Shane pinched his nostrils. The smell was finally getting to him. “Once they figure out what he ate, I might be able to pinpoint where he was. Mrs. Avery claims he was gone for the evening but didn’t know where or with whom.”
“Mrs. Avery? There’s a wife?” Liza blurted.
“Does the FBI have some interest in our victim?” Drummond asked.
Sighing, Shane looked at Liza. “I don’t know, does the FBI have some interest?”
Her hand creeping back up over her mouth and nose, Liza inched closer to the table. “Yes, I have some interest,” she said from behind her shield, “but I can’t go into details.”
“Top-secret mission,” Shane muttered. That little comment earned him an ugly scowl from Liza.
“You never told me he had a wife.”
“You never asked.”
Liza huffed. “My intel said this man isn’t married, never was.”
“Well,” Shane dragged out, “apparently he decided he needed one for this new identity.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He works alone. Why would he risk bringing another person in who could expose him?”
“I have no idea. We can’t exactly ask him, now can we? And how do you know this man is the guy you’re after?”
Drummond cleared his throat. “Do I need to step outside the room?”
“No,” they both barked.
Liza held up a finger and shook it under Shane’s nose. “I don’t know if he is. You’re not giving me a chance to find out.”
“You’re the one hiding in a corner as far from the body as you can get.” Shane stepped aside and gestured with flourish at the prone man. “Have a real good look, Agent Bartholomew. Is this the guy you’re after?”
She blanched as she got a full-on view of the autopsied corpse. Her throat bobbed erratically, probably doing her damnedest to keep the bile down. “He looks nothing like him,” she whispered.
“Then it looks like you might be in a jam here.”
“Maybe not,” Drummond said. He grabbed another magnifying glass and held it out to Liza. “Agent Bartholomew, I want you to take a real hard look at this man’s hairline and behind his ear.”
What the hell was the doc getting at?
Liza took the offered glass and then lowered herself until she was eye level with the side of Avery’s head. Shane’s pulse beat like a bass drum in his ears. He ticked away the seconds until she rose, her features stretched taut.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
“What?” Shane’s demand echoed in the small room.
“He had plastic surgery.” She set the magnifying glass on the tray beside her. “And if those scars are telling, he’s done it more than once.”
Another mystery had come banging on Shane’s back door. This was supposed to be a boring, peaceful county. He’d left violent deaths and destruction behind when he left the army. This was not what he wanted to come home to, and definitely not the reason he became a cop and then the sheriff. No wonder people were upset with him. Not that he had a choice in the matter. But when would the misery end?
Chapter Five
Liza took a bracing breath the instant she passed through the hospital’s doors, and gagged.
“How do you stand it?”
Hamilton sauntered past her, heading for his truck. “I don’t, but I’ve had to adapt with the amount of bodies that have gone through there.”
“This is why I work in the fraud department.” She hightailed it after him. No way was she getting left here.
Clambering into the passenger seat, she strapped in, then tried to meld her body inside the leather-covered seat. Be one with the leather.
“Ya know,” Hamilton started the engine, “I’m feeling like a bacon cheeseburger and fries. How ’bout you?”
Liza heaved. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she turned the meanest glare she could muster at him. She lowered her hand, pressing it to her queasy stomach. “That’s beyond cruel.”
“I always get hungry after an autopsy. Sorry.” He backed out of the parking spot and left the lot. “If I go slow, it might give your stomach time to settle down.”
“I doubt it.”
“And I doubt you’d pass up some of Farran O’Hanlon’s fine cooking. You do remember her cooking, right?”
Oh, she remembered all right. Liza hadn’t been able to find a single restaurant in Cedar Rapids or Iowa City that matched Farran’s finest rib-eye steak. Her burgers were deemed the best burgers in the state of Iowa two years running. That was saying something. All this thought about steak and burgers was making Liza’s mouth water. Guess she wasn’t as grossed out after that autopsy after all.
“If you drive slow, I might think about something to eat.”
