by Jane Godman
“My name is Aidan Hannant.” He was quiet-spoken and appeared nervous. “I was driving the vehicle that mounted the sidewalk on Mustang Boulevard yesterday.”
Spencer wasn’t sure what he’d expected from this meeting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. He picked up the pad of paper and pen that had been left on the table.
“I will need to ask one of my colleagues to take a full statement from you, Mr. Hannant. But I have a few questions to ask before that, starting with what caused you to lose control of the vehicle?”
“I sneezed.”
Spencer glanced up from the note he was making. Hannant was offering a tricky excuse. It was a driver’s responsibility to remain in control of his, or her, vehicle at all times. A sneeze, however, was an involuntary action—one that often could not be predicted or prevented.
“And your reason for not stopping at the scene, or coming forward sooner...?”
“I was scared.” Hannant drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “I mean, I closed my eyes for a second when I sneezed and the next thing I knew, my car was on the sidewalk. I could have killed someone.”
“That’s true. And, if your intention had been to harm someone—whether physically, or by scaring them—a sneeze is a very convenient defense.”
Hannant sucked in a breath. “I—I don’t know how to answer that. Except to repeat that it was an accident.”
“So you didn’t know the woman you nearly hit?”
“No!” The guy was either genuinely upset at the suggestion, or he was a very good actor. “I panicked and left the scene, but after I thought about it, I knew I had to come in here and tell the truth.”
Spencer knew that appearances could be deceptive. Conducting a background check would give him a clearer picture of who Aidan Hannant was and might help him understand the reasons behind this visit. He couldn’t quite figure out why the other man would turn up with this story if his intention had been to harm, or frighten, Katrina.
A quick glance at the screen of his cell told Spencer he needed to get moving. The operation at Mustang Valley General couldn’t happen without him. Before he called in a colleague to take a full statement from Hannant, he had one more question.
“Do you have any connection to the Affirmation Alliance Group?”
“I don’t understand.” Hannant’s forehead wrinkled. “Is that the group who’ve been helping people affected by the earthquake? What do they have to do with this?”
That was the key question. Spencer didn’t have an answer. Yet. But he intended to find one.
* * *
Katrina had gone through the first training session of the afternoon on autopilot. Although every animal was different, most of the routines were the same and it didn’t take much to adapt her approach to an individual dog. By the time the dogs were collected by their owners, the shakiness she had felt after yesterday’s encounter with Aidan Hannant had returned and she was exhausted.
“I overheard something a woman said in the grocery store yesterday.” She started the conversation before Suzie, who could be a little too perceptive sometimes, asked if she was okay. “She was talking about a man who had died recently in a horrible accident. I don’t recall anything like that, do you?”
“Not here in Mustang Valley.” Suzie could always be relied upon to be up-to-date with all the news, including the latest recent killings of beauty pageant contestants in two Arizona counties. “But my mom’s friend Helen Jackson, who lives just outside of town, lost her husband recently. That was a tragic accident.”
“How did he die?”
“He was an airplane pilot for a small commercial company operating out of Tucson. A month or two ago, his plane collided with another on takeoff.” Suzie shook her head sadly. “Helen’s son, Jonah, said they had to use dental records to identify the bodies.”
Katrina stored the information away for later. It was possible that Helen Jackson was not the woman she had seen confronting the AAG members. But Helen had recently lost her husband in tragic circumstances, and her son could have borrowed money to spend on one of the group’s seminars. She still didn’t feel it was enough to take her suspicions to Spencer and risk being labeled as the same sort of attention seeker her mother had been. But it was a potential starting point and that gave her hope of finding a way forward.
By the end of the day, her fighting spirit had been restored. The panic brought on by Aidan Hannant’s warning was still there, but she was able to push it aside and plan her next steps.
“You said Helen Jackson lives out of town. Where, exactly?” she asked Suzie as they locked up.
“She’s a sculptor. Her studio is about ten miles out of town, close to the Mustang Valley Mountains. Why?”
“Just wondering why I never heard the story about her husband.”
“There was an obituary in the Mustang Valley Times,” Suzie said. “But it was just a few lines. I didn’t talk to you about it because I figured you didn’t know the family, and...” She shrugged. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
They stepped out into the bright sunlight and Katrina resisted the temptation to laugh. She had a feeling that, if she started, she might be unable to stop. And her laughter could quickly turn to tears.
“You could say that.”
“Look, I was going to see Rusty tonight.” Suzie’s on-off relationship with an old school friend was in one of its “on” phases. “But he’ll understand if I call and cancel.”
“Don’t you dare.” Despite their height difference, Katrina managed to drape an arm around the other woman’s shoulders as they walked toward their cars. “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of Rusty’s dirty looks next time I see him.”
Once she’d convinced Suzie that she really would be okay and waved her off, Katrina loaded the dogs into her own vehicle. Before she set off, she sat behind the wheel and spent a few minutes checking out Helen Jackson’s website on her cell phone.
