Her lip quivered but she nodded. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”
When Will and Carina were outside, Carina took several deep breaths before getting into their car.
“Cara, are you okay?”
“Just give me a second.”
It was the quiet anguish that got to her. The pain in the eyes. The firm denial even with the internal knowledge that the police wouldn’t come ask her to view a body if they weren’t nearly one hundred percent positive of the identity already. Because there was always hope.
She squeezed her eyes closed and tilted her face to the sun. One. Two. Three.
Better. She tamped down on her own pain and frustration, and turned to Will. “I want to talk to Steve Thomas.”
Steve Thomas’s oceanfront apartment was within biking distance to the university, as evidenced by the wide and well-used bike paths along the highway. There were eight units, four on top, four on bottom. A dozen similar apartment buildings took up this stretch of the highway, half a block from the beach. When she’d been in college, one of her boyfriends had had a place out here, about a mile away, similar to Thomas’s apartment. Ocean access justified the outrageous rent.
On the south side of the building, college-aged men and women walked on the path connecting the street to the beach. It was a Monday in February, but if you didn’t have classes the San Diego beaches were incomparable virtually year-round. Surfers would be out en masse—the temperature promised to be eighty-two today, and while the water was cold, wet suits made it tolerable. Invigorating.
Sometimes Carina missed the carefree life she’d enjoyed in college, when she could drop everything and pick up her surfboard. When was the last time she’d hit the waves? Five, six years ago? She and her brother Connor had gone out before a big storm, nearly wiped out. Even though they were adults, her dad had been furious. They’d had a blast, though. It had been worth Dad’s stern lecture.
She was so out of practice now that she didn’t dare go out under the same conditions. Even today’s tame waves would be a challenge.
Their radio beeped. “Hooper here,” Will answered.
“Sergeant Fields. I have something on the Thomas guy.”
“Shoot.”
“He’s clean, except for a restraining order.”
Carina raised an eyebrow at Will.
“Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah,” Fields responded. “Angela Vance, the girl he reported missing, put it on him three weeks ago.”
THREE
CARINA AND WILL approached Thomas’s apartment with caution, but he wasn’t home. They called in a patrol to check the area every hour and notify them when he returned.
She said to Will as they drove to the university to locate Angie’s friends, “We’ll play nice until we can build a case.”
“Think he’s the one?” Will asked.
“Don’t know, but she was obviously scared of him. And what’s a thirty-nine-year-old man doing following eighteen-year-old girls?”
“Don’t look at me!” Will exclaimed. “I like my women past the chewing-gum stage.”
Carina smiled. “I wasn’t making a moral judgment on your sex life, Hooper. It’s just creepy, you know?” A quick run in the system showed that Thomas had no known occupation, though he received a pension from the U.S. Army. The desk sergeant was trying to dig a little deeper into the guy’s military records to see if there was anything else worth knowing. And just because he didn’t have a job on record didn’t mean he wasn’t working somewhere.
The college administration gave them only a few minutes of frustration before handing over Abby Ivers’s schedule and a copy of her photo ID. Will asked about Steve Thomas, confirmed that he was also a student, and sweet-talked the secretary into peeking at his schedule. Carina didn’t like to play loose with the rules—evidence could later be thrown out in court if they screwed up in the field—but if Thomas was on campus they could track him down.
It would be nearly noon, when Abby’s English lit class would end, so Will and Carina grabbed hot dogs at the student union and munched while watching the doors of the building.
“So Angie Vance was last seen Friday morning,” Will said.
“But her mother heard her come in late Friday night.”
“Though she didn’t actually see her.”
“Steve Thomas comes by the station to file a missing persons report on Saturday morning. Why would he do that?”
“To throw suspicion off himself?”
“That’s stupid.”
“Who said killers were smart?”
Carina frowned. “The murder was sadistic.”
“Maybe he raped her and she suffocated and he panicked, dumped her body.”
“Hmmm.” It was a thought. But why the elaborate setup? The glue? The garbage bags? The public beach? “What do you think about calling Dillon for an informal opinion?”
“Couldn’t hurt, if your brother has the time.”
“He always makes time for me. What’s family for if we can’t bug each other at all hours of the day and night?” She took another bite out of her hot dog, swallowed, and said, “I’d like to hear what Doctor Chen says. Friday night to Monday morning? That’s a long time. If we believe that she was home on Friday night, that’s a full forty-eight hours before she died. Where did he keep her in the meantime?”
“If it’s Steve Thomas, not in his apartment. The walls in complexes like that are paper-thin,” Will said.
“Maybe he glued her mouth shut to keep her from screaming.” The case was giving her the creeps. She much preferred a clear-cut domestic violence or gang shooting. Angie’s murder didn’t fit into anything she’d seen before, so she hoped Dillon had some insight. Her brother was a forensic psychiatrist, and this case would give his psychiatry degree a workout. She’d call him as soon as they were done here.
