Jamie held the white testing stick in her hands. Trembling, she closed her eyes, opened them back up, and stared at the stick again. Two pink lines. Still positive. The third one in a row. She was pregnant. With Nick’s child. Not exactly how she’d expected to start her day. She sat down on her sofa, holding her face in her hands. She couldn’t even be angry. It wasn’t like she’d done anything to prevent it. Either time.
Long minutes passed before she was able to look at the white stick with the little pink lines again. Nick would probably jump for joy when she told him. He wanted a child. She was pretty sure of that. He’d asked if she wanted to have one with him. Before they’d gotten around to the practicing part. She could almost picture the excitement on his face when she gave him the news. Convincing him a relationship was a bad idea now would be almost impossible.
She still had the job offer from E! to respond to also, and this new wrinkle in her circumstances made her answer more complicated than ever. She needed stability and would have to financially provide for the child. The job at E! would give her that. Moving to California though; that would kill Nick.
Could everything really be as easy as he thought? Jump right into a relationship. Have a baby. Cross your fingers and hope for the best.
Nick was a self-made man; accustomed to taking risks and doing as he pleased. Of course he would jump right in and not give it a second thought. That’s just who he was. That didn’t mean it would work though. And she didn’t want to bring up her child in a house where its parents had grown to resent each other and spent their time fighting.
It was too much to think about right now. She grabbed her purse, her camera, the pocket recorder she’d borrowed from Danny and still hadn’t returned, and headed off to pay D-bag another visit. It would be interesting to hear what he had to say when confronted with evidence of his past transgressions.
The drive to his trailer took almost forty minutes and by the time she got there, her palms were so sweaty she could barely grip the steering wheel. She maneuvered her Jeep alongside the curb two trailers down and across the street. A wave of nausea suddenly washed over her, although whether from nervousness or her pregnancy, she had no idea. Maybe she should have eaten something before she left. Her hand found its way to her belly and she felt guilty for not eating. She was probably starving the poor kid.
D-bag’s trailer now boasted five cases of empty beer bottles stacked outside the front door. Had he used that beer to drunken some poor young girl to the point of non-resistance? A second wave of sickness washed over her, this one courtesy of her last thought. She was busy trying to will it away when D-bag stepped out his front door and hopped into his rusted-out junk mobile. With a loud rumble and a choke of black smoke, the Neon started up and backed up the short drive, rolling past her down the road. She u-turned her vehicle and followed, keeping as much distance as possible between them without losing sight of him. If he was involved with the murders, she might be able to trail him to a lead. If he was involved in anything at all, she would find out.
He drove down a long stretch of Highway 1, almost losing her twice as traffic weaved in and out between them, but she caught up with him again turning off toward Key Largo. Her gas gauge now read dangerously close to empty. If he didn’t reach his destination soon, she was going to have to give up the chase and head home.
The idea didn’t sit well with her. Felt too much like defeat.
Before the possibility could become reality, however, D-bag turned his jalopy down a narrow dirt road. Jamie slowed her Jeep, deciding whether to turn immediately behind him and risk being spotted, or pull off to the side of the road for a few seconds and risk losing him altogether. She wondered how long the dirt road was and how many other roads turned off it. Couldn’t be that many. Key Largo wasn’t that wide.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, she turned and followed the Neon down the dirt road. Ruts pitted the surface, bouncing and jarring her as she followed. The road wasn’t long. Maybe several hundred feet or so, and D-bag’s car was already turning onto another dirt path up ahead, traveling so fast his vehicle under-steered as he made the turn, causing him to nearly drive into the side of the road before the turn was finally accomplished.
Dust kicked up the road ahead of her, floating like a fine spray in the air, seeping in through the cracks of her vehicle. She sneezed and coughed, choking on the dusty mist, and turned down the road where D-bag had disappeared.
A small sign, posted at the start of the road, read Private Property – Keep Out. At the end of the drive she saw a large house, a white, two-story structure with a cupola atop a green slate roof. The place was well-maintained and reminded her of a shortened, miniature version of The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, minus the famous front porch. Seagulls danced in the skies overhead, signifying water that, no doubt, abutted the front lawn of the home. No way was this D-bag’s house. So who lived here? His drug dealer? Someone who had something to do with Janelle’s murder?
Her heart rate increased rapidly. She pulled her Jeep over to the side of the road, trying to scope out the situation. D-bag’s car had been parked in front of the house for over a minute now. Finally, he got out of the vehicle, dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans and a black leather vest with a pitchfork emblem on the back. He wore no shirt underneath, although at this distance his heavily-tattooed arms could almost be mistaken for shirt sleeves. As soon as he disappeared inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, she’d managed to avoid being seen. She looked for a place to park her Jeep. Somewhere it wouldn’t be seen, or stick out like a sore thumb on the narrow dirt drive.
Trees and vegetation lined the roadway. Some tall hardwoods, a few mangroves, buttonwoods and the occasional palm. Looked like her best bet would be to simply pull off the road altogether and park in the cover of the foliage. Backing the vehicle up a few feet, she maneuvered it into position and pulled into the shade, parking in a clearing just big enough to accommodate it.
