Within minutes, the dog began to stagger in circles. The driver lowered himself out of the attic, stepping on the dryer and then the floor, just as he had when that little numb-nuts Kenny lived here. He watched the dog’s shallow breathing for a moment, then scooped the remnants of the chicken bone into his pocket and looked for the computer.
The floor plan of the house was familiar from when Kenny lived there, and after watching the lone light the night before, he felt confident which bedroom the cop used as an office.
Still, he couldn’t resist a quick look through the house, just to see how the man lived. Know your enemy, he told himself, refusing to admit the charge he always got from snooping in other people’s lives.
A king size bed took up most of the space in the small master bedroom. A flowered spread was folded back over half of the bed. The other half had the blanket pulled up, but not smoothed out. The pillow looked lumpy. Women’s clothes and shoes filled more than half the closet space and spilled out onto the floor. A silk robe hung off a knob on the open closet door. Perfume and jewelry boxes sat on the dresser.
An ornate perfume bottle caught his eye and he lifted it to his nose. Light and airy. Probably something cheap.
Damn, the wife’s been gone since August and he still lives this way? I thought a big tough guy like him would already have some blond he was doing. Maybe he’s not so butch after all.
The lid on the largest case sat open and he poked through a jumble of costume jewelry. His mother’s birthday was coming up. He picked up a silver bracelet with colored stones and slipped it in his pocket. This should do nicely.
A pink, glittery key chain fell to the floor and he scooped it up. If he had to come back, he could use the door. Avoid that stuffy attic.
In the living room, the upright piano was a surprise. Sheet music for some classical piece he didn’t recognize was another jolt. No way that cop played delicate music with those big, thick fingers. A step closer said he was right. He ran his finger over the bench seat. Dust covered every surface.
The smallest bedroom held an elliptical machine and loose weights on one side of the room and a computer on the other. This was more like what he’d expected. A muscle bound jock using brawn instead of brains to get through life. The shelves were overflowing with books, but that didn’t mean he read them any more than having a piano meant he played. A violin in the closet only confirmed that the wife had been musical.
He already had the password for the computer, so searching the files was a snap. What he found wasn’t good. They were definitely looking at the client. That was to be expected. But who was the unnamed witness the search warrant mentioned, and what had she overheard? Still, it was mainly a fishing expedition with no solid link to him or his partner unless the client had been foolish enough to put something in writing.
If the client kept his mouth shut, they would all walk away with what they wanted.
He grabbed a beer from the cop’s fridge and slipped out the back door. No need to go through the attic again. He paused behind a tree and looked both ways before stepping out. If the cop came home now, he’d be in deep shit.
As he strolled casually down the street, he thought about how jumpy the client had become. Could he trust him to keep silent or should he cut his losses and remove that link from the chain now?
No, they needed the money. The client could wait until after he paid up. So, get rid of the witness or the cop, but he didn’t know who the witness was. The cop. With that link removed, the investigation would stall and he’d have time to find the witness.
First the cop, then the witness, then the client. Once they were eliminated, he’d be safe. The two brand new garden hoses he’d seen sitting in the cop’s garage gave him an idea. Considering the way the cop lived, no one would even ask questions. Hell, no one would even miss him.
He took a sip from the beer can and grimaced. He’d only drunk a couple of beers in his life, and this one didn’t do anything for him. Domestic. He should have guessed. The cop was low-class through and through. He tossed the half-full can in the bushes and kept walking. He wasn’t worried about prints. The guy would be dead before he ever realized someone had been in his house.
Lifting the keys was a stroke of genius. Another example of superior intelligence overcoming unexpected problems.
Noah’s back ached and his eyes burned, but he finally had Hudson’s papers organized into piles in descending order of importance.
He turned off his desk lamp and briefly considered having his eyes checked. Nope. No point in that. He’d stop by the dollar store and buy some cheaters. That would last him as long as he needed.
