Courtney remained silent.
Her non-answer was enough of an answer for Amanda. “When did you see him last?” She was aware of the visit from a couple of weeks ago but was curious what would surface.
“Two weeks ago, give or take.”
“Were you still interested in the money?” Trent interjected and warranted Courtney’s gaze.
Slowly Courtney looked at Amanda. “He told me he’d take care of things when he got out.”
“And did he?” Amanda asked.
“You can’t find the money and I’m still alive, so, yeah, I guess he did.”
Amanda studied Courtney. She obviously assessed Palmer’s creditor to be dangerous—even life-threatening—and she wasn’t giving them a name. She’d try to play it from another angle. “Aren’t you worried this person Chad owed money to might come after your son?”
Courtney looked away and rubbed her arms.
Amanda stared blankly at Courtney, hoping the silence and eye contact would be enough to get her to speak.
“I’m pretty sure everything is fine now.”
Amanda lifted her shoulders. “Sounding more confident than a second ago. Did Chad tell you he paid off whoever it was he owed?” She hated not having a name to work with.
“No.”
“So you haven’t been in contact since his release? I find that hard to believe given that Justin’s his son.”
“Nah, you don’t get to come here with that. And you have no right to bring up Justin again. Chad didn’t even know about him. I kept it from him. What good would it do anyway? Not like he was around to be a dad.”
“Still, Chad never came over after getting out last Friday?” Amanda was skeptical the lovers wouldn’t have reunited, but, then again, it’s not like she’d visited him a lot in prison. There was also the request Palmer had made for additional towels niggling at the edge of her mind.
“He doesn’t know where I live now. Or, I guess, didn’t know. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
Amanda wasn’t about to let herself get waylaid or dragged down with empathy for this woman; she couldn’t find the emotion in her to tap into regardless. “And you never met up with him at Denver’s Motel?”
“What part of what I’m saying don’t you understand? Last time I saw him was two weeks ago.”
“I’m pretty sure that you have your reasons for not telling us who you suspect of Jackson’s and Chad’s murders,” Amanda began, “but if Chad was mixed up in something, and we’re looking at the same killer here, what’s to say they won’t come for you next? Talk to us, and we can help you,” Amanda appealed.
Courtney pinched her eyes shut for a moment, opened them, sighed. “Fine. Jackson and Chad fenced stolen goods through their pawnshop. You happy now?”
“Who did he fence for?” Amanda ignored Courtney’s snide remark, not surprised by what she’d just told them. Pawnshops made great fronts for criminal activity. Stolen goods were turned in and bought at a fraction of what they were worth and turned around and sold at a hefty profit. Inventory sometimes hit the books, sometimes it didn’t.
“I told the cops back when Jackson was murdered that I had nothing to say.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “And it kept Justin and me safe. It also protected Chad. I didn’t want to make his situation any worse.”
Amanda clenched her fists. She had no idea what a “bad situation” was by comparison to what Amanda had lost. “Who did they fence the goods for?” Amanda said through gritted teeth.
Courtney’s gaze dashed to Trent, then back to Amanda. “Some guy who goes by Freddy.”
“Freddy,” the name scratched her throat upon exit.
“Yeah.”
Freddy, the drug dealer and apparently a thief. Freddy, who knew she was a cop and had her personal license plate and make and model of her car. Freddy, who could destroy the rest of what she had left to lose. That same Freddy could be behind the murders of Webb, Palmer, and that girl in Georgia. Bile shot up Amanda’s throat almost faster than she could swallow it back down.
Nineteen
“Unlock the car,” she barked at Trent and she heard the distinct clicks in the department car’s handles. She got behind the wheel and said to him, “Hurry up, and get in.” She just needed him close by with the keys and the ignition would turn.
“Everything all right?” Trent spaced out his words slowly and methodically.
Everything was far from all right, but she couldn’t tell him that. She had to deal with this on her own, like she’d dealt with all the crap that had come her way in the last five and a half years.
“If you know this Freddy character,” Trent began, “we could bring him up in the system and show his picture to Lorraine. Maybe he’s who she saw Palmer with on Sunday night? Just a possibility.”
“Freddy’s a no-good lowlife. He has a record for drug dealing, though I doubt that comprises his entire criminal portfolio. Now we have Courtney Barrett telling us he’s involved with stolen goods. You should also know that Freddy’s friend, Rat, was questioned during the course of a homicide investigation years ago. But as a witness not a suspect.”
“Still confirms the world this Freddy guy’s a part of, and with that sort of knowledge on the street, it could explain why the Denver’s Motel employees aren’t talking. They’re afraid. And we know from Courtney that Palmer could have very well owed that cash to Freddy. She seemed fearful.”
“Yeah, but the fact that Palmer planned on hanging around for at least a month—given how long he rented his room at the motel—tells me he settled his debt with Freddy. That’s probably what happened to the twenty-five K. But if Palmer paid Freddy, where’s his motivation to kill him, and if Freddy also killed Webb and Casey-Anne—we know the same gun was used—what would be his motive there?”
There was a passage of silence.
