Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  “Which doesn’t help him in this case.”

  “Why? His own car was used when Crystal Hudson was killed. If anything, it makes him less likely to be the one.” Noah consulted a slip of paper and turned toward one of the dorms.

  Students swarmed past them, giving the two men a quick glance and hurrying on. Some of the girls had on shorts and belly-baring T-shirts. The weather had warmed up, but not that much.

  “Your turn, oh sly one. What are we doing, taking a tour of all the colleges in the area? Is St. Thomas next? What about University of Houston? Texas Southern? At least they’re closer.”

  Noah ignored him and increased his speed. “What did you find out about the money? How broke is he?”

  “Not overly as long as he keeps his grades up. His scholarship covers tuition, room, books, food. Everything except spending money. His family’s not rich by a long shot, and they have three other kids, but his father’s business is sound and in the black. Even then, his church sends him a couple of hundred dollars a semester. Did I mention he was an altar boy?”

  They had reached the steps of a modern brick dorm. Noah spoke over his shoulder as he took the stairs, two at a time. “No, and you didn’t mention what you discovered about his fingerprints.”

  Noah stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and Conner almost plowed into him.

  Standing one step below him made Conner at least a head shorter, but that didn’t seem to intimidate him. He held Noah’s gaze without flinching. “The prints on the license plate matched the ones I took from inside your house. He was definitely the one who broke in. Sorry.”

  “The person who handled Ignacio’s license plate was the one who broke into my house. Not necessarily Icky. Do we have a copy of his prints?” Noah gave in and blinked first. Conner might have looked relieved, but he wasn’t sure.

  “No, he’s clean. Never had his prints taken that I know of.” Conner sidestepped Noah and climbed the last step.

  Noah took a deep breath. Conner was about to give him trouble. “Okay, here’s what I need you to do. And no fooling around this time. Head back to the office and get to work on Hudson’s files. We have to find the connection. He and the shooter hooked up some way, somehow. Rosaria said it was through Craig’s List. When I get back, we’ll head over to the Taj Mahal and show Hudson what we’ve got. Then we’ll explain to him the wisdom of rolling over on his accomplice.”

  Conner didn’t disappoint him. He was shaking his head before Noah got the words out. “No way, partner. I’m glued to your side, night and day if necessary. You’re too slippery to trust on your own. So who are we visiting here, and how does,” he glanced around. “He? She? Figure into this case?”

  Noah stabbed his finger into Conner’s chest, something he’d never done before and, from the look in Conner’s eye, shouldn’t try again. “This case has gone on long enough. We need to close it before someone else gets hurt. Now head back to the office and find me that information or go home and take a nap—I know you had to wake up early to be waiting outside my house—because you are not following me another step.”

  Conner lowered his voice. “You’re gonna get yourself killed before this is over.”

  “Maybe, but I’m sure as hell not going to get you killed. I don’t mind driving Jeannie to the hospital if you’re too drunk, but if you get yourself shot, I’ll kill you myself. Now get back to work and I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Then we’ll put somebody in jail.”

  Noah spun on his heels and pushed through the heavy glass doors without a backward glance. Inside, he breathed in the industrial air of a hermetically sealed building and counted to ten. When he didn’t hear Conner’s footsteps, he waited another few seconds before looking over his shoulder. No sign of Conner.

  He moved to the side where he had a good view out the door without being visible himself. Conner’s back was all he could see. He must have been furious. Kids were swerving around him like avoiding a mad dog.

  When he got into what must have been Jeannie’s new car, Noah laughed. “Call me sly, will you? You’ve obviously paid attention to everything I taught you.”

  Noah pushed out the heavy door and started down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he turned left, toward one of the older dorms.

  Of course, I didn’t teach you everything I know.

  “Go away,” the muffled voice on the other side of the door called.

  Noah knocked again, harder.

  “Beat it,” the voice answered.

  “Kenny Yates.” Noah used his most authoritative tone. “Open the door.”

  “Open it yourself, you want in so badly.”

  Noah turned the knob and the door swung open to total darkness. He felt along the side of the wall until he found a switch. Light flooded the room and the mound under the pillow moaned.

  “I was up till three finishing my paper. I sent it in electronically. I even got a reply email that it was received. I. Don’t. Have. To. Be. In. Class. Leave me alone.”

  Noah pulled a desk chair beside the bed and straddled it. “Not until you take that pillow off your head and talk to me.” He lifted a corner of the pillow and held his badge in front of Kenny’s face.

  Bloodshot eyes, matted hair, and several days worth of unshaven beard stared up at him. The poor kid took after his father. “What the…Who the hell are you, and what do you want with me?”

  “Detective Noah Daugherty. And I want you to get up, go to the bathroom, take a piss, wash your face, and, please God, brush your teeth. Then come out here, sit in a chair and talk to me like a gentleman. Combing your hair wouldn’t be out of line, either,” he called to Kenny’s retreating back.

  Two minutes later, Kenny grabbed a bottled water from the mini fridge and sat opposite Noah. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?”

  Noah relaxed. The kid wasn’t in on it. He was too sarcastic to have a guilty conscience. “You can turn that brain of yours back a few years and tell me everything you know about Ryan Howell.”

