The risk was that he would be too tempted. That he would act too soon. And that could not happen.
He’d put in too much time, too much effort.
And yet even as he stood on the deck of the tour boat in the pier, binoculars in hand, he could feel his pulse racing in his ears, his nerves sparking to life, his tongue longing for the taste of blood, of fear.
A pretty young blond passed behind him. He turned and watched her saunter across the deck swaying the skirt of an attractive yellow sundress. He eyed the muscles of her lean legs, her bare shoulders, her long neck. Lust burned inside him.
He needed a kill.
He imagined her body naked and at his mercy. Her round pink lips begging him to stop the pain. But he wouldn’t. No one had when he had been the one begging for mercy.
Focus, he chided himself sternly.
He picked up the binoculars again and peered through them at the happy couple finishing their pizza.
He could draw them out in the open. Right here on the lake. Drown them both under the blue, blue water. No, that would be so banal. Not the end he had in mind, at all. Their end had to be more spectacular than that. Something newsworthy. Something that when the remains were discovered, people would remember for decades.
Soon. It would be soon.
But not yet.
There was more planning to do. But in the meantime, he could still have a little fun, couldn’t he?
Why not?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Miranda sat up on the bed and put her head in her hands.
Her temples throbbed painfully. The morning sunlight streaming through the hotel windows made her eyes hurt. She felt like pure hell.
Twisting around she saw Parker’s place was empty. The clock said six-fifty-four. In the morning.
She vaguely remembered soaking in the sunken tub for an hour with Parker last night, then making love and falling sound asleep.
She groaned out loud. “How much did I drink last night?”
Parker appeared in the bedroom doorway fully dressed. “Only one glass of wine.”
That was right. They’d decided against the champagne. “Can you get hung over from pizza?”
“You had a bad night. I believe I have the bruises on my shins to prove it.”
“Huh?” She looked down at his legs but they were clothed in his rich-looking suit pants.
He strolled over to the bed, began to massage her shoulders. “You must have been fighting off enemies all night long.”
Another bad dream? “I don’t remember it.”
“It’s just as well then.”
“Guess so.” She closed her eyes and relaxed into the magic of his fingers.
“I let you sleep a little longer.”
“Thanks.” For another moment she indulged herself in the delicious movement of his strong hands against her tight muscles then shook him off. “I’ve got to get to the station. I told Templeton eight sharp. For all I know she’ll give me demerits if I’m late.”
Parker smiled and brushed a kiss against her lips as she got to her feet. “I thought you were in charge of this case.”
“Good point. I’m not sure Templeton knows that, though.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll set her straight.” He handed her a robe and led her into the living area. “I’ve already ordered breakfast so that will save a little time.”
She didn’t think she was hungry after all that pizza last night but when she smelled waffles and coffee and saw the classy decanter filled with gooey syrup on the table, she decided to let Parker have his way. If she didn’t eat, she rationalized, he’d only argue with her and it would take longer to get ready.
She took his hand and let him lead her to the table, vowing when she got home she’d hit the gym big time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Parker dropped her off at the station with ten minutes to spare.
“What time will you be back?” she asked as she climbed out of the Audi.
Parker thought a moment. “By this afternoon.”
She held up her cell. “Keep in touch.”
“I will.” And with a look Miranda couldn’t quite decipher, he drove off.
She watched him pull into traffic and turn at the light on the corner, a feeling of disgust with herself growing in her stomach. She’d made about as much progress figuring out what Parker was up to as she had with the Sutherland case. Kicking herself, she turned and plodded toward the police station entrance, vowing to rectify both situations.
Inside, she found Templeton down in the Dungeon again, checking out her computer.
“Nothing from the searches we left running overnight,” the detective said over her shoulder when Miranda slid into the chair next to her.
She eyed the screen. Sure enough, nothing had popped. Great way to start the morning. “Parker suggested we focus on hospitals. Adam Tannenburg might be a John Doe somewhere.”
Templeton’s thick brows drew together. “That’s a long shot. But then this whole lost lover angle is a long shot.”
“Yep.” And the only shot they had.
Templeton pressed some keys and sat back. “All set. We can check it later on. But I’ll synch my phone to the search.” She busied herself with her cell.
“Sounds good.” Not to be outdone, Miranda set a similar search on her laptop and synched her phone to it, as well. “Our bet’s still on, sister.”
Templeton grinned. “My laptop will beat your clunker any day. With its CPU tied behind its back.”
“We’ll see about that. You have that lawyer’s information?”
“Right here.” Templeton handed Miranda the paper she’d printed out yesterday.
Miranda eyed her new compatriot.
Today Templeton had on a camel colored suit with a plain beige blouse and a gold chain that was tangled in the lanyard for her police ID. Miranda had almost thrown on jeans this morning. But before Parker could comment, she’d reached for her good navy pants suit with the fitted three-button jacket and a pair of strappy black heels.
The two of them looked good enough to intimidate an attorney, she thought.
