Cold Justice (Kali O'Brien series Book 5)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  A single word packing the weight of a wrecking ball. It hit Kali square in the chest.

  “Keating,” she asked to make sure she’d heard right. But she knew she had.

  “Yes.” The woman hesitated. “It sounds like you were hoping it was someone else. That’s too bad because he seemed like a nice young man to me.”

  It had to be someone else with the same last name. A coincidence. A fluke. Not Bryce.

  “Jeans and a black leather jacket,” the woman added. “A good-looking guy, if you ask me.”

  Kali had no idea what she said to get herself off the phone. She hoped she hadn’t simply hung up on the woman.

  Bryce? Impossible.

  Or was it? He clearly had inside knowledge about the Strangler case. And there was nothing to say he hadn’t been behind the murders. When Margot was attacked, he’d been right there in the neighborhood, after all. She tried to think what his motivation might be. Attention as detective on the case? Fulfillment of his own fantasies, as Dunworthy predicted? She wondered what he’d been doing at the time of the Strangler murders.

  Her head argued with her gut. It wasn’t possible; it was. She felt sick to her stomach.

  She went into the bathroom, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. The apprehension she’d felt on discovering the rose was now layered with anguish. It clawed at her insides.

  The phone rang. Kali jumped. Don’t let it be Bryce, she prayed. She waited for the machine to pick up.

  “This is Lou Fortune returning your call. I’m at 510-63—”

  She grabbed the phone in mid-sentence.

  <><><>

  At first Lou thought she might be high. Her sentences rambled, and her voice had an unnatural tenor, almost as though she were talking without breathing. Once he understood the gist of what she saying, he wondered if she might be psychotic as well. Now that he was off the phone, though, no longer dealing with a woman on the brink, he tried to be objective.

  Was there any chance in hell she might be right?

  His immediate response was a resounding no. Even Kali herself had seemed unsure. There had to be another explanation. A different Keating. Or a flower for a different purpose.

  As much as Lou tried to keep the doubts at bay, they drifted, like smoke, through the cracks and crevices of his mind, and settled square in the center of his thoughts.

  Okay, so the idea wasn’t totally impossible. But his own partner?

  Keating was a cipher. A maverick cop who lived by his own code. Lou didn’t always agree with his methods or approach, but in the short time they’d been working together he’d seen nothing that made him think Keating wasn’t also a good cop.

  On the other hand, Lou was a good cop too. He knew better than to let personal feelings interfere with the job. That was one of the basic tenets of police work.

  Before he’d found Kali’s message, he’d been working in the garden. Now he changed into clean clothes and headed out to speak to the florist who’d sold the yellow rose. He took along a photo of Keating.

  Giabaldi’s Flowers and Gifts was a small store wedged between a check-cashing service and a pawnshop. Lou didn’t see much in the way of gifts—just some balloons and greeting cards—but the glass-paneled refrigeration unit was brimming with floral arrangements. Lou suspected the bulk of their business came from wired deliveries rather than off-the-street purchases.

  A young man was behind the counter. Lou asked to speak to the woman who’d been working earlier that day.

  “She’s gone. Can I help you?”

  Lou showed his identification. “Can you tell me where I might find her? It’s important.”

  The man looked worried. “She was going off to see her cousin or something. She’s not in trouble, is she?”

  “No, I just wanted to ask her about a sale.”

  “She should be back in a few days.”

  Days. By then it might be too late. “Do you have a number where I can reach her?”

  The man shook his head. “Sorry. I got the impression it was up north somewhere. Susanville, maybe. I can give her a message when she gets back.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll catch her later.”

  Lou sat in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He was resisting this whole line of inquiry. But having opened the door in his own mind, he wanted to see it through. Finally, he started the engine and drove to Keating’s place. Better just to confront him and get it out in the open.

  Lou rang the bell, waited, then knocked on the door. No answer. When he determined Bryce wasn’t at home, he turned a few moral somersaults before searching out the spare key out from under the step where he knew Bryce hid it and letting himself in. He didn’t like what he was doing, but what if he did nothing and Kali got killed? He’d like that less. He hoped she’d taken his advice to go away for a bit.

  Lou started in Keating’s bedroom. Night stands, dresser, closet, and then into the second bedroom, which was used as an office. Lou wasn’t sure what he was looking for. It could be clothing, pictures, anything that might implicate Keating in the murders.

  He didn’t find it.

  Lou settled in on the living room couch to wait for his partner.

  <><><>

  After talking with Lou Fortune, Kali went back to pacing from room to room. At first, Loretta followed her, prancing eagerly across the hardwood floor in search of excitement. When none was forthcoming, the dog curled in a sunny spot near the window.

  Kali wasn’t sure Lou had even believed her. He’d sounded skeptical. As well he might, she scolded herself. Bryce was his partner, after all.

  Kali wasn’t sure what she believed herself. But she felt better for having shared her suspicions with Lou.

  Suddenly she had a thought that stopped her cold in her tracks. What if they were in it together?

  No, she was losing her grip. She felt suddenly light-headed. She went into the kitchen to find something to eat, and realized she couldn’t stomach the thought of food.

