Threads of Suspicion

by Dee Henderson

  “Common sense must tell you the same,” Nancy said, almost imploring. “If something had snapped that night, if Jim had been involved, he wouldn’t have said a word to you about seeing Jenna at the coffee shop at midnight or mentioned walking her home. No one has known that for the last nine years.”

  “Actually, I discovered this morning that two others in the neighborhood did see him walking with her,” Evie mentioned. “They didn’t tell anyone before this because they liked him, didn’t want to jam him up on speculation. But the two were seen together.”

  Nancy bit her lip. “Surely there’s more evidence to say what did happen to Jenna that night, other facts that will clear Jim?”

  “The facts and theories on this case fill plenty of pages by now,” Evie reassured. Her phone chimed with another photo match. She checked the photo and name—neither generated recognition. She pocketed the phone again, gave a small smile in apology. “Another angle being actively pursued right now.”

  Evie picked up a cookie, if only to keep the conversation going and on an informal level. “I’m looking for the truth in as many directions as it takes until I can find out what happened. I’m going to need to sit down with Lynne for an extended conversation in a day or two. It would help me to know what Jim talks to Lynne about today or tomorrow—if he tells her any of this or leaves the past alone.”

  “I doubt he mentions anything about Jenna to her, but if he does, I’ll let you know how Lynne responds. I realize that conversation is going to have to happen. However I can help my daughter, it matters that you let me.”

  “I’ll do my best not to surprise Lynne or you, Nancy, with the way the case unfolds. That’s the best I can offer.”

  “I’ll take it, and thank you.”

  Evie pushed back her chair and stood. “Thanks for your time.” She held up the cookie. “These are great, by the way.” She headed back out.

  Evie wasn’t surprised to find David had yet to retreat to the hotel for some sleep. “Are you swimming in caffeine yet?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe to the conference room.

  He smiled. “The tiredness comes in waves. Another hour and I’ll abandon you, crash at Maggie’s for the evening.”

  Evie looked at the whiteboard, caught off guard by the running tally. “Two hundred sixty-three names? Are you kidding me?”

  David laughed. “I’ve only sent you photos of those with backgrounds that look to be a match, those who lived around Ellis nine years ago, attended Brighton College, that kind of thing.” He swiveled toward the board. “The rest of this is actually fascinating—the type of people who filled the rope line last night. Most were there to see the who’s who of Chicago. I’ve been making educated guesses and categorizing them into groups as I pull up background info.

  “Four are names I recognize, people known to be a problem for Maggie. Eighteen have criminal records, mostly car thefts and drug offenses. Twenty-six names went to the same college as one of our missing women. I’m digging into all those, looking for any sign one of them could be our concert traveler.”

  “You’re making rapid progress.”

  “It feels like it, but it’s going to take the weekend plus a few days to generate backgrounds on this many names. Once the bulk of the facial recognition is done, we’ll want to step back and use all the data we have, develop a top-ten list to interview.”

  “I’m all over that,” Evie agreed.

  “How did your interviews go regarding Jim?”

  “I confirmed part of his story, that he did walk Jenna home. It eliminates the coffee shop as the site of what happened, shifts it back to the apartment building. The rest of the conversations filled in how I see him. I still think it could be him even when I don’t want it to be.”

  David’s laptop chimed. “Another batch from the FBI—twenty-seven names I’ll send to the printer.”

  “Where do you want me next?”

  “Let me send the full list to your account. I haven’t run the names against Maggie’s database yet. If any of these people ordered tickets from the website or purchased other memorabilia, we can send their credit-card numbers through the big credit-card search.”

  “Perfect.”

  Evie moved to her desk, wished she hadn’t run out of sweet-tarts, and made a mental note to at least buy some jelly beans. She could feel the case beginning to tip over like a wall of bricks. The pressure was doing its job.

  “Evie.”

  At the urgent call, she looked over to see David roll his chair back to rap on the glass, his other hand holding the receiver of the landline. She saved her file and hurried to join him.

