“Who was it?” Deena asked finally. Her voice was thin and ragged. “Anyone I know?”
Erling shook his head, but Deena wasn’t looking at him. “It was the woman who was murdered,” he said. “Sloane Winslow.”
“The Logan Foods heiress?”
The description didn’t fit Sloane any better than “older woman” had. “It’s a family business,” he said lamely.
“How did you meet her?”
“At a civic event.”
Deena was crying now and trying not to, which only made her sobbing more plaintive. “When?”
“Last fall. It was a luncheon honoring community contributions of local businesses. I was one of the speakers. Sloane attended on behalf of Logan Foods.”
“Someone introduced you?”
Erling shook his head. He could recall that afternoon as clearly as though it was yesterday. “We were seated next to one another at the head table.”
“And you just somehow ended up sleeping with her?”
“More or less.” Not that afternoon, but Erling had no doubt that the seed had been planted in both of their minds by then.
“Why?” It was a pathetic sound, like the meow of a hungry kitten.
Erling spread his hands, reaching for words that wouldn’t hurt her further. How could he explain his behavior to Deena when he didn’t really understand it himself?
“Never mind,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to know.” She reached for a tissue from her purse. “Why did it end? Because she died?”
“No, it was over before that. It was never anything serious.”
“It’s serious to me,” Deena shot back.
“I never stopped loving you. You have to believe that.”
“But screwing the heiress was more fun, right?” The tears had given way to outrage. “She was thinner, prettier, sexier, better in bed.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Like hell.” Deena’s face contorted with anger. “Damn you!” She threw open the door and stormed out of the car.
Erling followed on her heels. He reached for her arm and she spun around, pushing him against the garage wall.
“Stay away from me.”
“Deena, please.”
“Please what?”
He didn’t have an answer. He’d agonized so much about telling her, he hadn’t thought how she’d react. It had been about him again, he realized, not her. With sudden clarity, Erling understood that Deena had been right all those times she’d accused him of being insensitive.
“Why are you telling me this, anyway?” she asked.
“I’m tired of keeping secrets.”
“Great, unburden yourself so you feel better. How do you think I feel now?”
“Terrible,” he said. “You must feel hurt, and angry, and humiliated. Totally devastated.”
His words seemed to calm her some. She took a deep breath. “Right.”
“I shouldn’t have been involved in the investigation of her murder,” Erling added. “I’m going to recommend that we take another look at the evidence.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Deena turned to go inside.
Erling cleared his throat. “I saw on our caller ID readout that Sloane called here. It was a few days before she was killed.” He paused. “Did you talk to her?”
“That woman called you at home?” Deena asked shrilly. “I thought you said it was over by then.”
“It was. I have no idea why she called. But I’m wondering if . . . maybe the call was important. Relevant to her death, I mean. You didn’t speak with her?”
“No. Thank God. She’d have gotten a kick out of that, I bet. The mistress playing coy with the unsuspecting wife.”
Erling wanted to tell her that Sloane wasn’t like that. But he knew he’d lost the right to say any such thing.
Deena headed straight for their bedroom and locked the door. Erling was sure she was allowing herself the tears she’d fought in the car. When she emerged twenty minutes later, her eyes were puffy and her face red. She handed him a folded set of sheets and a blanket. “You can come get your toothbrush and whatever else you need from the bathroom.”
Another consequence he hadn’t foreseen. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“The den or the living room—take your pick.”
“You have every right to be angry, but shouldn’t we—” He took one look at her expression and shut up.
When he’d retrieved his gear from their bathroom, Deena brushed past him into the bedroom and again locked the door. A few minutes later he heard her running a bath.
Mindy was in her room. She’d poked her head out long enough to say hello when they’d first come home, but she’d apparently picked up on the tension between them and had quickly retreated to her room. A good thing, really. Neither he nor Deena could have kept up a pretense of normalcy.
He prowled around the kitchen, although he wasn’t hungry. The house seemed bleak and lifeless, like a place abandoned. But it was Erling who’d been abandoned. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on the vitalizing energy of his family for comfort.
Finally, he poured himself a tumbler of scotch. What if Deena left him? Would he ever feel whole again? And how could he explain to Mindy what he’d done? He’d never be able to look her in the eye.
He already felt the pang of missing them.
He turned on the television and flipped through the channels. Nothing held his interest. Finally, he tiptoed down the hall. He could see from the crack under the door that the lights in the master bedroom were out. Later, Mindy’s lights went out as well.
Erling chose the living room sofa because it was roomier than the one in the den. He remembered shopping for a replacement sofa with Deena. It was only last week but seemed a lifetime ago.
He spread the sheets and crawled between them, pulling the blanket over the top. He turned from side to side but he couldn’t get comfortable. At a little after two, he got up to get a glass of water and stopped at Mindy’s door. He opened it softly and stared at his sleeping daughter. Moonlight glimmered on her golden hair and fair skin. She had a tiny, rosebud mouth. He remembered how, as a baby, she’d suckled at her mother’s breast while he’d watched with a contentment he’d never thought possible.
