Suddenly a booming voice echoed behind them, and Aaron and Mick looked up just in time to see Crawford cross the living room, his face stern and authoritative. He hadn’t even noticed Aaron and Mick near the door yet. He was handing out commands like candy to children.
Halloway moved aside and Aaron walked forward, Mick behind him. “Lieutenant Crawford, this is Mick, my brother.”
Crawford’s intense eyes narrowed at Mick. “You were here last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Taylor invited me home from the bar where we met.”
Aaron was trying to read Crawford’s perplexing expression. Disappointment? Is that what he was seeing? Like Mick had spoken about Crawford’s own daughter. While Aaron watched him carefully, Crawford’s eyes roamed the room, noting the corner where the open window was and then down the hallway, his hands pressed into the lower part of his hips.
Mick glanced at Aaron with uncertainty. Aaron could only shrug.
Crawford faced the officers. “Reported missing from work, what, twenty-four hours? thirty-six hours?”
Aaron nodded.
“You say you met her at a bar last night. What time?” Crawford asked Mick.
“I’m not sure. Maybe at nine. We talked at the bar for about an hour. Then I rode home with her.” Mick cleared his throat. “And then I guess I passed out.”
“Why do you say you guess?” Crawford asked.
“I woke up this morning with my face in the carpet,” Mick said with a half laugh, nodding toward the living room.
Nobody else was laughing, and Aaron thought he was going to throw up. What in the world had Mick gotten himself into now? They were going to take him to the station, interrogate him, and if Taylor Franks showed up dead, probably charge him with murder. And all Mick could do was laugh about being drunk.
“So this was just a one-night fling?” Crawford asked.
“Not even that,” Mick said. “Nothing happened. We were just talking. You see, my brother here stole my girlfriend and is now marrying her, so we shared sob stories. That’s all.”
This seemed to agitate Crawford, who stepped a couple of inches closer to Mick. “Sob stories? What’d she say?”
Mick shrugged, staring at his feet. “Nothing, really. She looked sad when I saw her. That’s what drew me to her. Pretty woman sitting alone, drinking scotch. At first she wanted me to bug off. But then she said we could talk. We just talked about relationships.” Mick glanced at Aaron with hot eyes.
“Did she say anything about a relationship? a boyfriend?”
“Not really. She mostly spoke in general terms. I got the feeling she’d had her share of loser boyfriends.”
Crawford took out a notepad. “Loser boyfriends. She didn’t name any names?”
“I don’t remember any.”
“Because you were drunk.”
“Or she didn’t say any,” Mick said forcefully.
Crawford was not deterred. “Was she drunk?”
“No, not really. Had a couple of scotches. But she drove. Got back here alive, didn’t I?”
“Can the humor,” Aaron said to Mick, which wiped the smile off his face.
“Did she say anything about going anywhere? leaving?”
Mick scratched the back of his head in recall. “I don’t remember too much of the conversation. I’m sorry.”
“I’d suggest you remember all you can.” Crawford observed the Band-Aid over his eye. “What happened to your face?”
Mick fumbled his words, while everyone shifted uncomfortably. Finally he said, “Just a fight. The day before yesterday. Aaron can confirm it,” Mick said, touching the Band-Aid.
Aaron stared at the strange scratch across Mick’s cheek, which he was sure had not come from the fight. He swallowed and looked at Crawford’s amused eyes. “Yeah. It was the day before yesterday.”
“Okay.” Crawford shrugged. Then without warning he turned back to the living room, suddenly seeming uninterested.
Mick looked at Aaron and Aaron looked at Halloway.
Halloway seemed perplexed. “Crawford, you want us to take him in?”
“Naw,” Crawford said and began walking back toward the bedroom.
Halloway appeared stunned when he turned back to Aaron and Mick. “Looks like you’re free to go,” he said.
“Crawford’s done?” Aaron asked.
“Stay around the city,” Halloway told Mick.
