Meg owned a salon a few doors down and she spent more time just outside the door than inside. She claimed she liked the fresh air, but people knew she just liked poking her nose in everybody else’s business.
While Thorpe continued to detail information from the local business owners, Jensen slid a disc into the DVD player and leaned against the table.
On the far side of the wall, they had numerous corkboards. Three were mounted to the wall, but easels had been brought in for the others. They’d had to get yet another board for Clay. They were running out of office supplies, she thought grimly. Small town going broke trying to solve murders.
“Let’s see what we can find on Beringers’ security feed,” she said, hitting the remote and fast-forwarding. She stopped every so often, checking the time stamp. As it edged closer to the time of the incident between Brumley, Redding and Sutter, she put it on regular speed.
People passed back and forth in front of the screen. A few stopped in front of the door, blocking the camera.
“Is that…” Thorpe murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
“Brumley.” She gripped her arms in front of herself, watching as the man bolted down an alley. She checked the time. Minutes after the shots had gone off. That alley was two blocks from the police station.
“Somebody had been watching,” she said softly.
A truck whipped down the alley, almost plowing into a work van. The color was something pale, indeterminate thanks to the imperfect grainy image, but she recognized the logo. Delivery truck. FedEx. She could track the driver down. They probably wouldn’t remember anything.
Didn’t matter.
The angle of the camera wasn’t great.
She could only see the tail of the truck as it tore down the alley.
Her breath hitched, caught as the truck backed up. But it didn’t come out of the alley. She could practically hear the wheels squeal as it lurched forward again.
And again.
And again.
She looked away after the fourth time. She watched the people on the screen, saw them look on with puzzlement before shrugging and carrying on.
“Somebody really wanted him dead,” she mused.
Less than ninety seconds elapsed before the truck backed out, for good this time. The driver had long hair—the color, again, was indeterminate, and when she turned her head the shape of her face was impossible to make out. Jensen had the vague impression of soft cheeks, a softly rounded nose, but nothing more.
The driver checked traffic. Carefully. “A conscientious killer,” Jensen murmured, feeling sick to her stomach.
“Very much so.”
Startled, she looked up, realized the chief had quietly slid in behind them. His gaze lingered on the image of the truck that Jensen had frozen on the screen. “White female. Brown hair. That’s about all we’re going to get from this. I bet my left nut the feds wouldn’t get anything more even if they tried.”
“From this? No. From this…?” Jensen smiled, then shrugged as she waggled the report she’d conned out of Pittenger a few hours earlier. “I got all sorts of juicy goods out of this.”
Sorenson’s eyes sharpened on the report and he strode over to her. There was a knock on the door and Thorpe moved to answer it as Sorenson started to read.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” A sour smile curved her lips. “And people say we are the weaker sex.”
“Chief. Jensen.”
The taut sound of Thorpe’s voice had them turning.
Jensen looked at her partner, something in her gut going tight at the look on his face. Ah, hell. “What?” she demanded, one hand curling into a fist.
“Attack,” he said, his voice flat. “Taneisha Oakes.”
“What in the f—”
Thorpe lifted a hand and Jensen blinked, going silent. “She’s alive. Dispatch has uniforms en route and EMTs are already there. Sybil Chalmers interrupted it and the perp took off … in a black work truck.”
Something hot and excited slammed into Jensen even as part of her exploded into fury. She knew Taneisha—adored the woman. She was funny and smart and fearless—
“No.” Jensen shook her head. “Something doesn’t fit. She doesn’t fit any of the profiles.”
“She has to fit in somewhere,” Sorenson said, nudging Jensen’s shoulder. “There’s a connection. Somewhere. Get to Oakes and find me that fucking connection.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sybil wasn’t there.
He paced. Up and down the sidewalk, hands curled into loose fists at his sides.
Sirens wailed up and down Main, but he ignored them. Not once was he tempted to follow.
If they had another one of those sick fucks, then they had him. Bell and Sorenson would deal with him. Maybe—
He stopped as that thought rolled through his head. No. Not a thought. A memory.
Don’t start down this trail, David. There’s nothing down it but death for you if you take even the first step.
Death. Death for who?
Max had told him that, not long before somebody had stolen him. Ended his life.
“You weren’t talking about me killing those sons of bitches, were you, old man?” he whispered.
Now, looking back, he realized the truth of it.
Max had already known David could—and would—kill. But Max had also realized that David’s soul was so broken, it wouldn’t take much to push him over.
Maybe that’s what Max had meant.
If David had focused on that road, and he had—focused on the past instead of what he could have. Instead of Sybil.
And now here he was, once more feeling dead inside.
He’d thought that was how he wanted it.
Slowly, he looked up at Sybil’s house; then he looked around. Up on Main an ambulance went flying by, and he looked away, a harsh shudder wracking him.
He needed the quiet.
Needed to think.
What he really needed was Sybil, but she wasn’t here.
Absently he brushed his hand along the white picket fence in front of her house, and then he started down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the cold wind that had started to blow in off the river.
* * *
“I was impatient.”
There was no answer, but the man she spoke to had been in the ground a long while.
