“Then they were friends,” Amanda murmured, intrigued. “Giordano and Channing.”
“We haven’t been able to determine when—or if—they ever actually met,” Anne Marie told her. “And now we have two people who crossed Archer Lowell dead—as well as one who may or may not have gotten in his way somehow—and one other potential victim who’s been stalked and attacked. You.”
“Strangers on a Train,” Evan said softly. “I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before.”
“What?” Anne Marie said, startled.
“Strangers on a Train. You ever see that movie, where two guys meet and decide to kill for each other?”
“You think the three of these men . . .” Anne Marie played with the idea.
“It makes as much sense as anything else at this point,” Sean told her. “Evan, this may not be so far off the wall.”
“When I was trying to get a handle on the Channing case, I found out that both these men were in High Meadow at the same time, but not in the same wing. Their paths did not appear to cross there. As far as we were able to determine, the only time they were in the same place at the same time was one day earlier this year, when they were transported to the courthouse in the same van. But we interviewed the driver and the guards, and they swear there was no conversation in the van. There never is, they told us. They said these guys didn’t even sit near each other.”
“There had to be something, some time when they talked,” Amanda said.
“So we need to get to Lowell . . .” Anne Marie thought aloud.
“Oh, we just had a nice conversation with him. Let me tell you, he’s really good at playing dumb. Swears he doesn’t know Giordano. Never heard of him, never met him.” Sean taps a pen on the table. “But here’s something else to think about. Archer Lowell gets out of prison in a few weeks.”
“Makes you wonder what’s next, doesn’t it?” Amanda glanced around the room at the others.”If there was some kind of secret agreement, what do you suppose he agreed to do? What’s his part of the bargain?”
Sean left the room and came back with the file of photographs he’d earlier shown to Lowell. He separated several from the stack and handed them to Anne Marie.
“Take a look at these. These were taken at Connie Paschall’s funeral earlier in the week. Anyone look familiar?”
She looked at each one carefully, then said, “This of course is Vince Giordano. He’s darkened his hair and didn’t wear glasses or a mustache when I met him, but it’s clearly the same man.”
Amanda leaned forward to stare at the Giordano photo. “You know, now that I look at this, I think he’s the guy who offered to change my tire.”
“What?” Sean all but exploded. “When?”
“A few weeks ago.” She paused to think. “Actually, I think it might have been the week Marian was killed. I was a little late coming out of the shop one night—I think it might have been the night of the house sale where Marian bought the Russian pieces. I’d completely forgotten about it.”
“What happened?” Sean asked.
“I came out of the shop and went out to the parking lot and found that I had a flat tire. I got out the spare and was starting to put it on when this man came along and offered to do it for me. He got a little huffy when I told him I could do it myself. I remember that about him. He was almost insulted that I’d refused his help.”
“And you’re sure it was this man.” Evan pointed to the photo.
“Pretty sure, yes.”
“Has anyone spoken to the woman he’s with in the photos?” Anne Marie asked. “Do we know who she is?”
Sean nodded. “Name is Dolores Hall. She co-owned the shop with Connie Paschall. Chief Benson over in Carleton did take a statement from her.”
“Maybe she’s involved in this. Maybe she and Vince planned to kill her partner so that she could have the business to herself,” Amanda suggested, recalling that once upon a time, she’d been a suspect in her business partner’s death as well.
“I don’t think that’s his style.” Anne Marie shook her head. “He wouldn’t have a partner, and if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be a woman. He doesn’t trust them, doesn’t respect them. All of his crimes have been against women. He holds women in very low esteem. He would never confide in one.”
“I agree,” Evan said. “I think this thing is his all the way.”
“You have the girlfriend’s statement, the one she gave to Benson?” Evan leaned back in his chair.
“Right here. I’ll make a few copies.” Sean stood. “And I’ll ask Joyce to bring in a pot of coffee. Looks like we’re going to be here for a while.”
Evan stared at the photos of Dolores Hall. “I agree with Anne Marie. I’d be real surprised if Hall had anything to do with this. I think this is all his.”
“Sean, have you considered bringing in the FBI?” Anne Marie asked. “Officially, I mean.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he acknowledged.
“I can arrange to bring in an agent who has had dealings with Giordano before.”
“I’ve never heard of the FBI sending in only one agent,” he noted skeptically.
“This is one very good agent.” She smiled. “What do you say?”
Sean bit the inside of his lower lip. He didn’t really feel that he had a choice. “Make your call,” he told Anne Marie.
“Consider it done.” She drained her coffee cup and turned to Evan. “Will you be driving back to your place in Lyndon for the night, or will you be staying here?”
“I’d planned on driving back to Lyndon,” he replied.
“May I hitch a ride? I thought I’d stay at my sister’s house, since I do have a key, and she’s out of town for a while.”
“This is your sister the advocate?” Amanda asked. “The one Channing tried to kill?”
“Yes.”
“Is she on vacation?”
