Killer Investigation

by Amanda Stevens

  The back of his neck prickled as he scoured his surroundings. An indefinable worry blew a chill wind across his nerve endings, and he frowned as he tried to clear the cobwebs from his memory. Arden’s return wasn’t the only thing that had thrown him off his game tonight. The proximity of the murder disturbed him on a level that he didn’t yet understand.

  He’d come home last night, having called a cab from the bar where he’d spent the evening with friends. Vaguely he remembered paying the driver and watching the taillights disappear around the corner. As the sound of the engine faded, he’d heard the tomcats fighting. Or had the sound been something else entirely?

  He told himself he’d been sober enough to discern caterwauling felines from a human scream. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen something, heard something that had gotten lost in his muddled dreams.

  He thought about walking down to the alley where the body had been found to see if anything jarred loose. He discarded the notion at once. The entrance was still cordoned off, and, for all he knew, the cops might have the street staked out in hopes the killer would return to the scene of the crime. Best not to get involved. He had enough on his plate at the moment. This was make-or-break time for the new firm, and he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by a murder or by Arden Mayfair or by an ex-con with an ax to grind against his family. Keep your head down and stay focused.

  After locking the car door with the key fob, he climbed the back stairs and let himself into the apartment, flipping on lights as he walked through the rooms. The house was old and creaky, his living quarters in bad need of remodeling. But for now the space suited his needs. He didn’t mind the peeling paint or the sagging doors or even the ceiling stains from a leaky roof. What he cared about were the long windows that let in plenty of natural light and the oak floors that had been worn to a beautiful patina. The house on Logan Street felt more like home to Reid than his sleek waterfront condo ever had. He’d never liked that place or the position at Sutton & Associates that had paid for it.

  He poured himself a drink and then leaned against the counter to glance through the paper. The murder received only a scant mention. The victim’s name was still being withheld, along with any details about the crime scene. Nothing about the magnolia blossom or any suspects. Nothing at all to explain that warning tingle at the back of Reid’s neck.

  He scanned the rest of the paper as he finished his whiskey and then poured another, telling himself he needed to relax, just needed to take the edge off that meeting with Arden. He still had a bit of a hangover from the night before so hair of the dog and all that. Booze had flowed freely at Sutton & Associates. The competitive nature of the firm had worn on the associates and junior partners, and Reid, like the others, had fallen into the habit of happy hour cocktails with clients and colleagues, wine with dinner, liqueur with coffee and then a nightcap to finish off the evening. Sometimes two or three nightcaps just so he could shut down and get to sleep.

  Now that he was out of the pressure cooker environment of his father’s firm, he needed to start taking better care of himself. Lay off the hooch. Hit the gym. Add a few miles to his morning run. Get back in shape mentally and physically. Turn over a new leaf, so to speak.

  Resolved for at least the rest of the evening, he poured the remainder of his drink down the sink and then stuffed the newspaper in the trash can. Out of sight, out of mind.

  It was too early to turn in so he went out to the balcony to enjoy the evening breeze. The house was built in the Charleston style—narrow and deep with the windows and balconies overlooking the side garden. If he turned his chair just so, he could glimpse the street through the lush vegetation. A ceiling fan whirled sluggishly overhead, stirring the scent of jasmine from his neighbor’s fence. He propped his feet on the rail and clasped his hands behind his head.

  This had become his favorite spot. Hidden from view, he could sit out in the cooling air and watch the comings and goings in the neighborhood while his mind wound down from the daily grind. Not that his schedule was all that packed these days, but he’d just taken on a couple of promising cases, and the stress of any new venture took a toll.

  He’d been rocking gently as he let his mind drift, but now he stopped the motion and sat up straight as he listened to the night. The tomcats had long since called a truce and moved on. There was no traffic to speak of, no music or laughter from any of the nearby houses. Everything had gone deadly still. It was as if something dark had crept once more into the neighborhood. A shadowy menace that prowled the streets, luring young women into alleyways and leaving the kiss of death upon their lips.

  Or white magnolia blossoms beside their dead bodies.

  Reid chided himself for letting his imagination get the better of him. But the longer he stared into the darkness, the more certain he became that his house was being watched. Across the street, someone hunkered in the shadows.

  It’s nothing. Just a tree or a bush. No one is there.

  But he was already up, leaning far over the balcony railing to peer through the oak leaves, zeroing in on a dark figure that didn’t belong in the neighborhood.

  The silhouette took on definition. Slumped shoulders. Tilted head. Reid could imagine the sneer.

  Dave Brody.

  Keeping to the shadows, Reid slipped back into the apartment, and then raced down the stairs and out the front door. But Brody had vanished by the time he crossed the street.

  Probably not a good idea to go traipsing about his neighbor’s yard, Reid decided. Good way to get shot. Instead, he circled the block, eyeing fences and garden gates until he found himself back on his street, standing at the alleyway where the young woman’s body had been found early that morning. Police tape barricaded the entrance, but no one was about. No one that he could detect.

