Without waiting for Mitch to respond, Cole flipped a light—at least the power was working now—and moved to the kitchen. It was neat as a pin, as usual. No dishes in the sink, no clutter on the counter, the flour, sugar, and tea containers aligned. It looked the same as it had on his previous visits.
“Does someone actually live here?” Mitch scanned the pristine space.
“She’s very neat.”
“No kidding.” He gave the place another once-over. “At least it should be easy to tell if anything is out of order. You want me to check the basement while you do a sweep up here?”
“Yeah.” He gestured to the right. “That’s the door.”
While Mitch focused on the lower level, Cole checked out the bedrooms. Both appeared undisturbed, as did the closet in each. Nothing was amiss in the bathroom, either. He switched on the light in Kelly’s office. An easel was positioned to catch the light from the large window during daylight hours, and despite his worry, the charming half-finished illustration of an elf using a mushroom as a table tugged at his lips. As in the other rooms, everything in her work space was neatly organized. Brushes were arranged by size and shape, tubes of paint were sorted by color in a plastic tub, stacks of different types of paper shared shelf space with her camera, palettes were . . .
His gaze swung back to the camera. She’d told him not long after they’d met that she never went hiking without her camera. Yet here it was. Further evidence that hiking hadn’t been on her agenda today.
He exited into the hall and moved to the living room. It, too, looked as it had on his last visit. No furniture was out of place, and there was no clutter. The glass-topped coffee table held only the small bronze casting of a man holding a child by the hand that he’d noticed on previous visits.
Nothing in the tiny entry raised any red flags, either. Hoping Mitch had had better luck, he started back to the kitchen. As he passed the coat closet, he opened the door, gave it a cursory perusal, and began to close it again.
Then he froze.
The spot where she kept her hiking boots was empty.
“Find something interesting?” Mitch joined him in the small space.
“Yeah.” He pointed to the bare spot. “Her hiking boots are gone, but her camera isn’t.”
Mitch squinted at him. “And that’s significant because . . . ?”
“She always keeps her hiking boots here. Since they’re missing, that would suggest she did go out to the country. But she told me she never goes on hikes without her camera. She uses it to take pictures of ideas for illustrations. Besides, she never hikes in cold weather.”
The other man shrugged. “Maybe she just decided to wear the boots today.”
“No. She only wears them for hiking. She was very specific about that too.”
“Did you check her other closets?”
“This is where she keeps them, Mitch. Everything in its place, as she once told me.” He gestured around the living room behind him. “Have you ever seen a better-kept house?”
“You have a point.”
“So if she doesn’t hike in cold weather or without her camera, why is she wearing her hiking boots?”
Twin furrows appeared on Mitch’s brow. “Okay. Let’s back up a little and think this through. You’re still convinced someone deliberately spiked her drink with peanuts at the coffee shop, right?”
“Right. But Rossi seemed taken aback by that news. Like it wasn’t part of his original plan. That might suggest that whoever killed Kelly’s father was getting nervous about her digging into his belongings and acted on his own.”
“Because he didn’t want his boss to find out the suicide ruling was being questioned.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Rossi isn’t known for his tolerance of mistakes.”
Mitch propped a shoulder against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That might explain why the killer went after Kelly originally, but why would he target her again? Now that we’ve established a connection between Kelly’s father and Rossi, another incident with her would only put more suspicion on our friend in Buffalo. That would be the last thing the perp would want to do.”
“Yeah.” Cole sighed. “That’s where I get stuck. It doesn’t make sense.”
A few beats of silence passed, and then Mitch’s expression grew speculative. “Okay. Think about Rossi’s attitude when you called, and again during our visit. He was not happy. He was probably putting pressure on our man to get the heat off of him. How would our guy do that?”
Cole shrugged. “The only way we would drop the investigation at this point is if we had definitive proof of suicide.”
“Like a letter, or some other convincing piece of evidence.”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t anything. The CSU technician or Kelly would have found it.”
“Unless our guy happened to know something we don’t that would make a later discovery credible.”
Cole furrowed his brow. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But he’s no dummy. He’d have gotten away with this whole thing except for the tulip fluke. And he got into the house once; what’s to say he couldn’t get in again to look the place over, try to get some ideas? And with the pressure on from Rossi, he’d want to do that fast.”
As Mitch’s implication sank in, the bottom dropped out of Cole’s stomach. “Maybe while Kelly happened to be there.”
“That would explain her odd message and why she’s dropped off the radar.”
Cole started to pace, his mind racing. “It’s a stretch . . . but possible. Okay. Let’s go with it for a minute. If he did run into Kelly at the house, he’d have to get rid of her. But he wouldn’t want it to look like murder. He was already doing damage control at Rossi’s bidding, so he wouldn’t want to raise any suspicions beyond those generated by mere coincidence.”
“Right.” Mitch scrubbed a hand down his face. “But to pull off John Warren’s murder so cleanly, he had to have done a lot of research—and a lot of surveillance. Some of that was probably directed at Kelly. That means he’s familiar with her patterns—which would explain how he knew about the peanut allergy and her hiking trips.”
