I Can See You

by Karen Rose

  “Since when have you ever been wise? Which is what you said, not two days ago.”

  “That was about my roof, not…” Not about gobbling Noah Webster in great big bites. She was still overheated, thinking about the kiss that had consumed every breath of air in the room. And she’d agreed to have dinner with him. What was I thinking? That she wanted more. A whole lot more. “Never mind.”

  “I’m getting hot just watching you get hot,” Callie said. “So what was it like?”

  Eve was spared a reply by the ringing of her cell phone. “Noah,” she answered, ignoring Callie’s delighted grin. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I got your text. And I needed to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine. Noah, that Buckland person contacted Callie, too.”

  “How did he get her to talk to him? Did he threaten her, too?”

  “No. He was trying to get information from her. He told her you were married, that your wife’s name was Susan, that I was the other woman. He wanted Callie to confirm we weren’t together, that I was lying yesterday when I… when we… you know.”

  “Yes, I know. And you were right.” His voice was tight. “This is personal. He had to dig back a lot of years to find out about Susan. Sonofabitch.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said quietly.

  He sighed. “I know. I also wanted to tell you that I don’t think you need to worry about Donner. He told me to tell you he was sorry.” She heard a car door slam on his side of the line. “Did you ask Sal for time off for dinner tonight?”

  “Not yet.” Eve glanced up at Callie, who was still watching with avid curiosity. “But I think I can find someone to cover for me for a while.”

  “You need me to cover for you tonight?” Callie asked when she’d hung up.

  “He wants me to go to dinner with him.”

  “Then I’ll cover for your shift. I need the money and you need the romance. Of course, if you’re really not interested, I’d be more than happy to stand in.”

  “That’s all right,” Eve said dryly. “Although your sacrifice touches my heart.” Touches. “Hey, did that guy posing as a reporter give you his card?”

  “Yes, he did. I have it here.” She opened her purse.

  “Don’t touch it. I pitched the card he gave me. Maybe they can get prints off yours.”

  Callie’s brows rose. “Why not just give it to Noah Webster?”

  “Because he’s a little busy right now.” Eve dug in her backpack and came up with an empty envelope. “Put on your glove, then drop the card in here.”

  Callie obeyed, then sat back, amused incredulity on her face. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “A little,” Eve admitted. “It’s been awhile since I did anything clandestine. In the real world, anyway.” She gathered her things. “It always was kind of a rush. Gotta go.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 12:00 p.m.

  “So Jeremy Lyons is missing?” Abbott asked.

  Noah slumped into one of the chairs at Abbott’s table. “We stopped by his house. His wife was there. He didn’t come home last night and she hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. He didn’t pick their daughter up from day care and he hasn’t called, texted, emailed, nothing, which she said was unusual.”

  “She let us search,” Jack added, “but we found nothing suspicious.”

  “What about Donner?”

  “I’d put my money on Lyons before Donner,” Jack said. “Donner didn’t appear to be in good enough physical shape to do these murders.”

  “And Lyons is AWOL,” Abbott mused. “Pull Lyons’s financials. See if he’s gotten any big payoffs lately.”

  “You’re thinking he sold the list?” Jack asked, then shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “Follow the money,” Abbott said. “I requested Girard’s financials yesterday. We’ll look for links to Lyons, anything to explain why Axel was picked as a fall guy.”

  There was a light knock on Abbott’s door and Faye stuck her head in. “I’ve got the police report on the Millhouse woman for you, Noah.”

  “Thanks, Faye.” Noah flipped through the report and frowned. “I read this one, Jack, that first night after we found Martha. We read so many, I didn’t remember Amy Millhouse by name, but I remember reading this suicide note. ‘I’m sorry. God forgive me for the pain I’ve caused my family and my church.’ ”

  “But we didn’t see any other reports that had the shoes and the open window.”

  “Because this one doesn’t. When the investigating officer got there, someone had already cut Amy Millhouse down and laid her on the bed. Look at the picture. Modest clothes, clean face. No makeup.”