That grin turned up the kilowatts. Wow, she couldn’t think of a time in her life when a man who grinned like that could look so devastatingly handsome. Then again, her exposure to handsome men was severely limited. Not many of them parading through the foster care system or in the world of fraud. She pinched the bridge of her nose, got a whiff of decaying flesh and chemicals, and then slapped her hand in her lap.
“Here.” Hamilton reached into the center console, pulled out a green, round tin, and held it out to her. “Put this on your hands. It’ll pull the smell out.”
She took the tin, eyeing the label. “Watkins medicated ointment?”
“Works wonders on the ole sinuses, too.”
She pried the lid open and swirled her finger in the half-used ointment, gathering enough to rub into her hands. She returned the tin to the console and commenced with rubbing the eucalyptus-scented salve into her skin. The overpowering eucalyptus made her nose feel like a winter wind had passed through it. This medicated balm was doing wonders in removing the nasty odor of death. Pretty freaking amazing.
“Plastic surgery would explain why you had a hard time pinning this guy down when he runs.”
Except for the fact he could be a real bore, Liza was actually enjoying this ride-along with Hamilton. Who knew? “I almost had him the last time.” So close she could still see the flames licking the sky as the warehouse burned. Liza had been a few minutes too late. Ripley made damn sure no one could finger him. “He probably decided to change the game in his favor. The hard part is being able to prove to my supervisor he’s the same guy.”
“Don’t you FBI types have someone working for you who does facial reconstruction or something like that?”
“Only if I want to wait forever and a day for one to come here to Podunkville, Iowa. I don’t think my guy would reach the top of the priority list, not with all those unidentified remains backing up the system.”
Hamilton grunted. “That bad, huh?”
Liza waved away this thread of conversation. “I want to talk with the wife.” Good God, how did Mr. Ripley have time for a marriage? “You know, if you had mentioned her earlier, I might have moved along and never bothered with this.”
“And you would have missed out on the tidbit about the plastic surgery. I’m still serious about him doing a change-up on the MO to throw you off his trail. When was the last time you had a bead on him?”
“Over two years ago, twenty-nine months if you want to get all technical.”
No answer. Liza peered at Hamilton, who seemed absorbed in his thoughts. She distracted herself by trying to memorize landmarks as he passed through the town. Compared to Cedar Rapids, Eider didn’t even scratch the surface in population size. And yet she couldn’t find her way out of a coffee can around here. Put her in the heart of Cedar Rapids blindfolded, and she’d be home in five minutes. This was ridiculous.
“Twenty-nine months, you say?”
Flinching, she averted her attention. “Yes.”
“Gene Avery was hired by the school late in July. He was coming on being the superintendent for two years this summer.”
Liza dug out a notepad. “Late July, you say. From the time he disappeared on me until the school hired him, he had plenty of time to reconstruct
his life and face, and apparently get married. Never would have pegged him for trying to be a school official.”
“I’ll pull the school board together and see if they have seen any funny business with finances.”
She shook her head. “Not right now. I want to bring in a forensic accountant first. Ripley is good; the board members would have never seen it until he pulled his Houdini act. My accountant guy is better, knows how the suspect operated. I can’t afford to have your average Joe messing with the books.”
“Almost two years. Is this the longest he’s stayed in one area?”
Liza noted a familiar sign up ahead. Killdeer Pub. What a name for a bar and grill. “It varied, depending on exposure or how long it took him to pad his bank account. One thing stayed the same: no record of his existence as soon as he packed up and left. Some of his victims were so embarrassed to be swindled, they wouldn’t report him. I had to put the screws to a few just to get them to bleed information.”
The radio squawked. “Sheriff, this is dispatch, over.”
Hamilton reached out and took the receiver off the hook on the dashboard. “Copy, dispatch. What is it? Over.”
“We have a 10-73. Concern it’s a fire.”
“Shit,” Hamilton hissed, then pressed the receiver button. “Where, dispatch?”
