by L. A. Witt
“Let’s take it into the conference room, then.”
We did, and it was delicious. Best thing to come from my ex-sister-in-law in years.
After lunch, we headed back out to visit Reginald’s again. I still felt a little fuzzy, and rather than go into the store with him, Andreas suggested I stay with the car. I was too grateful to be offended. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep again, though, so I stood next to the car instead of putting my seat back like I wanted to, and tilted my face up toward the sun. The heat felt good, like it soothed some internal ache I couldn’t name and didn’t want to face. Seeing Melissa had unsettled me, and no amount of good food could wash it away. I stood there with my eyes closed and listened to cars come and go, until someone spoke to me. Someone who wasn’t Andreas.
“Well, hello! Fancy seeing you here, young man!”
It was . . . Luanne Garcia? My eyes flew open, and I blinked away stars as I focused on her. Shit, if she was here, then she’d probably come with—
“Lu?” Brian McIntosh was by her side, his expression shuttered. “You know the detective?”
“Oh, are you a detective?” She looked much more interested in me now. “You should have said! I love crime stories. I’ve watched every episode of Murder, She Wrote at least ten times, and I always keep up-to-date on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. I clip all the most interesting stories out of the paper and give them to Brian.” She patted his arm. “He likes true crime too! It keeps us vigilant. I always lock my doors, you know. Safety first.”
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This was my worst fucking nightmare. I smiled weakly. “Is that right?”
“Yes, we’re both big fans.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
“Bring your gram to bingo next week, and I’ll let her play two cards if you tell me some good stories about being a detective. Are you here on a stakeout?”
Brian’s face couldn’t have gotten any stiffer. “Lu, we’re almost three minutes late for getting the groceries,” he muttered. “We have to go get your groceries now.”
“All right, dear.” She patted him on the arm and they headed inside.
I felt like I was going to throw up all my fettuccine con funghi. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I picked up my phone to call Andreas, but he came outside a second later, looking displeased.
“Why didn’t you warn me Brian was here?”
“We have to go. Now, we have to go, we have to get back to the precinct and set up a lineup. We have to do it now, before he runs.”
Andreas’s annoyance gave way to confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Luanne, Brian’s landlady—she recognized me from yesterday! From bingo! She started chatting with me, and I was so fucking brain-dead, I didn’t even see them arrive, and the next thing I know Brian is looking at me like he’s putting it all together, and we have to go, now!” I opened my door and almost fell into my seat. “Come on!” I shouted.
Andreas started up the car, looking grim. “You think he’ll run.”
“He’s a careful guy, right? And now he knows I was around his landlady but didn’t tell her my job, so he’s bound to be suspicious. Why wouldn’t he run?” I checked the time. “It’s a little after two. I’ll call Paula and get her to start setting things up. He’s got to get through shopping with Luanne and take her home again, so if we’re fast, we can have police waiting at the house to bring him in. Do you think we can get the witness to come in on short notice?”
“I’m sure we can.”
“Okay, then maybe she’ll identify him, and it’s not much, it’s not ironclad, but it gives us enough reason to hold him and maybe, maybe a judge will grant us a warrant to search his apartment, or Luanne’s car.”
“Those are big maybes, Darren.”
“What else can we fucking do, then?”
“You can start by calming the hell down,” he suggested in a voice that made it clear it wasn’t really a suggestion. “I’m your partner, not your punching bag.”
Now I was acting like a little shit to the only person who’d given a damn about me today. Way to compound my fucking excellence. “I’m sorry.” I ran my hands into my hair and gripped tight enough to hurt. “But I might have just screwed over this whole case. Jesus, if I’d been paying attention, I could have gotten back in the car when they pulled up. I should never have gotten out of the fucking car, not if I was going to be such a goddamn moron.” I swallowed tightly. “I think maybe there’s something wrong with me.”
“You’re exhausted, that’s all. We can salvage this.” He sounded convincing. I wanted to believe him. “When we get back to the station, you call the witness and get her to come in, I’ll make sure cops are waiting for Brian when he gets his landlady back to the house. We can say it’s about the missing supplements, that we’re just ruling him out as a suspect. It’ll at least give him reason not to get defensive too fast. We can still get him, Darren.”
“Yeah, okay.” I let go of my hair and nodded. “Okay.”
“First, call Paula.”
“Got it.” I ran a hand over my face, then pulled out my phone and got to work.
Miracle of miracles, Paula was at the station and free to help us. She gave me the phone number for the witness—Jenna Zabinski, she of the fake ID—and, even better, Jenna picked up when I called. She agreed to come into the station at four, although she sounded a little wary.
“I mean, it was dark, you know? I might not recognize him.”
“All we want is for you to try,” I assured her. “That’ll be enough.”
By the time we got back to the station, I was actually feeling close to calm. We had a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in, but if anyone could make shit happen, it was Andreas. By the time four o’clock rolled around, he was getting the lineup together and I was handing Jenna her second glass of water.
