Back Against the Wall

by Janice Kay Johnson

  She made a face at him. “Of course I do. I plan to spend most of the day right here on the couch. But...will you call? So I know when you’re coming back?”

  “I’ll call.” He took a half step toward her, as if he wanted to kiss her, then abruptly turned away, thanked her father and left.

  * * *

  FEELING MORE TURMOIL than he liked, Tony drove straight to the tax firm. Yesterday, he’d been assured that Keith Reistad, one of two founders of the firm, would be there today. The other founder had retired at some point, although additional partners had since been added.

  In the parking lot, he turned off the engine but sat there for a few minutes. Even his stomach churned with tension.

  He’d never had a woman he cared about in danger. The pressure to find the killer before he could get to Beth again was a crushing weight. Then there was Tony’s personal crap. His mother’s refusal to soften her demands on him. The hurt in Beth’s eyes this morning when he made it plain he wouldn’t be introducing her to his family in the near future. Dealing with his family was stress enough without introducing anyone new. But her expression had served as warning: Beth wasn’t a woman who could enjoy a casual dating and sexual relationship with no expectations for a future.

  Yeah, this was too soon. But would he ever be ready?

  It took him a few minutes, but he finally jammed all the tension down deep, freeing him to focus on interviewing a man who would have known Christine Marshall well.

  The first time Tony had come by here, his primary intent had been to gather information on her clients. Since then, he’d done some research on Reistad.

  He’d barely been older than Christine when she went to work for him. Like Dr. Schuh and the arrogant attorney, Michael Longley, Reistad had been lean and handsome. Also married, and still was to the same woman. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t had affairs.

  Reistad came out to shake hands and lead Tony to his office. Tony hadn’t found a recent photo but saw that the man hadn’t changed much. Maybe five foot ten, he had wavy brown hair that, despite what was probably a salon cut, still managed to appear disheveled. He’d stayed fit, like Tony’s other leading suspects, and had a broad, friendly smile. He wasn’t handsome in the same way the other two men were, with his nose crooked, his whole face slightly out of alignment, but Tony could imagine a woman finding him more appealing.

  “What can I do for you?” the CPA asked, after they were seated in an office that was a whole lot more utilitarian than the partners’ offices at the law firm. Walls were bare, the furniture comfortable but understated. While attorneys had to impress potential clients, it was possible any display of wealth would repel clients here, who didn’t want to believe their accountant was soaking them.

  Tony launched into his usual explanation: as part of investigating Christine Marshall’s death, he was trying to speak to her friends and co-workers, and was hoping Reistad would let him see her client list.

  He saw the refusal gathering in eyes as blue as Christine’s had been. Reistad kept smiling even as he said, “I think you’ll need a warrant for that. I can tell you that, in general, she dealt mainly with couples, some steady businesses, nothing too complex.”

  Keith Reistad could play Puck in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Yeah, that hint of mischief in his smile might well have appealed to a woman married to a man Tony suspected was incapable of humor.

  “I know that she developed a friendship with at least one of her clients,” he said.

  “The pediatrician?” Reistad shrugged. “She took her kids to him, too, so that was natural enough.”

  “What about other clients? Do you become friends with people you meet when you do their tax returns?”

  “Rarely.” Body relaxed, Reistad didn’t look bothered by the question. “You know, nobody likes tax time. We’re probably a little like dentists. No pleasant associations.”

  “Unless you save someone a lot of money.”

  He laughed. “That does happen. As for Christine...” He gave his head a slow shake. “I don’t remember anything like that, but I’m not sure I would, or that she’d have told me.”

  “Did she have particular friends among her co-workers? I’ve been able to track down only one close woman friend.”

  “I want to say she and Andrea... Van something—” he clicked his fingers until his expression cleared “—Vanbeek, that was it. I know they went to lunch together, that kind of thing. I can’t tell you where to find her, though. She quit and moved away after a divorce. Six or seven years ago?”

  “Perhaps your records include a forwarding address.”

  “I’ll ask,” he said pleasantly. “Now, if there isn’t anything else?”

  “I’d like your impressions of Christine. You worked with her for some years.”

  A flicker of some emotion passed over Reistad’s face too fast for Tony to identify it. “She was upbeat and immensely likable. Pretty, as I’m sure you’re aware. People tended to think she was considerably younger than her age. Chris was popular here, both with staff and clients. I’ll admit to being shocked when she disappeared. I know the assumption was that she’d run off with a man, but I was stunned that she hadn’t given notice. We had to really scramble to cover her work.”

  “I’m told she was part-time.”

  “Some of the year. Not when she walked out.” He shook his head, as if annoyed with himself. “Except she didn’t. Finding out she was murdered...well, that’s another shock.”

  “Very much so for her family.”

  “Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it? I’m told she was...in the wall? How is that possible?”

  Were details like that common knowledge now? Tony supposed it would be irresistible. “It’s an older house,” he explained, “built differently than newer ones. And she was a very small woman.”

  “I see.”

  If he was disturbed, Tony couldn’t tell.

