The red lips quirked upward into a snide smile. “Don’t bother with the Mrs. Kirkland bull. I know who she is.” She narrowed her eyes on Andrea.
“Then the question is, who are you?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe I’m Win’s long-lost cousin.”
John gave her a look. “Not a chance.”
She shrugged, as if she didn’t care. But the movement was tense and forced. “I’m Tonnie. Tonnie Bartell. Take your questions to Wingate. He can explain everything.” She stepped back, ready to shut the door.
John stuck the toe of his shoe between door and frame. “I suggest you talk to me. This is part of a criminal investigation.”
The door stopped mid arc. “Criminal investigation? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
He didn’t have time to get into the things she was doing wrong. “Then you won’t mind cooperating. When was the last time you saw Wingate Kirkland?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ramona Graham said you visited Kirkland Development’s office a week ago.”
“What of it? Win and I had talked about going to dinner. Is that a crime?”
“Ramona said he wasn’t there.”
Tonnie forced a shrug. “He must have decided to leave early.”
“To go to Wingate Estate?”
She glanced at Andrea, her eyes shooting bullets. “He hunts deer.”
John looked from Tonnie to Andrea and back again. Not only did Tonnie know who Andrea was, she obviously didn’t like her. Each glance screamed dislike loud and clear. A dislike John might be able to use to blast out the truth. “Instead of keeping his dinner plans with you, he went to Wisconsin to be with his wife?”
“Is that what she told you? I suppose she also said she pined away until her Prince Charming came back to the castle. What a laugh.” She homed in on Andrea. “You might be able to fool Mr. District Attorney, but you can’t fool me. Win told me all about you.”
Andrea’s eyes narrowed.
“He told me you married him for his money, how you made him change his will.”
Andrea’s lips thinned into a bloodless line. “I didn’t make him do anything.”
“That’s not what I heard. He said you threatened to divorce him if he didn’t agree to leave everything to you.”
Andrea glanced up at John. “I never threatened Wingate. Believe me, it was the other way around.”
“At first I thought he was doing it just to keep money-grubbing sister Joyce from getting her hooks into his dough,” Tonnie continued. “But it seems there’s more than one money grubber in his life. Only you make Joyce seem generous by comparison.”
John watched Tonnie. There was a lot of anger there. Anger and self-delusion. It didn’t take much imagination to see little Miss Mistress following her precious Win up to his estate and confronting him about standing her up. And if a gun was handy…
If he only knew in which house Kirkland usually kept the gun Mylinski found. If it was usually in Chicago, John might have something to give Mylinski. Not much, but it beat returning empty-handed. “Does Kirkland keep a gun here?”
“A gun?” She narrowed her eyes again, this time on John. “What kind of criminal investigation is this? Is Win in some kind of trouble?”
“We don’t know. But unless you want take the risk of being in trouble right along with him, you’d better answer the question.” He glanced down the hall at the woman peeking out her apartment door. “And if you don’t want your neighbors to know all about it, you’d better invite us in.”
Tonnie looked from John to Andrea and back again. Finally, she nodded and swung the door wide. “Might as well. But you can’t stay long. I’m expecting company.” She led them into the apartment where the hall opened into a wide room with a spectacular view. Walled with glass, the room overlooked Chicago’s Magnificent Mile and the white dots of boats in Lake Michigan’s harbor beyond. Wingate Kirkland was wealthy, all right. In real estate as well as beautiful women.
Reaching a cream chair, Tonnie sat and curled her feet under her like a cat.
She was beautiful, John had to admit. Her dark hair glowed with auburn highlights. Her model-slim body moved with grace and confidence. And her eyes were the kind that drew a man in.
But even in the same room with this dark beauty, John had a hard time keeping his eyes off Andrea. Gnawing her bottom lip, she perched on the edge of the sofa as if sheer will was the only thing keeping her from bolting.
He forced his attention back to Tonnie. “About Kirkland’s gun?”
“I went to a gun show with him about a month ago. He bought several guns.”
“What kinds of guns?”
“Search me. I don’t know anything about the things.”
“Were they hunting rifles or handguns?”
“Mostly rifles. He bought one handgun, though. A little one. He had me pick it up to see how it fit in my hand.”
“Did he keep the gun here at the apartment?”
“No. He took it to Wisconsin with him. He said he bought it for her. Just like he did everything for her. Even when she didn’t deserve it.”
Andrea turned to him, eyes wide with shock. “He never bought me a gun. I don’t even know how to shoot one. I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”
John nodded to Andrea. He wanted to tell her it was all right. That he’d get to the bottom of it. That he’d find the truth. But it wasn’t all right. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth.
He pulled the rug dealer’s flyer from his briefcase. “Do you know this man?”
“Hank?”
“How do you know him?”
“He was here at the apartment for a party once.”
“A party? Hank Sutcliffe hauls rugs for a living. He doesn’t seem the type a millionaire like Wingate Kirkland would party with.”
Tonnie shrugged. Stretching her fingers out, she studied her manicure as if she had nothing better to do.
John let out a disgusted breath. Her nonchalance didn’t fool him. Witnesses with something to hide often resorted to grooming gestures to cover up tension. “When was this party?”