Although Aidan Hannant’s words had frightened her, she wasn’t going to let a thug stop her from finding her sister. It bothered her that an organization like the AAG could be behind sending a bully boy to scare her. Of course, there was always a chance that the leaders of the group knew nothing about the activities of some of its members. It was even possible that a few unscrupulous people had infiltrated a do-good group and were using it as a cover for their activities.
If that was the case, she was in over her head. She narrowed her eyes. Maybe she should contact Spencer one more time. She’d been threatened. And the warning had been specifically linked to the car that had come so close to running her down. Even Mr. Cautious Cop couldn’t ignore that.
When she tried Spencer’s number, it went straight to a voice-mail message that directed her to one of his colleagues. Since she wasn’t going to start explaining the situation all over again to someone new, she decided to stop by the police station and ask to speak to him. It was on the way to Helen Jackson’s place.
* * *
Spencer had been lying in the darkened hospital room for over half an hour. Visiting times were limited, and the hospital would soon close its doors for the day. If the shooter was going to make his move, he would need to act soon. The medical staff had played their parts, helping to make the scene appear authentic by positioning monitors and a ventilator close to the bed.
Beneath the bed covers, his right hand rested on his weapon. Under the bed, hidden from view by an overhanging sheet, James was lying on his stomach with his own gun trained on the door. In the corner, adjacent to the bed, Lizzie was concealed behind a folding screen. Outside, patrolling the corridor, PJ and Kerry were disguised as orderlies.
“No unusual activity.” PJ’s voice sounded overly loud in Spencer’s headphones, but he knew the seasoned detective would be careful to speak quietly into his concealed microphone.
Because there were
no other patients on that floor, the plan was simple. PJ and Kerry would observe the entrance. Once the suspect was approaching the room, they would alert Spencer. The team would let the shooter get through the door before surrounding him.
There were two entrances to Payne’s second-floor ward. Either way, anyone entering was required to check in with the unit manager, whose desk was located a few yards from the room in which Spencer and his team were lying in wait.
The air was so brittle with tension it felt ready to snap. Spencer eased his limbs into a more relaxed position. With ten minutes left until the end of visiting hours, it was possible they’d struck out this time.
“Stand by. Looks like our guy just stepped out of the elevator.” At PJ’s whisper, Spencer’s heart rate kicked up a notch and his fingers closed over the butt of his gun.
Letting out a slow, controlled breath, he strained his ears. Sure enough, the faintest sound came from just outside the door. There was just enough light for Spencer to see the handle begin to turn.
Wait. Let him get inside. Those were the instructions he’d given...
A sliver of bright light appeared as the door started to open. Just as quickly, it was gone. Reacting to the loud slam, Spencer leaped from the bed and dashed from the room. He was in time to see PJ and Kerry running after a hooded figure. As the person reached the window at the end of the corridor, Spencer thought they had him cornered. There was nowhere for him to go.
“Halt! Mustang Valley Police.”
As he shouted the warning, the intruder risked a glance over his shoulder. The fluorescent lights glinted off his shades before he turned away again. Moving swiftly, he opened the window, banged hard with the heel of his hand and forced it beyond the safety catch.
“Damn it. He’s going to jump!” PJ was almost within grabbing distance, even had an arm outstretched, but the shooter nimbly leaped through the opening.
The three police officers reached the window and clustered together, gazing down at the scene below. The guy had landed on a grass verge. He scrambled to his feet, then cast a quick look around before limping to a vehicle. Before any of the cops could jump after him, he was driving quickly away.
Spencer muttered a curse under his breath as he pulled out his cell and contacted the officers who were watching the exits. Even though there was only a limited chance they would catch up with the shooter, he described what had happened and instructed them to make an attempt to pursue the suspect’s car.
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” he said as he ended the call. “Did he match the description of the guy on the security cameras at Colton Oil the night Payne was shot?”
“Yeah.” Kerry huffed out a breath. “He was pretty much identical.”
“We need to get the hospital security footage to see if we can get a better description from it,” Spencer instructed.
As they were talking, the other officers were emerging from their hiding places. The atmosphere was despondent. This had been their best chance of flushing out the shooter and he’d eluded them.
Although he told himself that they’d done their best and it had always been a long shot, disappointment gnawed at Spencer’s gut. He didn’t subscribe to that whole “it’s okay to lose” philosophy. He believed if you didn’t get it right the first time, you’d failed. And he didn’t like feeling useless... Even so, he wasn’t going to pass those emotions on to his team.
“We did our best, but right now, there’s nothing more we can do here, guys. You may as well head back to the station while I report to the Colton family.”
Spencer reached into his pocket for his cell phone. There were a number of missed calls from Katrina and a message from the MVPD dispatcher, saying that she’d called into the station looking for him. A frown pulled his eyebrows together. What now? He knew he was being unfair to her with the thought. It was only natural that she should be worried about her sister. And it wasn’t her fault that trouble seemed to follow her...
