Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4

by Heather Graham

  “Hey,” Katie said, studying the man, then glancing at Hannah with a little grin. “Nice to meet you, Agent Samson. I heard you were here.”

  “And we need your help,” Samson said. He, too, looked at Hannah—suspicious, probably, that she was there.

  “I need to head back home,” Hannah said. “I’ll see you soon, Katie.”

  “Don’t leave,” Samson said.

  It sounded like an order given by a drill sergeant. Hannah instantly felt her temperature rise.

  Then he added, “Please.”

  It still sounded like a command.

  “You want me to stay?” she asked, her skepticism clear.

  “For a few minutes. Liam and I can talk to the Hardwickes later, but for now I’d like you to take me back to your place after I talk to Katie.”

  “Oh?” She knew her one word had attitude, but she couldn’t help it. He was obnoxious.

  “I was hoping you would come with me to meet your handyman neighbor, Mr. Holloway.”

  Hannah nodded slowly. “All right. If it will help, if you think it’s necessary.”

  “Katie, the group that was staying at the Siren of the Sea noticed a group wearing hoodies who might have been in here earlier in the evening. Do you remember seeing a bunch of guys like that?” Liam asked.

  “Let’s see, it was Friday and pretty busy. You know I’m not here all the time, right? I just run the karaoke and help out Uncle Jamie when needed,” Katie said.

  “Were you here around seven, by any chance?”

  “Yes, I was,” she said, frowning. “Let me think. Hoodies?”

  “Dark hoodies,” Liam said.

  “I don’t remember anybody wearing one, but I do remember seeing one on the back of a barstool,” Katie said. “I saw some guy pick it up, and it looked like he was with three or four friends. They were young—early twenties, I’d say. One looked a little older. They looked like they were in town for a bachelor party or a frat weekend, something like that.”

  “Would you recognize any of them if you saw them again?” Liam asked her.

  “I might,” Katie said.

  “Can you come with me to the station?” he asked her.

  Katie looked at Hannah worriedly. “Yes, I guess so. Karaoke doesn’t start until eight.”

  “Hannah, you can take me to meet your neighbor and see what he can tell us,” Agent Samson said. “If you don’t mind?”

  She shook her head. As soon as Katie gave the staff some instructions, the two of them left with Liam and Dallas Samson.

  Liam drove the few blocks south down Duval and then around the corner to drop off Hannah and Dallas.

  “Do you want me to call Bentley and see if he’ll come over here?” Hannah asked.

  “No, let’s just see if he’s home. I’d like to see his place.”

  Holloway’s property was separated from Hannah’s by tall cherry hedges. Hannah looked at Dallas for a moment, shrugged and started up the old coral pathway to the house. They climbed the two steps to a small porch.

  “Do we let him know that you’re a Federal agent?” Hannah asked.

  “I think he’s figured that out already, since you said he was in the alley this morning,” Dallas said.

  “Probably. But the body is still officially unidentified, right?”

  “Yes, until we say otherwise. You can handle that, can’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, I can handle that.” She knew that her voice had attitude again. She couldn’t seem to help herself, but then he couldn’t seem to help being obnoxious.

  Hannah knocked on the door. Dallas had a feeling that Bentley Holloway had been watching them from inside, because the door opened almost immediately.

  The man was wearing khakis and a Doors T-shirt. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight, and his eyes were sharp as he studied them. He appeared to be about forty-five or fifty, bronzed deeply with features lined by years in the sun. He was leanly muscled, and his arms bore a number of tattoos. He looked like a seaman, as so many Key Westers did.

  There didn’t appear to be any defensive wounds on his arms, neither did he appear to be in any pain, as if he’d been in a fight.

  There really was no reason to suspect the man. Still, Dallas studied him carefully.

  “Hey, Hannah. And...?” Holloway asked, looking at Dallas.

  Dallas offered Bentley Holloway his hand. “Dallas Samson.”

  “You’re a cop, huh?” Holloway asked.

  “Agent—Federal,” Dallas said.

  “Oh. I saw you out in the alley this morning. How come the Feds are on a local murder case?”

  “Oh, there aren’t many of us in the office down here,” Dallas said. “We step in wherever we might be needed.”

  “Liam is a good detective,” Holloway said defensively.

  “The best. He’s a friend,” Dallas said. “Okay if we come in and ask you for some help?”

  “Help? Hell, I wish I could,” Holloway said. “But sure, come on in.”

  The door opened right into the living room. Dallas quickly noted that it was filled with plain furniture that looked as if it had come from the mix and match department at the Salvation Army, but he’d spruced it up nicely. The walls were decorated with watercolors of various scenes of Key life: sailboats in the harbor, kids playing on a beach and also an arresting picture of the local lighthouse. At first glance, it sure as hell didn’t appear that he was living the high life.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Holloway said. “You want lemonade? Iced tea? Something stronger?”

  “Sure, I’d love iced tea or lemonade—anything you have handy,” Dallas told him.