  “Her eyes?” Abbott asked.

  “No mention of glue,” Noah said.

  “Who found her?” Jack asked.

  “Her mother.”

  “Go talk to the mother,” Abbott said. “Then pay a visit to the Girards. I want to know why our guy picked Axel.”

  “I’ll meet you at Amy’s mother’s,” Jack said. “When we’re done I’ll go get a phone.”

  “I thought you did that this morning, before we met Donner and Lyons.”

  Jack jerked a careless shoulder. “I went by the store, but the line was too long then.”

  Noah watched him walk away, wondering how long it would take them to fall back into step. He glanced over his shoulder. Abbott watched him with keen eyes.

  “Figure it out, Web,” was all Abbott said.

  Wednesday, February 24, 12:20 p.m.

  Eve found Olivia Sutherland with her boots propped up on her desk, looking so much like her sister, Mia, that Eve had to remind herself who she was talking to. On the corner of Olivia’s desk was a bust of a Greek goddess wearing her Hat Squad fedora, charmingly askew. The rest of the desk was almost painfully organized.

  “Hey,” Eve said.

  Olivia looked up, smiling when she saw Eve. “Evie. Sorry. Eve.”

  “It’s okay. An old friend’s in town and he’s been calling me Evie, so I’m getting used to it again. You remember David Hunter, don’t you?”

  “He’s kind of hard to forget,” Olivia said wryly. “We were in Mia’s wedding together.”

  “He walked you down the aisle,” Eve remembered.

  Olivia grinned. “I felt my life was in danger from all the daggers shooting from the other women’s eyes. So why is David here?”

  “He’s fixing my roof. It leaks.”

  “Well, tell him I said hello.” She leaned back in her chair. “What brings you here?”

  “I actually came to see Officer Michaels, but he wasn’t there and I have a class in an hour, so I can’t wait.” She explained the events of the evening before.

  “This guy assaulted you?” Olivia asked, blonde brows crunched.

  “He did. Anyway, he gave his card to my friend.” She took it out of her bag, along with a folded sheet of paper. “His prints should be there. He said he’d print it if I didn’t tell him about the dead women yesterday morning.”

  Olivia opened the folded page and flinched. Then sighed. “Geeze. I’m sorry, Eve.”

  “It’s okay. That’s how I looked. You can still see the scar if you look hard.”

  “I know.” Olivia shrugged uneasily. “After your last surgery, I couldn’t help but look.”

  “I know,” Eve said. “Everybody thinks I don’t see them looking. Anyway, I thought you could give those two things to Latent. Maybe see if any prints pop.”

  Olivia’s lips twitched. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

  Eve smiled back. “So you’ll submit them?”

  “Sure. I’ll take them down to Micki Ridgewell and make sure Officer Michaels knows I did it. If this guy bothers you again, call me.”

  Eve smiled again, ruefully this time. “After I call Noah and a list of other people.”

  Olivia’s brows lifted. “So it’s ‘Noah’ now? What’s going on there, anyway?”

  “I don’t kn
ow,” Eve said truthfully.

  “That’s fair.” Olivia hesitated. “Mia asks about you every time we talk.”

  “I’d be surprised if she didn’t. She grabbed me off the streets, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. She never told me how she met you.”

  “I was a kid, living on the streets. Mia was still a patrol officer. I was running a scam with a couple of other runaways and somebody screamed ‘cop.’ I picked the wrong alley to duck into. Mia was there, and next I knew, I was in the back of her squad car.”

  Olivia grinned. “She arrested you?”

  “Nah. She gave me hell and said she was taking me to somebody who could straighten me out. That was Dana and Caroline and the shelter.”

  “I’d say they did a pretty good job of straightening you out.”

  “You should tell them that. What do you say when Mia asks about me?”

  “I tell her that I see you at Sal’s and you look healthy and safe. Then she always asks if you’re happy and I have to tell her I don’t know, that you watch us from behind the bar, but never join in. What should I tell her the next time she asks if you’re happy?”

