Tina Whittle_Tai Randall Mystery 01 (14 page)

Chapter 26

The next morning came in the afternoon. I’d crawled into bed just before six and slept like I’d been drugged, finally dragging myself into the shower a little after noon. One café mocha and a half a cigarette later, I was driving to Phoenix with a mission in mind. My mission was thwarted, however, by Phoenix’s own Cerberus at the gate—Yvonne.

“Mr. Seaver is out of the office,” she said. “If you’d like to leave a message—”

“Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, but—”

A voice behind me cut the argument in half. “He’s at the gym, teaching a karate workshop.”

I whirled around to face Steve Simpson. To my astonishment, he wore a suit and tie and real shoes, and his unruly curls had been tamed into something like a hair style.

“What gym?”

“The one across the street. He’ll be back in an hour. He always is.”

I peered closer at Steve’s tie. It was bright green, with dollar signs in the paisley pattern. “You’re tech support, right?”

He looked suspicious. “Yeah. Why?”

“Forget Trey. You’ll do.”

***

Steve’s office was an extravagant mess. It smelled metallic and dusty, and stacks of DVDs and surplus computer parts covered every flat surface. There was no window, and very little fresh air. I didn’t bother finding a place to sit.

“Did you install the security system in my shop? Dexter’s Guns and More?”

Steve removed a six-pack of Coca Cola from his chair. “The one in Kennesaw? Yeah, I remember. Why?”

My temper flared. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Hey, I just wire things, I don’t do paperwork. You’ll have to talk to Mr. Premises Liability about that.”

Back to Trey again. I turned to go, and Steve called after me, “Don’t run off. I have something you might be interested in.”

I stopped. “You’re throwing bait.”

“Are you biting?”

“Depends. What do you have?”

He waggled a DVD. “Hot-off-the-press copy of the security camera footage at Beau Elan.”

“The one they mentioned in the meeting, the alibi footage?”

“The same. I’m supposed to demux it and make copies for the higher ups, Trey included. Which he will share, of course. Because Phoenix agents are such sharing people—”

“Just show me.”

“Shut the door.” He slid the disc into his computer and patted the edge of his seat.

I sat thigh to thigh with him, wary but curious. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Consider it a favor.”

“Meaning I owe you one?”

“Exactly.”

He tapped at the keyboard. I squinted at the blur of static. “I don’t see anything.”

“Hence the demux. It’s four channels merged into one, see? But watch this.”

He tapped again, and the images sorted themselves into a neat foursquare grid. Each screen looked exactly like I’d expected—low-resolution footage of cars coming and going, date and time information scrolling in the lower right hand corner.

“This one tracks the front gate,” he said and clicked on the upper right-hand quadrant, fast forwarding to twelve-thirty. Sure enough, there was the white Phoenix van rolling in. I couldn’t see Steve, however, only Trey and Landon.

“I was in the back,” Steve said. “Now nothing much happens until…”

The recorded images sped up, then Steve hit stop. He pointed at the screen. “See, that’s Charley right there, in the Mercedes with the tinted windows.”

Yes, absolutely Charley Beaumont, her black hair loose about her shoulders, her eyes hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses. She wasn’t smiling. Her car window slid back up, and she disappeared behind the dark glass.

“This is about five. Now we just go forward an hour until…right there.”

I watched as the same car rolled out of the gate. Only this time Charley wasn’t alone.

“That looks like Landon.”

“It is. She took him back to his car at Phoenix, where he left for your brother’s house. Okay, go forward until six-thirty and you’ll see Trey and me leaving in the van. Well, you’ll see the van, no faces. But he can vouch for me.”

I checked out the other squares. “So is there any footage of a black SUV?”

“Nope.”

“What about a blue pick-up?”

“You mean Bulldog? No dice. The camera caught him sneaking past the gate Wednesday night, on foot, but nothing on Thursday. And it would have caught him, no doubt about that, whether he was in his car or on foot, because this is the only way in.”