Amanda’s thoughts were skipping from the recent slip that had brought her to Freddy’s door to the possible repercussions, but she was also thinking about a connection. The pawnshops for the partners, but Casey-Anne… Then it struck. “You said you couldn’t find any Casey-Anne Ritters in the area.”
Trent nodded.
“Maybe that’s because she didn’t want to be found. And, if that was the case, what would that tell you?”
“That she might have been on the run and hiding from someone,” he suggested, but the lack of enthusiasm in his voice told her he hadn’t stitched together the full impact of that conclusion. “Freddy?”
“Not so sure, but… and this is just a theory. But Webb and Palmer ran a pawnshop, and what does anyone on the run need?”
“Money.”
“Right. So let’s assume for a second this Casey-Anne didn’t have any. What would she do?”
Trent’s forehead pressed in thought. “She could have pawned something for money.”
“Right, and maybe whatever that was hadn’t been hers to turn over and the real owner wanted his property back.”
“Freddy’s, though?”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Trent looked from her to the steering wheel, back to her. “Are we going to go pay him a visit?”
“Actually…” She wasn’t ready to show up at Freddy’s door, and depending on how things panned out with him, she might never need to. She could delegate that while she explored another avenue. “Why don’t you go talk to Freddy, feel him out, and I’ll go talk to the father of that boy. We’ll cover more ground that way.” She might not be able to put off questioning Freddy forever, but she would delay it for as long as she could.
Trent’s brow bunched down for a second. “Ah, sure, no problem. I could also swing by the Nashes and see if Lorraine can ID Freddy from a picture. She might be able to say if he was the one with Palmer.”
“Good luck on that one, but, yeah, not a bad idea. When you’re talking to Freddy, make sure to bring up Casey-Anne and gauge his reaction to her.”
“Will do.”
“Also, when you�
��re at his house, question his friend, Rat, real name Damien Rodriguez.” She just put the car into gear when her phone rang. She put it back in park. Caller ID told her it was Malone. She answered reluctantly.
“Detective Steele,” she answered.
“Formal. I like it, but you had to know it was me. I just heard from the ME’s office that Palmer’s death was a murder.”
“Yeah.”
“I assume you have your alibi?”
She cringed. She knew it had been a bad idea to answer her phone. “I’m working on it.”
A few seconds of silence, then Malone said, “I need more than ‘working on it.’”
“That’s all I got right now.”
“Where are you?” Malone’s question on the surface was a redirect, but he had asked for a reason.
“Headed back to the station.” Once there, she and Trent would sign out a second department car and go their separate ways.
“Good. I’d like to talk face to face.”
A warm flush shot through her and she glanced over at Trent who was watching her. “Sounds omin—”
“Don’t give it too much thought. Just come straight to my office. Alone.”
“Okay.”
Malone was gone before she could say, “Goodbye.”
“That Sergeant Malone?” Trent asked.
“Yep. You clairvoyant now?”
“That’s my older sister,” he deadpanned.
She faced him. “Are you being serious?”
He smiled and bobbed his head side to side. “She likes to think she is anyway. Me? I don’t really buy into all of that.”
“Huh.” She regarded him a little longer. Trent was interesting and a bit of an enigma.
“Lieutenant Hill’s pleased you’ve finally been paired with a partner. How’s it going anyhow?” Malone sat back in his chair and it creaked beneath him. Amanda was seated across from him in a single visitor chair in his office at Central District. It was a small, yet adequate space. He had a steel and laminate manager’s desk and a long filing cabinet that ran along the one wall and did double duties as a credenza. On top were a few framed photographs—one of him and his wife; one of their two boys; and one of the family on a trip down south. Hawaii, if Amanda remembered right. The walls were painted a rich, deep blue—somewhere between blueberry and midnight navy, and a window across from his desk looked over the woods at the back of the station. His entire office was organized, and everything had its spot.
She should have known that it was Hill who’d insisted she have a partner. “Does she know—”
“That you’re working the Palmer investigation in any capacity?” Malone cut her off. “Not as long as I can help it.”
“She’d probably take pleasure in knowing that I’m reporting to a rookie.” The statement came out with a little more zing than she’d intended.
“That can be rectified,” he snapped back.
“I’m sorry.”
“I should say so.” Malone clasped his hands in his lap. “So the word just came in from the medical examiner’s office. Palmer was force-fed alcohol and killed as a result.”
“That’s what I was told.”
He peered into her eyes. “You know how this might look?”
“I know how it could be construed.”
“And I’m pretty sure you know what I need… Just so we’re in front of this.”
Amanda gripped the arms of the chair. “My alibi. As you said on the phone.”
“Bingo.”
“There are a couple of leads Trent and I intend to follow. One is a man whose son was in a car accident with Palmer as a teen.”
Malone leaned forward, put elbows on desk. “Ah, yes, I remember. The father’s name was Albert Ferguson if I remember right.”
No one could claim Malone had a poor memory. “That’s him, and did you happen to know that Palmer’s business partner was murdered… not long after Palmer’s arrest?”
“I did.” He squinted as if not sure where she was headed.
