by Karen Rose
Monday, May 3, 2.15 P.M.
Arms crossed tightly over her body, Lucy watched as Drew Peterson and the CSU team loaded her car onto a flatbed truck. They’d closed off the parking garage until the bomb squad had arrived, angering many car owners. But better angry than dead.
Luckily there was no bomb. The X-ray had shown the box to hold only a fist-sized mass of muscle, just as she’d suspected. Russ Bennett’s heart was now on its way to the CSU lab. The very thought made her sick.
That Russ’s killer had free access to her car made her far sicker. How? And why?
That her car was also on its way to the CSU lab was the icing on top. ‘How long do you have to keep it?’ she asked wearily.
‘A few days, maybe longer,’ Drew said. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Trask.’
‘Sorry for what?’ asked a low voice behind them and Lucy tensed, her heart starting to pound all over again. Fitzpatrick was back, standing mere inches behind her and a hard shiver prickled her skin. The man was so warm and she had been so cold, all day. She had to hold her shoulders stiff to keep from leaning into him and all that delicious heat. Wouldn’t be safe. Wouldn’t be right. Don’t do it, Lucy.
‘We have to take her car,’ Drew told him. ‘I’d be surprised if this guy left any fingerprints, but we’re going over it with a fine-toothed comb.’
‘I guess I’ll just rent a car until you’re done with it.’
Fitzpatrick cleared his throat. ‘I have an extra car that’s just sitting in my garage. You’re welcome to borrow it, Dr Trask, for as long as you need it.’
Startled, Lucy turned to look up at him over her shoulder. ‘You’re joking.’
He held her gaze, his eyes totally serious. ‘Nobody drives it. It just sits.’
‘I cannot borrow your car, Detective,’ she said, but even to her own ears she sounded unsure.
His smile was quick and easy, his dimple flashing. ‘Sure you can. No reason to waste your money on renting a car. Unless you’ve got money to burn. Do you?’
She hesitated, that dimple drawing her gaze like a magnet. A little panic bubbled up into her throat. She squelched it firmly. Just because she was attracted to Fitzpatrick did not mean she had to do anything about it. It’s still my choice. And I choose no.
‘You don’t even know me. Why on God’s earth would you trust me with your car?’
‘You have any traffic tickets?’ he asked.
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I don’t speed. You know how many autopsies I do on idiots who drove too fast?’
He blinked, nonplussed. ‘I imagine more than I’d like to count.’
‘Exactly. So no, I don’t have any tickets.’ She frowned when he pulled his keyring from his pocket. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Giving you the key.’ He pulled it off the ring, took her hand and pressed the key into her palm. ‘Your hands are freezing again.’
She watched as his hand closed her fingers into a fist around the key, the metal warm from being in his pocket, next to skin. His hand was temptingly dark against hers. He probably worshipped the sun. Skin cancer, just waiting to happen. ‘You’re crazy,’ she murmured, ‘you know that.’
His hand lingered a moment longer. ‘It’s just a car, Lucy,’ he said softly.
She looked up, found his gaze intense and her body clenched in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. It was just a car. He was just a cop. This was just . . . expedient. And I am such a liar. She let out a quiet breath. ‘What can I say? Thank you.’
‘I’ll take you to it later.’ He looked over at Drew. ‘The box?’
The box. Warmth fled, cold fear returning, the distraction provided by his car over.
‘Not a bomb,’ Drew said. ‘We’ll unwrap it in the lab.’
‘It’s Russ’s heart,’ Lucy said hollowly. ‘The killer got into my car in a public parking garage. How? And why? Why leave me the box?’
‘For the same reason he left you the body,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘This is personal.’
She closed her eyes, wishing she could start the day over again. ‘But why?’
His warm hand squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’ll find out. It’ll be all right. So will you.’
This was craziness, hearts in boxes and bodies on chess tables. But crazier still was that she believed Fitzpatrick when he said it would be all right. ‘Okay.’
‘We got the tape from the security office,’ Drew said. ‘I was about to look at it.’
‘Let’s do that now,’ Fitzpatrick said.
‘Where is Stevie?’ Lucy asked as they walked toward the CSU van, where one of the techs had the tape cued.
