“Be glad they sent over the junior varsity, eh?” Shamus felt control seep back into his bones. “Never did hear back after she missed her delivery. Jake already told you she didn’t put in a request for a refund?”
“Yes. Thanks for answering my first question.” The guy fumbled through some notes. “Sorry. I’m so out of practice I can barely make it through a simple interview.”
Shamus chuckled. “You should have seen me with my first customer. I was more scared of them than they were of me.” You tipped your hand, “intern.” Out of practice means you used to do this. Once a cop, always a cop.
“Here we are. Did she seem upset or afraid to you?”
Shamus pictured Heather’s face when he opened the car door. Don’t laugh. Not here.
“No. I think she just wanted to get the sale over with and leave is all. Was there anything else?” Before you sweat through your shirt?
Nelson inhaled deeply through his nose. Weird.
“No, but if you think of anything unusual Heather said or did, please call me.” Nelson handed him a card that read “Technology Consultant” and bore the state police logo. What a piece of work.
“Sorry I wasn’t more help. It’s awful what happened to her.” Shamus stood.
“Were you as mad as some of the other salesman when she cancelled?”
X-ray eyes swept through him again. Shamus suppressed a shudder.
“Well, she never called me to cancel, so I wondered what happened that night. Once she was in the news, I really wasn’t too worried about losing a sale.” Nice try.
“I guess not. Stupid question. Don’t mind me, I’m older than I look.” Nelson’s cell phone began to ring.
Shamus smiled. “Saved by the bell. If we’re done, I’ll let you take your call.” Nelson nodded and shook Shamus’s hand.
This time, despite the weak grip, Shamus felt like he was grabbing a joy buzzer. Mind trick. Stay frosty. You’re the Iceman!
Shamus stepped out of the office and strolled back to his desk. We’re not done by a long shot, cop.
CHAPTER 50
Shards
Chang hung up and drove in front of the showroom. He glanced through the large window into the sales desk area.
Hard eyes snatched his attention. A red-haired man with a boyish face stared through the window directly at Chang. Shamus Ryan.
Chang thought he saw a smile and then realized the guy was baring his teeth. The hair on his neck tingled, and he suppressed an urge to burst out of the car. He barely noticed Nelson approach the car. When he looked back, Ryan was gone.
Nelson yanked the door open and hopped in.
“How’d it go?” Chang pulled out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Smelled like just before a thunderstorm. Ozone, electric…”
“Stay with me. What did he say?” Nelson’s anxiety was contagious.
“Say? He was polite and charming. We had a lovely chat…and I think I was going to sweat blood if I stayed any longer.”
In his mind, Chang could see victims swirl around the image of the fresh-faced salesman. Eyes and teeth…He noticed a tremor in Nelson’s hand. “How did he react to you?”
“Hope he thinks I’m an idiot, but I don’t know. He throws off so many signals. Like spinning the dial on a radio…fear, anger, lust, hate.” Nelson found a near-empty water bottle on the car floor and shook the last few drops into his mouth. “What happened while I was gone?”
“A woman called in a tip that panned out about thirty minutes ago. They found the head.”
Nelson closed his eyes. “Details.”
“The lady saw the piece on the news last night about Stiles and recognized him. Her friend, an artist from up in Arden, was pals with Stiles, and when she saw the report, she tried to reach her. She left messages, but finally got nervous and called the cops.” Chang paused to let Nelson absorb the information.
“What did they find?”
“Victim in her studio, strapped to a chair, throat cut. They think done with a broken piece of her pottery.”
“The head?”
“It was on display, dunked in glaze and kiln-fired. One cop puked, but otherwise they kept the scene intact.” Chang didn’t think he could give Nelson a firsthand look and told him so. Did it matter?
They reached Arden a few minutes later, and Chang found the winding driveway to the Maynard house.
“Don’t see any new cars.” Nelson peeked out from his hiding place under a blanket in the back seat.