“Not exactly. She’s on her way out West, tracking down a lead on her missing daughter.” Anne Marie stood up and smoothed her black skirt. “Seven years ago, Mara’s ex-husband disappeared and took their daughter with him. Mara’s been searching for her ever since.”
“Oh, my God. That’s horrible.” Amanda set her cup down. “That’s just . . . horrible.”
“It has been a nightmare,” Anne Marie agreed. “But this new lead looks very, very promising. We’ve all got our fingers crossed.”
“Can’t the FBI help?”
“The FBI is on the case, trust me.” Anne Marie turned to Evan. “If you’re ready . . .”
“I’m ready. Amanda, you’re still staying with Sean’s sister?”
“Yes,” she laughed ruefully. “I am never alone, Evan, never fear. I haven’t been alone for five minutes since Marian died.”
“Getting to you, is it?” Evan paused to study her face, his hand on her shoulder.
“A little.” She smiled. “It’s okay, though. I don’t really mind. And it sure as hell beats the alternative.”
The house was strangely dark and quiet when Vince came back downstairs, humming “Sweet Home Alabama” and dying to dig into the Chinese. He flipped on the lamp nearest the stairs and went in the direction of the kitchen.
“Dolores?” he called as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.
The basement door stood ajar. He leaned through it and yelled, “Dee! You down there?”
When there was no answer, he looked out through the back door window and realized that her car was not in the drive.
“Idiot. Can’t find her way to the Chinese restaurant and back by herself,” he muttered as he rustled through the stack of take-out menus on the counter.
He dialed the number for Ming Gardens. “Yeah, I’m calling to see if an order has been picked up yet. Called in about thirty minutes ago. Name is Hall.”
He waited while the take-out bags were checked.
“No order for Hall.”
“Oh. Well, maybe she put it under Daniels. Look and se
e if there’s something there for Daniels.”
More rustling in the background.
“No order for Hall, no order for Daniels. You want to place an order?”
“Maybe she just picked it up. Dolores, you know Dolores Hall. Blond lady . . . comes in a lot.”
“Yes, yes. I know Miss Hall. She’s not here.”
“But has she been there?”
“No. You want to place an order?”
He hung up without responding.
She must be on her way back. Well, she’d better have a damned good reason why it took her so long to go a couple of blocks and back. He was starving.
He’d spent the day wasting time walking around the mall about thirty miles away. It had bored him near to death, but he had to maintain the pretext that his construction company was busy and that he had lots of work lined up. How else could he explain all the money he spent if he didn’t work?
He had also made a quick stop to check out his stash of cash, as he did once every two weeks or so. You couldn’t be too careful.
He made a pot of coffee and drank a cup as he paced back and forth. This was getting ridiculous. Where could the stupid cow be?
Soon the quiet was beginning to get to him. He went into the living room and turned on the TV, then hesitated before sitting down on the sofa. It never failed—the minute Vince got comfortable, the damned cat showed up and tried sitting on his lap. He tolerated it when Dolores was around, but wasn’t above giving it a good kick when she wasn’t.
Where was that damned cat, anyway?
“Cujo, you furry pain in the ass, where the hell are you?”
He went back into the kitchen, figuring if he dropped some cat treats into the bowl, the cat would come running, like it always did. Piggy cat.
He opened the pantry door.
No cat treats.
He looked down at the floor.
No cat bowl.
“What the fuck?” he muttered.
The unthinkable occurred to him. Vince raced back through the house and up the steps.
He flung open the closet door in the bedroom, but the suitcase that had stood there just a few days earlier was gone. He opened drawers to see if he could tell if anything was missing, but jeez, the woman had so many clothes.
He opened the top drawer and searched under her underwear for the box in which she kept the pendant. Nothing.
He slammed the drawer shut.
Son of a bitch. Dolores, you son of a bitch. He knocked a lamp off the end of the dresser.
He went back down the stairs, trying to put it all together. Had she been so crushed by Connie’s death that she just had to run away? Could that be it? But she would have said something, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
Or was there something else . . . some other reason why she might want to leave without him knowing she was going?
Vinnie took a deep breath and picked up the tweed jacket. He stuck his hand into first one pocket, then the other. Nothing.
In total disbelief, he lowered himself onto the sofa cushion.
The little bitch had outsmarted him.
She’d outsmarted him.
Who’da thought it. Dumb little Dolores. Dumb, dull little Dolores. Somehow she’d figured it all out.
Even as his anger grew, so did a perverse sort of admiration for her. She’d outsmarted him.
He went up the steps to get his things. With no time to waste, he shoved his clothes, his shaving things, his toothbrush into his travel bag.
For all he knew, she was at the police station right that minute. There was no way of knowing how much time he had before cars came screaming down the street.
