The Witness (3 page)

“I’ll check in under the name Ann Walsh.” She shoved money from the envelope into her pocket, then looked at him. “I’m sorry about what happened to them. They were friends. But I have to go.”

“Order room service and don’t call people.”

“I’ve been this route a few times now.” She closed her suitcase. “I’ve got to go.”

“Why didn’t you say who it was earlier?”

The question stopped her. “I thought I had.” She sighed. “I remember the running water, your blue eyes, and being cold. It’s blurry from when I left the storeroom.”

“Okay.”

“Lock up behind me please; use the key that’s on the kitchen table and put it back under the frog.”

“I’ve got your purse in my car.”

“If I have it I would just use something that could inadvertently get me tracked down.” She walked out to catch her cab.

He watched her go and wondered just what he’d walked into today. The multiple homicide might turn out to be the easier of the two problems to solve.

Luke locked the house and restored the key to its guardian frog. From his car he placed a call to Marsh. “You can call off the search for Kelly Brown; I found her. She saw the shooter and knew him. We need an all points for Paula Grant’s ex. There’s a restraining order against him. Find the paper on it. Get the vehicle information and put it out as armed and deadly. We’ve got an arrest to make tonight.”

“10-4.”

He set down the radio, knowing the flurry of activity he’d just triggered. He headed back to the mall. If Paula’s ex was still in this city, odds were good they would have an arrest in twenty-four hours. And unless they got a confession and a guilty plea, this case was going to need Kelly’s testimony. In the next forty-eight hours he had to make sure he understood the trouble that she was in and how he could best neutralize it. He didn’t need her bolting on him again.

There were problems. Kelly Brown wasn’t her name any more than Ann Walsh was. The phone book she’d tossed him now rested on the seat beside him, and a full set of fingerprints should help him with her name if he could figure out a safe way to run the check. A list of cops killed in the Midwest was a phone call away. The employment application she’d filled out and her address book would close a few more loopholes. The lady was running scared, but running smart. Piercing the secrecy of her past without also piercing her carefully constructed anonymity would take some care. Staying under everyone’s radar screen had probably been keeping her alive.

She would be hiding out in a strange hotel room tonight, trying to sleep after walking into that storeroom to confirm her friends were dead.
“They’re all dead. I checked.”
She’d checked. She wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight.

And neither would he. Arrest this guy, then he was going to drive out to Park Heights. It didn’t really matter what her name was. She had landed in his life and become his responsibility. She probably wouldn’t like it much, but it wouldn’t change things. She was running from someone, and he’d never been one to avoid trouble. To listen to his sister, he went looking for it.

God, there are times I wish I was better at this job; this is one of them. Figuring out what I do next is going to take wisdom I don’t have right now. How do I help her without causing more trouble for her? She reminds me of Renee Lewis, and that case still bothers me. I’ll need ideas before I see her tonight. I’ve got to ask about the shooting today and then double the stress on her by asking about her own situation. That’s not exactly the way to help a lady end a traumatic day. My job is colliding with how I’d handle the situation if I were off duty—and I don’t want to be making her situation worse just to do my job. There’s got to be some options
.

She carried herself well; under stress she had pushed past the shock to make decisions and move fast—that spoke of a lot of internal strength. He remembered faces easily because it went with his job, and he already knew her face was going to be lingering in his mind for a long time to come. Maybe it was her age or the fact she was on a course of action that meant trouble was around, but she’d already clicked as someone to worry about. It was why he’d long ago chosen to be a cop: to do some good when it needed to be done. He’d have to figure something out in the next couple hours.

He pulled into the mall. Paul Riker waved him over to where the press had assembled. Luke pocketed his car keys and made his way toward the department’s press spokesman. The reporters’ shouted questions arrived as the microphones on long booms did, and Luke knew his face was going live across television sets throughout the city. This trouble he would gladly avoid if possible. “Just a moment, people. Riker and I talk privately first.”

