Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “They haven’t gotten that far. They’ll need to verify if it was you. I just talked to Rachael and asked her for a photo of you and all the other women from the shelter.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, then who did? Who else knew he was in town?”

  The silence either meant she had told no one and she was trapped or she had told someone and that person was the killer. “I need to do some checking. I’ll call you back.”

  Angel leaned against the back of the chair, and pain shot through her arm. Her eyes drifted closed. Coming here had been stupid. Callen was right; she should have stayed home.

  Callen was glad to be on another case. He always suffered a letdown when an investigation ended. Especially one as intense as this latest one. He’d hardly had room to breathe. Even though the evidence hadn’t been processed, he had no doubt Darryl Jenkins had killed Christy Grant. Angel’s testimony pretty well locked things up. Darryl might come back later, claiming coercion or that he hadn’t made the condemning comments. But they’d get him one way or the other.

  After a case had been resolved, Callen would often second-guess himself, thinking if he’d done this or that, things might have been different—he’d have solved it sooner. But this time, he could bypass much of the self-recrimination and focus on these bizarre and complicated murders.

  Angel had been exhausted, and he’d dropped her off at his place a few minutes ago. She’d been more than ready to go home. She hadn’t even argued when he asked her to stay at his place in case her arm started bleeding again. Kath was still there and would watch over her. He’d have some peace of mind for the night at least.

  Callen worried about her injury, but what concerned him even more was the possibility that the killer she’d been so doggedly pursuing might try again. He didn’t want her alone until she at least had a weapon for protection. Her own gun was still being held in evidence in another case. He made a mental note to pick up a weapon for her tomorrow.

  At the hotel, Angel had told him about her call to Janet and how the counselor denied having been there. He admired Angel’s quick thinking in supplying them with a photo. Rachael hadn’t arrived with it until after he’d taken Angel home, so Angel didn’t know that the hotel manager had made a positive ID on Janet.

  Apparently the counselor had lied. Odd, though, that Janet would talk to the manager and announce her presence if she planned to commit murder. Then again, a woman who’d been through what she had might have been too distressed to consider the consequences.

  By the time he left the hotel for the second time, it was 10:00. Since he wasn’t feeling the least bit tired, he decided it was time to pay a little visit to Dr. Janet Campbell.

  After Callen had dropped her off at his place, Angel had thought briefly about calling Janet to follow up on their conversation. She’d opted to leave before the photos arrived, and secured a promise from Callen that he’d let her know for certain whether or not Janet had been there. Weary and desperately in need of sleep and some strong pain medication, Angel went to bed at 9:00. She’d talk to both Callen and Janet in the morning.

  The next day, after coffee and a shower, Angel called Janet and got the answering machine. She called the office; same thing there. Of course, the office didn’t open until 9:00. Angel would go over there then. Maybe Claire knew where she was.

  When she’d called to ask Callen if he’d talked to Janet, he didn’t answer. She called dispatch, but the operator couldn’t find him either.

  Why aren’t you answering my calls? “Callen, where are you?” Angel muttered.

  “Did you say something?” Kath shuffled out of the guest room, making a beeline for the kitchen and the coffee Angel had made.

  “I’m trying to get hold of your brother.”

  She yawned. “He didn’t come home last night?”

  “I don’t think so—and he isn’t answering his phone.”

  “Hmm. Maybe he’s still at the crime scene. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled an all-nighter.”

  Angel took a tentative sip of her coffee. “Still, you’d think he’d answer his phone or his pager.”

  “Don’t look so worried,” Kath said. “I’m sure there’s a good reason. Maybe he’s out of range.”

  “Maybe.” Angel didn’t think so. Something was going on. She could feel it—that ominous sixth sense that kicked in now and then. As the minutes ticked by, after she’d gotten dressed, the unnamed fear grew. Why hadn’t he called back? Where was he? Had he gone to talk with Janet last night?

  Angel pictured him lying in Janet’s apartment, wounded or dead. With fierce determination, she put the thought from her head. Her imagination could be downright annoying at times. He’s all right, she told herself. Callen can take care of himself. She chided herself for even thinking the negative thoughts.

  Instead, she focused on the case. The night before when Angel had talked to Janet, Janet had said she hadn’t been at the hotel, but she’d acted like she knew who had. Had someone posing as Janet gone to see Charles? Had that person stopped at the front desk to make sure the manager knew she was there, then gone to his room to kill him? Had this been an attempt to frame Janet? Or had Janet lied? Angel’s thoughts were in danger of short-circuiting. There was really only one way to find out.

  Angel asked Kath to keep trying to call Callen and to let him know she was going to Janet’s office.

  At 9:10, Angel entered the counseling offices and found Claire frantically canceling appointments. “Did you have an appointment today?” she asked, looking overwhelmed.

  “No, I just wanted to talk to her.”

  “Well, she’s sick. She left a message on the machine telling me to cancel all her appointments and to take the day off.”

  “Sick?”

  Claire nodded. “The flu or something. I tried to call her at home, but there’s no answer.”

  “Did you know Janet’s ex-husband was murdered last night?”

