I wanted to stand up for Amos, insist that Ranger didn’t know him like I did, but in all honesty, did I know him? The weight of his warning settled between us.
“I’ll be careful, I promise.” From my back pocket I produced a business card and set it on his desk. “If anything else comes up, you’ll let me know?”
Ranger glanced at the card. “And I’m sure you’ll do the same, right?”
My smile was far too broad as I caught his eye. “Of course.”
My old mentor laughed deep from his belly. “Aw, Lindy Belle, who taught you how to lie?”
I pretended to think about it. “I’m pretty sure that was you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re right.” He tapped his metal desk twice. “Don’t be a stranger now, ya hear?”
I’d started to back away, eager to get to work on my stolen case files. “You either. Give me a call, and we’ll set up dinner this week. Mom and Dad will love it.”
Ranger’s expression started to fade as I left from a smile to worry, the same worry I always saw on my uncle Shane’s face every time I took on a new case he wasn’t sure I could handle. The kind of worry that made me wonder if I were capable or not. The kind of worry that followed me and stuck to my skin even once I was in the parking lot.
The kind of worry that told me I was already way over my head the moment I’d picked Amos up from custody.
♦ ♦ ♦
I didn’t bother sticking it out in the precinct parking lot. Too many cops, and me with no right to jurisdiction. I found a neighborhood park nearby, the kind that was all grass and very little playground, and parked my car. With the window down, there was just enough breeze to sit in my car and review the files.
Ranger was right, the case looked tidy with Amos as the main suspect. Hallie Baxter, AKA “Honey B,” was found Sunday morning by her friend, Rochelle Stalen, AKA “Shelly.” When Honey wouldn’t open the door after multiple attempts, Shelly obtained her spare key from her car where she kept it and opened the door. The report mentioned that the apartment showed signs of struggle, an overturned lamp, broken dishes, and a shattered mirror. The disarray was limited to the front room, the rest of the apartment untouched. I noted the picture of the dining room table, set for two, candles burned down to stubs with a pool of wax seeping onto the tablecloth.
Shelly had found Honey in the front room, microphone cord wrapped tightly around her neck where she had been strangled by her assailant. Knowing Honey was dead, Shelly called 911, and the authorities responded. I recognized Ranger’s tone as I read details of interviews with the neighbors. One had heard arguing, not just the night in question but others, between Honey and a “foreign man.”
Another neighbor actually saw Amos, listed as Mack, arrive and leave the night of the murder. Of course, as there were no other suspects, no other options, the investigation had stopped the moment they’d found him. Amos had crimes that could stretch around six city blocks if anyone actually managed to link all of his aliases together.
But that was where it didn’t fit. Amos wasn’t violent. He was cunning. He was a liar, but he wasn’t violent. He rarely carried a gun. I’d never seen him throw a punch. He was a weasel that talked himself out of every bad situation, usually by selling out even his closest friends, but he wasn’t a killer.
Ranger’s final notes gave his theory on the motive. “During the argument, the suspect snapped, grabbed a nearby cord and strangled the victim to death. Suspect’s fingerprints were found not only on the cord, but all around the room. The suspect is the victim’s music manager, but the company is fake.”
I read through the rest of the file, but no mention of his other aliases came up, and I was grateful I hadn’t used Amos’ real name when I’d talked with Ranger. He’d pick up on something like that. I doubted even that bought me much time. With an old pro like Ranger at the helm, the sand in my hourglass ticked too fast. By noon tomorrow he could have enough to bury Amos.