Static garbled Deputy Jennings’s answer.
“Dispatch, repeat.”
“1801 Maple Leaf Drive.”
Hamilton hit the brakes. Liza grunted as she jerked into the locked seat belt. Ouch! That was going to leave a mark. Better on her chest than a goose egg on her forehead from smacking into the dashboard. Wait. Her gaze flicked to the side mirror, and she heaved a sigh. No one had been behind them when he stopped dead in the middle of the road.
“Damn it to hell! You’ve got to be effing kidding me.” Hamilton railed on like a marine drill instructor at Quantico laying into an inept recruit.
The significance of that address had certainly riled the unflappable sheriff. On second thought, he wasn’t that levelheaded. She’d witnessed the man provoke her former partner to the point Boyce Hunt actually tried to throw a punch at the sheriff.
“Are you sure about that address, Jennings?”
“Sir, I couldn’t be more certain if it had been my sainted granny reporting it.”
“Copy that. I’m on my way, over.”
“Roger.”
Resuming his colorful cursing, creating words Liza had never heard in the whole of her life, Hamilton tossed the receiver at the dashboard, missing the hook entirely. “Hang on,” he barked, flipping on the lights and siren.
Liza grasped the oh shit bar on the roof of the truck, braced her feet against the floorboard, and tensed as Hamilton whipped a bitch right there in the road. He gunned the engine, making the V6 roar with power, and the truck shot down the road. Liza chanced a glance in the rearview mirror, watching the Killdeer Pub sign fade in the background. Well, so much for getting food.
“So, it’s a potential fire. I get it’s bad, but why all the swearing?” she chanced.
“It’s Gene Avery’s house, that’s why.”
• • •
Shane spotted the black smoke rising above the trees two miles out. By the time the truck cruised around the last bend in the road, the fire was in full sight. The entire house was swallowed in a raging inferno. He fumbled with the radio receiver, missing it by a mile. It was suddenly placed in his hand, and he dared to take his gaze off the road to look at Liza. “Thanks,” he rumbled and pressed the button. “Dispatch, this is the sheriff. Be advised it’s a full out 10-70. House fire, fully engulfed. Send all fire personnel. Put a call out for any and all surrounding area departments, over.”
“Roger.”
Shane let the receiver fall from his hand, gripped the wheel with both, and veered off the pavement onto the gravel. The truck’s rear end went squirrely, but he drove into the slide, righted the vehicle, and let the rocks fly as he spurred the F150 forward.
“Sheriff, someone is standing next to it,” Liza said.
Shane looked where she pointed. A lone figure swayed side to side about fifty yards from the oxygen-licking flames. He drove the truck off the gravel road, through the shallow ditch, and tore through the immaculate landscaping. Slamming on the brakes, the truck went into a slide, spewing lawn and dirt until it lurched to a full stop. He rammed the gearshift into park and barreled out of the cab. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Liza doing the same. Together they rushed toward the woman.
“Roslin!”
The brunette stiffened, her head snapping back as she came to attention.
“Roslin, are you okay?” he yelled over the rush of fire.
The heat battered his body in waves. Shane raised his arm, trying to shield his face from the onslaught.
Roslin shifted enough to show only her profile to him. In her left hand she gripped a nearly empty whiskey bottle. “Stay back, Sheriff,” she slurred.
Slowing his pace, he gestured for Liza to do the same. The agent did, inching her way toward the right, and into Roslin’s blind spot.
“What happened here?” he asked.
Roslin lifted the bottle to pink-smeared lips, then took a long gulp. The orange-red glow of the fire highlighted the dark smudges dusting her cheeks and the black trail along her jawline. She faced the burning house.
Shane took advantage of her back turned to him and inched closer. “Roslin, I need you to back away before you get hurt.”
The widow spun, her speed surprising for one who was clearly as intoxicated as she was, her right arm coming up to level a six-shot revolver. “I said, stay back!”