She already knew why it hadn’t gone the way it should have gone. She didn’t need to hear any explanations or pray about it or think on her mistakes.
She’d been hasty.
Anger had guided her actions and now there were going to be consequences.
A face swam into focus in her mind and she closed her eyes, smiled despite the tears that ran down her face. It was all for him. Everything had always been for him.
She’d harmed that woman, her child had seen and that was an awful thing. She’d have to suffer for it, but she would suffer gladly.
She’d harmed the woman who had hurt him. Nobody had a right to do that. It was a tragedy that the child had seen, but that woman had brought that tragedy upon herself, and her child, by interfering.
“I won’t fail this time,” she whispered, rising.
After all, she’d made a promise. A long time ago. She would keep it no matter what.
* * *
“You can’t talk to her.” The doctor stood in the hall, his arms folded over his chest.
Jensen plastered her best smile on her face despite the fact that it felt like it would crack. “Two attacks, both involving a black work truck, in the span of twenty-four hours. There’s evidence that the same woman was involved in both incidents and we also have evidence that this woman was linked to a third crime—” Okay, that was stretching it, but a woman was involved in one crime. Who was to say it wasn’t this particular woman? Still smiling at the doctor, Jensen asked, “You want to have this hospital lined with bodies?”
“No.” He inclined his head. “An
d I know Taneisha. If she could talk, she’d already be yelling at me to let you in. But I said you can’t talk to her. She lapsed into unconsciousness in the ambulance. Once she wakes up and is ready to talk, I’ll let you know. Until then…” He just shook his greying head.
“Once.” Jensen closed her eyes. Denial screamed through her and she wanted to weep. Instead, she squared her shoulders. Crying wouldn’t help Taneisha. Doing her job would. “Is she going to wake up?”
“I don’t think I know a more stubborn woman.” He eyed Jensen over the rims of his glasses. “Except maybe you. If anybody can pull through it, she can. Head trauma is tricky, of course, but she’s young and she’s strong.”
Then Jensen was left alone to pace the halls.
* * *
“The good news is … thanks to you, Jensen, we’ve got four more names.” Sorenson rubbed his tired eyes, checked his phone again. They’d all been doing the same thing for the past day and a half. Taneisha Oakes hadn’t woken up. It wasn’t a good sign.
“That wasn’t me.” She shook her head. “Hank Redding came in. Gave us the names.” She grimaced. “Almost got shot for his efforts.”
The four cops in the room sighed.
“Now we have one man dead, crushed by a mysterious black truck. He was connected to this … club.” Sorenson’s lip curled when he said it, like the word tasted foul. “Two of the men Hank named have already rolled. Shit, Gordon Cramer practically had a breakdown when they knocked, all but pissed his pants.”
“He’s been sleeping with a gun,” Jensen said sourly. “Thinks he’s the next one to go down. Like he’s going to do much better in prison.”
They shared a grim look, like they’d all been thinking the very same thing.
“Think any of them will shed light on who has been hunting them down?” Luther asked.
“Those idiots couldn’t shed light on anything without the help of a searchlight.” Jensen shook her head and went back to studying the board in front of them, now boasting four more names. Cramer had no clue about who had been hunting them like sick dogs. Pushing that aside, she focused on the other crime—Taneisha’s assault. “A black work truck is seen at the same area where Taneisha Oakes is assaulted and almost thrown in the trunk of her own car.”
“She doesn’t fit the profile.” Thorpe leaned forward, staring at the board in front of them. “Black woman, no husband. It’s not like there’s a connection to the club there. Her son isn’t even in the age range. He’s too young.”
Jensen had to bite back the words that rose as Thorpe continued to think out loud. He was being a cop, just like he was supposed to do. “She also isn’t from here. Moved to town eighteen or twenty years ago. She went to high school here, but everybody else had roots here—their families have been around for generations. We’ve got no connection from her family to Cronus.”
“There is a connection. Has to be.” Luther Gardiner leaned in; his dark, normally serene features were tight. He was one of the few whom both Jensen and Sorenson had trusted to bring in to help with the mess they had on their hands. His eyes ran over the boards as though he could find that invisible line, if only he searched hard enough, long enough. “We’re just not seeing it.”
Jensen got up and grabbed a pen. “Let’s look at this again.”
* * *
Sybil slid into the narrow space available next to Taneisha’s bed. The woman had no family, save for Darnell. Her mother had left her when she was young and her father had died a few years ago, up in Indianapolis. Rules or not, Sybil shouldn’t be alone in here, but Darnell couldn’t come in and Taneisha wasn’t spending all these hours alone, in the dark.
“You need to wake up,” Sybil whispered, holding on to Taneisha’s hand.
Sybil listened to the low murmurs out in the hall and kept a firm grip as she started to talk. She didn’t have a lot of time. She’d left the boys with Ali and Tate, but she didn’t feel right doing it for long. She just had to come, see Taneisha with her own eyes. Know the woman was still alive. Still breathing.
“Wake up and tell me who did this so I can hurt her, okay?” Sybil said softly, her voice breaking. “Bad enough I’m losing David. I don’t … I don’t need to lose you, too.”
