She tucked the note in her pocket thinking he was just lying low. Using the phone was too risky and this was how he’d thought to stay in touch. Her hope buoyed. Yes, it was a clever solution. Only she’d know about the notes. That must be what he was doing. It had to be because the alternative was unbearable.
She twisted for the door then remembered the gun. If the police learned about him, they’d search his apartment. Once again, she rifled the place. Looking in drawers, the closets, under the mattress—even in the toilet tank. Relieved to have found nothing, she thanked God that Michael had taken it with him or gotten rid of it. She leaned against the door, exhausted. Sad. Uncertain.
She turned off the lamp and slipped out of the apartment. Her phone chimed in her pocket but she ignored it. Desperate to get out of there before someone saw her, she hurried through the courtyard,
Once inside the car, her instincts told her to go, to get out of there, now. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave—her gaze drifting up to his apartment window. She’d really believed that he loved her. Now she doubted everything she’d believed.
Headlights pierced the darkness and she ducked—holding her breath as the car moved slowly past. Tires protested softly against the cracked pavement as it rolled down the alley. When it was quiet again she peered through the rear windshield. Phillip was gone—why did she still feel she was being watched? Bile rose to the back of her throat. Were the police following her, hoping to get evidence? She longed for Michael’s reassurances and clutched the note in her pocket.
Where are you?
Chapter 22
DAVIS READ WARSOWSKI’S autopsy report one more time. She’d read it several times already and each read she’d gotten more ticked off. Daniels strolled into the squad room and dropped into his chair with a grunt. She waved the report at him and made a face.
Daniels raised his hands. “Hey, don’t give me the sour puss. I’m telling you it’s the odds.”
She tossed the report on her desk. “Department shrink agrees with me. Not a suicide. Doesn't fit the profile. Besides, it doesn't say it isn't murder.”
Daniels tutted. “It doesn’t say it is murder either.” He rocked back in his chair lazily. “Emily, Emily, Emily, this one is so easy. We could close it today. In ten years, how many times have we gotten one this easy?”
She opened and closed drawers just because it made her feel better to slam something. “I don’t care about the close.”
Daniels patted his belly. “Yeah and I don't care about food.”
Her eyes were hot blue lasers boring into him. “You ever think I could be reassessing my priorities?”
Daniels chortled. “You ever think I'll get back my thirty-four-inch waist? Cuz I got a pair of Sergio Valente’s I'm dying to wear again. I hear retro is very in this year.”
She growled at him. “For Christ's sake, Pete. Will you get serious?”
He chuckled. “You want serious, huh? Well, how’s this—Christine Logan is Phillip Logan’s second wife.”
Davis’ jaw dropped. “Are you shitting me?”
“Au contraire, mon amie, I do not shit you.” He twirled an invisible mustache. He tapped a few keys on his computer, then hit enter. “You’ve got mail.”
Davis swiveled to her computer and pulled up the documents Daniels had sent. Logan married Julie Elizabeth Beck in 2002 and divorced her five years later for ‘irreconcilable differences.’ There were no children from the marriage and except for a couple of wedding announcements, no press on the first Mrs. Logan.
In 2009, he’d married Christine Campbell with a lot more to-do and plenty of local press coverage. She looked like a movie star in the designer gown. Gorgeous. Flawless. Even Logan looked in awe of her. They looked happy. Davis wondered when that had changed.
The previous marriage wasn’t a big deal, people married and divorced and remarried all the time. However, most people don’t marry dead-ringers of their exes. Julie Beck and Christine Logan looked so much alike it was a little creepy.
Davis looked up from the monitor. “Where’s Julie Beck now? Did you get an address?”
Daniels waved his notepad. “Oh yes, I did. Here’s a fun fact—until a couple of months ago, Julie Beck lived in San Diego. Now she lives here.” He waggled his eyebrows. “About three miles from Christine Logan’s place.”
A little thrill scampered through Davis. “Really? And what could’ve caused her to move up here, I wonder?”