“Thanks.” She took it, spilling a little on the way. “Whoops, sorry! I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“You don’t have to be nervous,” I said. “There’s no expectation here, okay? Either you recognize the man who threatened you, or you don’t. If you don’t, that’s all right.” Lies, lies, lies. “We just want you to try.”
“Okay.”
I led her into the observation room. Andreas was already there, and he nodded as we entered. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He spoke into the microphone. “Paula, send them in.”
Five men shuffled through the left-hand door on the other side of the glass. They each stopped under a number, turned, and faced the glass. They looked fairly similar—all Caucasian, all over thirty but under fifty, all wearing a hoodie. Brian McIntosh was the fourth man in line. He stared dully at the glass, his expression a complete blank.
Jenna stared and bit her lip. “I don’t know . . .”
“Take your time,” Andreas encouraged her. “Let me know if you want to see anyone more closely.”
“I, um, maybe . . . maybe number three?”
I did my best not to flinch as Andreas nodded. “Number Three, step forward.” The man moved a few feet closer.
Jenna shook her head. “No, that’s not the guy.”
“Okay. Anyone else?” Andreas sounded completely calm, while I was barely able to keep myself from hyperventilating. “Any other numbers you want a closer look at? There’s no rush, none at all.”
“Um . . . I mean.” She tucked her arms tight across her chest. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Because I want you to be as sure as you can that the man who attacked you isn’t in this lineup, Jenna. I know it was dark, I know you were scared, but this is important. Are you sure he’s not here?”
She nodded jerkily. “Yes, I—I’m sure.” She turned to me. “Can I go now? I want to leave.”
I forced my throat to function. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “You can
go.” She was out the door a second later. I stared helplessly at Andreas.
“Fuck.”
We’d just lost our best chance to close the case before someone else was murdered, and it was all my fault.
“Our suspect’s in the wind.” Darren glared up at Reginald’s from the passenger seat of his car. “What the fuck is the point of coming back here?”
I shut off the engine. “I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist.”
He turned toward me. More like let his head loll to the side until our eyes met. His expression was blank except for bone-deep exhaustion and the shadow of the dark cloud that had been hanging over his head since the lineup. He said nothing.
I put a hand on his leg. “For the hundredth time, it’s not your fault.”
His lips pulled tight, and his eyes flicked toward the windshield. “I should’ve been paying attention, and then Luanne and our fucking suspect wouldn’t have seen me and—”
“Darren.”
He snapped his teeth shut, but didn’t look at me.
“Listen.” I squeezed his leg gently. “It’s a setback. Doesn’t mean the case is blown.”
“Yeah?” When he faced me this time, it was the kind of glare I hadn’t seen since the day Hamilton had partnered us together against our will. Seemed like years ago now. “How isn’t the case blown? Our suspect knows we’re onto him. He’s smart enough to have killed all these people without getting caught. You know damn well he’s in the wind and—”
“And until the twenty-sixth of the month goes by without another victim, I’m going to assume he’s still in the city and still determined to finish his pattern.” I motioned toward the store. “You saw him when we tried to question him the first time. This is a guy who can’t even step away from a shelf until he’s finished stocking it. You really think he’s going to vanish when his big project isn’t finished?”
Darren blinked a few times, his lips parting and the hostility evaporating from his expression.
I ran my thumb along the seam of his pants. “We’ll get this guy. I’m not sure how, but we will. The only thing we’re not going to do is roll over and accept defeat because he slipped through our fingers once.”
Wincing, he lowered his gaze.
“You’re a good cop,” I went on. “I know this seems like a giant fuckup in your head, but it’s not, and the case isn’t over.” I motioned toward the store. “So let’s go. We’ve still got work to do.”
Without looking up, he nodded, and we got out of the car.
The store wasn’t as busy as it had been the first time we’d come here. Two checkstands were open, each with a couple of people waiting in line. The customer service counter was deserted except for our good friend Jim, the cheerful bastard. Since I couldn’t see Deanna, and I didn’t want to interrupt the checkers, who were busy, he was our guy.
As we approached, he looked up from his computer screen, and his face lit up with an enormous smile. “Gentlemen! Welcome back to Reginald’s. What can I do you for?”
Just like the first time I’d met him, Jim instantly set my teeth on edge. Few things irritated me more than relentlessly charming assholes like him. Darren was the one exception, and even he had taken a little while to grow on me. Everyone else could fuck off. Except we needed to talk to this guy, and while I’d usually let Darren handle it just to keep myself from knocking that ridiculous smile off Jim’s face, Darren was still rattled from earlier.
Forcing the closest thing I could muster to a smile, I said, “Is Deanna in? I’d like to—”
“Afraid not.” He shook his head, an exaggeratedly apologetic grimace. “Just me today.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Even my four-year-old hated when people talked to her in that patronizing way. Though to be fair, half her DNA had come from me, so she came by her annoyance with over-the-top phony assholes naturally.
“Well, maybe you can help us.” Somehow I didn’t grind my teeth as I spoke. “Would you mind if we went someplace private?”
“Of course not.” Jim glanced around, then put up a plastic sign that read, Back in a Jiffy! with a drawing of a smiling flower next to it. Jesus fuck, man.