“No other way at all?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So you’ve heard Trey’s little rant, huh? I suppose he could have gotten in over the wall. But the area around Eliza’s apartment is covered by the security camera there—that whole corner is. See?”

I had to take his word for it. All I could see was an expanse of lawn with people sunbathing.

“Jake Whitaker lives right across from her apartment.”

“The manager? Yeah.”

“What was he doing during this time?”

“He was with the landscaping people, creating urban gardening space.” He said it with sarcastic little air quotes. “Why is it the people who can afford to do otherwise always want to grow their own tomatoes?”

I kept my eyes on the screen. “You came to that meeting yesterday just to piss Trey off.”

“Maybe. I have a problem with authority sometimes. But I’m not a bad guy. White hat all the way.”

“So why’d they hire you back?”

“Because I’m good. But mostly because they want to keep an eye on me. Why do you think they made you a liaison?”

I stood up, dusted off my backside. “Because Mark Beaumont said so.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that, it’s control. These people want their fingers in everybody’s pie, especially Marisa. Boss Lady does not like surprises. Phoenix has something you want—access—which means you’ve got to toe the line now.”

“I don’t do that very well.”

“Neither do I. But look at me, all suited up and proper today.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Look, tell Trey I said I was sorry. And if you need anything—”

“How about a copy of that disc?”

Steve smiled. “I knew you were going to say that.”

***

As Steve promised, I found Trey in a back room at the gym. He wore a white t-shirt and black workout pants, and he was barefoot. A group of yoga-ready females sat on the cushioned floor in front of him, watching intently while he put one of their own into a chokehold.

“Relax your muscles,” he told her. “I’m using your resistance against you.”

The pony-tailed woman wasn’t listening—she kept tugging at his forearm, which wasn’t budging. She twisted about, making mousy girl noises, getting nowhere.

I rolled my eyes. “Bite him. That’ll teach the son-of-a-bitch.”

A dozen heads swiveled my way, Trey’s included. He didn’t break his hold, however, and his voice remained calm and authoritative. “Bend your knees first, then tuck your hips…yes, like that. Good.”

She pushed his arm away with a feeble shove, and the entire class applauded as she returned to her spot. Trey finished up briskly after that. As the class filed out, each woman stopped to thank him personally. There was a lot of laughing and hair stroking, soft hands on his shoulder. Trey seemed oblivious to the whole parade, and eventually the room was empty except for the two of us. I noticed that his hands were wrapped like a boxer’s, and that he kept them loose and ready, even though it was just me at the door.

“Did you need something?” he said.

“Yeah.” I came into the room. “I need to know why there’s a Phoenix-issue security camera in my shop that nobody told me about.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. There’s a freaking camera in
my
gun shop, and I want to know how it got there!”

“We installed it last week.” He moved to the middle of the room where a weight bag dangled. He steadied it, then took a couple of easy jabs. “You know this. You signed the authorization paperwork.”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did. I have it on file in my office.”

“Then it’s a forgery.”

“It’s notarized.”

I stomped onto the mat. Trey pointed at my feet. “You have to take your shoes off.”

I pulled off one boot and threw it down. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s to protect—”

“Not the shoes.” I yanked off the other boot and joined him on the mat. “The situation. You just told me something that makes no sense whatsoever.”

Trey returned to the weight bag. Up close, I could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“I’ll make you copies of the paperwork when I get back to the office,” he said. “I suspect it will make sense then.”

He moved lightly on his feet. Punch, punch, spin and kick. Precise and deadly.

“Not then, now. I want to see now.”

“I’m busy now.”

“Now.”

He froze, hands up, and shot me a look—annoyance, tamped tight, but definitely percolating. That’s when I remembered I was pissing off a killer. Of course there was another killer I’d pissed off too, one not as polite as Trey, whose current victim was a medium-to-large weight bag.