“I forgot to tell you. The county cop said the tipster recognized Stiles because the victim bragged that he was helping her get a great deal on a new minivan.”
“A Honda?” Nelson’s voice sounded muffled.
“I’d put money on it. We shouldn’t stay here long. We’ll have plenty to connect the dots to this guy Shamus once we look.”
“Wish I hadn’t talked to him now. Think we can get a tail on him?”
Chang stopped the car and spun around to address the lump on the back-seat floor. “Forget backup right now. Byrd won’t buy it, and then we might risk losing him for good. I don’t trust anybody down there.”
Silence. The victims came in so fast. The memories layered on him, and Chang could smell the victims even when he was awake. His anger swelled in a thick red tide.
He left Nelson hidden in the car and entered the crime scene after he’d sleepwalked through the procedural formalities.
Chang opened the side entrance to a garage door. The smell of burned flesh still clung to the air. Sunlight filled the studio, and he saw the back of a woman’s head, tipped forward and lifeless. The white hair made Chang wonder what wisdom had died with her. No respect for age…
He walked closer and saw an elaborate set of display shelves, empty save for the grisly sculpture that faced the woman. The misshapen sockets seemed to accuse him.
“I’ve been too slow.” He remembered the happy man in the photos at the Stiles home.
Pottery fragments lay heaped at the feet of the female victim. A long, knifelike shard covered in blood was balanced on top of the pile. Chang was careful to avoid the rest of the blood on the floor. Silvery tape bound the victim’s arms. No tennis balls in sight.
He walked outside and wondered how many minutes they had before the next wave of press. The coverage grew by the day. And why not? They had fresh meat on a regular basis. He tore off his paper suit.
“Bad as it sounded?” Nelson still hid under the blanket in the back seat.
The snowy fields Chang conjured had turned blood-red. The mountains, piles of pottery shards.
“Worse.” Chang closed the car door. “This has to stop. If we don’t find what we need, let’s get him anyway. If he fights…” Chang didn’t finish the sentence.
Nelson’s phone beeped, and for a moment Chang was puzzled because he was the only one who called it. Then he remembered they’d programmed it to signal when Nelson’s office voice mail had a message. His suspension didn’t affect his phone.
Nelson punched in the number and pass code. He blanched and handed the cell to Chang.
“Mr. Rog…uh, Nelson. Shamus Ryan here. You asked me to call you if I remembered anything. I was home for lunch and saw a news report about the killings. They showed pictures of the victims, and I recognized a couple of them. They were in my dealership and talked to our assistant manager, Hank Grant. Could I meet you at your office today around five o’clock? Don’t want Hank to see me talking to you again. I’ll leave early. Call me back at my home number if you can meet me.” He left the number and ended the message.
“What do you make of that?” Chang asked.
Nelson took the phone. “A string of lies.”
“Sure. But do you think he’s trying to throw us off the trail or put us onto this guy, Hank?”
“Maybe both. Call him back and tell him you’ll be glad to talk to him. I’ll set up a wire for the interview room in case he says anything really stupid.” Chang’s blood pounded into his muscl
es in anticipation of a chase.
“Can you get warrants for the tap, and his place?”
“Eventually. His address is in there.” Chang pointed to a folder.
“Byrd’s going to know I’m involved.” Nelson didn’t sound worried, just matter-of-fact.
“Yes.” If Byrd stopped them now, Chang would make sure he’d take the mistake to an early grave.
CHAPTER 51
Too Close for Comfort
Greenville, Delaware, Friday afternoon
Sometimes he scared himself. Shamus hung up his phone and looked at the clock. Quarter to one and time to get back to the dealership. Just a few details to wrap up.
Earlier that morning, his head was pounding so hard he thought his nose would gush blood again. His conversation with that nervous semi-cop gnawed at him. The dork knew something. How much?
