Trailing a Killer

by Carol J. Post

  Now that she was close, he could see it—worry. Her gaze flicked down the length of him and bounced back up to his face. Warmth filled his chest, and he scolded himself. That concern would be there even without their history.

  “I’m fine. Someone came into my lane.”

  Okay, that was sugarcoating it.

  “On purpose?”

  He sighed. No sense denying it. “I think it was the guy from the hospital.”

  She frowned. “You shouldn’t be out running around. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ve been doing estimates for hurricane damage.”

  “Where?”

  “North Fort Myers, heading down to Fort Myers.”

  “Where else?”

  He winced. “I started on Pine Island.”

  She clenched her fists. “What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t joyriding.” His volume matched hers. “I’ve got a business. It’s not going to run by itself.”

  “And who’s going to run it if you’re dead?”

  His shoulders sagged. She was right. But what choice did he have? “Do you know what happens to the construction industry in the wake of a hurricane? There’s more work than any of us can handle. We’re swamped for months afterward.”

  “Then lie low for a few weeks. The work will still be there.”

  “The first step is doing the estimates for the insurance companies. If I don’t do the estimates, I won’t be the one doing the work. I could lose hundreds of thousands of dollars. I can’t recover from that.” Two years ago, maybe. But not now. His ex-wife had seen to that.

  Frustration burned a path through his chest. “Why is this guy after me, anyway?”

  “Because you saw him leaving the day of the storm.”

  “But I wouldn’t be able to identify him. Not with the rain slicker hiding his head and part of his face. Add the sunglasses and, as far as I’m concerned, he could be anybody.”

  “He doesn’t know that, and he’s probably not taking any chances.”

  The wrecker driver approached, a clipboard in one hand. “Do you have a body shop you prefer?”

  “No.” He’d never had to use one. Other than a minor fender bender the year he turned nineteen, he had a perfect driving record. He hoped this one wouldn’t go against him. “I live in Cape Coral.”

  “Then we’ll take it to West Coast Collision on Country Club Boulevard.”

  “I know where it is.” He signed the paperwork and watched the man walk back to his truck.

  Erin tilted her head toward the unmarked Lee County vehicle. “Come on and I’ll take you home. But I’m still insisting you need to find some other living arrangements, preferably somewhere away from Lee County.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Not that it would change anything. He couldn’t walk away from his business, regardless of whatever danger he found himself in.

  He walked with her toward her SUV. “Do you mind taking me by Enterprise? I need to rent a car. I still have a couple of appointments in Fort Myers. I’ll just be late.”

  “I don’t know.” Though her gaze held sternness, there was humor behind it. “If you don’t have wheels, you’ll have to stay home.” As she walked toward the vehicle, her smile faded and she grew serious. “We’re trying to solve this thing. The arson investigators are handling the explosives end of things, but Lee County is working on your grandfather’s homicide.”

  Cody’s step faltered. Homicide. The word sounded so cold and unemotional. It was used to describe people on TV—characters on crime shows, strangers in the news.

  It didn’t belong paired with the most important man in Cody’s life.

  THREE

  Erin’s sneakered feet pounded the pavement, and her braid bounced against her back. Friend and neighbor Courtney Blake jogged next to her, and Alcee was on-leash about six feet in front of them. To their right, the sun hadn’t yet climbed above the treetops. But the early hour didn’t deter the dog. She loved her runs, whatever time Erin could work them in.

  Almost a week had passed since Cody’s accident, and there hadn’t been any more threats. It helped that he was staying well clear of his grandfather’s old place. He also wasn’t going out alone. Until this was over, one of his guys would accompany him on all of his appointments. The fact he was driving around in a rented car didn’t hurt, either. Once he got the Ram back, they’d have more cause for concern. If he got the Ram back. According to Cody, the adjusters hadn’t determined yet whether it would be repaired or totaled.

  Without slowing, Alcee made a sharp right onto the sidewalk that bordered Linhart Avenue. Across the street two blocks ahead, a paved drive led through the sports fields that lay tucked behind Fort Myers High School. The area provided a great place to run, and even though school had started the prior week, they wouldn’t have to share the space with any students this early.

  Alcee wasn’t the only one enjoying herself. Running had been one of Erin’s passions for almost a decade. During that time, she’d completed several half marathons and numerous charity races in LA. Now she needed to find some in Florida.

  When they reached the back road onto the school grounds, Alcee slowed, waiting for the command to cross Linhart. At this early hour traffic was nonexistent.

  “Go.”

  The dog trotted across the street. As they jogged past the baseball field with its green block wall and Fort Myers logo, Erin turned to her friend. “You doing okay?”

  “Fine.” She was winded, but she was keeping up.

  It hadn’t taken Erin long to find a jogging partner. Shortly after she’d moved into her home four months ago, she’d run past Courtney’s house several doors down and found her working in her yard. They’d struck up a conversation and instantly hit it off. In the weeks that followed, Erin introduced Courtney to running, and Courtney introduced Erin to Jesus. Erin got the better end of the deal. By far.