  Claire’s large eyes grew even larger. “My gosh. You don’t think Janet . . . No, she wouldn’t do something like that. Last night she had group at the shelter. She talked a little about his being in town, but . . .” Claire shook her head. “Janet wouldn’t do that. She told us she was having him arrested for blackmail.”

  “Claire, this is really important. Do you have notes on the meetings? I know you do, but do you have them here?”

  “Yes, I type them up the next morning. I haven’t had a chance to do these.”

  “I need to see them.”

  She glanced around, her expression desperate. “I’d like to help, I really would, but this stuff is all confidential. Dr. Campbell would kill me if I let anyone near her files.”

  “I understand that, but Janet may be in trouble. See, I don’t think she killed her ex. I asked her last night if she’d told anyone about him being in town. Now you’re telling me she told the group last night. One of those women may have killed him.”

  Claire placed her elbows on the table, face in her hands. “This is terrible. I can’t believe what you’re saying. But I can’t let you see the notes. You’re not even a police officer.” When she looked up, tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Remember that day I came to group, and Heather let it slip about them hiring a hit man?”

  Claire nodded and reached into her drawer, pulling out a tissue.

  “I’m wondering just how much of a joke that was. How often did they talk about things like that?”

  “Only that one time, and while you were there.” She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “You don’t really think they’d do something like that, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Angel said. “I keep going back and forth. Did one of those women kill all of those men? Did they take turns? Did they hire someone? Did Janet kill them? Or Lorraine or Heather or Debra? Or you?” Angel leaned on the
counter.

  “Me?” The word came out in a squeak. “How can you say that? What reason would I have?”

  “Okay, then, talk to me. I need your help.” Angel had hoped to put a little fear into the woman, and she had. She needed to see those notes.

  “I can’t tell you anything. I know Janet wouldn’t kill anyone. She’s kind and caring. As for the other women, I just don’t know. Sometimes they get really nasty. They say terrible things about their husbands. They’ve been through so much, but I can’t imagine any of them doing something so terrible.”

  She covered her mouth with her fist as her tears continued. With her right hand, she turned back pages in the appointment book. “There is something I should tell you.” She opened the book to Tuesday, May 6, the day Phillip Jenkins had been killed. “I lied to the police about Janet being here when Phillip Jenkins . . . um . . . died. It wasn’t exactly a lie, I just told them she had clients and that she was here all day. I thought she was. She told me she was staying in to eat lunch and was going to take a nap.”

  Claire threw away her used tissue and grabbed another. “I had to leave early that day to run some errands in Lincoln City with Debra. I was gone for two hours. She was here when I left and still here when I got back. Only, there was a new name written in the book—Janet said he’d come in and was upset, so she saw him. There was no reason to doubt her. But later, when I went to bill him, I realized he didn’t exist.”

  “The police will eventually discover the name was a phony. That makes you an accomplice.”

  “I didn’t think about it. I just wanted to protect her. Janet’s been through so much, and she’s helped so many people.”

  “What about the morning I was shot? When did Janet come in to the office?”

  Claire flipped the pages of the appointment book. “She had me cancel her morning appointments. She was going to talk to her attorney.”

  Angel blew out a hard breath. Janet could have done it. Things were not looking good for the mild-mannered counselor. “Do you have any idea where she is now?”

  “No.” Claire continued to cry. “But if you want to check her apartment, I know where there’s a key. She’s had me pick things up for her before. It’s under the flowerpot on the second step.”

  Angel thanked her and hurried out of the building to her car, then drove out to Janet’s condo. After finding the key where Claire had said it would be, she opened the door. Janet wasn’t there. That didn’t surprise her, but what she found next certainly did.

  Angel discovered an open suitcase and clothes tossed all over the bed. In the kitchen, she noticed two cups and plates on the table, along with crumbs from half of a small, round, decadent-looking chocolate cake that still sat on the island. Who had been here with her and when?

  If Janet had been packing, where was she now? If she’d run away, why hadn’t she finished packing and taken her clothes with her? Maybe there hadn’t been time. She apparently left in a hurry.

  Angel called Callen again. Still no answer. She called his house, and Kath told her she hadn’t heard from him and that dispatch had been trying to reach him. “I’m getting worried.”

  Me too. She didn’t tell Kath that. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

  Janet missing. Callen missing. Douglas Stanton missing. What’s going on?

  She called Nick. “Have you seen Callen?” she asked as soon as he answered.

  “No. I’ve been trying to get him all morning. Last night he said something about interviewing Janet Campbell.”

  Angel sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m in her apartment right now. She’s not here. I think you’d better get over here. Get some lab guys over here too. Someone was here with her. We need to know what happened.”

  “You back on duty, Delaney?”

  Angel stopped pacing. “I—”

  “I’m on my way,” Nick said before she could respond.

  Angel studied the apartment in more depth. The techs would be able to tell what had happened, if she hadn’t already destroyed evidence by just walking through the scene. She looked at the carpet—her footprints marred the freshly vacuumed floor. Now that was strange. Janet was in too much of a hurry to finish packing but had time to eat cake and vacuum the floor?

  No way. Angel carefully made her way back outside to wait for Nick and the CSI team.

