Still Life

by Dani Pettrey

  40

  On Tuesday morning, Parker and Avery paid a visit to Connor and Kyle’s townhouse, where Connor informed them that Kyle was at his parents’ home with Amanda for some sort of midweek party. Something to do with an upcoming golf tournament for charity, he thought. Though he didn’t seem quite sure. What did seem rather certain was the fact that they’d roused him from a deep sleep.

  They made the relatively short drive over to the Easons’ neighborhood, and the word party seemed an understatement to Avery, considering their entire street was blocked for the festivities, forcing them to park in the gated community’s pool facilities lot.

  They walked past the third fairway of the neighborhood golf course and banked right onto the Easons’ road. The street was packed sidewalk to sidewalk with people for a breakfast block party. The men’s button-down shirts ranged in color from pastel hues to traditional navy and whites. All wore different classic shades of Dockers shorts in gray, tan, or white, and nearly every man wore a pair of Docksiders—also in a variety of colors ranging from light blue to dark navy to traditional brown. The women had more variety among their outfits. Some wore sundresses and others fancy blouses with shorts and heels.

  The scent of bacon and sausage wafted in the warm summer air. Even though it was only midmorning, it was nearing ninety, and the humidity was quickly rising.

  The Easons’ brick mansion turned out to be at the end of the cul-de-sac, and the walk gave Parker and Avery opportunity to search the crowd for Amanda and Kyle. Kate had pulled up their driver’s license photos, since the only glimpse they’d had of Amanda was when she’d been tailing Gary.

  Avery glanced at the cars in the driveway. Amanda’s Fiat and a black Mercedes S500. “Nice wheels,” she commented and then looked up at the Easons’ home. The car looked like a Matchbox toy in front of the grandeur of the house. “This place is bigger than the entire trailer park I grew up in,” she said as they approached the door and Parker rang the bell.

  A woman in her early fifties dressed in a Lily Pulitzer knee-length flamingo print dress and Jackie O sunglasses answered. “The party is on the street, not in our home.” She moved to shut the door.

  Parker stuck his foot in the quickly narrowing opening before she could fully shut it. “I’m afraid we’re not here for the party,” he said.

  She slipped her sunglasses up on top of her head, her light brown hair now out of her face. “Well, then what are you here for?”

  “We need to speak with your son, Kyle.”

  She exhaled a bored whiff of air. “What is this regarding?”

  A petite blonde walked by and stopped, turning her attention on them.

  Amanda King.

  Parker waved with a smile. “Amanda, right?”

  “Yes.” She stepped closer to Parker, clearly smitten with him, as the majority of women were. “Do I know you?”

  “Our colleagues spoke with you the other day regarding Skylar Pierce.”

  Her smile quickly vanished. “I have nothing more to say about that woman.”

  “What is this about?” Mrs. Eason asked.

  “Nothing,” Amanda said, moving to shut the door.

  “I’d hardly call breaking and entering into Skylar Pierce’s home nothing,” Parker said.

  Mrs. Eason inhaled sharply, her hand landing on her chest, her perfectly manicured nails a playful pink. “Whatever are they talking about, Amanda?”

  “Nothing.” Amanda glared at them. “You both need to leave. Now.”

  Parker, still smiling, said, “You can either let us in to speak with you and Kyle, or Detective McCray, who you met the other day, said he’d be more than happy to send a squad car to come pick you both up and take you in for questioning.”

  Mrs. Eason’s face reddened as she scanned the packed crowd outside her front door.

  “Fine,” Amanda gritted out. “Come in, but make this quick. I have a party to attend.”

  They stepped inside the ginormous entryway that reached up all three stories of the home, an elaborate chandelier hanging down on a golden chain from the ceiling.

  “Mandy, are you ready yet?” A handsome young man stepped out of the adjoining room. He was under six feet but not by much. He was lean, maybe one-hundred-and-seventy pounds, with dark brown hair that had that just-out-of-bed spikey look and brown sideburns. He frowned. “Who are you?”

