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Jared held up his hand to examine the pencil stub. “What’s wrong with it?”
Myles opened his mouth to say that he could at least carry a decent pen—but snapping at such an inconsequential detail only revealed his stress. What did it matter as long as that pencil put words on paper?
Once again reining in the irritation that’d been lurking ever since he crawled out of bed, Myles waved away Jared’s concern. “Not a thing,” he said, but Jared was too literal to let it go. He couldn’t understand why Myles would mention it if he didn’t expect some action to be taken.
“There might be a pen in my car…?.”
“Forget it.” Even if there was a pen in his car, he had little chance of ever finding it. His vehicle was so full of wrappers, receipts and other flotsam, Myles often wondered if it violated the health and safety codes. “What about the call Pat received prior to coming here? Do you know who made it?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
Jared blinked at him. “The number goes to the pay phone outside the Kicking Horse Saloon.”
The fact that Pineview didn’t have cell service wasn’t going to help them solve this crime. Here, pay phones were still an important form of communication, which meant that call could’ve come from anyone. And that particular location, right outside the town’s favorite bar, made it unlikely that a bystander would pay attention when someone was using it.
“So you’re checking out Gertie and Delbert,” Myles summarized. “Who else is on your list?”
“All the hunters, campers, fishermen and recreationists who’ve come through here the past couple of days.”
Myles eyed the blood spatter on the wall. The photographs shot by the forensic techs would be sent to an expert. But it would take time to get the analysis. Everything took time…?. “How many people do you figure that is?”
“Least fifty.”
“That narrows it down.”
Jared didn’t react to his sarcasm. “We got a partial thumbprint—in blood—on the door handle. That should help. Especially in conjunction with all the footprints.”
Except that none of them were very clear. They’d lifted the prints with tape but who knew if they’d show anything useful. “If we find a suspect these things might help. Otherwise…”
“If it’s not Gertie or Delbert it’s one of the campers.”
“Why would a camper call about a rental and then kill the real-estate agent?”
“Sometimes there isn’t a reason.”
“You think we have a psychopath in the area?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“I don’t know about that. Pat wasn’t attacked as soon as he and whoever he was with came into the house. He was murdered in the kitchen—as if he spent some time with his assailant, had a discussion first. If death was the goal from the beginning, there’d be no reason to pretend to be a prospective renter. Not once the killer got inside the house anyway.”
“So you’re suggesting he knew his attacker,” Jared responded.
Which was why Jared kept going back to Pat’s family. “There are holes in that theory, too,” Myles said. “Anyone who showed up here intending to kill would bring a weapon. This offender used some sort of blunt object. To me, that suggests he grabbed whatever was close at hand.” Myles wasn’t sure what that was. A rock? Part of a tree branch? A hammer? He was relying on the autopsy to reveal more about the wounds Pat had sustained and what could’ve caused them.
“But if the murder resulted from a spontaneous act, a sudden flare of temper, why couldn’t Delbert be our man?”
“He could. Except that Pat wouldn’t have driven over here to meet Delbert. What would be the point?”
“Delbert could’ve lured him here under false pretenses.”
“We just established that this wasn’t a planned killing. The evidence doesn’t support it.”
Jared scratched his chin. “Do you know how hard it is to solve a truly random crime, with no eyewitnesses? If our offender was a visitor to the area, we might never narrow it down.”
“Exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Putting his pad in his coat pocket, Jared turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Myles asked him.
“I’m meeting Linda at the Golden Griddle.”
Linda Gardiner was the other investigator Myles had assigned to the case.
“We’re hoping to come up with a list of people who used the pay phone yesterday when Pat received that call,” Jared went on.
The Golden Griddle was across the street from the bar. Anyone there would have a clear view of the pay phone—if he or she happened to look. But that restaurant only served breakfast. “It closes at one. The call came in shortly after two.”
“True, but it takes the waitresses an hour or so to clean up. If we’re lucky, one of them saw someone at that pay phone while she was getting into her car and can at least give us a description.”
