Tracy Hayes, P.I. and Proud (P.I. Tracy Hayes 2)

by Susanna Shore

  “No.”

  “Shit.” I drew a deep breath, trying to clear my head. “Okay, great job. I’ll call my brother and have him decide what to do with this info. You did come by it legally, right?”

  “Yep. I didn’t have to hack into anything. But I can, if you want info on those offshore accounts.” He looked hopeful.

  I shook my head at him as I called Trevor. “What?” he practically barked. “Hannah Williams didn’t show up here.”

  “Not yet. Jackson sent me a message and told me that she’s pretty much travelling around Brooklyn. Either she knows he’s following her or she has a suspicious mind. But never mind that, I have information for you.” I told him what Jarod had found. “Is it enough to get a search warrant?”

  “I can try, but I doubt it. But it’s enough to contact Las Vegas police and ask about her.”

  “You do that. And let me know if Jackson shows up.”

  After the call ended, I was left kicking my heels. I wanted to do something, but I was out of options. When Travis called I was happy for the diversion.

  “Do you have anything to get my client free?”

  “No. His alibi has disappeared from the face of the Earth. And now his wife is trying to implicate him after all.”

  “For the murder?”

  “Or the gambling scam she or both of them were running.”

  “But you have nothing that would implicate my client either?”

  “I have his notebook that contains code for counting cards.”

  “If it’s not about the murder I don’t have to care. The police have to charge him for the murder by the end of the day or he’ll go free.”

  “There’s the little matter of bigamy too.”

  “He can be bailed for that, and the gambling scam too, for that matter—if he can find the money.”

  “It may be there’s plenty of money.” I told him about the holding company.

  “I could try to get the warrant for you,” he instantly suggested.

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  “I represent Larry Williams, not his wife.”

  “In that case, try it. Though Trevor is trying too.”

  “I’ll call him.” And he hung up.

  I glanced at my watch. “What are the chances they’ll get the warrant today?”

  “Well, if your brother knows a judge, it could go fast,” Cheryl said, but she didn’t sound confident.

  I growled. “I don’t like this. I need to see what’s in that apartment.” I had a bad feeling about the place. “Let’s go take a look.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Cheryl asked. Her face echoed the worry I felt.

  “Not even a little.” But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

  In the end, Cheryl, Misty, Jarod and I all got into Cheryl’s car and she drove us half a street down from Hannah’s apartment. The distance wasn’t far, but we’d decided that even with the dog we’d look suspicious hanging out on the street—plus my knee was killing me and I didn’t want to walk.

  I got out of the car, my knee be damned. “If I haven’t returned in fifteen minutes, call the police.”

  “What do you suppose will have happened?” Cheryl asked. She still didn’t think this was a good idea, but she’d insisted on tagging along.

  “I don’t know, but the old lady upstairs sounded cranky.”

  “If the police come and find you’ve broken into the apartment, what will you tell them?”

  “That I smelled gas?”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me too.” If the worst happened, I’d be arrested. And this time Trevor wouldn’t fast-talk me out of it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I limped to the front door, cursing the tall steps and the lack of railing. Weren’t there regulations about proper banisters? But that didn’t lessen my determination to get into Hannah Williams’ apartment.

  The front door was still locked, and knowing she wasn’t home, I didn’t try the buzzer to her apartment—though I would’ve been mightily surprised if someone had answered. Instead, I pressed the one for the second floor apartment and after a fairly long wait, the old lady answered.

  “What?” She sounded as cranky as the first time.

  Umm… “Girl Scouts. Selling cookies.” Everyone loved cookies.

  Except this old lady. “No peddling. I’ll set the dog on you if you don’t leave immediately.”

  Okay…

  Undeterred, I pressed the top floor buzzer, and when a man’s voice answered I decided to try the Girl Scout ruse again. It couldn’t fail me twice in a row.

  And it didn’t. “Excellent. Come on in.” The door was buzzed open and I got in. I looked around for something with which to prop the door open, but there was nothing, so I had to let it close again. If the police needed to get in, they could break the door.

  The hallway was plain—two shades of brown and no trimmings—and small. Most of the space was taken up by the retrofitted stairs leading up, and there was no elevator. There were two doors, one at the back that I presumed led to the garage—I decided not to go and check— and one on the left right by the entrance, that belonged to Hannah—presumably. I pressed my ear against the door and listened really hard.

  I couldn’t hear anything. Not a great surprise.

  My heart started beating faster in nervous excitement. Was I really going to break into the apartment? What if I was caught?

  But even as I dithered, I studied the lock. It was more advanced than the ones I’d practiced picking with Dad. I wasn’t sure I could open it. But I would try. It wasn’t like I could break the door. Not without an axe, anyway.

  I turned around to check the hall, just in case there was a fire axe handy, but I wasn’t so lucky. Just the same. No judge would believe I’d accidentally broken the door with an axe.

  Not opening the door wasn’t an option, however. Answers to everything would be there, I was sure of it. Maybe even the murder weapon—unless Hannah Williams walked around with a gun in her handbag, which was perfectly possible too. It was a large bag.

