Solid as Steele (8 page)

And most of all he wanted to tell her he was in love
with her, but he didn't think she wanted to hear that piece of information. “Just give me a chance,” he said in a low voice.

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Maybe I can't.”

“Well, I'm not going to force you into anything,” he said, waiting for her to tell him that he just had. It wouldn't be true. But if she thought so, he had no defense.

Long seconds passed, and when she didn't say anything, he felt a tiny bit of the tension ease out of him.

“We should talk about the man and the SUV,” he said, because he needed to change the subject.

“Okay. But not in here.”

She pulled the spread around her as she climbed out of bed and began collecting her clothes.

He lay where he was until she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he quickly jumped out of bed and gathered up his own clothing. He climbed into his pants before straightening the sheet and blanket. Then he stepped into the sitting room to put on the rest of his clothing.

 

I
F STAYING IN THE BATHROOM
all day was an option, Jamie might have taken that route. But she had to be honest with herself. One reason she was upset was that making love with Mack had been wonderful. He was a skilled lover and a considerate one, and she'd been without a man for so long. She wanted that to be the reason the fireworks had exploded between them, but she wouldn't—couldn't—lie to herself. There was something between them. Something she was sure that a normal woman would want to explore.

Did that mean she wasn't normal?

Unable to come to any conclusions, she took a quick shower, then dried her hair. She didn't bother with makeup
as she stepped back into the bedroom. Mack had pulled up the sheet and smoothed it out. She finished the job by tugging the spread back into place, making it look like nobody had been making love there.

Then she walked into the living room where Mack was sitting with his gaze trained on the television.

He could have asked how she was feeling. He could have said a dozen different things. When he remained silent, she took the seat at the other end of the couch where she'd have to turn her head if she wanted to look at him. When he used the remote to snap off the TV, she jumped.

He gestured toward the coffeemaker in the kitchen area. “Do you want some coffee?”

“I'm fine.”

“So what can you tell me about the guy who tried to push you into the SUV?” he said, as though the time they'd spent in bed together hadn't really happened.

She focused on the incident. The one that had sent her burrowing into Mack's arms. “I already told you he was wearing a ski mask, so I couldn't see his face.”

“I believe you can tell me more than you think. What color were his eyes?”

She allowed his face to jump back into her vision and winced. “Are you okay?” Mack asked quickly.

“Yes. I was just thinking about him grabbing me. Then struggling with him.” She swallowed. “His eyes were brown.”

“Okay. Good.”

“That's not much.”

“Did he have a big head? A small one?”

“About average.”

“Big nose? I mean, did it make the front of the ski mask poke out?”

“Yes. But I'm not sure it was super big.”

“What about his hands?”

She hadn't realized he could get so much out of her, but the question brought back another detail. “His nails were neatly cut and clean.”

“Okay. So that means he's probably not an auto mechanic or anything that involves manual labor.”

“And his hands were fairly large.”

“Another good detail.”

“But not enough to figure out who he is.”

“What was he wearing?”

Again, she pictured the incident, and details came back to her. “Jeans. Scuffed boots. A casual jacket. Nothing we can take to the police.”

“The SUV was black.”

“Yes. And… I remember the interior was beige,” she added as another tidbit surfaced.

“Was the interior neat or messy?”

“Neat. I didn't see anything lying around except…” She stopped short and winced.

“What?”

“I saw a pair of handcuffs. Obviously for me.” The last part came out high and breathless.

“Anything else you can tell me?”

She thought for a few minutes and shook her head. “Oh, wait. I think I scratched his neck with my nails.”

“Okay. That might help, if we find him.” He paused for a moment. “Let's go back to Clark Landon. Could it have been him?”

“He was about the right size but I don't think Clark has that vehicle. Nor would his car be so clean and neat.”

He answered with a harsh laugh. “He could have stolen it, for all we know.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Finally,
Jamie moved restlessly on the couch. “Maybe I should get some rest.”

“You should eat something.”

“Like what?”