Aaron said, “Mick, go wait by the car. I’ll be there in a second.” He watched his brother drag his feet out the door and down the stairs like an eight-year-old boy on his way to his room.
“What do you think?” Aaron asked Halloway.
“I’m surprised Crawford didn’t bring him in. He’s always itching to get his hands on a criminal, you know.”
“Mick’s no criminal. He makes a lot of bad judgment calls, but he would never harm a woman.”
Halloway’s nod was not full of confidence. “We’ve contacted her mother, who hasn’t heard from her, and a couple of acquaintances, who also haven’t heard from her. We’ll interview neighbors as soon as we can find them. The fact that her car is here isn’t a good sign. And the fact that your brother was drunk and hardly remembers a thing isn’t going to go over well.”
“Then why is Crawford letting Mick go?”
“Who knows with that guy. Probably playing some sort of mind game. He’s got some of the strangest methods. Sometimes I think if he weren’t playing detective he’d be in a mental hospital somewhere. Have you seen the way he organizes his desk?”
“He was in the military, wasn’t he? The discipline probably came from that.”
“I don’t know. Seems more obsessive-compulsive to me, but I’m no shrink.”
“Well, he always gets the bad guy, doesn’t he?” Aaron said with a small smile.
“Yeah. Let’s just hope it’s not your brother.”
Mick and Aaron rode in silence back to Tony’s to get his car, except when Aaron asked about the scratch. The explanation of falling into the bathroom wall at the bar seemed like a lame excuse, evident by Aaron’s unemotional stare out the windshield.
At Tony’s, Mick got out and unlocked his car, pretending like he was going to get in. He watched his brother’s patrol car peel out of the parking lot. When he was out of sight, Mick walked into Tony’s, but not before momentarily observing the dark clouds swirling overhead. Storms would develop later on with the afternoon heat.
At noon, scarcely a soul was around except a bartender named Lisa, a hard-looking woman with white spiky hair and a dark mole on her chin. Her bright pink lips flashed a smile as he walked in. “A little early, aren’t you, tiger?”
“Scotch.”
“What else is there, right?” Lisa fixed his drink.
Above him, ESPN was showing highlights of foreign soccer. Mick wouldn’t need to be back at the school until three. He was going to have to come up with something to tell Coach Rynde. All he’d said earlier was there was an emergency.
An emergency was a bit of an understatement.
Lisa scooted the glass toward him. “You okay?”
“Um . . . yeah. Fine. Hey, what time does Jimmy get here?”
“Afternoon usually. Four or so.”
“Thanks.” Mick avoided her eyes and stared into the drink that last night had erased his memory. Images and conversations floated near the edge, threatening to fall into darkness, wanting to be rescued. But they were too far away, like paper floating on the wind, darting and dashing but always elusive.
Taylor had not mentioned a boyfriend that he could remember, but he had sensed great turmoil in her life.
The smell of the scotch was foul in his nostrils. It reminded him of everything that went wrong last night . . . everything that was going wrong in his life. His body, nearly trembling with the desire to drink it, also forecasted the result of indulging.
Licking his lips and looking at the drink as if it were a raging bull ready to g
ore him, Mick tried to be reasonable, tried to think like the rational man he thought lived deep inside him. “I can’t do this,” he whispered to himself.
Lisa was at the other end of the bar mopping up a mess on the counter.
He nudged the glass away from him a little, scratching at his brows with a fidgety finger. But his body nearly moaned in protest. With just one drink, he could be a little less on edge. His thumbnail tapped the side of the glass, flicking at it over and over again. His head screamed no! His body screamed yes! If someone could just saw him in half.
“Here, let me help,” Lisa said suddenly. She took the glass and dumped the scotch in the sink. Her half smile and warm eyes told him she understood. “Now, get outta here, okay?”
Relief flooded Mick’s body. “Thank you,” he said and slid off the barstool. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do for the rest of the day. But boredom always seemed to get him in trouble.