“Dolores, Dolores, why’d you do this, baby?” He shook his head as he hurried to the back door. “You know when I catch up with you, I’m gonna have to kill you. . . .”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sean stepped through the wide doors that opened into the small lobby of the Broeder Police Department and wondered for about the fiftieth time just what the builders had thought might someday be coming through that door that merited so large an opening into so small a room. Joyce was long gone, her place at the desk taken by the officer in charge that night. It was 9:35 P.M., what should have been the end of a long day, and he’d just dropped Amanda off at Greer’s and seen her safely inside. There were two black and whites there, one out front, one parked in the back by the garage, keeping an eye on things from the rear of the property. His brother-in-law, newly returned from his trip, had found the whole thing oddly exciting.
To each his own. Personally, Sean couldn’t wait till this whole thing was over and instead of playing bodyguard to Amanda Crosby, he could think about getting close to her in other ways. These days, it just never did seem to be the appropriate time or place to do much more than watch her back and focus on catching the son of a bitch who’d turned their lives upside down.
“Oh, Chief. I just tried to phone you,” Kevin Reilly, the duty officer, called to him. “You have a visitor. Said it’s really important that she speak with you right away.”
Sean closed his eyes. Honest to God, Ramona, I don’t have time for this. . . .
“Later. See if you can get Chief Benson over at the Carleton P.D. on the line.”
Sean leaned over the counter and took the phone when Reilly handed it to him.
“They’re giving you his voice mail,” Reilly told him. “They said he checks it every fifteen minutes or so at night.”
Sean waited for the prompt, then said, “Bob, Sean Mercer. I need you to pick up Dolores Hall, Connie Paschall’s partner in that hairdressing place. You need to talk to her about her boyfriend. Give me a call back on my cell and I’ll give you the details.”
Sean handed the phone back to Reilly, who looked up and said, “Chief, she’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“Dolores Hall.”
“Jesus, Reilly, why didn’t you say so? Where is she?”
“The little room just across from your office.”
The conference room door stood open. Dolores Hall was seated in a chair facing the door, clutching a large gray cat in her arms.
They stared at each other for a moment, then Sean asked, “How are you feeling, Miss Hall?”
“Dolores. It’s Dolores.” Her voice was soft and shaky. “And I’m not feeling so good.”
“I know this week has been hard on you. Losing your partner . . .”
Her eyes welled up. “Connie was more than my business partner. She was my best friend. Maybe the best friend I ever had.”
“Funny you should stop in here today, Miss . . . Dolores. I just left a message for Chief Benson down there in Carleton to stop over and pay you a visit. I want to talk to you about Vince Giordano.”
“Who?”
“Vince Giordano. We know he’s been staying with you.”
“You mean Vinnie.” She frowned. “He said his name was Vinnie Daniels.”
“Close enough. Whatever he’s calling himself, it’s the same guy.”
He got up and went across the hall to his office and returned with a folder in his hands. He pulled out several pictures and handed the first one across the table to her.
“This was Vince Giordano on the day he was arrested for murder down in Lyndon.”
“Who’d he kill?” she asked, her face paling.
“His wife and his two sons.”
She went another shade whiter. “Why isn’t he in prison?”
“Because he was convicted on tainted evidence, and his attorney got him off.” Sean handed her the pictures that were taken at Connie’s funeral. “And here he is, among the mourners at your friend’s funeral.”
Dolores sat and stared. She looked up at Sean with red-rimmed eyes and said softly, “I found her ring.”
“Excuse me?”
“I found her ring. In the pocket of his jacket. The jacket he wore the night she was killed.” Her voice was flat, without emotion.
“Where is the ring now?”
She took it off her hand and placed it on the table.
“Are you sure, absolutely sure, that this was her ring?” Sean made no move to touch it.
She picked it up and turned it so that the inside of the band was facing him. “Those are her initials.”
“You know that this ties him to her murder.”
Dolores nodded, her jaw set with resolution even as her eyes were filled with fear.
“Dolores, why are you bringing this to me, in Broeder, instead of to Chief Benson in Carleton?”
“Because I was afraid he’d find me if I stayed there. I wanted to get away from Carleton so that he wouldn’t find me. Besides, the newspaper said you were looking for this”—she started to rummage in her purse—“and that if anyone knew anything about it, to contact you right away.”
She removed a piece of newspaper folded small, then held up a small box and handed it to him. Sean opened it, and his heart all but stopped beating.
The pendant from Marian’s shop.
“Where did you get this?”
“He—Vinnie—gave it to me.” She made a face as she spread open the newspaper article. “He said it had belonged to his grandmother.”
“When? When did he give this to you?”
“About a week ago. On a Friday night.”
Sean glanced at the calendar on the wall. That would have taken them back to the night after Marian had been killed.
“It’s not exactly like the one in the paper, but it’s real close, don’t you think?” Dolores appeared to study the pendant as if she hadn’t seen it before, then covered her face with her hands.
Sean got up and went to her, sat down in the chair next to hers. “You are incredibly brave to come here, Dolores.”
“He killed her. He killed her because he knew that she saw this”—she stabbed at the newspaper with an angry finger—“and he knew that sooner or later, she’d show me. He killed her because of me. I let this . . . this . . . animal into my life, and he killed my best friend. It’s my fault she’s dead.”
Dead Certain Page 26
