She re-read her text and grimaced, wishing she had thought of something more original than a cliché off a motivational poster. When no response came back, Veronica decided to call him. She couldn’t leave it like that.
As the phone rang again and again without answer, Veronica began to worry that Benji’s dire prediction may have been right. Perhaps Julian was on the path to a tragic end, just like his sister. And unless she thought of something fast, no one would be there to save him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The phone on her desk wouldn’t stop ringing as Nessa tried to concentrate on what Riley Odell was saying. She jabbed at the Do Not Disturb button and raised her hand to stop Riley’s ongoing rant, but the prosecutor didn’t seem to notice.
“We’re both going to be hung out to dry if we don’t give Tenley Frost and Mayor Hadley an update within the next hour.”
Nessa opened her mouth to respond, but Riley wasn’t finished.
“Every reporter in the state is standing outside City Hall waiting for an official release, and most people around here are scared to death that we’ve got a killer on the loose.”
Surprised at the rare show of emotion from the normally cool and collected prosecutor, Nessa tried to curb her own instinct to panic. She’d wanted the job as chief, and now she had to own it, along with all the problems and headaches that came with it.
“We’ll get them their update.” Nessa kept her voice calm. “But let’s walk through what we know first to make darn sure what we’re giving them is accurate. We don’t need any more screw ups.”
Riley nodded, then she slumped back into her chair, apparently drained of her anxious energy, at least for the moment.
“And we need all the brainpower we can get.” Nessa picked up the phone receiver and punched in Vanzinger’s extension.
“Can you and Jankowski come to my office?” she asked, once Vanzinger picked up. “I need your help.”
Minutes later the two big detectives appeared at her door. She stood and waved them all toward a round table by the window.
“Okay, so we need to give an update to the media, the mayor, and the public.” She looked directly at Vanzinger. “Detective, you’re supposed to be leading the case, and I’m aware I’ve been stepping all over it. I guess I’m still trying to figure how this chief thing is gonna work.”
“I understand, Nessa.” A flush of color painted Vanzinger’s cheeks. “I’m still getting used to be back in the department myself. I’m just happy to be part of a team that’s trying to do the right thing, even if we aren’t perfect.”
“Speak for yourself, Tucker.” Jankowski’s sarcastic tone lightened the somber mood in the room. “Now, what are we giving to Tenley Frost? She’s the first one we need to update.”
Taking out her notebook, Nessa turned to the last page.
“I’ve been going through all the evidence again, and something just doesn’t seem to fit.” She looked at her list with a frown. “Our theory is that Xavier Greyson’s motive to kill Portia Hart was her money, right?”
“Right, that was our theory before we found out she’d lost most of her money,” Riley said. “I mean, everyone thought she was a billionaire. Greyson probably thought he’d found the mother lode.”
“Maybe that’s why he killed her,” Vanzinger offered. “Maybe he found out she wasn’t as rich as he’d thought, and he got mad.”
Nessa shrugged. She doubted any of them could ever completely understand imagine Xavier Greyson’s motive.
“Well, someone cleaned out her accounts, and I’m assuming it was Greyson,” Riley added. “Royalties had started rolling in, then as of Friday, it was all transferred to an offshore bank.”
“Friday, huh? The same day she was killed.” Vanzinger leaned back in his chair. “I’d say he wanted to have the weekend to finish Portia off before she noticed the money was gone.”
“But why now?” Jankowski questioned. “Why in Willow Bay?”
Nessa thought back to her conversation with Jane.
“People around Portia were getting suspicious. Her agent was asking questions, and sooner or later her brother was gonna find out she was spending money on a new man.” Nessa warmed to her theory. “Xavier had to have known it was just a matter of time before his cover would be blown. Maybe he wanted to end it in a small town where no one knew either of them.”
“So, killing Molly Blair and attacking Alexandra Marsh…that was just him trying to get rid of any witnesses?” Jankowski asked.