She looked up from contemplating her nail polish. “Last week. Right before Win left for Wisconsin.”
“Who else was at the party?”
“What business is that of yours?”
He ignored the comment, trying to read her body language instead. “Just the three of you?”
She shrugged. “It’s Hank that’s in trouble, isn’t it?”
“I need to talk to him. Do you know where I can find him?”
“He’s living at one of Win’s apartment buildings. Just moved in.”
Sutcliffe had moved into one of Kirkland’s buildings? This was getting stranger by the minute. “Do you know how Kirkland became friendly with Hank Sutcliffe?”
“Yeah. He said she introduced them.” Tonnie shot a glare at Andrea.
“I didn’t. I don’t know him.” Andrea threw her hands out in front of herself as if warding off physical blows.
“I guess they were old friends,” Tonnie kept on. “Good enough friends that Win offered him a job and a place to live down here to get him away from her.”
Andrea faced John. Her wide blue eyes pleaded. Her voice ripped from her throat in a strangled whisper. “I’ve never met Hank Sutcliffe in my life, I swear.”
John swallowed into a dry throat. The way evidence was piling up against Andrea, there wasn’t a chance in hell he should believe her. But God help him, the gun, the news she knew Hank Sutcliffe—none of it changed a thing. He still wanted to believe she was telling the truth.
There weren’t enough antacids on the planet to overcome the ache in his gut this time.
Chapter Six
Andrea looked up at the battered six-story building and fought back the cold tendrils of memory threatening to choke her. She knew this neighborhood well. Too well. It was a neighborhood of poverty, drugs and the tyranny of gangs. A neighborhood where the air itse
lf pulsed with desperation and smelled of despair.
The neighborhood she’d grown up in.
The rhythm of rap music and a dribbled basketball mixed with the shouts of teens playing a game in a court between buildings. The smell of frying oil wafted from a restaurant—one of the few businesses open in the row of boarded-up buildings nearby. A gust of wind whipped down the street, its chill penetrating her bones. But the chill was nothing compared to the aching cold memories this place engendered.
Or the icy dread she’d felt while talking to Tonnie Bartell.
Every word out of the woman’s mouth was an accusation. Every answer she gave to John’s questions pointed back to Andrea. She tried to swallow the fear inching up her throat. It was as if she’d been plunged into an alternate universe. A universe where someone was trying to kill her with a black truck, everyone hid a dangerous secret and no matter what happened, it was her fault. Crossing her arms over her chest, she rubbed her upper arms with her hands.
“Are you cold?” John unbuttoned his overcoat.
She held up a hand. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
He gave her a skeptical frown.
“At least I will be fine once we find Hank Sutcliffe and he confirms he’s never met me.”
John nodded as if he believed her. But why would he? Since they’d come to Chicago, they’d found nothing that suggested anyone but her had killed Wingate. Couple that with the phone call he’d gotten on his cell earlier and Tonnie’s not-too-veiled suggestion that Andrea and Hank Sutcliffe were having an affair, and John would be crazy to believe her.
She walked faster toward one of the buildings. “I sure hope we can find Hank Sutcliffe. It’s easier to get lost in this neighborhood than most people know. Especially if you want to.”
“You sound like you have experience.” He gave her a pointed look.
She tried not to turn away under his scrutiny. The fact was, she did have experience. Too much. But telling him about it wouldn’t convince him she was telling the truth about Wingate’s death. Quite the contrary. Telling him about her past would only convince him she’d married Wingate for his money, just as Tonnie had said.
She forced a laugh. “I have enough experience to know that many of the residents here would rather eat dirt than talk to cops. Or district attorneys.”
He held up a finger. “Unless they don’t know I’m a district attorney.” He fished the rug flyer out of his briefcase and started for the teens playing basketball.
A couple of kids watched their approach suspiciously. When they stepped onto the court, a tall pock-marked boy with a gold cap on one front tooth stepped forward. “What do you want, cop?”
The basketball stopped bouncing. The other kids gathered behind the spokesman.
John held up his hands, palms outward. “I’m not a cop. I’m an attorney. I’m looking for this man.” He held out the flyer.
“Should have known. You dress too good for a cop.” The kid glanced at the picture. His eyes showed neither surprise nor recognition. “So? What he do?”
“Nothing. He inherited some money. If you direct me to him, he might give you a share for the favor.”
“I’m sure he’d give me some out of the goodness of his lily-white heart. Too bad I don’t know him.” The kid grinned, showing off his gold tooth, and dropped the flyer. The wind caught the paper and plastered it against the chain-link fence enclosing the basketball court.
“Yeah. Too bad.” John turned away from the kids and retrieved the flyer from the fence. After returning to the sidewalk, he glanced at Andrea and shrugged. “So much for that idea.”
“The prospect of someone showing up and offering money is pretty foreign to people here. A fantasy, really.”
“Good thing I have another idea.” He walked beside her until they reached the next building. As they approached the door, a woman bustled out, a little girl in tow. John stood in their path and held out the flyer. “Excuse me. I’m an attorney looking for this man. Have you seen him?”