Mack got up and walked to the desk, where he picked up a menu. “There's a restaurant right in the hotel. I can bring us back something.”

“Okay,” she answered without enthusiasm. She wasn't really hungry, but it would be a bad idea to make a habit of missing meals.

He handed her the menu, and she scanned the selections. “Hamburger and fries, I guess.”

He dialed the number and ordered two hamburgers and two orders of fries, then said he'd pick up the food.

When he left the suite, she got up and walked back to the bathroom, where she used her brush and the dryer to straighten out her hair. Maybe she did care…a little.

Mack was back with the meal they'd ordered in a few minutes. “What's that for?” she asked when she saw two chocolate milkshakes.

“For fun.”

“Fun. Yeah.”

They started eating in silence. She didn't know if the burgers were good or bad. She was just eating to keep herself going. But she did like the chocolate shake, she silently admitted.

Probably because they were both uncomfortable, he turned on the TV and they watched the news again. The local stations were still talking about the murders, but they didn't have any new information.

When he suddenly said, “Maybe it's time for you to go back to Baltimore,” her head snapped up.

“You wanted me to come along. What's changed?”

“That's not exactly the way I remember it.”

“Whatever you remember, I'm not going back,” Jamie said, punching out the words.

Mack had an answer ready. “It's the safest thing for you.”

“Why?”

He set down the burger he was eating and spread his hands. “Because you've been attacked twice now. Someone tried to run you down in a parking lot. Then they tried to kidnap you. Those incidents must be related either to the funhouse investigation or to Clark Landon. Neither alternative is good.”

She felt her expression turn defiant. “Maybe, but I'm not leaving. I want to see this through.”

“Even if you get killed,” he snapped.

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

“Maybe I'm trying to make you think logically.”

She could feel her jaw hardening as she spoke. “It's not that far to home, and my address is in the same database where you looked up Lynn Vaughn. If someone is after me in Gaptown, they could follow me back home. Maybe I'm safer with you than I would be in my own house.”

A satisfied expression flashed across his face so quickly that she wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. Did he really
want her to go home, or was he glad she was insisting on staying with him?

“Let's go on the assumption that the sooner we solve the murders, the better,” she said.

“You think we can?”

“That's why we're hanging around, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why don't we talk to Tim Conrad's wife,” she heard herself say.

He looked at his watch. “I guess it's not too late for a business call. Okay. Let's.”

“You know where she lives?”

“I looked up the address after you found his name.”

They finished their meal quickly.

She saw Mack's watchful expression as they headed for the elevator. He was even more vigilant when they reached the lobby.

“You wait here. I'm going to get the car.”

She could have objected. Instead she said, “All right.”

The lobby was almost empty, and she kept her eyes on the people there: a couple of female desk clerks, a businessman checking in and an older couple with luggage who must have been waiting for an airport shuttle or something. As she studied the people, she suddenly wondered if the clerks knew anything.

Walking to the counter, she waited until a man checking in had wheeled his suitcase to the elevator. Then she said, “My name is Jamie Shepherd. Did anyone come in or call about my staying here?”

“Not that I know of,” the clerk answered. “But I've only been on duty a couple of hours.”

“Thanks.”

Mack had pulled close to the door, and she hurried to join him, surprised at her sudden feeling of exposure as she
stepped outside. It didn't feel good to know that someone might be watching her. She scanned the area but didn't see anyone obviously paying attention to them. Still, she kept looking around as they drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

“What did you say to the desk clerk?” he asked.

“I wanted to know if anyone had inquired about me.”

“Did they?”

“Not as far as the woman knew, but she'd only been on duty for a few hours.”

“Or she could have been paid not to say anything.”

“Oh, thanks.”

He glanced toward her, then in the rearview mirror. “Just being realistic. Maybe we should have registered under false names. Too bad I wasn't thinking we needed to hide our identities.”

She answered with a tight nod, then folded her arms across her chest.

Mack kept checking in the rearview mirror and watching any cars that pulled beside them.

