Next, I called the police department. Officer Iverson answered. I identified myself and asked to speak to Chief Washington.
“He’s in a meeting. You want to leave a message?”
“No, thanks,” I said.
“You heard about Lt. Allen didn’t you? That’s why you’re calling.”
“Does it make sense to you?” I asked.
“He was a couple months shy of retirement eligibility. I have a good twenty years before I’m at that point, but I can’t see throwing it all away in the last couple of weeks. I didn’t figure him for the type to quit, but a case like this messes with a cop’s head.”
“Are you guys any closer to finding Barbie?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Night. You know I can’t talk about the investigation. Did you get that tail light fixed yet?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll tell the chief you called.”
I thanked him and hung up.
Paintin’ Place was due to close by six. I made a quick phone call and told Mitchell I had what he wanted but would only deliver those paint names in person. He agreed to stick around until I arrived. I told him my shopping list, and he said he’d start pulling the supplies needed for the job so all that would be left for me was the selection of the paint. I collected Rocky and we headed to the store.
The lot was close to empty. I swung my car around in an arc and backed into a space in front of the paint store. Mitchell met me by the front door.
“Hey, Madison, you’re finally going to deliver? You weren’t pulling my leg, were you?”
“Not pulling your leg.” I pulled the envelope out of my handbag and gave it to him.
He unfolded the sheet of paper. “Beach Party, Lemon Twist, Cherry Rocket, and Cool Cat.” A smile crept over his face. “Gotta admit, I was expecting something more along the lines of Yellow Yikes and Retro Red. But these,” he flapped the sheet of paper back and forth, “these have style.”
“So we’re good?”
“Better than good. I’ll drop the names onto the labels and send them to the printer. We’ll go into production with the paints within a week. If these sell, maybe we can talk about carpet samples.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “One thing at a time, Mitchell. You wouldn’t want this collaboration to go to my head.”
We consulted about gold and silver paint swatches for a couple minutes, and I narrowed the decision down to two. He suggested adding crushed mother of pearl to the paint for added luminosity and rolled out a sample on a piece of scrap wood. I called Hudson while I waited for the paint to dry.
“Are you busy?” I asked. “I’m at the paint store, and I’m caught between gold number twelve and gold number seventeen.”
“I thought they closed at six.”
“I promised Mitchell a product endorsement if he’d wait for me.”
“Tell you what. I’ll meet you there in a couple of minutes if you’ll agree to come over for dinner when we’re done.”
“Sounds good.”
The store’s front door chimes rang after I hung up. Mitchell was using a blow drier on the paint samples and didn’t hear it. I turned around. Jake stood in the doorway. In a flash I was enveloped in hot fear that prickled my skin from my ankles to my hairline.
“Jake. I told Dan I’d call you when the supplies were ready.”
He came closer. “I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”
I looked at Mitchell, and then back at Jake. “Hudson—you met him today—is on his way over to help with the final decision.”
“It’ll only take a minute to say what I need to say.”
Mitchell set the plank of wood down and moved to the register, where I’d stacked a package of drop clothes, a dozen paint trays and liners, and several rollers and brushes. As long as he stayed in the store, we wouldn’t be alone.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“Your friend at the pool, he’s a cop, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Sgt. Allen.”
“It’s lieutenant now,” I said, ignoring the fact that for the past several hours, Tex didn’t have a title that connected him to the force.
“He made a lot of trouble for me a few years ago.”
“From what I heard, you made that trouble for yourself.”
“Did he tell you about Stephanie? About how she died?”
Even though I hadn’t heard the name before, I knew immediately that Stephanie was the woman who had been behind the sofa, the woman who had been killed by the stray bullet fired from Tex’s gun.
“Yes.”
Jake looked away. “I made a lot of mistakes back then. I never thought anybody would die. But when that bullet went through the sofa, I was more scared than I’d ever been. Her little brother came after me. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. He said I’d pay for getting her killed and I split.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. She told me she came from an abusive family. She never mentioned a brother. I think that’s why she was willing to run away with me. She liked the idea of a fresh start. At least she did at the beginning.”
“You kept her there against her will.”
He looked down at the toes of his shoes. “She wanted to leave and I wouldn’t let her. We had a fight. Her death was an accident, but I’m more to blame for what happened to her than your friend the cop.”
“After the case went to trial, you left Dallas. Why’d you come back?”
“Cleo tracked me down when our parents died. She said she was buying a place in Texas and I could stay here when they were in Los Angeles. After years of having nobody, of staying away from this area because of what happened, I wanted to have a sister.” He studied me for a moment. “Madison, I can’t bring Stephanie back. I can’t change any of that. But I put it all behind me. I’m just a guy looking for a break. You know what that feels like?”
Hudson’s truck pulled into the lot and parked next to my car. Mitchell pointed to the door and Hudson nodded and came inside. He looked at Jake and then at me.