  And I’d have to open the door fast, or the next thing I knew Cheryl would’ve called the police. I reached into my messenger bag for the case of lockpicks, and was about to pull it out when I heard the heavy steps of a man running down the stairs. The top floor resident, I presumed.

  I froze for a second, not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to be caught there, but I didn’t want to leave either. And then he was already on the last landing and I had no choice but to hide in plain sight. I stood facing the door to Hannah’s apartment and knocked loudly, as if I had every right to be there.

  The man reached the hall and I turned to look. A person on a legitimate errand would. He was maybe my age, handsome in a wholesome way—good hair, clean skin, and an open smile—and dressed hipster casual in slim-fit slacks and a button-up shirt with tiny checkers. The leather shoes looked handmade, and probably cost more than I made in a month. The only thing missing was a bowtie—hence it being a casual attire.

  He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted me. “Did you see Girl Scouts here?” he asked, his face eager.

  “I…” Oops. “Yes. They let me in on their way out.” I gestured towards the door.

  He frowned, miffed. “They never got to my apartment.”

  Note to self: next time you try to get into a building, use a better ruse.

  “They were kind of fleeing. I think they said something about a mean old lady?”

  To my relief, he bought it. “Figures. That old bat is the scourge of the entire street.” He flashed me his open smile. “I’m Ryan, by the way. Do you live here?”

  “Tracy, and no. I’m here to see … my friend. But she isn’t answering.” I knocked on the door again, louder this time.

  “Alisa’s your friend?”

  I stiffened. “You know Alisa?” Was she real after all? That would change everything.

  “No, but she’s my
landlady, and I’d be curious to actually meet her. I’ve never managed to catch her home. She seems to be a busy woman.”

  “Ah. Well, no, my friend is her … housekeeper.” I decided it sounded more plausible than assistant.

  “Hannah?”

  My heart skipped a beat in excitement. Finally, the connection. I knew I’d find it here. “Yes.”

  “She should be in. I’m pretty sure I saw her come in earlier today.” He banged on the door too and we paused to listen.

  I frowned, not believing my ears. “Is it just my imagination or is someone calling out in there?” I’d distinctly heard a muffled cry. My heart stopped completely and then resumed in a dizzying pace.

  “I think you’re right.” He banged at the door again. “Hannah? Do you need help?”

  “You don’t think she’s fallen and can’t get up or something?” I needed a plausible cause to get in, and an injured person would do.

  “It’s possible. Women are always hanging curtains and stuff on ladders and then falling and breaking their necks.”

  I decided not to point out that A) he was being sexist, and B) no one called for help with a broken neck. “We have to get in.”

  “We need to call the janitor and have him open the door.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Larry? Hannah’s husband?” He gave me a suspicious look, as if I should’ve known that.

  “Ah. There may be trouble with that. He’s not … free at the moment.”

  The cry came again, more clearly this time. “We have to call the fire department, then. They can open the door.”

  “Yes. And ambulance too, just in case.” I made a show of patting my pockets. “Do you have a phone? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

  “I left it upstairs. I’ll go make the call.”

  “Hurry.”

  I waited only for him to reach the next landing before digging out my lockpicks. I chose a couple of them at random and went to open the door. The haste made my hands shake too much and I didn’t have much luck with them. I drew a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate. Another set of picks wasn’t any better—I’d need a third hand to make this work.

  I was seriously contemplating waiting for Ryan to return—to heck with what he would think if I asked him to help picking a lock—but then I remembered the trick Jackson had done.

  I took out my purse and pulled out a card—a library card, since I didn’t want to damage my only credit card. I slid it into the small crack between the door and the jamb and glided it down towards the lock while turning the handle. Nothing happened. I was getting desperate, but I tried again, with greater force this time. And behold, the door opened—so unexpectedly that I almost lost my balance tumbling in.

  I didn’t have time to congratulate myself. I pulled myself together, and called: “Hello? Is anyone here? Do you need help?”

  This time I heard it clearly. A woman’s voice was coming straight ahead and to the right. The muffled quality of the cry made me think she was gagged.

  That got me moving.

  “Keep shouting,” I said, and headed in the direction of the voice. She shouted again and I opened a door on the right at the end of the hall, which turned out to be the bathroom.

  Even though I’d expected it on some level, the sight that met my eyes robbed me of breath. I sank slowly to my knees, welcoming the pain that shot through me from the wound. At least I knew I was awake.

  A woman about my age, with tangled dark hair, was sitting in the bathtub. She was stripped to her underwear, and her hands and legs were duct taped together. Her mouth was covered with tape too. Her eyes were wild and she was screaming behind the gag, though hoarsely, as if she’d been yelling for a long time already.

  “Oh my God.” Ryan’s breathless exclaim behind me made me recover my senses.

  “Don’t touch anything!”

  “We need to free her!”

  “I’ll handle it. You go outside and direct the authorities. And call the police.”

  He didn’t look happy, but he did as I ordered. I scrambled up and to the woman and sat on the edge of the tub. “Don’t worry, the police are on their way. I’ll just take this tape off.”