  He hadn’t expected laughter. Kenny got a case of the giggles so bad tears were running down his face. The bottled water splashed onto Kenny’s jeans as he tried to wipe his eyes.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” Kenny cried as he lifted his arms to the ceiling.

  Kenny looked at Noah, a grin splitting his face. “I knew this day would come if I waited long enough.”

  “You want to tell me what’s so funny?” Noah felt a smile forming, but forced it back.

  “That sick fuck. That perfect darling, child protégé could keep his true nature hidden for only so long. I just wasn’t sure I’d be around to see him fall. What’s he done?” Kenny rubbed his hands together. “Tell. Tell.”

  Noah couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s not the way these things work. You tell me. I understand that you and Ryan were friends when you were young.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Detective. We were never friends. His parents thought I could teach him to be sociable, and my parents thought he could teach me to work harder at school. They were both wrong. He is, in my humble opinion, a psychopath. The only thing I ever taught him was how to be a better one.”

  Kenny had quit laughing. His voice took on a hard edge. “And I’m severely dyslexic. No one—not Ryan, my parents, or any teacher—ever made any attempt to help me. They just called me stupid or lazy.”

  Bitterness shown in Kenny’s eyes, but he kept talking. “Junior year, my drama teacher realized my problem when I couldn’t tell stage right from stage left. He stayed after school to work with me. If not for him, I’d be flipping burgers. If I didn’t get fired for messing up the orders. I’ll always have problems, but I’ve learned to cope.”

  The room fell silent as Kenny took a long gulp of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes seemed to stare off into the distance and Noah tried to bring him back to the present.

  “This is just background information, so I’ll know how to deal with him. Still, I need specifics if you’re going to be any he
lp. What exactly did the sick fuck do to you?”

  “He tormented me every way he knew how. Homework took me forever. Any kind of paper was agony. Even math problems. I wouldn’t finish ‘till after midnight. I’d set my papers on the desk and they’d be gone in the morning. I’d look everywhere––in drawers, under the bed—they’d just be gone. I still don’t know how he did it, but I know he took them because he made jokes about it. My parents or teachers never believed me. I can’t tell you how many beatings I took for not doing my homework. Finally I quit doing it altogether.”

  Kenny got up and paced around the tiny room. Noah’s heart went out to him. Betsy had taught dyslexic kids. She’d told him how important it was to start working with them early. How did this kid manage with no help from his parents? But having met the parents, he believed it.

  “You know his parents and my parents had a wife-swap thing going for a while? I think my father blew it by treating Mrs. Howell too rough. I never told Ryan. Even with everything he did, I couldn’t hurt him that way and he was too naive to understand what all the little winks and nudges meant. That didn’t keep him from making comments about my mother. He ogled her and drooled over her. It was sick. He had to have watched through the window or something. My folks didn’t believe in closing the blinds. They’d have gotten a kick out of it if they knew.”

  Not through the window, kid. He had his own private viewing platform.

  Noah shook his head. It was about what he’d imagined had gone down, but hearing it from Kenny turned his stomach. Maybe it was a good thing he’d never be a parent. Nothing messed up a good kid like bad parents. Yet Kenny’s were ten times worse than Ryan’s and he turned out okay. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been lousy at the job. Betsy would have nailed it.

  If she’d had a chance.

  “You know about his finger, don’t you?”

  Kenny’s voice brought him back to the cramped room. “I couldn’t see his hand. He was holding a stack of books.”

  “Most of his first finger and part of his second are missing on his right hand. I’d say that’s what screwed him up, but he was well down that road when it happened. The thing is, he won’t admit it’s gone. Pretends there’s nothing wrong, because it doesn’t fit with his belief that he’s perfect in every way.”

  What the fuck? Noah had known experts who adapted to shooting with the top portion of their trigger finger missing, but not with most of it gone. And with part of his second missing, he wasn’t using that one instead.

  If the kid was right-handed—and he was from the way he picked up his books—the case was shot to hell. And if he was left-handed, he’d need to fire across his body. A more difficult shot and one that was likely to result in a burned right arm. Either way, he’d fucked up. Ryan wasn’t the guy.

  A double meat Whopper and fries, eaten while driving, was a poor substitute for three meals, but the large, chocolate milkshake refreshed Noah and he was ready to get back to work. He’d wasted too much time on a dead end, and worse, he’d wasted his partner’s good opinion.

  First things first. Figure out who killed Crystal Hudson, then make amends with Conner.

  Or should it be the other way around? He had to work with Conner on more than just this one case. He didn’t have so many friends in his life that he could afford to piss one off. But if Conner was a real friend, he should cut him some slack.

  Noah circled two floors of the parking garage before he found an empty spot. He eyed the trashcan beside the elevator and leaned over to gather up his empty food wrappers. No sense letting them smell up his truck or he’d have to drive home with the windows open to air out the onion stink.

  He shook his head as he approached the elevator. Conner had already cut him plenty of slack. All the times he’d been short-tempered, snapped, hadn’t returned phone calls. Conner didn’t owe him any more slack. He owed Conner. And it was time he quit racking up debts he couldn’t pay with cash.