“Perfect timing,” I said. I raced to him and pulled him outside. I didn’t say another word until we were in his truck.
“You want to tell me why you just ran away from Jake?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner.”
“What about the silver paint?”
I pulled two swatches from my pocket. “Pick one and we’ll call it in.”
Hudson drove out of the parking lot to Brick House, a small brick oven pizza place down the road. I didn’t miss the way he scanned my outfit as we walked inside.
“There aren’t many women who can look as good in coveralls and a hardhat as they do in a 1960s power suit.”
“You have a preference?”
“Yes, but I’m keeping it to myself.”
We decided on silver number seventeen. I called Mitchell while Hudson ordered a pizza. Mitchell said he’d have the paint ready in an hour and would stack the cans in the back of my car while Hudson and I ate.
We sat in a booth across from each other, waiting for our food. Hudson fiddled with the wooden napkin dispenser that sat on the side of the table, straightening the rods that jutted up and leveling the piece of wood that ran between them, holding down the pile of napkins.
“You want to talk about why you left Paintin’ Place so suddenly?”
“Not right now.”
I took a swig of water. I’m just a guy looking for a break. Jake’s words rang in my ears. That had been Hudson when I first met him. Was I guilty of letting Jake’s past mistakes color my opinion of him now? A woman was dead because of him. But I knew he was on Tex’s radar. I knew the whole force was aware that he was back in town, and if Jake Morris came close to breaking a
law, they’d catch him.
“Okay, new subject. Are you still thinking about selling the apartment building?” he asked.
I welcomed the shift in conversation. “I’m leaning toward it. The memories—they’re not all good.”
“So why haven’t you?”
“They’re not all bad, either.”
He reached his hands across the table and set them on top of mine, their warmth squashing the last of my nervousness from seeing Jake at the paint store. If there were other people in Brick House, I didn’t notice.
As Hudson and I stared into each other’s eyes, the rest of the world dropped away, which only became an issue when the waiter cleared his throat to let us know he was next to our table with the pizza.
I enjoyed the company and the change of pace from Chinese food and dug in. For the first time in a week, I relaxed. We took what we didn’t eat, and Hudson drove me back to the paint store. We both got out of the truck, and he walked around the back of the car while I counted the number of paint cans in the back seat. Alongside the cans of silver and gold that we’d phoned in sat cans of the taupe Beach Party, red Cherry Rocket, yellow Lemon Twist, and turquoise Cool Cat. Mitchell must have blended them after we left as a thank you.
“Your tail light is out,” Hudson said.
“No, it’s not. It was fixed on Thursday.” I joined him at the back of the car. The red plastic tail light cover was snapped in half, part of it missing.
Hudson bent down and found the broken piece of plastic on the ground. “Must not have been put back on properly. The light here’s no good. You want to leave your car? I’ll take you home tonight and fix this in the morning.”
“Not necessary. You go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”
I climbed in and started the car. Hudson pulled out of the lot and I followed. Seconds after I backed out of my space, the engine sputtered and died. I disengaged the key and then started the car again. This time the engine wouldn’t even turn over. I pumped the gas pedal, but nothing happened. I fished my phone out and called Hudson. He didn’t answer. I left a message and called AAA. The operator took my name and location and listened as I described the problem.
“Sounds like you’re out of gas,” she said.
“That doesn’t make sense. I just filled the tank yesterday.”
“I’ll send a service truck out. He should be there in about thirty minutes. You’ll receive a courtesy call on this number when he’s close.”
“Thank you.” I hung up. The car was close enough to being in a parking space that I didn’t have to worry about pushing it, but I didn’t like being alone in the Casa Linda parking lot. The next call I made was to Hudson’s home phone. “I’m going to be late. The engine died and AAA is on their way,” I said to his answering service.
In the corner of the lot, I saw Tex’s Jeep. I got out of the car and headed there on foot. A uniformed police officer stood by the driver’s side window, leaning against the car. As I got closer, I recognized Officer Iverson. He looked up at me and I waved. He said something to Tex, nodded, and met me halfway.
“Madison, what are you doing here?”
“Car trouble. I’m waiting for AAA.”
He put his arm up to block me, and then turned me around the other direction. “Tex doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I’m not going to lecture him. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Take my word for it. He’s okay. It’s been a rough day and he wants to be left alone.”
My phone rang. I excused myself and answered. The AAA operator said my driver would be arriving within the next few minutes. I thanked her and hung up.
“They’re close. I should be getting back over there,” I said to Officer Iverson.
He escorted me back to my car. “I thought you said you fixed that tail light.”
“I did. Thursday.”
He pulled on a pair of gloves and snapped what was left of the light off the car. “So this happened recently?”
“It probably happened tonight. The other half was sitting under the bumper.” I pointed to the piece of plastic that sat inside the car on the back seat. He picked it up and held the two pieces together. They made a perfect fit.
