“She didn’t say.”
Reed leaned back in his chair and watched him for a long moment, and again the conversation felt off. This guy didn’t seem nearly uncomfortable enough for someone discussing a woman’s final hours. “What was your relationship with April like?” he asked.
“We were friends.”
Reed lifted his eyebrows. “That’s all?”
“Yes. I’m engaged to someone, all right? April and I were friends, no big deal. We worked a few accounts together.”
“Accounts?”
“We’re on the sales side. You know, software sales?”
According to the website, the company was a leading-edge provider of mobile messaging solutions. According to the Austin Business Journal, they were having a shit year.
Reed’s phone dinged with an incoming text. He ignored it for now as he studied Phelps’s body language. April’s parents had said their daughter didn’t have a boyfriend. Her coworker had said the same, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“Was April having any issues with anyone that you were aware of?” Reed asked.
“No.”
“Anyone at work bothering her?”
“No. But I mean, why ask me? You should ask Mindy Stephens or someone who knew her better.” He shifted in his chair, finally getting uncomfortable. “Look, I know what you’re driving at.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But you’re wasting your time. I was here way late Tuesday, didn’t leave till, like, two A.M. You can check the security tapes.” He nodded down the street, and Reed knew he was indicating the security camera perched above ChatWare’s front entrance.
Reed stared at him a moment, then pulled out a business card. He had a feeling he’d be talking with Ian Phelps again, and he wanted to keep things friendly. He jotted down his cell number and handed over the card. “Thanks for your time today. Call me if you think of anything helpful.”
Phelps quickly got to his feet. “Yeah, sure.”
Reed watched him walk away, already back on his phone and looking right at home among the neighborhood regulars. Reed glanced around the café. He was out of his element. The place served five-dollar coffee, and the average patron was probably twenty-eight.
Reed’s phone dinged again and he checked the text.
OPEN ME. The words were followed by a link. Reed didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local. He debated a moment before taking the bait.
A photo appeared of a beautiful young woman with a cascade of auburn hair and a sultry smile. Reed frowned down at the picture. He checked the sender’s number, but still it didn’t ring a bell. Beneath the photo was a description, and Reed’s frown deepened as he read the words.
He studied the picture, trying to reconcile the sexy red smile with the bloodless lips he’d seen during this morning’s autopsy.
He couldn’t. But the woman in the photograph was definitely April Abrams.
• • •
The volleyball court was empty, but Bellaterra’s parking lot was almost full as Reed used his police emergency code to open the gate. He pulled up to April’s unit and got out.
The victim’s vehicle had been hauled to the crime lab, where it would remain until it could be cleared for release to the family. Reed glanced around as he approached April’s door. He sliced through the scene tape and stepped inside, then donned a pair of booties and entered his name in the scene log. The CSIs had wrapped up last night, but the DA wanted to keep everything sealed for a while until the case took shape. Only one day in, and the man was already chomping at the bit to prosecute someone.
Reed stood in the foyer a moment, letting the air settle around him. A mix of smells lingered, the most notable being the Superglue that Veronica had used to fume the doorknobs. The familiar scent kicked his brain into gear as he stepped deeper into the apartment.
Walking a crime scene was something Reed did early and often. Things jumped out at him on a second or third pass, things he’d missed the first time, because death scenes had a way of being messy and chaotic, especially outdoor ones. But this scene was indoors. And uninhabited. It was a rare combination of circumstances that Reed intended to use to his advantage.
He walked through the kitchen again and looked out at the patio. Still no cat. He pulled on a pair of gloves and went through the cabinets again. Then he tried the drawers, paying special attention to any slips of paper lying around. As he made his way into the bedroom, he called Jay.
“Sorry, I had a deposition at two,” Jay said when he picked up. “I just got out.”
“I’m at the apartment looking for passwords. Where are we on the laptop?”
“The techs tell me it’s front of the line, but they haven’t gotten to it yet. Passwords might help, though.”
“I’ll let you know,” Reed said. “Hey, did you send me April’s profile on this dating site?”
Pause. “She’s on a dating site?”
Well, that answered that. Reed stepped into the bedroom and went straight to the dresser. He opened the small top drawers, where people tended to stash clutter.
“What, you mean like Match.com?” Jay asked.
“This one’s called Mix. Looks like a smaller shop, and they’re headquartered here in Austin.”
“Interesting.”
“I know. Maybe not a coincidence.”
“You mean someone sent you her profile through department email?”
“Came in on my phone. I don’t recognize the number, and it traces back to Chief Aguilar, only he didn’t send it.”
Jay snorted. “Someone’s fucking with you, bro.”
Reed stepped into the closet and flipped on the light. Besides the basic office clothes, April’s wardrobe included sheer blouses, halter tops, and microskirts, along with a collection of designer shoes that would have made Reed’s ex-wife green with envy. Not what Reed would have expected for a computer geek, which just reinforced the first thing he’d learned as a rookie detective: stereotypes amounted to shit. Criminals and victims were as quirky as everyone else, and relying on assumptions was straight-up laziness that could lead to problems down the road.
