Before He Vanished (Winchester, Tn. Book 6)

by Debra Webb

  She turned to look at him as he was opening his door and standing up in the open doorway. She started to ask what the hell he was doing but before she could string the words together to rail at him he was getting back into the car.

  “Three-or four-car accident. Injuries, from the looks of things. We’re going to be here awhile.”

  Halle leaned her head back against the seat and groaned.

  She had to do something. She checked her rearview mirror and then her side mirror. Clear. She eased into the right-turning lane and turned onto a side street that would take them away from this logjam.

  No sooner than she turned, other cars started doing the same. The short street led around behind a gas station and intersected with Glenrose Avenue. She took a right on Glenrose and zigzagged over to Whitney Avenue. Whitney would take them beyond the accident and then they could take Vivelle back to Nolensville Pike.

  Hopefully.

  Her pulse was racing by the time she made all the turns and was back on Nolensville Pike heading toward their destination once more.

  It would be dark in another hour and she had a feeling Frank Austen would be gone forever, taking whatever secrets he knew with him.

  She slowed and made the turn into one of the few parking slots in front of the office. Austen’s office was a part of one of those low, squat strip buildings from a long-ago era. There were bars on the plate glass windows as well as the doors. The sign was turned to the “Closed” side. There were only the five parking slots, not an actual parking lot, and all were empty except the one she’d used. On the opposite end was a vacant office. Across the street was a check-cashing place and a smoke shop.

  They were out of the car and at the door and peering beyond the bars before either of them spoke. The deserted lobby was all that was visible from the front windows. A desk, a few chairs and a low table with a stack of magazines. From the dog-eared pages, she surmised they had likely been around a while. A single framed piece of artwork hung on the wall behind the desk. The decor looked as if it had been purchased at a budget motel fire sale.

  “Come on,” Liam said. “Let’s see if there’s parking or an entrance in the back.”

  Her heart thumping against her sternum, Halle followed Liam around the corner of the building.

  A black Ford Taurus sat close to the building, the trunk lid raised. Halle’s pulse jumped. He was here.

  Liam was suddenly pulling her behind him. She wanted to ask why but decided if he had a reason, staying quiet was the better idea. They moved together, like the perfectly choreographed steps of a pair of cops entering a crime scene.

  The back door was ajar. Halle knocked on it, causing it to push inward, and called out, “Mr. Austen! My name is Halle Lane. It’s very important that I speak to you. We tried to call you!”

  They waited. No answer. She called out again. Still nothing. Liam pushed the door fully open and eased inside. Halle stayed close behind him. The door led into a narrow corridor. The first door on the left was a bathroom. A few steps beyond on the right was a small lounge with a refrigerator and a microwave, a table and chairs.

  The next door on the left led into a fairly large office. No windows. A long row of file cabinets stood against one wall. Shelves loaded with books and framed documents lined another. In the middle of the room was a long metal desk with two chairs flanking it and another behind it but pushed back so that it sat against a cluttered credenza.

  Liam held up his hand. “Stay here.”

  She followed his gaze, noting the pile of folders on the desk that had been overturned.

  He moved around the desk and grimaced. “You might want to call that detective friend of yours now.”

  Halle skirted the desk and considered the dead man on the floor. Definitely Austen. She had pulled up photos of him on the internet. He had one bullet hole in the center of his forehead. His unseeing eyes stared at the ceiling. His crumpled legs were tucked under him in an odd angle.

  Liam knelt next to him and touched his carotid artery. “Definitely dead but he hasn’t been for long. His skin is still warm.”

  A chill raced over Halle. The killer could still be nearby. She pulled out her phone and dialed Derrick’s number. “Sorry I missed your call.” The statement seemed ridiculous under the circumstances but she needed a moment to frame how to tell him about the dead man on the floor in front of her or how she’d entered the premises without an invitation.

  “No problem. I’m at the Pub. I was just about to order another beer, where are you?”

  “I’m at Frank Austen’s office.” She provided the address. “He’s been murdered.”

  Derrick swore softly. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll call it in and head that way.”

  Halle put her phone away. “He said not to touch anything.”

  “We can look,” Liam suggested, “as long as we don’t touch, right?”

  “I believe we can.”

  Austen had been going through his files. The pile that had fallen over had sent folders and their contents sliding over the floor. He had probably been looking for ones he wanted to take with him or destroy. No PI would want his work files discovered by just anyone who walked in, especially the police.

  Halle read as many of the names on tabs as she could see. None were the Clarks. She moved to the file cabinets. She used the tail of her jacket to open first one drawer and then another. Liam glanced her way and she said, “I’m not touching it. My jacket is.”

  He laughed and started doing the same at the man’s desk, except he used a tissue from the box on the credenza to keep his prints off the drawer handles.

  When they had finished, they turned back to stare at the body on the floor. Liam said, “He could have something in his pocket. A thumb drive maybe.”