  Reistad walked him out, stopping to ask a woman in one of the offices to look up Andrea Vanbeek’s forwarding address. She jotted it down and handed the slip of paper to Tony.

  He left, mulling over his impressions of the guy. Unless Keith, too, had called Emily to mine for information, was there any way he could know that Beth might be able to identify her mother’s killer, if a single memory clicked into place?

  As Christine’s boss, he’d probably met her kids in passing but wasn’t likely to have had much of a relationship with them. Wouldn’t even Emily have wondered if he’d called her now out of the blue?

  Yeah, but this wasn’t that big a town. He could have run into Oberholtzer, the banker, or Longley, the attorney. It would be natural for them to share what they knew, especially if he pumped the well a little, so to speak.

  A few phone calls, Tony thought, and he could find out.

  * * *

  EMILY SOBBED INCONSOLABLY. Beth couldn’t understand a word her sister was saying.

  She broke in, “Honey, you thought you were talking to friends. I know you didn’t want anything bad to happen.”

  The wails rose in intensity.

  “Please,” she begged. “Quit crying. This can’t be good for you.”

  Her father had slipped away when he realized who she was calling. That being typical of him, she hardly noticed. And, really, listening to this conversation wouldn’t be any fun, even secondhand.

  It took twenty minutes before her little sister’s sobs changed to hiccups and repeated, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  Emily announced her intention of coming to stay with Beth and take care of her, since this was all her fault.

  Beth winced at the idea. “That’s nice of you,” she said gently, “but I already have a friend staying nights. It’s working out well. I’m actually at Dad’s today.”

  When Beth asked, Emily woefully listed everyone she could remember telling about t
he drawing and the fact that her sister thought she might have seen another drawing by the same artist. Some of the names were harmless—Emily’s friends, Debra Abernathy, and Jennifer Sager, half of a couple who’d been friends of their parents.

  “I had to upgrade my phone, and she saw me talking to one of the reps. She still manages the Verizon store, you know.”

  “I haven’t seen her in years,” Beth admitted.

  “Because your phone is practically an antique,” her sister retorted, confirming that she’d bounced back from her emotional storm.

  Beth made a face, since her sister wouldn’t see her anyway. “It not only works just fine, it’s only four years old, which hardly qualifies as antique.” Living within her means wasn’t one of Emily’s strengths. It simply wouldn’t occur to her that she shouldn’t have the latest and greatest phone, which all of her friends were certain to buy, too.

  A couple minutes later, Beth was able to claim Dad needed her, so she could get off the phone. The white lie came so easily, she realized she wasn’t as honest a person as she liked to think she was. That was probably no surprise; managing her dysfunctional family meant doing a lot of soothing. Matt was the only one who could take a direct comment. He might blow up, but later he’d apologize and at least understand why she’d said what she had.

  A wave of exhaustion swept over her, and not only because of the conversation with Emily. Physical pain, only blunted, contributed, as did the medication. All the revelations about her family that had come out in the past week suddenly seemed overwhelming. And Tony—Tony was going to hurt her, she feared. This was why a smart woman didn’t let herself get involved with a man too quickly. Apparently she hadn’t had enough experience to be smart, at least about men.

  It had happened so ridiculously fast, but she’d never felt like this about a man before. But, while she believed he was powerfully attracted to her, this morning suggested that he’d had an end date in mind from the first time he kissed her. Maybe he would never really let himself fall in love. She could understand why, if he didn’t want to have children, given how involved he’d had to be in raising his siblings. They still needed him. His pride in his youngest sister’s ambition to be a doctor had been obvious. He already had nieces and nephews.

  Chagrined at how depressed she felt for no good reason, she lay down on the sofa with her head on a throw pillow. She thought about pulling the throw over herself, but it was too hot in the house already, at not even 10:00 a.m.

  As she closed her eyes, she resolved not to be a coward where Tony was concerned. Expecting him to introduce her to his family a week after they met was ridiculous. She didn’t want to let her own sense of inadequacy, her fears, rule her. Picturing the tenderness she so often saw in his eyes, she knew she had to take the relationship as far as he was willing for it to go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “KEITH REISTAD?” Michael Longley sounded surprised. “Of course I know him. A number of his clients have come to me when they needed legal counsel.”

  Counsel. That sounded like a euphemism to Tony, but call him a cynic. Cops in general hated all defense attorneys. Tony knew some he liked just fine, Phil Ochoa being one. Longley was too slick for him.

  But, on the positive side, he’d taken Tony’s call, despite the way their last conversation had ended.

  Leaning back in his desk chair at the station, Tony kept an eye on an altercation across the room, though two detectives appeared to have the furious man under control. To Longley, he said, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but have you seen him or spoken to him recently?”

  A short, suspicious silence. “Just yesterday he called with some questions about one of those mutual clients. Why?”

  “Did you discuss Christine Marshall or the investigation?”

  “Of course we did,” Longley said impatiently. “Who isn’t talking about it?”

  “Specifically, did you pass on what you’d learned from speaking to Mrs. Marshall’s daughter, Emily?”

  “If I did, is that a crime?”

  “No, Mr. Longley, it is not. All I’m doing is attempting to trace the flow of information.”