‘In the car, talking to Hyatt. She’ll be along shortly. Where is Thomas Thorne? I thought he was going to stay with you.’
‘He had to go to court. He stayed until Drew got here, but had to go.’
‘Okay. Do you park in the same place every day?’
‘Of course,’ Lucy said, weary again. ‘Just like I run at the same time every morning. I guess I won’t be doing either of those anymore.’
‘You’re not to blame,’ Fitzpatrick said firmly. ‘You have the right to park anywhere you choose and run any time you choose. However, your routine made it easier for this guy to anticipate how to get close to you. How to terrorize you,’ he added quietly.
She thought about the body slumped over the chess table, how terrified she’d been when she’d thought it was Mr Pugh. ‘He’s certainly done that. Drew, I got here at eight fifteen.’
‘That’s what I figured.’ Drew started the tape and ratcheted up the speed. ‘Here you are, arriving. You locked your car.’
Lucy watched herself on the monitor. ‘Of course I did. I always lock up.’
Drew sped through minutes of inactivity, slowing when a figure came into view.
‘Stop,’ Fitzpatrick said. The tape rewound and restarted in slow motion.
Lucy watched, stunned when a boy on a bicycle appeared. ‘It’s just a kid.’
‘A teenager,’ Fitzpatrick said, bending close to the screen. ‘He’s not afraid, not looking over his shoulder. There’s the box.’
The boy took the box from his backpack and a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded the paper and a small object slid into his hand.
Shocked, Lucy’s knees went weak. ‘Is that . . . ? That can’t be . . .’
‘Yeah, it is,’ Fitzpatrick said grimly. ‘Kid’s got a key to your car.’
The kid checked the license plate, then used the key to open Lucy’s driver-side door. He placed the box on the floor, fluffed the bow, and relocked the car. He then pulled a phone from his pocket, punched in a text message, and bicycled away.
‘Can we get a better look at his face?’ Fitzpatrick asked, his voice low and urgent.
‘There’s a camera at the entrance,’ Drew said. ‘Maybe we can get a better angle.’
Lucy lowered herself to the CSU van’s back bumper. Her chest was so tight she could barely draw a breath. ‘He had a key to my car,’ she murmured. ‘How?’
Fitzpatrick crouched so that he was looking up at her, his expression as urgent as his voice had been. ‘Does anyone else have a key to your car?’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Have you ever lent your car to anyone?’
‘No.’ To her mortification, tears stung her eyes. ‘Never.’
He took her hands, held them tight in his. ‘I need you to stay calm, because this will be okay. You’re safe. Listen to me. Cars come with two sets of keys. Where’s your other set?’
She closed her eyes, focusing on his deep voice. You’re safe. The tears seeped from beneath her eyelids, sliding down her cheeks. ‘Locked in the fire safe, in my apartment.’
‘That’s good.’ He squeezed her hands gently, then wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘What about the safe? Does it have a combination or a key?’
She fixed her gaze on his, clutching at his hands when they reclaimed hers. Anchoring herself. ‘A key. One is on my keyring in
my purse. The other is in my safe deposit box.’
‘Very sensible.’ His mouth curved in a wry smile. ‘I would have expected no less.’
She managed to smile back, understanding what he’d done and surprised that it had worked. The stranglehold of terror had loosened, at least enough so that she could breathe. ‘I’m nothing if not sensible and predictable,’ she said, forcing a lightness she might never feel again. A killer had her key. He was close enough to me to get my key.
What other keys does he have? What if he had the key to her apartment? What if he came in? While I was sleeping? The picture of Russ Bennett’s mutilated chest flooded her mind and she went cold, shuddering out a breath as terror renewed its hold.
Fitzpatrick squeezed her hands again, sobering. ‘If he has the key to your car, he may have other keys.’
‘My apartment,’ she said hoarsely.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, you need to find another place to stay for a while. Can you stay with a friend? Maybe Gwyn?’
She nodded shakily. ‘She has a sofa I can use. She’s hardly ever there anyway.’
He smiled and she knew it was to help her stay calm. ‘She has a boyfriend?’
‘She always has a boyfriend. I’m sure she’ll let me stay.’
