Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  “The investigation is ongoing, and we’ve questioned a few leads, but nothing concrete yet.”

  Jankowksi tried to keep the resentment out of his voice. It was hard having a wife that cheated on you with her twenty-year-old personal trainer. It was even harder to then have to maintain a professional relationship with her after she became your ex-wife.

  “Mayor Hadley’s not going to be happy,” Gabby said, as if Jankowksi cared what the pretentious old politician thought. “And the press is going to keep beating on the door until we give them something to run with.”

  Jankowksi cared even less about the Willow Bay press corp.

  Every last one of them would trade their own kidneys for a juicy story.

  “Well, that’s all I’ve got for now, so they’ll have to live with it,” Jankowksi muttered, looking around the busy lot. “I’ll call once we have more news to share, but it’ll be after the hurricane passes by, so don’t hold your breath.”

  He disconnected the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket, angry with himself for letting Gabby get to him. After everything that had happened, she still had the power to mess with his head and ruin his day.

  “Well, if it isn’t Detective Simon Jankowski. What brings you slumming out to the boonies today?”

  Jankowski turned at the sound of the deep voice behind him. A tall man with a thick crewcut and a two-day beard stood with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look happy to see Jankowski.

  “Tucker Vanzinger! It’s been way too long. How’s it going, man? You enjoying the easy life out here?”

  Tucker looked down at his mechanic coveralls and sturdy work boots, then back up at Jankowski.

  “Yeah, Jank, I’m living the dream. Now what do you want? There’s a hurricane coming and the folks around here are going batshit. I don’t have time for chitchat.”

  Jankowski winced, hurt by Tucker’s tone. They’d been close once. Had ridden patrol together for over a year back when they’d first been on the force.

  Guess a decade fiddling around under the greasy hood of a semi-truck would make anyone bitter.

  Jankowski held his breath as he watched an eighteen-wheeler skim by a young couple carrying bags of groceries and pushing a toddler in a stroller. The truck whooshed past the family with only inches to spare. Jankowski released his breath and turned to Tucker.

  “I know you’re busy, Tuck, but we need to talk.”

  Vanzinger snorted, checked his watch, then shook his head.

  “You’ve got some nerve showing up after…how many years? Saying you want to talk? What the hell do we have to talk about, Jank?”

  “Come on, man, that’s not fair. So, we fell out of touch for a few years. That doesn’t mean we aren’t still friends, does it?”

  “I don’t have to ask my real friends if we’re still friends, man.”

  Jankowski put a hand out, gripping Vanzinger’s arm.

  “We might not wear the same uniform anymore, but we’re still brothers in my book. It’s just…well, a lot of shit has happened in the last year or so.”

  Vanzinger swiped a rough hand through his hair before checking his watch again. Letting out a deep sigh, he met Jankowski’s eyes for the first time.

  “Is Gabby okay?" Tucker asked, the aggression in his voice gone, replaced by a reluctant concern.

  "Yeah, she’s doing pretty good, now that she's got half my money and a new boyfriend half her age."

  Jankowski tried to keep his voice light, but the words stung.

  “How about you? You seeing anyone?”

  “Here and there, but nothing special. I keep to myself most of the time. Try to keep out of trouble.”

  “I hear you. We can’t raise hell forever,” Jankowksi said. “Gotta grow up sometime.”

  “So, what do you want, Jank? What’s happened to bring you out in this direction when everybody else is running the other way?”

  The fatigue in Vanzinger’s voice made Jankowski take a closer look at his old friend. Tucker Vanzinger had been a sharp, energetic detective when he’d been with the WBPD, but the man standing in front of Jankowski now had become weathered and reserved. Time had etched fine wrinkles into Tucker’s once unlined face and had dimmed the light in his now-guarded eyes.

  Jankowski resisted an urge to ask Tucker what had happened.

  The years haven't been kind to you my friend, have they?

  Jankowski’s phone buzzed again, but he ignored it.