He walked through the crowd, and they parted out of habit. He’d been around this job too long; he recognized nearly every face in the crowd. A few were vultures out to exploit the story for the local and national tabloids, but most were solid reporters wanting to be first with the news. Luke walked with Riker away from the podium, saw Connor coming toward them, and he changed course, taking Riker with him to meet up with his detective.

Connor offered a folder. “We’ve got a decent photo on the shooter, and we’ve confirmed he did not return to his residence. I vote we put it out on the air now.”

“Riker?” Luke looked at the photo, memorizing the guy he was after.

“Yes, let me broadcast it. We’re set up to absorb the call volume. And for what it’s worth it may keep the press busy enough to help us suppress the witness information with a cover story—we’ve got security video now and can use it as the way we made the ID.”

Luke appreciated the suggestion, for while keeping Kelly’s name out of the paper wasn’t a concern, keeping her photo from being published was. He would prefer another hour of just officers searching for the shooter, but his name would be out on the rumor mill already as reporters talked with friends of the victims and learned Paula had a restraining order against the man. “Stress the do-not-approach warning. I don’t want another civilian crossing paths with him.”

Riker nodded and accepted the folder. He took it with him to the podium.

Luke tucked Kelly Brown back into the corner of his thoughts and turned his attention to the manhunt before him. One problem at a time. For now she was safe.

Chapter Two

LUKE KNOCKED on the hotel door for room 202, aware the time was uncomfortably late. He’d been at the office at 6 a.m. before a day in court, and the shooting and manhunt had layered adrenaline in on top of already long hours; this day needed to end sometime soon. He knocked again. He suspected the hotel-room location on the second floor next to the stairwell was no accident. “Kelly, it’s Officer Granger.”

She opened the door a few inches, her foot braced behind it. “You’re the deputy chief of police. What are you doing babysitting a witness?”

Over her shoulder he saw the television on and muted. It was a reasonable question, but he could do without the combative tone. “Making a choice.”

She looked coiled up to him, tension having tightened the lines around her face, and doubts clouded her eyes. She looked at him as if debating the value of that answer, then opened the door and stepped back. “I’m sorry; I just didn’t need the surprise of seeing you on TV with reporters shoving microphones in your direction. Anonymous you are not.”

It was the first time he’d ever had a lady complain about that fact; he let himself smile at the charge. And because he understood the reason and knew it wasn’t personal, he chose to overlook the raw mood she was in. “I wasn’t followed here, and the night shift downstairs doesn’t look old enough to care about the news,” he reassured. “I brought salad, breadsticks, and lasagna. It will beat whatever room service offered.”

Her gaze shifted to the sack. “It does.” He saw her begin to relax, her weight shifting on her sock feet and the tension in her face fading toward deep tiredness. She offered a smile. “What would you like to drink? Vending is at the end of the hall.”

“Something diet and caffeine free.”

She nodded and left the room. He watched her walk away, wondering briefly just how deep that fatigue he could see went. She didn’t reach a hand out to run along the wall for balance, and at its worst she probably would have. They both needed this day to be over.

He turned his attention back to the hotel room. A small, round table and chairs overlooked the parking lot; he walked over to the table and set down the briefcase and sack he carried. He moved aside the jacket tossed over a chair and set it down on the nearest of the two beds. She’d folded a newspaper back together into a rough neatness, and he moved it from the table as well.

The aspirin bottle on the nightstand looked new, the broken seal resting beside the alarm clock. She’d been for a walk to one of the area stores, he suspected; he’d seen a couple down the block from the hotel. He was surprised to see a thriller resting facedown on the bed—reading to pass the time didn’t surprise him, but the subject matter did.

He began unpacking the sack he had brought. She came back into the room and set cold sodas on the table, then slid into the chair opposite him. He studied her, trying to get a read on her underlying mood. Brittle was going to take a finesse he didn’t naturally have. “It’s late, but I didn’t figure you would be sleeping much yet.”

“Safe guess.” She cracked open her soda and took a long drink. “You have an odd profession, standing over dead people, going home to family, playing with your kids, watching the late news, getting up in the morning to a bowl of cereal for breakfast and the newspaper, as if the day part of your life were normal.”