Conner had spent the morning sitting in the audio/video room working on the phone logs. The office had a constant hum of activity which could be ignored when dealing with paperwork, but interfered with sound recordings.
When Conner stuck his head around the corner and motioned to him, he stood, downed the last dregs of cold coffee, and tossed his cup in the trash. Jeez, that was nasty. He pulled a stick of gum from his pocket to cover the bitter taste.
“What ya’ got, partner? I hope it’s something we can use, because the guy doesn’t have anything labeled ‘Contract for Killing My Wife,” at least not that I’ve found yet.” Noah stepped into the audio room and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I’ve got something, but it’s not what we expected.” Conner spread out his worksheet and pointed to a phone number. “Someone at this number started calling Crystal at regular intervals about seven months ago. She called him occasionally, but not often.”
Noah interrupted. “How do you know it’s a he?”
Conner reached over and pulled a stack of papers closer. “Phone is registered to this guy.” He handed Noah a driver’s license copy of a man with dirty, scraggly hair, tattoos crawling up the side of his neck, and the brown, rotten teeth of a meth user. Just picking up the photo made Noah want to wash his hands.
“Guy’s name is Harlan Prince. And he’s a prince of a guy,” Conner continued. “His rap sheet starts when he turned sixteen, but I’m willing to bet there’s a juvie record somewhere. Now he’s nearing forty and still making his living stealing other people’s hard earned money. He does mostly penny-ante stuff. Crimes of opportunity. And he was definitely angry with Crystal at the time of her death.”
“Wait a minute. Crystal wouldn’t have had anything to do with him. Her bathroom had more face, hair, and skin products that a mid-sized drug store. I can smell this guy’s stink just looking at his picture. No way they were having an affair. And how do you know he was angry?”
Conner pulled the phone log back. “When he first started phoning, the calls lasted ten to twenty minutes. If he missed her and left a message, the one minute calls, she phoned back within a couple of hours at most.”
He moved his finger down the list. “A week ago, he phones and waits all day for her to call back. He calls again and waits a couple of hours. Then one call an hour. Finally, he’s calling every ten minutes for twelve hours straight. He skipped an hour here, maybe he fell asleep or had to take a dump, I don’t know, but he started right back up.”
Noah leaned over the paper, studying it closely, his back and eyes forgotten. “Yeah, then he goes to three or four times a day until the day she dies. Then no more calls.”
“You haven’t heard the best part.” Conner held his finger over the play button of a recording device. “I’ve got his last message. She never deleted it.”
He pushed the button and a scratchy voice filled the room. “You can’t treat me like this, you bitch. Don’t think you’ll ever be safe in your fancy house with your fancy car. I’ll make you pay, one way or another.”
Noah raked a hand through his hair. He stared at the photo and rap sheet then shook his head. “I can’t see Prince being organized enough to pull this off. He might walk up to her front door and blow her away. But this job took skill and planning. I know in my bones Hudson was behind it and he would never
hire this guy. The proof is somewhere in the stuff we took from his house and we need to keep looking for it. Hudson radiates evil. I can it feel down to the soles of my feet.”
“We can’t overlook this, partner. It’s a lead and we have to follow it. If we ever got Hudson to trial and his attorney found out we didn’t chase this down, he’d walk.”
Fuck. He didn’t mind Conner being right, he just hated being wrong. He’d wanted to solve more cases, get a few douche-bags off the street before it was time for him to go. But if he couldn’t do that properly, he was spinning his wheels, wasting time. Worse, he was allowing bad guys to slip away and ruin more lives.
Noah turned on his heels. “Let’s go find this Prince character. It’ll be interesting to see how he explains his last message.”
Conner spent a frustrating hour tracking down Prince’s last known address before heading for the motor pool to check out another rolling pile of dung. Noah had grabbed a couple of sandwiches and sodas from a deli down the street and was waiting for him by the curb. He pulled over and unlocked the door, then held the take-out bag while his partner buckled up. As soon as the click sounded, he pulled out into traffic.