  “They are with the detective who showed up at your and Connor’s place,” Amanda said.

  “What are they doing here?”

  “We’re here to ask you some questions,” Avery said.

  Kyle slipped his hands into his pastel pink boardshort pockets.

  Pink, seriously? No wonder Skylar had been able to play this guy. At least he went with a white button-down shirt and, quite to Avery’s amusement, Sanuks on his feet. She had no idea richies were into surfer shoes like Sanuks. They were all she wore when not in boots or workout shoes.

  “Shall we go into the library?” Mrs. Eason suggested.

  They moved into the room to find cherrywood bookcases running the length of the walls and up two stories, leather armchairs, and a gorgeous brick fireplace with cherry mantelpiece.

  “I’ll go get your father,” Mrs. Eason informed Kyle.

  “Mom, that’s not necessary. Mandy and I can handle this.”

  Mrs. Eason nodded and excused herself from the room.

  Kyle settled into one of the armchairs. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “A direct man,” Parker said. “Wonderful. This will go efficiently. Let’s start with the reason you and Mandy”—he gestured to Amanda—“broke into Skylar Pierce’s trailer on Friday night.”

  Kyle’s cheeks flushed. “W-what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Good defensive. Flat-out denial.

  “Amanda?” Avery asked, curious what the cool one in the relationship, by all appearances, would say. “Would you care to chime in?”

  “We weren’t there.”

  “And where were you?” Parker said.

  Might as well hear their alibi now so they could defeat it with pleasure.

  “At a charity auction with Kyle’s parents.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “About how many people would you say were in attendance?”

  “I don’t know. Several hundred,” she said, no doubt proudly thinking she was convincing them that two hundred people could confirm their alibi, but that many people only made it much easier to sneak out unnoticed.

  “How late did the affair run?” Parker asked, popping a mint from the side table bowl beside him into his mouth.

  “Eleven thirty, at least.”

  “And you left, when?”

  “Not until well after eleven.”

  “And then?”

  “We went to Kyle’s and went to bed. His roommate, Connor, can confirm that.”

  Avery was impressed. The girl was cool. She really thought she had all her ducks in a row.

  Parker glanced at Avery. “Would you care to do the honors?”

  She smiled. “It would be my pleasure.” She turned to Amanda. “Then Connor would be lying.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Then Connor would be lying.”

  “No he wouldn’t,” Kyle said. “We were at my place.”

  “We know you’re lying.”

  Amanda linked her arms across her chest. “And how do you presume to know that?”

  “An eyewitness places you both in Skylar Pierce’s trailer around eight-thirty that night. Well before the charity dinner ended.”

  Amanda’s jaw tightened.

  The first sign of discomfort. Good. Now they were getting somewhere.

  “So which of you would like to explain what you were doing there?”

  “Your eyewitness is wrong.”

  Of course they’d go that route.

  “How did you meet Skylar?” Parker asked Kyle, switching tactics.

  “She was a frie
nd of Connor’s.”

  “Oh, she was more than a friend of his.”

  Kyle looked away.

  “But I’m guessing you walked in and all her attention shifted to you.”

  Amanda’s posture was stiffer than a statue.

  “Dude . . .” Kyle’s gaze darted to Amanda and back pleadingly to Parker. “This isn’t cool.”

  “Neither is a dead woman.”

  Kyle might as well have said “duh” for the confused expression on his face. “Wait? What? Skylar is dead?”

  “She’s been missing since Thursday night—at least that’s the last time she was seen by anyone we’ve talked with.”

  “Missing? I thought you said she was dead?”

  “We have evidence that she is.”

  “Evidence?” Amanda frowned. “Wait? Are you saying you don’t have her body?”

  “Does that cause you relief?” Avery asked, pressing. Why was Amanda so curious if they had Skylar’s body or not?

  “No. I mean . . . I was just curious when you didn’t say you have her body.”

