Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Callen shook his head, surprised the salesman hadn’t come forward earlier. “Make sure we get prints and DNA on the guy. He’s probably okay, but if there’s the slightest chance the two men were working together . . .”

  “You got it. We’ll do a polygraph on him too.”

  “Did he give us anything else? Do we have a description?”

  “The guy’s here now, talking to an artist. We’re trying to get a composite. Here’s what we have so far: young, eighteen to nineteen, maybe twenty. The kid had several days’ growth of a beard, possibly to make himself look older. Blue eyes and a thin face. That’s about it. We’ll keep you posted.”

  Callen thanked him for the update and told him to fax the composite to the Sunset PD as soon as they got it.

  The preliminary check he’d done on the car’s owner showed the guy had no record. Mitch Bailey operated a body shop and employed six guys—three of them were between seventeen and twenty. He had three sons, one married and living in Portland, one in junior college who’d done some time on a possession charge last year, and one at home and still in high school.

  High school. Something niggled at his brain, finally surfacing. Christy had been a high school cheerleader. Adrenalin surged through him as he thought about the possible link. Had there been a connection? High schools battled it out with each other over football, basketball, wrestling. Right now it would be track season. Had there been a sporting event recently between the Sunset Cove and Florence schools?

  He called the police chief back and asked him about it. Turned out there had been a track meet between the schools just three days before Christy was abducted. Was it relevant? Had their killer known the victim—or wanted to? Maybe. Callen jotted down some notes on his pad. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself or get his hopes up, but he had a feeling he was getting close.

  He tried Angel again; this time she answered.

  “Hey,” she said in a voice that started a longing deep in his chest. Would he ever get used to the idea of loving someone other than Karen? There were differences, of course. Karen had been an artist, easygoing, quiet, a homemaker, and a great cook. He smiled, thinking that Angel’s idea of a good meal was a hamburger and fries and a milk shake at the Burger Shed. But she’d made him soup, which could only mean there was hope for her.

  “How would you like to have dinner with a tired old cop tonight?”

  “Seriously?” There was an edge to her voice.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Does that mean you’re in town?”

  “About half an hour away.”

  “That’s great.” She didn’t sound as excited as he’d hoped.

  Callen made the arrangements and told her he’d do the cooking. They had a lot of catching up to do. He had a feeling she wanted to tell him something, but he hadn’t asked.

  When he got into town he’d stop at Andy’s Market to pick up some salmon and other perishable items he’d need. He’d make sautéed salmon pieces with tomatoes, mushrooms, scallions, capers, and hollandaise sauce with rice and asparagus. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

  His cell phone rang again; it was Nick Caldwell. “Hey, Riley, how goes the investigation on that girl from Florence?”

  “Slow. Lots of leads, nothing substantial yet. I heard you were running the Jenkins case.”

  “Yeah, not very exciting. We’ve got the wife dead to rights. Just one thing. Reason I’m calling is to ask you if you’re going to be talking to Angel anytime soon.”

  “Yeah, tonight. Why?”

  “I want you to call her off.”

  “What do you mean?” Callen hoped Angel hadn’t gotten herself into trouble.

  “She hasn’t told you?” Nick sounded almost angry.

  “Told me what?” Whatever it was, Callen didn’t like Nick’s tone or his attitude.

  “Well, buddy, Angel has flown the coop. She’s taken a job with your lawyer friend, Rastovski.”

  “And that’s a problem because . . . ?”

  “Angel is working as a PI.”

  “No kidding.” Callen shoved his sunglasses back against the bridge of his nose. The news hit him like a fist to the stomach. For most cops, being a PI for a defense attorney ranked somewhere between being a stripper and a circus clown.

  “She’s driving me nuts. Wants me to keep the investigation open and keeps calling me with these little hints to follow up on.”

  “Hints. As in leads?”

  “That’s what she’s calling them.”

  “And has anything she’s told you panned out?” Callen hoped the PD wasn’t dismissing her completely. Angel may have flown the coop, but she still had good instincts.

  “Like I’ve had time to go on her wild goose chases.”

  “What if they’re not wild?”

  “Are you kidding? She’s convinced the wife didn’t do it and is just trying to complicate things.”

  Callen sighed. This was beginning to sound like a case of sibling rivalry. “That doesn’t sound like Angel.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Nick said. “I love Angel—she’s like family, you know? But I gotta tell you, she’s driving me nuts. She’s bound and determined to prove me wrong.”

  Callen was tempted to ask him what he’d done so far and to get more details about the information Angel had been feeding him, but it wasn’t his call. He had his own investigation.

  Besides, he was more concerned about Angel’s new career. What in the world did she think she was doing going to work as a PI? He didn’t much like most of the PIs he’d met or the way they got in the way, begged for information, walked on the edge, snooped in places they didn’t belong.

  “I don’t know what I can do to help, Nick,” Callen finally said. “I have a feeling Angel isn’t going to want me telling her to back off. Is she obstructing justice?”

