In the Arms of the Enemy

by Carol Ericson

  Chapter Two

  DEA Agent Cole Pierson turned away from the dead woman’s stare. Money, drugs, dead bodies—and he hadn’t even officially clocked in yet.

  He returned to the motel room, where the odor of decomposing flesh had started to drift through the air. He swiped the back of his hand across his nose. Someone had left the heat blasting in here, which had accelerated the process of the body’s breakdown.

  Cole still had no problem identifying the deceased—Johnny Diamond. Whatever had happened in this seedy motel room, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving dirtbag.

  The King’s County Sheriff’s Department had descended on the room like a pack of ants at a picnic. One of those ants, Deputy Brookhurst, approached him with a wide grin.

  “Quite a haul for you DEA boys, huh? Crank, cash and Johnny Diamond.”

  “Now we just have to piece together the rest of the puzzle. Where’d he get it, where was he going with it and who were his contacts? Oh yeah, and who offed him?”

  With the toe of his boot, Cole prodded the black duffel bag on the floor, containing hundreds of thousands of dollars of methamphetamine, bagged and ready for the street. Then he wedged his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. What had Diamond been doing in this flea trap?

  Why risk stealing a car, murdering the owner and stuffing her body in the trunk with this much cash and product on hand? Diamond had been a slick adversary from the day he’d burst onto the drug scene four years ago. He’d managed to keep out of their clutches precisely because he’d avoided missteps like this.

  Maybe Diamond had been planning to cash out and head for a tropical island somewhere. Cole smoothed his gloved hands over the pile of money stashed in the other duffel bag and frowned.

  “Brookhurst, are you sure your guys didn’t touch the cash?”

  “Hold on.” Brookhurst widened his stance and hooked his thumbs in his pockets like some movie star cowboy. “Are you accusing my boys of something?”

  “Stealing? No. Did they move it around? Reposition it? Run their hands through it?” Cole held up his own hands. “Hey, I wouldn’t blame ’em.”

  Brookhurst’s puffed-up chest deflated. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  Cole traced the uneven grid of the money stacks with his fingertip. “The bills are stuffed into the bag in tight rows, but those rows are messed up at the top—as if someone thumbed through the money. You checked Diamond’s pockets?”

  “I told you—a set of keys with a flower key chain in the front pocket, wallet in the back pocket. Had maybe a hundred bucks in his wallet.”

  The county coroners parked a gurney next to Diamond’s body. “We’re ready to take him if you’re done with him.”

  “Copy us on the autopsy and toxicology reports. You still think it looks like poison?”

  One of the coroners held up a plastic bag containing the bottle of water that had been on the floor, and shook it. “Smells like bitter almonds.”

  Cole whistled. “Cyanide.”

  “Along with the foaming at the mouth and his reddish skin color, that’s my guess. But it’s just a guess and we have a lot of tests to run.”

  “Poison.” Cole drummed his fingers against his chin. “The murder weapon of choice for women, but the motel clerk said Diamond checked in as a single.”

  Brookhurst nudged him and chuckled. “Maybe his old lady mixed up a little something special for him when she caught him cheating, or maybe she was cheating and wanted to bypass the divorce. I should start sniffing the drinks my wife mixes for me.”

  Cole’s jaw tightened and he nodded once. Cheating-spouse jokes didn’t hold much humor for him anymore.

  Hearing a commotion outside, Cole strode to the door of the motel room. A deputy had stopped two women outside the yellow tape. One of them, speaking Spanish, kept pointing at the car with the dead body in the trunk.

  Cole joined the knot of people. “What’s going on, Deputy?”

  The officer jerked his thumb between the two women. “This one’s saying the other one saw a woman here this morning.”

  They’d already questioned one of the women, who was a maid at the motel, but hadn’t seen the second woman yet.

  “Espera.” Cole sliced his hand through the air. “Wait. Habla inglés, señora?”

  “Sí, yes, I speak English.”

  “What were you doing at the motel this morning?”

  “Trabajo. I work here as a maid. I have the overnight shift.”

  “What time was this?”

  “After seven o’clock, señor. I was almost done with work.”

  “Where did you see this woman? What did she look like?”

  “By this car. I thought maybe she came out of the room. She walked past the car and she was pulling a suitcase.” She twirled her finger in the air. “One with wheels.”

  “Did you see what she looked like?”

  The maid put her hands about six inches apart. “Flaca. Skinny. Not tall, not short. She was wearing dark pants, maybe jeans, and a dark jacket.”

  The woman was observant. “Hair?”

  “No, señor.” She shook her head.

  His brows shot up. “No hair?”

  “Under a hat.” She put her hands on top of her head. “Like una...gorra.”

  The other maid spoke up. “Like a knit beanie, pulled over her head.”

  Cole’s pulse ratcheted up a notch. Like she was trying to disguise herself. “Did you get a good look at her face?”

  “No, sorry. I notice because there was nobody else outside. I don’t think she saw me. She walked past the car, fast, and then turned the corner up there.” The maid pointed to the front of the motel.