  Halle bit her lip. This would be their only chance to check. “That’s possible.”

  The smell of gasoline and then a distinct whoosh resonated from the back of the building. They’d left the door open.

  Halle started that way; Liam was close behind her.

  The explosion that followed was loud enough to deafen anyone in or near the building. Liam yanked her back into the office. Debris showered down in the corridor. Liam’s arms were around her, his body wrapped around hers like a shield.

  For a few seconds she couldn’t hear anything. Then there was the sound of flames hissing and sizzling. Liam stood, pulled her to her feet.

  “Was that his car that exploded?” she asked.

  “I can’t imagine what else it would’ve been.” He started forward again, moving toward the rear door through which they had entered. Halle stared at the pieces of metal and glass strewn across the floor. Damn. She’d been right. The killer had been hanging around.

  Liam stayed in front of her. When they reached the door he looked out first. She poked her head between him and the doorframe. The Taurus was in flames. Sirens were shrieking in the distance.

  “We should go around to the front,” Halle said, surveying the area in hopes of spotting the culprit—possibly Austen’s killer—responsible for that creepy feeling haunting her. Someone was watching them. She could still feel it. “Whoever did this might still be here.”

  When she would have stepped outside the door, Liam pulled her back. “Why don’t we stay in here until the police arrive?”

  Possibly he was right. Before she could say as much, a crash echoed from the lobby. Liam pushed her into the small lounge room.

  Someone was still inside.

  Breaking glass shattered the silence.

  “Whoever it is, is trying to get out,” Liam murmured.

  Halle looked up at him. “If the police aren’t out there by now, he’ll get away.”

  “You’re right.” Liam opened the door. “I’m going after him.”

  Some deeply buried instinct surged and Halle grabbed him by the jac
ket. “Wait,” she whispered.

  He twisted to look at her. “Do you smell that?”

  Was it the burning car?

  Gasoline. Raw. Freshly spilled.

  The whoosh that erupted next had Liam drawing back from the door he’d opened, ushering her back, as well. “We have to find a different way out of here.”

  Halle peeked past the still open door and quickly slammed it shut. Flames were rolling down the corridor, devouring anything in their path.

  “We need to hurry!”

  He rushed to the set of windows on the other side of the small lounge and unlocked first one and then the other. He pushed the sashes upward, the effort monumental since they clearly hadn’t been opened in ages. There were no screens.

  He turned back to her. “I’m going out first, just in case whoever did this is out there.”

  She started to argue but one long leg was already out the window. The other disappeared and he drew his upper body out. Halle glanced at the closed door, hoped no one burst through it or the flames crept under it. The smoke had already done so and invaded her lungs, making her cough.

  “Come on!”

  Liam reached through the window, grabbing for her.

  She swung a leg over and through the opening. His hands were suddenly on her waist, lifting her away from the danger.

  He pulled her away from the building until their bodies crashed into the end of the next one. The sun was setting, daylight going with it.

  A shadow whizzed past the alley between the two buildings.

  “Did you...?”

  Halle didn’t get to finish the question. Liam was already racing after the blur that had apparently been a person.

  She rushed to the front corner of the building, glanced at her car, then in the direction Liam had gone.

  She could follow in the car, catch up with him and whoever he was chasing.

  Before the thought fully formed in her head, she was in the car and driving in the direction Liam had disappeared.

  She caught sight of him.

  There was another man. Dark tee. Dark jeans. Running like hell but Liam was gaining on him. Her heart started to pound. She floored the accelerator. The car lunged forward. When she was a good distance in front of the stranger, she whipped right and slammed to a stop on the sidewalk in front of him.

  He almost ran into her car but he managed to skid to a near stop and slide past her front end.

  Liam was hot on his trail.

  She jumped out of the car and joined the chase. The man ducked into an alley. Liam followed. Halle pushed harder, plunged into the alley after them.

  The blast of a gunshot had her hitting the ground.

  Another shot. She gasped.

  Liam!

  She scrambled up and rushed forward. Liam had hit the ground, as well. Was he hurt? The other man had gone over the low wall at the end of the alley.

  She couldn’t chase him any longer. Had to make sure Liam was okay.

  He was on his hands and knees now. Halle dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  He got to his feet. Offered his hand to her and pulled her up. “Just my pride. I almost had him when he drew his weapon and started firing. I had no choice but to hit the dirt.”

  Halle’s knees tried to buckle.

  Liam pulled her against him. “Steady there. You okay?”

  She nodded, the move a little jerky. “Yes. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

  The sound of sirens split the air and Halle felt ready to collapse. She leaned against Liam as they retraced their steps. She ignored her car, leaving it where it was for now.

  For the first time since she started this investigation, she realized that there was at least one person who didn’t want the truth to be found and was willing to take drastic steps to prevent that.

  Mrs. Clark’s murder could have been a robbery of some amount of cash she had hidden that no one had known about. Maybe a random act of violence.

