She googled Carl Long and got nothing besides a single, inactive social media account and some articles about the B&E.
So he was keeping a low profile. It was either because he reached the point in his life where he didn’t see the value in keeping the world informed of his every move or because he was trying to live off the grid. At the least, she had a wedge that might work to get Carl Long to open up. But, for now, she’d let him stew in the drunk tank. It was surprising how cooperative and talkative a night in holding could make a person.
She tapped her foot, returning again to the question, how did Carl Long know Saul Abbott?
Not his partner in crime, she wrote on her notepad. Followed down the page by Relative? Coworker?... She tapped her pen. Cellmate?
She picked up her phone and placed the necessary calls. Weekend or not, it wouldn’t matter. She requested a list of all the prisoners Carl Long had shared a cell with. She was told it could take a bit to dig up those records.
More waiting. But she could go pay the body shop a visit on the off chance they’d be open on a Sunday and would have something to offer as to Abbott’s identity or his whereabouts.
“Hey, so I’ve got updates.” Terry was approaching with a cup of bullpen brew. With her delicate constitution, she couldn’t even think about drinking one right now. She crumpled the wrapper of her bar and threw it into the garbage can under her desk, hoping Terry wouldn’t notice. Too late. He angled his head and gave her his are-you-serious look.
“What’s the news?”
Terry set his cup on the corner of her desk and flipped through his notebook. “The canvassing officers haven’t found anything helpful. No one saw Carson on the street or heard anyone at their door in the night.”
She wasn’t surprised by this news, but still disappointed. “And…”
“Cynthia has submitted a request to Stiles Wireless for Carson’s phone records.”
“The trace on it?”
He shook his head. “No dice. So the phone’s likely off and/or destroyed, wherever it is.”
“Her laptop or journals… They tell us anything?”
Terry smirked, took a slow draw on his coffee, set the cup back on her desk. “Cynthia just got in about an hour ago and didn’t make it home until the wee hours. Let’s cut her some slack.”
“So we don’t have anything or…”
“It’s a work in progress. She did say, however, that she was going to start running photos of Saul Abbott through facial rec software this afternoon. Might take a while for something to come back—if it does. As for the laptop, she said there are a lot of password-protected files.”
“Ah.” Madison sat up straighter. “That could indicate that Carson had something to hide.”
“Quite possibly.” He nudged his head toward her. “How did you make out? Taking a stab here—”
She groaned. Such a horrible play on words at any time, let alone when working a murder case with that cause of death. “Saul Abbott wasn’t Long’s partner in crime. It was some guy named Peter Harris.” She went on to tell him about the body shop and her call to the prison.
“Huh.” He fell quiet but held eye contact.
“You want to call it a day?” She wagered a guess.
“I was hoping to salvage some of my Sunday.”
He probably wanted nothing more than to settle in with his wife and daughter. She thought of going home to Troy and Hershey, and while it held appeal, she was afraid she might come out and confront him about the lack of a proposal. And that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. “Go on,” she told Terry.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
“See ya tomorrow.” He tapped a hand on her shoulder and left. She imagined dust swirling in his haste to get out of there.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at it. She should head home too. She could use her willpower and not attack Troy, or maybe the best thing would be to get everything, including how she was feeling, out in the open. She was just terrified she might not like his response. And there was at least one lead she might be able to follow today, Sunday or not. If that didn’t pan out, there was still the matter of the mystery woman. Combined, she could probably be home in a few hours, in plenty of time for dinner, assuming she could stomach real food.
She brought up the text app, intent on telling Troy when he could expect her, her hands jittering, but found she had an unread message from him.
Called in. Probably won’t be home until quite late. Pls confirm you rec’d msg. Hershey will need someone home. xo
Of all the times for him to be called in for a job.
She stared at the hug and kiss. That small expression of love felt like a betrayal these days, as if mocking her. A single hug. A single kiss. Then again, Troy was never big on adding a string of them to any message. She was reading far too much into this. She was disappointed though. She was finally going to make time to spend with him, and he wasn’t around.
But she looked at the time stamp on the message. His text had come in an hour ago, and Hershey would be fine for a bit longer. No need to put off her plans. Her day would just end differently than she’d imagined.
She keyed back, Stay safe. Love you xo
Those last two words locked in her brain as she put her phone back in her pocket. She did love that man, more than she should. Sure, she’d made a vow to love wholeheartedly, but it was made when she thought she was going to die a couple years ago. Surely it didn’t count. There was something to be said about getting out of a relationship before it sucked you down like the Titanic.
-
Nineteen
Before heading out, Madison checked the operating hours for Chassis Worx, the body shop where Carl Long had worked after prison. She was in luck because they boasted hours of twenty-four seven, and that would probably make them the only garage open in Stiles on Sundays.