  He covered the mouthpiece. “The FBI team working the three smothered victims and the composite partial print just got a hit.” He uncovered the receiver. “Tell me that name again.”

  “Andrew Timmets,” he relayed, then spelled the last name. “Indiana license, 78 Mallard Road in Indianapolis. He’s in the system because he’s got a business license as a locksmith. He’s twenty-seven. They just pinned his credit-card numbers to four of the five concert locations and dates. All but Tammy.”

  “They’ve got him!”

  David grinned. “Yes, they do. So that means we do.”

  She spun his laptop on the conference table to face her and quickly ran the name against her favorite working lists.

  David covered the receiver and said to her, “The FBI guys are now hollering over speakerphones with both Indiana and Ohio or I’d put this on speaker too.”

  “I’ll take the relays. He’s a Brighton music student who didn’t graduate. That fits. And I’ve got him in Maggie’s fan database. There’s a blue flag on the name with a four-digit number . . . what’s that mean?”

  David winced. “A photo was taken with Maggie. If she stands with someone at a public event for a quick shot by her photographer, a copy of that photo gets mailed to the fan.”

  “Can I access that photo so we have a picture of him?” Evie asked.

  “The FBI is sending a photo over now.” David pinned the phone against his shoulder as he swiveled to check incoming mail on the desktop computer. “And here it is.” He clicked the image to full screen.

  David broke in on the phone chatter. “Hey, guys, guys! He’s in Chicago, not Indiana. Or was twenty-four hours ago. I can put him on the rope line here Friday night.”

  He pointed to the video feeds. “Run the video back to around six p.m., before the event starts, back of the hotel.”

  Evie searched for the guy around the time David remembered.

  “There!”

  She stopped the video.

  “That’s him.”

  David shifted back to the phone. “I’m looking at him on Friday night. We need a BOLO out on his car between Chicago and Indiana. What’s he driving? Odds are he spent the night here before traveling back. He attended Brighton College for a time, so I’m guessing he’s got friends in this broader area. What’s on his credit cards? Did we get lucky and he stayed at a hotel?”

  “He drives a silver-and-gray Accord, sports model, license FST 616,” David relayed. “There’s a white van registered to the locksmith business, license BVR 3293.”

  Evie had grabbed a marker and was writing down the information on the whiteboard.

  “No credit-card activity in the Chicago area,” David continued. “Last charge was Thursday at a gas station two blocks from his home.”

  “Staying with friends? Traveling on cash? Prepaid credit cards?” Evie suggested. Her attention was now pinned to the security feeds—what he was doing, what he was paying attention to, who he was speaking with at the back of the hotel. He didn’t look like a murderer, more like the college kid still living next door, young, neat haircut, clean-shaven, moving quietly through the crowd.

  David got up and began pacing, the phone cord corralling him to within a dozen feet of his chair. “We need to get an APB out on him, for the Chicago area as well as Indiana. The BOLO is going to be helpful, but it’s the guy we want t
o hold on to. We need to figure out how to pick him up tonight. Can we ping his phone, get a location on that? Surely we’ve got enough to get a locate warrant.”

  “David, he’s talking with Lynne.”

  David whipped around to view the streaming security footage.

  Evie felt herself breaking out in a cold sweat. She saw no signs he was invading Lynne’s personal space, trying to lift a wallet, but they were having a long and animated conversation. Lynne’s smile flashed more than a few times at something he said. “Move away from her. Come on. Move on, speak with someone else,” Evie whispered, her voice tight.

  David’s hand tightened on her shoulder. He sped up the video so they could see the length of the interaction.

  Evie snatched up her phone, clicked on a phone number. “Mrs. Benoit, is Lynne home?” She shook her head at David. “It’s important I find your daughter now. I have a photo I need to show her.”

  Evie silenced the phone. “She thinks Lynne’s still with Jim at the coffee shop. She’ll text to get that confirmed, ask her to stay put.” David nodded.

  “Yes, let me know, Nancy.”

