by Hanna Noble
Owen came back into the room a few minutes later, followed by an older-looking gentleman with light brown hair and blue eyes that showed a mix of caution and curiosity.
“Cole, this is James McFadden,” Owen said, as Cole stood to shake the man’s hand. “He’s the head valet at the club, has been for the last fifteen years.”
“Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking the time to speak with us.” Cole gestured for them to all take a seat. “This won’t take long.”
James nodded, placing his valet cap on his knees. “How can I help you, Detective?”
Cole explained how they were using the club’s swipe card data to generate a list of people who could potentially be persons of interest in an ongoing case. “Valets are the eyes and ears in places like this. We would like you to look at these names, see if anything jumps out at you.”
James scanned the list and then looked up, uncertain.
“Anything you say in this room will be strictly confidential,” Cole told him, taking a guess at the man’s hesitation. The club’s staff was known for their discretion and wouldn’t share information with cops easily. “As long as no one is breaking the law, if it has no bearing on this investigation, it won’t leave this room.”
“Well”—James hesitated, his eyes darting to the list again— “I can tell you that two of the gentlemen on your list are having affairs.” His voice lowered. “One of them is going to be kicked out of the club soon for not being able to pay his dues. A few have serious gambling problems.”
Cole tried to nod with encouragement, but felt frustrated. Affairs and membership dues wouldn’t bring them closer to their killer. Looked like they had struck another dead end.
“How do you keep track of stuff like that?” Owen asked from beside him. “I mean, does it impact your job?”
James nodded. “Of course, sir. It’s not our place to judge or interfere; we’re here to make the members’ lives easier. Sometimes that means telling someone that her husband is in the locker room when he’s really gone off with his mistress.” He shrugged. “A good valet keeps all the stories straight.”
“What about the card swipe data?” Owen tilted his head, thoughtful. “Wouldn’t that leave a trail?”
“Some people want to leave a trail behind.” Something in the man’s expression had Cole sitting up. He exchanged glances with Owen and saw that his partner had noticed it, too.
“We’re going to need video footage corresponding to the swipe cards,” Cole said, taking a guess at the source of the man’s discomfort.
James paled.
Bingo.
“You swipe the cards for them,” Owen kept his voice friendly and non-threatening. “You leave a trail so that they can use the club as their alibi.”
James looked guilty, and Cole didn’t blame him. It was against the club’s security policy to tamper with the swipe cards; in fact, it was a fireable offense. He wasn’t naïve; the staff relied on tips, and who paid better than someone who wanted you to keep his secrets?
“We won’t tell your bosses,” Cole said. People would always find a way to fool the system, and if it wasn’t James doing it, he had no doubt it would be someone else. “But you need to start telling us what you know.”
“There’s a notebook,” James said, his voice quiet. “It was given to me by the former head valet when he retired. I keep track of who comes and goes, and coordinate the other card swipes as appropriate. They need to get their cars out of the garage to leave the property,” he explained. “I swipe my own staff card to get them out, and they leave their member card with us. That way we can swipe them out when they need it. They take their card back the next time they come to the club. It’s an easy system that was started by a few older members and the last head valet. Only trusted people are brought in and it’s very hush-hush.”
“How many people in total are a part of this?”
“About twenty, give or take.”
Owen rubbed his chin, thinking. “How many other valets know about this book?”
“Only two that I trust, but they don’t see the book itself. Only I do. It’s to protect everyone’s privacy. They get a little extra incentive to keep everyone happy without asking too many questions. “
Cole absorbed the information. This meant they would have to change their strategy. Instead of looking for people who weren’t at the club on the nights of the assault, he would have to re-run the names for people who were. The book could show them who had a reason to pretend they were there. It could be the break they needed.
“I’m going to need that book,” Cole said, his gut telling him they were on to something important.
“I can’t give it to you. We need it.” James shook his head. “I can’t keep everything straight without it.”
“What about a photocopy?” Owen suggested. “That way you can keep the book and we still get the data.”
James still hesitated.
They didn’t have a warrant, and Cole worried that the notebook would disappear by the time they secured one. He didn’t know what to do.
“Do you have any kids?” Owen asked into the silence, diffusing the tension.
“I have three daughters,” James responded, cautious. “Why does that matter?”
“Well.” Owen leaned to face him, lowered his voice. “You trusted us with something confidential and now I’m going to do the same with you. We’re investigating a homicide. Someone on this list, someone at this club might have been involved in the murder of a young woman.” Owen placed his hands on the table. “I don’t care if every member in here is having an affair or gambling their inheritances away. I just want to catch the guy that did this.”
Cole watched as James McFadden absorbed those words. There was a long moment of silence. Owen knew as well as Cole when to let the silence hammer the point home. Finally, James nodded, his face pale.
