“I don’t know exactly, but it was during the first commercial break in the six o’clock news. I got up to close the blinds in the front window, and I saw the garage door open. He didn’t have the headlights on, which seemed strange. There was enough illumination from the streetlight for me to see he had glasses on, like the guy I spotted earlier around the back of the house.”
“What guy?” Mitch slipped back inside as Cole asked the question.
“I think he was a phone company repairman. He had on a white hard hat and he wore glasses too. Had a little gray in his hair, from what I could see below the hat.” The woman cocked her head and squinted at him. “You know, it was the oddest thing about that man. I saw him from the back at first, and his build made me think of Detective Carlson. I so enjoyed meeting your colleague. We had a nice chat over some brownies during the robbery investigation. Such a nice man. Handsome too.”
Cole frowned and shot Mitch a quick glance as he responded to Sheila. “He did come by today to check on the house after we became concerned about Ms. Warren, but that would have been sometime after four.”
“No. This was before noon. And I only caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared around the back of the house. I assumed there was some damage to the phone lines in the neighborhood from last night’s storm.”
“Did you notice anything else today out of the ordinary?”
“No. Not until that police car pulled up. Is Kelly in trouble?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am.”
“Well, you keep trying. I watched that little girl grow up from the time she was thirteen. I don’t want to see anything happen to her too.”
“We’ll do our best to make sure she’s safe. Thank you for stopping by.” Cole eased her toward the door and pulled it open.
“If you need me for anything else, you just come right over.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
As he closed the door behind John Warren’s neighbor, Cole turned to Mitch. “What do you make of that?”
“We have a solid departure time now.”
“I’m talking about Carlson.”
“She was obviously taken with him.”
“No.” Impatience nipped at his voice as he started to pace. “I mean the fact that she thought he looked similar to the phone guy.”
“Coincidence?”
“What if it’s more than that?”
Mitch frowned. “Like what?”
“Like what if Carlson’s involved in this?”
A beat of silence passed. “That’s a real stretch. As far as I know, Carlson has a clean record. And he’s a solid detective. I’ve worked a few cases with him.”
“I have too.”
“And she said this guy wasn’t him once she saw his face. He had glasses and gray in his hair.”
“Did you know Carlson was an undercover detective with the Dallas PD before he joined County?”
Mitch blinked. “No.”
“He doesn’t talk much about it. But after he and Cindy split, we made the Friday-night happy hour rounds together for a while, and he told me a few things about it. I got the impression he had a real knack for the work.”
“You think we should talk to him?”
Cole pulled his phone off his belt. “Yeah. And while I get him on the line, why don’t you check and see if the phone company had anyone in this area today?”
“Okay.” He motioned toward Cole’s phone. “That could be an awkward call.”
“I know.” He tapped in the man’s number. “But I’d rather be embarrassed than take a chance on Kelly’s life.”
Who was calling him now?
Alan stopped, shifted Kelly on his shoulder, and dug out his cell.
Cole.
Weighing the phone in his hand, he debated whether to answer. He’d already told the man he had a clandestine meeting with an informant in the double homicide and was leaving for the holidays. He’d hoped that would deter him from calling him again.
The phone continued to vibrate. What would he gain by answering?
Nothing.
Decision made, he slipped the phone back into its holder and set off again. He wanted no more delays with this task. Once he was finished, he’d retrace his steps to the trailhead, jog the three miles to the fast-food restaurant near the I-64 entrance ramp, and get a cab back to his car. Then he’d head for his sister’s in Kansas City. She’d be surprised to see him, since they rarely talked and he’d ignored the message she’d left on his voice mail, inviting him for the holiday. But she wouldn’t turn him away if he showed up for dinner tomorrow. And he’d told Taylor he was going out of town for the holiday.
The phone stopped vibrating. Finally.
Maybe now he would be left in peace.
“No answer.” Cole tapped the end button. “I wonder if Cindy’s heard from him?”
“I thought they were separated.”
“They are. But he told me they were still in touch, and that he was working on a reconciliation. That might be where he’s going for the holiday.”
“I guess it’s worth a call.” Mitch pulled out his phone too. “I’m going to check in with Alison. Let her know what’s going on.”
Cole glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I missed the pie pickup.”
“I think she’ll understand.”
Yeah. She would. But he’d make it up to her somehow after this nightmare was over.
Two minutes later, Communications had located Cindy’s number in Carlson’s personnel records—along with the number for a sister he hadn’t known existed. Another call to make if the one with Cindy didn’t pan out.
He tapped in Cindy’s number, and she picked up just as he thought the call would roll to voice mail.
She listened to his explanation, then responded in a cautious tone. “I’m not sure why you think he’d be coming here for Thanksgiving.”
Cole’s neck grew warm. Bad call on this one. “I got the impression you two were in touch and there might be a reconciliation in the works.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Not in those exact words, but it was implied.”
An annoyed sigh came over the line. “The man is truly delusional. Our divorce became final this week—giving me much to be thankful for this holiday.”
Cole furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry if I misinterpreted what he said. It sounded as if you were talking about getting back together.”