“Do you see anyone suspicious?” she asked.

“No. And I'm hoping not to.”

They exited the highway and headed toward Tim Conrad's house. It was in a working class neighborhood where a lot of the houses needed painting and the driveways held more pickups than cars. The Conrad house was a small rancher with dull white siding and window trim. As she looked at it, Jamie felt her stomach knot. She had been depressed and worried about her future for a long time after Craig had died. The woman who lived here could be in similar shape.

“Do we just knock on the door?” Jamie asked.

“Yes.”

“And what do we say?”

“I was thinking about that on the way over. Probably our best bet is to just say we're investigating homicides in the area.”

“For whom?”

“The Light Street Detective Agency.”

There was a low hedge around the front yard. Beyond it, the sidewalk was cracked. And the front porch had settled so that the structure leaned forward slightly.

When they knocked at the door, there was no answer for several moments. Then a boy of about ten lifted the blinds in one of the front windows and looked at them.

“What do you want?” he called through the window.

“We'd like to talk to your mom. Is she home?”

He went away, and Jamie wasn't sure if he was coming back. Then the front door opened, and a thin, blond woman who appeared to be in her early thirties looked at them inquiringly.

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Conrad. We're from the Light Street Detective Agency in Baltimore,” Mack said, getting out his credentials and showing them to her.

“And?”

“We're investigating murders that have occurred in Gaptown during the past year.”

The woman gave a little nod. “I'm not sure how I can help you.”

“Can we come in? I'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

Her expression was resigned as she stepped aside, and they walked into a small, cluttered living room. On a chest at one side of the room were some framed photos. Jamie saw a picture of the boy, his mother and the man who must have been his father. Like his wife, Tim Conrad appeared to be in his early thirties. He wasn't much taller than his
wife, and his light-brown hair was cut short. In the picture, he was smiling.

Jamie looked away, thinking that Mrs. Conrad kept the reminder of happier times in full view. Jamie had done the opposite and put her pictures of Craig away.

The boy was sitting on the floor in front of an old television set with one of the boxes that converted the signal to digital. He seemed to be ignoring them, yet Jamie had the feeling he was taking everything in.

His mother must have had the same thought because she said, “Tommy, you go on to your room.”

The boy got up slowly and left.

Mrs. Conrad gestured toward the couch. “I guess you might as well sit down.”

“Thank you,” they both said.

As she sat down, Jamie wondered what it would be like to have a son to take care of on her own.

“I'm sorry about your husband,” she said.

The woman nodded.

“Are you getting along okay?”

“I had some insurance. And I'm an aide at West Side Elementary School. So we're getting by.”

“I know it's hard,” Jamie murmured. She had had insurance, too. Quite a lot, actually, because the Light Street Detective Agency had a very generous policy for employees. But financial security didn't make up for the loss of a spouse.

The woman's expression turned fierce. “How would you know?”

Jamie clenched her hands in her lap as she answered. “My husband was killed last year.”

Mrs. Conrad's expression softened. “Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that.”

“Sometimes it's hard to keep your perspective.” Jamie
glanced quickly at Mack. He was watching them, and she figured he'd decided she was the best person to get information out of Mrs. Conrad. She hated to use that connection, yet she understood its effectiveness.

“What happened to your husband?” the other woman asked.

“Hit and run accident.”

“Oh. That must have been rough on you.”

“No worse than what you went through,” Jamie answered. She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Did the police come up with any clues about what happened to Tim?”

“Nothing. They assumed it was a robbery gone wrong.”

“He was an auto mechanic?”

“Yes.”

“And the body shop was robbed?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Conrad shifted in her seat. “You said you were investigating murders.” She glanced toward the hallway where her son had disappeared, then lowered her voice. “Does this have anything to do with those two women who were killed recently?”

“We think it may.”

“Why?”

She glanced at Mack, wondering how much was okay to say.

He answered, “Because your husband was found in the same area.”

“Oh. I didn't realize.”

“Did you or your husband know either of the women who were recently murdered?” she asked.

