Edge of Darkness

by Karen Rose

  “Mr. Voss, I did not tell anyone about our agreement. Tell me more about the cops that visited your wife tonight. Did they have any distinguishing marks? Scars?”

  “The black guy was bald, drove a Chevy SUV. The white guy drove a Jeep. My guy got the license plate numbers. He has a buddy on the force who ran them. The Jeep belongs to a detective named Kimble. First name Adam. The SUV is registered to the FBI.”

  His gut clenched. Kimble? With a big black guy built like a tank? Oh fuck. Just . . . fuck. Goddammit. He fought to maintain a tone of mild confusion. “I think I know the officers you mean.” Because the reporters had tried to get statements from both men while they processed the Buon Cibo crime scene earlier that afternoon. Detective Adam Kimble and Special Agent Jefferson Triplett. Goddammit. “If I’m right”—which he knew he was—“they’re the ones who are investigating the shooting that happened downtown today.”

  “But . . . what could they possibly want with Candace?” Voss asked, echoing his own thoughts. “That shooting today was a college kid who tried to shoot some woman. Give me a minute.” A keyboard clacked in the background, then momentary silence. “Oh shit,” Voss whispered. “That’s insane. Fallon? She was the target?”

  His gut clenched even harder. “How do you know Meredith Fallon?”

  “She’s my kid’s shrink. Do they think I’m involved? Am I a suspect?” His voice became shrill. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Obviously they think you do. Have you had contact with the target?”

  Another long silence. “No,” he said.

  But he was lying. I can always tell. “Why does your kid need a shrink? Because she saw a hooker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” He inserted a harsh edge into the question. “What else did she see?”

  “I don’t know.” And that sounded like the truth. If the child was in the house at the time of one of Voss’s parties . . . well, there was no telling what the kid had seen.

  “Voss, don’t push my patience. Have you had contact with Meredith Fallon?” he asked again, much more sharply. “I’ll find out. I have resources in CPD.”

  “You have resources everywhere,” Voss said with disgust.

  Yes, I do, he thought with a satisfied smile. “So? Fallon?”

  “I might have seen her around. A few times.”

  “You mean you stalked her,” he said flatly.

  “No. I just showed up in places where I knew she’d be. I just wanted to scare her, make it so that she’d stop badgering my kid.”

  And how’d that work out for you? he wanted to ask. “I have not disclosed to anyone the terms of our agreement, but the cops sticking their nose in your business could cause a major problem for you.” And for me, but I won’t let it get that far.

  “I have an alibi. I was speaking in front of a hundred people at a luncheon.”

  “Of course. Then you have nothing to worry about. Except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  “Well, you’re rich. You wouldn’t actually take care of something like that yourself.”

  “Oh my God,” Voss whispered. “This is a nightmare.”

  Indeed. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.” He sounded defiant now, but it was a farce. “I’ll think of something.”

  Too late. I already have. That the cops were sitting outside his house made it slightly more difficult and a good bit riskier, but if Voss was pressed by the police and spilled the beans about his being blackmailed . . .

  That cannot happen. Especially with both CPD and the FBI involved in the investigation. Voss had to be silenced.

  “You do that. And when you’ve thought of something, let me know what you’ve got planned. We’ll coordinate,” he lied and ended the call.

  He immediately dialed his uncle Mike, rolling his eyes at the curses that spewed from his uncle’s mouth. “Shut it, Mike. I need you.”

  Bedclothes rustled in the background. “For what?” Mike snarled. “I was asleep.”

  “I need you to take care of Broderick Voss.”

  “Why?” Mike yawned. “He stop paying? That could have waited till morning, kid.”

  “He’s a suspect in this afternoon’s shooting.”

  A beat of silence. “Huh. How’d that happen?”

  He explained Voss’s stalking of Meredith Fallon and Mike snorted.

  “Little shit. He was an idiot before he made a zillion bucks. Still an idiot. Okay, so how do you want it to go down?”