Carina watched students start pouring from the building. She hadn’t particularly liked college; she was too active, too antsy, and she ended up dropping out with only a year to go and joining the police academy.
But there were other reasons for that decision.
“Over there.” Will hit Carina on the arm, tossing the last third of his hot dog in the trash. Carina followed suit. “That looks like Abby.”
Abby Ivers was a cute, perky blonde in a tight T-shirt and low-waist jeans. Deep dimples sliced her cheeks, and her eye makeup was heavily applied.
“Abby?” She introduced herself and Will and flashed her badge. “Do you have a minute?” Carina motioned for her to follow them back to the bench where they’d been sitting.
“Sure,” she said, hugging her books to her chest and frowning. “I guess.”
When they were seated, Carina asked, “When was the last time you saw Angie Vance?”
Abby’s eyes grew wide. “Oh God, something happened,” she said all in one breath.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she hasn’t returned any of my e-mails, and her IM is offline, and she didn’t journal all weekend. I TM’d her on Saturday night and it bounced back ’cause her cell wasn’t on.”
Abby sounded just like Carina’s sister Lucy.
“TM’d?” Will asked.
“Text messaged,” Carina translated.
“Right, so what happened? Did she get in an accident or something? Is she in the hospital? She’s okay, right?”
“I’m sorry, but she’s dead,” Carina said gently.
Abby’s tanned face noticeably paled. “Dead?” Her chin quivered. “Wh-what happened?”
Carina gave her the bare minimum story. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Friday night.”
“Where?”
“The Sand Shack. On Camino del Oro, off the beach.” Abby’s eyes teared and Carina glanced at Will.
He asked in his soothing voice, “What time did you see her?”
“She left at twelve-thirty, I think. She works there, you know, but got off at ten. Then we jus
t hung out. Jodi and I walked her to her car, but we went back because there was this cute guy…did her mom say she didn’t get home? Did she get carjacked?” Like many survivors, she was looking for answers. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any.
“We’re trying to establish when and where Angie was seen. Was anyone paying unusual attention to her? Giving her a hard time? Maybe she had a boyfriend she’d broken up with recently.”
Abby blushed and looked down. “Angie had a lot of boyfriends. I mean, they all loved her. But she was particular.”
“How so?”
Abby shrugged.
“Abby, if you have anything to tell us, now would be the time.”
“There’s nothing. Just…she broke up with a lot of guys because they weren’t the one.”
“The one?”
“Like, someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” She diverted her eyes and sniffed. “Angie was such a romantic.”
Carina sensed that Abby wasn’t telling them something, but before she could push Will said, “What about Steve Thomas?”
“What about Steve?”
“Was he one of Angie’s ex-boyfriends?”
She nodded. “They dated back in November, I think. Maybe December, too.”
“But he wasn’t the one,” Will said, using Abby’s own phrase.
“No, they weren’t even exclusive.”
“Abby.” Carina remained silent until the girl looked at her. “Is there something else you think might be important? Something about Angie that might help us find out what happened to her?”
“No, nothing,” she said too fast.
Before they could push her, a male voice called from across the courtyard. “Abby!”
Carina and Will turned simultaneously and watched a lean, athletically built man with broad shoulders run toward Abby. He was older than the average college student and barely gave them a glance before saying, “Abby, have you seen Angie at all this weekend?”
“Angie’s dead!” Abby grabbed his arm and held on tightly, her voice quivering. “Steve, these are the police. They’re talking to Angie’s friends.”
Steve? Steve Thomas? Carina watched the man’s face closely. He matched the description Dean Robertson had given her over the phone. Dark blond hair, blue eyes, late thirties.
His face tightened and he shook his head. “No, dammit!” He looked up to the sky and breathed deeply. “I knew she was playing with fire. I just—oh, Angie.” He closed his eyes. He pulled Abby into a hug and she clung on to him.
Carina cleared her throat and Steve let Abby go, but held her to his side. He glared at Will and Carina. “I went to the police on Saturday. I knew no one believed me. Is it true? Is Angie really dead?”
His tone was full of anger and accusation. Carina wondered where it was coming from. One minute he sounded like he was concerned talking to Abby, the next ticked-off. Anyone who could flip a switch that fast had anger close to the surface.
They showed their IDs. “Steve Thomas?” Will asked. “Did you try to file a missing person’s report on Saturday?”
“Not that anyone would listen to me. I knew something was wrong, but because she hadn’t been missing long enough, the cop said he couldn’t do anything.” He let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. What happened? Are you sure it’s Angie?”
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Will asked without answering Thomas’s questions.
He looked like he was going to refuse, then gave a curt nod.
Carina said, “Let’s go to the student union, Mr. Thomas. Unless you would prefer to talk downtown.”
“Fine,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.
After taking down Abby’s contact information, they let her go. Carina planned to talk to her again. Abby knew something.
Now, however, they were faced with a suspect. The overwhelming majority of the time, when a woman was killed it was by her husband, boyfriend, or an ex.