JULIE BECK’S LITTLE brown house was a shack compared to Christine Logan’s. The neighborhood wasn’t sketchy but it’s glory days were long past. Daniels parked at the curb and they went up the cracked driveway to the front door. A young girl answered the bell and looked at them with curious hazel eyes.
Daniels smiled. “Hi, does Julie Beck live here?”
The girl pushed a lock of fine blond hair behind her ear. “That’s my mom.”
Davis shot Daniels a look. “Your mom? Okay.” She showed the kid her badge. “We need to talk to her. It’s pretty important. Do you know where we can find her? Is she at work?”
The girl chewed on her lower lip. “Is she in trouble?”
Daniels nudged Davis over. “No, honey. We just need to ask her about something. Is she at work? When will she be home?”
The kid remained mute, probably because her mother had instructed her not to talk to strangers who showed up at the door—even if they were the police.
Daniels stooped and offered his hand. “Okay, let’s start over. Hi, I’m Detective Daniels and this is Detective Davis. But you can call us Pete and Emily. What’s your name?”
The girl barely touched his hand and shook it. “I’m Faith Beck.”
Daniels smiled. “Nice to meet you, Faith. Now, let’s be clear, your mom isn’t in any trouble. Not even a little bit. But we need to talk to her about something important. And, we’d really appreciate it if you could tell us where she is, so we can do that. Okay?”
Faith relaxed and nodded slowly. “She went to say goodbye to a friend.”
The back and forth was torture for Davis and she elbowed Daniels out of the way. “What friend? Where do they live?”
Faith tucked herself behind the door as though Davis might bite her. “I don’t know. That’s all she told me.”
Davis looked over the kid’s head into the house. “Are you home alone?”
Faith shifted her gaze to the room behind her. “My grandma’s here. But she’s sleeping.” She half-turned. “Do you want me to wake her up?”
Daniels butted in. “No, honey. That’s okay.” He handed her his card. “When your mom gets home, will you ask her to call?”
Faith flicked a look at the card. “Okay, I’ll tell her. Bye.” She closed the door.
Daniels chuckled and twisted toward the car. “I guess that’s the end of that.”
Davis backhanded Daniels. “Why’d you tell her, no? The grandmother probably knows where Julie went.”
Daniels dragged her down the walk to the car. “You mean besides the fact that we’ve got no reason to barge in on this woman and her family?”
Davis snatched the keys out of Daniels’ hand and got behind the wheel. Daniels crammed himself into the passenger seat and cranked it back for some extra leg room. “We’ll catch her later. If we’re lucky, she’ll call us.” He squinted at her. “But not if we scare her kid and her mother.” He made a face at Davis. “You gotta watch the crazy face, Em. People don’t like that kind of thing.”
Davis stared past him at the house. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Daniels bobbed his head. “The kid is just about the right age to be Logan’s? But she said her name was Beck. Could be that’s why Julie and Logan split—she got knocked up by another guy?”
Davis gunned the engine. “Or Julie Beck wanted to make sure Logan never found out he had a kid.”
She shot out of the parking space and Daniels clutched the dashboard. “Slow down there, spunky. Where are we going in such a hurry?”
“We’re going to say goodbye, too.”
Daniels furrowed his brow. “You and me? You want a new partner?”
Davis rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot. Today is Logan’s funeral. If we hurry, we can get there before it’s over.”
Chapter 23
THEY ARRIVED AT FOREST Lawn Cemetery just as the minister was finishing his blessing over Phillip Logan’s casket. The lacquered box looked pricey and gleamed in the early afternoon sun. The turn out was meager—the wife, the sister-in-law, the mother, and a few men whom Davis figured for employees. Also, an older woman with perfectly coifed silver hair and a sense of style.
As they approached the gravesite, Davis noticed a busty redhead, weeping. She sheltered under a live oak but her attention was on the Logan gathering. Davis elbowed Daniels who gave her the imperceptible partner nod. When she saw Boden Chauncey duck behind a gravestone she elbowed Daniels again and pointed.