  The niggling doubt wouldn’t let up. Had she mistaken the fox for the farmer? Surely, there must be someone she could trust.

  She tried calling Owen and got a busy signal.

  “Keep your eyes open,” she told Loretta, who opened hers only long enough to give Kali a plaintive where’s-the-fun-in-this sort of look. “I’m going out for a bit.” And then we’re leaving, Kali added silently. Lou had been right in suggesting Kali not stay at the house. Kali parked directly in front of Owen’s, then went to the door and rang the bell. It was Selby who answered. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and was drying her hands on a dishtowel.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Kali told her. “I was hoping to speak with Owen.”

  “He’s out golfing with some bigwigs from southern California and won’t be back until much later.”

  “Oh.” That was a blow she wasn’t prepared for. The emotional turmoil of the day caught up with her. She felt tears threatening.

  “Is something wrong, Kali? You seem upset.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “I don’t have any way to reach him.” Selby took her arm. “Come inside and have some tea, why don’t you. I just put the kettle on. Or maybe you’d like something stronger?”

  “Tea sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

  They moved into the kitchen. Kali took a seat at the center island while Selby prepared the tea. The room was large, with a hand-crafted copper hood over the stove and granite slab counter-tops. The cabinets were cherry, and above the sink a large bay window looked out onto an expansive garden as attractive as any Kali had seen on the pages of a magazine. More than lovely, it was a safe haven. Kali felt herself growing calmer.

  “How do you take your tea?” Selby asked. “Sugar? Lemon?”

  “Just plain. This is a great kitchen.”

  Selby smiled. “It is, isn’t it? We thought of moving after we decided to get married, or rather I did. I wasn’t keen on the idea of living with ghosts.”

/>   “Ghosts?”

  “Marilyn. Everyone says when you marry a widower you should start over in a house that’s yours, not theirs.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yes, it does.” Selby climbed onto the high bar stool next to Kali. “I was ready to sell it and move on. Several real estate agents pointed out that the house was in bad shape and we’d do better to fix it up first. Marilyn had let things go to pot, and she didn’t have much decorating taste to start with. Not that I’m faulting her; she had her own problems. But by the time we’d fixed things up, it no longer felt like Marilyn’s house. It was mine and Owen’s, and I loved it.”

  “That’s the problem with well-meaning advice,” Kali said, finding the small talk comforting. “It doesn’t always fit one’s particular situation.”

  Selby nodded. “We were also worried what Alex’s reaction would be if we sold the house. Not that he spends much time here.” A pained look crossed Selby’s face.

  “How do you two get along?”

  A bitter laugh. “We don’t.”

  “You came into a situation that was already pretty volatile from what I understand.”

  “Our marriage seemed to make things worse, though.”

  “It can’t be easy.”

  “Mostly Alex ignores me. It’s Owen who gets the brunt of his hostility, though I thought things were getting better. Then they had another fight last night. Alex wanted the two of them to go to the auto show, but Owen had scheduled his golf game . . .” Her voice trailed off and she took a sip of tea. “It’s not all black and white either. Owen can be demanding. He has a tendency to think he knows best, which is not what kids want to hear. And he has a way of throwing his success in Alex’s face.”

  “Not a formula for peace.”

  “Sorry,” Selby said, with a smile. “You didn’t come here to listen to me whine.” And then her face darkened. “It’s about the investigation, isn’t it? Has there been another murder?”

  The calm she’d felt only moments before shattered. Kali felt the tea rise up in her throat. The next murder would be hers. “Not yet,” she stammered. “But I. . . well, I need to talk to him as soon as possible.” She was already on her feet, ready to take her leave.

  “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “I need to be going. Thanks for the tea, Selby. Tell Owen to call me as soon as he can.”

  <><><>

  Hearing Keating’s key in the door, Lou placed the Newsweek he was reading back on the sofa table. His palms were suddenly damp. He wiped them on his pants leg. He’d been on the verge of leaving a dozen or so times during the two hours he waited, but he knew confronting Keating head-on was the only way.

  Keating came through the door whistling, a bag of groceries in one hand. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lou.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Set the groceries down, Bryce.”

  “What’s going on?” But he put the bag on the floor.

  Lou unholstered his gun and set it on the coffee table. “Put yours there, too,” he said.

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Do it, Bryce. We need to talk.”

  Keating reached under his jacket and removed his gun. His expression registered confusion, not fear. That was a good sign, Lou thought.

  “What about the Ruger?” Lou said.

  “I haven’t got it on me.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Keating raised first one leg and then the other, pulling the hem of his jeans above his sock line. “Now, you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Did you buy flowers yesterday?”

  “Why would I buy flowers?” Again, the confusion sounded genuine.

  “You weren’t at Giabaldi’s Florist on San Pablo?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Woman who works there claims you were.”

  “Well, she’s wrong. What in the hell’s going on, Lou?”

  Keating wasn’t acting like a man with something to hide. Lou was aware it could be a trick. Keating was clever. But his responses seemed so genuine, Lou was inclined to trust him.

  “We’ve got a problem, Bryce. The woman at the florist says you bought a single yellow rose there.”