I clicked off my phone and tossed it on the seat next to me. The breeze blew through the window. Despite the winter months it was warm and breezy, and for some reason that angered me. I wanted storm clouds, thunder, lightning, something to match the emotions raging inside me. Focus wasn’t on my side. I wanted to hear Ryder’s voice once, enough to tell me he was going to be okay, that we were going to be okay. The open road beckoned me. The case was new and the work was going to exhaust me while I was still running on fumes from my time within Eden’s Haven.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Ryder was doing. I couldn’t help but think of his arms around me, his deep voice, and the way he’d looked at me the night of the bonfire. I couldn’t help but dive below all those feelings and let them drown me. My skin felt as though a thousand ants were scattered across the surface, and I couldn’t be still. I saw his dark eyes in my mind, smelled him as if he were in the seat next to me, felt his fingertips brushing over my arms, touching my lips. I needed him with me. I needed to be beside him. How did I expect to work on the case when my mind was still there with him in the hospital?
I snagged my phone and flipped on the PI Net app. I skipped by the open offers and moved straight to the messaging center, hoping to leave a message for Sleuth28.
Immediately a message popped up from Avery. “You back at work already? Or still ‘out of town’?”
Anger welled up inside me because everywhere I turned I ran smack into a new wall. I clicked the app closed without answering, still unsatisfied, still twitchy and frustrated. I wanted the quick road back to Ryder, but every avenue was closed, except one. I had to clear Amos’ name, the allotted time would pass, and I could go home.
Chapter 5
I pulled my car to a stop along the curb. It wasn’t that I expected Amos to be obediently waiting for me, but I thought he would at least be nearby. Flipping off the engine, I climbed out of the car and locked the door. He lived in a more urban part of the city. I laughed at my thoughts. Urban was the way my mother described anything dilapidated or run down on this side of town. In reality, it didn’t look dangerous, at least not the most dangerous place I’d ever been.
Graffiti adorned the farthest fence at the end of the dead-end street. A couple kids played basketball in the road. The sound of the ball hitting the rim echoed against the high apartment buildings. Maybe it was the apartments themselves that made the place look sketchy. A new coat of paint would go a long way. Bars on the windows made any sane person assume that crime ran rampant. But appearances could be deceiving, and I wagered that Honey B’s murder had rocked the immediate area. This city, while it had its faults, was a far cry from the real cities in the southern half of the state. Most of the city was made up of immigrants, farm workers, and blue-collar people trying to make it day to day. Somehow Amos had ended up in the middle of them.
A small crowd gathered at the end of the street. I moved in that direction, hoping that if Amos wasn’t in the crowd, perhaps someone there had seen him. Ten, maybe fifteen people, mostly older teenagers, gathered around someone. I pushed to the edge of the crowd seconds before a cheer went up. I’d found Amos, but he wasn’t in the crowd. He was the reason for the crowd.
He’d set up a shell game on a cardboard box, three red disposable cups sat top down on the surface, except the one he’d just exposed with the shell. Cash dropped onto the table, obviously not his first win from the stack he’d accumulated in the short time I’d been gone.
“You didn’t keep your eye on the prize!” he scolded the boy in front of him. He’d dropped his accent for the game, and I had to wonder if it was part of his Mack persona, all American. Then again, I’d never proved he was British in the first place.
The teenager rose up again, defeated, and it showed. He’d likely lost quite a bit to Amos, and from the low-income appearance of the neighborhood, I knew it wasn’t money he could lose.
“Who’s next?” Amos asked the crowd. “Any other takers?”
I thought about grabbing him by his ear and dragging hi
m away from his new friends like the child he was, but every child needs a lesson or two. I pulled a twenty from my wallet and pushed to the front of the crowd.
“Money plays?” I asked with a careful tilt to my eyebrow.
Fear flashed in his eyes, but challenge rose up and squelched it out again. Amos motioned to the space in front of his box where he knelt.
“Step into my office, my dear.” With one swift swing of his arm he flipped the cups down. “It’s simple really, keep your eye on the prize and double your cash. Lose sight, and it’s all mine.”
Shell games were all about focus. Three cups were placed face down on the box, but only one held the shell, or in this case, the pebble. Amos began to slide the cups around the box top in an effort to confuse me. I knew I had to not only watch my cup, but his hands as well. Too many times he‘d taught me in the past that the cups were a distraction. The real deception happened right in front of my face.
