Innocent Target

by Elisabeth Rees

  He watched her crinkle her brow. He sensed there was a lot she wanted to say but didn’t dare. And he felt much the same way. They were standing close together but were so very far apart.

  “I’d decided earlier on that I was going to ask you to move out of the apartment,” she said. “I didn’t want to continue sharing my house with someone who thinks I’m wasting my time fighting my father’s case.”

  “And do you still feel the same way?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got nowhere else to go, and Frank Price has probably bad-mouthed me all over town by now so I might not get another local rental.”

  “Why would Frank do that?”

  Ryan told her about the conversation he’d had in Price’s Hardware, about the paint in Buzz’s hair and Frank’s insistence that Ryan leave the store and never return.

  Her eyes widened. “Do you think Buzz painted the message on the barn?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s definitely holding something back. I’ll be watching him carefully from now on. We’re getting closer to the truth every day, Kitty, so just give me a little longer to track this guy down. Once we’ve got him caught, I’ll move out.”

  The rain had begun to settle on her olive skin, giving it a dewy sheen, and a tiny droplet hung from her chin.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you in the apartment, Ryan,” she said, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “It’s just that it’s tough listening to you tearing down my belief in my father. It’s hard enough fighting against the town every day. I don’t need that negativity at home, as well.”

  It was becoming clear that his comments were taking a heavy toll on Kitty, much heavier than he’d appreciated. And he felt bad for it.

  “Okay, I hear you,” he said, taking off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders. “I’ll try my best to keep my opinions to myself.”

  “I know why that’s difficult for you, what with your past,” she said. “You don’t often mention your sister, but I’m sure she’s never far from your mind.”

  He found his jaw clenching. “I don’t like to talk about Gina. It makes me think of how she died, and who killed her.”

  He turned his head in the direction of the penitentiary, where Cody Jones had been languishing for many years, and hopefully, where he would languish for many more to come.

  “My dad always used to say that holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die,” Kitty said. “It makes no sense.”

  Ryan walked away from her. “I’m not holding a grudge.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

  He stopped himself from laughing to avoid hurting her feelings. Did she realize how ridiculous it was to suggest that he confide his innermost thoughts about Gina to the daughter of a child murderer?

  “Thanks, Kitty,” he said. “But I’m doing fine. Now let’s get you home and dry, and I’ll check if any patrols have located the black car.”

  “My purse, gun and cell phone are in my car,” she said. “They’re under the water.”

  “I’ll get them for you. It’s not good for guns to be immersed but if I retrieve it quick, it should be fine once it’s dried out. I’m not sure about the cell.”

  “What about the car?”

  He performed a cursory inspection of the bodywork. “I’ll organize a tow truck, but my guess is that it’s wrecked beyond repair.”

  She pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders. “It’s not the only thing a wreck. That was way too close a call.”

  He opened the driver’s door and plunged his hand into the cold, dirty water, feeling for the items she needed. She was right about this latest incident being too close a call. He hoped she now fully understood that danger of this magnitude couldn’t be treated flippantly. It demanded respect.

  His determination to save her would have to match her attacker’s determination to kill her.

  * * *

  Kitty placed a log on the fire and watched the sparks dance into the chimney. She had taken a long, hot shower and changed into fleecy sweatpants and an oversize hoodie, but she couldn’t seem to get warm. And neither could she wash the day away. Its menace lingered all around her, the barrel of her attacker’s gun now imprinted on her mind.

  “You feeling a little better now?” Ryan asked, coming into the room with a large mug of hot chocolate and setting it on the coffee table. “Your color’s returned so that’s a good sign.”

  “Every time I close my eyes, I see him,” she said. “Standing there in the road, pulling the trigger, with his gun aimed right at my head.”

  Ryan sat on the chair closest to the fire, where Kitty was kneeling next to the warmth. “Try not to think about it too much.”

  “I’m guessing that you weren’t able to trace the car?”

  His expression of disappointment said it all. “The plate turned out to be false, but we’re sure about the make and model, and there are only so many of them in the county. I put out another alert to all officers in the area. They’re running through the list of registered owners, and keeping an eye on the roads. Let’s hope one of them picks him up tonight.”

  Ryan had changed out of his uniform since returning home and now wore jeans and a chunky, patterned sweater, the kind knitted by grandmas for Christmas. The green color suited his red hair and matched his eyes, making him appear somehow softer and cuter. Right at that moment he didn’t look like a law enforcement officer. He looked like a kindergarten teacher.

  She picked up the hot chocolate, which Ryan had topped with marshmallows, one of her favorite treats.

  “So who do you think our mystery informant is?” she asked, lifting a gooey marshmallow from the mug. “Did he give you any clues?”

