Cold Shot

by Dani Pettrey

“And this camera Andrea gave her . . . ?” Griffin asked, tracking back.

  “Wasn’t among Marley’s possessions, according to her friend Paul who collected her things and shipped the majority of them down here,” Ben said.

  Because it had been with her at the time of her death.

  “Can you describe the camera?” Griffin asked.

  “Sure, but why?” Ben asked.

  “We think she had it with her at the time of her death.”

  “Why would you think that? I mean, she had it on her most of the time, but you sound certain she had it with her?”

  “There was evidence she did,” Finley said without going into detail.

  “Okay,” Ben said.

  Finley was thankful he didn’t press. She didn’t want to have to explain that camera fragments had been embedded in Marley’s skull.

  “It was a Canon EOS-1.”

  They’d pass the info along to Avery and let her research it.

  “As for the rest of Marley’s belongings . . .” Finley began. They deserved to know what Paul had done. “You said you’d received the majority of Marley’s belongings from Paul?”

  “Yes.”

  Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to say Paul didn’t send you the majority.”

  “What he sent seemed like too little, but he said he donated a good portion, and that seemed like what Marley would have wanted.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not true.”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Griffin explained.

  “Well, that’s disturbing.”

  “I don’t want that man having Marley Bear’s things,” Arthur said, wringing his hands.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll see everything is delivered to you. I will see to it personally,” Griffin promised.

  Arthur’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, both. You’ve been very helpful,” Griffin said.

  “Here’s my card.” Finley handed it to them.

  “My cell is on the back,” Griffin said, handing them his. “Call if you need anything.”

  He sat two tables back, watching them eat their fries as the stupid birds squawked and circled overhead. Blasted birds. He was trying to calculate his next move. One to counter Perera’s. And they bloody wouldn’t shut up.

  It had been a bold move showing up in the woman’s car. Brilliant, really. Cunning.

  He was clearly a worthy adversary.

  Highly connected.

  But he wasn’t going to win this one.

  Taking a sip of his soda, he studied Ranger McCray and the woman he clearly loved, planning the pain he was about to inflict.

  37

  It took Parker and Avery a handful of hours and hotels before someone recognized Marley’s photograph.

  “Yeah. I remember her,” the friendly lady who’d introduced herself as Linda Jo said.

  “Do you remember when you saw her? Ballpark time period?”

  “Ah . . . had to have been last winter. Toward the end of it.”

  “March, by chance?”

  “I’d say that sounds about right. We don’t get a ton of folks during that time of year so those that do come tend to stick better. I remember things were slow the night she checked in, so we chatted for a while. Sweet lady.”

  “Any chance you remember what you talked about?”

  “Oh, sheesh. Like I said, it’s been a while. . . . Most folks visiting like to learn all they can about the battlefield, history of the area, that sort of thing.”

  “But Marley was different?” Parker asked, sensing it in her tone. “Marley Trent.” He held her picture up.

  “That’s funny.” She shook her head, her brown curls bobbing. “It seems like she gave me a different name, but then again, it’s been a while.”

  Unless Marley used an alias.

  “So her questions were different than most tourists’?” Avery asked.

  “Yeah. Like I said, folks generally like to talk about history of the battlefield, but she seemed more interested in the reenactments, if I recall right.”

  “Reenactments?” Parker said.

  “We’re famous for our three-day battle reenactment. We’re booked out years in advance. She asked so many questions, I figured she was actually interested in participating, so I’m pretty sure I gave her Bob’s contact info.”

  “Bob?”

  “Bob Wade. Coordinates the entire reenactment. Oh, I mean he has help, lots of it. All of us locals pitch in, but he’s the head honcho. Nobody participates without Bob knowing about it.”

  “And did she talk to Bob?”

  “No idea.”

  “Could we have Bob’s number?”

  “I don’t see why not.” She looked it up and gave Parker the number, which he directly entered into his cell, knowing he’d be dialing it the minute they stepped out of Linda Jo’s lobby.

  “Any chance you remember how many nights she was here for? Do you keep records that far back?”

  “Of course I do. What do you think, this is the Stone Age?” She slipped on her reading glasses and stepped to her computer. She typed and scrolled and then looked up. “Here she is.” Her face soured. “She did give me a different name—Andrea Douglas. Hmm. Well, whatever her name is, it says she stayed two nights, but as I recall she only stayed one night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. Saw her, or rather her gentleman friend, carrying out her things Friday night. I remember thinking it was odd to pay in advance for two nights and to only stay one.”

  Parker tried to contain his excitement, and he could see Avery was struggling to do the same. “Her gentleman friend?”

  “Yes. I saw Andrea’s car pull up. Went out to say hi and found him instead. He waved back. Friendly sort. Handsome from what little I could see, but that wasn’t much. It was dark. He went into the room and came out carrying Andrea’s things a little while later. I was surprised he didn’t drop the key off, but maybe he didn’t think to. A lot of hotels let you leave those key card things in the room.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t see him clearly. He was tall, broad, sturdy. Well-built sort.”