  He sensed that Hannah was surprised that he’d accepted the offer, but he wanted to see as much of the house as he could without a warrant. There was no reason in particular to be suspicious of Holloway. He was just suspicious of everyone, and he was pretty sure Rodriguez had cut through Holloway’s yard after he was attacked.

  Which meant the killer had probably come through, too.

  “Make yourself at home—have a seat,” Holloway said, heading toward the kitchen.

  But Dallas didn’t sit; he followed Holloway, with Hannah at his heels.

  “Great place,” Dallas said.

  The house wasn’t as old as Hannah’s. Originally built in the shotgun style, you could see straight through from front door to back door as one room opened straight into the next. It was obvious that over the years—and with the advent of electricity and air-conditioning—the house had been enlarged. Now additional rooms branched off to either side.

  They walked through the dining room to get to the kitchen, but Dallas noticed that there were doors leading off both sides of the dining room.

  “Yeah, thanks. I inherited it. Property values down here are killer now. I’ve had a lot of friends sell out, move up to the center of the state then wish they were back here, only they can’t afford it. Key West kind of gets in your blood. I’ll never let this place go,” Holloway said. “It was originally built by my however-many-greats grandfather around 1875.”

  “Nice,” Dallas said. “Really nice.”

  The dining room, furnished with a table that sat eight, a cupboard and a buffet, had seascapes on the walls.

  The kitchen had been remodeled. There was a granite island in the center, with four stools around it, pots and pans hanging from the overhead rafters and brand-new appliances.

  Holloway stopped when he got there and looked around as if surprised he had been followed. Dallas stopped so short that Hannah crashed into him.

  She steadied herself with her hands on his back.

  He was startled to discover that he liked her touch.

  “I love old houses,” he told Holloway.

  “Yeah? Well, then Key Wes
t is the place to be. People tend to think of South Florida as a twentieth-century invention. Not down here. We’ve got some of the richest history in the nation—and one of the largest concentrations of old Victorians anywhere,” Holloway said proudly.

  Dallas nodded. “I actually grew up here.”

  “No kidding?” Holloway asked.

  “No kidding. I left when I was sixteen. I’ve gotten back every chance I could since, though.”

  “You living here now?” Holloway asked.

  “I’m assigned here for now, yes.” Dallas nodded.

  “Oh, right. You’re a Fed. You could wind up anywhere,” Holloway said.

  He took lemonade from the refrigerator and glasses from the cupboard. When the glasses were filled, he indicated that they might as well take a seat at the granite island.

  “So what can I do for you?” he asked. He looked at Hannah with a frown, as if wondering what she was doing there.

  “I wanted to ask you what you saw this morning, Mr. Holloway,” Dallas said.

  “Bentley—just call me Bentley. We’re still casual down here,” Holloway said with a smile. “What did I see? A bunch of crime scene tape.”

  “You didn’t see or hear anything before you came out and the police were already on the scene?” Dallas asked.

  “Sorry. I was sleeping. I woke up when I heard the ruckus out back. Went on out to watch. I wish I could help. I really do,” Holloway said.

  “Bentley, you can help,” Hannah said, speaking up with a smile. “I’m pretty sure after the man was attacked he stumbled through your yard into mine. They’ve searched my property and the alley. Would you mind if they searched your yard, too?”

  Before the man could answer, Hannah touched his arm. “I know it’s an intrusion. But I’d be grateful. I found him, Bentley. I can’t tell you how that felt...to bend down and see him there, dead. Please?”

  Holloway stared down into Hannah’s beseeching turquoise eyes.

  Dallas was sure he couldn’t have refused her or remained unmoved.

  Holloway shook his head ruefully and looked at Dallas. “Since Hannah asked...go ahead. Look wherever you need to look.”

  “Thank you,” Dallas said. He wondered how she’d known the scenario the cops had settled on. It was almost as if she’d known what happened when Rodriguez was killed.

  “Thank you, Bentley,” she said, smiling. “You’ll help put my mind to rest.”

  Dallas swallowed the last of his lemonade. “I’ll step outside, then, and let the techs know to get started.”

  Leaving the two of them in the kitchen, he went outside and walked half a block toward Duval, then turned around and retraced his steps. He tried to envision what had happened—and where.

  He moved slowly, checking for signs of blood on both the sidewalk and the grass.

  He knew he wasn’t going to find anything like the kind of high velocity spatter a bullet created. According to Dirk, Rodriguez’s jugular had been nicked, leading to a fatal loss of blood.

  But Rodriguez had cut his attacker, as well.

  He gave up searching for blood drops and walked through the yard. If Rodriguez had crashed through the hedge, he should be able to see where.

  The door to the house opened, and Hannah came out. He paused. He should thank her. She had gotten him the clearance he needed to examine Holloway’s property without a warrant. If there was evidence he had to find it now, and getting a warrant would take time.