  He lifted his gaze, searching along the buildings that walled in the alley. Apartment windows looked down on the narrow street. Someone must have seen something, heard something. Had the police done a thorough job canvassing the area? Were they even now zeroing in on a suspect?

  Reid turned to scour the street behind him, and he cocked his ear to the night sounds. The screech of a gate hinge. The scratch of a tree limb against glass. Somewhere at the back of the alley, a foot connected with an empty can. Or was that just the wind?

  The sound jarred Reid and he told himself to go home. Leave the investigation to the police. He would be a fool to breach the police barricade and an even bigger idiot to pursue Dave Brody down a dark, deserted alley.

  But when had he ever taken the prudent way out?

  Ducking under the tape, he paused once more to glance over his shoulder. He could just make out his house through the lush foliage. He hadn’t taken the time to lock up on his way out. If he was bound and determined to do this, he needed to be quick about it. For all he knew, Dave Brody could already be inside his house, hiding in a closet or underneath the bed.

  Disturbing thought. Chilling image.

  Almost as unnerving as exploring the scene of a violent murder.

  He shook off his disquiet as he entered the alley, hugging the side of the building to avoid the glow from the streetlights. He came upon the bloodstains. There were a lot of them. Whoever the young woman had been, she’d met with a violent end.

  Crouching beside the stains, he lifted his gaze to the buildings. The night was very still except for the quick dart of a shadow on one the balconies. Reid’s pulse quickened as he strained to make out a silhouette. No one was there. Just his imagination.

  He rubbed the gooseflesh at the back of his neck as he scoured his surroundings. A dog barked from behind a garden gate, and a fluffy yellow cat eyed him from atop a brick wall before leaping headlong into darkness. Night creatures stirred. Bats circled overhead. And somewhere in the alley, a two-legged predator watched from the shadows.

  “Evening, Counselor,” a voice drawled.

&n
bsp; It took everything Reid had not to react to that whiny twang. Instead, he rose slowly, peering back into the alley as he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “That you, Brody?” As Reid’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, the man’s form took shape. He lounged against the wall of the building, one foot propped against the brick facade as he regarded Reid in the filtered moonlight. Reid couldn’t see his features clearly, but he had no trouble imagining the tattoos, the buzzed head, the perpetual smirk. He hardened his voice. “What the hell are you doing back there?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Me? I’m just enjoying the night air while I check out the neighborhood. I always liked this area. Quiet streets. Friendly people. Maybe I should start looking for a place around here. Put down some roots. What you think about that?”

  Having Dave Brody for a neighbor was the last thing Reid wanted to contemplate. And the irony of waxing poetically about the quiet streets while standing at the scene of a brutal murder seemed particularly creepy, but Reid knew better than to allow the man to goad him. “I saw you watching my house just now. You weren’t out for a stroll. You were hiding in the bushes staring up at my balcony.”

  Brody turned his head and spit into the alley. “If I meant to hide, you wouldn’t have seen me. I did tell you I aimed to keep an eye on you, didn’t I?”

  Reid clenched and unclenched his fists as he worked to keep his voice even. “We have more stringent stalker laws these days. You cross a line, I’ll have your hide back in jail.”

  He could hear the amusement in Brody’s voice. “I’m not too worried about that, Counselor. See, I had a lot of time on my hands in prison. Did a lot of reading. I know my rights and I know the law. I won’t be crossing any lines. Just nudging up against them a little.”

  “You already crossed a police barricade. I could call the cops on you right now.”

  “But then you’d have to turn yourself in, and I don’t think you want to get all jammed up with the Charleston PD right now.”

  Reid scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brody’s gaze sliced through the darkness. “A good detective might start to wonder what you’re doing in this alley, standing in the exact spot where a woman was stabbed last night. A good detective might start to dig a little deeper and find out you have a connection to the victim.”

  Reid’s heart jumped in spite of himself. “Nothing about the victim has been released to the public. No name, no description, no cause of death. There’s no way you could know anything about her unless you—”

  “I didn’t lay a hand on her. Didn’t have to. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.” Brody pushed himself away from the wall and came toward Reid. Despite the heat, he wore steel-toed work boots and an army jacket with crude lettering down the sleeves. It was dark in the alley, but enough light filtered in to emphasize the spiderweb tattoo on his neck and the three dots at the corner of his right eye. Common enough prison ink, but the images seemed even more ominous on Brody.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Reid warned.

  Brody laughed, displaying unnaturally white teeth in the moonlight. “See, I was in a bar on Upper King Street last night. Yeah, that bar. I saw you and your friends having a grand old time, not a care in the world. You were attracting plenty of female action, too, the way you were throwing around all that money. One gal in particular seemed mighty taken with you, Counselor. Kept trying to cozy up to you at the bar, touching your arm, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. She even passed you a note. Don’t tell me you don’t remember her. About yay-high, bleached blond hair?”

  Something niggled at the back of Reid’s mind. Although he tried to swat it away, a nebulous worry kept creeping back into his consciousness. “There were a lot of people in that bar last night. I didn’t see you, though.”