The cups halted and his grin spread crooked and wide. “Where’s your prize?”
I tapped the cup with the pebble. When his mouth tightened, I knew I was right. Amos let the cup fall back. The crowd went wild with cheers. I imagined not many won against Mack and his tricks.
“Aw, what a shame,” I cooed as he handed me my twenty plus another. Then in a lower volume I said, “Let’s go, Mack.”
“Wait.” He stopped me before I stood. “One more? Winner takes all?”
The proposition not only enticed me, but the rest of the crowd as well. I felt them all leaning in closer, wanting to know if it had been beginner’s luck, or if this new girl could really beat out the infamous Mack.
I rested back on my heels. “Winner takes all.”
The cups swirled in front of me. Instead of watching, I strained to hear the rattle of the pebble. He moved the cups faster this time, sometimes only his hands moved, though it appeared that the cups might be moving, and then all at once, the sound of the pebble ceased, and a moment later the cups did as well.
“Well,” he asked in his forced American accent, “where’s the shell?”
We used to do tests like this back when we’d worked together, back when we’d been a couple. He’d called it sharpening my skills, and we’d run the shell game for hours until I was right every single time. Then he let me run my own games. He wanted to see it now. He wanted to see if I was still as sharp as I’d been back then.
I tapped the cup on the farthest right side. “It’s not here.” I flipped it back. I tapped the farthest left side and said, “And it’s not here.” His mouth tightened like before, but it was deliberate this time, a red herring to make me think I was right.
“But the funny thing is, Mack,” I let the stress in his name fall flat as I whispered, “it’s not here either.” I flicked the cup with my index finger. It bounced from the table and caught him square in the chest. “It’s in your left hand.”
His tight mouth spread into a pained smile as he ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth and displayed the pebble in his left hand.
“Whoever taught you to play must have been a genius.”
The group of teens around me exploded in cheers and excitement. I snagged the stack of money and doled it out among those who were present. With a flick of my head I motioned that it was time to go. As we walked back to my car I knew in my gut that Ranger had to be wrong. Amos was devious, sure, but he was no killer.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Did you grab enough?” I asked as we merged onto the highway. “That backpack can’t hold very much.”
“Maybe I know that if the legendary Lindy Johnson is on the case, it won’t be long before my life is back to normal.”
It was a compliment, but I knew better than to believe it. Every word out of his mouth was a lie, and if it wasn’t, then it was a truth meant to manipulate. That was far worse.
“We need to get into Honey B’s apartment. I’d prefer to do it with a key. Do you know any of her friends? Maybe her super or landlord?”
His hand dug into his backpack that still perched on his lap like a fat child. “You can use mine.”
My eyes widened at the silver key dangling from the chain. “You have a key?”
The shrug he gave me pricked my frustration. “Yeah, of course.”
“Do the cops know you have a key?”
“I never told them.”
“Did they ask?”
He laughed as if it were all a big joke. “Of course they asked, but I knew how that would look, love.”
My grip tightened on the wheel in response to his words. “You lied, then?”
“No.” He drew the word out over two or three syllables. “I omitted some truth, that’s all.”
Words tumbled into my mind, accusations and threats, but the sheer quantity overwhelmed me.
“Omitted?” I asked with far too much tension.
“Yeah, they asked if I had access to a key.” He let the key jangle on his finger. “I didn’t have access because I was in custody. My bag was in my apartment.”
The city blew by on either side of my sedan, suddenly dizzying in its speed. “Amos, do you understand how hard it is to trust you?”
He pulled his chin in as I caught a quick glance across the car. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Sparrow.”
My palms grated against the wheel as my grip twisted. “Except that you have, multiple times. Our whole relationship was built on a lie.”
His hands came up to slow me down. “No, James lied to you. I never did. I’ve always been honest with you.”
“You are James. And you’re Mack, and every other alias you’ve ever used.” Clearly he didn’t agree. “Amos, how do I know that when I asked, did you murder Honey B, that you didn’t just omit the truth?”
