by Janet Dailey
The botany lesson had to have a point. “Tell me,” Linc said.
“The ground under Norway maples generally stays fairly dry, even in heavy rain. So we found some deep tire tracks. A double set, side by side. Not that recent.”
“Okay.”
“We figured two cars had swerved off there, one right behind the other.” Mike Warren stirred his coffee. “I photographed the treads first. Then my guy measured and plotted the distances in a sketch—photos distort information like that.”
“Makes sense.” Linc thought of his struggles with the digital video.
With an appreciative audience, Mike Warren was warming to his subject. “We took soil samples to compare to the dirt we scraped out of Kenzie’s tire treads. There’s a lot of reference points: type of soil, seeds, vegetable matter, dead leaves, mud—we can match it all.”
Linc was impressed. “You think Christine was forced over more than once?”
“No. I didn’t say that.” The lieutenant looked at him levelly. “It could be that she pulled over first.”
Linc was a lot more interested now. “Why?”
“Because she knew the other driver. Let’s say he honked and she looked into her rearview mirror and thought, oh him. He’s a casual acquaintance, a coworker—someone she isn’t afraid of. He honks again and points to the shoulder of the road and she pulls over. Doesn’t get out, though.”
Linc got the idea. “No footprints under the maples.”
“Not a one.”
Linc leaned in, pushing his cup of coffee aside before he folded his arms on the table. “Go on.”
“They talk for a bit. But for some reason she’s picking up a weird vibe from the guy. Christine takes off. He follows.”
“And then he forces her off the road.”
“That’s what I was thinking. If the soil analysis confirms a connection, it’s something to go on.” The lieutenant patted his jacket over the inside pocket. “So is this.”
Linc leaned back, thoughtful. “Are you thinking coworker?”
“Yeah. Because of the ID. That didn’t fall out of her wallet—I saw the wallet before we returned her effects to her parents, looked inside. It was the kind with plastic slots for credit cards and her health insurance and store discount cards. All of them tucked in nice and tight.”
Linc felt compelled to play devil’s advocate. “Really? Kenzie told me that Christine wasn’t that organized.” He didn’t have to mention that he’d seen her cluttered paperwork for himself.
“She worked at a company with serious security,” Warren said. “She had to keep track of her ID.”
“Granted. Could be, though, that her ID card was stolen from her purse at SKC and she didn’t notice it was gone.”
“Maybe,” Mike Warren sat back with a dissatisfied look on his face. “But so what. We still have no clue as to who the guy might be and no evidence to help us get an arrest warrant if we find a likely suspect.”
“You might. Soon.”
“I’ll let you know about the soil samples. Helps us with probable cause and judges like that kind of stuff. Conjecture, not so much.”
“That’s your department,” Linc said.
The lieutenant groaned theatrically. “Last time I winged it, I got told to take off the tinfoil hat and stop talking about my imaginary friends.”
Linc thought of something else. “What about the wreck? Forensics find anything useful yet?”
Mike Warren finished his coffee and set the cup down with a clink that resonated in the empty diner.
“We got the paint analysis back. The other car was black—it’s a type of paint that’s been used on, oh, about ten million vehicles in the last fifteen years.”
“That narrows it down,” Linc said dryly.
“Yeah,” Mike replied. “But it kinda fits the profile for our guy when you think about it. There doesn’t seem to be anything too different about the stalker. He just doesn’t stand out one way or another.”
Linc shifted in his seat, feeling a little frustrated. “He’ll trip up sooner or later.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Maybe he already did. Want to see the photos from the shoulder?”
“Sure.”
Mike Warren pulled out the digital camera and turned it on. He handed it over to Linc with the first frame in the viewfinder, then turned to look for the waitress and get the check.
Linc studied each image. Dirt. Mud. Crushed leaves. Tire tracks squeezing it all into rippled patterns. A measuring tape stretched out on the ground for size reference.
There was a skyward shot of the maples with crowded, skinny trunks, growing like weeds. Then a close-up of the thickly clustered yellow leaves that had blocked the rain.
For the finale, a wide shot of the tracks on the shoulder with the detective in it. Linc used the zoom function to look at the tracks again. Definitely from two different cars.
To his eye, they had been made at the same time. Lieutenant Mike Warren was onto something.
Kenzie continued the work of packing up, filling a paper shopping bag with get-well cards and trinkets. Mrs. Corelli was chatting with Christine. Her outward manner was cheerful, but Kenzie knew how frightened the older woman was inside.
Alf was too tough to show much emotion. But even he was shocked that the stalker knew their address, had dared to send the trashy card. At the moment he was in the parking lot, moving things around in their car to find room for everything they were bringing home and the few items that were going to the neuro rehab center.
The outpouring of love and support expressed in the many cards Christine had received didn’t negate the one from the stalker. She’d handed it over to Linc hoping it would be the last.
Maybe, maybe not. They both knew that.
She added a small stuffed bear to the shopping bag. “This is full.”
Christine looked her way and said something that wasn’t clear. More and more words seemed to be coming back to her, almost by the hour, but putting them into sentences gave her trouble.
