“About these drones. What can you do with them?” His interest stemmed in part from innate curiosity and wanting her focus away from death.
“Pretty much anything you can dream up. This one can pick up and carry small objects for a half mile. I’m working to double its distance.”
“Ah, for surveillance, like your work with Nick Tucker?” Nolan couldn’t scour the image of her in ski gear with Nick’s arm slung around her waist. “Work on anything interesting lately?”
“Not in particular. No.”
“You and Shelly look a lot alike. You ever get mixed up?” Coyote pocketed his note pad but didn’t break eye contact.
“Occasionally.” Changing the subject, she added, “I’ve got a device that’s so quiet, you won’t know it’s there unless someone told you to look. This one here, it delivers a puff of forced air or shoots out a soft spongy ball.”
Nolan perked up at that. “Why would someone deliver a puff of air or shoot—?”
Oh, shit. It could deliver chemicals.
“Why not?” Keiki shrugged. Directing her attention to Nolan, she spoke with genuine enthusiasm about her creations. “I used one to wake Shelly up last week, then flew it out of her window before she could swat it down.” A bittersweet smile slid into place.
“What kind of payload are we talking about?” The thoughts forming in Nolan’s mind—drugs, drones, and delivery—painted a dark scenario.
“Not much considering their size. A few ounces up to a, um, maybe a pound. Keep in mind, there’s a correlation between weight and the distance you want it to travel.”
“So, this piece here, the one we found at the scene, not in Shelly’s pocket. It’s not one of yours,” Nolan reiterated, hoping to gain further insight.
“No. Mine broke off in Shelly’s hand. She must have stuck it in her jacket. I—”
“Can we take a look at Gabby’s room?” Nolan urged Keiki toward the short hallway with two doors on one side.
“Sure, the one on the end is hers.”
“Some of your drones have cameras. Did the one yesterday record any visual or audio?” Nolan pressed for more information.
“No.”
Both detectives turned at her sharp denial to see crimson flooding the coed’s cheeks, and Nolan sighed.
She’s determined to play investigator in a dangerous game. Is she otherwise involved?
A cursory search of the room yielded nothing to indicate darker dealings. No drugs, no beer bottles, everything in its place, neat and tidy. When finished, Coyote returned to the kitchen with their interviewee while Nolan went into the shared bathroom.
He’d braced himself to find a few prescriptions, something not marked, birth-control pills, or condoms. Either she wasn’t sexually active or relied on her partner for protection, which didn’t fit his current image of her. He found nothing other than OTC pain reliever and an old, near empty prescription of a strong NSAID.
A minute later, he slipped into the second bedroom. Keiki’s room. Anything found couldn’t be used against her in a legal sense, but it would round out his mental picture of her character.
Instead of posters of specific bands or movie ads, he found a large family portrait and a wall of framed photos, some depicting tie-dye or mud runs, others of her and an older man with the same eyes holding up a rough plank board with an unusual grain and large knots.
The same wood in the kitchen table.
Woodworking tools in the photo’s background showed all the makings of a top-notch hobbyist.
What he didn’t see were any photos of boys her own age, bands, or expected teenage memorabilia. She was direct, fairly open, and focused.
The young lady in the photographs radiated an intensity he’d never seen. She wore the kind of smile which came from contentedness. He assumed her mother had held the camera.
Time and experience dictated several short visits, strategically spaced, to acquire more information and create a fuller picture of the respondent. Once gathered, conflicting details would be used to their advantage.
Leaving on a positive note was imperative during this critical phase of the investigation.
“We’ll retrieve video footage from the school to see if we can find the stranger.” Coyote’s assurance seemed to help. “Keep your eyes open for anyone suspicious lurking around school or your apartment complex.”
“Thanks for talking to us today. We’ll keep you updated.” Nolan followed Coyote to the door but stopped when his partner froze.
The man’s small gesture toward the coat rack presented another thread for them to pull.
“Katherine, is that yours or your roommate’s?” Nolan nudged a long black garment aside to scrutinize the firearm.
Giving name to it aloud meant red tape. Something that would hinder their investigation and create a barrier when they needed the appearance of open communication.
Trust was a tenuous commodity which straddled the letter of the law. Catching a killer held higher priority than enforcing the bylaws of an apartment complex. Other than that, it was legal.
“It was my dad’s, and I don’t have anywhere else to keep it. It’s not like I can store it at the nursing home with Grams. Please, don’t take it.”
Coyote cleared his throat. “Take what, Keiki? The only thing we’re taking is our leave.”
Nolan recognized shades of anger built on the backs of anguish, suffering, and loneliness. To her, it probably wasn’t considered a weapon, merely a connection to the past. “There’s no shortcut through it, kiddo. Pain is part of the process.”
“So, either I numb it with alcohol and drugs or bury myself in work?”
“I’ve seen some mourners make friends with the devil. Others hunker down, avoid numbing agents, and plod on until one day, something changes their worldview.”
It was the best Nolan could offer despite what his conscience urged. She needed a shoulder to cry on. A lifetime of dealing with four younger sisters made his strong enough.