Mindy breathed evenly, the sleep of innocence. At times like this, she seemed still a child. His child. Erling loved his family. He didn’t want to lose them.
<><><>
Erling couldn’t sleep. The lumpy couch was uncomfortable— too narrow to position himself any way but facing out, and too short to fully extend his legs. But it was the internal discomfort that kept him awake. Would Deena ever forgive him?
Finally abandoning the idea of sleep, he rose, left Deena a note telling her he loved her, and drove to work.
He was at his desk by seven. Michelle arrived half an hour later.
“Did you spend the night here?” she asked, joking.
He shook his head. “On the living room couch.”
She stuck her purse in the bottom desk drawer and popped the lid on a cup of coffee. “Not by choice, I take it.”
“I told Deena about Sloane Winslow.”
Michelle nodded and sipped her coffee. Erling was grateful she didn’t push for details.
“I told the lieutenant, too,” Erling said.
“What did he say?”
“The case is going to be reassigned.” Erling hadn’t been canned or sent up for formal reprimand, but the lieutenant’s seething displeasure had burned to Erling’s core. “Until then,” he said, “I want to wrap up what we can.”
“Am I off it, as well?”
“I’m not sure.” Erling knew Michelle would have to be a fool not to suspect him, but he pushed ahead anyway. It was either that or wallow in shame. “I’ve been going through the file on the murders,” he said. “John O’Brien still looks good for them. We assumed Sloane was the primary target and found motive. Now, with the Hayley Hendrix connection . . . it does raise que
stions. I don’t know what his motive might have been in targeting Olivia, but the witness report, the shoe print, the gun—they all point to O’Brien.”
“But they don’t directly link him to the crime.”
Erling leaned back in his chair. “We know John O’Brien was at the Crazy Coyote. And his sister showed up at Hayley’s apartment. There’s also that slip of paper with the Logan Foods phone number in her wallet. Seems like O’Brien’s an even better bet now than before.”
“We’re missing something,” she said. “It hangs together but it doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe O’Brien killed Hayley,” Erling speculated. “Then Olivia found out and threatened to turn him in. Or blackmailed him.”
Michelle shook her head. “Why kill Olivia when Sloane was around? Besides, he was asking about Hayley at the Crazy Coyote after she had been killed.”
“Covering his tracks, maybe. If he killed her, it’s only smart to act like he doesn’t know where she is.” Erling was clicking the end of his pen, a nervous habit that drove Michelle nuts. He stopped as soon as he caught her looking at him. “Could be Olivia shared her suspicions about John with Sloane, and that’s what she and John were arguing about at dinner that night.”
“So he killed them both.” Michelle seemed to be trying the theory on for size. From her expression, it wasn’t going well. “What about the other girl? Crystal Adams. John was asking about her at the Crazy Coyote, too. And the sister, Kali, recognized the name.”
“Too bad she’s not sharing.” Erling stood up. “We need to talk to people who knew Olivia. Friends, family, people she worked with.”
“We should have done that a long time ago. We would have, in fact, if you hadn’t been so eager to blame it all on John O’Brien.”
Erling looked down at his hands, then raised his eyes to hers. “I fucked up, okay? I’m trying to make it better.”
Michelle nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Not a resounding show of support, but it was better than nothing. “What say we start with that inn where she worked over the summer? You think they serve breakfast? I haven’t eaten since last night and I’m starved.”
Erling drove while Michelle pulled together a list of contacts for Olivia’s friends. They had only a couple of names, but he knew the list would grow. Focusing on Sloane had been a mistake. A misstep that occurred because he’d been personally involved. That was why he should have stepped away from the case at the start.
“What about John O’Brien’s murder?” Michelle asked, closing her notebook. “How does that play in all this?”
“Are you thinking that’s what happened? That he was murdered?”
Michelle frowned. “I know we wrote it off as the sister having trouble accepting the truth about her brother. But her points are valid. The housekeeper confirmed that John never ate mayonnaise and that the lights in the house were off when she came to work that morning. And he did have a doctor’s prescription for Valium. Wouldn’t he just take that instead of something he’d picked up illegally?”
“The housekeeper didn’t see signs that anyone else had been there, did she? Aside from the jar of mayonnaise.”
Michelle shook her head. “No, she was clear there was only one plate and one glass on the counter. She put them in the dishwasher when she cleaned up. But if his killer wanted to cover his tracks—”
“Our best bet is going at this through the victims we’re sure about—Hayley, Olivia, and Sloane.” Erling slowed for a dip in the road. Tucson was full of them. Every winter when it rained, some fool got stranded in three feet of water because he ignored the sign warning about entering when flooded. “Any word on Hayley’s family?”
“Minneapolis police are going to show our sketch to the woman we think might be her mother. She’s apparently an alcoholic with a taste for abusive men. The daughter was placed in foster care.”
“When’s the officer going to get out there?”
“Today.” Michelle gazed out the car window. “I talked to Hayley’s coworkers again. She wasn’t much of a party animal and she wasn’t into drugs. A couple of guys at the club apparently came on to her, so that’s something we need to follow up on.”
“Was John one of them?”
