“That was fast,” muttered Ray. “Last time I needed him to install a lock, it took him two weeks to show up.”
“Lindsey’s pretty persuasive when she sets her mind to something.”
“So I see. What did you find?”
Jeff pointed into the office at the old lock works lying on the desk. “He didn’t touch anything in here but the recorder. He deleted last night’s footage from the cameras. But he left no prints. No help there. The only clue is that the lock’s scarred. The door hadn’t been forced, but Lindsey insists none of the keys are missing since she pulled the duplicate set out of RuthAnn’s house. So I took the lock apart. It’s scraped up somewhat inside, like it’s been picked or a bad copy of the key had to be jiggled and forced.” He plucked a small pick from his kit and pointed at a section of the lock. “See? There are tiny shavings left behind. Not from normal use.”
Ray didn’t peer too closely. “I’ll take your word for it. Is that it? Metal shavings?”
Some of Jeff’s enthusiasm waned. “Pretty much. No prints on the door or window. There’re a couple of smudges in the paint, like he’d worn gloves. Lindsey said nothing has been moved anywhere in here. Considering how many people come and go through the restaurant on a daily basis, I figured fingerprinting most of the surfaces would be useless.”
“Probably right. What’s your plan now?”
Jeff’s shoulders dropped. “Truth is, we don’t have a lot left to go on. Lindsey’s memory is still unreliable. Her sisters haven’t heard of anyone named Karen. I went through the boy’s personal effects last night, logged everything into evidence, but there’s nothing there. No wallet or ID, just a pair of jeans and a T-shirt you could buy at any store. I’m going to talk to Troy about the replacement parts on the GTO, see if they’ll turn up an address. Are those security guards here yet?”
“Outside. And do me a favor. Talk to Lindsey about hiring some help.”
“Missing your wife?”
Ray grinned. “Something like that.” Then the grin vanished, and Ray crossed his arms. “They aren’t going to say anything because they want to help her out in this. But this is April’s busiest season, post-harvest and with her trying to get Christmas mailers out. Daniel told me she’s been filling orders until after midnight, then coming to bed exhausted. June’s the same way with the grants. Some of her deadlines can’t be postponed. We’re all burning it at both ends.”
“No wonder April ran late this morning.”
“And I know it may be hard, given what’s happened with RuthAnn. But it would also be better for Lindsey to have more help, especially right now. She’s going to drive herself right into the ground, if she’s not careful.”
Jeff nodded and stripped off his latex gloves, dropping them in his kit. “Will do.”
Ray clapped Jeff once on the shoulder and strode off, leaving Jeff alone with the locksmith. Through the back door, Jeff watched Ray check with the one other officer who remained at the scene. As they cleared each area of the restaurant, the other men had returned to their regular duties.
Jeff rolled his shoulders back, suddenly wishing for the resources of a much bigger department. Although he loved being here in Bell County, with its relatively low crime rate and close-knit communities, working with larger departments like the LAPD had spoiled him with their easy access to things that juries these days took for granted, like in-depth forensics results. In truth, forensics seldom solved anything; evidence just backed up what the detectives discovered or already knew. Sometimes investigators knew exactly who had committed the crime long before they could put together enough evidence to prove it in court.
Still, it would have been nice to have more officers to help with crime scenes and easier access to labs for DNA and weapons checks. He could run fingerprints at their own station, but that pretty much exhausted the immediate scientific help. He sniffed, hearing his mother’s words in his head. Jeff, we have to make do with what God has provided. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Right, Mom.
“How much longer, Ralph?”
The locksmith paused in his work. “A few more minutes here, then I’ll start on the front door. Lindsey wants the cellar door locks changed, too.”
“Locks? I thought there was just the one outside entrance.”
Ralph wiped his forehead with one sleeve. “Nah, man. In places this old, there was always a way to access the cellar from inside. All the deliveries go in from the outside. Keeps folks from tromping through the kitchen. Hers is at the back of the storeroom.” Ralph motioned with a tool toward a narrow door on the opposite side of the kitchen.
Scowling, Jeff went back to his kit and pulled out gloves again. “Don’t touch those till I give you the all clear, okay?”
“You got it, boss,” Ralph said, picking up a file.
Snapping on his gloves, Jeff took his kit and went to the door of the storeroom. It still stood slightly ajar, having been cleared earlier by one of the officers. He probably thought it was a dead-end closet, too.
Jeff turned on the light. Two shelves filled with restaurant supplies lined the narrow room, and there did not seem to be an exit at the back. He looked again at the door. No signs of damage. No lock. Jeff decided to check both sides for prints later, although he suspected any he found would wind up belonging to someone who worked for the restaurant.
Jeff entered slowly, moving toward the back. A creak made him look behind him. The storeroom door slowly swung shut, as if under its own power. Jeff shook his head. “Spooky old houses.”
At the back of the closet, he found that one set of shelves ended more than three feet from the rear wall. In the open space was an ancient plank door held shut by a flip latch that looked as if it had been installed in the 1930s. “Really secure.” Jeff wondered why Lindsey hadn’t replaced it, then thought about the steel-reinforced lock on the outside cellar door, which was connected to the alarm. Probably didn’t think she needed to.