“We were gonna do some early Christmas shopping.” Soft sniffles filled the apartment.
A will made of iron halted his return to wrap her in his arms. She wasn’t faking the grief needing a verbal outlet.
Time was the most precious commodity anyone could offer. He listened until her words dried up and the silence stretched out. He nodded when his partner nudged his shoulder, realizing her well of despair had emptied, for the time being.
Her sorrow struck a nerve he couldn’t protect, and it scared the shit out of him. “Stay safe with… Just stay safe, kiddo.” Establishing her as a kid in his mind erected the necessary barrier of emotional detachment.
Once back in their vehicle, Coyote gave him the stare, the one that spoke volumes without a sound. “I know that look, Nolan. I’ve seen it too many times on too many people, even felt it myself.”
“I’m not crossing any lines,” he argued. However, the frustration of dealing with the grieving young woman was making him straddle one.
“Except the part where she’s probably a witness, I don’t see a problem, not that I’d complain. I just want you to think about it and get the timing right. She’s a rather fetching, if not charming, package of dynamite. Be careful when she detonates.”
Nolan waited, knowing his partner had more to say. He sensed the familiar underlying hesitation and wondered what truths lay beneath the calm exterior.
“She doesn’t have the killer instinct… I would know.” Quiet words indicated a mountain of experience under the tip of the iceberg.
“Because you pulled the trigger in the military?”
“Yeah.” Coyote glared out the passenger window but offered no more.
It wasn’t worth pushing boundaries. “She’s withholding information.” Nolan jammed the key in the ignition.
“She knows the killer. Or, at least knows something about him,” Coyote vocalized what they both felt. “And she doesn’t trust us to find him.”
“Yeah. I think she saw the attack happen, o
r at least part of it. A nightmare in progress she couldn’t associate with a name or face. I believe she thought her friends fingered the creep outside a frat house. Maybe Shelly’s murder has nothing to do with Harock Industries.”
“Could be he was trolling for his next victim and didn’t like the way the girls looked at him. Ready to go hassle Tucker?” Coyote logged into the onboard computer to locate the PI’s address. “He’s got confidentiality on his side, and if she’s working for him, then she does, too.”
“We’ll save that conversation for after we’ve acquired more facts,” Nolan advised. “Keiki is mixed up in this, and more weird shit we haven’t even deciphered yet.”
“Agreed, but I don’t like her for the murder or conspiracy.”
“You’re right. She seems to prefer non-confrontation unless riled,” Nolan puzzled over their earlier conversation.
“The dorms have security cameras. We need to check them,” said Coyote as he gestured south when they reached the highway.
“Something’s going on between Keiki and Franklin. I’d swear my sister’s virtue on it. The damn thing is, I get that impression from Harock, not the kid.”
“That sure of your siblings, are you?” Coyote’s smile appeared to hold knowledge best not vocalized. “And again, I agree about Franklin. However, Keiki’s not a kid in case you haven’t noticed.”
Nolan leveled a stare. “Jenna’s not for you, swamp goblin. No offense, but I don’t want my nineteen-year-old little sister dating an older man, a cop at that.”
“Understood.” Coyote scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t get the sense Keiki is romantically involved with Franklin. Not at all. She didn’t even flinch, much less blush, when talking about either of Shelly’s parents.”
“Harock put off strange vibes, though.” Nolan’s sixth sense had kicked in the minute the father diverted attention away from the coed. “Which means the connection probably isn’t mutual and, as you said, not romantic.”
“Do you think she’s tossed your card yet? I can’t see her calling either of us if the killer targets her.”
“Probably.” Why do kids think they’re invincible?
Chapter Seven
The evening air was warm and thick with the excitement and murmur of fellow runners. Each anticipated the bang starting the race. They still had fifteen minutes to go.
Keiki secured the numbered bib to her shirt, fighting the tears threatening to fall. She’d felt stronger before leaving her apartment and remembering when she and Shelly had run races together.
Three weeks prior, Shelly had pre-registered them both. Somehow, it seemed right to be here now, in honor of their friendship.
This was to have been her and Shelly’s second Foam Glitter run. They’d bought matching white long-sleeved T-shirts and special hair dye. Neon green wasn’t her color but would look great under the numerous black lights along the woodsy trail.
Flashbacks of the detectives in her apartment further blunted her pre-race jitters. She’d considered calling the wolf to hand over the video then decided to wait till tomorrow. Tucker hadn’t yet matched the voice recording to a name.
Spectators stood on the sidelines, camera and phone flashes lighting up the night. Participants milled around, stretching their legs and backs, activating glow sticks to wear as necklaces and wristbands.
Off and on, she thought she heard the soft hum of a drone. The fact she could hear it over the crowd indicated it had a few large engines rather than multiple small ones. As a result, more sound was produced and the device was capable of bearing more weight.
Given the events were highly publicized with pictures splashed over the local paper, it made sense the sponsors wanted video.
The idea of installing a night-vision lens held merit. She could work on the logistics as she ran. Anything to keep her mind off the death scene stuck on repeat.