“And he could use a hiking accident to try and cover up her murder.” Cole’s tone was grim. “Trouble is, he missed a couple of key facts—the camera and her aversion to cold.” He pulled his phone off his belt. “We need to have Communications make sure the BOLO alert is picked up by outlying municipalities, as well as the Department of Conservation and the park rangers in the St. Louis area. If we’re right, and he wants this to look like a hiking accident, he’ll have to leave her car in a visible place so it doesn’t seem suspicious. I also need to call Lauren and see if she knows whether Kelly has an extra key for her father’s house.” He started to dig through his pocket for her number.
Mitch touched his arm. “You know we’re making a lot of leaps here.”
Like he needed to be reminded.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You have any other ideas? At least the pieces fit.”
A moment of silence passed. Then Mitch dropped his hand. “We could track her cell.”
“It’s too old to be GPS enabled.”
Mitch’s lips compressed into a flat line. “Okay. I’ll take care of the alert while you call Lauren.” He reached toward his belt as he stepped into the hall.
Cole pulled out Lauren’s number and tapped it in again.
She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is there news?”
“Not yet. I’m in Kelly’s house now. Her hiking boots are missing, but her camera’s still here.”
“That’s weird.”
“I know. I want to check out her father’s house. Do you know if she has an extra key around here? And do you by chance have the security code?”
“No. But the realtor has both. That’s why Kelly was over there today. With a potential buyer planning to look at the house on Friday, she wanted to do some cleaning. I can’t remember the realtor’s name, but chec
k the drawer next to the dishwasher. That’s where Kelly keeps business cards. I bet hers is in there.”
Cole was already halfway to the kitchen. Once there, he located the drawer, pulled it open—and found Denise Woods’s card on top of the stack. “Got it.”
“Kelly’s in serious trouble, isn’t she?” A tremor ran through Lauren’s words.
“If she is, we’re going to do our best to get her out of it. I’ll be in touch when we know more. Keep your phone with you, okay?”
“Absolutely. And since I have power of attorney, I give you permission to search wherever and whatever you deem necessary. We don’t have time for warrants.”
“I’m with you. Besides, I think we’re into exigent circumstances at this point, anyway. I’ll be in touch.”
As he secured his phone on his belt, Mitch rejoined him. “They’re recommunicating the BOLO alert and targeting the conservation agents and park rangers. I also filled Brett in on the situation. He said to keep him informed and let him know if we need anything.”
Cole would rather be dealing with his own sergeant on this, but the holiday-duty officer was a sharp guy too. “Okay. You want to handle the driving to Warren’s house while I try to track down the real estate agent?”
“Sure.”
As they exited the house and Cole tossed Mitch his car keys, he paused under the porch light to tap in Denise Woods’s number.
And prayed John Warren’s house would yield some clues that would lead them to Kelly.
Halfway to his destination along the Weldon Spring trail, Alan’s cell began to vibrate against his hip.
Talk about lousy timing.
He hesitated and glanced at Kelly. She stumbled to a stop beside him and listed to the right. He tightened his grip. She’d been weaving like a drunken sailor, slowing him down a lot more than he’d expected. On his bike, he could cover the first mile or so of this relatively level, well-maintained trail in minutes. Walking, he’d expected it to take fifteen, max. The slow progress was making him edgy enough. He didn’t need phone calls.
Letting Kelly sink to the leaf-covered ground, he yanked the phone off his belt. The number for the incoming call was blocked. Bad sign. It could be Rossi’s man.
If so, that was not a call he could ignore.
“Yes?” He spoke softly, scoping out the darkness through his night-vision goggles for any sign of unwanted company among the leaf-shorn trees.
“The boss wants to know if you’ve completed the plan you outlined to us about a certain piece of correspondence.”
“It’s done. It should be discovered in the next few days.”
“Then your final payment will be delivered shortly. I’ll call with the drop location.”
“How shortly? I was just getting ready to leave for the weekend.”
There was a slight pause. “Where are you going?”
“Kansas City. But I can change my plans.”
Another pause. “No. We’ll work it out. I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
Alan slid the phone back into its holder. At least Rossi was making the final payment promptly, now that he’d kept up his end of the bargain. And once he had the money in hand, he could put this whole unpleasant episode behind him. Focus on convincing Cindy to reconsider their divorce.
Pulling Kelly upright, he started forward again. But despite the tremors coursing through her, she continued to resist, dragging her feet.
Annoyed, he swung toward her, repositioned the backpack to hang off one shoulder, then bent and hefted her to his other shoulder. He ignored the guttural sounds of pain coming from behind the gag. He needed to finish this job. As soon as possible.
Once more he resumed his trek. Fortunately, the trail was in reasonable condition. He should pick up some time now.
And if all went well, in less than fifteen minutes Kelly Warren would be history.
22
“Here he comes.” Mitch gestured over the steering wheel to a police car speeding down John Warren’s street. “That was a smart idea to have a street officer pick up the security code and key from the realtor.”