  “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. She’s just finding all kinds of what she calls ‘important’ information on the case and is making sure she lets me know about it. The other day she called to tell me some guy on a motorcycle had locked her in the cellar out at the Jenkins’s place.”

  “And you didn’t check it out?” Callen’s heart had dropped to the vicinity of his feet. Angel locked in a basement by some pervert on a motorcycle?

  “Of course I did, but there was nothing to go on. The guy was long gone, she didn’t have a description, and I didn’t have time to go chasing after him. Like I told her, it was probably a neighbor who saw that the cellar was open and thought they’d better close it. Anyway, she’s fine—got out right away.”

  Callen breathed a little easier. He was overreacting, and he knew it.

  “What’s the deal?” Nick asked. “Are you on her side?”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of taking sides.”

  “Well, we’ve got the killer, and that’s it for us. We’re too busy to follow rabbit trails.”

  “I hear you, Nick, and I don’t like the idea of her being a PI any more than you do, but if she’s coming up with good information, you owe it to her and the PD to check it out.”

  Callen was new to the area and had worked only briefly with Nick, but he knew Nick was hoping to make detective soon. He was a fast learner and seemed like a good cop. On the phone the other night, Angel said she felt Nick had rushed the investigation. She had little experience in investigating homicides, but she had a good mind for it.

  But a PI? Angel, what are you thinking?

  Callen didn’t know what to say. Was the Sunset Cove PD wrapping things up too quickly? Budget cuts could push officers to make arrests before getting all the evidence. When that happened, they fried in the courts. “I’ll talk to her,” he said.

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  Callen pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store. Inside the store he snagged a cart and headed for the produce section. He tossed a head of romaine lettuce and examined the vine-ripened tomatoes. His euphoria of a few moments ago had subdued. The last th
ing he wanted to do was confront Angel. Anger flared up inside him along with an uneasy feeling. He hated that Nick Caldwell had put him in this position. If Nick had a problem with Angel, he should deal with it himself. Callen frowned at a bunch of grapes, more angry with himself than Nick for getting caught in the middle.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Angel turned into Callen’s driveway, feeling giddy as a teenager at a prom on one hand and heavyhearted on the other. Callen had called earlier asking her to meet him there, and she’d been more than ready for the distraction. Guilt nagged at her for being with Callen instead of taking care of her mother. For not yet having told Callen about her father.

  Tim had insisted Anna stay with him and his family for a few days so his wife, Susan, could care for her. He’d also insisted Angel spend time with Callen. She needed the respite. Anna agreed with him, patting her on the arm and telling her to go.

  Callen opened the door and pulled her into his arms. Apparently, he’d missed her as much as she had him. After several minutes they broke apart. He seemed almost embarrassed. “I’ve missed you, but then you probably gathered that.”

  She hugged him around the waist and leaned back to admire his features. “I missed you more than I should have.” Thoughts she’d harbored earlier surfaced. How well did she know Callen? He frightened her in a way. Or maybe it was the feeling she had just being near him. Was it fear, anticipation, or both?

  The timer on his stove went off. He let her go. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.” She hadn’t eaten much and hadn’t wanted to.

  “Good. I’m doing salmon.”

  “Can I help?” Angel still had no appetite. A rock-sized lump sat in her stomach. She needed to tell Callen about her father, but knowing it would be her undoing and wanting the moment to be right, she avoided the task. She hadn’t told him on the phone because it didn’t seem the right thing to do. He was tired, and she didn’t want to saddle him with her problems.

  You have to tell him.

  Later, she promised. After dinner.

  “Yeah,” Callen answered. “You can have a seat out on the deck.”

  Minutes later, they were sitting on Callen’s new patio furniture, eating the most delicious, melt-in-your-mouth salmon Angel had ever tasted. She just wished her stomach would stop churning so she could enjoy it.

  “How’s the case going?” She pierced another chunk of fish.

  “It’s okay. We think the killer might be up in this area.”

  “No kidding?” Angel thought about Justin Bailey but didn’t mention the possible connection.

  “We have a description, but it’s not doing us much good.” Callen talked more about the connection with the stolen vehicle. “You said you knew this Bailey guy?”

  “I know Mitch. He takes care of the Sunset PD’s vehicles, and we’ve taken our personal cars to him for as long as I remember.”

  “He reported one of his cars stolen the day after Christy disappeared.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Mitch is a really nice guy. He has three sons—but then you probably already know all this.”

  Callen nodded. “Do you know them?”

  “Not well. I do know Jimmy is in junior college and Justin is still in high school.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where I can find them.”

  “Not Jimmy, but Justin was in school today. His pickup was parked in the lot there this morning.”

  Callen frowned. “And you know this because . . . ?”

  Angel sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “Hmm.” He put down his fork, apparently not wanting to hear it. “That reminds me. I got a call from Nick tonight.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s worried about you.”

  “Worried? About what? That I’ll find out who really murdered Jenkins? That I’ll make him look bad?”

  Callen leaned back. “Okay, maybe worried isn’t the right word. Concerned, then. He said you were working as a PI for Rachael.”