Two juniors, better friends with Shelly, talked in excited spurts behind her, discussing how they’d pose for pictures at the finish line.
“Evening.”
In her current existence, one man had the power to scrape her nerves raw with a greeting.
The wolf is hunting.
Keiki whirled and stumbled, bumping into a fellow contestant who steadied her by grabbing her upper arm. Her mumbled, “Sorry,” blended in with the crowd’s increasing frenzy.
With hands on her hips, she glared at the detective and demanded, “What are you doing here?”
A benign smile masked whatever emotion lurked under the surface of his practiced façade.
“Like others here, I came to have my body turned into a work of art.” Nolan held his hands out, the increased arm tension accentuating well-defined pecs and abdominals under a snug, white T-shirt.
She didn’t mention he’d already attained that goal and wondered if he ever got tired of women staring. He was the type of man every woman wanted on her arm, and in her bed. Multi-hued color covering him from head to toe in the coming hour would only add to his charisma.
“I’ve haven’t seen you at one of these before.” She couldn’t help the peevishness in her tone.
A nonchalant shrug said he didn’t care, but the focused stare declared otherwise. “I thought we agreed you’d keep a low profile.”
“I am. There are hundreds of other people here to mask my presence.”
He used his index finger to draw an imaginary line from the crown of her head down the length of her hair. It felt like an angel’s caress without physical contact. The staggering effect forced a stumble-step back.
He grinned.
“How, in heaven’s name, is neon green part of laying low? I could spot you from the space station. Please tell me that’s a wig.” To further his evaluation, he gave a little tug, glaring harder when realizing the truth.
“Ow. Shelly bought the colors for this event. It’s a special shampoo that glows under the black lights they use here.”
“Which is how I zeroed in on you so fast. Can you at least wear a ball cap and stuff it up underneath?” The suggestion came with the detective removing his own hat and offering it in silent supplication.
“No, and you can stuff it.” Keiki pivoted away, until he spun her back around to stare face to face with him.
It was a moment where he drew his line in the sand. One that further defined the budding chemistry between them. A fine silken thread with the tensile strength to bear all the weight of her grief while tethering their souls in an unexpected web. It would grow stronger with each test of faith.
“You have no sense of self-preservation, woman. You know that? What if you were the original intended target? You two look alike.”
Raw determination briefly shredded his façade. The minute implacable resolve slid back into place, he sighed.
The cop was up to something. She didn’t know what, but the certainty was written in his lowered brow and the hard set of his jaw. Determined blue met defiant blue, each glaring their intent. He would not delve within the depths of her pain again.
“And here I thought you figured I was a suspect.”
“I haven’t said you weren’t, have I?”
The challenge lay thick in the air, an unspoken demand for her to prove her innocence. They would’ve verified her whereabouts Friday morning.
“Either way, I think you’re in over your head and could be a target.”
Tension in his frame indicated he had more to say, but he held his tongue. His frustration festered in the tightening of his mouth, but the announcer picked that moment to rev up the crowd.
“You know this is three miles, yes?” While she couldn’t resist the taunt, she couldn’t picture him with a donut in hand, either.
“Don’t worry, I’ll slow down for you.”
He smiled in the face of her mumbled threat to leave him in the dust, a wolf’s rise to challenge.
His moods appeared equally mercurial, vacillating between intimidation tactics and reeling her in close to protect her against any threat.
Her body preferred the latter, a will of its own forcing her to lean in slightly.
“Where’s your partner? He looks like the type to run.”
“Only if it’s toward a gator,” Nolan muttered as he scrutinized the people around them.
“What?”
“Nothing. Private joke.”
“How’d you know I’d be here? You obviously came prepared.” Her hand’s motion indicated his jeans and white T-shirt.
“I’m a detective, remember? Just doing my job.”
“I’m a job?” Disappointment added another layer of gloom to her crumbling mood, cooling the molten flow through her veins until bedrock formed an unsteady base from where she perched.
Nolan stepped closer, ignoring the crowd’s roar in response to the announcer’s pre-race pep talk.
“I didn’t say that.”
Inches apart, he invaded her space as if realizing why she’d come and needing to drive home his point. “Don’t let your grief overshadow everything else. A good friend wouldn’t want you to pay that price.”
Keiki froze when his finger under her chin lifted her gaze. The underlying attraction to a cop was as pointless as it was unwanted. It contradicted everything in which she believed.
General resentment and lack of confidence toward all law enforcement spilled over to the man challenging her. Just because she believed in right and wrong didn’t mean cops were the answer to catching criminals. Hard work ensured she’d one day prove it.
“You have no idea what she’d want. But I do.” Despite her attempt to harden her heart, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She refused to let them fall. Turning away, she didn’t want him to see them.
“You think she’d want you to risk your life and track down a vicious killer? I don’t think so. Not from her parents’ description.”
“They didn’t know her, not for the past couple years.” The cop was fishing for information. He’d find better waters elsewhere.
The countdown began over the loudspeaker, aided by the surrounding spectators who joined in for a deafening and incentive chant.
A Critical Tangent Page 7