  “I wanted to ask you about a case you worked on,” Jankowski said, knowing he needed to stop reminiscing and focus on the task at hand. “Your last case, actually.”

  Vanzinger grew still at the words, then dropped his eyes to his watch. He bit his lip and shook his head in frustration.

  “Sorry, man, but the roads around here are going to be flooded whether we get a direct hit or not,” Vanzinger said, stepping back. “And most of the power lines will go down, too. The governor’s declared a state-wide emergency and called out the Guard. I need to report to the base, not stand here talking.”

  Jankowksi saw Vanzinger take another step back, and he reached out and pulled the big man out of the path of a Jeep full of teenagers.

  “Watch out, Tuck. A guy could get run over out here.”

  Vanzinger didn’t notice his brush with death. He seemed too intent on getting away from Jankowski and his questions to care.

  “I don’t have time to drudge up old cases that have been solved and closed. It’s been a dozen years since I left the force. I’m done with all that.”

  “Someone else has been killed,” Jankowski said, raising his voice over the rumble of two motorcycles pulling into the lot. “A woman named Penelope Yates. She was interviewed during the Steele case. On Saturday her throat was slit, just like Helena Steele’s had been.”

  Vanzinger paused, and Jankowksi watched as his big hands curled into fists. Seconds ticked by as Vanzinger remained silent.

  “Did someone send you here?” Vanzinger finally asked.

  "If you’re asking me if this is an official visit, then, no, I'm not here in an official capacity, and this isn’t on the record. But I thought you might have some information we need. I wanted to talk to you before…”

  “Before what?” Vanzinger demanded. “Before you haul me down to the station for questioning?”

  “No, before we start going off on a wild goose chase. I’m not convinced this new homicide is even linked to the Steele case. I just want to hear more about what you and Reinhardt found out. Hear your side of the investigation.”

  “It’s all on the books,” Vanzinger said, but he didn’t meet Jankowski’s eyes. “There was a trial. All the evidence was released. What more can I tell you?”

  Jankowski’s phone vibrated again, and this time he slipped it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Nessa wanted to know where he was and what he was doing. He thumbed back a message.

  Missing me already?

  Without waiting for a reply, he tapped out another message.

  Running down lead on Yates case. Be back soon.

  He dropped his phone in his pocket and looked up at Vanzinger, who was staring out toward the east, jaw clenched, hands flexing and unflexing by his sides.

  “I haven’t had a chance to review all the files, but I know you and Reinhardt arrested the victim’s husband, and he was sent down for twenty-five to life.”

  Jankowski paused, giving Vanzinger an opening to say something if he wanted to, but he just stared into the sky, as if made of stone, so Jankowski continued.

  “It’s just that some people are asking questions. They think maybe you got the wrong man. They think the real killer may still be out there.”

  Vanzinger didn’t react, so Jankowski bulldozed ahead.

  “So, what do you think, Tuck? Was the wrong man convicted? Any chance the same perp was involved in this new homicide?”

  Vanzinger shook his head and glared over at Jankowski.

  “I may not be on the force any
more, but I’m not a damn stoolie.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Vanzinger just shook his head, his mouth grim.

  “I hope you’re not saying what I think you are.” Jankowksi felt the blood drain from his face. “Are you saying that you’ve kept quiet to protect the department? Is that why you left? Because you’d gotten mixed up in some sort of cover up?”

  “I stuck to the code, that’s all. Didn’t have a choice anyway.”

  Jankowski grabbed Vanzinger’s arm again.

  “Was it Reinhardt? What did he do?”

  “Does it matter now? Reinhardt’s dead and I’m off the force. We’ve paid for whatever we may have done.”

  Jankowski felt anger rising at the stubbornness he saw in Vanzinger’s face. The man was hiding something. Knew something about the person who had killed Leo Steele’s mother. But he wasn’t willing to reveal what he knew without a fight.