“I think you said to bring everything, honey. Is that right?” her mother asked.
Christine nodded eagerly and Kenzie smiled at her.
“I will,” Kenzie said softly. “Don’t you worry.”
Now more than ever, the vulnerable look in Christine’s eyes made Kenzie want to be strong for her. The transfer to the rehabilitation center would happen in the next few days, which intensified her feelings of protectiveness.
Christine would ride with her parents in a patient transport van, not an ambulance. But it would be the first time she’d been outside of the hospital.
They had been told that she might become disoriented, even difficult, in the new setting, but not for long. Dr. Asher had explained there were bound to be a few setbacks, but that Christine was making steady progress toward recovery.
The rehab center was homelike, Mrs. Corelli had said. Families and friends were encouraged to visit. Kenzie hadn’t been there, but she had a feeling the place was more open than an ICU.
She quelled her nervousness as she picked up the file of printed photos. There was just room enough in the shopping bag to slide them in.
Christine waved a hand to get her attention. “Photos,” she said.
Kenzie stopped what she was doing at Mrs. Corelli’s approving nod. “Do you want to look at them before they get packed?” she asked.
“Yes.” Christine scooted over in the bed and patted the empty space beside her. “Come here.”
A big smile brightened Kenzie’s face. That counted as a complete sentence. “You bet.”
She scrambled onto the bed and opened the file. The idea was to show the same images each day and add in different photos as well.
The party picture with everyone in it was one Christine hadn’t seen yet. Kenzie hesitated. Frank Branigan was in it. So were a whole lot of other people, having a grand time in colorful party hats, blowing on horns and teasing each other with feathered roll-ups.
Christi
ne leaned over to look at the photo before Kenzie could decide whether to show it. “New Year,” she said. Then she began to slowly name the guests.
Mrs. Corelli beamed at both of them. “Look at you two. I wish I had a camera.”
Kenzie smiled at the suggestion. Christine nudged her with an elbow as she pointed to the photo. “Lisa,” she said. “Molly. And Frank.”
“Yes,” Kenzie said. “That’s him. He looks happy. It was a great party.”
The cemetery was quiet and well-maintained. She walked through it, her face somber, looking now and then at the tombstones to either side. The military graves had flags, and sometimes a memento left by a surviving buddy.
She spotted a full bottle of beer, cap on, propped against a tombstone next to a spray of silk flowers. The flowers and the label on the beer bottle were sun-faded. Both had been there a while. She hoped whoever had left them knew that the offering was untouched.
She stopped in front of Frank’s grave. The earth over it was fresh, without grass, a temporary marker in place.
Kenzie had attended the funeral a few days ago without telling Linc. She’d kept her distance, standing at the edge of the crowd, not knowing, for the most part, who was family and who were friends and who were simply respectful or curious. She recognized his parents and ex-wife from his Facebook page, and that was about it. But there had been a lot of people to pay their last respects to him.
She had murmured the responses of the funeral service with everyone else, echoed the final amen, but she wasn’t done—and she wouldn’t be until they found out why his armor had failed.
Kenzie knew it was a tall order. But she had to try. She also knew Linc wasn’t going to quit.
She stood looking at the rectangle of earth, leaves drifting down from the trees around her. The afternoon sky was cloudy and the air was cool. She put her hands in her pockets, wishing she had some small thing to leave to mark her visit, but both were empty.
Impulsively, Kenzie bent down and pressed her hand against the earth in an inconspicuous place. The light imprint barely showed.
“That’s from me and Christine,” she whispered. “She’ll visit on her own some day. Not just now.”
She straightened and offered up a silent prayer that it would be soon if all went well. But it was a reality that Frank’s tombstone might be installed and grass grown over the dark earth before her friend was able to walk here on her own.
Kenzie tried to shake off a sudden sense of foreboding. If Linc were here, he’d guide her back to the wandering path that led out through the gates.
But he wasn’t. She turned and walked away, alone.
When she had gone through the stone gates, a man stepped out from behind the thick trunk of a gnarled old tree. He walked to Frank Branigan’s grave and stood near the spot Kenzie had pressed.
Looking down at it, his eyes glowed with hatred. He set his heel where her hand had been and obliterated the mark she’d made.
“I’m glad that Christine is doing so well. She’s lucky to have you around.”
Jim Biggers was sitting behind his desk, his gaze on Kenzie, concern in his eyes. His directness was comforting.
“I owe you for that,” she replied. “Thank you again for the time off.”
“Not a problem. We all miss you, but that doesn’t mean I’m asking you to run back.”
Gruff. Unsentimental. Kind as could be. That was Jim.
“It’s hard to believe I’ve been out for a week and a half—and you all survived,” she said lightly.
“Seems longer.”
It did to her too. A thorough explanation of everything that had happened wasn’t possible. Christine, Frank—she’d gotten that far and stopped. Then there was Linc. She wasn’t going public with the particulars of that relationship—or her feelings for him—just yet.
Kenzie sighed inwardly.