  “Toward the road.” They’d already questioned the motel clerk and he hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Had this mysterious woman poisoned Johnny Diamond, taken some of his cash and hightailed it out to the road to hitch a ride?

  Cole got the contact information for the two women, thanked them and returned to the motel room, where the coroner had already loaded Diamond onto the gurney. The DEA and Cole personally had been trying to nail Diamond for four years. It figured that Diamond’s death would provide even more questions than answers. Nothing had been easy with that guy.

  What had Diamond been doing back in his old stomping grounds instead of plying his trade in Arizona, where he’d been wheeling and dealing for four years? Had that woman lured him this way?

  Cole turned to Deputy Brookhurst. “Did you find any other fingerprints besides Diamond’s in this room?”

  “We barely found any of Diamond’s.”

  Cole narrowed his eyes. “Wiped clean?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “How about his phone? Did your guys search the Dumpsters and bushes for Diamond’s phone? There’s no way a man in Diamond’s business would be without a cell.”

  “We looked. We’ll try to track his number through the different providers and see if we can locate his phone by pinging.” Brookhurst slapped Cole on the back. “Don’t worry, Agent Pierson. We’ll keep you guys in the loop. We called you as soon as we found out you had a flag on Johnny Diamond, didn’t we?”

  “You sure did, and I appreciate it. I’ve been after this SOB for a long time.” Cole snapped his fingers. “Did any of the deputies do a search on the GPS in the stolen car? I noticed it had a built-in one.”

  “Damn, I don’t think we’ve done that yet—a little distracted by what we found in the trunk.”

  “Yeah, poor Hazel McTavish. I wonder how she had the bad luck to run across Diamond.” Cole flipped up the collar of his jacket. Seattle days could be cold enough, but Seattle nights could chill you down to your bones. “I’m going to check the GPS and see if I can find out where Diamond and his mysterious lady friend were heade
d.”

  He shouldered his way through the deputies and EMTs gathered around Hazel’s trunk, and slid into the front seat of the car. He sniffed the air and got a whiff of some flowery scent—probably belonged to Hazel, but he’d have the King County boys dust for prints in here, too.

  He poked his head out the door and yelled back, “I’m going to start the engine to look at the GPS.”

  The GPS beeped to life as he cranked on the ignition. With a gloved finger, he tapped the screen. He swiped his finger across Recent Destinations and blew out a breath—next stop Timberline, Washington.

  * * *

  HER HEART STUTTERED when the bell above the door of the tourist shop, Timberline Treasures, jingled. She turned from the bin she’d been filling with little stuffed frogs, and released a sigh.

  She smiled at the family with two young kids. “Welcome. Let me know if you need anything.”

  The parents smiled back and started to browse through the key chains and magnets.

  She wiped her sweaty palms on the seat of her jeans. She’d have to stop freaking out every time someone came into the store—or find another job. There was no way anyone could trace her to Timberline from that motel room. She’d wiped down all her prints and had even taken Larry’s phone just in case he’d had any more information about her, or pictures, or any references to Timberline.

  Not Larry, Johnny—Johnny Diamond. When she got to Timberline four days ago, one of her first stops had been the public library to use a computer. It hadn’t taken her long to discover the dead man at the Stardust Motel was Johnny Diamond—drug dealer, thief and all-around bad guy.

  What she’d been doing with him and how he’d wound up dead, she still didn’t have a clue. The online article she read didn’t give a cause of death, but the authorities suspected homicide—no witnesses and no suspects.

  She brushed a wisp of hair from her face. Diamond’s phone didn’t contain any incriminating evidence, and she’d destroyed and dumped it soon after.

  Linda, her new boss, new best friend and owner of the store, came from the storage area in the back and plunked a box on the counter. “Can you help me sort through these items, Caroline?”

  She’d adopted the name from the North Carolina plates of the semi that had picked her up a mile from that motel outside of Seattle. The choice of a last name had been trickier.

  “Of course.” She turned to the family. “Do you need any help?”

  The mom swung a key chain around her finger. “We’ll take one of these—just a little something with the town’s name on it.”

  Caroline plunged her hand into a bin filled with furry frogs. Holding one up, she shook it. “How about one of these? It’s a Pacific chorus frog and this particular toy is unique to Timberline.”

  The little girl’s eyes widened as she tugged on her mom’s sleeve. “Mom, can I have it?”

  “Okay.” She rolled her eyes at her husband, who shrugged.

  Caroline brought the stuffed frog to the counter and winked at Linda. Linda rang up the family’s purchases and when they left the store, she patted Caroline on the back. “You’re a born salesperson.”

  Scooping the trinkets from the box, Caroline said, “I want to do my best to repay you for your kindness, Linda.”

  “When that haunted, hunted look leaves your eyes that will be repayment enough for me. It took my sister, Louise, years to recover from the abuse dished out by her boyfriend. When you told me your story of domestic violence and I saw that bruise under your eye—” she patted Caroline’s hand “—I knew I had to help you.”