“He was the one talking about it. He even showed up a few times and hung around outside my apartment. I had to threaten to have a restraining order issued to get him to stop bothering me. The man had more problems than I thought.”
Cole’s frown deepened. “Look, I don’t want to pry into your personal business, but we’re in the midst of a situation that could be life-threatening. And we’re starting to think Alan may be involved. Are the problems you mentioned the kind we might need to know about as part of this investigation?”
A few moments of silence ticked by. “I don’t know. But I hate to make his life harder than it already is, even if I’m grateful he’s out of mine.”
“I understand that.” Cole motioned Mitch over as the other man wrapped up his call. “And if the information you give us isn’t relevant, it won’t go any further. Mitch Morgan, another County detective, is here with me. It’s just the two of us. Can I put you on speaker while we talk?”
“I guess so.”
“Hold one second.” He pressed mute. “The divorce became final this week. She had to threaten to issue a restraining order to keep Carlson from bugging her. She said he had other problems too.” He released mute and pressed the speaker button, holding the phone in front of him. “So what other problems are we talking about, Cindy?”
“Mostly gambling. He says he’s stopped now, but he’s told me that before.”
Cole exchanged a look with Mitch. “How serious is the gambling?”
“Very. We lost our house and all the money in our s
avings account. He went through the trust fund my uncle left me too. That was the last straw. When I walked out, he was not only broke, he owed some major bucks at several casinos. He kept trying to convince me he’d reformed and that he was taking other security jobs on the side to pay off his debts and replenish my trust fund. He sent me a bank statement a few weeks ago showing a healthy balance, so I guess he was telling the truth about that. But I’m not willing to take another chance his reform is permanent.”
As Cole watched, Mitch’s lips settled into a grim line.
That was his reaction too.
“Cindy, this has been very helpful. Let me give you my number in case you hear from Alan. But if you do, please don’t tell him we called.”
“Okay. Good luck with your case.”
“Thanks.” Cole hung up and slid the phone back onto his belt. “I’m liking this less and less.”
“Me too.”
“Motive, undercover experience, opportunity. It’s all there.”
“Getting himself made case detective would also be a brilliant move.”
“Yeah.” Cole exhaled and jammed his fingers through his hair. “It was the perfect setup for a perfect crime.”
“If we’re right, it’s not perfect anymore.”
“It might have been, if Kelly hadn’t thrown him a curveball by catching him in the act of whatever he was doing at her father’s house. But he’s a methodical planner, and he didn’t have the opportunity to plan this one. That’s why he’s made a few mistakes.”
“None that tell us where he took Kelly.”
Like he needed to be reminded of that. Gritting his teeth, Cole fought back a surge of panic. “If our theory is on target, though, her car is sitting somewhere as we speak, waiting to be discovered. And we will discover it.”
Mitch didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Cole could read his thoughts in his eyes.
Yes, they’d find the car.
But would they find it in time?
Finally.
They were here.
Alan got down on one knee and let Kelly slide to the ground. Placing his palms on his thighs, he sucked in lungfuls of cold air. He was in great shape, but carrying a hundred-and-twenty-pounds half a mile had taxed even his stamina.
He remained on his knees for a full minute, breathing hard and waiting for his pulse to slow. It finally did. But not as much as he’d expected.
Because now he’d arrived at the moment of truth.
He had to kill Kelly.
There wasn’t any option, of course. And he’d killed before. He could do this. Still . . . it was different. With her father, he’d let the carbon monoxide do the killing. And the first time with Kelly, the peanuts had been the instrument of death. It hadn’t been as if he’d put a gun to their heads or stuck a knife in their backs or wrapped his hands around their throats and squeezed.
Slowly he rose and walked toward a small plateau that jutted out from the path, where a cliff-top bench offered hikers a respite—and a great view—on sunny days. At the edge of the limestone bluff, he paused to look over. It had to be forty-plus feet to the bottom, and sixty feet beyond the base the Missouri River flowed by, dark and quiet. He’d chosen well. This was not a high-traffic spot—especially on the eve of a holiday and with more stormy weather in the forecast.
Odd, how he and Kelly had often spent time in this same area. She’d mentioned her hiking trips to Weldon Spring once, while he was “investigating” her father’s death. Little had he known that information would one day prove useful.
Shifting around, he looked at her still form. She’d gone limp during the last stretch as she’d bounced on his shoulder. That was a plus. If she was unconscious, he could pretend she was already dead.
He did a quick sweep of the ground. Rocks were plentiful here, as he knew from his more pleasant excursions, and with the night-vision goggles, it took only a few seconds to spot one that would do the job. Seconds later, he hefted it in his hands, testing the weight. Yeah. It was plenty heavy for his purposes.
After setting the rock next to Kelly’s crumpled form, he bent to cut the restraint off her hands as she lay on her side. When a sudden gust of wind rustled the few dried leaves that remained on the trees, his pulse accelerated and he did another scan of the area.
All was clear.