  Evie watched the feed with her heart pounding. It wasn’t good. He talked to Lynne for more than ten minutes, then moved on. But thirty minutes later, he was back talking with her again. Evie watched Lynne share what looked like a thermos of coffee with him—being herself, nice Lynne, not reading this guy properly. He walked out of range just after eight p.m., didn’t reappear in the camera feeds.

  Nancy’s text confirmed Lynne was at the coffee shop with Jim, and Evie’s heart rate settled.

  “We need to know what those conversations were about.” David ran back the video and froze the security-camera image of Andrew and Lynne talking together, sent the image to the printer. He also sent the FBI photo of Andrew to the printer. “Let’s go find her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Guys,” he said into the receiver on his shoulder, “I’m changing phones. Patch me into the conference call on my cell.”

  David nudged her with his elbow, pulled out his keys and held them up. She smiled as she took them, not surprised he wanted the longer leg room of his vehicle over hers.

  Evie drove to the music store and coffee shop, not using the flashing lights because the situation didn’t warrant it, but pushing the speed where she safely could.

  “Indiana PD has an unmarked car at Andrew’s house,” David relayed. “There’s no sign of his car, lights are off, mail still in the box—hasn’t been home today.”

  “Can they get a warrant with the info they have?”

  “Someone from the FBI team is vigorously arguing that question with a judge right now,” David said.

  He joined the ongoing conference call. “Let’s knock on neighbors’ doors, ask where he might be staying in Chicago, what hotel, which friends. Say there’s an emergency. Just get officers to find someone who can place him. If you have to, get a neighbor to call his cell, invent a reason for the call—there’s a gas leak in the neighborhood, a car hit a tree in his yard, something like that.”

  She scanned the street and adjacent lots for any sign of Andrew’s car in case he’d followed Lynne.

  The coffee shop was busy on a Saturday evening. Evie noted the full tables inside. Dinner hour. My dinner date with Rob . . . As soon as she parked, she sent a quick text: case breaking, sorry have to cancel.

  Jim was behind the coffee bar. And there’s Lynne. Evie’s heartbeat slowed into normal territory as she walked toward the young woman sitting on a stool near the popcorn maker. She was keeping the paper popcorn bags filled for the crowd.

  It was Jim who spotted her first, spilling the iced coffee he was making. He shook the liquid off his hand, dumped it, and reached for a rag to clean up. He called something to the woman working with him. She nodded and started in on a new drink.

  Jim ducked under the counter and came around, stopping beside Lynne, who was facing the other way and so hadn’t seen them enter. Jim motioned toward the music store, and Evie diverted that direction, David following.

  Wiping his hands on his apron, Jim stepped through the connecting doorway. Lynne was right behind him with a welcoming smile.

  “I didn’t recognize you yesterday,” Jim commented to David, his expression calm, but his eyes looking wary. “You’re Maggie’s David, right? You really did buy that keyboard for her—they weren’t joshing me?”

  “Maggie’s going to be composing on that keyboard as soon as the music room is ready at her home,” David replied easily. “Hello, Lynne. I’m sorry your name wasn’t drawn so you could attend the concert inside.”

  “You pointed me out to Maggie. I saw you do it. That was nice of you.”

  David smiled. “She remembers the tangelos you brought to the dressing room for her that night. That was nice of you.”

  “Thanks. Mom sent me this weird message. I was supposed to stay put until you showed me a photo?”

  “There’s someone you met last night behind the hotel,” David began. “I’d like you to take a look at the picture and tell me what you remember about your conversation.”

  “Sure.”

  David must have been recognized by someone in the coffee shop, as a couple of college students were now glancing his way and whispering together near the arched doorway leading into the music store. Evie shifted her jacket to show her badge, shook her head, and they left again.

  David showed Lynne the first photo he’d printed.

  “This is before the evening got started,” Lynne said immediately. “See the empty spot here? That’s where the bus parked with the choir kids. They arrived after the program started since they were the last ones onstage. And this space here, that’s where the florist’s van parked. Did you see the white roses for Maggie’s concert? I stayed on the rope line until she arrived, then went to the back to watch the crew come and go.”