  “Hair color?”

  “Can’t say that I saw. He might have been wearing a hat.”

  “And his face? Eye color?”

  “Handsome, but couldn’t tell you eye color. Again—”

  “It was too dark.”

  “He had a nice smile. I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve been a great help, but could we go back just a step? You said you saw him carry Andrea’s things out. Did you see Andrea leave with him?”

  “Well, no, but a call came in just after I saw him put the bag in her trunk. I just assumed she stepped out after him. Her car pulled out while I was still on the call.”

  “Could we see the room she stayed in?”

  “Sure, but a lot of other folks have used it since.”

  “It’d still be helpful.”

  “Sure. As long as it’s not rented out.” She looked back at her computer. “Room 112.” She glanced back at the key cubby. “You’re in luck. It’s vacant.” She handed him the key.

  He clutched it in his hand. Now they were getting somewhere. “Thanks. We’ll bring it back when we’re done.”

  “All right.” She linked her arms across her chest. “I don’t like to pry, but what’s this all about, anyway? She in some kind of trouble?”

  “Afraid not. She was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Last March.”

  “You don’t mean . . .” Her eyes widened. “Please tell me that wasn’t her body you all dug up at the battlefield?”

  Avery nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh dear. You two take all the time you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stepped outside. “I think we finally hit our stride. If anyone can find a trace of her, it’s
us. But even if we find nothing, we’ve got a timeline and our first witness sighting of our man.”

  Parker placed a call directly to Bob Wade, but it went straight to voicemail, so he left a message.

  They entered Room 112. It was small but clean. Done in Civil War fashion.

  “You really think it’s possible to find something after so much time and”—Avery scoped out the room—“people moving through.”

  “In my line of work,” Parker said, opening his kit and pulling on a pair of gloves, “I’ve discovered time cements things in place. It moves forward but a person’s life print, as I like to call it, remains.”

  Avery pulled out her camera, a skeptical frown on her face. “Life print?”

  Parker walked the perimeter of the room, inspecting every nook and crevice. “The residual effect of a person’s life that continues on both physically and emotionally in the lives of those they loved.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Avery said, snapping the first of what would be numerous pictures.

  “Take Marley, for instance. Her physical remains told us a lot about her. Hair color, stature, gender . . . Each detail helps paint a picture of the woman she was, then you add in the trace evidence and personal effects—her class ring, baseball hat . . .” He started his work-up of the room in earnest, talking as he went. “Then you look at the effect she had on people and the picture becomes richer. We know Marley was an idealistic fighter. She was passionate and she loathed bullies. We all leave these life prints behind when we go.”

  Parker stood back and studied the room—the beds, the dresser, even the ceiling, and then dropped to his knees and began searching underneath and around all the pieces of furniture.

  Avery frowned. “What are you looking for?”

  “Someplace Marley might have stashed something if she felt threatened.”

  “You think she knew they were after her?”

  “She used an alias to rent the room and paid cash. Seems like she feared someone was tracking her, or she could have just been being cautious. Tracking down someone so dangerous had to be unnerving.”

  “And exciting.”

  He arched a brow. Another reason he liked Avery.

  Reaching into the extremely shallow space beneath the nightstand, he stretched all the way up against the back wall. His fingers trailed over something bristly. “Hey, I think I’ve got something.” He wriggled, having to lie fully on the floor and scooch the item out with his fingers. “A hairbrush. I don’t know if it’s hers, but we can hope.”

  “It’s definitely unique,” Avery said.

  Parker examined the antique brush. “Heavy handle, probably gold tone over silver, filigree design.”

  “Interesting floral print on the back.”

  “I’m guessing from the sixties.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such a hairbrush expert.”

  “You’d be surprised the items I have to examine in my line of work.”

  “Why do you think she’d hide a hairbrush?” Avery asked, flashing a picture of it.

  “I doubt she stashed it. More likely she dropped it accidently or knocked it off the nightstand while turning off the alarm.” Parker pointed to the clock at the back edge of the nightstand. “I knock all kinds of things off my nightstand when I’m hitting Snooze. Half the time I forget to pick them up upon waking. The point is if the man Linda Jo saw collected Marley’s things, he’d have no idea to check behind or under the nightstand.”

  “And it’s certainly not something Marley would leave behind. Looks too personal. Too special.”

  “Exactly. So if it is Marley’s, it only further testifies to the fact someone else checked her out.”

  38

  Avery settled in for the drive back from Gettysburg, surprised how much pleasure she derived from spending time with Parker. She typically preferred solitude, as she surmised Parker did, but somehow together . . .

  She exhaled. That was a nonstarter. Not only did she have zero interest in any type of personal relationship, but he was clearly still hanging on to his love for Jenna McCray.

  An incoming call from Griffin came through. Parker answered via Bluetooth. “Hey, Griff,” he said over the speakers so Avery could hear the conversation, which she greatly appreciated. For not having any investigation experience before coming to work for Parker, she felt somehow oddly at home in the realm.

  “Hey, guys. Got you on speaker,” Griff said.

