Lone Witness

by Shirlee McCoy

  “It couldn’t have. I’m probably mistaken about it being stolen. That’s all.” She closed all the boxes and stacked them in the safe-deposit box, then held out her hand for the watch. “I’d better put that back, too. I’ll have to return everything to Patrick, and I don’t want to lose any of it before then.”

  “Hold on. I want to snap a photo of it.” Jessica pulled out her cell phone and snapped several pictures, then wrapped the watch in a piece of silk and handed it to Tessa.

  “Thanks.” She locked the safe-deposit box, uneasy and anxious and not sure why.

  By the time they walked out, she’d almost convinced herself that she was tired and overly emotional, that seeing the jewelry had sent her back to a place she preferred not to visit, and that going there had muddled her memory.

  You’re tired.

  You’re too emotional.

  You’ve scrambled things in your brain.

  She could hear Patrick’s words whispering through her mind, the phrases so often repeated when they were together that she’d begun to believe them.

  But she’d been away from him for years. In all that time, no one had ever called her too emotional or accused her of scrambling information she’d been given.

  She was a straight-A college student. She managed a diner. She hadn’t become less smart or less capable because she was tired and stressed.

  “What are you thinking about?” Henry asked as he held open the door and waited for her to climb into the SUV.

  “That I’m not mistaken. Sheila told me the watch was taken the night of the murder.”

  “Then maybe that watch is the thing Patrick is trying to get back.” He closed the door, and she heard him call out to Orlando, offering him a ride to his house.

  She didn’t hear Orlando’s reply.

  She didn’t have to.

  Orlando would refuse.

  That was just the way he was. Crusty and grumpy, but smarter and kinder than she’d thought.

  Patrick had been the opposite. Handsome and charismatic, but shrewder and more sinister than she ever could have imagined.

  Ryan’s watch had been in Patrick’s safe.

  There was a reason for that, and Tessa didn’t think it was a good one.

  Was it possible he’d had something do with Ryan’s death?

  She didn’t want to believe it.

  But then, she hadn’t wanted to believe that he would throw a vase at her again, strangle her again, hit her again.

  He’d done all those things.

  Could he have murdered his partner, too?

  * * *

  Wren called with an update as Henry exited the parking lot. Anderson Jeffries and two other agents had taken William Stevenson into custody without incident. He was at the field office, waiting to be questioned while they searched his house. They’d already discovered a cache of child pornography, and she felt strongly that he was the serial kidnapper.

  She was driving Rachelle and the girls back to Boston. Brett had opted to stay behind to keep an eye on their guests. Saige’s mother still wasn’t feeling well, and he was worried she’d need a ride to the ER.

  That was typical of Brett. He went out of his way for others. Rachelle was the same. Diane had been, too. They lived their faith in a way Henry admired. Even in the darkest time of their lives, Rachelle and Brett hadn’t questioned God’s goodness. Days after Diane’s death, they’d visited the mother of the young man who’d killed her. The drive-by shooting had been gang-related. Diane had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—standing at the bus stop waiting for transportation to the inner-city school where she’d taught. The gunman had been a sixteen-year-old punk, and his mother had been devastated when she realized what he’d done.

  So, Rachelle and Brett had visited with her. They’d prayed with her. They’d offered her words of encouragement and comfort.

  Henry had been at the hospital with the girls.

  Even if he hadn’t been, he doubted he’d have had it in him to do what they had. He’d had no sympathy when the kid had been tried as an adult, and he’d felt no remorse when the judge handed down a life sentence.

  If someone committed a crime, then there had to be consequences. He’d gone into law enforcement to protect the innocent and to make certain the guilty were taken off the street.

  Tessa had stolen jewelry from her ex.

  That was a criminal offense.

  If she was prosecuted for and convicted of grand theft, she could face up to five years in prison. She’d get more time if she was convicted of identity theft. He wanted to feel okay with that.

  But just as Saige’s story had made him want to fight for the teen’s freedom, Tessa’s made him want to fight for her. She’d been only eighteen when she’d met Patrick. She’d been abused, mistreated and terrorized.

  She’d left because she’d had no choice.

  She’d changed her name because she’d been afraid.

  She’d taken what she could get her hands on, because she’d had nothing.

  He couldn’t judge her for that, and he couldn’t find her guilty of anything other than being young and alone.

  “What now?” she asked when he finished his conversation with Wren.

  “We’re going to get in touch with Patrick and see what he has to say about things.”

  She tensed, and it reminded him of the way she’d flinched when he’d reached for her back at the house.

  “It will be okay,” he said, because he would make certain it was.

  “You don’t know Patrick. He’s...very good at pretending to be everything he’s not.”

  “We meet plenty of people like him, Tessa. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jessica assured her from the backseat of the SUV. She had her cell phone in hand and was sending texts. Henry imagined they were to the field office. She probably wished she could have been there when Stevenson arrived, but she wouldn’t say as much.