“I didn’t, Lindy. I promise, I won’t lie to you.”
I couldn’t watch his face because I was driving, not that it would make much difference. Still, my instincts said he’d omitted something, maybe not murder, but something.
“You’re keeping something from me,” I said after a moment of silence. “I know that much.”
“We’ve been apart a long time,” Amos agreed, though I was sure it was nothing more than a distraction. “I’m sure there’s a great deal you don’t know, but I didn’t kill her.”
I let the sounds of the highway fill the space between us. Guilt and integrity told me I should disclose the information about the key to the authorities. Maybe they already assumed, or maybe it was the piece of evidence they needed to cinch the noose around Amos’ neck.
“Can we get lunch? I’m starved.” Amos changed the subject, as if we hadn’t just fought about murder. “I mean, obviously you’re anorexic now, but some of us still eat.”
“I’m not anorexic,” I said, unable to hide my annoyance, “but no, I want to get to Honey B’s apartment while most people are at work.”
“You want to talk about people hiding things, you’re top of the charts, love.” I felt his stare on me as he spoke. “You must have dropped thirty pounds since I last saw you. Those scars are new, and the animosity is definitely new. Why should I tell you about my life, when clearly you’re hiding just as much?”
The last thing I wanted to do was rehash everything that had happened in the last eight months. “Because I’m not a suspect for murder.” My mouth turned down into a frown. “If you want to keep your secrets, don’t get wrapped up in murder.”
Amos slumped back in his seat. The canvas of his backpack rustled as he wrapped his arms around it, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to give him anything. I wondered if it bothered him as much as his silence bothered me.
♦ ♦ ♦
Honey B’s apartment was in an older part of town, but still not the best neighborhood. In place of graffiti, there were questionable deals being made through car windows. In my experience, I knew that any one of those cars could be an undercover cop. I wasn’t ready for the local department to start getting wind of what I was up to. Ranger wouldn’t be surprised t
hat I was in Honey B’s apartment, but he wouldn’t like it either.
We kept our heads down as we moved between buildings A and D. I let Amos lead the way while I watched for anyone watching us. He pulled open the door to building D and scurried up the steps. I noted the way he turned his head as we passed an older woman, and then a man locking his door on the bottom floor. For once, Amos didn’t want to be seen. That knowledge did nothing for my trust issues. Likely these people would think he was a murderer, and that alone would make anyone want to hide their face, but if he had nothing to hide, then why act that way?
We climbed one flight of stairs to the second floor. I was glad she hadn’t lived by Amos’ theory of always on the top floor. My legs would have given out after too many more stairs. I ached for a nap. He paused at the door and stuck his head out into the hallway.
Another thought occurred to me. Amos might be playing the part for me, to look like the innocent man who’d been wrongly accused. There were too many trap doors to fall through when it came to Amos, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Finding a clear hall, Amos led the way to 216. His key easily opened the lock, and we stepped inside. It wasn’t a huge apartment by any standard, but she’d decorated it to show off her glitzy style. Black furniture, black drapes, and a black rug were all highlighted with pops of gold, shimmering and winking at me in the early afternoon light. The gold lamp still lay smashed on the ground, plaster from its shattered base dusting the beige carpet. The mirror on the wall had been smashed as well. A couple shards had tumbled to the ground, leaving me staring at three quarters of my face. The table was still set for two, candles still melted down to the tablecloth. Everything was right where the report had described, everything was just as it should be. Everything was as I expected, everything except Amos.
Where I had come to the center of the room to take in the entirety of it, Amos hung back at the door. Where I analyzed and took in every detail, Amos stared at his shoes, his arms wrapped across his chest, not in a defensive manner, but rather the way a child does when he’s nervous. If I made a sudden move I knew he might pull back or jump to protect himself. Something horrible had happened in this room, and my instincts told me Amos knew a lot more than what he’d told me before.
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