“Anyway, the last entry was just a quick notation—dark blue, Chevy four-door,” he said, turning off the main road onto a single-lane dirt strip that led off into the trees. It was hardly more than a dirt path, choked and cluttered with untrimmed trees and bramble.
“What kind of car does Carson drive?” she said, her voice tight, each word punctuated with a click, click, click.
“I’ve never seen him drive anything but the JPD Blazer, and nothing else is registered in his name.” They’d reached the end of the drive, so he killed the engine. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have another car stashed somewhere. It’s an easy thing to do.”
She nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go ask him.”
Michael could see the house as it once was. The front door Sophia had insisted on painting a bright, splashy red. The slate blue shutters—the tire swing in the front yard Sean made for him.
“This was my parents’ house,” he said. “When we started all this last year, I asked Lucy to move in, take care of things for me when I was away.”
“And she was closer to her friends this way. You took care of her.”
“We took care of each other,” he said, even though the words felt like a lie.
They left the car, barely cleared the gate before Carson stepped out onto the porch. He puffed out his chest and used his grip on his gun belt to hitch up his khakis. “One more step, O’Shea, and I’ll have Zeke haul you in for trespassing. It’d be just like old times.”
The threat didn’t even break his stride. “It’s my house.”
“It’s my crime scene,” he said with a smirk flicked at Sabrina.
“Looks like you and your lady-love are gonna have to find another place to shack up.”
Michael instinctively reached for the small of his back, his hand closing on nothing but empty air. The Colt was still in its box, sitting on the front seat of the rental car behind him. Good thing; if it’d been within reach, he would’ve unloaded the clip into Jed Carson’s face without a moment’s hesitation. Carson’s hand dropped to the butt of the 9mm on his hip. He laughed a little when Michael came up empty, but it was a nervous sound and he kept his hand where it was.
Shifting his gaze to Sabrina, Carson leaned against the porch post. “You might want to think about the kind of company you keep,” he said to her. “This one here’s not looked on too kindly round these parts. Being seen with him, you won’t have an easy time of it.”
His eyes dropped to Carson’s gun. It’d take him all of three seconds to strip it from him and another four to pistol-whip him into a coma.
Seven seconds total. The thought made him smile.
Before he could make his move, Sabrina reached out and gripped his arm. She squeezed, the pressure telling him to stay put. He watched her pull her badge off her waist and flash it.
“I’m Inspector Vaughn with the SFPD. I’d like to talk to you for a minute if I could, Chief Carson,” she said.
Carson flicked his gaze at her badge before letting it settle on her. He smiled. “Well, I’d be obliged to do any number of things with you, Miss Vaughn. But if it’s talk you want, you’re gonna have to put your dog in the car.” Carson cut him a vicious grin.
Michael snapped his head in her direction, glared at her. “No fucking way.”
“Ten minutes,” she said and gave him a look that said be reasonable. He said nothing, just pulled his arm from her grip and walked away. He passed through the gate, could see the Colt sitting on the front seat. Getting into the car with it was a really bad idea.
58
Sabrina wiped her hands on her jeans and forced herself to take a few steps forward. “Chief Carson—”
“SFPD? Long way from home, ain’t ya?” Carson said, taking a few seconds to look a little closer at the badge she’d flashed him.
You would know. “I’m here investigating a homicide I believe has ties to a murder your department investigated about a year ago—Frankie O’Shea.”
He looked past her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. She knew Michael was back there somewhere—that he hadn’t gotten in the car. She could feel him staring at them, knew she had only a few minutes before he got tired of waiting.
“He the one that brought you here?” He cut his eyes back to her face before she could answer. “No matter. You’re wasting your time, Inspector. My murder and my town ain’t got nothing to do with you and yours, so if it’s all the same …”
“It is the same—right down to MO and signature.” She looked away for a second, trying to rein in her emotions before they ran away with her. “Do you know what an enucleator is?”
“A nuclear what?” He looked at her like she was crazy, but she knew he wasn’t as dumb as he was pretending to be.
“An enucleator. The term is used to describe serial killers who remove their victims’ eyes. They’re rare. Combine that with his penchant for marking his victims by stabbing words into their stomachs and you’ve got a unique signature.” She took a half-step in his direction, forced herself to look at his face. “Frankie O’Shea had her eyes removed and so did my victim in San Francisco. Both of them had words stabbed into their stomachs. They were killed by the same man, I’d bet my life on it.” She forced herself even closer, had to be able to see his eyes when she said what came next. “And that same man killed Melissa Walker.”
“What happened to Frankie O’Shea was a tragedy—an isolated tragedy. And what happened to her doesn’t have anything to do with Melissa.” He took a step back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Isolated? Really?” She pointed at the door behind him. “Did Lucy Walker still have her eyes when you found her? What word did he stab into her stomach?”
His face closed tighter and tighter with every word she spoke. “I’m not at liberty to divulge particulars on this or any other ongoing investigation.”
“I think we both know that you’re at liberty to do whatever the hell you want around here,” she said.