“What about Casey-Anne Ritter from Georgia?”
“Yeah. It was connected to Webb’s.” He angled his head and studied her eyes. “You think the same killer is back?”
She shrugged. “Why not? It’s a possibility we haven’t ruled out.”
“Yeah, you have to exhaust every angle.”
A fact she was very aware of, but she wasn’t going to point that out to Malone and risk offending him.
Malone continued. “I’ve spoken to the forensics lab and have asked that everything related to this case is rushed through. You should also be getting a list of items deemed evidence before the end of the day. Obviously any DNA evidence may take longer to process, but you should have a good springboard to start with.”
“Thank you. We’ve also become aware that Palmer was in possession of a large amount of cash at the time of the accident—”
Malone shuffled and sat up straighter, but his gaze drifted to the top of his desk. “Always follow the money.”
“Intend to. If we can find it.”
“It’s missing?”
“Seems to be. Can’t be accounted for anyhow.” This would be the perfect time to name Freddy, but she couldn’t bring herself to come out with it. Somehow verbalizing him to her sergeant made the nightmare and her regrettable decision that much more real.
“We were told by Palmer’s old girlfriend that Palmer and his partner fenced stolen goods at their pawnshop.”
“Huh.” Malone studied her face. “This missing money could have been owed to someone then.”
She nodded. “What we’re thinking.” She glanced away; looking at him in the eye and withholding from him was torturing her conscience.
“This money could have gotten Palmer’s partner killed and Palmer.”
“That’s if Palmer didn’t pay off his debt. It seemed he intended to stick around.”
“Do you think Palmer’s murder is connected to both cold cases? Truly?”
“I think it’s far too soon to dismiss the possibility.”
Malone leaned back in his chair again, a flicker of angst dancing across his face. “This could get out of control fast. I can’t stress enough how important it is that you get out in front of this. Just in case his murder doesn’t link to the cold cases beyond his previous relationship with Webb.”
“I know.”
“Certainly not settling my stomach. And lots of people could have wanted Palmer dead because of his drinking.”
She could barely bring herself to nod and hated that the conversation had circled back to this point.
“I don’t have to tell you what small towns are like and how they like to talk.”
“Just about as bad as police departments.” She tossed that in, in an attempt at lightening the air, but it didn’t come close to working.
“Keeping your name and connection with Palmer out of the news is going to be an uphill battle.” He sighed. “You are being careful?”
“Yeah.” She lowered in her chair, if only slightly. She’d already been recognized by a couple of people as she and Trent had made their rounds, but she sure as hell wasn’t confessing that much to Malone.
Whether Malone missed her subtle body language or chose to ignore it, he said, “Regardless of what way this case turns—isolated incident or number three in a string of murders—I won’t be able to keep Lieutenant Hill out of this forever. You know what she’s like.”
“How she likes to put her nose into everything. Yep, I know.”
“Especially when it comes to you.”
Amanda’s hunch that the lieutenant held a vendetta against her was confirmed yet again. “Joy. She’s always been more concerned about her public image than the department’s.”
“Yeah, well, if this blows up, it will be both images that suffer and I know you care about that. The latter one anyhow.”
She tried to muster the zeal to protect the department she represented, but ever since the accident, her enthusiasm just
wasn’t there anymore. She was more going through the motions than she was any crusader for justice.
“You do?” he stressed.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll accept that, but a tad more enthusiasm would be nice.” He paused as if he expected her to intercept but she remained silent. He went on. “Okay, then. May I suggest—for your own good—get that alibi yesterday and follow the money as I said, but I also think talking to Ferguson would be wise.”
“He’s my next stop.”
“Your next stop?”
It was too late to retreat from her slip that she’d be on her own. She opened her mouth to defend herself, then shut it.
“You can’t be doing solo interviews, Amanda. What if someone recognizes you? Tell me you haven’t branched out on your own.”
She could argue that with Trent by her side she had been recognized, but that wouldn’t help her cause.
Malone narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Trent?”
“Following a lead.”
“Oh Lord.” Malone massaged his left temple. “I feel a headache coming on.”
“He’ll be fine, trust me.”
Malone opened a desk drawer and withdrew a bottle of ibuprofen. He popped a couple into his mouth and swallowed them dry. “This whole thing could turn into a real nightmare quick. Have you at least called your family yet?”
She tilted her head. “When was I supposed to do that?”
“Make the time.”
“You’re so chummy with Dad, you do it.” She snapped her mouth shut, regretting her words and tone instantly. She hated putting that scowl on Malone’s face when all he was trying to do was help. “Sorry.”
“I can only imagine how hard this is for you, but you remember what I said? No drama.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’ll keep my shit together.” After all, a Steele keeps their word.
“Or get it together.” Malone winked at her. “But, yes, I’d be much obliged if you did.”
She’d never want to let Malone down. He had been there for her after the accident, supportive and understanding. “I’ll firm up my alibi.” A promise that was spoken with far more confidence than she had any right to convey.
The Little Grave: A completely heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Amanda Steele Book 1) Page 12