  “Tell her I’m not unhappy. I’ve got to get to class.” Eve had taken a step toward the door when a piece of paper on Olivia’s desk caught her eye, a list of Twin Cities’ bars. “You planning on hosting a party someplace other than Sal’s? He’ll be hurt.”

  “We think last night’s victim met the killer at a bar.”

  Eve thought about the timeline. “It would have to be one with a late last call. We close pretty early. When I ring the last-call bell I can guarantee which customers are going to ask for another drink. It’s like they’ll never see alcohol again. Others toss back what’s left in their glass, settle their tab, then tell me they’re going to their late-night bar.” She checked off several. “These are the places they tell me they’re going.”

  “Excellent,” Olivia said, scanning the list. “This will save us some time.”

  “Good. I have to go now. I have class at one. Don’t tell Noah I was here. I’m supposed to travel with an escort but that’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Web’s worried about this guy.” Olivia swung her boots to the floor in a movement that was both athletic and graceful. “I haven’t had lunch yet. I’ll follow behind you.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 1:05 p.m.

  “Thanks for seeing us, Mrs. Millhouse,” Noah said.

  Geraldine Millhouse nodded tightly. “I always help the police,” she said.

  Jack had lost the toss on this one and he cleared his throat to begin. “Ma’am, we’re here to talk to you about your daughter Amy’s death.”

  “My daughter committed suicide. So what?”

  “We have some follow-up questions,” Jack said. “Our records show she hanged herself, but that when the police arrived, she’d been cut down. Did you do this?”

  For a moment they thought she’d say no, but she nodded, stiffly. “Yes.” She drew a jerky breath. “I couldn’t stand…” Her voice broke. “I couldn’t stand to see her like that.”

  “Ma’am, we need to know exactly how you found her,” Jack said. “It’s important.”

  “I found her hanging in her room,” she said. “I cut her down and put her on her bed.”

  “Did you change her clothes, Mrs. Millhouse?” Jack asked and she flinched.

  “No.” She stood, visibly trembling. “Go away, please.”

  Both Noah and Jack stayed where they were.

  “Mrs. Millhouse, we need to know,” Jack repeated. “We think there’s a chance your daughter didn’t commit suicide. That perhaps she was murdered.”

  Mrs. Millhouse sank into her chair, the color drained from her face. “What?”

  “Have you read the paper in the last few days, ma’am?” Noah asked gently.

  “No. My eyes aren’t so good.”

  Neither was her back or her hands. Noah could see the signs of arthritis. There was no way this woman had cut her daughter down, at least not by herself.

  “Several women have been killed recently,” Jack said, “their deaths staged to look like a suicide. Please be truthful with us. How did you find your daughter? We need to know how the room looked, how she looked, everything you can recall.”

  Mrs. Millhouse covered her face with her hands, a strangled sob escaping her throat as she rocked pitifully. “She was hanging, dressed like a whore. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Did you call someone?” Jack asked, still gently.

  “My son, Larry. He came and took care of me. He took care of everything.”

  “We need to talk to Larry, ma’am,” Jack said softly. “Where is he now?”

  “At work. He works for 3M. He’s a chemist.”

  Noah controlled the urge to snap his head up—3M made glue. A quick glance told him Jack had come to the same conclusion.

  Jack’s smile was both sad and encouraging. “Ma’am, it would be a huge help if you could come down to the station and tell us everything you remember about Amy’s death. We’ll bring you home when we’re finished. Would you come with us?”

  Shaken, she nodded. “I’ll get my coat after I call my son.”

  Noah and Jack stood when she did. “Let me help you with your coat,” Noah said softly. “If you give me his number, I can call your son for you.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 1:05 p.m.