“Now, you wait just a—”
“Did you kill them?”
He took a step back, stared at her in stunned silence. “Kill them? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am. Dead serious.”
“Melissa died a thousand miles from here. What would I have to do with that?”
“You followed her to Yuma,” she said. “How’d you find her?”
“I didn’t follow her. I applied to UC San Diego my senior year.
She took off around the same time I left for college,” he said, but that wasn’t the end of the story and they both knew it.
“You told Tom she called you—said she wanted you to come be with her,” she said.
“I lied. A way to hurt Onewolf. A way to make her mine, I guess.”
“That doesn’t explain how you found her.”
Carson sighed, gave up. “Fate. Destiny. Dumb luck. Whatever you want to call it. I walked into that restaurant in Yuma and saw her waiting tables. At first I thought I’d gone shithouse crazy. No way did I walk into some truck stop a thousand miles away from home and run smack-dab into her, but I did.” Carson look at her, shook his head. “Some buddies and I were on our way home from a football game in Tucson. We took a booth in the back and when it was time to leave I told them I was staying, that I’d jump a bus back in the morning. I spent the rest of her shift watching her, thanking my lucky stars that I’d been given another chance … but I was too chickenshit to take it. Her shift ended, she put her coat on, told some Mexican girl she was walking home, and left.”
“And then you followed her, dragged her off someplace dark and quiet.” She was reaching again, had no way of proving that it’d been him who took her, but as the words spilled out of her mouth, she became convinced that what she was saying was real.
“No—no. That’s not what … you think … I would never, could never, hurt Melissa. I love her, she was everything to me.” He took a step toward her, energized by his own desperation. “Most nights I lay awake, wishing I could
find a way back there … maybe if I hadn’t been so gutless—maybe if I’d talked to her, she’d still be here.”
A touching declaration, but she wasn’t swayed. She held up her fingers, ticked off her points one by one. “You had time, motive, opportunity—”
“Motive? What the hell are you talking about? What possible reason would I have to kill Melissa? I love her,” he practically yelled at her.
I love her. Not loved. Sabrina felt her heartbeat do a double-tap against her chest. “But she didn’t love you. She despised you. Tell me that didn’t piss you off.”
Carson opened his mouth to say something but the screen door banged shut behind him, signaling an abrupt end to their conversation. She looked up to see Wade Bauer standing on the front porch. He stood still and quiet, like he knew he’d interrupted something important and had done it on purpose. His eyes and nose were red like he’d been crying.
Carson turned an unsympathetic look on his friend. “What?” Wade stalled for a moment, seemingly stung by Carson’s tone.
“Charlie called, said he’s on his way. I finished processing the kitchen, and Zeke’s about done in the basement,” he said, shooting her little looks over Carson’s shoulder.
“Alright. Tell Zeke to walk the perimeter out here.” He turned toward the yard and shook his head. “He ain’t gonna find shit, but tell him to do it anyway. There’re a few disposables in the glove box of the Blazer. Go ahead and grab ’em—give one to Zeke. He can photo the outside while you do the in.” He turned to her, aimed an icy glare her way as Wade took the steps two at a time. “I think it’s time you headed on out, Inspector,” he said.
“Okay.” Reaching into her coat, she pulled out a card and held it out to him. “My cell number is on the back.” She tipped a nod to the house behind him. “If you’re innocent, then let me help you find out what happened to her,” she said. He took the card but made no promises as he slipped it into the breast pocket.
She left then, passing Wade on her way out the gate. On impulse she stopped him, held out her hand. “I’m Inspector Vaughn with the SFPD.”
He bobbled the cameras a bit, shifting them from one hand to the other, so he could take her hand. “Wade Bauer.” He gave her a hesitant smile and nod, looking over her shoulder to where Carson watched and waited on the porch.
“You were Melissa Walker’s brother, weren’t you?”
“Half-brother—same father. We weren’t all that close,” he said,
shooting a confused look at Carson over her shoulder. “She was a good girl, didn’t deserve what happened to her.” He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me?” He tried to step around her, but she blocked his retreat, not ready to let him go.
“How’d they bite up at Caddo?” She threw the question at him on the fly and he stared at her blankly for a second before giving her a sheepish grin.
“Truth be told, we didn’t fish much. It was just an excuse for me and Jed to get out of town. This time of year can be hard on him.” He cast another worried glance behind her then looked over his shoulder at Michael. He turned back to her. “Look, I’m sure you can take care of yourself, you being a city cop and all, but that one’s trouble. He may look harmless, but trust me, he ain’t.”
She looked over his shoulder. Michael was where she’d left him, leaning against the hood, glaring at them both. She wasn’t sure who Wade was looking at—there was nothing harmless-looking about Michael O’Shea.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” she said and let him walk away.
59
Michael hauled his bag in and dumped it on the floor. Put his laptop on the bed and looked around. Smoke-yellowed walls and a dark brown mess stretched out on the floor that looked more like matted fur than carpet.
Same motel—same room, even—that Lucy’d found him in, blind drunk and ready to eat his gun. She’d saved him. In return, he’d gotten her killed.
He looked at Sabrina and felt that irrational flare of anger again. Added to the anger was lust. He wanted her, but his want had a possessive bend to it that was messing with his head. If it was just about sex, he’d be fine with it, but it wasn’t. He liked her.
And didn’t that just fuck everything up?
He hadn’t spoken to her in nearly an hour. Wasn’t really sure what would come out of his mouth if he did. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at her. “You hungry?”
“Starved, but—”
“Not the diner. There’s a pizza place across the street these days,” he said, pretty sure that the last thing she wanted was to face Tom twice in one day.
She looked relieved. “Sounds good.” He nodded and headed for the door.
Sabrina looked around at the people scattered throughout the restaurant. Fathers with their families crowded around tables, eating pizza. Brothers and sons bellied up to the bar. Friends and coworkers drinking beer and watching the game.
The man who hurt her was here, in Jessup—not a few thousand miles away and under the assumption that she was dead. He had her within reach and knew who she was. She kept looking, hoping that one of them would trigger something—a memory, a twinge—but there was nothing. There was only the certainty that it could be anyone, that he could be standing right in front of her and she’d never even know it.
Michael was doing the same thing: looking around, letting his eyes rest on every single face aimed their way. He was in a mood, pissed that she’d taken control of the Carson situation. What she had to say would probably make things worse, but it had to be said.
She waited for their waitress to take their order before she spoke. “Someone around here knows who I am.”
He sat back and nodded. “I know. If we can find out who it is, maybe we can find a way to pin Carson down.”
“You have any friends around here, besides Tommy?”
“No.” It was a short answer, obviously something he didn’t want to talk about.
She leaned forward, cocked her head. “Nobody? Old buddies? Old hookups? People you used to run with?”
“What are you getting at?”
She leaned back and shrugged. “Someone sold me out.”
He lunged forward in his seat. “And you think it was me? You think I told someone?”
She held her ground. “I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose—”
“Oh, are you? How do you know? Maybe I did. Maybe I did it just to get you here.” His tone was ice-cold but she could see it. He’d come to the same conclusion. Something he’d done or said had opened the door, and knowing that he’d somehow been responsible for Lucy’s death was killing him.
“You might do some pretty awful shit for whoever it is you work for, but you wouldn’t do that to Lucy. Not on purpose.” She was sure of it.
He sat back. “You give me way too much credit. I would do that to her. That’s who I am,” he said.
Suddenly she was anything but hungry. She stood and looked around at the sea of faces pointed their way. “You know what your problem is?” she said, looking down at him. “You’re one of them. You believe everything they’ve ever said about you.”
“Because it’s true.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it ran up and kicked you in the balls. I know the truth. You loved your parents and your sister.” She leaned down, into his face, until they were practically nose to nose. “You loved Lucy, and you would’ve died protecting her.” She straightened. “That’s the truth, whether you want them to see it or not,” she said and headed for the door.
60
She walked. Just put one foot in front of the other and kept going. Didn’t even stop to think about what she was doing until she heard the footsteps behind her. Her heart took a flying leap at her throat, choked her with its bulk and took off at a gallop. She nearly gave into the urge to follow it. Instead, Sabrina reached into the small of her back and pulled the .38, spun around, and leveled it in front of her.
“Whoa!” Wade dropped the pizza box in his hands and flung
his arms in the air, his eyes yanked wide with surprise and a good dose of fear.
She tipped the muzzle of the gun downward, aiming it at the ground. “What are you doing here? Following me?”
In answer, he aimed the key fob in his hand over her shoulder and pushed a button. An alarm chirped and the running lights on a late-model 4-runner parked on the street behind her flashed. “Just picking up a pizza.”
She sighed. “Sorry.” She tucked the gun into her waistband and stooped to pick up the box, took a peek under the lid. “Pineapple and jalapeño? Yikes.” She handed the box back, and he grinned.
“Yeah, my wife’s pregnant with our first. Believe it or not, this is one of her more normal requests. Ever tried peanut butter and beef jerky?” They started walking, side by side.
I’m going to be an aunt.
“That doesn’t even sound good.” She laughed and shook her head, remembered the way small talk between them had always been easy. He was right. They’d never been close, but they’d always been friendly. She missed it.
“I know, right?” They reached his car and he turned, gave her an awkward look. “I saw you and O’Shea fighting in there,” he said.
Yeah, you and everyone else. “He’s upset about Lucy Walker.”
Wade gave her a look, nodded. “We all are. She was important to a lot of us.” He opened the passenger door. “Need a lift?” He tilted the box. “I’m on my way to have dinner with my wife, but I can drop you somewhere—”
“No thanks, I’m right across the street.” She took a few steps back, watched him drop the pizza box on the front seat. “Did you know Jed Carson found your sister in Yuma, just a few days before she disappeared?”
He gave her a hard look, closed his fist around his keys. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. He told me so himself, just this afternoon. Why would he keep something like that from you?” she said, watching his face closely for a reaction.
The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1 Page 23