“I figured it would be faster than having her meet us here.” He opened the glove compartment and pulled out four latex gloves, tossing two to Mitch. “Let’s go.”
Two minutes later, after unlocking the door and deactivating the security system, Cole flicked on the lights in John Warren’s kitchen.
Mitch scanned the room. “Not quite as pristine as his daughter’s, but close.”
“I see Kelly’s touch here.” Cole gestured to a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table beside a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies. Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, he refocused on the task at hand. “You want to divide up like we did at her place?”
“Works for me.”
As Mitch disappeared through the door in the corner of the kitchen, Cole tackled the first floor. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the modest living and dining room. The smell of lemon-scented cleaning solution wafted from the bathroom as he walked down the hall, and he poked his head in. One single long strand of russet-colored hair was draped across the white porcelain in the sink. More evidence Kelly had been here.
He continued down the hall, checking out all the rooms. When he reached the one at the far end, he flipped the light switch.
Three things struck him at once.
This had been Kelly’s childhood bedroom. A shelf of awards and trophies, all bearing her name, graced one wall. But there was a gap—perhaps the spot usually occupied by the large trophy now balanced on one edge of her dresser? If so, why had it been removed?
The second thing he noticed was the unmade bed. Not Kelly’s style.
And finally, her overnight bag stood beside the dresser, a green sweat suit stuffed—not neatly folded—inside the open top.
Someone other than Kelly had been in this room. Had touched her things.
The knot in his stomach tightened.
Cole returned to the hall and checked the last room. Her father’s study. He paused on the threshold and eyed the carpet. It was clear Kelly had vacuumed it during her visit. Symmetrical tracks were visible in the plush pile, but there was also a traffic pattern. There had been some foot activity in the center of the room, and there were indications someone had walked to the desk.
“Cole!”
At Mitch’s summons, he retreated to the kitchen and crossed to the basement door. Mitch was standing at the bottom of the steps.
“You might want to come down. I’ve got a red flag.”
“I found several up here too.” He joined Mitch in the basement and followed him to a shelving unit.
“What caught my eye was that green fuzz on the ground. When I bent down, I saw that hair.” Mitch indicated a spot on the floor where another long strand the same hue as Kelly’s lay atop the green fuzz. “And while I was down there, I noticed this.” He dropped to his haunches and indicated the support beam of the shelving.
Cole got down to his level and scrutinized the spot. The heavy-duty steel unit looked as if it had been in place for many years. The color had darkened a bit, but in the spot Mitch indicated there appeared to be a narrow rub mark that had slightly brightened the finish.
He checked out the green fuzz again. “That’s the same color as the sweat suit stuffed into the overnight bag in her bedroom.” He relayed his other observations as well. “I don’t like how this is adding up.”
“Neither do I.”
A faint chime sounded, and Cole canted his head. “Is that the doorbell?”
“I think so.”
He rose and crossed to the stairs, taking them two at a time, Mitch on his heels. Once in the foyer, he checked the peephole.
“It’s an older woman. A neighbor, maybe?”
“I’m not taking any chances.” Mitch pulled out his Sig Sauer and took a position in the hallway.
Cole didn’t argue.
After releasing the locks, he opened the door halfw
ay. “May I help you?”
“Yes, young man, you may.” The short, wiry, gray-haired woman adjusted her glasses and stared at him. “I’m Sheila Waters from next door, and I’m very concerned about what’s been happening at this house. When I saw that police officer pull up”—she gestured over her shoulder toward the patrol car—“I decided to march over here and find out what’s going on. I’ve been worrying ever since I saw that man drive a car out of the garage. There’s not supposed to be a car in that garage. Kelly sold her father’s car months ago.”
Cole’s fingers clenched around the edge of the door. “What man?”
“I have no idea. Just like I don’t have any idea who you are.”
“Detective Cole Taylor, ma’am.” He pulled out his credentials and flipped them open.
“Another detective?” She leaned forward to examine the badge, straightened, and huffed out a breath. “What is this neighborhood coming to?”
“Ma’am, if you saw someone take Kelly’s car, we need to talk.”
“It wasn’t Kelly’s car. She always parks in the driveway.”
“We think it was Kelly’s car, ma’am.” No wonder the perp had been surprised by her presence, if she always parked in the driveway. He turned to Mitch. “Get the CSU unit over here.”
“I’m already on it.”
The woman peered around him into the shadowy hall. “Is that Detective Carlson back there?”
“No, ma’am. You know Detective Carlson?”
“Of course. He was asking questions about a robbery in this neighborhood just two weeks before poor John died. And he came back to investigate the so-called suicide. But as I told him at the time, I knew John Warren for twenty years, and that man would never have taken his own life.” She peered at him. “If that was Kelly’s car, why was that man driving it? Where’s Kelly?”
“That’s what we’re tying to determine, ma’am.” A cold gust rocked the older woman, and he motioned her in. “Let’s get out of the wind. Mitch, you want to tell that officer to hang around?”
“Yeah.” He slipped through the door, phone pressed to his ear.
“Ms. Waters, what time did the man pull out of the garage?”
Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 27