  He considered the options. “I think by his own hand, partying a little too hard.”

  “Okay, so take some quality H with me. No problemo.”

  “A little problemo. He’s got cops outside his front gate. He’s under surveillance.”

  Mike chuckled. “Just makes it more fun, kid. What’s my timeline on this?”

  “You have a few hours. Kimble and his Fed partner are about to become very busy with a house fire.”

  “Wait. Kimble’s investigating?” He laughed. “We don’t have to worry, then. The guy is fragile as a little snowflake. He’ll fold under the pressure.”

  “I’m not so sure. It’s been a while since his breakdown. I’m not going to underestimate him, that’s for damn sure. Plus this is bigger than one fragile snowflake. If Kimble folds, there are plenty of cops to take his place. And Feds.”

  A pause. “Are you afraid of Kimble?” Mike asked mockingly.

  He frowned. “Of course not. If he gets too close, we’ll take him out. For now, focus on taking care of Voss.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Saturday, December 19, 11:15 p.m.

  So much for getting to Meredith very, very soon, Adam thought as he parked in front of Pies & Fries, a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint near the college. Because Isenberg had called Adam as he and Trip had been leaving Candace Voss’s sister’s house. The owner of Pies & Fries had contacted Isenberg’s office to identify the shooting victim.

  The young man’s name was Andy Gold. He’d been twenty years old and had waited tables at Pies & Fries. Hell, he might have even waited on me. Adam was no stranger to this pizza dive.

  Adam got out of his Jeep, his heavy sigh lingering in the air. Trip met him on the sidewalk, his sigh equally heavy.

  “Andy Gold got any priors?” Trip asked.

  “Not even a parking ticket. Let’s see if we can find out why he’s dead.”

  Trip breathed deeply when they were inside. “You ever eat here?”

  “Had my eighth birthday here and I’ve been a fan ever since. I recommend the meat lover’s.” Adam pointed to the back corner where the owner was coming through the kitchen door. “Shorty Redman. Been the boss since I was in high school. It was his dad’s place before his. They’re good folk. Active in the community. He’s a good boss.”

  Trip looked surprised. “You worked here, Kimble?”

  “I did.” He smiled fondly at Shorty. “I washed dishes for three summers to earn the money for my first car.” He waved and Shorty gestured them toward another door in the back. It was the office and looked just like it did when Adam had been in high school, down to the supersized cans of tomatoes that were stacked against one wall.

  He shook Shorty’s hand, slapping the man’s back when he pulled him into a fast hug.

  Shorty swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect it would be you to show up for this. But I’m really glad you did.”

  Adam pointed to Trip. “Special Agent Jefferson Triplett, FBI.”

  “Sit, sit.” Shorty gestured to the folding chairs, grabbing one for himself so that he sat with them rather than sitting behind the desk. “I still can’t believe this. I didn’t see the news until after the dinner
rush was finished. I’d heard about what happened, but I didn’t see the report. And then . . .” His eyes closed and his throat worked. “God. That poor kid.”

  “Andy Gold,” Adam said. “What can you tell us about him?”

  “He wouldn’t hurt a fly, that’s what I can tell you. Real nice kid, working hard to put himself through college. Wanted to be somebody.” His eyes welled up and he looked away until he’d regained control. “He was the skinniest kid, but never asked for food. One day he nearly passed out. He finally admitted that he hadn’t eaten in two days. Dammit, Adam. A kid starving here? In my place? I never would have let that happen.”

  “I know, Shorty,” Adam said quietly. “You fed him.” It wasn’t even a question.

  “Yeah. Tried to fatten him up. Kid was finally looking healthy. I saw him on that video clip. He was . . .” A strangled sob tried to escape, but Shorty pushed it back with a visible effort. “He was so damn scared in that video,” he whispered. “He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Ever. He was a gentle kid.”

  “We believe that,” Adam said. “We’re trying to reconstruct his movements leading up to what happened today. Somebody killed him and we want to find that person.”