The training sessions for the day were nearly over. She listened to the familiar commands coming faintly through the office windows without paying much attention to them.
Jim cleared his throat. “I didn’t know him, but I’m sorry to hear about Branigan. Sounded like he died for no damn reason.”
“I didn’t tell Christine that he had.”
He drummed a pencil on the desk, then stopped suddenly. “I almost forgot to ask—any leads on the accident?”
“No. It’s still listed as a hit-and-run.” That was true. “They’re investigating.” That was true too. She wasn’t sure how to tell Jim about the stalker. He would go ballistic and she might just break down a second time.
There were other things she wanted to talk to him about first.
The clock ticked in the quietness between them. Kenzie watched the hands move to five on the dot.
Jim got up.
“I’m off duty.” Leaning over his desk, he switched off his computer and shuffled his paperwork into rough order.
“I won’t keep you.”
She knew he was expected home for dinner with his family at six o’clock. He rarely missed one.
“Spit it out, Kenzie. I know there’s something else on your mind.”
Silently, she chose the lesser of two evils: SKC.
Jim sat down again. Truck trotted after him, lying down next to his master and resting his big head on his paws. His soulful eyes moved from Jim’s face to Kenzie’s. The barks and yelps that reached his ears from the training yards outside the office windows didn’t seem to distract him.
Kenzie got to the point. She had told Jim something of what she knew about Frank Branigan’s death. Now she filled in the background, from the meeting with the medic to Linc’s involvement.
He sat back, drumming the pencil again.
“You’re up against a huge company. SKC snagged hundreds of millions in government contracts.”
“X-Ultra is a subsidiary,” she said. “It’s small.”
“Not for long,” Jim replied. “Better body armor is a critical priority for the army.”
“But theirs isn’t reliable.”
Jim scowled. “Take it from an old supply sergeant: They cut corners to meet production deadlines and skipped the testing to get the goods out the door.”
She could sense the anger behind the clipped words. He did know what he was talking about. She wasn’t going to argue.
“So should we start with SKC or X-Ultra?”
Jim thought for a few more moments.
“Okay. I’m going to give it to you straight.”
She braced herself. Truck’s ears went up in twin points as Jim took a deep breath and started over.
“Someone at the parent company, meaning SKC, is directly responsible for a screw-up of that magnitude. I say go for the top guy. And aim right between the eyes.”
That was heavy-duty, even for Big Dawg Biggers. He really was furious. She had never seen him like this.
“Could you be a little more specific?” she asked. “I’d like to stay out of jail. Just a thought.”
“First of all, you two aren’t going to get an invite to waltz in and look around the factory.”
“Agreed.” She waited.
Jim rocked back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. “I’m thinking congressional hearing, media firestorm—a CEO under the hot lights—”
“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? We know hardly anything for sure.” If her boss had a vice, it was his addiction to CNN and C-SPAN.
“You have the beginnings of a good story. Throw in a few hard facts and you have a great story.”
She was irked by his single-mindedness. “The medic didn’t give me too many details.”
“Know any reporters? Let’s raise some hell.”
“No.”
“You’d need a major name,” he mused. “Someone with a big mouth, a popular blog, and connections.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
He gave her an annoyed look. “This is the golden age of round-the-clock news, in case you haven’t noticed.”
/> Kenzie hadn’t expected him to go down this road. She’d been looking for tactical advice. “Sorry I asked.” The comment wasn’t intended to be sarcastic.
Jim studied her for a long moment. “What do you have to lose, Kenzie? Not this job.”
“Thank you.” She knew that he meant it.
“How scared are you?”
“Not too.”
“Then get on it. Ever heard of something called asymmetric warfare?”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re the flea and SKC is the elephant. That doesn’t mean you can’t win.”
“I’m not following you.”
“You’re a helluva smart flea, Kenz. Hop to it.”
CHAPTER 11
Kenzie agreed to meet him at the park in the morning. Early. Linc sat in his car, waiting for her and watching the sun come up. She pulled in less than five minutes later.
They ran some laps, and she told him what Jim had said. Then she ran ahead. He lengthened his strides to catch up, concentrating on the running so he could think.
She outpaced him several more times.
Feeling frisky. She seemed to have bounced back from her near breakdown at the climbing gym over that ugly card.
He caught up again and flung himself across an imaginary ribbon. “And the winner is!”
“Cheater,” she yelled, laughing.
He loped off the track toward the exercise structures and she followed.
Linc grabbed the pull-up bar and swung himself up, doing several.
“Jim’s not crazy, Kenzie. Five.”
The pull-ups hurt his arms, but it felt good. He’d been spending too much time sitting in front of laptops.
Kenzie leaned against the metal frame of the structure, looking around absently at the small park.
“I guess he was just thinking out loud. I never saw him get that steamed, though.”
He let himself down with excruciating slowness and went up again. “Six. You can understand why.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Seven.” He went for some fast ones. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” He sucked in a breath, tightening his abs, and let it out with a whoosh. “Going to the media is an idea. I considered it myself. But—eleven—it won’t work for us. Not at this point.”