She turned off the ignition, leaving her purse on the passenger seat and grabbing her camera from its bag. Stuffing Danny’s small recording device into the pocket of her shorts, she climbed out of the Jeep. Heat stagnated in the air around her, the treetops only partially shading the sunlight. It took only seconds for mosquitoes to catch her scent and swarm, buzzing around her bare skin. Mentally adding bug repellant to her packing list for future surveillance missions, she swatted them away, slapping two off her leg, and crept to the side of the road. With any luck, D-bag and the occupant of the house would step outside to discuss business. If they remained secluded inside, her entire trip could still be for nothing.
Snap.
The cracking of a small branch or a twig behind her caught Jamie’s attention. She froze and held her breath, hands trembling as she gripped her camera, and listened. Birds cried out overhead. The wind made a rustling sound as it blew through the leaves, but she heard nothing more. Slowly, she let out her breath and started to relax. And felt a hand cover her mouth from behind, as the metal barrel of a gun poked into her spine.
Chapter 65
Sarge now had three names on her list, the fourth, Darla Arnold, having been crossed off yesterday. Her list of suspects hadn’t changed any, so maybe it was time her investigative tactics did. She entered the offices of Beck Publications, this time to speak with someone other than Nicholas Beck.
The concrete building was busier than ever, like a hive filled with worker bees. Noises attacked one’s senses in force; ringing phones, humming machines, idle chit-chat and excited chatter as people conversed between the thin walls of their cubicles. All the excitement reminded Sarge of a busy weekend at the precinct in Miami where she had started out twenty years ago. Never a dull moment.
Reading the name plates on the gray cubicle walls, she quickly found the one she was looking for, Danny Ventura. She knocked on the flimsy partition, poking her head around the opening at the same time. “Mr. Ventura?”
He looked up from his compu
ter monitor; a balding man with a ring of hair growing around the sides and back of his head. “No, Ma’am. Mr. Ventura is my father. You can call me Danny.”
“Very well then, Danny. My name’s Sergeant Freeman. I’m with the Coral Gables Police Department, and you can call me Sarge.”
Recognition glimmered in his eyes. “Sarge? Yeah. I remember you from the day at the club, when we found Nick’s wife. And we’ve spoke on the phone a few times since then.”
“That’s right.”
Ever the reporter, the man grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from his desk and swiveled around in his chair to face her. He pointed to an unused seat next to a stack of filing cabinets along the opposite wall of his cubby hole. “Sit down, Sarge. What is it you want to talk to me about?”
She noted the pen and paper he held. Was that just an ingrained habit of his? Or did she make him nervous? “You can relax, Danny. This isn’t an interrogation. More of a note swapping, actually.”
“Note swapping, eh?” A smirk slid onto his face. “That mean you’re planning on sharing your investigation files with me?”
“Not exactly.”
“No? Then swapping isn’t really the right word for what you have in mind, is it?”
Leave it to a reporter to play semantics with her. “Have it your way, Mr. Ventura. No. I don’t want to swap notes. I just want to look at yours.”
“I told you, Mr. Ventura is my father.”
“That’s right, you did. May I have a look at your notes on the Patrice McKenzie murder, please?”
He hesitated. “This is a police investigation,” she reminded him. “If I have to, I’ll get a Court Order.”
She expected him to argue that one. Claim source confidentiality, or whatever the hell it was reporters claimed. He didn’t though. Just swiveled his chair back around to face his desk; opened a drawer on the side and pulled out a manila file folder.
“You want to look at it, fine.” He handed her the file. “Story’s already been published, and the only witness named in the story is me. Unless you count Patrice. And she’s dead.”
“That’s right. She is.” Putting a little scare into the guy might help scrounge up any information not in his file. “And you were the last one to see her before she wound up that way.”
“Hate to tell you this, Sarge, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
“It is?” She arched a brow at him. Guy didn’t seem concerned in the least by her lightly veiled threat. “Was there someone to see her alive after you?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “The killer.”
Said it like he was stating the obvious. And probably, he was.
“I’m just the last known person to have seen the lady alive.”
“Point taken.” She looked down at the folder with Patrice’s name scrawled across the front in red ink, in a form of chicken scratch that closely resembled her own.
“Well go ahead.” He made a little sweeping gesture with his hand. “Read it. That’s what you came here for.”
Inside the file she found handwritten notes, transcripts of a recorded conversation between Nicholas Beck and Patrice McKenzie and photographs. A copy of the article he’d written for Just the Facts had been stuffed in at the back. “You have the original recording these transcripts were made from?”
He nodded. “Better believe it. I keep all my documentation on a story at least seven years. Country’s a little sue-happy, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I have.” One of the reasons she’d left the Miami Police Department for Coral Gables was the number of drug dealers, rapists and murderers who thought they should sue an arresting officer for tackling them to the ground in order to disarm them.
Danny Ventura made that sweeping hand motion of his again. “You see. Nothing in there you don’t already know, right?”
