottom floor, and cover the top as it came into view.

The moment he reached the landing, he set about opening doors. The first room on his left was his own; he had moved out of the master bedroom the day he’d found his wife. Carefully he turned the knob, peered in, and saw that nothing had been disturbed. He proceeded down the hall repeating the process with all the rooms until he came to the last one.

Meagan’s door stood wide open.

He peered in, gun ready. The moment he had the entire room within view he entered. The bed was made; there was no sign of a struggle.

He stood in the center of the room perplexed. He walked over to the window to check the latch when suddenly a loud crash sounded behind him. He spun around, gun poised to shoot.

Meagan was dressed in that skimpy red robe, her hair wet. She quickly grabbed the handle of the bathroom door and slammed it shut. He laughed. The tension left his body. He returned his gun to its holster and waited for Meagan to remerge. When she didn’t, he strolled over to the door and knocked. A moment later, he was still staring at the closed door.

What’s taking her so long?

“Are you okay in there?” he shouted through the door.

Finally he heard the lock turn. The door burst open and Meagan flew into his arms. She held on tight. Her body trembled. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her body relaxed, molded against him. Suddenly he was acutely aware of her close proximity. She smelled like fresh-cut roses. His body began to respond. He felt like a shit for the images rolling through his mind and pulled away before she guessed what he was thinking.

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head up, she was crying. Wiping the tears away. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She peered up at him with such sad eyes that he melted on the spot. “I saw a man standing in the room with a gun. I thought it was him. I thought I was dead.” She wiped her face with shaking hands and looked down.

“I’m sorry I scared you, but I phoned you from the station and you didn’t answer. I continued to call all the way home. Then when I finally got here I yelled out to you several times and you didn’t answer. I was concerned. That’s why my gun was drawn.” He swiped a damp curl from her forehead.

“I was taking a shower.” Meagan laughed nervously.

“I see that.” He smiled down at her. “Look, what do you say I take you out for dinner?”

“Okay,” she answered, sniffling.

“What do you feel like eating?”