‘Stay where?’ Stevie crouched to look up into Lucy’s face. ‘What happened?’
Fitzpatrick told her and Stevie’s cheeks darkened with anger. ‘Sonofabitch,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t worry, Lucy. We’ve got your back.’
Lucy swallowed hard. ‘Thanks.’
Stevie patted her knee. ‘I do have some good news. You’re no longer a suspect.’
Lucy choked back what would have been a hysterical laugh. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve got the kid’s face,’ Drew said and stepped back from the monitor. ‘Look.’
Fitzpatrick rose, still holding Lucy’s hands. With a gentle tug, he pulled her to her feet and turned her around so that she could see. His hands covering her shoulders, he tugged again, still gently, pulling her back against him. This time she gave in to the urge. Because I’m shaken up. Because he’s so warm and I’m freezing.
Because he feels safe. Even though deep inside she knew he’d be anything but. His hands clenched on her shoulders, but briefly. Then his hips shifted so that their only contact was above the waist, but not quite quickly enough. Lucy sucked in a breath. It hadn’t been so long that she’d forgotten what an aroused man felt like.
‘Do you know him, Lucy?’ Fitzpatrick murmured urgently.
Concentrate. The kid was Asian, maybe eighteen. Five nine or so, with short, spiked hair. And a face she’d never seen before.
She shook her head, watching as the kid got off his bike and walked it around the exit arm, waving to the guy in the ticket booth. ‘I don’t know the boy on the bike. But that’s not the man who’s usually on duty,’ she said, pointing to the man in the booth.
‘He’s not the one we talked to,’ Drew agreed. ‘That’s a different guy.’
Fitzpatrick turned to a waiting uniform. ‘Can you ask the man working the booth to come talk to us? Thanks.’
‘He’s a courier,’ Stevie said. ‘Back up the tape, Drew, and watch him again.’
The young man walked his bicycle out of the garage then remounted, one foot on the ground. He took an envelope from his backpack, glancing at it before returning it.
‘The camera didn’t get what was written on the envelope,’ Lucy said, disappointed.
Fitzpatrick gave her shoulders another squeeze. ‘Can we get a still of his face?’
Drew printed one and handed it to him. ‘Maybe a lobby receptionist can ID him.’
‘Detectives.’ The uniformed officer was back, a middle-aged man at his side. ‘This is Mr Joe Isaiah. He mans the booth.’
Joe had a very worried look on his face and Lucy could see he was deliberately avoiding her eyes. She knew this man. Said hello to him every day. He was kind. But today he was also scared. Join the club, she thought.
‘I already talked to the officers,’ Joe said defensively.
‘We have a few more questions.’ Stevie pointed to the monitor where Drew had already rewound the tape. ‘That’s not you in the booth, Mr Isaiah. Why isn’t it?’
Joe’s nerves grew. ‘My cousin was minding the booth. I was only gone an hour.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the other officers that?’ Stevie asked.
‘I didn’t want the building manager to know. I was at the doctor with my wife. She’s sick. I’ve missed a lot of work and I was scared to ask for more time off. I can’t lose my job, my health insurance. Please. My cousin knows how to run the register.’
‘He let a courier in,’ Stevie said, ‘who unlawfully entered a vehicle in this garage.’
Joe licked his lip nervously. ‘But the bomb squad left. There was no problem. It was just a present. I didn’t think . . .’ He stopped, regrouped. ‘I messed up, didn’t I?’
‘This is a homicide investigation, sir,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘We want to talk to your cousin to see if he recognizes this young man.’ He held up the picture and Joe blinked.
‘That’s Jimmy Yee. He does deliveries here two, three times a week. He can’t be involved in any murder. Jimmy’s a nice kid.’
Fitzpatrick wrote it down. ‘Do you know who he works for?’
‘It’s a family business. Yee’s Express. They do deliveries around town.’
‘Thanks, Mr Isaiah,’ Stevie said. ‘We appreciate your help.’
Joe nodded miserably. ‘Do you have to tell my boss?’
Stevie glanced at Fitzpatrick. ‘I think we have what we need for now.’