“I’ll give you a copy, but only of the specific dates for the crime you’re investigating. Please keep it confidential, or I could lose my job.”
Owen nodded. “Of course.” Cole felt a surge of satisfaction, finally something new, something that could give them a clue in the right direction.
James reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black moleskin notebook. He handed it to Owen. It seemed too nondescript to house so many supposed secrets, Cole thought, but that was the point. You wanted something that wouldn’t be easily noticed.
“I don’t know how we’ll photocopy it without the manager knowing,” James said, uneasy. “He can’t find out about this.”
“I can take pictures with my phone,” Owen suggested, pulling out his mobile. “That way no one will know.” Cole passed Owen his own notebook, which contained a list of the dates of the previous assaults, including both Lily’s and Megan’s murders.
Cole watched as his partner quickly searched through the book for the appropriate pages and snapped a picture. The notebook was well organized, the pages filled with neat printed writing that made it easy to read. Each page contained a date in the top right-hand corner. Numbered entries were listed, each including a name, instructions on when to swipe in or out, and some notes.
“These are all code names,” Owen said, looking up after he was finished. “How can we tell who is who?”
“Check to see if anyone there matches your suspicious dates,” James countered. “And if they do, then I’ll tell you their names.”
Cole couldn’t help but feel a bit of respect for the man’s ability to cooperate with them while still protecting the members. He could understand why he had been given the responsibility of this book. It was a reasonable compromise.
“Fine.” Cole handed the notebook back to James. “But you better be easy to reach when we need to name names.”
“Here’s my personal mobile phone.” James jotted it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Cole. “You can always reach me on this.”
“Thanks for your help,” Owen said as they all stood up and exchanged handshakes
. “We’ll be in touch.”
Back in the car, Owen looked through the photographs. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
Cole nodded. “I know. What if the killer didn’t use the club as an alibi? What if we’re completely wrong about this whole line of investigating?”
Naomi’s hard work and sacrifice would have been for nothing. It grated at him to feel so impotent, so unable to put the pieces together, to avenge the death of a young woman who’d had her whole life in front of her, not to mention the other women whose lives had been shattered by such a horrifying act of violence. “He’s making his move in a few days, Owen. We might not catch him.” The words hung in the sudden silence of the car.
“We don’t know how it’s going to turn out,” his partner responded. “I do know this is the closest we’ve gotten to catching him. Hell, we caught him on film.” Owen fiddled with the radio, trying to find a local traffic report. “We have to be patient.”
Patient, Cole thought. How could he be patient when this guy seemed to elude them at every turn? He had yet to make a mistake, and from what Naomi had told him, was only ramping up to start again, this time with the intent to kill.
“He’s picked his victim and is going to make his move soon. I don’t know if Naomi can survive that. We’re running out of time.”
“That’s why we can’t rush. If we rush, we’ll miss something important. I’ll take a look at these names,” Owen said, still scanning through the pictures. “Why don’t you go home and be with Naomi for a while? It’s ok to focus on something else for a few hours.”
Cole’s response was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. Glancing down he saw it was Leah. He answered, putting the call on speaker, and handing the phone to Owen.
“Cole,” her voice was excited, making him sit up, alert. “I was looking through Megan’s project notes. She attended a several private functions with ‘Mr. G.’ and mentioned a man who was with their group whom she found distasteful. Get this – he cornered her in the bathroom and called her a ‘dirty slut.’ Sound familiar?”
“No way,” Cole shook his head, disbelieving. “Risso?”
“ ‘a bald man with mean eyes and a creepy goatee,’” Leah quoted. “I think that’s pretty accurate.”
“She pegged him alright,” Owen added from beside him. “That goatee is creepy as fuck.”
“This means Risso knew Megan,” Cole drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “He didn’t disclose that fact during the investigation.”
“It also means he had access to Megan’s things,” Owen pointed out. “It could explain how some of her personal items ended up in Carr’s vehicle.”
“Let’s not make any assumptions,” Leah urged. “If Risso was at the event, it means he might have ties to Brad Kahn, the person we think is ‘Mr. G.’”
“If we can prove there’s a connection there, it would be a big step,” Cole mused. “Thanks Leah. This is good work.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I’m positive Risso is involved.”
He’d been thinking the same thing. “I know.”
All they could do was keep digging, following the evidence to the truth, no matter how explosive it would be.
“I’m not going to make it to your party tonight,” Cole said, changing the topic. “I don’t feel right leaving Naomi alone while we go and have a good time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Leah’s reply was understanding. “I figured as much. I’ll call you both later.”
After Owen hung up, Cole exhaled in frustration. “More fucking questions and theories.”
“We’ll figure this out,” his partner said. “We’ll move fast, but we’ll be thorough.”
