She stopped moving, the thought of a mess no longer on the top of her priority list. Screw it. If Hershey had stained the hardwood, she’d find a way to cover it up. She rifled through her drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater.
“What are you doing? Come back to bed.” Blake splayed a hand on her side of the bed.
“Nope. I’m having a shower.”
“That sounds like fun.”
She turned, pointing a finger at Blake. “You stay there.”
He bounded up from the bed and came over to her. “Come on, one more time.” He took her mouth.
His lips tasted delicious, like an Italian entrée themselves. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “You of all people should understand that the job comes first.”
“It’s Sunday. What can you do today?”
“Catch a killer.”
He laughed. “Catch a killer? You know how you sound sometimes?”
“Like a committed cop?”
“Or one that should be—”
“Funny.” She tossed another pillow at him.
Blake caught it and flung it onto the bed, and then saluted her. “Dum da dum. Here comes the caped crusader, out to save the world.”
“Shut up.” She was smiling.
“Fine. Get going.” He dropped back onto the bed, rolled over, and mumbled something into the pillow. He dragged himself up again. “Guess I’ve gotta go, too?”
“Don’t worry about it. When you’re ready to leave, just lock the door on the way out.”
“I’ll take care of Hershey.”
“Really?” Had she heard him right?
“I’ll take him out as long as I can come back up and get more sleep.”
“Sure.” Since he liked taking care of a dog more than she did, maybe he could take Hershey with him.
“I’ll need a key, though. You know if I’m back up before you’re finished in that shower…all alone.”
“Cut it out.” She smacked his arm. “And fine, I’ll give you a spare, but don’t get any ideas.”
“You can’t control those.” He pulled her to him again.
TERRY JOINED MADISON IN THE department sedan. He was holding a file folder.
Madison turned the key in the ignition. “Was your cell phone off?”
“I didn’t answer it.” Terry fastened his seat belt.
“The department issued you a phone for a reason, Terry.”
“Yes, and they also provided it with a caller identity service.” The hint of a smile loomed in the corners of his mouth.
“Do we have the DNA results from comparing Barry Parsons’s to the crime scene profiles?”
“You’re just all work, aren’t you? How was the date with lover boy?”
“Terry. The case,” she ground out.
“You have something against small talk?”
“Are we married?” Madison let out a giggle, but he wasn’t laughing.
“You’ve pointed it out to me before that we’re partners and that we should talk openly.”
“All right, if you want me to be completely honest with you…”
“I do.”
“Hershey—”
“Not the dog. Blake! How did it go?”
“It’s not open for discussion.”
“You love him, don’t—”
She glared at him. “I’m warning you.”
Terry chuckled. “I’m talking about Hershey now, but we can talk about Blake if you want. You love him—”
“The dog is fine.”
Terry’s laugh transformed into a knowing smile.
“What?”
“Nothing.” A few seconds passed, and Terry said, “I knew he’d grow on you. I’m not talking about Blake before you hit me. Hershey.”
“I’m glad you clarified, as you seem to be bouncing back and forth between the two.”
“It’s fun and exciting having a dog around, isn’t it? They make a difference.”
They make a difference, all right. She was going home and cleaning up feces and urine every day and taking him out in the bitter night air.
Terry was looking at her with enlarged eyes and a goofy grin. If he only knew the truth about how she felt about Hershey, that smile would fade. Maybe she’d adjust to having a dog… Maybe.
“Yeah, he’s good.” She pulled out on her seat belt and turned the key. She hoped that would be enough to cast Terry’s interest back to the case and away from his other curiosity, which kept gravitating to her relationship with Blake. “I’ve answered your questions. What about the DNA results?”
“Parsons was not a match.”
“It’s never that easy.”
“He wasn’t with Claire the night she died. At least not sexually. His DNA wasn’t a match to either the condoms or the vaginal swab. We have nothing to put him at her house, either.”
She pointed to the folder on his lap. “What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s just the list of Claire’s former business partners.”
“The one before Parsons was Simon Angle, I believe.” She had memorized the list from studying it the one time in the lab, but she leaned over to visually confirm it.
Terry didn’t move to open the folder. “Yeah, and I got all the addresses last night after you left. The rest of us didn’t have the luxury of taking off with lover boy.”
“You jealous, Grant? Blake’s the man you see yourself with?” She smirked.
“Shut up, Knight.”
“Oh, original comeback.”
“Actually there’s something you should know about Simon.” Terry had gone back to business.
“And what’s that?”
“According to his file, his wife reported him missing since Wednesday.”
Her eyes shot to his, but her foot remained pressed down on the gas pedal. Someone’s horn blared at her, but she didn’t care. “That’s the morning Claire was killed.”