If we’re lucky. What if they weren’t?
They’d have nothing but a body.
5
Heartbroken, Vivian gaped at the screen.
“Mommy?”
She could hear her daughter calling her but Mia’s voice sounded small and tinny, as if it came through the dark tunnel of a dream. Vivian didn’t react, couldn’t react. She was frozen in time and space. It wasn’t until her daughter came up and tapped her arm that she was able to blink and look away. And then the many years of practice she’d had hiding her fear and disappointment from her children came to her rescue, and she managed to conceal her reaction to what she’d just read. “Yes?”
Mia’s eyebrows knotted. “Why wouldn’t you answer?”
“I was concentrating on something else.” She wondered if Mia was getting old enough to see through her smile. She would at some point, wouldn’t she? Vivian was screaming inside: This isn’t fair! Not again! Not Rex!
“Oh.” With a shrug of her thin shoulders, Mia let it go. Nothing bothered her for long. “Watch me, okay? I’ll show you my new dance.”
Mia was taking ballet lessons and, much to Jake’s chagrin, she often made up her own routines and insisted on performing them, even in public.
Vivian schooled her features into a pleasant expression as Mia leaped and twirled. No music played, but that didn’t diminish Mia’s enthusiasm. She danced just to move and she did it whenever the mood struck her. Costumes were more important to her than music, but this morning she hadn’t bothered to change into the tutu she sometimes wore all day.
Vivian believed her daughter had real talent, but ballet was far from her thoughts right now. The terror that’d begun to advance on her when she heard about Pat’s murder raced up to smack her right in the face as the meaning of what she’d just read went through her mind.
Rex is missing…Rex is missing…Rex is missing…
Where? How? Was he dead?
No, that couldn’t be. She was still in love with him. Maybe. Or maybe she only wished for what could’ve been. Even if her feelings weren’t quite that strong—even if desperation, familiarity and the need for a safe harbor had brought them together in the first place—he’d been a good friend and a talented lover, relief from the loneliness that had plagued her both before and after their breakup.
“Do you like it, Mommy?” Mia sang out.
Vivian’s face ached with the effort of maintaining her smile. “Of course. It’s beautiful.”
Beaming at the compliment, Mia lengthened her performance by stringing other routines together, ones she’d been taught in class that Vivian easily recognized. “Aren’t you going to clap?”
Vivian dutifully brought her hands together.
When, at last exhausted, her daughter finished, Vivian clapped again. “Bravo!” she cheered, but trying to staunch her tears only caused the lump in her throat to swell.
Fortunately, Mia seemed satisfied. She ran off to change and brush her teeth, leaving Vivian alone to deal with Virgil’s news.
Propping her chin on her fist, she returned to the computer. What could’ve happened to Rex? Virgil had given her very little information.
Hey, I hate to tell you this, but Rex is missing. Two weeks ago, he mentioned going to Los Angeles to see a woman he met on the internet. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He took off on his motorcycle.
Vivian didn’t have to wonder how he got off work. From what she’d heard, he was still doing jobs here or there for Virgil but was no longer a partner in their bodyguard company. He’d talked Virgil into buying him out shortly after they moved to Buffalo and had been burning through the money ever since.
I probably wouldn’t be so worried except that every time I call his cell, it goes straight to voice mail. I haven’t been able to reach him since the day after he left. And I know he wasn’t planning on being gone this long. I have a job coming up—told him he could have it. Lord knows he needs the money.
Apparently he wasn’t still burning through the money. He’d already finished it. She’d figured it was just a matter of time.
I’ve reported his absence to the police. They’re doing what they can, but I doubt he’s a priority. They’re searching for him as Wesley Alderman; I couldn’t give away his true identity without adding more risk. I didn’t see how it would help, anyway, to divulge the past. He obviously made arrangements to be gone, so they feel he might merely be delayed. And they have other cases they consider more urgent.