  But this, this was unmistakable.

  This murder victim had something to hide.

  Chapter Twelve

  NOW

  Derrick showed up while the firefighters were working to put out the fire. An ambulance had arrived. Four police cruisers. Now the medical examiner’s van.

  It was dark and the smells of burning wood, charring metal and melting plastic were thick in the air. The paramedics had insisted on checking Halle and Liam for injury.

  She wasn’t injured. She was angry and frustrated. Not to mention worried sick that yet another murder had been committed because of her article.

  What the hell was happening?

  It was possible, she supposed, that none of this was about Andy Clark or her investigation into what happened to him...but every instinct she possessed screamed differently.

  This was about Andy. Her gaze landed on Liam where he stood near one of the police cruisers, watching the activities going on around them. Someone did not want the truth to come out. Whatever secrets the past held, whatever evil had stolen Andy Clark, she had awakened that evil, and now two people were dead. If the man who died today, the PI Frank Austen, was the person who killed Mrs. Clark or been involved somehow, there remained at least one more someone who wanted to keep the past in the past.

  The person who had either killed Austen or hired him killed.

  Her gaze sought and found Liam once more. Her story, The Lost Boy, had set off a chain of events: Liam’s appearance in Winchester, Mrs. Clark’s murder and now the destruction of an office and the murder of the man who operated his business there. At this point, Liam surely understood that he was without doubt Andy Clark. The only person who could possibly want to keep that truth hidden was the person who took him as a child. His father was dead, so, obviously he wasn’t the murderer.

  But what about his stepmother? She was supposed to be in Paris. Was she capable of violence like this? Even simply hiring it done?

  Would a person go that far—killing two people—to hide a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping? Would the statute of limitations have run out on the kidnapping? Why add two murders to the list?

  There had to be more to the disappearance of Andy Clark than they knew.

  “Let’s go over this again, Halle,” Derrick said. He settled on the dock bumper of the ambulance next to her.

  “I’ve already told you everything,” she reminded him. The truth was, she knew the routine. The police always repeated the same questions just to see if your answers were consistent. No matter that she and Derrick were friends, he had a job to do.

  “You know the drill.”

  She did. She exhaled a weary breath. “As you know from the article I did on The Lost Boy, I’m digging around in the Andy Clark case.”

  He nodded. “What brought you to Nashville to talk to Austen?”

  “My parents were friends, neighbors, with the Clarks. My mother remembered them going to a private detective when the police weren’t able to find Andy. To follow up on that theory, I started with the one in Winchester my folks believed the Clarks had visited. He tried to help them but hit a brick wall, so he sent them to another PI in Tullahoma. The one in Tullahoma had recommended them to Austen.”

  “But you said he couldn’t remember Austen’s name.”

  There it was, an inconsistency. The man didn’t miss a thing. Halle dipped her head. “Right. But he did remember the attorney who worked with the PI, David Burke.”

  Derrick shook his head. “Now that guy is a piece of work. I swear, I wouldn’t put it past him to run for president in the next election. He’s that cocky and has that kind of money.”

  “Yeah, I kind of got that impression,” she agreed.

  “You visited Burke and he gave you Austen’s name.”

  “Yes, but the two haven’t worked together in years. He said Austen
had decided to go out on his own.”

  “When you were in Austen’s office did you see anything I should know about that won’t incriminate you or your friend?”

  It would have been impossible to miss the emphasis he put on friend or the fact that he blatantly sent a look in Liam’s direction. Men could certainly be territorial. Even when they didn’t have the right.

  “The front door was locked. The sign in the window was turned to Closed. But his neighbor had spotted him hauling a suitcase out of his house. She got the impression he was in a hurry, like someone was after him. Considering that information, we ignored the Closed sign.”

  Derrick quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I suggested we go around back of his office to see if his car was here. It made sense that if he was making a run for it—for whatever reason—he might want to grab things from his office. You know, a file or part of some case that was important to him. Maybe a hidden stash of cash.”

  “Did you see a hidden stack of cash?”

  “No.” She smiled, indulging his teasing. “As I said, we came around to the back of the building and there was his car. I had asked the neighbor what kind of car he drove, so I recognized it immediately. The trunk was open, which suggested he was, indeed, in the office.”

  Derrick made that rolling motion with his hand for her to go on.

  “We walked to the rear entrance. The door was ajar, so I knocked loudly and called out his name. I identified myself and said that I needed to speak with him. There was no response, so I waited a few seconds and called out again. It was clear something was wrong, so we went inside to check it out.”

  “It didn’t occur to you to call the police and allow us to handle it? I was waiting for you at the Pub, you know.”

  Things could get sticky here. She shook her head. “Metro is busy enough without me calling to say a door is ajar on a business when the owner’s car was clearly parked next to it. I figured he had his head in a filing cabinet or closet and just didn’t hear me. How foolish would I have looked if I’d called it in and then your guys showed up and—”