THE NEIGHBORHOOD WAS FULL OF neglected two-story houses dating back nearly a century. Porches were dilapidated, making one even leery of stepping a toe on them due to the possibility of breaking through. But the address on file for Simon Angle took them to a street that was a blend of run-down houses and those in the process of renovation. Angle’s house fell into the latter category.
The home was brick with a front porch that seemed to have recently been redone, if the fresh coat of paint was any indication. But its brick foundation was chipped and discolored, begging for attention.
Madison and Terry went to the front door and rang the bell. It was one of those wireless kinds that were powered by batteries.
Footfalls behind the door were getting louder, and the door opened to a woman of average height, average weight, average looks. If one had to grasp for a single unique feature, it could possibly be her piercing hazel eyes.
“Regina Angle?” Madison curled her lips. Saying the woman’s name almost sounded dirty, like a James Bond girl or something, not that she resembled any Bond girl who’d ever graced the screen.
The woman eyed them suspiciously, the way one would eye a bill collector for a utility service provider. One of her hands stayed braced on the door, ready to slam it. “Who’s asking?”
“Detective Knight with Stiles PD.”
Regina slid her jaw back and forth a couple times, keeping her eyes on them. “Yeah, I’m Regina. Are you here about Simon?” She didn’t sound too worried about what they might have to tell her.
“Yes. We’d like to come in.”
“Whatever.” Regina motioned them inside the house.
The house smelled of cheap cigarettes and a cat’s litter box that was in desperate need of cleaning. As they moved further into the house, Madison had to work at blocking out the stench. It was potent enough to sustain hang time.
&nbs
p; “Do you have someplace we could sit?” Madison asked hesitantly. Regina obviously wasn’t Martha Stewart, and Madison could picture soiled furniture with crumbs in every crevice.
Regina nodded and led them through French doors to the right of the entry and into a living area. The floors were wood laminate, yet the space still held the original charm that came with an older home. The room had wide baseboards and a ceiling that was at least nine feet high with wood beams that ran the width of the room.
Regina directed Madison and Terry to sit on a faded, pastel floral couch. Balls of matted cat hair sat on top of the cushions. Madison was sorry that she had asked Regina if there was a place to sit. Maybe she’d just remain standing.
“Sorry, it’s not Martha Stewart’s house here.” The sincerity of the apology fell short, but Regina must have read Madison’s mind. Regina sat on a couch chair, stretched her neck to the side, and skewed her jaw. “Did you find his body?”
Why would she assume her husband was dead? “Is there one to find?”
Silence.
Madison looked at the couch, considered sitting down, but cringed as she plucked some hair clusters and released them over the floor. Nope, she’d remain standing. “We’re not here with news of your husband’s whereabouts or wellbeing, but we’re hoping you can help us.”
Regina grabbed a cigarette pack from a table next to her, pulled one out, and lit up. She crossed her legs. “That’s too damn bad, because when I find him, his ass is gonna be wishin’ it was dead. That dirty motherf—”
“We’re not here to upset you, Mrs. Angle,” Terry interjected, saving himself from Regina’s foul mouth.
“I prefer Miss Melor, thank you. Maiden name.” She sucked in on the stick again, her lips pursing around it with a strong suction. “What are you, religious or something? You don’t like swearing. That much is obvious.”
“Let’s just say I don’t like it,” Terry grunted.
Regina tapped the ash from her cigarette onto a plate that was on the table. “Why are you here if it’s not to tell me you found him?”
“You reported him missing since Wednesday of last—”
“I’m well aware.”
Madison clenched her teeth, hating to be interrupted. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Regina clucked her tongue. “Not for a month, and the bastard—oh, sorry—” Regina glanced at Terry “—He owes me alimony.”
“Alimony? You’re divorced?”
“We’re separated. But there’s still certain expenses that are left in want when there’s no second income.”
There was just something in Regina’s tone that told Madison kids might be involved. “Do you two have children?”
“Yes. Dee. She’s fifteen and thinks she’s knows damn everything. If I gave my momma half the grief she gives me, I would’ve been cuffed on the side of the head.” She paused a moment and wiped her mouth slowly with the back of her hand. “She’s over at a girlfriend’s right now, thank goodness. Cops show up and she flips.”
Madison was curious what Dee was involved in and just how often the cops came around. But that was something she could look up later if she wanted to know. “So, if you hadn’t seen him in a month, why report him missing last week?”
Regina extended an arm, stretched out her fingers, and looked at the back of her hand. An avoidance tactic.
“You needed your check,” Madison concluded.
Regina snubbed out the cigarette butt, twisting it in the ashtray until it crumbled to ash. “I tried reaching him for a week before that but nothin’. His roommate hadn’t heard from him, either—”
“What’s his roommate’s name, and do you know when he last saw him?”
“Jim. He said Simon was picking up some skank, but I don’t remember if he mentioned when.” Regina tapped more ash on the plate. “I’m supposed to be quitting”—she held up the cigarette perched between her fingers—“but when I think about that guy… It’s amazing I don’t gravitate to something much stronger.”
