“What kind of a shift?”
“Oh, it was subtle. Might have been nothing at all. And I might have been imagining it.”
“Try to remember. Was there anything in particular he might have said?”
“Will, I just don’t remember.” She shook her head. “It was six years ago. And even though he’d made me uneasy at the time, I doubt I could have told you even then what it had been that made me more suspicious of him than I was of any of the others I’d interviewed that day. Maybe if I listen to the tape, something might strike a chord.”
“Then we’ll put finding the tape at the top of the to-do list.” He leaned back to permit the waitress to serve their food. “We’ll see if anything jogs your memory.”
“Funny, but I don’t remember any of the other suspects I spoke with that entire week, but I never forgot him.”
“Tell me what you do remember. Maybe if you talk about it, something might come to you. Who picked him up and brought him in, and why?”
“He worked at the restaurant with the vic. We spoke with all of her coworkers.”
“Was he resistant to speaking with you?”
“Not at all. When we first starting talking, he was very relaxed, very matter-of-fact. Said he was washing dishes at the time of the murder, and wasn’t it just terrible, poor Jenny. He said he had seen her off and on during that night, but that she’d worked her shift and left by the back door at closing time.” Miranda leaned her head back against the seat. “However, when we went over our notes, we realized that several other employees mentioned that Jenny had left through a side door. And when pressed, none of them could remember actually seeing Channing just before closing.”
“And, of course, when you wanted to question him again, he was gone.”
“Right. Disappeared into thin air.”
“And there was no physical evidence to tie him to the crime scene?”
“None. There’d been no fingerprints to match—he must have worn gloves—and he had no record, no DNA to match.”
“I’m assuming his apartment was searched.”
“He’d been living in a rented room. Week to week. By the time we got there, he’d cleared out.”
“Seems as if he’d have been a likely suspect at that time. I’m surprised they gave up on him as easily as they did.”
“Keep in mind that the local cops had another suspect—a neighbor of the victim’s—who looked pretty good to them for a while. By the time he was cleared and we decided to take another look at Channing, he’d taken off.”
They’d finished their meals and the waitress returned to ask if they wanted dessert. When Miranda shook her head, Will reached across the table to place a hand upon her forehead.
“Hmmm, you don’t appear to be feverish.” He frowned. “Was there something wrong with your dinner?”
“No. I’m just not in the mood for dessert.” She took a sip of water from her glass. “I’m tired. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about asking you to drive home.”
“This is a first, Cahill. Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“No. Just tired. You ready to leave?”
“Yes. I’ll just grab the check from the waitress, and we can go.”
“I’m going to go on outside and see if I can get Veronica Carson again. I really want to know what’s going on out there in Fleming.” Miranda slid out of the booth and swung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you out by the car.”
By the time Will got outside, Miranda was in the passenger seat in the recline position, the key was in the ignition, and the engine was turned on.
“All warmed up and ready to go,” she told him as he got into the car.
“Great.” He adjusted the driver’s seat and the mirrors, and put the car in reverse. “Were you able to get through to Carson?”
“No. I had to leave another message.” She closed her eyes. “I hope she’s not avoiding me. I can’t think of any reason why she would.”
“Do you want the heat on?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Want to put my jacket over you?”
She thought about that for a minute, then shook her head no.
“You all right?”
“I’m just tired, Will. I haven’t been sleeping well. And I barely slept at all last night.”
“Thinking about Unger?”
“Thinking about how we screwed up.”
“That’s the second time you said that. How do you figure we screwed up?” He put on the right turn signal and followed the signs for I95 south.
“We should have been more aggressive with the Telford police, should have been stronger in our approach to them.”
“As I recall, we made it pretty clear that there was a good chance Unger might be the target of a killer. Then again, there was a good chance that he might not be.”
“We should have—”
“Stop it. We gave the police all of the information we had. It was their responsibility to follow through. You can’t be everywhere and do everyone else’s job, Miranda. I feel every bit as badly as you do that Unger is dead, but I can’t think of one thing I could have done to have prevented it.” He paused, then added, “Other than watch him myself.”
“Maybe we should have had someone watching him. Maybe we should have someone watching Landry.”
Maybe someone should be watching you, Will thought.
“Let’s toss it all around with Mancini when we get in to the office tomorrow. See what he has to say.” When she didn’t respond, Will glanced over and found her head dipped to the side and her mouth parted just ever so slightly. He turned down the radio and turned up the heat just a little.
She slept all the way to Maryland, waking only when Will pulled into a gas station and got out.
“Want anything while we’re here?” he asked softly. “They have a little market there.”
“No, thanks.”
He paid for the gas and climbed back into the car. “You sure you don’t want anything? Last chance . . .”
She shook her head no.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said as he headed back onto the highway.