She drove over in her Mazda, figuring from there she’d go to her storage unit and proceed to see what she could muster up regarding the mystery woman’s identity. That, of course, was somewhat dependent on what the people at Chassis Worx had to tell her. She promised, though, even if she got a solid lead on Saul Abbott, she’d have to leave it for another day. After all, Hershey would need her at home by the dinner hour.
A bell rang when she opened the front door of the shop. The bay doors were all shut, but through the windows, she could see some mechanics working away. None of them responded to her arrival, though, so she stuck her head through the doorway that connected the front office to the garage.
“Hello,” she called out.
An air compressor came to life in response, and she was just about to round the first vehicle when a man approached from the back, wiping dirty, greasy hands on a rag.
“What can I do for you?” He squinted at her and let his gaze trail over her body.
She would have loved to push his eyes back in his skull. Instead, she drew her badge. “Detective Madison Knight.”
“Ah.” He groaned and looked away.
She’d had warmer receptions, but she’d certainly had cooler. “I’m here to ask about a former employee.” The man’s brows pinched like he was having a hard time hearing her. She continued, speaking louder. “Are you the manager?” She was going by her gut, but she anticipated a positive response.
“Yep. Luke Landers.”
“Mr. Landers, do you have someplace private to talk?” And quieter.
He waved her through the door she’d come through, back into the front area and shut the door. Surprisingly, it buffered out the racket quite well.
“What employee?” he asked.
“Carl Long.”
“Oh, I haven’t heard that name in a while.”
“I understand that he worked for you for seven years?”
/>
“Yeah, but he left a few years ago now. He in some sort of trouble?”
“Hard to say yet.” And trouble was a relative term. Guilty of murder? Unlikely. Abetting a murderer? Possibly. Playing a role in defrauding women and the government? Likely. “Why did he leave?” She knew it wasn’t another job from the background report.
“Told me he found another job.”
“Huh. Did you know where?”
“He didn’t say; I didn’t ask.”
Madison nodded and brought up a photo of Saul Abbott on her phone and extended the screen for him to see. “Do you know that man?”
Landers studied it, eventually said, “Uh-huh.”
Madison’s heart raced. Maybe this was how they would find out Abbott’s real name. “His name?”
“Oh, I should have been clearer.” He looked from her phone to her eyes. “I recognize him.”
All hope that had fired in her belly burned out. “Oh, well, maybe he worked for you while Carl did?” She certainly hadn’t done any good hiding her disappointment.
“No,” he said firmly and waved a hand. “But he was a friend of Carl’s. He came around a couple times. Can’t say I really liked the guy either. Gave me a bad feeling.”
“In what way? Like he was violent or…”
“No, nothing like that, but he was shady. Just sort of twitchy. Didn’t trust him.”
“Okay, well, thank you for your time.” She pulled her card and handed it to him. “If you happen to remember his name…”
“I won’t. Don’t think I ever heard it; otherwise, it would be in the vault.” He tapped a finger to the top of his head.
Madison simply smiled at him and left. She’d discount the entire visit to the body shop as a waste of time, but she received another perspective on Abbott’s character. All they’d been running on so far was what they’d heard from Lana Barrett. They knew Abbott was shady, but according to Landers, Abbott didn’t strike him as a violent man. Either Landers didn’t know how to read people—and their strongest person of interest in this case was going to be a dead end—or Abbott had changed.
-
Twenty
Madison pulled up to the storage facility and realized she rarely saw it in the light of day. She parked her Mazda around back, out of view of the road, just as a precaution. For the same reason, she kept checking over her shoulder as she made her way to her unit, unlocked the padlock, and entered.
She flipped on the light, lowered the door, and walked over to the desk. She waited for her computer to boot up and racked her brain for how she was going to broach the hunt for the mystery woman’s identity. Ideas came to mind, but she didn’t want to run with them unless necessary. One was to go back to Leland King and see if he did know her. He hadn’t told her he did, but knowing the reporter the way she did, it wouldn’t surprise her if he held that tidbit back—to protect her, his mother, himself. A second idea, even more crazy, was to visit the former police chief, Patrick McAlexandar, in prison. He was facing a murder charge and had ties with the Mafia—that wasn’t in question—but if she wanted him to talk, she’d have to offer something, and she wasn’t in the habit of making deals with criminals.
She logged in and opened the photo that Leland King had taken at Club Sophisticated: the one that showed Phelps, Murphy, Wright, and the mystery woman. Madison zoomed in on the woman’s face. She’d learned a lot from watching Cynthia work over the years and made a copy of the file first, then she cropped the picture so it was just the woman and saved that image.
As the woman’s eyes stared back at her, she was unmistakably the woman who had exited the club last night. If only Claws hadn’t interrupted Madison’s getting into position, she might have captured an even better shot, but this was what she had to work with, and it could be worse.
But as she stared at the face on her monitor, she felt something déjà vu-like. As if the woman were someone she knew or had known before, like the whisper of a memory she couldn’t quite tack down.
“Who are you?” she asked out loud, and as her voice echoed back to her ears, she felt like she was going mad. Was she expecting an answer? Lunacy.