Before Nessa had a chance to answer, she heard a knock on the door. A second later Andy Ford stuck his head into the room. The young officer’s eyes widened at the group gathered around the table.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief. But a fisherman out on Mosquito Lake got his hook caught on something.” Andy shifted uncomfortably, as if he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “Ended up being a taxi that had been reported missing on Saturday. We towed it out and found two bodies in the trunk. A male and a female.”
“Shit!” Nessa slapped her hand on the table. “Do we know who they were? Any idea how long they were in there?”
“Bayside Taxi reported a cab and driver missing. They said the driver dropped off a passenger at the Riverview Hotel on Saturday afternoon, and then just dropped off their tracking system.”
All eyes turned to Nessa at the mention of the Riverview Hotel.
“We better get down to Mosquito Lake,” Nessa said. “I have a real bad feeling about this.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The taxi hadn’t been in the water for more than forty-eight hours, but it looked as if it had been brewing in the murky water for months. Algae, clumps of pondweed, and streaks of slimy green muck covered the car as it sat baking in the summer sun.
Nessa stood on the bank of Mosquito Lake next to Vanzinger and Jankowski. She circled to the open trunk and peered inside, gasping as her eyes fell on the neon pink dress. It was wet and smeared with mud, but she recognized it as the one Jane Bishop had been wearing on Saturday. The body’s thatch of white hair confirmed her fears.
“That’s Jane Bishop, Portia Hart’s agent,” Nessa said, unable to tear her eyes away. “She was at the station just the day before yesterday. She knew Portia had been killed…”
Spinning around, Nessa ran for the edge of the lake. She bent over just as the remains of her morning coffee spewed into the dark water. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
“Sorry about that,” she murmured, looking up at Vanzinger, who had come to stand beside her. “I haven’t done that in years.”
“I feel like upchucking every time I see a dead body,” Vanzinger muttered. “I think most decent people do.”
The queasy feeling in her stomach remained as Nessa made her way back to the trunk. She wasn’t done yet. Her first thought had been for Jane Bishop, but she now needed to find out who the other victim had been.
Forcing herself to look inside, Nessa saw that a man lay underneath Jane’s pitiful remains. The frozen grimace on his face was visible through the grimy plastic bag that covered his head.
“I guess we’ve found the taxi driver that was reported missing,” Nessa said, noting the wedding ring on the man’s limp hand. “At least we’ll be able to let his family know what happened.”
Jankowski stared into the trunk with a stony expression.
“But will they ever be able to understand why it happened?”
The anguish in his voice was palpable. Nessa reached out and put a hand on his arm, knowing he must be thinking of Gabby. He’d found the battered body of his ex-wife only months before, and the sight of the senseless carnage in the trunk had likely conjured painful memories. The sound of wheels on gravel caused Nessa and Jankowski to turn around. A black Audi was bumping down the road toward them.
“What’s he doing here?” Nessa asked, as Hunter stepped out of the sedan, followed by a white Labrador retriever.
“How the hell did he find out about this?” Jankowski’s face tightene
d into an angry scowl. “The last thing we need is the press contaminating the scene before we’ve had a chance to secure it.”
“I’ve got this,” Vanzinger said, jogging toward Hunter.
Holding up a big hand, he called out in a commanding voice.
“Halt right there, Mr. Hadley. This is an active crime scene.”
The loud shout coming from the advancing detective startled the white Lab, who skittered back toward the Audi and huddled beside the back tire. Vanzinger skidded to a stop a few yards away.
“It’s okay, Gracie,” Hunter soothed, glaring over at Vanzinger as he knelt by the trembling dog. “I won’t let anybody hurt you, girl.”
Nessa took a few careful steps forward, then stopped, not wanting to scare the traumatized animal. She remembered the friendly Lab from the day before.
“Hi Gracie.” Nessa inched closer, holding out a hand. “Remember me? We meet yesterday.”
Watching her with cautious eyes, Gracie didn’t move.
“She has PTSD.” Hunter stroked the dog’s white fur with a big hand. “She was with me in Kabul when there was an…an incident. Let’s just say she doesn’t like loud noises and shouting.”