“You and your brother own the shop under a cotenancy agreement,” he said. “Equal shares, equal access, equal right to alter property as long as said alterations—”

“This is Eric’s doing?”

Trey returned to his workout. “The signed probate papers were all Phoenix needed, and Eric brought those in complete with your signature.”

“Doesn’t he have to ask me first?”

“No.”

I kicked the weight bag, and pain arced across my instep. “Damn it!”

Trey frowned. “You shouldn’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do! I’m sick and tired of it!” I kicked the bag again, and again. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were supposed to be all about rules and shit!”

“I am, but—”

“You tell me you’re here to help, you tell me you’ll take a bullet for me, and then you go and—”

“I thought you knew.”

I stopped kicking the bag. “What?”

“Eric said he was going tell you.”

“He lied.”

“No. He was telling the truth at the time.” Trey steadied the bag. “But apparently he changed his mind.”

Before I could reply, my cell phone chirruped at me in a happy way, letting me know I had a text message. I pulled out my phone. It was from Eric. It said that he was coming in that night, that I was welcome back at the house, that he’d see me later.

I deleted the message. “When did he have the camera installed?”

“Monday morning.”

Before Eliza’s death. Before he had any reason to believe that I was in danger and needed protecting. Not for my safety. So he could spy on me.

I put the phone away. “Trey, do I have the same rights to alter the property without alerting Eric?”

“Of course.”

“So I could dismantle the whole get-up if I wanted?”

“You could. But there may be systems in place besides the obvious alarms and cameras.”

“Wouldn’t you know if there were?”

“I should. But then, I’m obviously not being told everything.”

He said it without a hint of emotion, but I could sense the irritation running under the words. I’d learned a few things about Trey Seaver—he believed in rules and didn’t like it one iota when other people didn’t follow them.

“So will you come to my shop tonight and help me figure out what’s what?”

“Simpson is the technical expert, not—”

“Will you?”

He unfastened his handwraps, exposing bare knuckle. “Certainly.”

Chapter 27

Trey arrived exactly at seven, just as he said he would, back in his official suit, but tieless. His leather shoes crunched on broken glass.

“Garrity told me about the break-in,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a mess.” I showed him my new broom, still wrapped in plastic. “Just getting around to cleaning it up.”

But Trey wasn’t paying attention. He placed his briefcase on the counter and popped it open. “I’ll perform a basic sweep first, then decide if more intensive measures are called for.”

He scanned the shop, making notes on his ubiquitous yellow pad. He frowned a lot. The place did look rough—wooden slats nailed where the window used to be, gravel and crushed glass and the detritus of a dozen law enforcement shoes, the whole scene washed sallow by the fluorescent overheads.

Trey pointed with his pen. “The windows were wired to an alarm, but not the doors. I don’t understand.”

I did. Eric was less concerned with keeping me safe than with keeping tabs on me. I would have tripped a door alarm and spoiled his plan. My temper ignited again. When I finally got my hands on him…

Trey pointed at the ceiling. “What’s up there?”

“I don’t know. Crawl space?”

“I’ll check it later.” He moved behind the counter to examine the now-defunct surveillance camera. He fingered the tangled wires and broken black plastic like an archeologist perusing a pottery shard. “This is a wireless system. When it was operational, it could be accessed through an Internet connection, both archived and real-time footage.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that registered users could log in and view the shop at any time, from anywhere.”

I dropped the broom and joined him behind the counter. “That means we can see what happened the night it got smashed!”

“No, we can’t. The account is password protected.”

“You can’t override it?”

“I could, but that would make this a Phoenix situation. I’d rather keep it a favor. There are fewer complications that way. And less paperwork.”

I looked to see if he was making a joke, but his delivery and expression were both deadpan. I understood his point, however. As rules went, not involving Phoenix unless absolutely necessary was fine with me.

But I was dying to see that footage.

He pulled a file folder from his briefcase. “Here’s another copy of the installation paperwork. I sent two sets with Eric. You were supposed to get yours last week.”