Just as we took it for granted. When the officers who’d swarmed to the scene had surveyed the restaurant upon arrival, they’d double-checked the cellar. The heavy lock had not been tampered with and they’d moved on to the back door, which stood open.
Jeff set the kit down, pulled out his gun and stood to one side before yanking open the cellar door. As he expected, silence. The chilled air rushing out of the cellar felt heavy and carried with it the smell of potatoes, turnips and earth. He reached inside the frame and felt for a light switch. The resulting yellow glow illuminated a short set of steps leading down to a rock-walled room filled with hefty, serviceable shelves. Crates of vegetables lined them, and clusters of garlic and peppers hung from the heavy floor joists of the cellar.
Jeff descended the steps, checked under them quickly, then looked around the room. Only the heavy silence of an underground room greeted him in return. A short distance from the steps, a thin string dangled, and Jeff jerked it, turning on more lights. The room extended quite a way underneath the house, but the food supplies were near the door. Farther back looked like unneeded, little-used equipment. Most of the pieces lay beneath thick blankets of plastic and dust.
Jeff moved among the shelves and the stacks of discarded gear, letting out a long sigh as he realized there was nothing, and no one, down here. He relaxed, his arm pointing the gun toward the floor. Returning to the rear door, he took out his flashlight and peered closely at it. With the outside lock undisturbed, he expected to find this one equally intact.
Only it wasn’t. It was damaged, pry marks lining either side of the steel plate, as if someone had tried to jimmy it open from the inside. Recently.
From the inside. Jeff scowled. “Why would—?”
A scuff sounded behind him.
Jeff snapped alert, too late. He swung around, turning directly into the blow aimed for the side of his head. He glimpsed a blur
red image of dark hair and white flesh, then a thousand lights exploded behind his eyes and Jeff dropped to his knees. He fought for consciousness, trying to swing his gun up. Searing pain shot up his wrist as the second blow disarmed him. He barely felt the third one, as blackness swarmed over him.
TEN
Lindsey’s feet ached. She massaged the muscles in the small of her back, arching, trying to stretch out the kinks. Her ankle throbbed, swelling painfully inside her shoe.
“Big difference between serving coffee on asphalt and running around on wood, huh?” April said, doing her own stretching.
“No kidding.” Lindsey checked her watch. Almost nine. The breakfast traffic had dwindled to the occasional late riser. But they’d done the best they could under the circumstances. They’d served more than two hundred cups of coffee and almost as many pastries. Not great for her bottom line, but she knew it would probably pay off in the long run. She also found out that most people already knew about the kidnapping. They expressed sympathy and promised to give the police information, if they came across any. They would watch for strangers around town. They seemed eager to help.
Life in a small town. Once again, she felt grateful God had led her here.
Lindsey glanced at the front of the restaurant, where Ralph had finished changing the front locks. Now he rocked impatiently from one foot to the other as he chatted with Max, who’d wandered over there a little while ago to see if he could help.
“Why hasn’t he started on the cellar?” Lindsey asked.
“Don’t think we’re the ones to ask,” June replied from beside her.
Lindsey looked around, an odd, suspicious feeling growing in her gut. The yellow tape still fluttered across the front of the restaurant, but the last of the uniformed officers had departed about thirty minutes before, leaving only the two security guards, plus Jeff and Ralph on the scene. Lindsey squinted, trying to see Jeff through the front window, to no avail. She looked at the guards, one of whom leaned against the hood of his car, looking obvious and official, like an FBI agent at a college frat party. The other one had been circling the property on a regular basis, making rounds.
“Nothing obvious about those guys,” she muttered.
June snorted. “I asked Ray if he hired them from Central Casting. But I think they’re from a reputable company. I think he’s going to talk to them about fitting in better with the local folk. Not many neckties in our normal crowd.”
“Have either of you seen Jeff?”
Her sisters shook their heads.
“I think it’s time to shut this down. Word will spread that we’re going to be closed the rest of the day. Let’s take everything back inside, see what Jeff has found.”
Lindsey gathered an armful of supplies and headed for the door. When she reached Ralph and Max, she nodded back toward the remaining equipment. “Could y’all help us bring all this inside?”
Ralph nodded quickly, as if eager for something to do. “Sure.”
“By the way, did you get the cellar locks changed already?”
Ralph shook his head. “Jeff asked me to wait until he’d finished checking out the cellar. Didn’t think it would take him this long.”
Lindsey paused, calculating how long it had been since she seen Jeff. “When was this?”
“I was finishing up the back. Told him I wanted to start on the front, then do the cellar.” Ralph’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at his watch. His words slowed as alarm entered his voice. “Almost...an hour...”
Fear shot through Lindsey, and she shoved her supplies into Max’s arms. He took them awkwardly, fighting to keep his balance. “I’m sure he’s—”
“My cellar isn’t that big!”
She fled into the restaurant, skidding into the kitchen. “Jeff!” She flung open the storeroom door. “Jeff!” Footsteps thundered through the restaurant as everyone followed her.