“Tell me their names again.”

“Lynn Vaughn and Jeanette Baker.”

Mrs. Conrad thought for a few moments, then shook
her head. “I'm sorry. I never heard those names before. Obviously they didn't stick in my mind from the news accounts.”

“Can you think of anything that would link your husband to them?”

“Like what?”

“Anything at all.”

She gave a small shrug. “They all lived in Gaptown, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Mack said, jumping into the conversation. “You never went to the Emmanuel Parish Church?”

She shook her head. “We're Baptists. That's Episcopalian.”

Mack asked another question. “Did anything unusual happen to your husband in the days or weeks before he was killed?”

“Unusual like what?”

“Did he come home and tell you he'd had a fight with a customer? Did he have any disputes about money?”

Again, she considered the question. “Of course people would get mad at him when the police called and asked him to tow their cars. They'd act like it was his fault.”

“Right. Any incident in particular?”

“I can't think of anything.”

“Was he having any disputes with his friends or relatives?”

“No. Tim was a very…mild-mannered guy. He did his job, but he wasn't really good friends with any of the men at the shop. Getting into fights with people wasn't his style.”

Mack nodded and stood. “We appreciate your talking to us. Thank you so much for your time. If you think of anything, please let us know.” He took out his wallet, pulled out a card, and handed it to her.

She looked at it, then bent it back and forth in her hand, and Jamie wondered if she was going to toss it into the trash when they left.

“We're going to be in town for a few days,” he added. “If you want to talk to us in person again, let me know. We'll be glad to come back over.”

When they exited the house, Jamie dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush.

“She's got it tough.”

“I guess it was hard for you to talk to her.”

“Yes. But I wanted to do it.”

As she started toward the car, he held his arm in front of her. “Wait a minute.” Once again, he scanned the area before dropping his arm. “Okay. Come on.”

When he started for the car, she hurried to keep up. They both got in, and he locked the door.

Mack waited until he'd driven off before saying, “What she says doesn't make perfect sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said there was a robbery at the auto shop where he worked. Then he turned up dead along the road.”

“So?”

“If someone killed him and stayed around long enough to rob the auto shop, you'd think they'd want to get out of there quickly when they were finished, but they took the time to wrap him up in a tarp and bundle him into their car. That was taking an additional risk.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Maybe someone wanted it to look like a robbery, but there was actually another motive. Maybe they didn't even kill him there. He could have been in the funhouse like the other victims, only nobody knew about it. Nobody knows about it now but us.”

“Because of my dreams,” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

She felt a small jolt of satisfaction. So he believed in the dreams. But she didn't press him on it. “How do we find out?” she asked instead.

“Keep digging. If the three murders are connected, we'll come up with something.”

“We've already been digging for a couple of days.”

“This isn't a TV show where the detective has to solve the crime in an hour minus commercials.” He stopped a moment and then muttered under his breath, “We should have asked her more about the towing he did for the police department.”

“Why would that be significant?”

“Because the murders could have something to do with a police case.” He turned the corner, checking his mirrors. “We can probably check on that online.”

“You think that's true of the women, too?”

“I don't know.”

She sat quietly for a few moments, then changed topics. “If it was the killer who went after me, how would he even know who I am?”

“He could have been lurking around the site where Lynn Vaughn was dumped.”

“Why would he do that? Wouldn't that be dangerous for him?”

“Some unsubs like to get involved.”

“Unsubs?”

“Unknown subjects. If you don't know his name, it's a convenient designation. He could even have tipped the cops off on where to find the body, then made sure he had a hiding place where he could watch. He might even have picked the location with that in mind.”

“But why?”

“Because it added to his satisfaction to watch the cops discover the body.”

She shivered.

“We're talking about someone who's…disturbed. Or very focused on this set of circumstances.”

“And you're saying he saw us? But why did he go after me and not you?”

“If you had to make a choice, would you go after a six-foot, two-hundred-pound guy or a five-foot-four, hundred-pound woman?”