He paused. She’d seen violence today; she knew he saw that kind of violence often. He found it oddly touching that she was trying to square it up in her mind—how he handled it. “It’s the fact the job is so abnormal that makes the rest of the day reassuringly normal. And in my case, it’s two dogs, a cat, a nearby sister, her kids, and a preference for bacon and eggs.”

She smiled. “I never outgrew the preference to skip breakfast and catch the extra sleep.”

He handed her a plate. “What’s your real name?”

She blinked; then her smile softened. “Amanda Griffin. Amy to friends. It’s been years since I used it; the name feels stale.”

“Thanks.”

“You’d run the prints anyway. I was in the army for quite a while, so I’m on file.”

The fact she’d just handed him the information shifted around his perspective on her. She filled her plate and he filled his. The army was an unusual career choice—either she was an army brat who grew up around the service or she probably had an older sibling who had entered the army ahead of her. “Did you enjoy the army?”

“Yes. I’m very good at logistics.”

He tucked away the direct way she said it and liked it. Confidence wasn’t this lady’s problem. He nodded to the television and turned the conversation back to the present. “We don’t have him yet.”

He saw her tension begin to return. “I’ve been watching the news. It’s been quite a thing to see from a distance, the manhunt going on. You’ll find him.”

“We will.” He picked up a breadstick. “I need you to go through what happened for a formal statement.”

“I know. After we eat.”

Her attention shifted away into her memories, and he waited until she resumed her dinner. “I’m sorry you had to see it. Not much will take that image away.”

“Paula was twenty-two going on sixteen. There should be angels protecting people that innocent from making bad lifetime decisions.”

“She married young?”

“Seventeen. He gambled and she didn’t know it. The marriage lasted until she was twenty, and it was already a year too long.” She shook her head. “Sad all around.”

“Are you running from someone in the military days?”

She set down her fork. “Would you let me not answer and not go probing?”

“In forty-eight hours you’re going to disappear on me, and I need to know how that decision can be changed.”

“Knowing won’t change reality. It will just put you personally at risk.”

“It’s my choice.”

“And mine to live with for having told you.” She broke a breadstick in two and studied the broken bread, and while it was obvious the mere topic had brought back bad memories, she seemed more reflective than afraid. She set the breadstick pieces on her plate and looked over to meet his gaze. “Let it go for now. Until I’ve slept on the events of today I’m not going to consider answering questions about my past. You’ve got enough to ask tonight just on the facts of today.”

He studied her, the face pale, the hair slightly messed, but at ease with herself and clear in her words. She was segmenting the problems in her life and coping; he admired that fact even as he wished he knew what was driving her. Whatever her past—and he could make a few pretty clear guesses—it was going to be a lot deeper hurt than what she’d seen today. But trust was a tenuous thing, and for now the answers he sought were going to stay protected. He stabbed a leaf of lettuce with his fork as he nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Thanks.”

He thought she might push away her plate, for she’d been eating some but toying with the food more, but she picked up her fork and turned her attention back to the meal. She was either hungry under that overwhelming tiredness or wise enough to eat a good meal while she could. He wasn’t going to speculate on which it was; he didn’t think he’d like the answer.

He talked her into taking seconds on the lasagna and between them they finished the take-out container. “Have a preference for ice cream? I’ll stop at the corner deli tomorrow.”

She smiled as she tore open one of the chocolate mints that had come with the carryout meal. “I hear a small bribe in that offer. Fudge ripple, cookie dough, chocolate cherry—I’m easy to please. I appreciate this; not many guys would have thought to stop to bring a meal.”

“I was hungry and not in the mood to cook once I got home. And while I’m sorry for the occasion, it is nice to have company for a meal for a change.” He opened the other mint package and considered what the chocolate would do to his sleep when it finally came. Coffee didn’t bother him, but chocolate for some reason tended to keep him awake. A stop at the office was still in his immediate future. He ate the mint.