The hand in hers tightened. Just a little.
A soft sigh escaped Taneisha.
“Neisha?” Sybil whispered.
A faint smile curled the woman’s lips. “’M not goin’ … anywhere.”
“Oh, shit.” Tears burned Sybil’s eyes and she practically leaped from the chair, but Taneisha’s hand tightened. “Oh, shit. Girl, you scared us. I … I need to get the nurse.”
“No.” Seconds ticked by and then Taneisha’s lids flickered open. “Damn. Head … hurts.”
“Let me call the nurse,” Sybil said.
“In a minute.” Each word was rough, but her voice grew steadier and Taneisha’s eyes focused on Sybil’s face. “Why am I here?”
“You don’t remember?”
She went to shake her head and then winced. “No. Remember … talking to you. The store. Seeing…” She licked her lips. “Seeing David.”
Sybil blinked and then blew out a slow, careful breath. “You went and saw David.”
“Wanted to rip him a new asshole. The jerk.” Then Taneisha closed her eyes. “He does care, you know.”
A knot settled in Sybil’s throat, but she swallowed around it. “We’ll worry about that later. Fuck, you crazy bitch. I kind of hate you for scaring us like that. I need to call the nurse—”
“Fuck the nurse. I ain’t going anywhere, you know.” Taneisha’s lids drooped lower, a sigh escaping her. “He’s scared. That’s all. Just scared. Being a man.”
“Well. He is a man.” Sybil forced a smile, tried to sound like it hurt less than it did, just hearing his name. “Come on now. Let’s deal with you.”
She pressed the button on the pad hooked to the side of the bed, ignoring Taneisha’s protests.
A truculent look crossed the woman’s face. Taneisha’s voice was cross as she asked, “What … happened?”
A nurse came rushing in and Sybil moved out of the way as she answered, “You were attacked. Do you remember anything?”
* * *
If David never saw a cop again, it would be too soon.
He had too many thoughts in his head and things he wanted, needed, to say, but the woman he wanted to say them to wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He’d driven by her place. Three times. Once yesterday and twice today.
He’d driven by her studio. Again, three times.
Then he’d come back here.
He’d almost called—about ten times—but what he had to say needed to be said in person, so he continued to pace. And wait. Maybe she’d taken Drew to Louisville for the weekend. Or Indianapolis. Maybe they’d gone to see Layla.
Sometimes Sybil took him out for little weekend trips. She’d invited David along, more than a few times.
Heart wrenching as he thought about it, he wished he’d gone. Even once.
That was probably what she was doing, spending time with Drew. But she’d be back soon. Tomorrow was Monday and there was school. So she’d be home by nightfall. If nothing else, she’d be home by then because she always took care of Drew.
But instead of brooding over what he had to say, he was dealing with a cop.
Again.
Jensen Bell glared up at him.
He glared back, debating shutting the door in her face.
She smacked a hand against it and wedged her foot in the opening to keep him from shutting the door.
“Taneisha Oakes was here. Yesterday. Why?” she bit off.
David blinked at her. “Why?”
“Shit, do you ever leave this place? Talk to anybody?” She shook her head. “Yank your head out of your ass. Turn on the news, the radio.” She bent down and grabbed one of the papers piled next to the door. “Read a damn paper. She was attacked. It sounds like it happened not long after she l
eft here. Why was she here?”
David took the paper, slowly unfolding it to see the headline. Another one caught his eye, though, and he read it, something pulsating behind his eye as he took it in. “Brumley is dead.”
“Focus on the woman who was attacked after she left here.”
David shook his head. “She was fine when she left. She came to rip my ass over…”
Jensen cocked her head. “Sybil.”
David just stared at her.
“They are friends. Their boys are pretty tight.” She bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Not surprising T. came to lay into you. Equally unsurprising that you’re clueless about their friendship. You probably never did much to learn jack about her.”
He curled his lip at Jensen. He knew more about Sybil than Jensen could dream. But let her snipe at him. He deserved that and more. “What do you want?” he said, biting the words off.
“I need details. What time she was here, when she left, whether anybody was with her.”
The way Jensen snapped off each question, the weird gleam in her eyes had him biting back the instinctive fuck you that rose to his lips. Cocking his head, he studied her for a long moment. “Around eleven. She wasn’t here any longer than ten minutes. Nobody was with her. She got out of her car, yelled at me, then got back in her car and left.”
“And nobody was with her?” Jensen demanded, agitation coming through. Normally, her voice was easy and level, and although his experience with cops wasn’t particularly extensive, he had a feeling this wasn’t her normal.
And that light in her eyes …
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I wear the badge. I get to ask the questions.” Something flitted across her face and then, like a curtain had dropped, her features smoothed and when she spoke her voice was controlled, once more polite and easy. “Any chance somebody drove by, walked by?”
David glanced up the street, then down before he looked back at her. “In case it’s escaped your attention, Judge Max picked a fairly quiet street.” Other than this house and the burned-out hull that had once been the Frampton place, the street had no other homes. “If anybody had driven by, I would have seen.” He paused, then shrugged. “But … there was something.”
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