He drove with one hand while they chowed down. He hated eating in the car—no matter how careful he was, crumbs fell on his suit—but if they arrested Prince, it would be hours before they had another chance for a meal. It wasn’t as if their lunch could make the car smell any worse.
After several wrong turns onto streets with no markings, Conner found the address he had copied from the last arrest report. Prince lived in a run-down four-plex. Conner eyed the house and decided the whole building was leaning dangerously toward the east. Was it even safe to enter? The added weight of two more people might bring it all down.
If this was the correct address, Prince should be in the upper, right hand apartment. An outside staircase rose unsteadily to a side door. Piles of trash bags littered the ground. Someone apparently considered tossing the bags out the door as taking out the trash. From the size of the piles and the stench that carried down the block, this method had been going on for quite a while.
Conner hurried up the stairs before Prince could notice them.
He watched Noah grip the banister as he climbed, testing each step before placing his full weigh on it. “What a shit-hole,” Noah whispered as he reached the landing. “This place should be condemned before somebody gets killed.”
He and Noah stood on either side of the door. Noah nodded and he reached over to knock.
A muffled, “Who’s there?” drifted from behind the door.
Conner slurred his words. “Hey, Prince, come on. Open up, man.”
Footsteps shook the landing and the door flew open. “I told you to beat it . . .” A giant of a man in his late-thirties stood in the doorway. He wore a stained and torn undershirt. His sweatpants looked and smelled as if he hadn’t bothered to remove them the last time he relieved himself. Conner had seen people in many stages of withdrawal, and this guy had it bad.
His eyes flew open when he saw Conner and Noah. He tried to slam the door, but Noah’s foot was in the way.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Prince. I’m Detective Noah Daugherty, this is my partner, Detective Conner Crawford, May we come in and speak to you for a moment?” Noah’s arm was hanging loose, close to his weapon. Conner twisted slightly so his hand wasn’t visible and placed it on his Glock.
“Do you have a warrant?”
Conner spoke up. “Why no, we don’t, Mr. Prince. We just want to chat. To see if you can answer a few questions for us.” This guy might be a slob, but he was no dummy.
“Then no, you can’t come in. Stand out there and ask your questions. If I feel like it, I’ll answer. But hurry, I don’t want to miss my show.” The theme from Who Wants to be a Millionaire played in the background.
If Prince could answer anything past the $500 question, Conner would mail his BA back to Texas A&M.
Noah managed to move closer without taking his foot out of the door. “Do you know a woman named Crystal Hudson?”
“That bitch,” Prince almost screamed. “Did she send you? That’s just like her. She doesn’t want to deal with me so she hires someone to do her dirty work for her. Tell her one time, that’s all. Pay for me to go to that fancy rehab where all the stars go and she’ll never hear from me again.”
Conner blinked. That wasn’t exactly what he expected to hear. “How well do you know Mrs. Hudson?”
“Oh, I know her alright. I know all about her, and believe me, she’s not the fancy-schmancy high society bitch she likes to pretend. I could tell some tales. Tell her to do right by me or I won’t be the only one who knows about her.”
Most suspects didn’t make threats in front of police officers, but Conner doubted Prince had any idea what he was saying. “Why don’t you come downtown with us where we can talk in comfort and I’ll see if we can get you a hamburger, maybe some fries?”
“Fuck this. I’m not getting in a car with you. I’d never be seen again.” Prince tried several times to slam the door, but Noah held his foot steady.
Prince growled and rushed at Noah, placing his hands around his neck. Conner reached for his gun, but Noah was between him and Prince. The staircase wobbled and swayed as Conner tried to reach around his partner, but the small landing left no room to maneuver.