  “We have video and photos of Skylar taken after she was dead.”

  “What?” Kyle gaped. “But you don’t have her body?”

  “She was moved from the crime scene,” Parker said.

  At least they were assuming, as there was no clear evidence of her murder at Sebastian’s studio.

  “She was photographed for a Black Dahlia-esque showing at the Christopher Fuller Gallery, and then her body was moved again.”

  “Wait. You’re saying someone showed a picture of her dead body?” Kyle swallowed.

  He seemed more concerned about Skylar’s body and where it was and what had happened to it than Avery had anticipated. Sebastian was the killer in her mind, but what if they had it wrong? What if Kyle or Amanda had killed Skylar to make the blackmail go away?

  Parker’s cell rang. “I apologize, but I need to take this. It’s Greg,” he said to Avery.

  Dr. Greg Frasier was the entomologist they’d sent Skylar’s sweater to for processing. Based on trace evidence he’d discovered, Parker believed there had been insects on the sweater, and he needed Dr. Frasier’s help in identifying the organic material.

  He spoke low by the door, looked up once, and then focused his attention back on the call. “Thanks, Greg,” he said, moving back to rejoin them.

  “Good news?” Avery asked. He could explain later if it wasn’t pertinent to this interrogation, but she wanted to at least know if Greg had found something.

  “Yes. After identifying the insect residue I found on her sweater, he’s narrowed down the location of Skylar’s body prior to Sebastian’s moving it to his studio.” He looked at Kyle. “Should have her body anytime now, and you’d be amazed the clues a body retains. Clues about the victim’s murder.”

  “And murderer,” Avery added.

  “Whoa!” Kyle jumped up. “I didn’t murder anybody. You’ve got this all wrong.”

  Footsteps echoed in the hall, but no one entered. Kyle’s mother had likely overheard the word murder and rushed to tell her husband. They needed to work quickly. Kyle’s dad, no doubt, would tell him to shut up and let their fancy lawyer handle it—she was assuming they had one, since rich folks like the Easons always did.

  “So tell us what’s right,” she said, the urgency ramping in her voice.

  Kyle swallowed, looked to Amanda and then back to them.

  “Let’s start with your and Skylar’s relationship,” Parker began, resting a calming hand on Avery’s forearm, signaling he understood and he had this. “If Amanda would prefer to leave the room, I understand.” He looked at her with concern and empathy for how difficult this must be.

  He was working them, going in for the kill, and she was simply going to sit back and watch.

  Amanda shook her head but glared at Kyle, who retook his seat.

  Good idea. He was going to need one.

  “How long were you and Skylar together?” Parker asked.

  “We weren’t together. It was a stupid mistake. It only happened once.”

  Parker arched his brows.

  “Okay, twice, but that’s it, I swear. The . . .” Kyle started to form an unpleasant and offensive word but saw Avery’s glare and thought better of it. “The lady was crazy.”

  “Crazy how?” Avery asked.

  “She was just a tramp moving from one guy to the next,” Amanda said. “Kyle was smart enough to figure that out and ended things.”

  “And how’d Skylar take that?” Parker asked.

  “Fine.” Kyle shrugged. “She didn’t care.”

  “Other than the blackmail, of course,” Parker said.

  Kyle swallowed and glanced nervously to Amanda.

  “I think it’s time you leave,” Amanda said.

  “Again, we can have a squad car come, if you’d prefer.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. The—” Kyle caught himself again and balled his fists. “She was the one blackmailing me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Oh, I’d say paying some guy to take the MCATs for you is all kinds of wrong.”

  “What’s going on in here?” An older version of Kyle stood in the doorway. He looked to Kyle. “Your mother said these investigators are hassling you.”

  “It’s fine, Dad.” Kyle stood. “I got this.”

  “Not if they are insinuating you somehow cheated on your MCATs.”

  “You must be Dr. Eason,” Parker said, standing and extending a hand.

  Dr. Eason ignored Parker’s outstretched hand. “I think it’s time you left.”