  Something in his tone raised her defenses. “So what if I am?” She hadn’t really given much thought to how Callen would feel about her new job. Did he share Nick’s animosity? Probably. Most cops didn’t think much of private investigators. Though he hadn’t said the words, she saw disapproval in his eyes.

  “Nick tells me you’re investigating the Jenkins murder on your own.”

  “And I’m finding all kinds of people with motive, whom Nick, at least as far as I know, hasn’t even talked to. All I’ve done is tell him he might want to look into a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “People besides his wife who had a motive. Jenkins’s nephew for one. He was at the house that afternoon and admits to seeing his uncle’s body, but he didn’t call it in. He was hiding in the barn the entire time Nick and the CSI team were out there. No one bothered checking out the barn, Callen. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “Not necessarily. If the guy was killed in the house, and there was nothing to indicate the barn was used at all . . .”

  “Don’t try to cover for Nick. At least be honest with me. You would have gone over the barn, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. And how do you know he was in there at the time?”

  “I found evidence in the barn, and the timing is right. Nick was just leaving as I came to check over some things for Rachael. Darryl, the nephew, locked me in the basement—or tried to.”

  Callen frowned. “Nick said you couldn’t identify him.”

  “I saw him leave—at first I didn’t know who it was, but the kids helped me figure it out. I talked to him today, and he admitted—”

  “You talked to him?” Callen’s voice rose at least an octave. “What do you mean, you talked to him? Alone?”

  “Of course, alone. Well, not really. We were in a public place.”

  “Are you telling me you went to interview a potential killer without backup?”

  “Backup?” Angel’s angry tone matched his. “I’m on leave, remember? I couldn’t very well call in for backup.”

  “You should’ve called Nick.”

  “Oh, right, and have him blow me off.” Angel rolled her eyes. “Besides, I don’t think Darryl killed his uncle.”

  “But he could have, right?”

  “I haven’t completely ruled him out.”

  Callen ran a hand down his face. “This is unbelievable. I want you to quit. You have no business interviewing potential suspects.”

  “You think I should leave this to Nick? He’s made up his mind that Candace is the killer. I’m telling you, Callen, he’s wrong.”

  “And I’m telling you it’s not safe.”

  Angel threw her napkin down and stood, tipping her chair in the process. It clattered against the wooden deck. Not bothering to right it, she went around to the front of the house and got into her car. Callen stormed after her.

  “Angel, wait!” Callen rounded the corner as she yanked open the car door and slipped inside.

  “What for? So you can tell me how inept I am? That I’m not cut out for the job?”

  “You’re not making sense. Angel, please—let’s talk about this.”

  She slammed the door and jammed her keys into the ignition. Callen gripped the door handle, then jerked his hand out of the way as she started to back out.

  “Angel, please!” Callen doubled his fist and struck his car.

  More upset with himself than with Angel, Callen stood there holding his hand and watching her back out of his driveway. He wanted to go after her, but he wouldn’t. Best to let her cool down. He certainly needed to. He turned back and headed into the house.

  “That went well.” He knelt down to scoop up his bewildered dog. Mutt wriggled down and ran around to the back of the house. By the time Callen got there, Mutt had devoured most of what was left on Angel’s plate. Callen shooed him down and put him inside.

  He lowered himself into his chair and pushed the once-warm dinner around on his plat
e. Their argument had left him raw and empty inside. He should have known better than to try to mediate between Nick and Angel. Nick should have been covering his bases. He had a hunch some of this was the department’s doing. Callen could almost hear Joe Brady telling his people that the investigation was over, they had their killer, case closed.

  He blew out a long, deep breath. Angel had said she’d found several people with motives. What if she was right and the wife was innocent? That would mean the killer was still out there. He wished now he’d heard her out and talked with her about the suspects she’d uncovered. It sounded as though she had more than the nephew. What had Angel called him? Darryl?

  He should stay out of it. This wasn’t his investigation. He should never have told Nick he’d talk to Angel. Callen tipped his head back and was rewarded by pellet-sized raindrops.

  He didn’t think he could feel much worse, but then the phone rang. It was for Angel. “Sorry, Tim, you just missed her.”

  Tim sounded so dejected that Callen asked him what was wrong.

  “I just called to ask about the funeral.”

  “Funeral?”

  “You mean she didn’t tell you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Dad died last night,” Tim said. “Angel and Mom were both there.”

  Angel drove straight home and let herself into her apartment. The encounter with Callen had left her shaken. She’d seen this side of him before—the anger flashing in his eyes when she’d been involved in another murder case. But this time was different. He’d been rude and obnoxious, and he was taking Nick’s side.

  She locked the door behind her and sank onto the couch, pulling her feet up and hugging her knees. She was hurt that Callen wouldn’t take her seriously. Hurt and angry. Obviously he wouldn’t be advising her about anything. How foolish of her to even hope he might. And she couldn’t count on help from Nick or the other officers either. Except for maybe Rosie.