  “Then, yes, I believe I did. We’re friends who both cared about Christine. Discussing what we knew was natural.”

  “I understand. Thank you for taking my call.”

  Replacing the receiver, Tony did some more brooding.

  He’d already brought his lieutenant up to date on the investigation, much as he hated admitting to not being sure where to go next with it.

  “I’m not a fan of hypnosis,” the lieutenant had said, “but that might be one route.”

  Tony had argued—and still felt—that it would be better if Beth came up with the memory naturally. Prosecutors were reluctant to file charges even partially based on memories recovered under hypnosis, since defense attorneys tended to rip them apart.

  “Anything solid tying the artist to the killing will be hard to come by as it is,” he’d said. “Just because this guy had an affair with the murdered woman doesn’t mean he murdered her. Our best bet will be matching his fingerprints on the replacement sheet of wallboard. I might have been getting to the point of thinking I was wasting my time, if he hadn’t tried to kill Beth.”

  “You’re sure—”

  “It makes sense,” he had retorted. “Why else would an inoffensive woman be a target? This guy wasn’t trying to incapacitate her so he could rape her. It’s pretty clear his goal was to kill her. For now, that has to be my assumption.”

  Lieutenant Davidson agreed, leaving Tony no further ahead than he’d been.

  He’d been resisting the temptation all day to check on Beth, but with it now being midafternoon, he called her.

  “Tony?” Answering, she sounded groggy.

  Frowning, he said, “You okay?”

  “You caught me dozing.”

  “A nap is a good idea. You need the extra rest right now.”

  Her laugh sounded husky. She couldn’t possibly have intended to arouse him, but, damn it, she had.

  “This was nap number two. I slept away a good part of the morning, had lunch and settled down to read. I think I fell asleep mid-page. How’s your day going?”

  “Frustrating. I did interview Keith Reistad, your mom’s former boss. He won’t hand over her client list without a warrant.”

  “Can he give it to you, legally?”

  “It’s not like we’re asking for the client’s confidential financial information,” he grumbled.

  “I suspect it wouldn’t look good for him if word got out that he’d given you that information.”

  Tony grimaced because she was right. He did understand Reistad’s decision, which didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “You didn’t know him well, did you?” He hadn’t asked her as much about Keith Reistad as he should have.

  “Hardly at all,” Beth said promptly. “Mom would make a quick stop at the office with at least one of us tagging along when we were younger, but she’d make us sit in the waiting room while she went in back. When we were older, we’d sit in the car. That way we could tell stupid jokes or fight or whatever. I might recognize him if we came face-to-face in the grocery store, but mostly his name is familiar because Mom talked about him.”

  “You get a sense of whether she liked working for him, or if they had conflict, or...?”

  “She really liked him, I think. I used to—” Beth stopped.

  The unexpected silence made him wish he could see her face. Tony waited but, when she didn’t continue, he had to say, “You used to what?”

  “Sort of cringe when she started to talk about this amazing coup her boss had pulled off, or how brilliant he was,” she said very softly. “Mom would do it at the dinner table. Dad would just keep eating, but...it must have stung.”

  Tony had the passing thought that he might
have discounted her father as a suspect too quickly. He had a similar build to the other men Tony was seriously considering, if considerably less athletic.

  His gut still said no. Everything else aside, it was a stretch to imagine him swinging a baseball bat at his daughter’s head. Tony would swear John genuinely loved his oldest daughter.

  Beth said, “You’re thinking that...he could have been the one?”

  “I have to consider him.” Tony shifted gears. “Did she talk about other male friends that way in front of your dad?”

  She didn’t answer right away. He liked watching her face when she was thinking, but he had no trouble picturing the little crinkles that would have formed on her high, usually smooth forehead, or the way she’d nibble on her lower lip.

  “Maybe not as much,” she said finally, “but I remember her talking about how Mr. Longley had bought his wife a BMW, and how Teresa was probably the only person working at the middle school with a car that nice.”

  Ouch.

  Had the emphasis on his been conscious, or was she mimicking her mother as she took a jab at her husband for failing as a provider?

  “Mom loved the Schuhs’ home. The Sagers’, too. She’d wish we could afford to remodel or even move.”

  Tony realized how much he was coming to dislike Beth’s mother. Had she really been that insensitive to her husband’s feelings, or did she just not care? For that matter, she must have been blind to how she was treating Beth, versus petite, blonde Emily.

  “And she saw Keith more often,” Beth added. “So it’s not surprising she’d talk about him more.”

  “What about other co-workers?”

  Silence. Then, “Not as often. Except...she had one friend. I can’t remember her name.”

  “Andrea?”

  “Yes! That’s it. Have you gotten in touch with her?”

  “I haven’t been able to locate her so far. She moved away after a divorce.” Divorce was becoming a theme when Tony looked at the Marshalls’ old friends. Everyone except the banker and his wife—and Keith Reistad and his. “Reistad gave me the forwarding info they had,” he continued, “but she moved again. She doesn’t have a driver’s license in Washington, so I’m guessing she’s gone out of state.”