The woman squinted at the picture. “Don’t know.” Clutching the girl’s hand, she pulled her around John.
John moved with them, blocking their path. “He owes a lot of money in child support.”
The woman glowered. “I guess he has a lot of company.”
“Have you seen him?” He offered her the flyer again.
She didn’t even pretend to look at the picture this time. “I said, I don’t know.” She pulled the girl around John and hurried down the sidewalk.
John turned to Andrea. “So much for compassion. Any ideas?”
Andrea nodded. She had a few. No telling if they would work, but she had nothing to lose by trying them. She took the flyer. John yanked the apartment building door open and motioned her into the lobby.
What there was of a lobby.
The odors of old cigarette smoke and rotting garbage hit her in the face with the force of a physical blow. A too-loud television set blared through walls the thickness of tissue. Sunlight struggled to shine through the grime-encrusted window over the door and failed. Not that the place would have been better for the light. At least the shadows helped hide the filthy carpet, graffiti-scrawled walls and broken light fixtures. A man with a scruffy beard and a can of malt liquor in his hand stood at the bank of scarred mailboxes.
Memories pushed into Andrea’s mind, memories she’d rather let die. Shoving the memories aside, she raised her chin and approached the man. “Sir? We’re with the government, and we need your help.”
He looked her up and down before turning back to the mailboxes. He slipped a key in one and opened it.
Good thing she didn’t discourage easily. Stepping toward him, she held the flyer under the man’s nose. “This man is suspected of aiding terrorists. Have you seen him?”
The man focused on the picture. “I seen him.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
He nodded. “Lives in 3C. He’s home now. I just saw him before I came down for my mail.”
She gave him a smile. “Thank you, sir. You’re a good American.”
“Damn straight.” He took a swig from his can and turned back to his mailbox.
John and Andrea headed up the cement stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea spotted John’s grin.
“Good story,” he said. “Couldn’t have thought of a better one myself.”
A glow registered somewhere in the pit of her stomach at his praise. “Thanks.”
They reached the third floor and opened the stairwell door. Soon they would talk to Hank Sutcliffe. Soon he would tell John he’d never seen her before. And then she could leave Sunny Vale Apartments and all the memories that went with them behind for good.
Spotting the door marked C, she pointed it out and fell in behind John.
He rapped on the door hard, the sound reverberating down the hall.
A rustle came from behind the door. The television sounds ended abruptly. Finally the knob turned, and the door inched open. A green eye peered out above the still-secured door chain. “What do you want?”
John held up his identification card. “I’m from the district attorney’s office in Dane County, Wisconsin—”
“Who sent you?”
“Can we come in?”
“Who sent you, damn it?”
Andrea stepped closer to the door. “No one sent us. We’re here about my husband, Wingate Kirkland.”
The man moved to close the door.
She slipped her foot between the door and the jamb, the way she’d seen John do when Tonnie had tried to slam the door in their faces. She couldn’t let Sutcliffe shut them out. Not until he told John the truth. “Do you know me, Mr. Sutcliffe? Have you ever seen me before in your life?”
He leaned on the door.
Pain crushed her toes and shot up her leg. John grabbed her leg and pulled her foot out of the door. The door slammed shut. “Are you crazy? Do you want a broken foot?”
Panic tightened her throat. “He doesn�
��t know me. He has to tell you he doesn’t know me. He can’t just slam the door.” She pushed against John’s chest until he released her. She lunged at the door, her fists cracking against wood.
“Shh.” John cocked his head and held a finger to his lips.
She stopped, listening, her pulse pounding in her ears.
A faint screech penetrated the paper-thin walls. Then she heard a clatter of feet on a metal grate. She looked at John. “The fire escape?”
He nodded once. Grabbing her hand, he raced for the stairs. “Maybe we can catch him on the way down.”
Heart thumping against her ribs, she ran. Her breathing echoed in her ears, drowning out the beat of their shoes on the concrete stairs. They reached the ground floor and pushed out the exit.
Cold air slapped Andrea’s face and rasped in her lungs. They rounded the corner of the building. The fire escape clung to the cement block wall in front of them. Hank Sutcliffe dangled from the bottom platform. And jumped.
He hit the ground hard, falling to the concrete in a heap. Struggling to his feet, he glanced in their direction. His eyes were wide, frightened, as if they were coming after him with guns.
“Wait!” Andrea yelled.
He turned and ran, ducking around the far corner of the building.
John and Andrea raced after him. But by the time they circled the building, dark narrow alleys and junk-strewn streets were all that greeted them. Hank Sutcliffe was nowhere to be seen.
“Damn.” John stopped running.
Andrea shook her head, the wind whipping her hair against her cheeks. “He can’t be gone. He can’t be.”
“There’s no telling which alley or street he went down. Hell, he might have ducked inside one of those boarded-up buildings for all we know.”
Up ahead, the thump of a car stereo shook the air and centered in the middle of her chest, stronger than her heartbeat. A rust-encrusted sedan turned the corner.
John was right. They’d never find Hank Sutcliffe now. She’d meant it when she’d said people could get lost in this place. They could get lost and never find their way out. “What do we do now?”
Incriminating Passion Page 6