  “Good,” Shorty said roughly. “Hope you put him away in a dark pit. A bomb? God. He strapped a bomb to that sweet kid. Sent Andy in to do his own dirty work.”

  “How do you know that?” Trip asked.

  Shorty’s angry gaze jerked to Trip’s face. “Because that kid did not want to be there. Any fool could see that from the picture you guys gave the media.” He sucked in a breath, pursed his lips hard. “I’m sorry, Agent Triplett. I’m not saying you guys are fools. It’s just that Andy Gold worked for me for a year and he was always on time, always respectful, honest, good-hearted. All the things you want to see. I saw his photo on the news—the one the couple getting engaged got on their video. He was pale, shaking. That wasn’t Andy.”

  “I understand,” Trip rumbled and the immediate drop in Shorty’s tension was palpable. “I thought maybe you knew someone who’d be able to force him. Who’d have that kind of control over him.”

  “No,” Shorty said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know much more than that he had no family. He lived in a shitty apartment in somebody’s basement. I’ll get you the address.”

  “He mentioned concern over a girl,” Adam said. “Do you know who that could be?”

  “Ah. Could have been Linnie.” Shorty frowned, thinking. “If I ever heard her last name, I can’t remember it. I only saw her a few times. Seemed shy. Half the time Andy’d use his meal allowance for her. Took care of her.”

  “Did she live with him?” Trip asked.

  “No. He said she went to a different school than him. Lived in the dorm.” He made a sad sound. “I think he was into her more than she was into him, if you know what I mean. She was . . . touchy. No, that’s the wrong word. Skittish, that’s it. Like if you touched her, she’d bolt.”

  Trip’s mouth tightened. “Like someone had hurt her in the past?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I only saw her a few times. But . . . yeah. I think it’s fair.”

  Trip took out his notepad. “Can you describe her?”

  “Dark hair. Dark eyes with dark shadows under them. Her hair was shaved to the skin on one side and kind of uneven on the other, like she’d taken shears to it herself. Once she came in with a lot of makeup on. Looked a little . . . hard. She had a really quiet voice. Husky, as I recall. She looked young. Andy swore they were the same age, but she looked sixteen.”

  Trip wrote it all down. “Height? Weight? Clothing style?”

  “Um . . . well, she was about five-four, maybe. Skinny as a beanpole, just like Andy was when he first started working for me. She wore jeans and combat boots every time I saw her. One of her ears was pierced all the way up and around.”

  “Where did she and Andy meet?” Adam asked.

  “He said they knew each other in high school. That’s how he knew she was his age.”

  “Where was that?” Trip asked.

  “He never said where he grew up or anything about his family except that he didn’t have any. Andy was kind of tight-lipped about his past.” Another sad shake of his head. “I got the impression it hadn’t been so good.”

  “When did you last see Andy?” Trip asked.

  “Friday, about nine? He took a break to smoke out back.” He met Adam’s eyes. “You know, out on the loading dock.”

  Adam nodded ruefully. “Oh, I know.”

  “You smoked?” Trip asked in surprise.

  “Only once. Thought I’d choke to death.” Although he’d nearly tried again more times than he could count over the last year. So many of the folks he knew at AA smoked to fight the cravings. Adam just chewed gum. He’d chewed a buttload of gum this year. “Of course Shorty caught me that one time.” Adam returned his gaze to the older man. “And you never told my dad. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “That’s because he’s an as—” Shorty broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

  Adam knew exactly what he’d been about to say. He’s an asshole. And Shorty would be right. “So Andy was smoking. And then what?”

  “He never came back. I called his phone, but he never answered. I even sent somebody to his apartment in case he’d gotten sick, but he wasn’t there, either.”

  Adam grimaced at the prospect of getting anything decent from the loading dock. “It’s been over twenty-four hours. We’ll need to get a forensic team to the dock, but . . .”

  “How many deliveries did you take today?” Trip asked.