It wasn’t the questions Nelson asked him, but the ones he didn’t ask. With all the killings, why no mention of any others? If one victim had a connection, wouldn’t they check if maybe some others might? Shamus figured he could play off the links to customers who didn’t buy, but he expected the topic to come up. When it didn’t, it spooked him.
Soon the cops would discover Myrtle’s final resting place as an “objet d’art.” If they asked about her at the dealership, he knew the other salesman would remember “Shamus’s girlfriend.” That wouldn’t do.
He considered some kills out of state, to throw off the cops. Then it hit him why he recognized Nelson’s name. His research! He’d shredded the pages on Chang and his screw-ups in New York, but he could swear Nelson Rogers was the name of his old partner. The guy had gone crazy or something, but it looked like he’d gotten better. Shamus realized everything might collapse before he got a chance to escape.
The walls of his apartment closed in, and he turned up the stereo to mask his screams of frustration. This time, the panic didn’t subside. It fed on his voice, and he imagined his head was going to burst into flames. He ran to the bathroom, no time to fill the sink, and jammed his head into the toilet bowl.
Fear gave way to clarity. Lots of men did their best thinking in there, didn’t they?
His hair dripped, and he flushed the toilet out of reflex. His laughter bounced off the tiles.
Maybe he should leave town, but he needed a little more time.
Was Nelson the only guy who could pull it all together? Nobody had scared him like that before. Made him humiliate himself like that…
Shamus wanted to finish on his own terms. He had twenty grand from Myrtle that would help him go underground fast, but not before he pried some answers from that nosy scarecrow.
Nelson wasn’t a prospective customer, so Shamus didn’t know where he lived. The guy worked at state police headquarters, but that was a little too bold. He would have tailed him back to his home, but he didn’t have that kind of time.
On a hunch, he opened up the phone book to the white pages and checked the name on the card. Right after Rogers, Nancy, there it was: Rogers, Nelson. Not “N” Rogers, but Nelson. The address was in Bear, probably in those apartments or town houses. Not a hunch. Destiny. Game on!
Earlier Shamus had taken off around eleven thirty for “lunch” and picked up some supplies on the way home. Now, with his call made to the police, all he needed was to confirm that they’d taken the bait and he would move forward. If they didn’t call back, plan B was to skip town and seek his future straightaway.
He had everything staged by his front door. He’d packed light and left most of his possessions in place. He made sure the gas cans were tightly sealed and that all the cash was in a canvas bag with some clothes. He tucked the revolver in a holster in the small of his back. It would be uncomfortable, especially when he drove, but his jacket would keep it covered during his shift.
He shook Gran’s picture again and then panned the front hallway to show her his work.
“All your fault, you know. Had to make me take the dirty girl, didn’t you? Now I’ve got to clean up your mess.” She sent no message, because she knew he was right.
He picked up the antique cowbell. Funny, he didn’t remember when he’d bought it, just noticed it one day.
“Fair’s fair. Time for your punishment.” He did his best to match the slow, deliberate clang she always used.
He returned the picture to the freezer and took the turquoise and brass urn with her ashes. He added hot water from the kitchen tap and swirled.
Shamus poured the sludgy mixture into his ice-cube trays and returned them to the freezer. Tiny curls of steam looked like smoke.
Finally, he took down the now vast collection of articles and fed them to his garbage disposal.
At the dealership, Shamus took the parking space behind Hank’s car and popped the hood. He checked the oil for show and yanked a fuse, which he put in his pocket. He checked his messages at home. Nelson had fallen for it. No turning back now.
CHAPTER 52
Ties That Bind
Both Shamus and Hank were scheduled to leave at five o’clock. He slipped out before Hank.
In his car, Shamus cranked the engine, which didn’t start. Hank approached, and Shamus got out in disgust. He opened the hood and cursed.
“What’s wrong?” Hank peered into the engine bay.