He seemed eager to be done with their conversation. She flipped through the papers once more. The article, handwritten notes and transcript the article was based on, all seemed to match up, and provided her with no surprises. Then there were the photos. Three of them; two of which had been published in the magazine, along with the article, and showed a nearly bird’s eye view of Patrice McKenzie’s driveway. It was the same shot they used in Just the Facts, showing the reporter’s view of the place as he’d watched Peter Arnold argue with Patrice McKenzie. According to the story, and Danny’s notes, the battery on his cell was dead and he found himself without a camera when the argument took place, but came back an hour later and took photos from his vantage point to illustrate how well he’d been able to see her property.
Sarge laid the photo back down in the folder and was about to close it and hand it back to him when something in the corner of the photo caught her eye. “What’s this?”
Danny rolled his chair over to where she sat, peeking down at the silver vehicle parked off to the side of the house. He shrugged, tossing his hands in an open palm gesture. “That’s just Patrice’s car. We cropped that out of the photo we ran with the story.”
Sarge shook her head. An eager anticipation coursed through her. “That’s not Patrice McKenzie’s car.”
“It’s not?” He looked confused.
“No.” She was so damn giddy she could squeal. “I checked out the garage and the grounds thoroughly when I visited the crime scene the day after the murder. Patrice McKenzie had a bright yellow Porsche and an olive green Land Rover. But there wasn’t a silver Rolls anywhere on the property.”
“No kidding.”
She caught the gleam in his eyes, heard the rise in his voice. He felt the excitement, too. If he hadn’t become a reporter, she could see the guy on the force busting asses.
“You think that car might belong to the killer?”
“I intend to find out.” She pulled the 8 x 10 glossy from the file, handing the rest of the folder back to him. “Have you got a digital image of this on your computer?”
“Sure do.” He had already spun his chair back around and was busy pulling up an image on the computer screen.
“Okay, can you….?”
“Enlarge? Yeah. I got it.” He focused in on the car and magnified the image. The car had been backed into its parking spot, so only its front grill showed up in the photo.
Getting a read on the plates had never been in the equation, but for a brief moment, she had hoped they might get a shot of someone inside the car. They didn’t. She realized, with rising frustration, the car was empty. “Damn it!”
“That’s okay,” Danny said. He sounded as if he should be patting her on the hand. “Can’t be that many silver Rolls Royces registered in the state. I bet if you get a list of all the ones that are, you might find one name more interesting than the rest.”
She’d been right about him. “I’ll tell you what, Danny, you ever decide to quit your day job, you come see me.”
He grinned at her like he’d won first place in the Mr. Universe contest. “Thanks, Sarge. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And, Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you’re anxious to get the scoop on this, but do me a favor and hold off until we can make an arrest.”
“You make sure and call me as soon as that arrest is made, and you got yourself a deal.”
She stood and shook his hand before leaving. “You have my word.”
Leaving the building, she scarcely noticed any of the noise or scurrying about she had been so distracted by before. Finally. A break in the case.
Chapter 66
Nick waited until Sarge left Danny’s cubicle before heading that way himself. Luck was with him today. He’d managed to avoid her, and she hadn’t come looking for him. “Knock, knock.” He made a pretense of knocking on the flimsy partition wall. “You got a minute?”
Danny laid a manila file folder on his desk. “Sure, Nick. You want to talk about Monday’s edition?”
“No. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Jamie. Have you heard from her lately?”
“Can’t
say I have. Last time I talked to her was the day before yesterday.”
Had she accepted the job at E! already? Would she really leave him like that? Without saying good-bye?
“Something wrong, Nick?”
“No.” He shook his head, hoping to make himself believe it. “Did she tell you what her plans were the last time you talked?”
“Plans?” Puzzlement crossed his face. “You guys working on a story you forget to tell me about?”
“Relax, Danny. It’s nothing like that.” He forced out a chuckle. “Really. I was just wondering if she’d mentioned anything to you about the job offer from E!.”
“Jamie got a job offer from E!?”
His shock answered that question for Nick. “Yes. She told me the other day she was thinking of taking it.”
“She did? Could be a good opportunity for her.”
“It could.” He hated that she might leave, that she might have left already. What was he supposed to do? Chase her all the way to California? If he really believed she didn’t have feelings for him, he wouldn’t bother, but he didn’t believe that. Not for a minute. He’d seen the way she looked at him; had been looking at him ever since Janelle died. He’d felt the way she responded to his touch. There was more than something physical going on between them. “What did Sarge want?”
“Oh yeah!” Danny’s eyes lit up. “I almost forgot to tell you. Looks like we may have a new lead in Janelle’s murder case.”
“You mean D-bag?”
“No. This.”
As Danny punched up a photo on his computer, Nick recognized the shot of Patrice’s driveway, taken the day before she was killed. The one they’d used for the cover story about her murder, the day she’d argued with that asshole Peter Arnold. Anger blurred his vision. “It was Peter.”
“No.” Danny deflated his ballooning temper. “Look over here.” He pointed at something near the edge of the picture. At a silver Rolls parked off to the side of the house. The lady ornament on the hood gave away its make at a glance.
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 27