  “It was impossible to judge what his real voice sounds like, so it could be anyone, but the accent was definitely local.”

  “It would have to be someone that my attacker confided in,” she said. “It may even be a friend of his. So if we can identify the informant, we’ll get closer to identifying the attacker.”

  “I’m not getting my hopes up,” Ryan said. “The caller blocked his number, and with no other information available, I’ve got no leads at all.”

  “But it’s a good sign,” she said, feeling a shiver of excitement at the significance of this latest development. “If our informant is a friend of my attacker, then he probably also knows that this guy is Molly’s real killer.”

  Ryan remained silent.

  “Don’t you see what this means?” she said, letting her eagerness get the better of her. “The man who tipped you off today could be the key to solving Molly’s murder. He’s the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. We have to find him.”

  Ryan’s stared at his hands, clearly unwilling to speak.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “I forgot. You think the real killer is in prison already.”

  “I think you’re reaching too far,” he said. “The informant could be anybody. We don’t know that your attacker confided in him about this or anything else. He could’ve happened to have overheard a conversation and decided to make the call. I’m not shooting your entire theory down in flames, but let’s not assume anything.”

  “The only part you’re shooting down in flames is the part where my dad turns out to be wrongfully convicted, right?”

  “All I’m saying is that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  Ryan didn’t want her using this mystery man to bolster her crazy belief in her father’s innocence. But true to his word, he was trying hard not to trample on her feelings and had diplomatically avoided asserting her father’s guilt.

  She put her mug down on the table. “Okay, so tell me again exactly what the guy said. Can you remember?”

  “He really didn’t say much at all,” re
plied Ryan. “He said you were in danger, that you’d be run off the road on your way back from the prison. When I asked some questions he told me to quit talking and get moving.”

  “He said those exact words? ‘Quit talking and get moving’? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah I’m sure. Why? Do you think you might know him?”

  She shook her head, quelling the fizz in her belly, uncertain whether she wanted to confide in Ryan. She knew someone who used that expression frequently, but she doubted that Ryan would support her theory. And he would be unlikely to investigate as thoroughly as she would. Kitty was a trained investigative journalist, after all. She might not know how to fight an assailant but she knew how to dig for the truth.

  “I’ll make a call to Nancy from the grocery store tomorrow,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “She might know someone who uses that expression.”

  “Don’t tell her why you want to know,” Ryan said gravely. “We should keep this under wraps for now.”

  “Sure.” She hated deceiving him, but his lack of faith in her judgment propelled her to follow up on this alone. “I’ll keep it all under wraps.”

  * * *

  Kitty was quiet after dinner, unusually so. Ryan had cooked her a meal while she rested and then asked if he could remain with her for the evening, to check she suffered no ill effects from the car crash. She seemed lost in thought, curled up on the sofa, staring into the fire.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re okay with me being here? I can go to my apartment if you prefer.”

  “You’re fine to stay,” she said. “Thanks for making dinner. I didn’t have the energy to cook.”

  “It’s been a tough day, huh?”

  “Yes, it has. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

  Her voice was flat and expressionless, her usual enthusiasm and motivation having apparently vanished.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She took her gaze away from the fire and settled it on him. “If I uncover some new evidence that supports my father’s claim of innocence, will you help me investigate it?”

  “Well, that would all depend on what it was.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask? Do you have something in mind?”

  She looked away, back into the fire. “No, but you never know what might crop up.”

  “Are you talking about the informant?” He suspected that she had gotten her hopes up, after all. “Because we have no way of tracking him down, not unless he calls again.”

  “Okay,” she said, running her fingers through her loose hair. “Let’s talk hypothetically. If we track down the informant and he claims to know who really killed Molly, would you be willing to change your mind about my father?”

  “I can’t comment on something that hasn’t happened,” he said. “The informant didn’t say anything about Molly’s killer.”

  She let out a growl of frustration, covering her face with her hands, her voice muffled behind her palms as she said, “I was talking hypothetically. You drive me crazy, you know that?”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, Kitty. I can’t be the ally you need because my sympathies don’t lie with Cody Jones. My sympathies lie with the Thomas family and everyone who’s been hurt by Molly’s murder.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically. “What did you just say?”

  “I said that my sympathies don’t lie with your father.”

  “No, you didn’t. You said that your sympathies don’t lie with Cody Jones.”

  Did he? It must’ve been a slip of the tongue. “You know what I meant.”

  She eyeballed him. “Cody Jones and my father are not the same person, Ryan.”

  “I know that.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. When you think of my father, whose face do you see?”

  Ryan tried to recall the mug shot of Harry Linklater, an image he’d seen in the newspaper numerous times, but was unable to remember his features. Instead, the face of Cody Jones settled on his mind, the killer’s mouth curled in a satisfied sneer.