“Any idea who?” Jay asked.
“I’m running it down.” He opened a shoe box to find a pair of rhinestone-encrusted stilettos. “Anyway, call me if you find anything.”
Reed stepped out of the closet and stared at the bed. The sheets had been stripped and sent to the lab, but Reed could still picture April propped in the middle of all the pillows, maybe surfing around on her laptop or tablet before going to sleep. He walked over and opened the nightstand drawer. Beneath the chocolate bars he found a pink envelope he hadn’t noticed yesterday. It contained scraps of paper showing words and email addresses.
“Gotcha,” Reed muttered, thumbing through the notes. He took an evidence envelope from his pocket and wrote out a label, then sent Jay a text telling him he’d found the passwords and reminding him to run a check on Phelps. After a last quick walk-through, he let himself out.
The heat blasted him like a hair dryer. The parking lot was congested with people returning home from work and class. A trio of women in cutoff shorts crossed the patio beside the volleyball net and exited through the wrought-iron gate, which they held open for a man coming into the complex. Reed watched them with resignation. The killer could have gained access much the same way. Gates and fences and passcodes were no match for the primal urge to flirt.
A young woman in workout clothes strode down the sidewalk. She had a yoga mat tucked under her arm, and Reed recognized her from yesterday’s canvass.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
She halted.
“My partner talked to you yesterday.” Reed took out his ID, and she cast a wary glance over his shoulder at April’s apartment. “Mind if I ask a few follow-up questions?”
Panicked eyes.
“I don’t really—”
“It won’t take long.” He ushered her into the shade of an oak tree. “I noticed you pull in a few minutes ago. You always get home around five thirty?”
She gazed up at him. “I . . . yeah, I guess. Most days.”
She’d already been through all this with Jay and reported that she hadn’t seen April Abrams or even her car all week.
“I’m wondering if you noticed any unusual vehicles here Tuesday evening,” Reed said. “Maybe a moving van?”
“A moving van?”
“Or maybe a UPS truck? Something blocking the front-row spaces in front of your building.”
“No moving van.” She looked at the building. “But there was a truck here Tuesday. Furniture, I think? I saw some guys unloading a sofa.”
Reed pulled out his notepad. “What time was this, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Six? Maybe six ten?” She brushed her bangs from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I got stuck in traffic, so I was a little late getting home. I don’t think I saw the name on the truck, but they took the sofa to that unit two doors down. The one on the corner there.”
“Thanks.” Reed would follow up, see if the delivery crew had witnessed anything. Or maybe they’d noticed April. The neighbor was watching him now with an anxious look, and Reed tucked his notebook away.
“So can you tell me . . .” She cast a glance at the crime-scene tape. “Did he break in or . . . ?”
“That’s not something I can discuss,” Reed said, feeling like an ass. “But you should take common-sense precautions. Lock your doors, etcetera, even during the day.”
She nodded.
He pulled out a business card. “And don’t hesitate to call us if you see anything unusual.”
Another nod, and he knew he wasn’t helping. She’d probably already started looking for a new place to live.
“Thanks, officer.” She smiled awkwardly and started to leave.
“One more thing. You happened to see April’s cat around?”
“Cat?”
“She had an outdoor cat.”
She shaded her face with her hand and squinted at the building. “I don’t know if it was hers, really. But there’s a stray calico that hangs around here sometimes. Maybe she was feeding it?”
The woman tucked the business card into her purse and walked to her car as Reed’s phone dinged with a text message.
A strange feeling settled in his stomach, and he glanced around as he pulled out his cell. It was the Mix link again. This time the sender’s number was all zeros.
WHO IS THIS? he queried.
FORGET IAN UR WASTING TIME.
Reed stared down at the words. A few seconds later a text bubble appeared showing the link again.
Reed gritted his teeth. How did the sender know about Ian Phelps? Someone was definitely screwing with him. He poised his thumb to respond.
The message vanished.
• • •
Laney drove down the row of condos, noting the familiar cars and the welcoming glow of porch lights. She’d picked this street specifically for its quiet feel, but her usual sense of relief at coming home was lacking tonight. Instead she felt stressed and irritable. Not to mention bone-tired. And she needed to snap out of it because she still had some code sprints ahead of her.
She reached her condo but on impulse kept on going. Throughout her drive home a vague feeling of unease had prompted her to check her mirrors over and over. Now she hooked a right at the stoplight. She circled the block twice before finding a parking space. She grabbed her messenger bag and got out, looping the strap over her head as she glanced around.
Urban Grounds was busy tonight but not nearly as bad as Saturdays, when they featured half-price microbrews and live music. She mounted the steps to the front porch where people lounged on mismatched armchairs under slow-churning ceiling fans. Inside, the place smelled like incense and coffee beans. Laney made her way to the counter and ordered her usual from a barista with blond dreadlocks and a lip ring.