“Sorry about that, man,” Vanzinger said, maintaining his distance. “But this is an active scene and we’re stilling trying to secure the perimeter.”
Hunter looked past Nessa and Vanzinger to the taxi. His eyes gleamed with interest, but he dragged his gaze back to Nessa.
“I heard the call on the police scanner,” he admitted. “Gracie and I were already in the car so I thought we might as well-”
“You thought you’d try to cash in on someone’s grief?” Jankowski snapped, walking up to stand beside Vanzinger. “How typical.”
Hunter ignored Jankowski’s insult. He kept his eyes on Nessa.
“Have you looked into the info I gave you on Nick Sargent?”
Nessa shook her head. The task of following up with the Channel Six reporter was on her list, but she hadn’t had the chance to get to it yet. She turned to Vanzinger and Jankowski to explain.
“Nick Sargent stayed at the Riverview Hotel the night Portia Hart died, and a witness in the neighborhood placed him at Molly Blair’s house before her murder.”
Vanzinger cocked an eyebrow.
“You mean that reporter on Channel Six?”
Nessa nodded, then turned back to Hunter.
“We’ve got our hands full, as you can see, but as soon as I get the chance I’ll pursue it,” Nessa assured him. “We’ve got a witness that saw the man who killed Molly Blair. I’ll see if she can identify Nick.”
Hunter didn’t look convinced, but he opened the passenger door for Gracie and waited for her to jump in.
“Our van will be out here pretty soon,” Hunter said, walking around to the driver’s side. “Along with Channel Six, I imagine. The public has a right to know what’s going on in this town.”
As the sleek black car departed, Nessa called over to Andy Ford, who still stood guard by the taxi.
“Andy, I need to talk to Lexi Marsh. Can you bring her down to the station later this afternoon once you’re done here?”
“Oh, I guess you haven’t heard then.” Alarm filled the young officer’s freckled face, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Heard what, Andy?”
“We lost Lexi Marsh, Chief,” Andy admitted. “We haven’t been able to locate her since yesterday afternoon.”
“She’s been missing for twenty-four hours?”
Recalling Hunter’s suspicions about Nick Sargent, Nessa glared at Andy, hoping it wasn’t already too late.
“Call Eddings and tell him to bring Nick Sargent in for questioning right away,” she ordered, her voice urgent. “Track him down and put him in an interview room until we can get back to the station.”
She thought for a minute, then pulled out her phone. There was one person who might be able to help find Lexi Marsh.
“Frankie? This is Nessa. I think we’re gonna need your help.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thunder clouds had begun to gather in the east when Frankie and Barker arrived at the modest apartment complex on Channel Drive. Lexi’s apartment was on the ground floor, and it looked the same as all the other drab units. The doors and windows were closed, and there was no sign that anything was amiss.
“Lexi? It’s me, Frankie.”
Knocking on the front door, Frankie wondered if Lexi was holed up inside, too stoned, or maybe too scared of the police, to answer. When the door remained closed, and he heard nothing from inside, he tried again, in a louder voice.
“Come on, Lexi. I just want to know you aren’t dead in there.”
Barker dropped a big hand on Frankie’s shoulder.
“Let’s go check around back,” he suggested. “If there was a patrol car out front, I’m guessing that’s the exit she’d have taken.”
The back of the apartment building faced onto an uneven parking lot. Frankie saw that each unit had one small window. He counted across until he found Lexi’s window, which appeared to be closed.
Striding across the patch of rough grass, Barker put a finger under the window frame and pulled. The frame popped out and tumbled to the ground. Barker put his hands on the window and looked back at Frankie.
“You ready to go in if this opens? Cause I doubt I’ll fit.”
Frankie automatically nodded, but his heart began to thump in his chest. He was suddenly sure that Lexi Marsh’s dead body would be waiting for him in the apartment. A clap of thunder overheard sent him scurrying toward Barker.
“Okay, here it goes.”