  David listened patiently until she stopped to take a breath, then tapped the photo of Lynne talking to Andrew Timmets. “It’s good you dressed warmly for the evening. Do you remember what you two were talking about?”

  Lynne wrinkled her forehead. “Just casual stuff.”

  “Can you remember some topics?” David asked. “Anything you said, he said?”

  Lynne pointed out a woman in the background. “He was asking if that was Maggie’s hairdresser. I told him no, that’s Jessica Noland, who styles mostly politicians’ and their wives’ hair. She was probably there to help one of the platform guests. Maggie has her own stylist, and she was already inside. Not that there aren’t good ones in Chicago she could use,” Lynne said earnestly. “For music videos produced in Chicago, bands often use Kathy Gibson, Evelyn Marsh, or Tate Philips, while Maggie is loyal to Amy Frond. And I’d seen Amy and her assistants arrive shortly after Ashley carried in Maggie’s wardrobe box.”

  David tapped the photo of the man talking with Lynne again. “Did he say anything personal, his name or where he was from? Did he sound like someone from Chicago?”

  “Indiana,” Lynne said promptly. She patted her left wrist. “His watch was Indiana Bluedogs. That’s basketball, and a collector’s piece. It’s exclusively for sale to alumni, or I suppose you could buy one from other alumni. Most people don’t wear watches anymore, unless it’s the smart kind, so the college must mean something to him. He wasn’t old enough to have been out of college that many years.”

  “That’s really helpful information, Lynne,” David encouraged. “What else do you remember? It looks like he talked to you again about half an hour later.”

  “He was staying with friends and arrived late, missed Maggie coming in because he couldn’t find a place to park. He wasn’t a hotel guest and didn’t qualify to use their parking lot. He finally found street parking in a neighborhood and walked a mile to the hotel. He wasn’t dressed for the weather. He had a warm jacket and gloves, but not a decent hat or boots, only tennis shoes. I’d brought a big thermos along, so I shared my coffee with him. He made that face tha
t says he’s not accustomed to drinking it with so much sugar.”

  “Did he say anything about his friends, the people he was staying with?”

  “I got the impression it was a married couple rather than college buddies, but he really didn’t say much more. Just said ‘she’ when he mentioned being glad he was staying somewhere less costly than this hotel, and said, ‘He didn’t warn me about the parking problems.’”

  “Was he interested in anyone else who came or went?”

  “No, but most people were already inside by six p.m.”

  “Did he comment on your Triple M sweatshirt?”

  “He said something like ‘a fellow fan’ when he first walked up, like there weren’t all that many of us in the crowd. It’s hard to tell how many Triple M fans were there when everybody’s bundled up, but I knew several from Maggie’s local fan page who said they were going to be there. Some of us hung out and shared photos of Maggie while we waited for the program to conclude. We were getting tweets from a few lucky enough to be inside, which had a few pictures of Maggie, but no one had good sound so we could hear her.”

  David tapped the photo again. “Did you tell him much about yourself?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Your name? How you met Maggie?”

  “It would have been rude not to give my name when we’re having a fairly long conversation. I said I was a fan of Maggie’s, that it was wonderful to have her back in Chicago. Oh, and he said something about a long drive to see her.” Lynne closed her eyes, pondering the wording. “‘It will be worth the long drive to see her.’ Like that. He mostly seemed distracted to me—he was impatient for more activity, more coming and going, thought there would be a bigger crowd. You have to be patient if you want to capture the experience of a rope line. You need to wait for the action to come to you. He was all over the place, walking down past the vehicles, circling back to the front of the hotel, rejoining us at the back. You lose the best vantage points when you move around that way.”

  She thought for a long moment, shook her head. “He was nice enough but never said his name. He didn’t stay to see Maggie leave. I told him she would use the back exit when the evening was over, she always does at events, but he must have thought she’d use the front and missed her leave like he missed her arrive. That would have totally bummed me out if I’d traveled a ways to see her.” Lynne flashed David a smile. “Maggie looked great. She’s been working out in New York, you can tell. She’s gorgeous—her photos don’t do her justice.”