  She was shaking and my hands were clammy, so it was really difficult to get my fingers around the edge of the tape. “This will hurt,” I said, as if it mattered in her current situation. I yanked the tape off. She let out a cry, but more of relief than pain.

  “Are you Carol Marr?”

  “Y-yes,” she managed to say from the clattering of her teeth.

  Relief washed over me. At least she hadn’t been killed. Then she looked behind me and her face distorted in terror. Her eyes rolled and she passed out, collapsing on the bottom of the tub with a thud.

  I stiffened, fear turning my bones into ice. I turned carefully, not really wanting to see what was behind me to make her faint, but not knowing was infinitely worse.

  Hannah Williams was standing in the doorway, pointing a gun at me.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Aren’t you a clever little detective,” Hannah sneered. Gone was the breathy voice of a feeble, helpless female, replaced with a cold, calculating tone. Her poise was different too; she stood straight, taking advantage of her height, and stared down at me. Her weapon didn’t waver.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say, my eyes fixed on the gun. This was the second time in my life I’d been held at gunpoint and this time I knew to be frightened.

  Scratch that. I was petrified.

  “How did you find here? And so fast?”

  At least she hadn’t noticed us tailing her. Did that mean Jackson was near? Maybe Ryan was letting him in even as we spoke. Knowing that he would be here soon calmed me and I was able to think again.

  “We’ve been working for your husband’s defense. The casino provided the address to this place.”

  “It’s classified information,” she said, appalled, as if the casino had committed a huge crime.

  “This is a murder investigation. It overrides certain secrets.”

  “How did you get involved in it anyway?” She sounded genuinely curious. “I only hired you to trail Larry.”

  I could’ve told her she hired us for this today, but I didn’t want to aggravate her. “We were involved from the start. I found Sheila’s body.”

  She staggered, her gun briefly lowering, only to return to point at my face. “How?”

  “I followed your husband from Carol Marr’s place to Sheila’s that morning.”

  “No, he came straight home. He told me so.” She sounded like a little girl now whose daddy hasn’t kept his promise, petulant and baffled at the same time. The mood change made her seem slightly unhinged, as if she wasn’t completely in control of herself, and I really hoped she wouldn’t snap before the police arrived.

  Shouldn’t they be here already? And where was Jackson? He was near, wasn’t he?

  Then her face twisted anger. “I should kill you for lying.” She cocked the weapon and I realized I was screwed. My heart was beating so hard I couldn’t breathe properly.

  “The police are coming,” I managed to say, my voice squeaking.

  My words made her pull herself together. It was almost like she’d clicked a switch, so fast was the change; the cold calculation returned. “If you are referring to Ryan, he won’t be alerting anyone.”

  I felt nauseous. “Did you kill him?” If I’d got Ryan killed I’d never forgive myself.

  “No. I knocked him unconscious. I’m not a murderer.”

  “But you killed Sheila Rinaldi.” The accusation just came out and I tensed, fearing her reaction.

  “She deserved it,” she said calmly.

  I hadn’t expected her to admit it. “Why? Because she figured out your gambling scam?”

  She huffed. “That airhead couldn’t figure out a one-piece puzzle. No, she had to die because she stole my husband.”

  “This was about him cheating on you after all?” I have to say,
I was kind of disappointed for the mundane motive. But she just sneered.

  “Larry couldn’t not stray if I’d tied him up. He’s always had women. But this time he wanted to leave with her. He wanted to leave me and marry her.” The edge of madness had returned to her voice and I prayed she wouldn’t succumb to it.

  “Didn’t he?”

  It was as if I had no control over what popped out of my mouth.

  “What?”

  “He was married to Sheila.”

  She stared at me in disbelief. “But he’s married to me.”

  “It’s not exactly a legal marriage, and he’ll likely do time for it, but they went through the ‘I dos.’”

  I really, really shouldn’t have said that. Her face distorted with fury and she stepped closer to me, the gun trained right at my face. I pulled hastily back, only to lose my balance on the tub’s edge and almost falling atop the still-unconscious Carol Marr. I managed to prop a hand against the wall behind me, which left me hanging in an awkward position over her.

  “You lying bitch. I should kill you for that alone.”

  “I’m not the one who lied to you. It was Larry.” My hand was so sweaty I began to slowly glide down the tiled wall, but I didn’t dare push myself back up. I barely dared to breathe.

  “Oh, I’ll deal with him, all right. But I’ll deal with you first.”

  Two things happened at the same time, although I only reacted to one of them. My hand finally slipped on the tile, plunging me face first into the tub, causing me to bang my head, and Hannah discharged the weapon.

  The sound was deafening in the bathroom, and I kept my head down as the bullet ricocheted from the tiled walls, landing who knows where.

  “Did I hit you?”

  I stilled, trying not to breathe. My face was wedged between the tub wall and the captive woman’s back, so I couldn’t see anything, but the hairs on the back of my neck were pointing up, reacting to the imminent threat. Hannah had to be standing right by the tub.

  If you’ve ever tried to hold your breath when you’re terrified and running on adrenaline, you know it can’t be done. My lungs were screaming after only a couple of seconds, demanding I start panting, instantly.