Barker slid the window up without any effort and stepped aside.
Leaning his head through the open window, Frankie called out.
“Lexi? It’s me, Frankie. You okay in there?”
The air in the apartment was stifling. He pulled his head out and looked back at Barker.
“Man, it’s fuckin’ hot in there. The air conditioning must have been shut off for a coupla days.”
“You go in and look around.” Barker gestured to the open window. “Just be care and I’ll meet you at the front door.”
Gripping the windowsill, Frankie hoisted his long, thin body up and over the ledge. He twisted around and lowered his feet onto the carpeted floor. Looking back, he saw that Barker was already gone.
The room was dim, and the air was even hotter than Frankie had imagined. He was dripping with sweat before he’d reached the bedroom door. His hand grazed a light switch in the hall, and he turned it on, illuminating the apartment’s shabby interior.
His eyes darted around the room, expecting to see Lexi’s limp body at any minute. But the room was empty. He surveyed the few pieces of furniture in the living room, then moved to the tiny kitchen. The refrigerator was empty, and the trashcan held only a crumpled cigarette pack and a discarded pill bottle.
Pounding on the front door reminded him that Barker was still waiting outside. He crossed to the door and turned the deadbolt.
“I thought you might have fallen asleep in there,” Barker looked past Frankie into the apartment. “What did you find?”
“I found out this poor girl needs some help,” Frankie said. “Look at this place. It’s fucking depressing.”
“Well, we gotta find her first, before we can help her.”
Barker pushed past him, opening closet doors and looking under the bed and the sofa. After a few fruitless minutes, he walked back to the front door.
“Okay, she’s not here,” he said, his voice grim. “And from the looks of it, she never really settled in, like she didn’t plan to stay here long. Maybe she just decided it was time to move on.”
As Barker turned to leave, Frankie hesitated. He looked back at the bleak room, then crossed to the trashcan. He bent and pulled out the crumpled cigarette pack. Looking inside, he saw two broken cigarettes had been left in the pack. He wondered how hard it had been for Lexi to throw them away.
> She was trying to do better. She hadn’t given up yet. Neither will I.
✽ ✽ ✽
Frankie hated to go back to Nessa with bad news, but he had to let her know that Lexi was still missing as soon as possible. Maybe she could put out a missing person bulletin, although he had little hope that it would do any good if some psycho really had taken her.
Pushing through the doors of the WBPD, Frankie saw that the lobby was empty, except for the uniformed cop sitting at the front desk. He followed Barker up to the counter and waited while the ex-detective asked if Nessa was back yet.
“No, the chief is out at a scene,” the desk sergeant said, nodding to the waiting area. “You can have a seat and wait if you like.”
Frankie folded his long body into a wobbly metal chair while Barker paced back and forth in front of him.
“Will you sit down, man? You’re making me dizzy,” Frankie complained. “It’s not gonna do any good to-”
He stopped in mid-sentence as the front door banged open and a tall man with thick black hair and a smooth, clean shaven face stalked into the room. A uniformed officer followed him inside, looking toward the desk sergeant with nervous eyes, as if he might need help with the obviously irate man.
The tall man looked familiar, but Frankie couldn’t place him. Barker caught Frankie’s eye and murmured, “That’s Nick Sargent.”
Frankie frowned, clearly confused.
Sinking in the chair next to him, Barker tried again.
“That’s the reporter at Channel Six, Nick Sargent.”
The reporter strode to the front and leaned over the counter.
“I’ve been summoned here by Chief Ainsley,” Nick said, his voice rising with indignation. “And I don’t have all day.”
“I’m here, Mr. Sargent, now please lower your voice.”
Nessa stood in the doorway, flanked by detectives Vanzinger and Jankowski. Frankie was relieved to see the big men. They’d saved his ass on more than one occasion in the last year, and he knew they wouldn’t let the obnoxious reporter disrespect Nessa.
Turning to the officer beside Nick, Nessa pointed toward the door leading into the back.
Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller Page 22