I glanced through the folder. Nothing unexpected. “What if the Kennesaw cops themselves asked you for the footage? Could you override the password then? Without, you know…paperwork?”

“That would require a subpoena, which would make it an official Phoenix matter. With paperwork.”

“So until Eric coughs up the password, we’re stuck.”

“Yes. Stuck.”

He fiddled with the camera for a few more minutes, then examined the rest of the shop, including the crawlspace. Working methodically from a checklist, he inspected the closet in Dexter’s office, the gun safe, the light fixtures. He checked the telephone for bugs twice, even though I assured him I hadn’t even gotten service yet. He ran his finger along the door jambs and took copious notes.

I contributed by unwrapping my broom and staying out of his way. Garrity was right—Trey could spot eleven different ways to break into a place without even trying hard. He was fascinating to watch, like a cat burglar in action.

He declined my offer of coffee, preferring his ever-present bottle of Pellegrino. I made a huge pot anyway, dark as road tar. While it perked, he explained the system.

“It’s a hybrid,” he said, “hard-wired except for the security camera. Door and window contacts in place, as well as glassbreak detectors and one motion sensor over there.” He pointed toward the safe. “No surveillance devices. But I did find the control panel in the closet upstairs, the key pad behind the front door.”

“That little gray plastic box thingie? I thought that was part of the air conditioning.”

He shook his head. “That’s how you control the system. One touch arm and disarm, one touch perimeter. It shows you which devices are engaged, which are not.”

“What’s engaged right now?”

“Nothing. The window was, but it was deactivated after the break-in.”

“Can I change any of this?”

“I can—I have the installer code. And then I can create a user code for you.”

I could have hugged him. “I owe you for this, Trey. Big time.”

He shut his briefcase. “You owe me nothing.”

“I do too. You’re my hero.”

He busied himself at the keypad and didn’t say another word. But I thought I saw a twitch at the left corner of his mouth.

While he worked, I poured myself a cup of coffee and opened three packages of sugar into it. Every now and then, I’d glimpse the holster under his jacket and remember, this is a man whose hands are lethal weapons and here I am, all alone with him. At night. In a deserted shop full of guns and ammo. And yet I felt comfortable with him, cozy even. At that moment, I trusted him more than my own brother.

I hopped up cross-legged on the counter. “If I asked you a hard question, would you tell the truth?”

“It depends.”

“Do you think Eric’s involved in Eliza’s death?”

Trey tapped a number sequence into the keypad. “He has a solid alibi.”

“Not for the murder per se, just…involved.”

“He’s certainly involved—he knew Eliza, he planned on meeting her. The evidence suggests she was killed while trying to talk to him. That doesn’t make him guilty of any wrongdoing, however.”

“Was Eliza pregnant?”

He looked up abruptly. “What?”

“Pregnant. I’m stretching here.”

“I haven’t seen the official report. According to what Ryan and Vance told me, however, the evidence indicates drug use, but no mention of pregnancy.”

“That’s what Janie told me too.” I rummaged under the counter and found a half-eaten box of chocolate chip cookies. “What about her bank account, the deposits, the money in the shoe box? Any idea where that was coming from?”

“No.”

“I can’t figure it out either. I mean, you look at the money and her history with Bulldog, and it looks like she’d decided to start selling drugs.”

“An acceptable hypothesis.”

I dipped a cookie into my coffee. “But that doesn’t explain her involvement with my brother. He’s a lot of things, but drug dealer isn’t one. Or drug taker for that matter.”

Trey didn’t reply. He pressed numbers and examined the lights that lit up in response, over and over, like he was practicing a magic trick.

I dusted cookie crumbs from my hands. “I’m guessing she was blackmailing somebody. But who’s done something blackmailable?”

Trey frowned. “Blackmailable?”