So what did this mean? Now that he was broke, had he returned to The Crew, where he could get an endless supply of the OxyContin he craved?
He’d die before he’d give either of us up. I just don’t know if we can count on him staying off the pills. And that could change the situation. He hasn’t done well since you left. Anyway, I had to warn you.
He’d never done drugs when she was with him. But she’d known they were a big part of his past. Drugs were epidemic to the gang culture he’d embraced at one time. And now he was back at it.
I’ll let you know if anything changes. Keep your eyes open.
V.
Vivian’s gaze strayed from the screen to the phone on the desk at her elbow. They’d agreed not to communicate by telephone; doing so would establish a traceable link between them. She didn’t see The Crew as being sophisticated enough to find and follow that link, but they could’ve hired a private investigator or someone else to do the tracking. Harold “Horse” Pew and his foot soldiers had certainly found them before. That was why they’d split up, to be cautious. But she had to talk to her brother, even if it meant breaking the rules. She missed him so much, hadn’t seen him in two years.
With equal amounts of trepidation and excitement, she dialed the cell-phone number Virgil had given her to use in case of an emergency.
She had a blocked number. Probably hoping it was Rex, he answered on the first ring with a quick and eager hello.
The tears she’d been holding back sprang to her eyes at the sound of his voice. “It’s me,” she murmured.
“Laurel.” He used her real name, then cursed under his breath. “I was afraid you’d call.”
She understood why he might not be happy to hear from her, knew he was worried about the risk, but his response stung all the same. Emails couldn’t replace personal contact. He had his wife. She had no one. She’d been so happy in D.C. After fourteen years of waiting for Virgil to get out of prison, she’d had family she could both love and trust, only to have him once again ripped away from her. “Don’t…”
He seemed to understand that she couldn’t tolerate being chastised right now. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“That depends on your definition of okay. I was doing great until Pat Stueben was murdered yesterday morning.”
“Who’s Pat Stueben?” Obviously he’d expected her reaction to the news about Rex, not this.
“A friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
The concern in those words made her feel a bit better. “He was more of an acquaintance actually—the man who helped me find this house, my—my Realtor.” Tears streamed down her face; she hadn’t adequately mourned Pat. The possibility that she or one of her children might be next had kept her grief bottled up, along with her fear.
“Hang on a sec.” She heard jostling, then a door closing. When he came back on the line, he spoke more loudly. “Okay, I can talk.”
“Are you at the office?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s business?”
“Not quite what it was in D.C., but building.”
She remembered when he and Rex had started their bodyguard service, how pleased they’d been with their success. After selling out in D.C., Virgil had reincarnated the business under a different name when he moved to upstate New York. He had Peyton’s help now, at least in the office. Although she normally worked in corrections she’d left her job when they moved and didn’t plan to return to her career until the kids were older. Even with Peyton there three days a week, it wasn’t the same for Virgil. He missed Rex as a full-time partner. But once Rex’s mother died and his family blamed him for the grief he’d put her through, he’d gone downhill.
As much as Vivian wished it wasn’t so, she was sure their breakup had added to the problems that’d sent him into a tailspin.
Luckily for her, she hadn’t been around to see the worst of it. She’d heard about the fallout from Virgil, via his weekly emails. Then, during his more sober moments, Rex had begun calling her again, even though, for safety’s sake, he wasn’t supposed to.
“What exactly happened to your friend?” Virgil asked.
“Someone beat him to death.”
“Why?”
“He was robbed, but…this went far beyond robbery.”
“Who did it?”
“No one knows. Not yet. That’s why…why I was already nervous when I received your email.”
“You think there’s some connection between your Realtor’s death and our situation?”
“Maybe. That type of thing doesn’t happen here.”
“Didn’t you tell me you have a friend whose mother went missing?”
“Fifteen years ago, and there’s never been any proof of foul play. Maybe she simply walked off into the sunset.”
“How often does that happen?” he asked drily.