“I don’t think so. Too bad the Crazy Coyote isn’t the sort of place that asks for a resume. Then maybe we’d know more.”
Erling tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Ditto with the apartment.” The rental application Hayley had filled out hadn’t been of any use aside from listing a Minnesota driver’s license, which had put them on the track of the woman they were hoping turned out to be Hayley’s mother.
“She and Olivia seem like a strange pair,” Erling noted. Olivia’s mother had confirmed the girls knew each other. “I wonder if they met through the friend who gave them the poetry books.”
“The handwriting isn’t John’s,” Michelle pointed out. “At least not according to his friend Reed Logan. And it was Kali who told us to check for the books.”
Kali, again. Bad enough the woman was a thorn in his side; she could also be involved in some way. But Erling couldn’t fathom how, and that made her meddling all the more irksome.
“I was thinking,” Michelle said, “that maybe the books come into play as more than showing the girls had a common friend.”
“Why would—”
“A guy who’s stalking them, maybe. Someone who doesn’t take rejection. A jealous lover. It’s a long shot, but it’s unusual for friends to have identical volumes of poetry from the same guy.”
“We don’t know it’s a guy.”
“Friends don’t write inscriptions like that.” Michelle consulted her notes. “The books are unusual. The hand tooling on the cover, the velvet ribbon page marker—it’s got to be a small press specialty item. If they were purchased locally, maybe we can find out where.”
Erling’s heart stopped. Hand tooling. Velvet ribbon. What was it Deena had said about the book of poetry she’d discovered in Mindy’s room?
“I think it’s worth looking into,” Michelle said, slipping her notes back into her pocket. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
Erling shook his head. Don’t start imagining the worst, he told himself. Lots of girls read poetry.
“Nothing,” he told Michelle.
But he couldn’t forget Deena saying that Mindy had a new poetry book.
And a new guy.
Chapter 38
“Kali O’Brien?”
”Yes.” Kali answered warily. She’d assumed when she opened the door that the leather-skinned man on John’s doorstep was a salesman or a neighbor who’d only recently learned of John’s death—not someone who knew her name.
The man thrust a large envelope into her hands. “Have a good day.” He turned and headed to his car.
Kali ripped open the envelope and skimmed the contents. A formal complaint, filed by Carmen Escobar on behalf of the Perez family.
With a trembling hand and growing agitation, she read the words of the complaint in greater detail. She’d been hoping the talk of a civil suit had been just that—talk. Idle grumbling borne of grief. Not so.
Kali’s blood was boiling. She was certain it was the attorney, Carmen Escobar, who’d planted the seed for the lawsuit in the first place, and she’d done it purely for financial gain.
Her own financial gain.
These cases almost always settle . . . It would be in both of our interests to settle this matter . . . The Perez family is willing to be reasonable. The smug tone had infected the attorney’s voice in every conversation. She’d been less interested in alleging John’s guilt than in making veiled extortion demands.
Well, Carmen Escobar had a surprise or two coming.
Kali and Sabrina had reluctantly agreed that a reasonable out- of-court settlement would be preferable to a protracted and public trial, despite their belief in John’s innocence. But that was when it appeared as though Olivia was an unintended victim, and a sympathe
tic victim at that. Before Kali learned about her X-rated extracurricular activities. Before she discovered that Olivia hung out with a stripper and fellow porn actress who’d also been murdered. Rightly or not, those revelations were bound to color the jury’s perceptions.
Kali wasn’t happy about springing any of this on Olivia’s mother. In spite of the lawsuit, Kali felt nothing but sympathy for Mrs. Perez. She hoped that sharing the information with Carmen Escobar would be enough to convince the attorney to back off. She wasn’t counting on it, though. Kali’s sense was that Carmen didn’t care whose name got dragged through the mud, or whose nose got rubbed in the filth, as long as Carmen herself came out ahead.
Kali tossed the notice onto the table and stomped around the kitchen for a few minutes before calling Sabrina.
“I thought Carmen Escobar was urging a settlement,” Sabrina said after Kali had filled her in.
“She was. Still is, I imagine.” Kali wondered if Carmen could have been behind the broken window and the threatening phone call. She wouldn’t put it past her. “Filing suit is Carmen’s attempt to push us in that direction. But her victim isn’t going to play for the jury as the innocent, hardworking student she’s imagining.”
Sabrina laughed. “That’s for sure.”
“I learned something else interesting,” Kali said and then told Sabrina about Erling’s involvement with Sloane Winslow.
“Holy moly. You’ve been busy. So what’s next?”
“I’ll file a response to the complaint and hope Carmen Escobar sees the light. We have bargaining chips we didn’t have before.”
“I hope it’s enough.”
“Me too. I’ve got some names of people in the porn business, names Wayne Clark gave to John. I’m talking with one of them later today. I’m hoping to find out why John was interested in Hayley and Crystal. I’d also like to talk to Olivia’s brother again. When I showed him the photo, he claimed not to recognize either girl, but I think he was lying. If I press him about Olivia’s acting career, he may open up. I’m sure he wasn’t telling the whole story.”
“Anything I can do to help? I’ll be back down there later this week.”
The Next Victim Page 28