“Have you ever heard of a Claire Reeves?” Terry asked.
Regina stopped in the middle of taking a drag; her thin cheeks were left concave and her eyes snapped to Madison’s. “Yes, I know her. She was murdered recently.” She let the smoke filter out of her nose. “But if you’re thinking Simon is behind it, there is no way— Wait, a minute, that’s why you’re really here. You think he’s guilty. You think—”
“We know that your husband had a company, Razor Industries, and that Claire—”
“That bitch destroyed everything,” Regina interrupted again. “Wiped us out.”
“So you’d both have motive,” Madison said matter-of-factly.
“No way! I didn’t do it. I can’t go to jail! Fuck, I’ll lose my job, my house, my daughter.”
Madison liked how she left the daughter until last.
Regina continued. “Why the hell would I throw my life away over that trash? Please tell me.” The volume and strength in her voice diluted as she spoke. Her energy got a strange edge to it, as if she was withholding something.
“You just told us that she destroyed everything.” Madison hoped to provoke a reaction that would tell them more.
Regina took a long drag, her hand trembling.
“If you know something, you need to tell us.”
Regina let out a puff of smoke. “He said that if he ever saw her again, she was a dead woman.”
“Let me get this right: your husband, who has a solid motive, spoke threatening words about Claire’s well-being and goes missing around the same time as her murder,” Madison began. “We’re going to need to know where he was staying. You said his roommate was Jim? We’ll also need his last name and address.”
-
Chapter 17
MADISON PULLED THE DEPARTMENT CAR to the curb in front of another two-story century home, but this one had been converted into a duplex that was split down the middle so that each rental unit had two floors. The eaves troughs were worn with age and the wood fascia was in disrepair. They were probably a heavy snowfall away from coming down. Even from this vantage point, the porch boards appeared to be rotted. They were likely one heavyweight away from caving in.
“Is this the place?” Madison looked over at Terry, who held a jagged piece of paper on which Regina had eagerly scribbled down the information.
“This is it. Unit B.”
“Okay, here we go again.” Madison reached for the door handle.
“Wish we could do this another time.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Sunday evening.” Terry tapped the dash where the display read 5:15. It was already dark out. One had to love winter. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“We have a job to do, Terry, and Claire deserves justice.”
“The roommate likely hasn’t seen Simon since he went missing, either,” he griped.
Madison steadied her eye contact. “If you’re serious, then go home. I can handle this without you.” She didn’t make any movement to put the car into gear.
“I can see you’re really sincere in your offering.”
“Come on, Terry, this Simon guy could be the killer. Maybe something this Jim guy says will lead us to him.”
Terry put his elbow on the window ledge and rested his head in his hand.
“Or Aaron?” She pulled out the name of Claire’s last alleged business partner. “I know that name excites you.”
“Going to steal a line from your speech: oh shut up.”
She played the power of silence.
He let out a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the attitude, buddy.” She got out of the car.
“You could be home with Hershey right now.”
She laughed and tucked her head inside the ve
hicle. “You’re going to need to get out of the car.”
“Fine.”
“Okay, here goes,” she said, taking one cautious step onto the porch.
They reached the door and her cell rang. “Why does it ring when I don’t want it to?”
“You never want it to ring.”
“That’s not true.” She glanced at the caller’s identity—it was Cynthia. She answered. “What are you doing at the lab today?”
“Trying to find a killer.”
One thing that attracted her to Cynthia as a friend was her dedication to the job.
Cynthia continued. “No doubt you’re on the street working, dragging Terry along behind you.”
Madison glanced over at her partner and snickered.
What? he mouthed.
“Yeah, we’re working. Terry’s happy to be making a difference.” She tossed him a cheesy grin. “Must be something good for you to call.”
“The murder weapon used to kill Claire was a hunting knife,” Cynthia began. “Specifically, a Bowie. I’ll send a photo of what they look like to your phone.”
A vibration ran through the porch’s floorboards, and then the doorknob started turning.
“Thanks, Cyn. I’ve gotta go.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Madison ended the call even though Cynthia had started to say something, but the door was open now, and a man, who appeared to be in his midfifties, was standing there. He was wearing plaid boxers with a plain white T-shirt. The entry was dimly lit, obscuring his facial features.
Madison clipped her phone to her waist.
“Whatcha want?” He put his arm against the door, displaying a muscled arm with a rash of darkened tattoos.
“Are you Jim Sears?” Terry asked.
“What’s it to ya?” He moved closer toward them, as if trying to intimidate them with his size.
“Simon Angle.” Madison stepped forward, asserting a strong stance.
“What about him?”
“Let us in, and we’ll tell you,” Madison responded.
“Fine.” Jim let Madison and Terry inside and directed them to a spotless living room.
Justified Page 9