As he made his way up the stairs toward Payne Colton’s new third-floor room, he tried Katrina’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. He left a short message, letting her know that he’d tried to return her calls.
He’d catch up with her later. Even Katrina Perry couldn’t get herself into much trouble in the next hour or so.
* * *
Despite their sorrowful expressions, Katrina decided to leave the dogs at home when she went in search of Helen Jackson’s studio. As she drove along the winding drive that approached the property, Katrina saw a variety of life-size wooden animal sculptures. No wonder Helen had chosen to locate her home in this rural location. Her artwork was on a large scale and she clearly needed plenty of space.
At the end of the drive, a long, low building was split into three distinct units with signs over the door of each. They were a workshop, a sales area and a house. A woman was seated on the front porch and, with a feeling of intense relief, Katrina recognized her as the person who had confronted the AAG members on Mustang Boulevard.
As Katrina got out of her car, the other woman rose from her chair and came down the steps to greet her.
“Hi there.” Helen—because surely it must be Helen—gave her a friendly smile. “I’m actually closed for sales at this time of day. But if you’ve seen something on the website that you’re interested in, I’ll be happy to give you a viewing.”
“I’d love to look at your sculptures.” Although Katrina felt it would be the easiest way to create a bond with Helen, she seriously doubted she would be able to afford one of the giant structures. Even if she could, she’d have to dismantle her canine-training equipment if she wanted to fit one in her yard. “But I came to talk to you about something else.”
Helen’s smile faded a little as she scanned her face. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“We haven’t. But I was close by when you spoke to some members of the Affirmation Alliance Group on Mustang Boulevard the other day.”
Helen’s gaze shifted away from Katrina’s face toward the nearby Mustang Valley Mountains. After a few moments of silence, she looked back again. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“You seemed very certain of your facts. And you were unhappy with the way the AAG had treated your son,” Katrina said.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
The difference between the confident woman who had confronted the group two days ago and this uncomfortable, nervous figure before her now was striking. What could have caused this change in Helen? Although she was bemused, Katrina plowed on.
“I’m asking about this for a reason. Two months ago, my sister got involved with the AAG—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” The words came out fast and sharp. Helen drew a breath before continuing in a calmer tone. “I was wrong to approach the AAG members the way I did. I made a mistake and I want to forget it.”
“Please, let me just—”
With a determined shake of her head, Helen turned back toward the house. Defeated, Katrina walked back to her car. What else could she do? Something had caused Helen to change her mind. The anger she’d felt the other day had dissipated and there was this new... She searched for the right word. Resignation? Acceptance? It certainly looked like Helen had turned her back on her previous indignation.
As she drove away, she could see the other woman watching her. Helen was standing on the top step with her arms wrapped around herself, as if fending off a chill.
There is something very wrong here.
For the first time in her life, she was faced with a problem that she couldn’t deal with. In the past, her biggest concern had been supporting Eliza through her addiction. Although she’d dealt with that by herself, it had never felt like an impossible task, or one that she couldn’t deal with alone.
When she got home, she would try Spencer again. Even if he dismissed what she
told him about Helen, he would be obliged to check it out. And that would at least get him asking questions.
As she headed home, she realized she was low on just about every household essential. She’d been putting off grocery shopping, but it had reached the point where starvation was looming. Drastic times called for a shopping trip.
As she pulled into the parking lot outside the convenience store, her phone buzzed. Checking the display, she saw it was an unknown number. She was halfway to declining the call when she paused. Helen Jackson didn’t have her number, but what if she’d somehow gotten hold of it? What if she’d changed her mind and wanted to talk after all?
“Yes?”
“Is that Katrina Perry?” The voice sounded female, quiet and a little breathy. She was fairly sure it wasn’t Helen Jackson.
It certainly didn’t sound sinister, or like a cold caller trying to sell her a funeral plan, but Katrina wasn’t prepared to confirm her identity. Not yet.
“Who is this?”
“I overheard you when you came to the AAG ranch.” The voice had dropped to a whisper. “When you were asking about Eliza. I found your card and I’ve been trying to find the courage to call you.”
Tears stung the back of Katrina’s eyes. Was this it? Was this finally the breakthrough she’d been waiting for? Was she finally going to find out what had happened to her sister?
“Did you know Eliza?”
“Yes. Look, it’s hard for me to talk over the phone. I don’t know who could be listening.”
“I can meet you anywhere.” The groceries could wait. Who needed food, anyway?
“Mustang Park, by the slides. Half an hour.”
“Wait—”
The caller had gone before Katrina could ask who she was, or how she would know her. With a combination of dread and excitement churning inside her, she left the parking lot and headed toward the park.
She arrived at the kiddie playground with ten minutes to spare and sat on a bench. There was no one else around and she figured most of the children who frequented this area would be finishing dinner around this time. It was family time. Homework, TV, bath, story, bed. The usual, familiar routines. The things she and Eliza had missed out on, unless they did them for themselves. Their mom had been more focused on her own needs. Vodka, dive bar, heroin, new boyfriend.