“Ok.” He knew Owen was right, so he tried to rein in his temper, to focus on the task at hand. They still had a killer to track, and more names to follow up with. The Phantom would make a mistake. They always did. It was the best they could hope for.
And Risso?
A dirty cop always left a trace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Naomi couldn’t stop her looming sense of unease, distracting her from doing anything productive all afternoon. The warm haze of her easy morning with Cole had faded, replaced by an unrelenting anxiety that scraped at her nerves.
Nothing she had done had helped. Running, meditating, random Internet surfing, napping—none of it had brought relief. Even facing the feeling head-on, opening her senses up to the universe, hadn’t worked, the clues seeming to hover beyond her reach.
He was going to kill again, and she could do nothing but wile the hours away on Cole’s couch, restless and helpless. She was waiting for the killer to make his move, could feel it like the calm before the storm. The air was charged with menace.
Something terrible was coming.
There was a buzzing in her head, the static of a radio unable to pick up a station. She’d been using her abilities too much, pushing herself to pick up any hints, any new leads. She sighed in frustration. What other choice did she have? So much was resting on her ability to pick up information that could take a monster off the street. There wasn’t much time left, and now, some other woman’s life hung in the balance. Another fear filtered through her tired brain: what would happen when this case was over? What if she picked up on another depraved mind?
What would happen if she had more visions in San Diego?
She’d been a fool to think she could move across the country and leave behind the Knowing as if it were a piece of unwanted furniture. Her abilities were growing and she would carry them with her no matter where she was. She could use the medication and stop the visions, but would she be happy with that choice?
Now, she could imagine her own future, wandering in and out of depraved minds, struggling to translate metaphysical clues into real leads.
She thought of Cole, and his courage in regularly facing the darkest aspects of human nature. He’d chosen a life of service. Would she be able to walk away from him and deliberately choose not to help? Would he one day turn and look at her weakness with disgust? Whether she stayed or left, her abilities would exact a heavy price.
The sound of the door opening jolted her out of her trance. She didn’t say anything as Cole entered the living room, but his grim expression hinted that his day hadn’t been much better.
“Hey,” he said, leaning down to give her a quick kiss, his face cold against hers.
“Hey, yourself.” She watched as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie, throwing both over a chair. He faced her and sighed. “That bad?” she asked, feeling a twinge of sympathy at his tired expression.
“You could say that,” he said, coming over to sit on the couch beside her, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “We might have found something, but we have to re-run our list of suspects.” He rubbed at his temples. “Turns out the data from the club might be inaccurate because some people were only pretending to be there.”
“There are people who pretend to be at the Yacht Club?” Naomi asked, amused despite herself.
“The epitome of rich people problems,” he groused in response. “The valets keep independent records in this notebook, totally old school. Owen and I are cross-referencing them with the list of people who said they were at the club, but might actually be lying.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that for now, all we can do is wait while we generate another list of suspects to go talk to.” He sighed. “Dammit.”
More baggage, she realized. Even if she stayed and never used her gift, she would always see the heavy load he carried on his shoulders as he struggled to uphold his oath to serve and protect. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head.
“What do you mean?” she stalled. “Why do you think anything’s going on?”
“My superior detecting prowess,” he said, watching her. “There’s something going on in t
hat head of yours.”
She felt naked under the scrutiny of his gaze, defenseless against the heat that she felt whenever they were in the same room together. It could wait until the end of the case, she thought. It wouldn’t do any good right now to add tension to this situation, especially when they were living in the same house. There was too much pressure.
“A bit of a headache.” She stood, forcing her tone to be calm. “Nothing food won’t fix. What do you want for dinner?” She headed toward the kitchen, but Cole grabbed her wrist, halting her exit.
“You’re lying,” he said, tugging on her hand until she sat back down. “Talk to me, Naomi. What’s going on?”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she blurted out, then closed her eyes, annoyed at herself. So much for keeping her mouth shut.
“What isn’t a good idea?”
“You. Me. Us. Boston. It’s all... too much.” She avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes focused on the coffee table in front of her. It was cowardly, but it wasn’t that easy to face a detective with piercing eyes who always seemed to see through her.
“You. Me. Us. Boston.” He repeated as he stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist, sending shivers running through her. “Let’s take that one at a time. What’s wrong with me?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to have this conversation right now.” She tugged at her wrist, frustrated when he wouldn’t let go.
“Tough.” He tightened his grip. He wasn’t hurting her, but she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. “If something is bothering you we have to talk about it.”
“Fine,” she muttered, sullen.
“You were about to tell me what’s wrong with me,” he prompted, releasing her wrist and turning to face her.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a detective. It’s what you do.”
“And this is bad?”
“Not bad. It is what it is.”
“Ok, what’s wrong with you, then?”
“Me?”
“It’s the second item on your list.”