“I’m just worn out.” Her eyes were closed again, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was really sleeping, or if she was feigning to avoid getting into a conversation with him that might lead to places neither of them wanted to go.
He decided if avoidance was what she wanted, avoidance was what she would get. If she changed her mind and wanted to chat, she was welcome to open her mouth. Otherwise, he’d just let it go for now.
After all, what was there, really, to talk about—other than work? What was there that he could put into words?
He drove along through the darkness, fighting off the thought that Archer Lowell might come after her.
“Over my dead body,” he whispered aloud, then glanced over to where she slept, wondering if she’d heard. If she had, she gave no sign. Her dark lashes still lay against her cheek, and her mouth was still just open the tiniest bit. Her hair fell down around her face like a dark veil, and her chin rested on her chest.
The thought worried him all the way home.
When he arrived at his house, he drove slowly, so as not to shake her awake as the car traveled over the rough stones. He turned off the ignition and turned to look at her as she stretched awake. The effort not to reach over and smooth that black hair from her face all but killed him.
“Where are we?” She yawned, breaking the silence.
“We’re back at my place.”
“Can I come in and use your bathroom before I head home?” She sat up.
“Sure, but don’t you think you should stay? It’s late and—”
“No, I don’t think I should stay.” Unexpectedly, she opened the passenger door and got out. “That’s done, Fletcher. Over.”
“Miranda, I wasn’t suggesting that you and I—”
“Oh, right, the thought never crossed your mind.”
He
got out of the car. “Well, of course, it’s a little hard not to think about—”
“Just give me the keys and I’ll stop at that little bar just before the highway.” She held out her hand.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“I don’t want to sleep under your roof tonight or any other night. We’re not going back down that road again, Will.”
“I swear, I was not suggesting that we do. I only meant, it’s late—after midnight already—and you have at least an hour drive.”
“I’m well rested.”
“At least come inside and use the bathroom and get something to drink.” They stood in the darkness and stared at each other. “Look, we’ve been pretty successful these past few days at moving past what . . . what was. If you can accept that we’ve moved on, I’ll accept it, too.”
She continued to stare at him.
“Friends?” he asked.
“Sure. Okay.” She nodded slowly. “Friends . . .”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem staying in the guest room tonight and driving home in the morning.” Before she could protest, he said, “The roads are dark; they’re windy and dangerous if you’re not familiar with them. It just doesn’t make sense for you to leave now, unless of course you’re only doing it to be stubborn.”
She laughed and threw up her hands.
“Okay. I give in. You really have a guest room?”
“It’s more like a spare room with a bed in it. But it’s a nice bed. I brought it up here from my grandmother’s house over the summer. She moved into an assisted-living place and couldn’t take most of her furniture with her, so she divided it up between the grandkids.”
“And there’s a lock on the spare-room door?”
“I’m wounded that you’d think such a thing of me.” He took her by the elbow and led her up the dark path to his front porch. “However, feel free to put a chair in front of the door if it makes you feel better. I think there’s a chair in there—”
“No, no. You’re right,” she said as he unlocked the front door. “We’re both adults, and right now, we have to work together. We’ll have to work together again, I’m sure, in the future. We should both be big enough to put all . . . put the past behind us and move on with our lives, right?”
“Right.”
Once inside, she stopped in the hallway, framed by the light from the front porch, and looked up at him.
“I can do it if you can do it.”
He gritted his teeth, not sure, after all, that he could.
“Sure.” It was easier to just agree at this point. “Great.”
“Great.” She smiled and snapped on the overhead light. “Which way is the guest room?”
Archer sat on the edge of the bed in the cheap motel room he’d rented for the night, just like Burt had told him to do, and waited for the cell phone to ring. He wished he could call home, let his mother know he was all right and not to worry, but Burt told him when he gave him the phone that it was only to be used to communicate with him. Still, Archer was tempted. How would Burt know, anyway, if he called home?
Forget it, he told himself. Burt seemed to know everything.
He wished he knew who Burt was. Maybe if he had a last name, he wouldn’t be so scary.
Nah, Archer decided. Knowing his last name wouldn’t make much difference. Burt would always be scary. He was just a scary kind of guy.
His hands over his eyes, Archer tried to make sense of his life. It had all gotten too crazy, too fast. One minute he’s at the Well trying to score with Lisa Shelton; the next minute he’s putting a bullet in the back of some old man’s head.
God, I didn’t mean to . . . I never meant to . . .
The cell phone rang rudely, and he looked at it for a long moment. What if he didn’t answer it? What if he took the money Burt had given him and just disappeared forever?
What if this all turned out to be nothing more than a bad, bad dream? That the past twenty-four hours had never happened? He’d wake up in his old bed. And, back in Telford, that old man would still be alive. . . .
The phone continued to ring. Finally, he answered it.
“Where were you?” the voice demanded.
“I was, ah, in the bathroom.”