Dark hair, just past shoulder-length, and a petite, lean frame. She was well dressed in the photo that Leland had taken, as she was when Madison had seen her outside the club Saturday night. A wise assumption was she had money.
Madison’s gut was screaming she was affiliated with the mob, but how to prove that? She could wait outside the club for her to leave and tail her, see where she went, and conduct a reverse-address search. Assuming, of course, the property where she’d be going would be under her name.
But one step at a time.
She brought up Google Images, clicked on the little camera icon in the search bar, and uploaded the new graphic she’d made with the woman’s face only and waited on the results. She didn’t need to wait long. A page worth of images came up and Madison studied each in turn. These women had similar faces, but none of them were her mystery woman.
She drummed her fingers on her desk. It was Sunday. The woman could return to the club tonight, and Madison could execute her idea to stalk her. But she had Hershey to care for. Still, the woman likely wouldn’t be at the club until late again—if she did show. That would afford Madison plenty of time to go home, feed Hershey, hang around, and then head out.
Surely there had to be an easier way.
Her gaze stuck on the woman’s face, and it clicked. There was another option that just occurred to her, but Cynthia wouldn’t like it—not if Madison came right out and admitted who this woman was and why Madison was interested in her identity. But if she could somehow make Cynthia think the mystery woman was connected to the Carson case…
Cynthia did, after all, have facial recognition databases at her fingertips.
Madison headed to the station after calling Cynthia to confirm she was still there. Apparently not for much longer, but if Madison could “get her butt there yesterday,” Cynthia would see what she could do.
She knocked on the lab’s doorframe and kept going. Cynthia was sitting at her desk, a laptop in front of her.
Madison pointed to it. “Is that Carson’s?”
“Yes. I’m seeing if I can crack the passwords.” She swiveled and clapped her hands together between her knees.
“I’d say you’re not having much luck.”
“Thus far anyway. Grr.”
Madison laughed. Forgetting, for the moment, about her friend’s connection with Garrett Murphy.
“What is it that I can do for you? But make it quick.” Cynthia smiled.
Madison handed her a data stick. “There’s an image on there, and I need you to run it through facial rec.”
“Okay.” Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “Who is it?”
Madison had prepared herself for that question before heading over, and she had an answer. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your help.”
“Smart-ass.” Cynthia giggled and stuck the drive into her computer. She brought up the image and turned to Madison, her eyes seeking a little more information.
“She’s a person of interest.” Not a lie and something Madison was comfortable in saying.
“Oh, is it someone you suspect of being that con man’s new girlfriend? You think that maybe this girl killed Carson because she was jealous or something?” Cynthia raised her eyebrows.
“It’s possible, right?” Madison tossed out and held eye contact with her friend until she nodded. Is a lie by omission still a lie?
“Absolutely. How you didn’t kill Sovereign is beyond me.”
Toby Sovereign had been her cheating fiancé. “So you’ll help me—”
“Hey, yo.” Garrett Murphy walked into the lab, and Cynthia got up to greet him with a friendly hug. Madison stood in front of the monitor. The last thing she needed was for him to see the woman
, apparently an acquaintance of his, on the screen. Best case, there’d be a slew of uncomfortable questions. Worst case, she could put herself and possibly Cynthia in danger.
“Hey, Detective.” Murphy gave her a weak wave to accompany his lame, detached greeting.
“Hi.”
“You’re coming over, right?” Cynthia asked Murphy. “Lou would be disappointed if you canceled.”
“You bet. I’m just dropping in to confirm what time you want me there. I asked Lou, but he said you were here and to check with you. I guess he couldn’t reach you.”
“Sounds about right. I’ve been holed up in here, slaving away.” Cynthia glanced at Madison.
“What time?” Murphy asked.
“Let’s go with six. Sound good?”
“Works for me. See you in—” he consulted his wristwatch “—about an hour and a half. Bye, Detective.” Murphy waved to Madison before turning to leave, and she was quite certain he was trying to see past her to the screen. But maybe it was just paranoia at work.
“That guy’s clueless half the time, but I put up with him because of Lou,” Cynthia said and returned to her desk as Madison shuffled to the side.
“Oh—” Murphy popped his head through the door.
Madison’s heart hammered, and she tried to keep calm, but the mystery woman’s face was right there.
“Does Lou have that beer I like?”
“How would I know?” Cynthia kicked back. “Call him for that.”
“Bye.” Murphy was gone again, and hopefully, for the foreseeable future.
Cynthia flailed her hands. “See what I mean? Clueless.”
Madison had another word float to mind. Corrupt.
“So, yeah, if that’s all you need, Maddy, I’ll get it running through the databases. See if anything pops. She’ll need to have a police record for something to come up, but you know that.”
Madison pressed her lips and nodded. “Thank you. And speaking of popping, anything on Saul Abbott?”
What We Bury Page 10