  Keating’s jaw dropped. “Whoa, hold on. You think I’m the killer? This is some kind of joke, right?”

  “It’s not a joke. The woman says you dropped your business card.”

  “Jesus. You think if I were actually the killer, I’d be stupid enough to drop my business card?” Keating waved his arms wildly. “Anybody could have picked up that card.”

  Lou nodded. “But she described the man as well built and wearing a black leather jacket. What’s more, the man told her his name was Keating.”

  “Holy shit.” Keating tossed back his head, then paced to the far side of the room. “It’s a game for him, remember? This is just the sort of stunt he gets off on. Let’s go to the florist’s now. Ask the woman to her face if it was me.”

  “No need. I believe you. But I had to ask.”

  “How did this come up, anyway? Did she call the department?”

  Lou shook his head. “Kali got a rose. And a note.”

  If there’d been any doubt in Lou’s mind, Keating’s reaction put it to rest. Keating jerked as though he’d touched a live wire. His face went white.

  “When?”

  “This morning. You obviously haven’t checked your messages.”

  Keating grabbed his gun from the table. “Call her. Tell her I’m on my way over.”

  “Bryce, wait. She’s not going to—”

  But Keating was already out the door.

  CHAPTER 41

  Kali pulled into the garage and closed the door behind her. She entered the house, checked the front and side doors, and then the windows. Everything looked to be secure. She went into the kitchen to check her phone messages. None.

  Loretta was sleeping contentedly in the corner.

  “You’re a lazybones today,” Kali said. “I didn’t even get my usual greeting.”

  The dog raised an eyelid, looked at her, and shuffled her rear paws against the floor. Kali scratched behind her ears, and Loretta’s eye closed again. A dog’s life, Kali thought. She wished hers were as carefree.

  She’d decided to take Loretta and leave town. Stay in a motel until she figured out whom she could trust and whom she couldn’t. She’d pack a suitcase, take a couple of hundred dollars from the ATM, and they’d be off before nightfall.

  The afternoon was already beginning to turn to twilight. She needed to hurry.

  The doorbell startled her. She jumped.

  “Kali, are you there? Open up. It’s Bryce.” He knocked loudly.

  Kali froze. She heard him rattle the door, then heard his footsteps as he made his way around to the back of the house. The windows were bare. She’d be visible, like a bug under glass.

  Silently, she retreated down the hallway to her bedroom. The windows there were high enough that the room was secluded from anyone standing at ground level.

  Her whole body was shaking. She sat on the bed and reached for the phone to dial 911.

  The phone was dead.

  A wave of panic hit her, and then she remembered her cell phone. It was in her purse.

  In the kitchen.

  Kali didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of her bedroom, but she had to reach the cell phone. She was ready to make a quick dash for it when she heard a rustle of movement from the bathroom.

  An involuntary moan escaped from her lips. Her chest felt tight, as though it were being squeezed in an iron vice.

  She turned to see Alex. His broad frame filled the open doorway.

  In her confusion, all she could manage to say was his name.

  He smiled at her. “Hello, Kali.”

  “What are you doing here?” Her first thought was that Owen had sent him, but she realized at once that made no sense.

  “Don’t play dumb. You know why I’m here.” He held a rope taut
between his hands.

  She shook her head, then took a step backward.

  “I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks now.”

  Her heart raced. She could hear the rush of her own blood in her ears. Alex. Not Bryce, afterall.

  “It was you,” she stammered. “You left the flower and photo on my doorstep.”

  “Yep.” He smiled. “You thought it was the cop, didn’t you? I found his card in my dad’s stuff. It was a nice touch, if I do say so myself.”

  “Why, Alex? Why any of this?”

  “Because I wanted to.” He moved closer, backing Kali toward the wall.

  “Wanted to,” she echoed. “What did any of us ever do to you?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t. No one does.” Alex’s eyes flashed with anger. “My father the know-it-all district attorney, the smart-ass who thinks he should be governor—he had plenty of time for the Bayside Strangler, but he was too busy for me or my mom.”

  “This is about him?” Kali’s throat was so dry, it hurt to talk.

  “No, it’s about me!” Alex squared his shoulders. “I’m just as strong and clever and important as that stupid Dwayne Davis. He didn’t even kill all those women.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was me who did Wendy Gilchrist.”

  The murder that had been different all along. The murder that most closely resembled the three current ones. Her head was spinning. “Why?”

  “The bitch laughed at me.”

  “So you killed her.” Keep him talking, wasn’t that the advice she always heard?

  “I didn’t mean to. I only meant to show her she couldn’t get away with it.”

  “Get away with what, Alex?”

  “She used me. Led me on like she’d give me anything I wanted, you know? Like she was hot for me. Oh, man, was she hot. Then suddenly she tells me to get lost, that she was only trying to make this other guy jealous.”

  “So her death was an accident,” Kali said, striving for the voice of reason. “And then you made it seem like the Bayside Strangler did it.”

  “Wasn’t hard. He was all over the news. All I had to do was send her a yellow rose. I didn’t know there was supposed to be a stupid note with it.” Alex laughed. “And then my dad winds up prosecuting the guy. What a joke.”