“Next time take the phone with you.”
“Okay.”
“Now, where are you?”
“I’m still in the motel, like you said. You told me to stay here till I heard from you.”
“Well, I think it’ll be okay if you leave now. Take the next bus to the place I told you about. You’ll be okay. No one knows it was you; there’s nothing to connect you to the old man.”
“They know. That woman . . . Cahill . . . she’s gonna know. . . .”
“What?” Burt’s voice went cold. “What did you say?”
“She’s gonna know it was me. They already knew about the game, her and that other guy. The big FBI guy. They came to my house. They told me they knew what—”
“When were you planning on telling me this, asshole?” Burt’s anger rumbled like an avalanche through the phone.
“I . . . I . . .” Archer began to stutter.
“You . . . you . . . what?” Burt snapped. “The FBI was at your house, and you didn’t bother to mention it? She was at your house and you didn’t think that was important enough to tell me?”
“I didn’t get a chance,” Archer began to whine. “You didn’t let me tell you anything. You never give me a chance to say anything.”
“What exactly did they say? What did they want?”
“They . . . they said they knew about the game. About Curtis and Vince and me.”
“You tell me this now, after you do Unger?” Burt swore under his breath.
“I tried to tell you before but you—”
“You didn’t try hard enough, did you?” Burt’s breathing came a little faster now, and the sound of it through the phone made Archer’s heart beat almost out of his chest. “How did they know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe Curtis told them before he died. Maybe they just figured it out.”
“All right, this is what you do. You stay there, keep your head down. You got enough money left for another day, right?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to.” He paused again, as if thinking. “If you’re right, maybe they’ll be watching for you. Shit. I guess I’ll have to drive out for you myself.”
Archer’s insides twisted.
“Then, we’ll go over what you need to do next. Get it over with fast and be done with it before they can track you down. You been thinking about who you’re going to do next?”
“Yes.” Archer closed his eyes. NO. “But if they know who—”
“Did they say they know?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then they don’t know. You got two choices, Archer. You decide who goes next—and how you plan to pull it off—or I’ll decide for you.”
The phone went dead, and Archer turned it off.
Shit. Burt was coming for him. He was going to want to know who was next on the list and how he was going to do it.
Shit.
Well, not much choice involved in the how. He only had the one weapon. The gun Burt had given him, the one he’d used to kill Unger, was in his backpack.
As for who, well, how was he supposed to do that?
Maybe he should let Burt decide.
He shook off the idea. Maybe Burt would just see that as a weakness on Archer’s part, and he’d probably shoot Archer instead. From his pocket, he took a quarter and tossed it back and forth, one hand to the other. He’d have to flip for the name.
Mentally, he assigned heads to one name, tails to the other, then he tossed the coin on the floor and watched it roll across the worn carpet.
Tails.
Shit.
CHAPTER
TEN
The alarm shrilled away dangerously close to Will’s head at half-past six
. He’d set it for an early hour so that he could get a shower and slip downstairs before Miranda woke in order to make coffee and maybe even start breakfast. She wanted friends, he’d give her friends. He’d be the best friend she ever had. And then, maybe she’d see that beneath the cloak of friendship, there was so much more.
At least, that was the plan he’d come up with a few hours earlier, after having lain awake most of the night trying to think things through. He and Miranda had such a jumbled past. They’d never worked a job together that hadn’t ended up with the two of them in bed.
Not that that was a bad thing.
But lately, it had occurred to Will that he wanted more from her. Over the past several years, the routine had been pretty much the same. Work together, sleep together. Go their own way. Work together, sleep together. Go their own way. And that had been fine, for a while.
Will could point with certainty to the exact moment when he realized that was no longer fine.
Miranda had been working a job—alone—in New Jersey’s Pine Barrens, playing guard dog to Kendra Smith, the Bureau’s favorite sketch artist. Kendra’s house had been broken into by the serial killer who had more than a passing interest in her, and in trying to protect Kendra, Miranda had been coldcocked. In the resultant fall down the steps, she’d cracked her head open on the newel post, and spent the next twelve hours unconscious. Will had been sent to join in the hunt for the killer, which had served the dual purpose of allowing him to be involved in the investigation as well as to be at Miranda’s bedside when she awoke.
“Oh, God,” she’d groaned when she opened her eyes and focused on his face. “I knew it! I’ve died and gone to hell. . . .”
He’d laughed then, and he chuckled now, remembering how her smile had beaten back the fear that had spread through him when he’d first seen her in the hospital, her face black and blue, stitches running into her hairline. But remembering that forced him to recall the rest of that day, when a massive blunder on his part had almost cost Kendra her life. Assigned to keeping Kendra under wraps until her official FBI escort had arrived, in his eagerness to return to the hospital and Miranda, Will had handed Kendra directly into the hands of a madman.
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