Fitzpatrick nodded. ‘Will you be available in case we have more questions?’
Joe’s shoulders slumped. ‘Anything you need. Thank you.’ He looked at Lucy for the first time, guilt in his eyes. ‘Dr Trask, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? You’re not hurt?’
‘I’m fine, Joe. I hope Dinah gets better.’ She could feel Fitzpatrick watching her. He was surprised that she knew Joe, more so that she knew the man’s wife.
‘Let’s get to Yee’s Express,’ Stevie said, ‘and see what they have on this delivery.’
‘What about me?’ Lucy asked. ‘Can I go back to work now that I’m cleared? I can’t go home until you check out my apartment,’ she added when they hesitated, sharing a glance. ‘You said I have to stay with my friend.’
‘Someone will take you home while we check out this delivery boy,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘You can pick up what you need for a few days.’
‘And then after that,’ Stevie said, ‘we want you to come with us to Anderson Ferry. We need to notify the Bennetts about their son before they hear it from Brandi Bennett.’
Lucy nodded, relieved and suddenly more tense all at once. I’m going home. Except it hadn’t been home in a very long time. ‘Good. Thank your captain for me.’
‘I will,’ Stevie said. ‘While we’re chasing down the courier, can you check out the heart in the box to see if it’s Bennett’s?’
‘I can tell you if it’s human and if the blood is Russ’s type.’ The thought of handling the heart of someone she’d known made her cringe. ‘I’ll need DNA for an exact match.’
‘You should have that within an hour,’ Stevie said. ‘We’ve got a warrant for Bennett’s condo and our captain is sending someone over to gather up hairbrushes, toothbrushes, all the usual suspects.’
Fitzpatrick met her eyes. ‘Stick with one of the officers until I come for you.’
She probably should have been offended at his possessive tone, but found she was not. And she was no longer cold, at least for the moment. ‘Okay.’
Chapter Seven
Newport News, Virginia, Monday, May 3, 2.45 P.M.
Somebody was home. Clay stood outside the condo door, listening. Nicki’s report said she’d met with Margo Winchester here, at this address. Margo lived here with a roommate, another young woman who’d looked scared. Nicki had told Clay that she t
hought the girl had a right to be scared. Margo had gone off on a crazed rant that had unnerved Nicki, who’d seen nearly everything as a DC cop.
Bracing himself for a confrontation, Clay knocked with the little brass knocker that said KLEIN. The door was opened promptly by a woman who appeared to be about eighty. She had soft white curls and a sweet face. She’d also had a recent open-heart surgery, based on the scar peeking over the neckline of her shirt. She looked up at him warily, fear flickering in her eyes, magnified by the Coke-bottle lenses she wore.
‘Yes? Can I help you? If you’re selling something, don’t even bother.’
He smiled to put her at ease. ‘I’m not a salesman, ma’am. I’m an investigator and I’m looking for a woman named Margo Winchester.’
‘She doesn’t live here.’ The woman started to close the door.
‘Mrs Klein, wait. Please. Margo was living here, two months ago.’
‘No, young man, she was not. I’ve lived in this condo for fifteen years and no one named Margo has ever been here. Now please leave.’ She closed the door in his face.
For a moment he stared at the knocker, a bad feeling forming in his gut. He took the photo of Margo Winchester from his briefcase and knocked again.
Mrs Klein opened the door, irate. ‘Do I have to call 911 on you, sir?’
‘No, ma’am. I’m so sorry to bother you, but this is very important. I’m searching for someone who’s missing and this woman may have been the last person to see him alive. Can you at least look at a picture?’
She frowned at him, but stuck out her hand. ‘Fine.’ She brought the photo close to her nose, squinting as she studied it thoroughly. Then she handed it back. ‘Never seen her before. I can’t help you. Maybe you have the wrong building. They do look alike.’
‘I don’t have the wrong building.’ Nicki was meticulous about such things. ‘There was another woman here too. Do you live alone?’
Her face paled and he wished he could take the question back. The door slammed in his face again. ‘I have the phone in my hand,’ Mrs Klein said through the door. ‘I’ll call 911 if you are not gone in five seconds.’
He’d frightened her and he hadn’t meant to.