Will led them to a relatively quiet table on the far side of the student union, though with the lunch crowd coming in it was rapidly filling up.
“What happened to Angie?” was Thomas’s first question.
“We’re waiting for a positive identification of her body, but—”
“So it might not be her!” He started to rise, but Will motioned for him to sit.
“We’re certain it’s her,” said Will. “The rest is just a formality.”
Thomas sank back into his chair, his military-straight posture caving. Was his hope that she was alive an act? He sounded genuine, but killers were liars. They could con anyone, often keeping their crimes from their loved ones. Lying to the police was second nature to criminals.
“Where were you Friday night?”
He tensed, sitting up straight. Grief, if that’s what it was, turned to hot anger. “I don’t fucking believe this. I’m the one who told you guys something was wrong!”
Thomas was an explosive pendulum of emotions. Almost as soon as he finished his outburst, he took another deep breath and apologized.
“I’m sorry, I just—I thought I was doing the right thing going to the police, but now you’re here talking to me rather than looking for whoever killed Angie.”
“Mr. Thomas,” Carina said, “I can assure you that regardless of your actions on Saturday, we would have been talking to you eventually. You’re Angie’s ex-boyfriend and she filed a restraining order against you.”
“That was—”
Will interrupted. “Where were you Friday night?”
“When?” Thomas asked through gritted teeth.
“Let’s start at dinner and work from there.”
“I had dinner with a friend at a Mexican restaurant downtown.”
“Does your friend have a name?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Angie’s disappearance.”
“It would establish an alibi.”
“I can’t believe this!” he repeated. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Angie.”
“Did you see Angie Friday night?”
“I saw her at the Sand Shack when she got off work. Around ten. I offered to take her home. She declined. I left.”
“You offered to take her home when she has a restraining order against you?” Carina looked at her notes. “According to the order, you are not allowed within a hundred yards of Angie unless you’re in class.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Enlighten us.”
Thomas didn’t say anything for nearly a minute. Trying to think up a lie? Concoct an alibi? Carina sensed that something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Angie and I broke up over two months ago. We parted friends—ask anyone. Ask Abby. But Angie—She started getting into the party scene. She started seeing this asshole Doug Masterson. I swear, Angie never took drugs until Doug gave her some coke. I confronted Angie, warned her, we got into an argument and, well, I said some things I shouldn’t have. Her friend Kayla convinced her to get the restraining order.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Then why was she scared of you?”
Steve clenched his fists. “She wasn’t scared of me, she was scared of what I said. She just took it out on me.”
“What did you say that scared her?”
He paused, looked at his hands, which were clasped tightly in front of him. “It sounds bad, but I wanted her to see that her actions have consequences.”
“What did you say?” Carina repeated.
His face reddened as he stared at Carina. Anger? Guilt? Fear? His voice was low. “I told her if she didn’t watch herself she’d end up dead.”
FOUR
THE SAND SHACK was across the highway from the beach. A cross between a Hawaiian luau and surfer haven, the outside eating area was larger than the indoor, and there were racks for surfboards, towels, and backpacks. Several people were eating monster-size hamburgers wearin
g nothing but bathing suits and flip-flops. A half-dozen Web hookups along one wall allowed patrons to surf the Internet after surfing the waves.
When Carina was in college, the Sand Shack had been called Big John’s and was one of the last fifties-style soda shops, less casual, but still a hangout for students. She’d have loved a place like the Shack, though she missed the old-fashioned soda fountain and jukebox that only played fifties and sixties bubble-gum rock.
She and Will approached one of the waitstaff, who wore a “uniform” of jeans and red T-shirt with “The Sand Shack” in white across the back. “We need to speak to the owner or manager.”
“Sure.” He scurried off.
Moments later a man approached. “I’m the manager. Kyle Burns. Can I help you?”
Burns was in his mid-to-late twenties with short sandy brown hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and the body of a weight lifter.
They identified themselves and Will said, “Do you have an office or somewhere private we can talk?”
He frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it and led the way to the back of the restaurant. A small alcove off the large, spotless stainless-steel kitchen served as an office.
Burns glanced at his watch and Carina asked, “Are we keeping you?”
“No, it’s okay. I have a class at three. I just came in for the lunchtime rush because my assistant manager didn’t show up.”
He pulled a sliding pocket door from the jamb and closed them into the office, then sat on the corner of the organized desk. It was a tight fit for the three of them, and Will leaned in a deceptively casual stance against the narrow wall.
“What can I help you with?” Burns asked.
“When was the last time you saw Angela Vance?” Will asked.
Burns looked from Will to Carina and back to Will. “She’s my assistant who didn’t show up. Did something happen? Is she okay?”
“Did you see her this weekend?”
Burns’s jaw tightened, as if he didn’t like that Will hadn’t answered his questions. “She worked Friday night and I haven’t seen her since.”
Speak No Evil Page 3