  Eve slid into one of the empty chairs at the back of the class, a few minutes late. It was Donner’s once-weekly ethics seminar and she’d been dreading it all morning. Noah said Donner had apologized, but still…

  Luckily, Donner wasn’t here yet. He’d been late a lot recently, and sometimes when he showed up he was angry for no apparent reason. It was a personality change that had the older grad students worried. Even two years ago, Donner had been considered a mentor to most and a friend to some. Not anymore. And certainly not to me.

  Her cell phone buzzed. It was Olivia. “I can’t talk now,” Eve whispered. “I’m in class.”

  “I’m out in front of your building. We need you down at the station,” Olivia said tautly.

  Eve’s gut twisted. “Noah?”

  “No, Looey. You know, Kurt Buckland. He’s missing. We need to walk through the events with you. Now. I’ll either drive you in or drive behind you.”

  Eve had already shouldered her computer bag. “On my way.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 2:30 p.m.

  He was feeling downright lucky for the second time in twenty-four hours. Had he lingered another minute over Rachel and the crime scene last night, he would have been caught. Now, if he’d been another minute later, he would have missed Eve.

  He’d gone to her apartment hoping to find her home alone, planning to force her into his SUV and bring her back to his pit. Instead, he’d pulled onto her street just as her car was pulling away. He followed, wondering if she’d seen his text, if she’d been afraid.

  He so hoped she was afraid, or at the very least angry. Angry people weren’t careful, weren’t aware. It would be easier to force her off the road and into his SUV.

  She’d be discovered missing soon enough. Her friends within the police department would make it their quest to find her killer. But they didn’t have a clue. Because he’d given them none.

  Wednesday, February 24, 3:00 p.m.

  Jack pulled up behind Noah’s car, then joined him on the sidewalk in front of the Girards’ house. “You get your new phone?” Noah asked.

  Jack held up a shiny new cell phone in response. “But I didn’t get lunch.”

  “I went by the Deli,” Noah said, “hoping reporter-boy would come back.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, but I did get you an extra sandwich in case you didn’t have time to eat.”

  Jack met his eyes for the first time all day. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m not looking forward to this,” he said, turning his gaze to Axel Girard’s front door.

  “Me either, but we need to know how Girar
d ties, because he can’t have killed Rachel Ward last night. I think Girard will be more disposed to talk to us than his wife.”

  “Why would you think that?” Jack asked, eyes narrowed.

  “I went to see him last night. I felt I owed him some explanation after yanking him from his bed. I told him his car was seen again, pressed him to think of somebody who’d set him up. I should have told you earlier, but other things kept coming up.”

  Jack looked angry, but reined it in. “I guess I should thank you for telling me now.”

  Noah sighed. “Jack.”

  “Forget it. We’ve only got an hour before Geraldine Millhouse’s son’s plane gets in.”

  Millhouse’s boss had reluctantly provided his travel itinerary. Luckily Larry Millhouse was at thirty thousand feet at the moment, unable to get cell phone calls or escape.

  As predicted, Joan Girard was not happy to see them. “Go away,” she said, very politely, and shut the door in their faces.

  Noah knocked again. “Mrs. Girard, please tell your husband we’re here.”

  “No!” The answer came through the closed door. “Go away.”

  Jack started to leave, but Noah shook his head. “Axel Girard will come to the door.”

  Sure enough, the door opened about a minute later. Axel Girard’s face was weary and haggard. “Come in,” he said quietly.

  Mrs. Girard was standing to one side, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She said nothing, but her eyes were furious. “Let’s sit in the living room,” Axel said.

  “Did you tell your wife what we talked about last night?” Noah said when they’d all sat down. “About the newest victim?”

  Axel nodded. “I did.”

  “My husband is not guilty,” Joan hissed. “But you dragged him off in the night. To jail. And our children had to see it.”

  “I’m sorry your kids had to see it,” Noah said calmly, “but we have five dead women and so far, no one in custody. We can trace your husband’s vehicles to some element of two of the crimes. Now, I don’t think he’s guilty, ma’am, but there is an undeniable connection. If you know anything, you have to help us, or we could have another victim.”