There wasn’t a person in Taylor’s apartment standing around. Everybody had been assigned a task. So nobody noticed Shep examining pictures of Taylor Franks. But he did. And with great attention. He looked at every picture, every setting, every scene. He studied the picture of her mother, plump and matronly. Shep immediately noticed there were no pictures of a father around. It didn’t surprise him.
He stared at the fallen pictures by the window, facedown and on the carpet. He addressed one of the crime-scene technicians, remembering the days before they were all mostly civilians. Times were changing. But he didn’t need any of it to bring about justice. “What do you make of those pictures?”
“Definitely a result of someone climbing in through the window,” the technician said, pointing to them with fingers spread. “Just the way they are lying indicates it. We’ve gotten plenty of photos.” He knelt down to pick one up. After examining it, he showed it to Shep. “See this guy? Looks kind of old to be a boyfriend.”
Shep scrutinized the picture. Taylor’s arms were wrapped around the man’s waist affectionately. Her eyes were bright. His eyes were dim. He studied his face. “A man with secrets.”
The technician smiled. “Guess you’ll be finding out who this guy is. We’re going to bag these photos.”
Shep nodded and turned to survey the room.
Randy Prescott was walking down the hallway toward him. “Nothing out of order in the bedroom. Bed unmade, that’s all we noticed. We’ll need to find out if she makes her bed every morning.”
“Her mother’s on the way,” Shep said, staring at the hallway walls as Randy approached. “Look.” He pointed out several pictures that were slightly tilted. Shep dragged his hand along the wall, and as he did, he showed how each picture would have tilted if a hand had hit it. “Get a picture of this. There may have been a struggle down this hall.”
Randy went to get the photo tech.
Shep walked back to the bedroom. He’d been in there earlier, but people had bustled around him, and he liked to work alone. He scanned the room, but the only face in his mind was Mick Kline’s. What kind of loser was he? And why would a classy woman like Taylor invite him back to her apartment? Weren’t women smart these days? savvy? Didn’t they understand what made them vulnerable?
He’d fought off anger through the morning and now realized he had an immense challenge ahead of him, but he always liked a challenge. He was just going to have to control his anger. For a man who always liked to be in control, his anger was certainly a thorn. Behind him, he heard Randy walk in.
Shep’s gaze went to her bedside table. The phone receiver and base were at an odd angle. He smiled and glanced back at Randy, who seemed like he didn’t really know what to do other than stand there. “Look at the phone.”
Randy looked at it, shrugged a little. “Yeah. What about it? I think they already ran her phone records. Nothing unusual showed up that they saw right away, anyway.”
Shep walked over to it and picked it up. “Let’s see who Miss Franks called last.”
“It’ll be on her phone records.” Randy sighed as if he couldn’t imagine anything more boring.
Shep pushed redial without turning the phone on. After reading the numbers on the display panel, he handed the phone to Randy.
Randy’s eyes widened. “Nine and one. This didn’t show up on her phone records.”
“That’s because the call never went through. She didn’t get a chance to turn the phone on or apparently finish dialing 911,” Shep said. He headed back down the hallway toward the living room.
Someone called out his name. He turned and saw Halloway leaving the bathroom. “Come look at this.”
Shep walked back to the bathroom. Halloway had flipped on the light and was pointing to the tile floor.
Crawford squatted and saw it immediately. Six droplets of blood, each about the size of half a dime, made a short trail ending next to the bathtub. “Tell the techs to get in here and see if we have blood down this drain.”
Halloway nodded and vanished.
Shep returned to the living room and announced, “We officially have a criminal investigation, folks.”
Mick swallowed the feeling that told him this was the last place he should be. Sitting in his car across the street from the elementary school, he glanced in his rearview mirror, half expecting to be followed. But it seemed when the detective said to let him go, they really let him go. Aaron appeared as shocked as anybody, but that was his brother. Perpetually skeptical.