Willing his nerves to settle down, he stuffed the restraints and the hand towels that had protected her wrists into his backpack. Picked up the rock. Stood.
This was it.
The putrid smell of decaying leaves invaded his nostrils, and all at once he felt sick to his stomach. But not just from the odor. His life was like those leaves—slowly disintegrating. To win back his wife, he’d become a man she could never love. He’d killed once, and he was getting ready to kill again. He was no better than the criminals he’d chased for his entire career.
But Cindy never had to know that. No one did. And he had no choice now. There was no turning back. Kelly could identify him. If she lived, his life was over.
Inside the latex gloves, his palms grew clammy as his fingers tightened on the rock. He positioned himself over her head. Inhaled. Lifted the rock.
All at once, she stirred.
His grip on the rock tightened.
She rolled onto her back, opened her eyes, and stared up at him.
The roiling in his stomach intensified. He couldn’t smash her face. And he couldn’t ignore the plea in her eyes.
He’d thought he could do this . . . but he wasn’t a killer. Not this kind of killer.
Arms shaking, Alan lowered the rock and forced himself to think. She had to die. Just as her father had. But he had to find a less direct method.
He walked to the edge of the cliff again. The odds of surviving a fall from this height were miniscule, at best, even without prior injury. Plus, an ice storm was predicted. Between injuries and exposure to freezing weather, she wouldn’t last the night. And the odds were very small anyone would notice her car before then. Nor would hikers be on this trail for the next couple of days, if by chance she managed to call for help.
Maybe he didn’t have to kill her before he threw her over the edge. Maybe all he had to do was make certain she stayed where she fell and let nature take care of the rest.
Okay. He could handle that.
He moved back beside her. She was trying to stand, but a slight shove sent her toppling again. Positioning himself beside her legs, he planted one foot on her ankle to hold it in position, lifted the rock and slammed it into her knee.
He heard the crunch of bone. She jerked, and her guttural moan of pain as she writhed beneath his foot clawed at his insides. But he could have smashed the rock into her skull instead. She was lucky he had no stomach for direct killing.
After tossing the rock back where he’d found it, he untied the gag, pulled it from her mouth, and stuffed it in a plastic bag that he tucked into his backpack. She was moaning, low in her throat, and when he picked her up again, her leg dangled uselessly. She was conscious, but her eyes were glazed with pain.
The weakness in his legs surprised him as he walked to the edge of the cliff and lowered her to her feet, holding her up so she wouldn’t crumple. He pulled off her hat. Tossed it into the chasm. Yanked off one glove. Threw it over as well. Unzipped her jacket halfway. Took a deep breath.
This was it.
Heart pounding, he swallowed, looked toward the river, and shoved her over the edge.
He didn’t watch as she fell, but he could hear her crashing through some brush attached to the ragged, ledged face of the cliff.
At last all was silent.
He looked over the edge. It took him a moment to locate her, more to the right than he’d expected, lying on her side. Her leg was twisted. Her jacket had come unzipped and flapped open, exposing her even more to the elements.
And she wasn’t moving.
Swallowing past the bad taste in his mouth, Alan returned to his backpack and lifted it. Using the edge of the spo
rt shoe he’d soon discard, he smoothed out the thick carpet of leaves. The ground was hard and dry, so even in exposed areas, there would be no footprints. That, at least, had worked in his favor. And he’d pulled socks over his shoes in the gravel parking lot, so there would be no sign of a third party there, either.
With the night-vision goggles still in place, he did one final survey of the area. It appeared undisturbed. As if no one had passed this way today.
Hefting the backpack to his shoulder, he started back down the trail.
It was done.
23
Deputy Trent Adams stifled a yawn and took a swig of lukewarm coffee from the insulated mug that was standard equipment on his late-night patrols. Not that eight o’clock qualified as late-night, but it felt like it. He and Angie had been on the go all day preparing to host their first Thanksgiving dinner as a married couple. She was freaking, and he was beat. What he needed tonight was a quiet, uneventful shift.
A sudden ping on his roof refocused his attention, and he set the coffee back in the cup holder. It seemed the meteorologists had been right for once. Too bad. Things could get messy if many people decided to venture onto Highway 94 in the middle of a sleet storm.
His headlights picked out the sign for the entrance to the next trailhead parking lot, and he slowed. Normally, he’d drive by. Weldon Spring was Department of Conservation territory. But his boss had made a big deal out of a BOLO alert in a missing-person case, and his instructions were to check every nook and cranny in his patrol area.
Swinging onto the gravel surface, he aimed for the back of the lot. Once he did a quick circuit, he’d mosey over to the fast-foot outlet near I-64 and replenish his coffee. After his hectic day, he’d need a steady infusion of caffeine to . . .
His headlights arced across a car in the far corner and he slowed, frowning. On a night like this, the lot should be empty.
He backed up, turned the wheel the other direction, and pulled up behind the car. It was an older model Focus. Dark blue.
Like the car in the BOLO alert.
Tamping down the flutter of excitement in his stomach, he squinted at the number on the license plate. Then he angled in his seat and pulled up the alert on his computer screen.
Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 28