  “Here’s my theory. I think he came from the street...that way,” she said, and pointed to the right. She wasn’t looking at him as she approached. “He heard his attacker coming up behind him. He was with a group of new...friends, but they took off when he was attacked from behind. He got away and ended up here. Somewhere along the way he drew his knife and fought back, managing to slice his attacker, which gave him time to get away. He gripped his throat and staggered through the hedge and into my yard.”

  Hannah walked to what had to be the exact spot where the dying man had gone through the hedge. As he followed her, Dallas could see the trail.

  “Here,” she said softly, coming to a stop by a lounge chair near the pool. “Here’s where he scared Shelly and Stuart half to death. But he must have heard the killer coming, so he staggered out to the alley. He needed to lure the killer away. But I think the killer saw where he went and never even came through my yard, so Shelly and Stuart never saw him.”

  Dallas stared at her. She didn’t appear to be in a trance, hadn’t claimed to be a psychic, but somehow she seemed to know exactly what had happened.

  Of course, any good detective would have figured out the course of events; the evidence was clear.

  She wasn’t a detective, yet she had homed in so exactly on the truth....

  She walked from the pool through the yard, her footsteps faltering. She wasn’t staggering the way a dying man might have done, she was just following the path Dallas knew he had taken.

  Dallas followed her out to the alley. She stopped just outside the crime scene tape.

  She met his eyes at last.

  Dallas was very still, watching her.

  “Anyone would think you’d been with Agent Rodriguez.”

  “It’s just...apparent.”

  “Apparent, yes. But...”

  “But?” she asked.

  “It’s as if you know something,” he said.

  She flushed. “Are you accusing me of—?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

  “The house? The killer was nowhere near the house.”

  “I want to rent a room,” he told her.

  “What?”

  “You operate a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

  “You have a home here. You work here,” she said.

  “I want to rent a room.”

  It was obvious she didn’t want him staying in her house.

  “My cousin is coming soon, maybe as early as tomorrow. I’m not sure how many people are coming with her, but they’ll probably need all my rooms.”

  “Not a problem. I only need a room for tonight,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked him.

  “Do you have a guard dog?” he asked.

  “A guard dog? No.”

  “Do you have an alarm system?”

  “Oh, please. Didn’t you listen to me? Jose led the killer away. There’s no reason for him to come here looking for me or anyone else.”

  He turned and walked back through her yard, then waited at the rear door. She followed him, still confused and a little belligerent. “I don’t understand—”

  “You were thinking about calling people you’d turned away to see if anyone still needed a room, so I know you have space. How do you work things? Do guests get two keys? One for the door to the house and another for the door to their rooms?” he asked her.

  “Why the third degree? Are you still suspicious of me for some reason?”

  He let out an impatient groan. “No, I’m not suspicious. I’m worried, and I’m thinking like a cop. The killer was, to all intents and purposes, right here. He almost certainly saw you and knows that you found the body.”

  “How?” she demanded.

  Dallas hesitated. “It might be a cliché, but killers do sometimes return to the scene of the crime. Sometimes, they’re sick bastards who come back to enjoy the kill all over again. Sometimes they come back to watch the cops and see what they’ve discovered. There’s every chance the killer was in that alley this morning. But say he wasn’t. That newswoman shot a lot of footage, and you’re bound to be in it. Just as a precaution, rent me a room.”

  She stared at him, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She was too damn good at keeping her face expressionless.
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br />   “I have good locks.”

  “You could have the best locks ever invented,” he told her, “and if someone wants to get in, they’ll get in.”

  She moved ahead of him and unlocked the door. She went inside without looking back to see if he followed, but she didn’t slam the door on him, either. He followed her to the reception desk, where she opened a drawer and produced a set of keys.

  “The whole house is empty, right?” he asked her.

  “At this moment? Yes.”

  “Then I’d like the Melody Chandler room, please.”

  “What?” she asked.

  He let out a sigh that he hoped didn’t sound as impatient as he felt. His start with Hannah had not been a good one, and it didn’t seem as if they were going to get along any better now.

  “I told you,” he said quietly, “I’m from here. This was Melody Chandler’s home. She lived here when the man she loved, Hagen Dundee, died trying to save passengers off the Wind and the Sea when she went down. When I was a kid, I took a ghost tour and the guide pointed out her window. I’d like to stay in her room.”

  “I sleep in Melody Chandler’s room,” she told him.

  “Ah,” he murmured. “Then give me her father’s room, the Ian Chandler room.”

  For a long moment she stared at him.

  “Please,” he said. His tone was gruff, and he realized that even when he was trying to be polite, he sounded like an ass. And he didn’t know why. What was it about her that brought out this side of him?

  He couldn’t help it. He pictured Jose Rodriguez. Dead.

  And he pictured Adrian Hall where she, too, had lain dead in a pool of her own blood.

  He pulled out his wallet to produce a credit card.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You’re staying here for one night to make sure I don’t get killed. I’m not going to charge you.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll put it on an expense report.”

  “You want to stay here—stay here. If not, leave. I won’t charge an officer of the law for doing what he sees as his duty.”