He led us into the back, where Darren had initially questioned Brian, and unlocked the door to Deanna’s office. Inside, he took a seat behind her desk. I sat in front of it, and Darren hovered behind me.
“So.” Jim folded his hands on the desk, beaming like he was about to offer us jobs or something. “How can I help you?”
You could start by finding your dimmer switch and turning it down a few notches.
I put my ankle on my other knee and rested my hand on top of it. “What can you tell me about Brian McIntosh?”
Jim straightened subtly, and I wondered if I’d found that dimmer switch after all. “What . . . what do you want to know?”
“Anything, really.” I shrugged. “We’re trying to figure out if he fits a profile.”
“What kind of profile?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He studied me. Slowly, he sat back in the chair, letting it squeak like nails on a chalkboard for five goddamned hours until it was reclined as far as he wanted it to be, and then he mirrored me with an ankle on his knee. He let his foot press against the desk, holding him and the chair in place, and if he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t so much as twitch again until Darren and I were long gone.
He drummed his fingers rapidly on his shoe, and for the first time, the cheerfulness noticeably receded in favor of . . . nerves? Interesting. “Brian McIntosh, eh?”
I bit back my impatience. “Yes.”
“Well.” He took a deep breath, glanced uneasily at the door, and looked me right in the eye. “Between you boys and me? The man’s crazy.”
Images of the bodies flashed through my mind.
Tell me something I don’t know.
“Go on,” I said.
“He’s . . .” Jim shifted, and I might not have even noticed had the chair not shrieked with the small movement. He gnawed his lip and flicked his eyes toward the door. Considering how larger-than-life and boisterous he was, his voice seemed impossibly quiet when he spoke again. “I mean, for one thing, he’s the reason we don’t have a lot of girls working here anymore.”
“Is that right?”
Jim nodded. “Candy was the last to quit. Almost a month ago, now. Great girl, fantastic employee, but . . .” He shook his head. “She told me that Brian was creeping her out.”
It was my turn to shift, though my chair didn’t announce it. “Creeping her out in what way?”
“She said he kept turning up wherever she was. She’d be driving, look in the rearview, and he’d be there, two or three cars back. Or she’d be outside the school waiting to pick up her kid, and he’d be walking by with that old lady landlord of his.” Jim shuddered. So did I.
“Did she ever report him to the police?” I asked.
“No.” Jim sighed. “He spooked her good, but he wasn’t doing anything illegal. What could they do?”
“Keep a record of the report. Establish a pattern in case he does do something.”
Jim narrowed his eyes at me. “And then what? You guys can print up a restraining order for him to ignore?”
I almost jumped. From someone like Jim, venom and sarcasm seemed to come out of left field. “What about reporting him to the manager?”
“Deanna’s got a soft spot for him. She calls him her most reliable employee, says he’s just misunderstood. She wouldn’t fire him unless he attacked someone right in front of her.”
“You said there were other women who were spooked by him.”
Nodding, Jim relaxed a little. “Yeah. Mary Ann left just after Christmas. Said he kept leering at her whenever she was in the back room. I said I’d talk to him about it with her, but she was scared by the idea of actually confronting him.” He blew out a breath. “Guy just gives everybody the heebie-jeebies.”
“Has he ever done anything besides follo
w people or look at them?”
“Isn’t that enough?” he snapped. “These poor girls can’t even do their jobs—”
“I’m not discounting that.” I patted the air with one hand. “I’m asking for more information. Any confrontations? Any physical contact?”
Jim squirmed, avoiding my eyes. “Aside from what he did to my niece, no.”
Darren and I exchanged glances. His eyes were wide with alarm.
“What did he do to your niece?” I asked.
“Attacked her outside a liquor store, that’s what.” Jim’s voice was suddenly ragged. “Threatened to come back when the time was right or—”
“Wait.” I inclined my head. “What’s your niece’s name?”
“Jenna. Jenna Zabinski.”
I lowered my foot and leaned toward him. “Jenna’s your niece?”
“Yeah.” His lips thinned beneath his thick mustache. “She won’t even come in here anymore because that son of a bitch is here.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced at Darren. He was focused on the conversation, and this turn had caught him off guard too, but he didn’t speak.
Facing Jim again, I said, “You’ve been very helpful, Jim. I think that’s all we need for now.” As I stood, I added, “We already have Jenna’s contact information, so we’ll be in touch with her for some more questions.”
In a heartbeat, he was back to sunshine and annoying. He stood, making the chair shriek, and extended his hand. “Happy to help, gentlemen.” He shook my hand and clasped his other over the back of mine as if he thought that wouldn’t make me want to tear off his head. “You need anything else, you know where to find me.”
“We do.” I withdrew my hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
He and Darren shook hands as well, and he showed us out. Jim returned to the customer service counter to help the small line that had formed while he was gone. Once he was out of earshot, Darren muttered, “That was unexpected.”
“Uh-huh. We need to track down those ex-employees too.”
“Agreed. What do you think he—” Darren stopped dead. “Andreas.” His voice was hushed, almost conspiratorial.