  But he owed Crystal Hudson his attention also. How could he have screwed up so completely? If he alienated his best friend and couldn’t solve a simple case, what would Laurel think of him? His hand froze above the trash can. He meant Betsy. What would Betsy think of him?

  Laurel was Crystal’s friend and wanted the case solved, that’s all. He didn’t believe in Freudian Slips.

  Conner hit send with a flourish. Finally, the last report was finished. He could get some real work done.

  The scorched smell of vending-machine coffee caught his attention. On the corner of his desk sat a steaming Styrofoam cup and a Baby Ruth candy bar.

  “They were out of M&Ms,” Noah’s voice came from above him.

  Conner glanced to his half-open drawer where the last two bags of M&Ms the break room had to offer sat within easy reach. “Too bad you didn’t get here earlier.”

  “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  “Nope. Don’t plan to.”

  “I’m an ass.”

  Conner felt a smile struggling to break through, but he pushed it back. If he laughed now, Noah would pull the same shit again. “That’s a well-known fact. Even uniformed officers working traffic try to avoid you whenever possible. I’ve watched Records Clerks duck into the bathroom when they see you coming down the hall. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  Noah opened his mouth and closed it again. “One time. One time I raised my voice slightly to a Records Clerk, and they all act like I’ll eat them for breakfast.”

  “Are you sure it was just once? And what about the traffic cop who tried to give you a ticket? Did he deserve to be reported? You were speeding.”

  “I was headed to a scene.”

  “No, you weren’t. You needed to go home and feed that dog of yours before you went to the scene. You were embarrassed to be caught in your own neighborhood.”

  Noah’s face flushed. “It was still work. I would have been at the scene for half the night.”

  Conner’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “What about lying to your partner and blowing him off? What’s your excuse for that?”

  “I told you. I’m an ass.” Noah’s voice matched Conner’s. “But, before you ask, I plan to be less of an ass tomorrow, and even less of one the day after that.”

  Conner reached past the M&Ms and pulled out a sheet of paper. He held it up so that Noah could see the Request For Transfer heading. “That’s good, because I’d hate to think this was the last case we’d ever work together.”

  The professor droned on and on, but it was all white noise to Ryan, the words never imprinting on his brain. His mind jumped from one scenario to another as he shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair.

  The cop had to go first; he was the one leading the investigation. No, the client. Without him, the proof would disappear. But what about the witness he’d read about in the warrant? Only the client would have a clue who that might be. Besides, with Derrick out of money, the client couldn’t be touched.

  Maybe Derrick should go first. Or would that bring down more attention? This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Mr. Howell, are you with us today? I’m waiting for an answer.” The professor glared at him from under Andy Rooney eyebrows.

  His mouth went dry, and his tongue had trouble forming the words. “Sorry, sir. I don’t know the answer.” Shit! Never in his life, not one time, had he ever been unprepared.

  Heat crept up the back of his neck as students twisted to gape at him. A soft buzz filled the room. That was it, the cop was done for. They were all done for. But the one he would enjoy most was that sorry excuse for a dog.

  He could creep in any day while the cop was at work. He’d put his hands around that little throat and squeeze, maybe letting up for a few seconds before squeezing again. His fingers tingled in anticipation.

  No one, no…thing, made him look like a fool and lived.

  This all started because he couldn’t shoot a gun. A stupid, insignificant
talent. He couldn’t tap dance or juggle either, but did that make him less valuable? What about singing or playing some silly instrument? That was no different than being born with brown eyes or blue. He remembered the piano and violin in the cop’s house, could almost feel the wood under his fingers, and the excitement of touching his private belongings.

  Think of all the time wasted learning to master those instruments. Time that could have been spent expanding the mind.

  Shooting was different. It was a useful skill and he intended to learn it. And that wouldn’t happen until he faced the fact that his right hand would never be strong enough to pull a trigger.

  He glanced down at his paper. He switched his pen from his right hand to his left and resumed taking notes.

  No need for Derrick now.

  Laurel searched frantically through her jewelry box. Where were her good jade earrings? She upended the box on her bed and pawed through the tangled pile of earrings and bracelets.

  She hadn’t worn them in months. Hadn’t worn any jewelry in months. They could be anywhere. She glanced around at the mess that was her bedroom. Clothes littered the floor and every flat surface was two inches deep in debris. The room even smelled musty. Rosaria had changed her sheets and put a load of underwear in the wash, but she could only do so much.

  Okay, she’d clean up the minute she got back from her interview. Meanwhile, what about the small gold and diamond earrings? They weren’t too ostentatious for daytime.

  Missing. So were the pearls, and the opal set. What about the dangly onyx and diamond ones in white gold? Her heart beat faster. That broach set with gemstones? Nope.

  She emptied the box on her bed and pawed through the contents.

  Her grandmother’s silver and turquoise pendant was there, so was the bracelet her father had given her as a wedding gift.

  She sat back, each breath a struggle. Every piece of jewelry she had left came into the marriage with her, or cost less than a hundred dollars. Her eyes shot to the secret compartment in the bottom of the box. She put a hand out, but it shook so that she dropped it back into her lap.