“It’s a sort-of-real word, stay with me here. And what about Dylan? We know that his SUV was at Phoenix on Thursday morning—you saw it—the same day the security cameras got busted up. And we know he was following us on Saturday, and that he showed up at the press conference yesterday, but we have no clue what he was up to.”

“We have a small clue.” He closed the keypad cover. “You’re on his blog now.”

“What!”

“Look and see.”

I bounced off the counter and over to Dexter’s computer. A few keystrokes later and there I was, framed by the Ferrari’s passenger side window, looking like a slightly frowzy movie star. I recognized the shot—it had been taken on Saturday, the day Dylan followed us.

I stared at the image, sunglassed and remote. “I swear, no matter what I find out, it just confuses me more.”

“This is a complicated case.”

I looked across the room at him. Even under low wattage, his eyes were distractingly gorgeous. But the expression there was utterly professional, patient and polite and unwavering. He’d been nothing but above-board with me every step of the way, this man who opened doors, who said “please” and “thank you.” This man who had driven all the way up to Kennesaw as a favor for me, a woman he barely knew, because it was the decent thing to do.

And then I remembered all the times I’d snooped in his desk, eavesdropped on his conversations, quizzed Garrity about his personal life or accused him of being a liar and held him at sword point…

A guilty knot congealed in my gut. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For disrupting your class. For yelling at you. For making a complicated situation even more complicated.” I exited Dylan’s blog. “Did Garrity tell you about the target with my picture in the middle?”

“He did.”

“Did he tell you it wasn’t the first time?”

Trey nodded. “He thinks someone is threatening you.”

“Or trying to scare me, I don’t know which.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But I’d say it’s because I’m getting close to something somebody doesn’t want me close to. And if it continues, I’m going to start packing heat, even if the state of Georgia says I have to do it openly.”

I expected an argument, but didn’t get one. Trey looked thoughtful, but then went back to his legal pad without a word. I moved closer.

“Does it really work? What you were showing that woman in class?”

“I wouldn’t teach it if it didn’t.”

“Could you show me how? Until that carry permit comes through…”

He made one final mark and stuck the pen behind his ear. “Of course.”

***

And that was how I ended up in a chokehold, with Trey standing behind me, one arm looped around my neck. I had my fingers deep in his forearm, but it was like tugging at a steel bar. My brain ratcheted into panic mode.

It’s just Trey, I told myself, he’s not really trying to throttle you. But my body was having none of it. My body knew he’d killed before.

“Damn it,” I hissed. “This wouldn’t happen if I had a gun!”

“Turn your head into the crook of my elbow so you can breathe. Lower your hips so that I’m off balance.”

I did as he said. But I was still breathing hard and fast, every muscle tensed for fight or flight. Even my teeth were clenched.

Trey’s mouth was right at my ear, his voice calm. “I’m using your resistance against you, see? If you relax, you take away some of my power. Stop fighting so hard. Go loose.”

My body rebelled, but when I did as he said, I felt the shift in his stance. Suddenly, he was struggling to support me.

“See, there’s leverage now. You can drop and roll, drop and get your weapon, drop and…stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Are you expecting anyone?”

I heard it then—the slam of a car door, the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Then silence.

Before I could react, Trey yanked me across the room and practically threw me behind the counter. “Get down. Stay there.”

“What are you doing?”

“Quiet.”

He moved beside the door, back flat against the wall, his gun held right below his belt. I hadn’t even seen him get it out. Then he hit the overheads, plunging the shop into darkness.

That’s when it became real, when the dark descended. Light-headed with fear, I crouched on the freshly swept floor. Time slowed, every second bright with adrenalin, amplified. I searched the floor for a weapon and my hands closed on the broom handle. Great. I was going to die in a room full of guns with a freaking broom in my hand.

And then I heard a familiar voice. “Tai? What’s happening? Open up!”

Trey switched on the light and opened the door. Eric stood on my doorstep, a vision of moral outrage in navy slacks and baby blue dress shirt.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded.