Secret Stalker

by LENA DIAZ,

  “Got a list of everyone working for Caldwell. I’ve even spoken to a few of them. But they all, of course, insist they haven’t been to Knoxville. And ever since I tried to talk to their boss at the hospital, I’m persona non grata at the Caldwell estate. I haven’t given up. But I’m spending most of my time on the computer looking into everyone instead of interviewing them. Slow going.”

  “Let’s assume Caldwell is the money guy and one of his security guys hired the thugs,” Colby said. “Why now? If his goal was to get Bex to confess to murdering his son, why wait ten years to go after her?”

  “Cancer,” Max answered. “He’s going through chemo. And he sure didn’t look well when I saw him at his lawyer’s office. Maybe he decided he’s got nothing to lose by breaking the law and going after Bex. Maybe getting her to confess to murdering his son and going to prison is his last dying wish. Who else has a motive to want her to confess?”

  “Marcia Knolls,” Donna and Colby both said at the same time.

  Max slowly nodded. “She’s got motive. She loved Bobby and has always blamed Bex for his death. But the same question goes for her. Why wait ten years?”

  Donna frowned and looked deep in thought.

  Colby shrugged. “Beats me. Unless seeing Bex in town was enough to make Marcia go ballistic, like she did when she shot that rifle. Her family has a big farm outside of town. They aren’t exactly hurting financially. Maybe she’s got a piece of that pie and decided to use it to hire those wackos to scare Bex into confessing.”

  “Okay,” Max said. “Robert Caldwell Senior and Marcia Knolls are still suspects. And we still have nothing concrete to charge either one.”

  Colby and Donna exchanged a frustrated look.

  “There’s something else bothering me about this whole thing,” Max continued. “If the goal is to get Bex to confess, why make such a public thing out of it? Those thugs could have kidnapped Bex at her mom’s house at any time since she got here. She doesn’t have any neighbors close by. It would have been easy. So why wait until she’s in the grocery store to go after her? Either of you have a theory on that?”

  “Not me,” Donna said. “And the chief’s waving me over again. Probably to fuss at me for pushing so hard on the Caldwells again.” She rolled her eyes and headed toward the other side of the room.

  “I don’t have a theory either,” Colby said.

  “I might,” Max said. “But it’s a bit out there. I was hoping you had something better.”

  “Well, I don’t so you might as well share. Who knows? Maybe you’re onto something. Spill.”

  Blake, who’d just sat down at his desk two rows over, must have heard their conversation, because he suddenly rolled his chair over in front of Colby’s desk and crossed his arms, daring either of them to tell him to go away.

  Colby frowned, obviously unimpressed with Blake’s challenging posture. “Don’t you have something to do? Like issue parking tickets down Main Street?”

  “Leave him alone,” Max said.

  Colby’s mouth twitched, and Max knew he was trying to hold back a smile. Picking on the new guy was more of a habit than anything else at this point. But Blake was a serious kind of guy and was getting more and more wound up. For both Blake’s and Colby’s sakes, it was time to move on and let the new guy start contributing.

  “What’s your theory?” Colby asked.

  The relief on Blake’s face was palpable. He sat at attention in his chair, eagerly waiting to hear what Max had to say.

  “Okay, the Pig isn’t far from the station, so as soon as a nine-one-one call went out, it was only a matter of minutes before some uniformed cops would show up, a few minutes more for the SWAT team since they had to gear up. And it’s right in the middle of the main business area where most of our restaurants and shops are.”

  “Right,” Colby said. “Which doesn’t make sense, as you already said.”

  “It doesn’t make sense if your goal is to get Bex to confess. But what if that isn’t the goal?”

  Colby frowned. “We already know that was the goal. That’s the only useful information Lenny gave us.”

  “No. Lenny said the goal was to scare Bex. Reggie’s the one who said they were going to kidnap her to tape a confession. We don’t have corroboration on that yet. But Lenny isn’t exactly a genius. He didn’t ask questions and didn’t really care why he did what he did. He was in it for the money, doing whatever Chucky told him to do. Maybe he thought the goal was to scare Bex. But he wasn’t told the real reason for the Piggly Wiggly assault.”

  Colby nodded. “Okay. I’m with you. But you’re thinking the real reason wasn’t to kidnap Bex either?”

  “Look at who was hired for the job. Budding criminals, gang members who want to prove to other gang members that they’re tough, who think they’re way more badass than they really are. Too stupid to think through the odds and realize they probably wouldn’t make it out of that store without being caught. They saw easy money, something fun and illegal to add to their résumés to make them look even cooler to the rest of the gang. Heck, maybe the three without gang tats were doing it to earn full gang membership.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Then you’ve got Lenny. Younger than the rest, a new gang member. Not hardened yet. He’s a weak link, a really weak link. As soon as we started questioning him and threatening him with the usual cop lies, he started singing, told us everything he knew—which wasn’t much, but the end result could very well be exactly what whoever planned this whole thing wanted.”

  Blake leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of Colby’s desk. “The guy behind it wanted the gunmen to be caught?”

  Colby frowned at him, then looked at Max. “Is that your theory?”

  “Yes, but follow it through to its logical conclusion. The guy behind this wanted the whole incident to be public so everyone in town would hear about it. And he was counting on Lenny to squeal. His goal wasn’t to capture Miss Kane. His goal was to force the police to look into the Bobby Caldwell case again.”

  Colby blinked in surprise. “Makes sense in a weird kind of way. We always investigate the victim’s past to see if there’s a connection. That means looking at the old Caldwell case, too. You may be right. Pretty brilliant, in a sick kind of way. Which points the finger right back at Bobby Caldwell’s father again. Robert Caldwell is bitter enough and rich enough to pull it off. And we already said he has nothing left to lose since he’s terminally ill.”

  “What about the brother?” Blake asked.

  “Deacon,” Max said. “You think he might be behind this?”

  “I think we should look into him, too, before jumping to any conclusions.”

  Colby narrowed his eyes. “Now look here, I’m not jumping to—”

  “Stop,” Max ordered. “You’re both right. We need to focus on looking for a tangible link between any of the Caldwells and the gunmen. They had M16s. Those are military-issue. Deacon is ex-military. Maybe he’s in on this and managed to get his hands on those guns. Has anyone traced the serial numbers yet?”

  “Randy did that the first day,” Colby said. “They’re part of a shipment that was labeled as destroyed because they failed inspection. We’re still following that angle to see how they ended up in those gangbangers’ hands instead of being melted down for parts. Caldwell senior is ex-military, too, and a gun collector. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got some contacts who helped him get his hands on those rifles—assuming he’s involved.”

  “It’s all speculation for now but we need to follow the trail,” Max said. “We’re still right back to where we were. But having talked it all through, I feel like we’re on the right track. We just have to hit them hard, help Donna dig up any information we can to piece together what the Caldwells and their hired hands were doing since Bex came to town. We need timelines, dates, p
laces, witnesses. Let’s get some pictures together of everyone who works for the Caldwells and circulate those around, see if anyone can help us build those timelines. We can show those pictures to some of the rental car companies in Knoxville to see whether they recognize any of them, since I highly doubt the Caldwells or their men would use their own car when they hired those gangbangers. It’s highly likely they rented one.”

  “That’s good,” Colby said. “I can follow up on the alibis and rental angles.”

  “I can help,” Blake offered. “I can get the car companies in Knoxville to give us information without making us try to get a warrant, which we probably can’t get right now.”

  “You’re right,” Colby agreed. “We probably couldn’t get a warrant. Do it. That sounds good.”

  Blake jumped up and rolled his chair back to his desk. The sound of the keyboard clicking quickly followed.

  “What about Marcia Knolls?” Colby said. “Are we not looking at her anymore?”

  “I think we shouldn’t rule anyone out yet. We’ll work on a timeline for her as well, track her movements since Bex got into town. Who knows, maybe someone will remember seeing her talking to one of the Caldwells or their hired hands.”

  Colby stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

  “Where are you going?” Max asked.

  “To the hospital. I’m going to see if I can’t put the screws on Chucky and Lenny and get a make and model on that car.”

  “Sounds good.” Max stood. “I’ll go with you. We can play good cop, bad cop.”

  “Only if I get to be the bad cop this time,” Colby teased.

  “We’ll toss a coin.”

  Colby laughed and they both rounded their desks.

  Max stopped, staring at the double glass front doors of the squad room. One of the bodyguards he’d hired was opening the door. And behind him was Bex.

  * * *

  BEX’S DARK HAIR swirled around her. She clutched her jacket closed against the light wind that was a precursor to the storm that Mable Humphries had predicted days ago.

  Beside Max, Colby said, “Wow. Never thought I’d see her voluntarily come here. You think maybe something else happened?”

  That was exactly what Max was worried about. Bex’s face was paler than he’d ever seen it. And he couldn’t think of a single reason for her bodyguard to have brought her here unless something terrible had happened.

  As soon as she saw Max, a look of relief seemed to pass over Bex’s face and she hurried toward him.

  “Max, thank goodness. Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

  Max frowned in confusion at the bodyguard standing next to her before looking at her again. “I’m fine. What happened? Did someone try to shoot you again?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. No, nothing like that.” She half turned and motioned toward the man beside her. “Mr. Granger, the picture please.”

  “What picture?” Max asked.

  In answer, the bodyguard held up a manila envelope. Max noted he was wearing a latex glove, so he automatically grabbed one for himself out of the top drawer of the closest desk and yanked it on before taking the envelope.

  The frightened look on Bex’s face, and the way she kept glancing at the chief on the other side of the room still talking to Donna, told Max something was very wrong. The little hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. And he didn’t like the determined glint in Bex’s eyes, like she’d made some kind of important decision. Whatever had brought her here, he wished she’d spoken to him in private about it first.

  “That was in my mailbox this morning,” she explained. “The mail comes in the afternoon. But I forgot to check it yesterday. As soon as I saw what was inside, I had Mr. Granger drive me straight here.”

  Max pulled out the picture, then stared at it in surprise. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this—an eight by ten of himself walking into the police station.

  Paint had been used to draw a red circle on his back. Special care had been taken to make the circle look like the crosshairs of a rifle. But that wasn’t what worried him. What worried him were the words, also in red, painted across the bottom—CONFESS OR ELSE.

  The meaning was clear. Whoever had sent this to Bex wanted her to confess or they would kill Max. It didn’t take a genius to know what they wanted her to confess—that she’d killed Bobby Caldwell. He turned the envelope over.

  “No stamp. No return address.” He looked at the bodyguard. “Were you on duty when the mail came?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t matter who was on duty,” Bex said. “I wasn’t home when the mail came. I was running errands.”

  “And the bodyguards are watching you, not your house,” Max said.

  “Exactly,” she agreed.

  Footsteps sounded off to Max’s right. The chief was heading toward them.

  Bex sighed. “That picture is karma I suppose, telling me it’s time to face my past.” She laughed nervously.

  Max’s gut clenched with dread. This was suddenly one conversation he did not want to have with a station full of cops listening.

  “Miss Kane,” the chief said as he stopped beside Max. “Thank you for finally coming in. Let’s go right to the interview room. We have a lot to discuss.”

  She swallowed and looked past him to the room at the front left corner of the station, a wide window clearly showing the table and chairs inside. “O-okay.”

  Thornton smiled like a Cheshire cat and crossed the room. He held the door to the interview room open and waved his other hand for Bex to join him.

  She started toward him.

  “No.” Max stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

  She frowned. “Max, it’s okay. This is what I expected to happen. I can’t hide from the past forever. I need to tell you what happened the night that—”

  “Shut up, Bex.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise.

  “Now listen here,” Thornton half shouted from across the room. “Sounds like Miss Kane has important information pertinent to our investigation. You need to be very careful about what you’re doing, son.”

  Max ignored his boss. He frowned down at Bex. “You need to go back home. Now.”

  She shook her head, apparently trying to be brave even though she was trembling. “I can’t. You’re in danger. Don’t you see? And it’s my fault. I have to tell you what I—”

  “Not one more word.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the exit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bex stared through the windshield of Max’s truck as he raced down a gravel road, far faster than she’d have dared but somehow managing to maintain complete control. The truck stayed smoothly on the road, without those scary slides toward the ditch that always happened when she went over thirty on one of these back roads.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “You’ve been trying to get me to go to the station for an interview and the moment I do, you practically kidnap me to shut me up. And then send my bodyguard away.”

  “I’m your bodyguard now. I’m protecting you from yourself.”

  He slowed the truck, then turned down another gravel road, this one even more narrow than the last. If they came across someone coming the other way, she had no idea how they’d pass each other.

  “Max, where are we going?”

  In answer, he slowed even more and waved his hand toward the windshield. The trees thinned out and gave way to a wide expanse of cleared land with only an occasional shade tree dotting the rolling hills. Winter grass was coming up new and thick, turning the dried brown summer grass into a gorgeous green swath of color. And on the top of the hill a football-field length away was an impressive-looking log cabin. The front was dominated by a large glass A-frame in t
he middle and a covered porch that appeared to run all the way around the cabin. The roofline was irregular, pitched sharply in places, hinting at massive open spaces inside.

  He pulled his truck up in front of the porch and killed the engine.

  “Yours?” she asked.

  “Yep. Let’s get inside before this storm breaks.”

  She leaned forward, peering up at the dark clouds swirling overhead. Before she’d even managed to open her door, Max was lifting her out. She put her hands on his shoulders until he set her on her feet, then quickly stepped away, trying not to think about how good it had felt to be in his arms again.

  “I could have gotten down by myself.” She motioned toward the metal steps on the side of his truck.

  “I know.” He directed her up the porch steps and followed behind.

  Feeling his gaze on her, her face flamed with heat and she found herself wishing she’d put on something nicer than a pair of jeans and a plain white blouse. And that, in turn, had her angry with herself for caring about her looks, and Max, when that was the last thing she should be thinking about right now.

  She stopped at the glass door set into the wall of A-shaped glass that allowed her to see into the expansive two-story foyer and main room. The back wall was A-frame glass, too, with an even more breathtaking view of a gorgeous lake and the rolling hills beyond.

  “What an incredible home. And the view is amazing.”

  He unlocked the door and shoved it open. “I like it.”

  “Like it? This is paradise.” She hurried inside, drinking in the warm golden tones of the log walls, the soaring ceiling with its massive beams. The circular metal chandelier entwined with deer antlers, suspended from a heavy chain in the middle of the room. The furniture was dark brown leather with metal beading. Chunky wooden end tables and a massive coffee table took up the rest of the sitting space in the center, with lots of open floor surrounding them. The whole place was incredibly masculine, elegant in its simplicity, uncluttered.

  As he took their jackets and hung them on hooks beside the door, she said, “This place suits you. It looks like you made all your dreams come true—working as a cop, having a gorgeous piece of land away from town. I’m happy for you.”