  Without slowing, Courtney took a swig from the water bottle she kept clipped to her waist. “I saw you guys on the news the other day.”

  “Yeah.” This morning was the first time their schedules had coincided since the storm. Between Cody’s grandfather’s death and the rest of her caseload, she’d been slammed. “Remember me telling you about my brief romance here the summer after high school?”

  “Cody something-or-other.” When Erin nodded, Courtney’s eyes widened. “He was the guy who was rescued? I thought he lived up North.”

  “He moved here eight years ago.”

  “Wow. You both end up in South Florida, he gets trapped, and you and your dog rescue him. What are the odds?” Courtney shook her head, but a smile curved her lips. “Looks like God might be giving you a second chance.”

  Erin threw her a doubt-infused glance. “I’m not looking for a second chance, and I doubt Cody is, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know his reasons. I can just tell he’s not.”

  “And what about yours?”

  “You know mine.”

  “Those reasons don’t apply to Cody.”

  Erin looked at her askance. “How do you know?”

  “Everything you’ve said about him. He sounds like a really nice guy.”

  “They’re all really nice guys at first.” Unfortunately for Erin, she’d never grasped how to tell when that niceness was a facade. She was a good cop and liked to think she had a decent business head. Sadly, that wisdom and good judgment didn’t always carry over into her personal life.

  So she was determined to keep her focus on her job, church, Alcee and running. And try to stick mostly with female friends. Life was a lot safer that way, both physically and emotionally.

  Courtney frowned at her pessimism. Relationship woes were one of the things they had in common. After pizza and a sappy movie one Friday night, Courtney had shared hers, and Erin had relaye
d her own pathetic history. Not all of it. Some things she hadn’t told anyone except her immediate family. And the therapist her parents had insisted she see for a brief time.

  In spite of what she’d held back, she’d still given Courtney more of her life history than she’d given anyone else. But there was one big difference between them. Courtney trusted God to bring her Mr. Right. Erin trusted God to help her continue to be happy with her single status and not try to change it.

  They followed the road’s leftward curve. The Edison Stadium entrance stood before them. At the fence that circled it, they turned around to head back the way they’d come.

  When they turned from Linhart onto Holly several minutes later, Erin’s house stood in the distance. It wasn’t impressive. In fact, just the opposite. She’d gotten a great deal on the place because it had needed so much work, inside and out. It was a small two-bedroom, two-bath, concrete-block exterior. Someday she’d have it stuccoed.

  When she reached her driveway, Erin said her farewells to her friend. “I’ll be in touch.” Rather than set hours, her shift times varied depending on what was happening. “We’ll shoot for the day after tomorrow.”

  As Courtney continued down Holly toward her own home, Erin slowed to a walk and made her way up the drive. Her yard was where she’d focused her attention. The hedge of sea grapes separating her property from the one next door had been there when she arrived. So had the oak in front and several palms. But the house’s foundation had been bare, the lawn sparse and weed-ridden.

  Over the past four months she’d seeded and fertilized, added some robellinis to the palms already there and created circular beds around each of the trees, filled with crotons, bromeliads and ornamental grasses. Ixora lined the house, each shrub a riot of vibrant red blooms.

  She loved her yard. Eventually, she’d love her house, too. She just didn’t know how to get there. The idea of letting a strange man inside made her break out in a cold sweat. It had even induced a couple of nightmares. That was something she should have considered before buying a fixer-upper.

  After unlocking the front door, she walked into the out-of-date interior to shower and get ready for work. She and the other detectives were making progress on Cody’s case, but it was slow. They’d talked to Jacob Whitmer, the owner of the apartment building, twice. He’d inherited the house from his parents years ago, then converted it to generate some income. An insurance claim would have offered an even bigger payout. Whitmer had been their prime suspect. Then they’d executed the search warrant yesterday and found several letters that had changed everything.

  Turned out Whitmer’s claims that the place held too much sentimental value for him to let it go were true. For the past six months Donovan Development had been trying to buy it. Judging from Donovan’s follow-up letters, Whitmer hadn’t budged, even when the offer went to double the market value.

  With no more motive, Whitmer had fallen off the suspect list and Donovan had landed on it. If the man wanted Whitmer’s property badly enough to offer an exorbitant price, maybe he’d decided to remove the obstacle by having the building destroyed. Chances were good he had an acquaintance with shoulder-length blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

  Today she’d stake out his business, and she was taking their only witness with her. She’d already arranged it. The change in plans meant Cody had to reschedule appointments, but he hadn’t objected. He was willing to do anything that might bring him a step closer to getting justice for his pops.

  Two hours later she sat in her Explorer at the convenience store kitty-corner from Donovan’s business. She’d chosen a parking space at the end, next to the trash container, where she wouldn’t tie up any of the store’s prime parking spots and where no one on the other side of the street was likely to notice her presence. Cody sat in the passenger seat staring through the front windshield at an angle, watching everyone who came and went.

  He lowered the binoculars to his lap. “Right build, longish hair, but the wrong color. And no beard. Of course, he could’ve shaved his beard and dyed his hair, but I can tell you he’s definitely not our guy.”