  “That’s pretty much what I thought the day I met him. I was very, very wrong.” She leaned her forehead against the window, and Henry could almost feel her regret.

  “It can’t be easy letting us see into your life. We understand that, but if Patrick is the one who broke into your house—”

  “It wasn’t him. I caught a glimpse of the guy when he walked out of the cottage. He was taller and broader than Patrick.”

  “It’s been three years. People gain weight,” Jessica pointed out.

  “He didn’t move the same way. Patrick always walked with confidence. The guy I saw lumbered.”

  “It could be someone he hired to find the watch,” Henry said.

  “If the watch is what he wants.”

  “What else could it be?” Jessica tapped her fingers against the back of the seat. “He isn’t the sort of guy who’d ruin a perfectly good life of wealth to get revenge. At least, based on what you’ve told us, he isn’t.”

  “Why do you say that?” Henry asked.

  “Because he waited three years. If he’d been after Tessa for the sake of revenge or the sake of regaining some form of control, he’d have found her before now. My hunch is, he saw her on the news, and he started thinking about that watch, wondering if she’d sold it, kept it or even knew what she had. Maybe he felt compelled to look, because his life is going exactly the way he planned, and he didn’t want it messed up if Tessa suddenly decided to come forward with proof of his crimes.”

  “You’re assuming he murdered his partner. Or had something to do with it.”

  “Aren’t you?” Jessica asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Were Patrick and Ryan friends before you met him, Tessa?” Jessica asked.

  “Yes. They met at Stanford.”

  “Smart guys, huh?”

  “Very. Patrick has a degree in business administration and a minor in antiquities.
Ryan was a CPA. They decided to combine their strengths and open an antiques store together. I met Patrick about twelve years later. By that point, they had three storefronts.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “They had impressive lifestyles, too. Houses in Napa Valley and in Los Angeles. Nice cars. Country-club memberships.”

  “So, an expensive lifestyle?” Henry asked, turning onto a side road that cut through the north section of town.

  “Very.”

  “Were there ever any money problems?” he continued.

  “I wouldn’t have known. I was one of the pretty things Patrick collected. I didn’t have access to information about finances. Why do you ask?”

  “Money is a leading motive for murder. Do you think Patrick would have been capable of killing a guy he’d been friends with for two decades?”

  “I...don’t know.”

  “Do you know if anyone was arrested for the murder?”

  “When I left, the murder was still being investigated, but Patrick wasn’t a suspect. He was home with me at the time of the murder.”

  “Money buys a lot of things,” Jessica said. “And the cost of a man’s life isn’t nearly as expensive as it should be.”

  That was the truth.

  Henry had worked more than a few cases that involved hired hit men, and he’d often been astounded and bemused at how little value was put on a life.

  “If Patrick paid a hit man, I’m sure the police would have figured it out by now.”

  “Not necessarily. He had a business. He had access to cash. If that’s the way he paid, the police would have difficulty finding evidence of the payment,” Henry said as fat flakes of snow splattered the window.

  Faith Community Church was to the left, its white steeple spearing the gray-black sky. An old cemetery dotted the field next to it, wrought-iron gates preventing access after sundown. Henry had been there dozens of times during the day, driving down the paved road that cut through stretches of well-cared-for plots. Sometimes, the girls were with him. Sometimes, he went alone. Always, he drove to a beautiful maple, parked there and walked to Diane’s grave.

  He glanced at the gates as he passed. Just as he always did.

  A car was idling there, exhaust puffing from the muffler, headlights off. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he reached the end of the street. The car had pulled out and was following, lights still off. Not trying to close the distance between them, but definitely heading in the same direction.

  “We have company,” he said, and both women turned to look out the back window.

  “If he’d wanted to be subtle, he should have turned his lights on,” Jessica murmured. “Do you want me to call for local help?”

  “Let’s make certain he’s really on our tail.” He eased off the accelerator and took the next turn. Seconds later, the car followed.

  Another turn and another, and the guy was still behind them. No closer. No farther away. Lights still off. They were back where they’d started, slowly driving past the cemetery.

  “You’d think he’d have a clue that we’re on to him,” Jessica said.

  “Maybe he wants us to know he’s here. Maybe he’s hoping we’ll stop for a chat. How about we give him what he wants?” Henry turned into the church parking lot, and the car passed, accelerating down the street and taking the turn at a dangerous pace for the conditions.

  “He’s gone,” Tessa said with a note of relief in her voice.

  “How about we test that theory?” Henry responded, putting the SUV in Park and stepping into the freezing rain and falling snow. “Pastor Walker always leaves the sanctuary door unlocked. Let’s go in there for a few minutes.”

  “I’d rather go home,” Tessa commented, her focus on the road.

  “It’s a crime scene, remember? I’m taking you to Brett and Rachelle’s place for the night.” He opened her door and tugged her out. She was still wearing his coat, and he didn’t want to take it from her.