  “They said they’d send a squad car and take us in for questioning,” Kyle said, panicked.

  “I highly doubt they’d send a squad car for a kid supposedly cheating on his MCATs.”

  “We have proof he cheated.”

  “Well, I’ll send my lawyer to the precinct of your choosing to look at said evidence. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “The woman blackmailing your son had that evidence, and now she’s dead.”

  “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but unless you have a warrant for my son’s arrest, get out of my home.”

  “Well, he was a peach,” Parker said as they stepped outside of the Easons’ home and the door slammed behind them.

  Griffin and Jason were no doubt going to follow up, but they’d done a good job getting them riled up and off-kilter. That’s when people covering up things typically slipped up.

  “Men like Dr. Eason think they can boss the world around,” Avery said with disgust.

  “We got what we needed,” Parker said.

  “Which was?”

  He smiled. “The confirmation they broke into Skylar’s, and the fact that he did cheat on his MCATs.”

  “He never admitted to either.”

  “Not verbally.”

  She smiled. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

  “I’m sure Griff and Jason will pay Kyle and Amanda another visit very soon.”

  “Amanda had the strangest reaction to our dropping the news of Skylar’s murder.”

  “Yeah, more fear than surprise.”

  41

  Declan climbed on the treadmill beside Moha, who was already in place. And from the perspiration on his shirt collar, he’d been there for a bit.

  He gazed around the room. Again packed on everyone’s lunch break. “Thank you for the call. I didn’t expect it so soon.”

  “I can’t stay much longer, but I spoke with my Madison Park contact.”

  “Thank you.” He didn’t know if Moha had learned anything, but the man was really sticking his neck out, and so was his contact.

  “You’re welcome. The idea that an organization supposedly representing the Islamic culture and heritage would smuggle a terrorist into our country . . .” Moha had proudly been a U.S. citizen since he was eighteen, his family immigrating when he was a young teen. “It angers me very much, so I reached out.”

  “And?” Declan hated to
press, but he was dying here.

  “I have an address for you. My contact couldn’t guarantee Anajay is there, but that’s where the Institute houses their visiting members.”

  The Bureau had run the Institute’s books and finances. No properties other than the Institute building showed up under their name, but if the property existed to house illegals smuggled in, it’s no wonder they’d kept it off the books.

  Moha stopped his run and wiped his neck with his towel. “I’ll leave it in your duffel for you.”

  Declan nodded his deep gratitude and kept running, giving Moha time to leave the information, shower, change, and exit the gym before Declan even left the equipment. He used the time to release some much-needed energy and to offer up some much-needed prayer.

  Declan and his team surrounded the address Moha’s information led him to in Baltimore’s Madison Park neighborhood, but they held back at a surveillance distance. The brick home was an end unit, but they still had massive civilian collateral concerns, and the house itself appeared to be sealed tight—all the windows covered with blackout curtains, the doors solid wood. It only furthered his belief Anajay was inside, but without positive intel, without a visual confirmation of Anajay’s presence in that house, they couldn’t move, so they waited.

  “We could be here for hours, days,” his and Lexi’s colleague, Agent Hines, said. “You don’t have to stay.”

  He and Lexi weren’t going anywhere. Sooner or later someone had to enter or leave that house.

  An hour later, the front door opened and adrenaline shot through Declan. A woman, her head and neck covered with a black hijab, hurried out and headed for the bus station. Declan signaled for the closest agent to follow her.

  Twenty minutes later, a man approached the property. He wore a hooded sweatshirt despite the hot temperature. Declan tightened his grip on his binoculars, focusing on the man’s face. It took a moment to get a clear visual, but it was most definitely Anajay Darmadi. They’d wait until he was in the house and off the streets before moving in. Likely less collateral damage.

  Anajay paused when he reached the house gate, part of the four-foot old-fashioned metal crisscross fence that was common in the older neighborhood. The woman had left it cracked open. He dropped his bag and ran for the alley.