She scanned the information on the paper. “Clark Street. We’d better get going.”
Leaving their laptops running, Miranda followed the detective out to the parking lot and a beat up old gray Tahoe that looked like it had seen a lot of miles.
So this was standard issue.
Templeton waved a hand at it. “Your chariot awaits.”
“I feel like a princess,” Miranda smirked.
Climbing inside, she was fascinated by the displays and keyboards and communication devices—gadgets in the past she’d only seen from the back seat. She had the urge to press buttons but suppressed it. Her new partner wouldn’t like it, and experience told her it was best not to piss off a police detective.
So she kept her hands to herself, buckled up and sat back while Templeton turned the key, pulled out of the spot and headed down Larrabee toward downtown.
“And we’re off,” the detective said.
“Yee haw,” Miranda echoed with a grin, her hopes once more rising.
With luck, they could be talking to Adam Tannenburg by noon.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The law firm of Julius, Jaworski, and Deng was housed in an imposing thirty-five story glass-and-steel behemoth on Clark Street that looked a lot like the other behemoths surrounding it along the crowded city avenue.
Once she and Templeton had ridden the elevator up to the twenty-third floor, Miranda saw the exterior wasn’t the only thing that was imposing about the firm.
Their huge open reception area was large enough to hold a small amusement park.
A wide, high ceiling housed a field of recessed lights tucked into coiling panels of shiny cedar that formed a circular design. The lights reflected off the framed photos of faces arranged along a curved wall in three straight rows. Headshots of the collection of lawyers who must work here. The air was meat locker
cool, no doubt to accommodate that gang, who had to wear those heavy suits all day.
On the opposite wall a large screen TV ran a never-ending ad of a man with a serious face warning folks what might happen to them if they didn’t get legal help with their finances or injuries cases right away. And if you’d been arrested? Well, there was no one else to turn to.
At the far end of the space stood a shiny circular desk that matched the shiny circular ceiling. At the desk, a man and a woman, both dressed in gray tweed were working the phones.
Straightening her shoulders, Miranda took out a business card and headed for the pair. The guy was off the phone first so she handed it to him.
“Miranda Steele here to see Mr. Jaworski.”
He was a good-looking guy with dark, neatly combed hair and pale green eyes with long dark lashes.
He smiled at her as if he didn’t really see her. “Would that be the younger Mr. Jaworski or the elder Mr. Jaworski?”
Miranda turned to Templeton.
She consulted the paper she’d brought along. “The elder.”
Would have been Miranda’s guess.
“Very good,” said the young man. “Do you have an appointment?”
“We’re working a case for the Chicago police and we need to speak to him about it.”
The young man’s lashes fluttered as his eyes went wide. “One moment, please.”
He pressed some buttons on the phone, murmured softly into his mouthpiece. After another moment he turned to Miranda with another smile. “I’m sorry, Ms…” he consulted the card. “Ms. Steele. Mr. Jaworski is unaware of any case with the police. He requests you make an appointment. Would tomorrow at three be convenient?” He poised his fingers over his slick keyboard.
“Tell Mr. Jaworski we request to see him now. It’s important.”
Beside her Templeton took out her badge and tapped it on the polished surface of the counter.
The young man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But Mr. Jaworski is busy right now.”
Miranda drew in a slow breath. “Tell Mr. Jaworski it would be in his best interest to see us now.”
“My superior, Sergeant Thomas Demarco,” Templeton added, “would be very upset if we came back to the station empty handed.”
Miranda’s heart swelled. This lady had real spunk. She was liking Templeton more and more.
The young man’s mouth thinned and he made another call.
After a few minutes of Templeton tapping her badge on the counter while the young man murmured into the phone, he rose.
“Mr. Jaworski will see you now.” He smiled as if that had been the plan all along. “I’ll show you the way.”
The young man ushered them through a high archway and into a long open area across a wide silver floor and past a matching staircase leading to another floor. Then down a long curving corridor with vertical brown-and-orange stripes that followed the flow of the hall and made Miranda wonder how the employees didn’t get dizzy walking around here.
At last he stopped at a massive walnut door and knocked. When a muffled voice replied from inside he opened the door and gestured for the ladies to enter.
They obliged him.
The space was huge. But it was dominated by a heavy oak desk against the far wall. The desk was surrounded by a semicircle of chairs done in deep brown leather and decorated with classic bronze nail head trim. The wall behind the desk was papered in a dark quatrefoil pattern and dotted with shelves holding expensive-looking oriental art. Venetian blinds allowed in little slits of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered two entire walls.
Miranda would have been intimidated if she hadn’t been used to Parker’s office. This might be overpowering. But Parker’s was sexy.
Jaworski’s office, not so much.
The chair behind the desk—bigger and more important looking than the others—was facing the wall.
“Mr. Jaworski?” Miranda said.
Slowly the chair spun around and its occupant appeared.