  Shorty looked miserable. “Three. And it’s where all my employees take breaks. Anything usable will be destroyed, won’t it?”

  “We’ve got really good forensic guys,” Adam told him. “Do you know what brand he smoked? We can at least separate his butts from all the others.”

  “No,” Shorty said sadly.

  “We’ll need a list of everyone who was working last night,” Trip said. “Names and addresses, please. And anyone who got along with Andy.”

  “Everyone got along with Andy, but he didn’t have any close friends. He used to joke that he’d have time for friends when he graduated.”

  “What was he studying?” Adam asked.

  Shorty’s eye roll was sadly fond. “English lit. He wanted to be a teacher or a writer. Kid loved poetry.” He got up and went to the door. “Johnny! Need you in here.” He looked over his shoulder at Adam and Trip. “Johnny is our other smoker. Sometimes he and Andy would take breaks together. I’m going to get Andy’s address and the other employees on shift last night. They’re in my computer.” He pointed at his desk. “Should I leave while you talk to Johnny? I can take my laptop out into the dining room.”

  “If you would,” Adam said. “I can’t visualize you on a laptop, Shorty.”

  A snort. “I never said I was good with it, but my daughter-in-law made it about as foolproof as possible. She’s got everything backed up so I can’t do anything irreversible.”

  He was leaving with his laptop when a young man came in, wiping his hands nervously on the rag hanging from the apron tie that wound around his waist. “You rang, boss?”

  “Yeah. These detectives want to talk to you about Andy.”

  A shaky nod. “I figured.”

  Shorty gave the guy’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “This is Johnny. He’s real smart, but talks slow. Give him space and let him get the words out. Nothing wrong with that, son,” he murmured to the boy. “Just smoothing your way.”

  “Thanks.” Johnny pointed to the door once Shorty was gone. “Should I close it?”

  “Please,” Adam said. “I’m Detective Kimble. This is Special Agent Triplett. Have a seat and try to relax. We’re just asking questions.”

  The boy sat nervously. “I know. I . . . can’t
believe this. Andy was a good guy, honest.”

  Adam’s smile was sad. “That’s what we hear from Shorty.”

  “And that man don’t lie,” Johnny declared.

  “I know. I used to work here, a million years ago.” It certainly felt like it.

  Johnny nodded. “I seen you here before, eatin’. Shorty said you had my job once, but now you’re a cop.”

  “That I am,” Adam said. “You and Andy were friends?”

  Johnny shrugged. “We were friendly, but we didn’t hang out. We asked him a bunch of times, me and the other guys, but Andy always was studying. He was smart, but he never treated the rest of us like we weren’t, you know?”

  Adam nodded. “Were you working with him last night?”

  “No. Shorty let me go home early. It was my girl’s birthday.”

  “Did you ever meet Andy’s girl?” Trip asked. “Linnie?”

  “Twice, maybe three times. She was pretty enough. But . . . off. Like . . .” He frowned again and went silent for a full minute. “Like a prickly porcupine. They’ve got cute faces, but you don’t want to touch. She had this stay-away vibe going on. Some of the guys would give Andy a hard time about her. Nothin’ mean, y’understand, just teasing. Andy would always insist they were just friends, but he wasn’t foolin’ us. He had it bad for the girl.”

  Adam felt bad for the boy he’d never met. The boy who’d told Meredith to run. “Did he ever mention anyone else besides Linnie?”

  Johnny went still, the frown of concentration reappearing. “Once he mentioned a guy named Shane. Said he and Linnie and Shane were friends before.”

  “Before what?” Trip asked.

  Johnny shrugged. “Just before. I’d said my dad would kick my ass if he found me smoking and Andy said he had to answer to nobody. Then he changed his mind. ‘Maybe Shane,’ was what he said. When I asked, he said they were in high school together, but his friend got a full ride to some school up north. Andy said it was a good one. Said they hadn’t talked much since Shane left. He sounded really sad about that, so I let him be. Sorry. Wish I’d pried more now.”