“You want me to go after him?”
Davis shook her head and pushed on toward Logan’s gravesite. “Nah, we’ve got bigger game to bag right now. We’ll catch up with him later.”
The minister’s voice was clear and appropriately somber. “Draw away, to be consumed to ashes and to dust. In earthly and in cleanly fire. To be no more. No more. And that is done. Amen.”
As a final gesture, Christine Logan tossed a handful of soil on the coffin. The remainder of the party followed behind and mimicked the gesture.
Upon seeing their approach, the widow did a quick but seamless about-face, as though she hadn’t seen them. Nice try. “Mrs. Logan?”
She twisted toward them—eyes wide and feigning surprise. “Detectives? Has something happened?”
Daniels put on his Jimmy Stewart act. “Just showing our respects, ma'am.”
Melanie Campbell aimed a snooty look at them and looped her arm through Christine’s. “We should go. There’ll be people at the house soon.”
The mother stayed in the background, a hankie pressed to her cheek, eavesdropping. Christine separated herself from her sister and approached them. Her smile was gracious, her eyes wary. “Do you have news?”
Davis felt a little shitty about crashing the funeral. It was clearly a family affair not meant for public consumption. Though it was curious to her that not one of Logan’s bigwig clients had come, or even a local reporter. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all.” Close up, the woman’s exhaustion showed and Davis wondered if the smile she was giving them then was the last one in her toolbox. The bruise on her cheek had faded and whatever remained of it, lie hidden under skillfully applied makeup. Her voice dipped to a whisper. “I understand you have a job to do.”
Davis looked around, even if Christine had been up for an interview, this wasn’t the place for it. Too many interested ears to tune in. “Maybe we could come by your place later?”
Christine mustered up a nod. “Yes, certainly. Any time after six. We’re having a small wake and it’ll be difficult to talk privately while there are guests.” The sister nudged her—using eyebrow gymnastics to make her point. “I'm sorry, I have to go. Thank you for coming. I’ll see you this evening.”
Davis raised her hand in a farewell and spied Cornelia edging toward them. She muttered under her breath. “Mama bear at three o’clock.”
Cornelia waved her hankie. “Detectives?”
Daniels smiled and ambled toward Cornelia, forcing Davis to trail after him. Pausing for a second when she thought she saw Julie Beck. Though on turning, she saw no one.
“I was afraid I wouldn't catch you.”
Daniels smiled widely at the old woman, who struggled to walk gracefully in the snug Chanel suit. “Can we help you, ma'am?”
Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face sagged with grief. At least one person had loved Phillip Logan. Cornelia sniffled loudly but Davis didn’t miss the flicker of something wicked in the woman’s eye. “There's something I’d like to show you. Can you come to my house, later on?”
Davis wanted to butt in and ask her flat out what was on her mind but Daniels blocked her. It was a little game they played. One that delighted Daniels and irritated the hell out of her. “Happy to, ma'am. Say, six o'clock?
Cornelia squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Detective.” Her eyes welled with tears and she dabbed them with the limp hankie. “You’re such a kind man. Like my Phillip.” Her gaze drifted toward the limo where Christine and Melanie waited. “Please don’t mention this to them. I’d rather we keep it just between us. All right?”
Daniels nodded. “My lips are sealed.”
She patted his arm as a goodbye, then walked uneasily down the hill, where the two women waited for her. When the three of them climbed into the limo, Davis snickered. “The plot thickens.”
Daniels laughed. “Indeed, Holmes, indeed.”
Davis craned her neck, searching for Julie Beck, but if she’d been there, she’d evaded detection. “Divide and conquer?”
Daniels headed for the group of men milling at the bottom of the hill and Davis hurried after the classy lady with the silver hair. On the way, she spotted the weepy redhead ambling toward the parking lot. Who are you?