“Damn! I know exactly what it is. One of the clips for my fuses came loose. Happened before. The fuse drops out, and then the car won’t start. That’s just great!”
“Can you find it?”
“It must have fallen out on the way. I have a spare at home. Crap!”
Hank looked amused at Shamus’s misfortune. “Can’t you get another from service?”
“They’re out, thanks to me.”
“Sounds like you need a new car, man. Can I interest you in a Honda?” Hank laughed.
“Maybe. But first I need to get home. Can I ask you a huge favor, Hank?”
He could tell Hank thought he knew what was next. “I have to go, man. Dot is meeting me at the mall…”
“Please, I have a date later, and well, I don’t get many of those, so I can’t be late. I live close by. Tell you what, I’ll hook you up with not one, but two lunches from Sugarloafs. One for each way. What do you say?”
“Must be some girl. All right, let’s make it quick.” They climbed into Hank’s late-model Accord demo. “See how it starts right up?” Hank grinned.
When they reached the apartment, Shamus looked over at Hank.
“While you’re here, can you come up real quick and tell me which tie I should wear tonight? I know it’s stupid, but if anyone knows ties, it’s you. I’ll grab the fuse while you look. Won’t take a sec.”
“Why not?”
Hank was all smiles now that he was properly bribed. Shamus unlocked his front door and pointed toward his bedroom.
“The ties are in there on the bed; I’ll get that fuse.”
Hank took a few steps into the apartment and stopped. “You really live here?” He sniffed and looked over at the gas cans.
“Hey man, that’s not safe. Why do you have gas indoors?” Hank jumped at the sound of the slammed door.
“Alone at last.” Shamus held his revolver.
“Is this some sort of joke? Don’t point that at me; I don’t care if it isn’t loaded. I learned in the navy, never point a weapon unless you’re going to use it.”
Shamus needed to move him down the learning curve a little quicker.
“It is loaded. Shut up and do what you’re told.”
“I’m out of here, man.” Hank sounded frightened and stopped cold when Shamus aimed the gun at his head.
“Crash course, Hank. Stick with me. Lots of people getting dead in Wilmington. Two things in common. They all deserved it, and they all shopped at Patriot. Cops came yesterday and again this morning. They only want to talk to one person. Is this coming together for you yet?”
Hank was smarter than he acted. Shamus could see the wheels working. He turned pale, an excellent sign.
>
“My God,” he whispered.
“There’s my man! You can see me in a whole new light, can’t you? Take your time, I don’t show off my radiance to everyone.” It felt good to share.
“Why me? Why would you want to hurt me?”
Shamus needed Hank under control for the next part to go smoothly.
“I’ve got good news. Listen carefully. Actually, sit down. You don’t look so good.” Shamus gestured toward a chair. Hank sat.
“I need you, and when I’m done I have no interest in hurting you. Do what I say and don’t try anything stupid, and we’re both going to be fine. Desperate people try stuff. Make sense so far?”
Hank just stared.
“C’mon, buddy, I need a little feedback here.”
“What do I do?”
“I’ll get to that. We have a short drive ahead. Going to see a friend. Don’t get any crazy ideas. Police will have a big interest in me soon, so you’re an insurance policy. I need a head start. The gas is going with us so I can get farther without stopping in public.”
“Why me?”
“Oh, hey, don’t take it personally; you just happened to come out to the car.” The lie felt smooth on his tongue.
“Where will you go?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Shamus laughed hard. “I’ve always wanted to say that!” He turned serious. “Okay, time to get to work. Put on those coveralls and hat.” Shamus pointed to the items on a wall hanger.
Hank nodded. He looked like he might faint. Shamus needed him alert.
“Snap out of it, soldier! You’re going to drive us down to Bear. Once you finish dressing, grab the gas cans.” Shamus donned his own coveralls and cap. Now they were two painters. He shouldered his backpack and picked up the money bag. He kept the revolver out of sight in his other hand.
Final Price Page 19