  “Us too,” Parker said.

  “How’d it go?” Avery asked.

  “Really well. We got a few leads,” Finley said. “And one right up your alley, Avery.”

  Her brows pinched. “Oh?”

  “Marley’s camera. We know the exact model. It was a Canon EOS-1, which belonged to her aunt, Andrea.”

  “Andrea,” Avery said, looking at Parker.

  “Is that name significant to you?” Griffin asked.

  “It’s the name Marley registered at the hotel in Gettysburg under—Andrea Douglas.”

  “Douglas was Ben’s last name,” Finley said.

  “Who’s Ben?” Avery asked.

  “Marley’s friend,” Griffin said.

  “Her friend Ben or her friend Ben,” Parker’s voice dropped as his brows hiked.

  “Ugh.” Avery sighed in disgust. “Unlike you, some men and women are actually able to be just friends.”

  “Acquaintances, perhaps,” he acquiesced, “but close friends with no other feelings involved, no way.” He winked at her, then shifted his focus back to the conversation. “So which is it, Griff?”

  “They were more than friends, or quickly getting there,” he said.

  Parker looked over, smiling triumphantly. “Told you, love.”

  She shook her head with a grunt, ignoring the pleasure the affectionate moniker filled her with, which was ridiculous. It had no meaning behind it, other than the fact that Parker could be a serious flirt.

  “Was there anything wonky or suspicious with this Ben?” Parker asked.

  “Not that I could tell,” Griffin said, “but he did mention something interesting. The two of them visited Gettysburg last November for the Gettysburg Address reenactment ceremonies, and Marley saw someone or something that spooked her.”

  “Perera?” Avery asked.

  “Very possibly.”

  “But if so, why not mention it to Ben?”

  “Who knows?” Griffin said. “Maybe she wasn’t sure. She kept looking around as if she was trying to figure something out.”

  “Well, it finally gives us a Gettysburg tie. Loose as it may be.”

  “Speaking of which, how did your day go? Sounds like you found her hotel?”

  “Yes. The Gettysburg Inn. She registered for two nights, but the inn owner said she only stayed one.” Parker went on to explain the full details.

  “Let us know the results on the hair samples as soon as you get them,” Finley said.

  “If it’s a match, it’ll provide concrete, physical proof Marley was there,” Griffin said.

  “Doesn’t the hotel owner identifying her photograph accomplish that?” Avery asked.

  “In court the defense could argue it’d been too long, the lady might be mistaken, there are a lot of people who might look similar, and so on. She registered under a false name and paid cash, which doesn’t provide any concrete link,” Griffin said.

  “Then let’s pray the hair’s a match,” Avery said.

  Parker glanced sideways at her. Yes, it was her first use of the word prayer. Her faith was her faith. Not something she shared with others. Not anymore.

  “So, the aunt’s camera . . . ?” she asked, shifting the conversation back to where they’d begun.

  “Right,” Finley said. “Apparently her aunt was a photographer whose images of General Rativik’s atrocities in Sarajevo become famous—revealing to the world the depths of his depravity.”

  “Wow.” Those had to be some powerful photographs. “I’ll look into the aunt and the camera
model.”

  “Thanks,” Griffin said.

  Perera greeted his man outside the airport. With Simon’s death, he needed someone else he could trust, and Stephen Daniels was it.

  “How was the flight?” He’d come from Cambodia.

  “Long.”

  “And everything back home?” Cambodia was home now. The source of his business, his income, and, most importantly, his pleasure.

  “Running smoothly.”

  “Good to hear.” He’d exerted great time and effort surrounding himself with the right men. Men who could be trusted. Men loyal to him. Men who didn’t question. Just did their job. Mercenaries were the perfect workhorses. Soldiers for money, who did the job and did it well.

  “How are things here?”

  “Not as smooth as I would like.” He pulled out of the airport and onto I-195.

  “Have you identified our opponent?”

  “Not yet.” He was a ghost. Much like the men he surrounded himself with. But everyone had a past. If he just dug deep enough. “He’s a worthy adversary. If I didn’t have to kill him, I’d love to hire him.”

  “And the marks?”

  “I think the doc actually listened.”

  Daniels arched his brows. “She believed you?”

  “Don’t make it sound so unfathomable. I can tell the truth.” His lips curled. “Just takes a little more practice.”

  “And?”

  “They are going to need some more persuasion.”

  Parker watched Avery work at his kitchen island, realizing he didn’t want this case to end. Oh, he wanted to see Perera behind bars, and whomever else may be involved, but he didn’t want this time with Avery staying at his place to end. It was a startling realization, one he didn’t think possible, and one he didn’t fully understand. But there was something about Avery Tate . . .

  He leaned against the wooden beam, sipping his coffee. She’d slipped past his guard. The first stirring of serious feelings for a woman he’d experienced in eight years and it was exhilaratingly terrifying. He hadn’t even seen it coming. Oh, he’d known there was something about Avery the moment they met, but he thought it respect. He hadn’t even dared consider the possibility . . .

  “Bingo,” she said with a snap.