Davis caught up to the older woman who turned out to be Logan’s office manager, Martha Fren. Though polite, Martha kept a steady pace toward her car as Davis questioned her. “How long did you work for Phillip Logan?”
“It would’ve been fifteen years in July.”
“Must’ve been a pretty good guy if you worked for him that long.”
Martha’s smile told Davis she was nobody’s fool. “He was a good boss.”
Davis’ dumb cop routine wasn’t playing all that well with Martha but she doubled down anyway. “Not so good at other things?”
Martha’s gaze followed the limo as it rolled slowly toward the exit. “I'm loathed to speak ill of the dead, Detective.”
“Uh-huh, and?”
Martha rattled her car keys. “I wouldn't have called him a model husband. He had what they called in my day, a wandering eye.”
Davis nodded to encourage Martha to expound on the statement but she didn’t. Finally, Davis asked, “Anything else wander?”
They arrived at Martha’s late model sedan and she released the locks—a hint for Davis to get to the point. “Let’s just say in Christine’s shoes, I would’ve left him years ago.”
Davis placed her hand on the driver’s door. “Tell me more about that.”
Martha got the hint—she wasn’t going anywhere until Davis was satisfied. She shrugged and lit a cigarette, waving her hand to dissipate the smoke. “Sorry, I know it’s a nasty habit, just can’t seem to quit.” Davis waited for an answer to her question. Martha blew out a stream of smoke and stared at the serene view. “A man puts his hand in the cookie jar, you don't like it, but you forgive him. He puts them in several, it's harder to forgive, but you look the other way. He goes after the family jewels.” She met Davis’ gaze. “He's gone too far.”
Davis prayed her mouth wasn’t hanging wide open. “He was sleeping with Melanie Campbell? His sister-in-law?”
Martha stubbed out her smoke and put it back in the pack. “As I said, I don't like to gossip.”
All of Campbell’s keen interest in Logan and what happened to him made a whole lot more sense to Davis, now. “Are you sure? Or is it just something you suspected?”
Martha waved away the last remnants of smoke. Or maybe it was Davis she was trying to shoo. “She called him several times a day. She was on his calendar for mid-afternoon ‘conferences’ at least twice a week.” She cocked her head. “While Melanie is one of the designers we use, Phillip never met with any of the others with such regularity. Hardly at all, actually.”
Davis pursed her lips. “You ever make hotel reservations or flight bookings for them?”
Martha laughed. “Not part of my job description. If their dalliances included out of town excursions, I had no part in it. I doubt Phillip would have asked even me to do that.”
Davis made notes. “So, he would’ve done it?” Martha nodded. “Anything on the company credit cards that indicated he had?”
Martha patted her hair, though it wasn’t at all mussed. “Nothing that I ever saw.”
Davis made a note to check Logan’s personal finances. “Is there anybody who didn’t come to the funeral that you expected would?”
Martha shook her head. “Phillip didn’t have time for friendships. Oh, maybe one or two colleagues he golfed with occasionally but no one close. Still, I expected to see Michael there.” Davis raised her brows. “Michael Shaw—he was Phillip’s lead carpenter.”
“Was?”
“He quit a few days ago. A falling out, I think, but Phillip didn’t give me any details. Just told me to generate a final check with severance.” She shrugged. “This is a tough business. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”
“But up until then, Mr. Logan and Shaw were friendly?”
She hesitated for just a split second before answering. “I’d say so.”
“Was Shaw close with anybody at the company? A crew member maybe?”
She smiled fondly. “I liked him. He was a good worker, kept to himself, but cheerful whenever we spoke. But no, he didn’t seem to be particularly close to any of the crew.”
Davis stepped back from the car. “Have you seen or heard from Shaw since he quit?”
Martha got into her car. “Afraid not. If you drop by the office on Monday, I can give you his contact information.”
Martha shifted the car into gear but Davis kept her hand on the window frame. “One more thing.” Martha shifted the car back into park. “The bruise on Mrs. Logan’s face. Was that a regular thing?”
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