He had to be late sixties, maybe early seventies. His lined face had a pale, deathlike complexion. Thick gray hair fell in waves to his ears, cuddling his pear shaped head. He had his eyes closed and his fingers steepled under his smallish nose as if in prayer or meditation.
He reminded Miranda of one of those find-happiness gurus on a late night infomercial.
Finally he opened his eyes. They were gray. Not a sexy gray like Parker’s. A pale gray like his skin tone. He smiled kindly at Miranda and Templeton as if he’d summoned them himself.
“I understand you’re here from the police department?” His voice was gentle and had a soft rasp, as if he’d yelled too much at a ball game the previous night.
“We’re from the Larrabee station,” Miranda said, not bothering to explain she was a private investigator. “I’m Miranda Steele and this is Detective Shirley Templeton.”
He blinked mildly at the name.
Templeton didn’t bat an eye. “We’re here about a murder investigation.”
“Oh. Oh, dear.” He stretched out a hand toward the guest chairs. “Please. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Miranda took the chair in the middle and Templeton settled into the one beside it.
“That will be all, Simon,” Jaworski said to the young man behind them. And the receptionist left the room and closed the door.
Jaworski reached for a silver pot and poured water into a glass. “I’m not sure what I can tell you about a murder case. My specialty is finance. Estate planning.”
“We’re aware of that Mr. Jaworski,” Miranda said. “We’re looking into a fire that occurred in Evanston some fourteen years ago. A woman died in that fire. She was your client.”
Jaworski took a swallow of water, frowned and shook his head as if she had spoken in Martian.
Templeton shifted in her chair. “The client’s name was Muriel Tannenburg.”
For a long moment the lawyer gaped at the detective. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, yes. Muriel Tannenburg. I apologize for the lapse in memory. It’s been so long.”
“Understandable,” Miranda said.
His gray eyes took on a wistful look. “Such a tragic case. She was such a beautiful, gracious lady. A musician, as I recall.”
Miranda nodded. “She played the clarinet.”
“Oh, yes. She was superb. I remember now. She used to play in the symphony orchestra. My late wife and I attended a few of her concerts.”
Impressive. “We understand you were the executor of her will?”
Again he blinked. “I suppose I would be. As I recall, she had no one she felt she could trust with those duties.”
Miranda crossed her legs as if she were having the most casual of conversations. “And most of her estate went to her son?”
He opened his mouth suddenly looking lost. “Why, I’m not sure. I would have to look at the records. I’m afraid that information would be confidential. I’m sure Muriel had set up a trust fund.” Again he steepled his hands this time under his chin.
Templeton twisted in her chair the other way. Obviously she was annoyed by people who couldn’t get straight to the point. “Do I need to remind you this is an official police matter, Mr. Jaworski?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
Templeton’s face went hard.
“If you need us to get one, Mr. Jaworski,” Miranda told him, “we’d be happy to wait here in your office for it. That should only take, oh, about two or three hours. Right, Templeton?”
“Probably a little more.”
The man dropped his hands as his lower jaw jutted forward. He looked like he was considering biting the detective. “I’m not sure what I can do for you, Ms.—”
“Detective. Detective Templeton.”
“Yes, Detective Templeton. I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything with any precision without accessing our records.”
Miranda grinned at the man, somehow playing th
e good detective to Templeton’s bad detective. “That would be a good idea, Mr. Jaworski.”
“What would be a good idea?”
“To access your records.”
“But they’re—how old did you say this case was?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Exactly. Fourteen years old.”
Miranda cocked her head at him innocently. “You don’t keep records that long?”
“Of course, we do,” he blustered. “We keep them indefinitely. But they’re archived. Accessing them would be time consuming.”
“We can wait.”
“But this is highly—It’s very hard to—”
Templeton hadn’t put her badge away. Without saying anything she held it up so Jaworski could see it.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, bother,” he grunted and picked up his phone.
After twenty minutes of staring at each other, another good-looking young man in a dark suit laid a thick file on Jaworski’s desk.
After downing his fifth or so glass of water, Jaworski slipped on a pair of reading glasses, reached for the file and began paging through it.
“It seems everything is intact. The will, the trust fund, bank statements, investment accounts, the letter of instruction.” He raised his eyes with a bland look. “I don’t see anything amiss.”
Miranda wanted to shake the man. Instead she forced a tone of Parker-like patience into her voice. “We understand Ms. Tannenburg’s son, Adam, inherited the bulk of her estate?”
He consulted a paper again. “Yes. Adam Tannenburg was her sole survivor. He inherited the entirety of her estate.”
Miranda glanced at Templeton. The stuffy woman almost grinned.
“He was a nice young man, as I recall,” Jaworski continued. “Very polite. He was completely devastated by his mother’s death. I remember he was very withdrawn during the proceedings. Who could blame him?”
Miranda mirrored Jaworski’s previous gesture and steepled her hands. “Is your firm still paying Mr. Tannenburg from the trust fund?”
Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Page 15