  “I don’t see anyone’s face,” he said, thinking that a little white lie would prevent an argument. “I see no one.”

  She smiled and he instantly understood that she had seen right through him. Despite knowing him such a short amount of time she had learned those little giveaways and tells that he was clearly unaware of.

  “Okay,” he admitted. “I might sometimes get the two men mixed up, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about either of them.”

  “But it means you can’t be objective. You can’t look at the situation as an impartial observer, and I’ll never be able to totally trust you.”

  He was hurt by this. “You can trust me completely, Kitty.”

  She shook her head, unfolding her legs from beneath her and sitting up. “I trust you with my safety, but not with everything else. Some things I have to keep to myself.”

  What did she mean by this? “Is there information that you’re keeping from me? Because I promise that I’ll help you any way I can.”

  She stood. “I’m going to bed now.”

  “But it’s only eight thirty.”

  “I need an early night.” She picked up Shadow from the sofa and tucked him under her arm. “Can you switch off the lights when you turn in?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked to the open door, but he felt compelled to call her back. “Kitty.”

  She turned.

  “I really care about you,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  She nodded and then exited, leaving him with just the glow of the fire for company. He knelt by the hearth and used the poker to reposition a fallen log, thinking about the conversation that had just occurred. He knew the difference between Cody Jones and Harry Linklater. He sometimes struggled to remember which was which, but that wasn’t such a terrible mistake, was it? Both were guilty of a similar crime, both immoral men locked up where they belonged.

  He refused to feel bad about his mistake in confusing the two. He had done nothing wrong.

  * * *

  Kitty placed Shadow on her bed and pulled her cell from her pocket. After drying the phone by the fire, the only lasting damage appeared to be a thin crack on the screen. Scrolling through her contacts list, she finally located the correct number and hit the call button.

  She found herself feeling glad that she had chosen not to confide in Ryan. He would only pour water on her flames. Each time she took a step in the right direction, he came up with a supposedly rational explanation to undercut her discoveries. This time she would not let him ruin a new lead. This time she was onto something big, and she would investigate alone.

  Someone finally picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” she said quietly, being careful not to alert Ryan. “It’s Kitty.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “What do you want?”

  “You called Ryan at the Bethesda station today,” she said. “You told him to ‘quit talking and get moving’—that’s what you always say at the end of the night, isn’t it? It’s how you get people out of the bar. Stop messing with me. I know it was you. And that means you can identify who’s after me. It’s time to do the right thing and tell me what you know.”

  More silence.

  “Harvey?” she said. “Are you still there?”

  He let out a big sigh, long and sorrowful.

  “Can you come over?” he said. “There’s something I want you to have.”

  SEVEN

  Kitty gripped the phone receiver tightly, wondering what Harvey could be referring to. Was it worth her while trusting him after everything he’d done? “What do you have for me?” Kitty asked. “Because you owe me, Harvey.”

  “It’s the CCTV footage from the night of Molly’s murder.
It shows your father arriving at eight in the evening and leaving at two in the morning.”

  “You told the police that it had been erased,” she said, clenching her fist. “You lied.”

  “Yes, I lied. I’m not expecting forgiveness for what I’ve done to you and your father, Kitty, but I can at least try to put things right.”

  “Who killed Molly? You know, don’t you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s complicated?” she said incredulously. “You just said that you were trying to put things right.”

  “Look,” he said. “I did something real bad a few years ago, bad enough to put me in jail for a long time. But I got away with it.”

  She began to see what had motivated Harvey’s lies to the police.

  “Does the killer know what you did?”

  “Of course he knows. He was my friend at the time. We did the bad thing together and it’s bound us. If I rat him out, he rats me out. That’s the way it goes. And I don’t want to go to prison, Kitty.”

  Kitty racked her brain to think of the people Harvey had counted as friends over the years. Before he’d allowed his bar to become run-down and seedy, it had been frequented by many of the townsfolk, who used to enjoy quiz nights and live music there. Harvey’s old accomplice could be anyone.

  “What bad thing did you do?” she asked.

  “Don’t ask me that, because I won’t tell you. I was young and stupid and I needed the money that my friend paid me to help him out. I wish I’d never done it, but I did and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

  “What about me, Harvey?” she said. “Your friend is trying to kill me.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry about that. He told me about the plan to run you off the road today and get the job done right. I’ve been trying to persuade him to leave you alone, Kitty, I really have, but he’s scared that your investigation will lead you straight to him. He’s made up his mind that you have to be eliminated, and nothing will convince him otherwise. That’s why I tipped off Ryan today. I don’t want to see you hurt.”