Iverson pursed his lips and tipped his head to one side, and then the other, as if he was weighing what I’d said. He held up the broken plastic. “These should be dusted for prints. Maybe our guy is getting sloppy.”
“Officer, you’re keeping an eye on Jake Morris, aren’t you? He was here tonight. He might have been alone with my car.”
“We’re aware of Mr. Morris’s return to Dallas. Now, about this tail light, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you.”
“It’ll be fixed tomorrow. I promise.”
“I’m going to make it my personal agenda to make sure you’re not lying to me.”
The AAA truck pulled into the lot. I said goodbye to Iverson and he left us. I showed my membership card and the driver ran a couple of tests on my car. “Out of gas,” he said.
“I just filled it yesterday.”
“How long have you had this car?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“I’d take it in to the shop. Seems to me you might have a leak.” He pulled a red gas can out of the back of his van and poured its contents into my tank. “That’ll get you to the nearest station,” he said. “If you have a leak, I wouldn’t try to go much farther than that.”
When he was finished, I drove out of the lot to the gas station on Buckner. I pulled up to the pump and reached into my handbag for my wallet. It wasn’t there. I looked on the floor, and behind the seat. No wallet. Had I left it in the paint store? I leaned back and thought about it. No, I had a standing account with Paintin’ Place. There’d been no need to use a credit card. And Hudson had paid for dinner.
I moved my car to a space near the air pump. I felt between the side of the passenger seat and the door. No wallet by the door. I felt under the seat. A police car pulled up behind me and Iverson got out.
“What’s the problem now?” he said with a smile.
“I can’t find my wallet,” I said.
“Doesn’t seem like it’s your night.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Looks to me like somebody cut your fuel line.”
“What?”
“Come take a look,” he said.
I got out and shut the door behind me, and then, too late, realized my mistake.
He’d gotten me out of the car.
THIRTY-TWO
Iverson stood by the back tail lights. His police cruiser was parked catty-corner behind me, leaving me nowhere to go. He pointed to the ground where a puddle was forming from a drip underneath my car.
“I’d loan you money for gas, but there’s no telling how much good it’ll do you. How about you hop in and I’ll give you a ride?”
He acted cool—too cool. It was like he was detached from what was happening—aloof and calm and emotionally bereft. Conversely, adrenaline coursed through my arms and legs. In that moment, I saw the pair of handcuffs that dangled from his left hand, a hand that he kept close to his side so I wouldn’t see it. And I knew. We were alone in the parking lot to the side of a Mini Mart. He’d cut my fuel line, so even if his car hadn’t parked me in, I couldn’t get far. My handbag with my phone was on the floor of the passenger side of my car—too far to reach.
“Get in my car, Ms. Night.” His voice was dead, like it had been programmed.
“No,” I said. “I’m not going voluntarily.” I had to keep calm. I had to figure out something before Iverson got me into his car. I looked over his head. I couldn’t see inside the shop from where we were, and any cars on the road wouldn’t be able to see me.
“You were one of the lucky ones,” he said qui
etly. He reached into the back seat of my car and pulled out a black plastic trash bag that had been stashed behind the cans of Cool Cat and Beach Party. I hadn’t put it there. He must have anticipated this very encounter from the minute Hudson and I left the paint store. “You could say Lt. Allen saved you. When I pulled you over, you were just another woman to me. Then you mentioned his name. Ironic, isn’t it? That the same man who killed my sister is the one who saved your life.” He fed his arm into the trash bag and then pulled his gun from the holster.
“Your sister? The woman Jake Morris was hiding in his apartment was your sister?”
“Stephanie.” His voice hitched, and he stepped toward me. I stepped back. “She left me alone when she went off with him. And now she’s dead and I’m alone again.”
He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Jake had said that Stephanie came from an abusive family. She ran away and left Iverson to fend for himself. He’d been fourteen at the time. Whatever he’d lived through in those fourteen years had turned him into a killer.
“Lt. Allen was at that house to save your sister. He heard her call for help.”
“I’ve heard his story,” he said. “His shift was over. He should have walked past. I kept a watch on her. I would have saved her. He had no business going inside.”
“But you’re a police officer now. You know he only went inside because he thought she needed help. Just like he’s trying to find Barbie Ferrer—” I stopped. “Where is she? Where are you keeping her?”
“It ends where it started,” he said. His voice remained flat, lifeless. He pulled a rolled up wool blanket from the back seat and folded it around the gun.
“You abducted women. You killed at least two. It couldn’t all be to frame Lt. Allen.”
“My sister was abducted. The police didn’t save her, they killed her. That’s what I relive over and over.”
Realization dawned on me. “You kill the women who have no siblings. You release the ones who have brothers and sisters.” He was tortured by his own sister’s death when he was fourteen. He protected the sisters of families from living through the nightmare of loss he’d dealt with, but murdered the women he thought no one would miss.
With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3) Page 23