Noah swung a meaty fist into Prince’s midsection but the man didn’t loosen his grip. Conner grabbed a section of Prince’s undershirt and pulled. The fabric was so rotten it crumbled in his hands. He turned his Glock around and tried to club Prince in the head just as Noah took a step sideways. The blow fell on Prince’s shoulder. Noah’s face was turning red so Conner straightened his gun. I’ll have to shoot the SOB no matter how close Noah is. I’m not sure even that will stop him.
The staircase shuddered as Noah threw himself against Prince. The banister snapped with a loud crack and both men flew off the landing. Conner raced down the stairs. His heart climbed up his throat. His foot crashed through the last step and he fell forward.
The men landed on the pile of trash bags, Noah on top and Prince still struggling. Noah swung his fist again, this time connecting with Prince’s jaw. Prince lay still and Noah rolled to the side, gasping for breath. The trash bags had ruptured, covering both men in three-week-old garbage. The beer cans were bad enough, but maggots had started in on the pizza crusts.
Conner’s pants were torn and his shin bleeding as he limped to the two men. He hoped to God neither one noticed how much his hands shook as he slapped the cuffs on Prince.
“I told you this place was a death trap,” Noah wheezed.
Noah and Conner sat on one side of a battered table that was bolted to the floor. Prince sat opposite them, his legs and arms chained securely. Noah eyed him suspiciously. The man was huge and coming down from some powerful narcotic. Was there any chance he could pull the bolts loose and vault over the table after them?
He scooted his chair back slightly, ready in case the man made a move toward him. Conner took notes, although the interrogation was recorded.
Prince glared across the table. “I thought you promised me a hamburger and Coke. I’m hungry.”
Noah snorted. “I’m not in the habit of spending my own money to reward a person who tried to kill me.”
“I didn’t want to kill you. I just wanted to get past you. I was worried you were trying to kill me. I wouldn’t put nothing past that bitch. She has the money to hire something done, no questions asked.”
Noah took a sip of ice cold soda. His throat burned with each swallow. “What’d you do to piss her off? Did you threaten to tell her husband about your affair?”
“Are you crazy? Yeah, I only met her last year, but still, she’s my sister. That’s just sick.”
Nothing about this interview was going the way Noah expected. At least he’d been right to insist they weren’t sleeping together. “She’s your sister and you only met her last year?”
“Okay
, half-sister. I’ve known about her for years, but never set eyes on her. When Mom found out Dad had a second family on the other side of town, the shit really hit the fan. I was about five when Mom saw the birth announcement in the paper. We moved to Houston and Dad didn’t come with us.”
“Where were you living at the time?”
“Tyler.”
Conner shuffled some papers. He pulled out Crystal’s birth certificate and handed it to Noah. Yep, she was born in Tyler.
“So how did you finally meet?”
“I saw her photo in the paper, some society deal. They were listed in the telephone book, so I went to her house. I waited outside till I saw her husband leave. Then I rang the doorbell.”
“I’ll bet she was just thrilled to see you on her doorstep.”
“Actually, she was real nice. She invited me in. Gave me tea.” Prince rolled his eyes.
What was with these rich people and their tea? Remembering how much trouble he’d had with those tiny teacups, Noah almost felt sorry for Prince. Until he thought about those gigantic hands around his neck.
“Something must have gone wrong. You weren’t too friendly when we came to your door.”
“I shouldn’t a called her those names, but she bailed on me. Just like everyone else I’ve ever known. She promised to get me some help. Put me in one of those rehab places. A good one. Not like in jail where they just let you sweat it out. But I had a little relapse and she stopped returning my calls. When I saw you guys, I figured she was gonna wash her hands of me so I couldn’t bother her no more.”
Noah leaned forward in his chair, looking Prince in the eyes. “So you decided to get rid of her first, before she hurt you?”
Prince shook his head, as if to clear it. “No. What? I don’t understand. Did something happen to Crystal?”
Conner softened his voice. “Crystal was killed a couple of days ago on her way home from yoga.”
Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1) Page 8