She bounded down into the cellar, stopping cold as she saw Jeff on the floor near the back door. Blood trailed from a cut on his temple, pooling under his head. His face looked pale gray in the dim light of the cellar. A sudden rush of fear chilled her to the bone.
“Call 911!” she screamed over her shoulder. “Jeff!” Lindsey dropped to her knees beside him and pressed two fingers against his jugular. “He’s alive!”
She looked at the cluster of people behind her. June spoke firmly into her phone, but the others gaped at her. “Ralph, get this door open! Now! Max, go wait for the ambulance. April, get me the first aid kit from the kitchen.”
Focusing again on Jeff, she held trembling fingers under his nose, where she could feel a faint movement of air. “Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.”
Warm sunshine filled the cellar as Ralph opened the door to the outside.
April thumped the first aid kit down next to her. “He may be in shock.”
Lindsey nodded. “There are two blankets in the storeroom. Top shelf. Wrapped in plastic. Get them.”
April nodded and vanished. Her hands still fluttering with fear and adrenaline, Lindsey threw open the kit, pulling out a bottle of water. She tore open a packet of gauze and dampened it, touching it lightly to the blood on Jeff’s face. Most of it was dried, and she dabbed it away until she could make out several deep gashes just above his ear. Behind her, April clattered down the steps, peeling the plastic away from the blankets. Air rushed over them as she shook them out and draped them over Jeff’s body.
Lindsey knew there wasn’t much more they could do, but she kept washing away the dried blood, muttering, “Wake up. Please wake up.” In the distance, she could hear the siren of the ambulance.
At her side, June put a hand on her arm. “Lindsey, stop. You can’t do any more. They’re on the way.”
Lindsey looked at her, tears stinging her eyes. “Because of me. This is because of me.”
June pulled Lindsey into her arms. “He’ll be all right. It’ll be okay.”
Lindsey leaned heavily against June. “No. It won’t. Not until we stop this guy.”
* * *
Jeff blinked at the man in front of him. “Nick?”
The director of the NorthCrest emergency department looked up from the computer at Jeff. “Don’t even ask about going back to work. Alan told me you asked three times what happened. You’re blinking at me like you can’t see, and my guess is you’re about to have a monster of a headache when the painkillers wear off.”
“I just thought I had a drummer in my head.”
“So, no, you’re not going anywhere till you have another CT scan. And I have to say, I’m getting tired of sending you for these. When are y’all going to catch this guy?”
“Trying my best. Putting my head into it.” Jeff winced, reaching his fingers toward the left side of his face. The effects of local anesthetic had started to subside, and the new stitches ached and pulled.
“Don’t touch that.”
A thousand drumsticks beat against the inside of Jeff’s skull, trying to break out. “What do you think he hit me with?”
“A meat tenderizer.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Ray told me they found one with blood on it not far from your body. The kind that looks like a mallet with points on it. Did a real number on the side of your face. Your wrist isn’t broken, but it’s going to hurt like crazy for a while, as well. Keep icing it and keep the wounds clean. We gave you a tetanus shot, but getting hit with something that’s used on raw meat is a recipe for infection, no matter how clean Lindsey keeps it. I’m going to give you a script for some painkillers and an antibiotic. Take them. Doctor’s orders.”
Jeff nodded once. His head hurt too much to nod any more than that.
Nick took off his glasses and tucked them into a pocket. “Seriously, Jeff. I’m worried about these blows to your head so cl
ose together. This time you took far too long to wake up.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. The last one left you with a mild concussion. This one is even more serious. Last time the CT scan was a precaution. This time it’s a necessity.” He paused and rocked forward once, then settled into a firmly planted stance. “In fact, I’m tempted to recommend that you be taken off active duty.”
Jeff stiffened. “You can’t—”
“Can and will. My first concern is your health, not your case. You need to heal, which could take a while. And so far, this case isn’t giving you the chance. Another blow like this could mean serious brain damage, or worse. Instead of losing a case, you could lose your career. Or your life. Can’t you focus on the intellectual side of the case? Let Ray work the on-the-scene stuff?”
Jeff’s mouth twisted. “Lindsey...needs...” He stopped, abruptly unsure of what he wanted to say next.
Nick fell silent a few moments, watching Jeff as if his actions confirmed Nick’s diagnosis. He started to speak when there was a tap on the door. Nick opened it and nodded to the person on the other side. “Your ride is here for the scan. I’ll talk to Ray.”
* * *
Lindsey paced the waiting area, limping.
June and April watched her, their faces knitted with concern. “Lindsey...” June began.
“No,” she said, without waiting for her sister to finish. “I can’t sit. He almost killed Jeff. He was inside! He knew the restaurant well enough to know he could hide in the cellar until almost everyone left. Knew it wouldn’t be searched if it was still locked from the outside. If I hadn’t asked Ralph to change the locks, Jeff wouldn’t even have gone down there.”
June stood. “The cops should have cleared it—”
Lindsey shook her head. “They didn’t know there was an entrance in the storeroom. I should have said something.”
Memory of Murder Page 11