  “You are fucking kidding me, right?” Jankowski sputtered, not caring if the throng of people in the parking lot around him overheard. “Another woman has been killed, and you’re thinking everything’s been settled? If Helena Steele’s killer is still out there I need to know. I need to stop him.”

  Vanzinger’s shoulders sagged as he looked at Jankowski.

  “I don’t know who killed Helena Steele,” Vanzinger said, his voice defensive. “I don’t know if the man we convicted was guilty or not. All I know is that certain evidence was ignored. Some witness statements were lost. When I questioned Reinhardt, he threatened me. Said I didn’t know who I was dealing with and that I’d better learn to keep my mouth shut.”

  “And so you just ran away? You left the force to hide out here?”

  “That’s not how it was.” Vanzinger looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. “I’ve got to go. Look around; the sky is falling.”

  “But what about the new homicide? What am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ve gotta report to my guard unit before it’s deployed.”

  Jankowski searched Vanzinger’s eyes to see if the man he used to know was still in there somewhere, but his face was inscrutable.

  “Come on, Tuck. You’ve got to deal with this.”

  Slowly Vanzinger nodded.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I always figured the past would come back to haunt me eventually. Looks like the ghosts I thought were buried a long time ago are calling me back to Willow Bay.”

  “So, you’ll come back and answer our questions? Help us figure out what’s going on?”

  “Yeah, after the storm I’ll come home. I’ll clean up my mess.”

  Vanzinger smiled then for the first time, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He walked toward the truck stop, then stopped and called back to Jankowski.

  “If you need rescuing during the storm, you know who to call!”

  Jankowksi climbed into the Charger. As he pulled out of the lot, he wondered what he should tell Nessa when he got back. If she found out he was hiding information again, he really would need rescuing.

  Chapter Thirty

  Doc backed the big van out of the garage and onto the street. Rain streamed through the canopy of cypress trees, causing the heavy Spanish moss to sway and sag above him as he drove out of Grand Isles and headed toward downtown. Once he was on the open road he took out his cell phone, dialed Ace’s number, and waited, the panic rising again in his chest.

  “What’s up, Doc?”

  A wave of relief washed over him as the gruff voice sounded in his ear. Ace would know what to do. He would fix everything, just like he’d always done before.

  “I’m worried, Ace.”

  “You’re always worried, Doc.” Ace’s voice held an edge of irritation. “What’s happened now?”

  “That guy Barker showed up at my house yesterday.”

  “Barker? What the hell did he want?”

  Doc fumed at Barker’s audacity. The big man had dared to go to his house and accost his wife with invasive, personal questions about their past.

  “He talked to Terri. Asked her questions about the community health center. Luckily I got home before he could do too much damage.”

  “What do you mean by too much damage? Did he say something that made Terri suspicious? Is she asking questions now, too?”

  Doc didn’t like the menacing tone in Ace’s voice. Ace could be paranoid. If he thought Terri was a liability, it would be dangerous.

  “Of course not. She trusts me completely…always has.”

  Doc felt his pulse quicken at the lie. A shiver rippled through him as he imagined Ace discovering the truth about Terri’s accident. He needed to say something that would steer Ace’s attention toward someone other than Terri.

  “Eden Winthrop also came nosing around yesterday.”

  Ace cursed, huffing into the phone, his patience wearing thin.

  “Well, what did she want? More questions about the girl?”

  Doc paused, distracted by Ace’s reference to Kara Stanislaus as the girl. Ace had always refused to speak the names of the girls he’d collected, calling them only by the number he’d assigned to them.

  Doc was reminded again how paranoid Ace was about getting caught. If he thought anyone might overhear them…

  “Doc, you still there? What did the Winthrop woman want?”

  “I assume she wanted to ask about…about Kara…again, but I’m not sure. Terri and I weren’t home. The security camera at the front door picked her up. That’s how I knew she’d been here.”

  Ace was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was stone cold.