Sour bile swam in his stomach, reminding him that his not-so-noble decline of the drink earlier was costing him now. This was the stupidest thing he’d done in a while, but desperation made people do stupid things. If only he still had that accounting job, he would have somewhere else to go other than here.
He checked his rearview mirror one more time, then his watch. Getting out of his car, he crossed the street and walked toward the school. Above him, a few straggling, heavy, gray clouds were joining the large thunderhead out west, casting random shadows that cooled his sweaty skin. The atmosphere warned that things could get violent very soon. All the right ingredients were there.
He stood for a moment and observed the clouds. His dad still liked to think of himself as an amateur meteorologist. And he supposed those were the days when the family had been tight, when brotherly rivalry extended only to treasured toys and T-ball.
Mick walked inside the school. At the front desk, he signed in and then waited alone in the designated area. He passed the minutes he sat there trying to paste together his shredded memory from last night. But as hard as he tried, he simply couldn’t remember anything.
“What are you doing here?” Jenny stood above him.
He stood and tried to casually fold his hands together. But just like when he first met her, she still made him tremble. “Do . . . um . . . do you have time to talk?”
She glanced behind her shoulder and sighed, but those gorgeous brown eyes of hers were liquid compassion. “Come on. Not here.” She took his elbow and guided him out a side door.
They stood under the overhang of the building. A brownish green haze hovered over the schoolyard. It was definitely going to storm. Jenny looked up at the sky. “Good call not to have recess outside today.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to . . . I’m not sure. I just needed to see you.”
“Why?”
Mick stared at his tennis shoes. Words were hard to come by.
“Aaron told me he told you,” she said softly. The wind blew her blonde hair back from her face. “Said you didn’t take it too well.”
“I didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t be angry with him, you know,” Jenny said. “He loves you. I wish you knew how much.”
“I’m not here to talk about Aaron,” Mick finally said. He was at least a foot taller than she, and he’d liked the idea of how easily he could protect her. Glancing up, he noticed a few curious eyeballs staring from a classroom window. One little girl stuck her tongue out.
&nb
sp; Jenny was now staring at her own feet. “Then why are you here? I don’t understand.”
“To . . . to, uh . . . to see if you would . . .”
“Would what?”
“Give me a second chance.”
A surprised laugh escaped her lips, and her eyes formed perfect circles. “Oh, Mick. Please, don’t—”
“Just hear me out, okay? Please hear me out.”
Jenny pressed her lips together but didn’t look at him. Instead she engaged her hands. For the first time, Mick noticed the ring. It was a diamond solitaire. A large one. He could never afford anything that nice.
She stuck her hands in her pockets. “I’m listening.”
“Just . . . just give me another chance.”
“Mick, what are you—?”
“I’m not the better man. I know that. But you didn’t give me a chance. I could’ve proved to you, shown you—”
She held up her hands. “Wait. Don’t insinuate that I didn’t give you a chance. One, we were all wrong for each other. Two, you hadn’t called me in a week when your brother called.”
“I know,” Mick said, swiping at the sweat that dampened his hairline. “That was an awful mistake. I was just playing that stupid game everybody plays. I mean, it wasn’t even a game, really. It was just stupidity. I had feelings for you, and I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, and then I realized that I wanted to try to be good enough for you.”
“Aaron and I are meant to be together,” Jenny said, the firmness in her voice straightening her posture. She looked him in the eye. “You and I are not.”
“But wasn’t there something there? I mean, can you deny that?”
“I won’t deny it. There was attraction. Maybe even deeper than that.”
“A lot deeper than that!”
“But I should’ve never dated you in the first place. Our lifestyle choices are at different ends of the spectrum. I compromised my beliefs for you, and that scared me.”
Angry words wanted their chance at attention, but Mick held his tongue. Getting angry at Jenny was not going to help matters. “I was going to change.”
Jenny closed her eyes at the statement. “That’s absurd. People don’t change for other people.”
Storm Gathering Page 5