  Caroline blinked back tears as a pang of guilt twisted in her belly. She’d told Linda Gunderson a little lie to explain why she had no ID and why she was using a fake name, Caroline Johnson. She didn’t want her abusive ex tracking her down.

  Linda had gone above and beyond by introducing Caroline as her cousin’s daughter, who’d moved out West for a fresh start. Linda extended her kindness even further by offering her the duplex next to her own, which she and her sister owned, and giving her a job at her shop so she could start earning some money with very few questions asked by the others in this small town.

  But that haunted, hunted look in her eyes? That wouldn’t go away until she knew her identity and what had happened at the Stardust Motel.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Linda.”

  “I needed help in the store, anyway, with Louise off on her cruise for a month.” Linda sniffled and dabbed her nose. Then she shoved a handful of magnets at her. “Can you stock these and the pencils before you leave?”

  “Of course.” Caroline gathered the items and deposited them in their proper places around the store. When she was done, she took the empty box from the counter and left it by the back door of the storage room.

  She lifted her black leather jacket and her new purse from the hook and returned to the store, where Linda was helping someone select a sweatshirt. Caroline waved on her way out.

  If she hurried, she could make it to the library before it closed. She’d just scratched the surface of Johnny Diamond—enough to discover his talents for all forms of criminality, but not enough to find out about his personal life or any women in it. Had she been one of those women?

  Once outside, she glanced at the moody sky, threatening rain, and then hurried across the street toward the civic center at the end of the block that boasted the sheriff’s station, city hall and a cozy library.

  She pushed through the glass doors and rounded the corner to the reference section. Two of the three public computers were occupied, but the third glowed in welcome and she strode toward it.

  She was two steps away from pulling out the chair when a man slipped in front of her and plopped into it.

  “Excuse me.” She put her hands on her hips and hovered over his very broad shoulder. “I was just about to use this computer.”

  The man cranked his head over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows over a pair of greenish eyes. “I’m sorry. I was already seated here, but the log-in I got from the reference librarian didn’t work and I went back for another.”

  “Oh.” Caroline shifted her gaze to the pad of paper on the table next to the computer, which had been there before he grabbed the chair from under her nose. “I guess I’ll wait.”

  “I really am sorry. I won’t be long. The internet went out at my hotel. Otherwise, I’d be there on my laptop.”

  She waved her hand. “That’s okay. Maybe one of the others will free up.”

  He turned his head to the side to take in the other two users, and his lips twisted into a smile. “Looks like they’re here for the duration. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be over by the magazines. Don’t let anyone sneak in ahead of me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Thanks.” She pivoted toward a collection of love seats scattered in front of the magazine rack. He must have thought she was a real pain—or worse, that she’d been trying to come on to him. Attractive man like that probably had women making up all kinds of excuses to get close to him and exchange a few words.

  She snatched a celebrity magazine encased in plastic from the rack and sat on the edge of one of the love seats, facing the computers.

  True to his word, about five minutes later, the man stood up from the computer and stretched. He tapped on the keyboard and tucked his notebook under his arm.

  She jumped to her feet. On her way back to the computer tables, she replaced the magazine. “That was fast.”

  “It’s all yours. Have a nice evening.”

  “You, too.” She settled in the chair, warm from his presence. She still had a password from the previous time she’d used the computers here, so she clicked a few keys and swore. The computer was locked and asking her for a password. The guy hadn’t logged off
.

  She shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair and tromped off to find the reference librarian.

  The librarian looked up from her own computer behind the reference desk. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to use computer number one, but the person before me didn’t log off and now I’m being prompted for a password that I don’t have.”

  “That keeps happening. He probably did log off, but we’ve been having issues with that computer. If you don’t mind, you can access with the same user log-in so we don’t have to shut it down and restart it. The password is timberline4, the number, not the word. And it’s all lowercase with no spaces.”

  “Thanks.” Caroline returned to the computer and entered the password. As the computer digested her entry, she scooted her chair closer. She’d do another search on Johnny Diamond and try to dig a little deeper this time—beyond the article about his murder.

  The computer monitor woke up, and she didn’t even have to launch the search engine since the previous user hadn’t closed out, thinking he’d logged off.

  As the window filled the screen, an icy fear gripped her heart. She didn’t have to search for Johnny Diamond—the man sitting here before had already done so.

  Chapter Three

  With her hands shaking and her belly in knots, Caroline scrolled through the display. Specifically, the man before her had done a search of Diamond’s social media sites.

  Did drug dealers really post pictures of their meals and funny cat videos? She clicked on the same links he’d accessed, but found nothing. No wonder he hadn’t spent much time at the computer. Diamond didn’t seem to have a social media footprint.

  But why was that guy even checking? What was Diamond to him? She slumped in her chair and closed her eyes. He didn’t look like an associate or fellow drug dealer. Too clean-cut for that, but what did she know?

  Too clean-cut. She gripped the arms of the chair. A cop?

  She forced herself to breathe. There was no way the cops could’ve traced her here. She’d hitched different rides to get to Timberline, avoiding bus stations and cameras.