“You seen Scream around?” she asked him, tucking a bill into the tip jar.
“Not tonight.”
“Tell him I’m looking for him, would you?”
“You got it.”
She joined the cluster of people waiting for drinks at the counter and eyed the cookies behind the glass. Her stomach growled. She thought of her refrigerator, which was suffering from severe neglect because of the hours she’d been working. One of these days she’d probably settle into a nine-to-five routine, but for now she preferred to push herself. Predators didn’t keep business hours, so why should she?
“Night Owl, double jolt.”
She grabbed her coffee and turned around, smacking right into a broad chest.
A man gazed down at her with flinty blue eyes, and her heart lurched.
“Delaney Knox.”
CHAPTER 3
Laney stood frozen, her fingers burning against the cardboard cup.
Reed Novak’s gaze didn’t waver. “You got a minute?”
How had he found her? No way he’d spotted her tailing him yesterday. But he knew her name. Did he know where she lived, too? The thought unnerved her.
Then it pissed her off.
The detective eased closer, towering over her, attempting to intimidate her with his size. “We can do this here or at the station. Your call.”
Laney stared up at him, debating how to respond. She avoided cops whenever possible. They were all about authority, rigidity, law and order. She wanted to tell him to get lost, and yet . . . she was curious. And impressed that he’d somehow tracked her down.
She stepped away from the counter and claimed an empty table. “Five minutes,” she said.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and she felt a flutter of nerves. He took the metal chair across from her, turning sideways to make room for his long legs.
Up close she saw that his eyes were light blue, almost gray. He had thick salt-and-pepper hair and tanned skin and looked as though he spent time outdoors. Cop or not, he was definitely attractive. She’d have to be dead not to notice.
“What is it you want?” she asked.
He leaned back, watching her with an assessing gaze. “Some answers.”
Urban Grounds attracted an eclectic mix, and they were probably the only two customers not sporting body art. But Laney still fit in. If the detective was bothered by the glances he was getting, he didn’t show it.
Laney’s heart was still thumping from the shock of seeing him here. She didn’t like being caught off guard.
She looked at her watch again. “Four minutes.”
He smiled. “You have somewhere to be tonight?”
“Yes.”
The smiled faded and he held her gaze. “You hacked into my phone,” he said evenly.
She didn’t respond.
“You spoofed the unlisted number of the chief of police to pass information relevant to a homicide investigation.”
He watched her and waited. Did he think she was going to explain? She didn’t discuss her methodology. Her skills were her meal ticket, and she wasn’t about to put herself out of a job.
“Well?” His eyebrows tipped up.
“No one’s really unlisted.”
He leaned farther back in the chair and looked her over, taking his time about it.
Laney’s skin warmed under his gaze.
“How is it you know April Abrams?”
She sipped her coffee because her throat was suddenly dry. “Why would you assume I do?”
“I saw your Ford Focus parked near ChatWare Solutions yesterday.”
Laney didn’t say anything. He must have collected the security tapes and run her plate.
“I noticed it again near April’s apartment,” he said. “You seem intereste
d in her murder.”
“I’m interested in a lot of things.”
He stared at her silently, but she refused to squirm. “Work? School?” he persisted. “A mutual friend?”
“That’s not really relevant.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, all trace of amusement gone now. “I’m the lead detective in her murder case. Far as I’m concerned, everything’s relevant.”
The words sent a chill down her spine. Her murder case. April had been reduced to a case number, a bar code.
The cold queasiness was back again. Laney had been trying to get rid of it, but she couldn’t.
“I’ve got all night.” His eyes settled on her, cool and determined. She felt as if she were sitting in an interview room with one of those two-way mirrors and furniture that was bolted to the floor.
She darted a glance at the door. She wanted to leave. She shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. But the police had been wasting time, and she hadn’t been able to sit idly by. Evidence was ephemeral, especially the digital kind. She knew that better than anyone.
“Delaney? How do you know April?”
A lump clogged in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She looked into his eyes. “She was my friend.”
• • •
Her answer didn’t surprise him. But the emotion in her voice did.
He watched her, trying to get a read. Her body language was guarded. She didn’t like that he’d found her here in her own backyard, which was pretty ironic considering she’d hacked into his phone and didn’t even bother denying it.
She sat there, staring at him defiantly with those brown-black eyes. Her dark hair was cut short in the back and angled sharply to her chin, with a hunk of bright pink on one side. She wore black Converse shoes, black jeans, and a thin black tank top that clung to her small, high breasts. Reed was making a valiant effort to keep his focus on her face, but God help him, he was only human.
“You and April were friends,” he stated. “That how you knew she was on this dating site?”
“More or less.”
“What’s that mean?”
She looked impatient. “Yes, I knew she was on Mix.”
Deep Dark Page 3