  Instead, he opened the hatch of the SUV and grabbed the spare he kept there. Coat. Boots. Gloves. Clothes. Blankets. Food. He’d been stuck in a snowstorm in Boston a few years back, and he’d learned a good lesson about always being prepared for the weather.

  “What are you doing?” Tessa asked as Jessica took her arm and steered her toward the church.

  “Going hunting,” he replied as he shut the hatch and slipped into the coat.

  TEN

  Henry had obviously lost his mind, and Tessa would have been happy to tell him that if her throat hadn’t been constricted with fear.

  If Patrick was in that car...

  But he couldn’t be.

  He was married. He had a life. He wouldn’t have flown across the country to stalk and taunt her.

  But he might have come for the Rolex.

  No matter how much she tried to convince herself that he’d have never harmed Ryan, she couldn’t make her heart believe it.

  She knew what the handsome facade, the charming smile and the winning sense of humor hid. She’d seen the ugliness beneath the beauty so many times, she’d stopped being attracted to Patrick long before she’d left him.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she finally said as they reached the sanctuary door.

  “Pastor Walker won’t mind,” Henry responded, and she knew he was being purposely obtuse.

  “You know what I mean, Henry. We should have already called the police. Chief Simpson can deal with whomever is in the car, and we can go back to your in-laws’ place.”

  She had no intention of staying there, of course.

  She’d wrecked what she had with Brett and Rachelle, with the twins, and with Henry.

  She’d brought trouble into the lives of people she’d come to care about, and she couldn’t be anywhere near them until she was absolutely certain the danger had passed.

  There was a hostel outside of town. It catered to free-spirited vagabonds who had Provincetown on their exploration bucket lists. This time of year, it was empty. She could get a room for cheap and for cash.

  “I do, and maybe it seems like a risk, but I’ve been doing this for a while, Tessa. Everything will be fine.”

  “People say that every day, and every day, things go terribly wrong.”

  “Stay inside with Jessica. Keep away from the windows. I don’t think this guy was gunning for you, but I don’t want to take any chances.” He nudged her into the dark vestibule, his hand resting on her back for just a moment.

  She didn’t turn, throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay, but she wanted to.

  “What are you planning?” Jessica asked.

  “A reconnaissance mission. Put a call into the chief. Ask to have his troopers arrive with lights and sirens off. I don’t want to scare our friend.”

  He stepped back and let the door swing closed, plunging them into near-total darkness.

  The exit sign above the door was the only light in the narrow entryway, and Jessica grabbed Tessa’s wrist and tugged her a step closer. “Let’s not get separated in this mausoleum.”

  “It’s a church,” Tessa said. “The sanctuary is through the door straight ahead of us.”

  “I take it you’ve been here before.”

  “Every Sunday for almost three years.”

  “What are the other entrance points?” Jessica asked, dragging her to the double doors that opened into the sanctuary.

  “You mean aside from the windows?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a choir room at the back of the sanctuary. It has an exit door.”

  “Okay. I’ll check to see if it’s locked.”

  “Maybe we should go together,” Tessa suggested.

  “Are their windows in the choir room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’d better stay here.”r />
  “There are windows—” Tessa began, but Jessica had already walked away.

  She could have followed, but icy rain was pelting the windows, bits of snow sticking to the exterior glass. She thought she saw a shadow walk past one, the darkness beyond shifting just enough to worry her.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty room. On Sundays it was filled with worshippers, and light shimmered through the windows on either side of the long room and filtered in through a smaller window at the front. It felt warm then. Now it was cold, the chill seeping through her still-damp clothes.

  The darkness beyond the window shifted again, and she moved closer to the vestibule door, trying to stay in deep shadows and out of sight of anyone who might be looking in.

  “Door’s locked,” Jessica called, jogging toward her from the front of the room. She was in the center of the sanctuary when the vestibule doors flew open, knocking Tessa forward. She fell hard, skidding across the floor.

  Someone grabbed her ponytail, yanking her backward when she tried to scramble away.

  A knife pressed against the underside of her jaw, and she froze.

  “Everyone just stay calm,” a man said, the words tickling the hair near her ear. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m just here for what I’m due.”

  “What,” Jessica asked, taking a step closer, “is that?”

  “A few baubles to pay off a debt that’s owed me,” he replied. “Now how about you just back off, lady? If I get nervous, and the knife slips, someone could get hurt.”

  “How about you not do anything you’ll regret?” Jessica replied. She had her firearm in one hand, and her phone in the other, her dark eyes gleaming through the gray-black darkness.

  “I’m not going to regret this. I can tell you that much. According to my buddy, this lady has a small fortune. I just want a little piece of it. I’m assuming it’s back at the bank I followed you to?” He gave Tessa a little shake, and she nodded.

  “Fine. We’ll go there, have your buddy open the door again and you give me what I came for. Once I have it, I’ll go on my merry way.”