  Some time later, the techs had worked their way through and were checking out Janet’s computer in the loft when they found the note from Dragonslayer. Nick and Angel read it together.

  Dear Dr. Campbell,

  Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way. I had everything planned out perfectly. You shouldn’t have gone to see Charles. I never meant for you to be a suspect. It’s all unraveling now, and I don’t know what to do. Things are happening too fast.

  Dragonslayer

  THIRTY-TWO

  Callen felt like he’d been hit on the head, but he hadn’t, not that he could recall. He’d been eating cake and drinking coffee with Dr. Campbell. Now he found himself in the dark, figuratively and literally.

  He tried to rub his forehead but couldn’t raise his hand. Both hands were secured behind his back with handcuffs—probably his own. His feet were bound as well, and a wide piece of tape stretched from one ear to the other, efficiently covering his mouth. His captor had thought of everything.

  He tried to sit up only to discover that he’d been cuffed to a metal pole of some sort. It was maybe two inches in diameter. Water lapping nearby and the faint smell of creosote, brackish water, dead fish, and rotting wood told him he was somewhere on the bay. A boathouse or bait shack, maybe, or the hold of a boat. He thought he heard a motorboat in the distance. Sure enough, a few minutes later water lapped against his new habitat and set it to swaying.

  Callen’s stomach rebelled at the wavelike movement. He took several long, deep breaths, willing it to calm down. Willing his brain to come up with some answers as to what had happened and why he was here.

  It hurt to think. Hurt to move. He managed to sit up, almost pulling his arm out of the socket in the process. He leaned back against the pole, trying to figure out how he’d ended up here.

  He remembered paying a visit to the counselor, intent on finding out what she was hiding. Janet had seemed glad to see him.

  “I knew someone would be by to talk to me about Charles.” She motioned him in. “I’m glad you came tonight. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

  He’d made a courtesy call to her on the way over, wanting to make certain she wasn’t asleep or in her pajamas. She hadn’t been.

  “I guess my first question would have to be why you lied to Angel. You told her you hadn’t gone to the hotel, yet the manager identified you.”

  She sighed and poured them coffee from a full pot, then sliced a piece of cake for each of them. Sitting down at the table with him, she said, “That wasn’t very smart of me. I couldn’t believe he’d been killed, and I was afraid my having been there would put a nail in my coffin for sure. My first inclination was to run away.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Even started packing.”

  Callen noticed the suitcase on the bed and clothes tossed haphazardly about. “You changed your mind?” He put a bite of cake in his mouth. The cake tasted like a piece of heaven. He’d missed dinner and could have eaten the whole thing.

  “Not entirely.” She cut off a small piece with her fork and put it in her mouth. “I decided that running isn’t the answer. Especially since I didn’t kill him.”

  “And you went to see him because . . . ?”

  “To tell him I was going to the police. To let him know that he wasn’t going to get another penny from me.” She paused to take another bite.

  “How long were you there?”

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. He didn’t believe I’d follow through on my threat. I told him he could expect a visit from the police.”

  Callen finished off the cake and almost asked for another slice. “Good cake.” He pushed the empty plate away.


  “Mm. I wish I could take the credit. I didn’t make it. It was here when I got home from work. My housekeeper probably left it for me. She knows I love chocolate.”

  “Who’s your housekeeper?”

  “Heather Davis. She’s one of the women from the shelter. She doesn’t stay there anymore. I hired her as a housekeeper several months ago, and since then she’s developed quite a business. She’ll make goodies for me every once in a while.” Janet yawned. “I’m sorry.”

  Callen couldn’t remember much past that, other than feeling dizzy and light-headed. He’d tried to stand for some reason and fell to the floor like a stumbling drunk.

  Thinking about it now, he realized he’d been drugged. Had Janet put something in the cake or the coffee? He closed his eyes. Stupid. Stupid. He never should have accepted the coffee and cake. But she’d eaten it too. She’d had coffee from the same pot, hadn’t she?

  A stifled groan told him he wasn’t alone.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Daylight came and went. Still no word from Callen or Janet. Angel had stayed at Janet’s until the lab techs left. Nick promised to let her know the test results as soon as they came in.

  Angel called Rachael at 7:30 to fill her in.

  “Are you hungry?” Rachael asked when she’d finished.

  “Not really, but I suppose I should eat something.”

  “I’ll meet you at the Burger Shed.”

  A few minutes later, they were sitting in a booth, placing their orders.

  “You have no idea what happened to them?” Rachael asked.

  Angel sipped at her water. “None.”

  “You don’t suppose they’ve gone somewhere together?”

  “Callen and Janet?” Angel shook her head. “Callen wouldn’t do that. Besides, both their cars are gone. I think they might have been abducted. I know that sounds crazy. He’s big and strong and he carries a gun. Still, something is just not right about the whole thing. Maybe he never made it to her place. Maybe he’s out there somewhere . . .” She bit her lip, thinking once again of her conversation with Janet in which she’d said she suspected Callen might be abusive. She told Rachael about that conversation. “If Janet is the Dragonslayer, she might’ve gone after Callen.”