  “Like I said, you won’t see me unless I want to be seen. I found myself a quiet corner just so I could take it all in.” Brody reached inside his jacket and Reid reflexively stepped back. “Relax. I’m just trying to help jar your memory.” He flung a photograph in the air and Reid flinched. The snapshot hung on the breeze for a moment before fluttering to the ground at Reid’s feet. “Pick it up.”

  Reluctantly, Reid retrieved the picture, positioning himself so that he could use the light on his phone while keeping Brody in his periphery. He could make out a few faces in the photograph. His own, some of his friends. A woman he’d never seen before stood gazing up at him at the bar. Reid didn’t recognize her, had only a hazy memory of someone coming onto him as he waited for a drink.

  “Now do you remember?” Brody pressed.

  “Who is she?”

  “Who was she, you mean.”

  Dread rolled around in Reid’s stomach as he glanced up. “What did you do?”

  “I told you, I didn’t lay a hand on her. See, I was out for a walk this morning when a bunch of police cars go roaring by. A guy in my position tends to notice that sort of thing. So I walk down here to see if I can figure out what’s what. Got a look at the body before they bagged her up. Imagine my surprise when I recognized the blonde from the bar, dead in an alley not even a block from your place. Pretty little thing, too, but nothing like that blonde you went to see earlier this evening. Now she’s a real looker.”

  Reid’s head came up. “You stay away from her. Whatever your beef is with me, she has nothing to do with it. You go near her place again, you even so much as glance down her street, I will personally see you back behind bars or in your own body bag.”

  “Mighty big words for a guy who’s spent his whole life riding his daddy’s coattails.” Brody wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But no call to get all riled up, Counselor. I don’t have any interest in your girlfriend so long as you help me get what I want.”

  “And what is it you want, Brody?”

  “Justice.”

  “That’s rich coming from you. What makes you think I’d ever want to help the likes of you? You haven’t exactly been the poster child for rehabilitation since you hit town.”

  “Well, that’s all in the past. Things have changed since last night. Now I’m in a position to help you out, too, Counselor. I’m hoping we can come to an understanding that will be mutually beneficial. See, that gal didn’t just slip you a note last night. She put something in your drink.”

  Reid stared at him blankly. “What?”

  “You wake up with a headache this morning? Have trouble remembering what you did and who you did it with?”

  Reid’s mind reeled back to the bar, to the cab ride home, to the cats fighting in the alley. When he’d finally tumbled into bed, he’d slept the sleep of the dead, awakening that morning to the sound of sirens outside his window. He’d had a dry mouth, a splitting headache and the sense that things had happened he couldn’t remember.

  All that flitted through his head in the blink of an eye.

  Outwardly he remained calm as he casually glanced back at the street, telling himself to get the hell out of that alley. Whatever game Brody was playing, Reid wanted no part of it. Still, he lingered.

  He turned back to Brody, dipping his head slightly as he peered into the shadows. “You just happened to be in a bar taking photographs when someone drugged my drink. That sounds totally believable.”

  “I didn’t just happen to be anywhere,” Brody said. “I followed you to that bar. I told you, I aim to keep an eye on you. As for the blonde, I never saw her before last night. She could have been working alone for all I know. Slipped you a roofie so she could roll you in the alley. You looked like an easy enough mark. My guess, though, is that someone paid her. Now you think about that for a minute. A woman comes on to you in a crowded bar and then she’s later found dead half a block from your house. If the police start asking questions, someone will likely remember seeing the two of you leave together.”

  “I left the bar alone,” Reid said. �
�I caught a cab and came straight home.”

  “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. People tend to remember all sorts of things when an idea is put in their head. It’s called the power of suggestion. The point is, you were seen with a woman who later ended up dead. If I was a betting man, I’d say someone is setting you up, Counselor.”

  Reid was getting queasier by the minute. He told himself again to end the conversation. Go home. Forget Brody. He’s working a con on you. “How do I know you’re not making all this up? Or that you weren’t the one who drugged me?”

  “Plenty more photographs where that came from, and they tell a story. Two stories really. The blonde getting all touchy-feely—those photographs make you at the very least a person of interest if not an outright suspect. But the photographs of her slipping you a Mickey kind of make you look like a victim. Kind of proves someone is trying to set you up. See how that works? One set convicts, the other set clears. Now if the police were to get their hands on the wrong set, they might show up at your place of business, put you in cuffs, read you your rights and make a great big spectacle out of a Sutton arrest. Don’t think they wouldn’t get a charge out of that.”

  Oh, they would. Reid could see the headlines now. A famous defense attorney’s son hauled in for questioning in a brutal homicide.

  “Course, then your old man gets to swoop in and save the day,” Brody continued. “But imagine his surprise when the one person who can clear his only son turns out to be yours truly.” He gave a low, ugly laugh.

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Reid said.

  “Nah. The script practically wrote itself last night.”

  Dread was no longer tumbling around in Reid’s stomach. It had settled like a red-hot coal in the pit. “You say you want justice, but what specifically do you want from me?”