  Erin nodded. “The guy pulling up while we’re here is pretty much a long shot, but I figured we’d give it a try. And if nobody gets to it before I go in tomorrow, I’m going to show the composite you did yesterday to Jacob Whitmer.”

  He frowned at her. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  She’d finally conned him into having the sketch done, even though he’d insisted he didn’t have enough details to make it worth their while. His brief glance through the Camry’s tinted windows hadn’t given him anything more than he’d gotten from the other two encounters. After thirty minutes of sketching, the artist had a guy with wavy, shoulder-length blond hair and a beard, information Cody had already provided verbally.

  He watched an SUV pull into the parking lot diagonal from where they sat. “What does this Donovan guy look like?”

  Erin took her iPad from where she’d laid it on the dash and turned it on. After touching the screen a few times, the About page of Donovan Development’s website displayed there. She handed the tablet to him.

  Cody shook his head. “Definitely not the guy from the hospital.”

  “No.” She’d already checked out the company’s website and its owner. Middle-aged with balding hair and a roundish face, he looked nothing like their suspect.

  Two men exited the SUV. Cody ruled them out with one glance through the binoculars, then grinned at her. “Surveillance isn’t very exciting, is it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I’d rather be demoing a kitchen.”

  She smiled. “So would I.”

  His laughter filled the car. “That makes an interesting picture—you in safety glasses, sledgehammer in hand, swinging for all you’re worth, debris flying everywhere.”

  The picture was more than interesting. It was appealing. More so on some days than others. Although for stress relief, running offered the same benefits.

  Five minutes after disappearing inside, the two men who’d arrived in the SUV stepped out the single glass door and headed to their vehicle. As they waited to exit the parking lot, a pickup truck pulled in. When the driver got out, Cody picked up the binoculars, then leaned forward, tension radiating from him.

  Erin’s pulse kicked into high gear. “Our guy?”

  “I think so.”

  She didn’t have the advantage of the binoculars, but viewing him from where she sat, she saw two-or three-inch lengths of wavy blond hair curled from an elastic band at the base of his skull. The man brought a cigarette to his mouth and took a long, deep drag. A cloud of smoke curled around his face and head. She shifted her eyes to Cody, gauging his reaction.

  He tightened his grip on the binoculars. “Come on. Turn this way, just a little.”

  As she looked back at the man, he flicked the butt to the side, then pivoted ninety degrees to grind it into the asphalt with the toe of his boot.

  “Beard?” She was a little too far away to tell.

  “Yeah. It’s him. I’m positive. At least as sure as I can get with what I saw of the man.”

  Erin picked up her radio. “I’m calling for backup.” Cody’s ID would be enough to warrant bringing him in for questioning and finding out what kind of alibi he had for the night of the storm and the time stamp on the hospital surveillance footage. If he owned an older Camry with damage on the driver’s side, that would clinch it.

  Cody dropped the binoculars, concern etched into his features. “What if they don’t arrive in time?”

  “Then we’ll follow, let the uniforms make a traffic stop.” She wouldn’t approach the guy without backup, especially while responsible for Cody. The man was wanted for murder. He probably wouldn’t surrender without a fight.

  For the next several minutes she sat with her gaze glued to Donovan’s front door. They were
so close. Within the hour, it could all be over. Cody could have his life back.

  She glanced over at him. Once the danger was over, would he want to keep in contact? Would she?

  She knew the answer to the last question without even thinking about it. Unless he’d changed a lot in the past twelve years, Cody was like her friend Courtney—one of those gems that didn’t come across one’s path often. She had no doubt they could continue a friendship, as long as Cody could accept her hang-ups and not push for more than she was able to give.

  The glass door across the street opened, and a man stepped out. Cody raised the binoculars. “It’s Donovan. I recognize him from the website picture.”

  Donovan held the door open, and the blond guy joined him on the front stoop, his back to the road while they carried on a conversation. A siren sounded in the distance, and Erin cranked the vehicle. By the time the man turned to head to his truck, their backup wasn’t more than a block or two away.

  She put the vehicle in Drive and eased toward the road, ready to follow if needed.

  When Cody looked through the binoculars again, his eyes widened. “Wait. That’s not him.”

  “What?” Her voice sounded shrill in the confines of the SUV. “Are you sure?”

  “Call them off. There’s a large scorpion tattoo on the left side of the guy’s neck.”

  As Erin radioed a frantic message to Dispatch, two Punta Gorda police cars came into view. The man with the ponytail opened his driver door, casting a glance at them over his shoulder.

  The vehicles slowed, and Erin clamped down on her lower lip. If the real villain was anywhere nearby, the presence of the officers would tip him off.

  Suddenly, the lights and sirens died and the cruisers sped on past.

  Cody released a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t see the tattoo until he turned to walk back to his truck. The guy at the hospital didn’t have one.”

  “Maybe he just got it.”

  Cody shook his head. “It looked old, even a little faded. A tattoo that size, with that much ink, there’d still be some redness and swelling if it was new.”