  “Did Terri ask why Eden Winthrop was there?”

  Doc’s heart skipped a beat at the words.

  “No, she didn’t even realize the bitch stopped by,” Doc quickly assured Ace. “She never checks the security feed.”

  “Okay, then there’s nothing to worry about,” Ace said, his voice back to normal. “I’ll take care of Eden Winthrop.”

  But after Ace had disconnected the call without saying goodbye, Doc was uneasy. He replayed the conversation in his mind.

  He’s worried about Terri. He thinks she suspects something.

  Of course, Terri had no idea about the covert mission he and Ace had started over a decade before. She had no clue that Ace collected girls, and that Doc was his wingman. Doc had always tried to protect Terri from that part of his life.

  A small, cold voice in the back of his head asked the question he tried never to think about.

  What if her memory comes back? What if she remembers the accident?

  Doc turned into the clinic’s parking lot and turned off the engine. Rain battered against the van, beating out a frantic rhythm on the windshield, but he stared into the downpour with unseeing eyes, his mind dragging him back to the night Terri fell.

  Doc thought the house was empty. Terri was working the second shift at Willow Bay General Hospital and wouldn’t be home until after eleven o’clock. No need to keep his voice down as he called Ace to ask for an update.

  Although Natalie Lorenzo’s murder at the beginning of May had generated only a few articles on page four of the Willow Bay Gazette, the story of Helena Steele’s murder had been picked up as a headline in all the local news outlets.

  Doc had seen Helena’s picture on the front page of the Gazette that morning, and she’d stared out at him from Channel Ten’s nightly newscast that evening. Doc was beginning to worry that Ace may have made a mistake.

  He’d killed Helena Steele to shut her up, but her death was now garnering the attention of the whole community. The police and the reporters were asking questions, interviewing practically everyone in town, and there was no telling what they may find.

  “I’m getting worried,” Doc said as soon as Ace picked up. “The news is everywhere. What if someone saw something? What is someone talks?”

  “Calm down, Doc. No one saw anything, and the husband’s going down for the homicide. I’ve made sure of that."

&
nbsp; “How can you be sure they’ll charge her husband?”

  “Trust me. It’s all going to work out just the way we planned.”

  Doc felt the tension begin to fade away. Ace had that effect on him. He could always make things right, no matter how bad Doc had screwed up. A rush of remorse and gratitude filled Doc’s chest.

  “I’m sorry, Ace. I know I caused all this. If I’d talked to you before killing Natalie you would have taken care of it. You could have figured out some other way, and neither of us would have blood on our hands. I should have trusted you.”

  “Yeah, you should have.” Ace didn’t sound mad. “But what’s done is done. Now we just need to lay low until hubby is charged.”

  “You really think Ken Steele will be arrested? Won’t they need evidence to convict him?”

  “They’ll find what they need to find. As I said, I’m handling it.”

  Doc nodded into the quiet room, trying to reassure himself that Ace was right. Then another question popped into his head.

  “But what about Penelope Yates? What if Natalie told her more than what she let on? What if she knows the whole story and Helena’s murder scares her into coming forward?”

  “I’ve already talked to that crazy bitch. Told her I’d get her locked back up in the psych ward if she tried to stir up any trouble. With her mental history, no one would believe her anyway.”

  “But what if she raises suspicions? Can we afford the risk?”

  There was silence at the other end of the line, and Doc wondered if his nagging and worrying had gone too far.

  “Penelope Yates won’t be a problem, and besides, we can’t risk another homicide now. One more woman ends up dead in Willow Bay and the feds will be crawling all over. Best to bide our time.”

  A creak of the stairs made the hairs on the back of Doc’s neck stand up. He looked over his shoulder and saw a shadow move.

  “I’ve got to go, Ace. I’ll call you back.”

  He hung up without waiting for a reply and charged out to the landing. Terri stood at the top of the stairs, her dark eyes huge in her ashen face.