He held up his hands. “Whoa, there. I’m just here to help.”
“I don’t recall asking for it.”
Shane was kicking himself three ways to Sunday for not paying better attention. The fire and concern for Roslin’s safety were big distractions. At the edge of his peripheral, Liza was easing along, staying out of the widow’s line of sight. What was Bartholomew planning?
“You know,” Roslin blurted, jerking Shane’s attention fully on her again, “that slimy bastard cheated.” She wobbled the revolver. “He cheated.”
Sweat ran a course down his temples, smoke was clogging his airways, but Shane wasn’t about to abandon this woman to her craziness. Straightening, he lowered his hands, palms out. “Roslin, I don’t think burning the house was the way to get back at him.”
Fury lit up her eyes. With the flames licking at the sky behind her body, it was like witnessing the coming of Satan’s horde.
Pops and crackles led to a bang, then a boom. Shane and Liza ducked as a ball of flames rolled up into the sky. Fueled by the minor explosion, Roslin danced around and laughed at her handiwork.
“Let ’er burn!” she screamed.
Crouching down, Shane held up his arm to block the wall of heat that bowled him over. “Roslin! We need to move back before the house blows.”
A screeching laugh burst from her, and she held up the bottle and gun in a victory stance. “Blow, baby, blow!”
The woman had come completely unhinged.
Shane tried to crabwalk toward her, but she did a little spin at the wrong time and caught him. The business end of the revolver was pointed at his chest. She dropped the bottle and cradled the weapon with both hands.
“Nu-huh, Sheriff. I aim to watch this place burn to the ground.”
And kill herself in the process. Not on his watch.
The faint shrill of sirens reached him over the noise of the fire. He had to move fast. The last thing he needed was Roslin’s crazy antics and his delayed response to be plastered all over the evening news, because this house burning was going to draw in the local stations. And if the pops and bangs continued, they could have a full-out explosion with a propane tank.
“Roslin! This is dangerous. If the place blows, it’ll kill you.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Then so be it.”
Movement behind h
er was all the warning Shane had before Liza darted up. Roslin didn’t have the luxury to react before Liza sacked her like Reggie White eating up a quarterback. The revolver flew from Roslin’s hands and landed on its side, graciously not going off. With her arms pinned to her body, Roslin hit the ground with Liza coming down on top of her.
Shane scrambled over to grab the gun, emptied the chambers, and disengaged the cock before chucking the gun and bullets toward his truck.
On the ground, the women grappled, each trying to better the other. Liza struggled to get a good hold on the hysterical widow’s arms while dodging thrashing legs and gnashing teeth. All through the wrestling match, Roslin continued to scream her maddening mantra, “He cheated.”
Despite the warning at the back of his mind to stay out of it lest he get his balls kicked, Shane jumped into the fray. He managed to wrangle one of Roslin’s arms and forced her facedown in the dirt. The woman’s rage at being bested vibrated through her body.
Liza scooted around, jerked the other arm up behind Roslin’s back, and then slammed her knee into the back of the woman’s legs, successfully pinning her.
“Cuffs?”
Shane freed his pair from their holster and clapped them on Roslin’s wrists, ratcheting them as tightly as he could without punishing her skin. The screaming stopped, and the widow went still.
At that precise moment, the volunteer fire department arrived. The trucks barreled into the yard, further tearing up the sod.
Roslin’s silence was short-lived. Her body shook with a wicked cackle that increased in volume.
Shaking her head, Liza climbed to her feet, dusting off her now dirty and grass-stained jeans. “She’s high as a kite.”
“It would appear so.” Shane winced as he struggled to his feet, pain stabbing his knees. “Let’s get her out of the way.”
Together they hooked their arms in the crook of Roslin’s and hauled her upright, and then half dragged, half carried her to his truck. As thin as she was, Roslin Avery felt like she’d bogged herself down with all the whiskey in the county. They unceremoniously dumped her on the ground up against a tire.
Liar, Liar Page 4
