After I hung up with Candice, Oscar said, “Where to next, Cooper?”
I stared forlornly out the window. “I have no clue, Oscar.” I meant it metaphorically, but Oscar seemed to get it, and he drove in silence, allowing me my little pity party until he pulled into a parking garage to an apartment building. “What’s this?” I asked. “Where are we?”
Oscar drove up to a space and parked. “I think we both could use a little puppy therapy. Want to meet Amigo?”
I spent the next couple of hours playing with an adorable little pooch and it helped more than I could say.
Later, after Oscar dropped me off at home, I called Candice to see what progress she’d made. “Do you know how many balls Nolan Ryan signed?” Candice asked me by way of hello.
“No, but I’m guessing it’s too many to track?”
“By about a thousand,” she said.
I blew out a breath and sank into my chair at the dining room table, where Dutch had neatly stacked all the discordant parts of Skylar’s murder file. “But we know the killer took it,” I said. “And if he took it to sell it, then it’s the only way to track him down definitively.”
“Abby, finding the ball won’t be like finding a needle in a haystack. It’ll be like finding a needle in a field of haystacks. There’s no way to track the ball when a thousand of them are in play.”
I leaned back in the chair and slung an arm over my eyes. Every single lead kept ending in a dead end and I couldn’t help but feel we were like firefighters in a smoke-filled room, totally blinded by the smoke as we searched around awkwardly for any signs of life. “So now what?” I asked, because I was out of ideas.
“We wait,” Candice said. “We’ve given Cal everything we have. There’s nothing more to do except keep our fingers crossed that Gallagher’s weekend in jail loosened his lips a little and he decides to forgo the advice of his counsel and help us.”
I wanted to groan. “He hasn’t called out to us yet,” I said. “And tomorrow after he makes bail, he won’t have any incentive besides personal guilt to help us.”
“He won’t make bail,” Candice said confidently. “Not with his criminal record and the assault charges we’re bringing against him. Assaulting a federal officer is a big-time offense. The judge won’t let him out with anything less than a hundred-thousand-dollar bond. Trust me on that.”
I felt a nudge on my elbow and I lowered my arm to find Dutch standing next to me, offering a glass of wine and a winsome smile. “Yeah, okay,” I said to her, while gratefully taking the wine from my hubby. “Let’s hope he gets shot down at the bail hearing and considers the very long wait to his trial as added incentive to cooperate with us.”
“He’s really caught between a rock and a hard place,” she said. “He can help us and risk prosecution on the obstruction charge, or he can choose not help us and be certain we’ll send him away for as long as we can.”
I squirmed a little because Candice didn’t know the assault charge was bullshit. Across the room the swear jar seemed to mock me. I glared at it. “Let’s hope you’re right,” I said to Candice, turning away from the jar, “’cause we’re all out of new leads and possible suspects to track down.”
“At the very least we’ve highlighted all of the credible weaknesses in the prosecution’s case against Skylar, Sundance,” Candice pointed out. “When there’s a life at stake, the court might decide that’s enough to offer her a new trial, rather than take the risk of putting the wrong person to death.”
“In most states I would agree with you,” I said. “But this is Texas, and we’re number one in executions several years running.” My voice quivered a little as I started to choke up over the futility of trying to find a way to really help Skylar escape the needle.
“Abs,” Candice said. “We can’t lose hope. Not yet. So hang in there, okay?”
I nodded and squeaked out, “I’ll try.”
After hanging up with Candice, I trudged over to the couch and sat down next to Dutch, who wrapped his arm around me. “You okay?”
“No,” I said, my eyes welling and the tears dribbling down my cheeks.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Nothing, honey,” I said as more tears came. “There’s nothing to be done.” Tuttle waddled over and jumped up on the couch. She always knew when I needed some puppy comfort, and as much as playing with Amigo had brought a smile to my face and taken the edge off, there was nothing quite like the loyal and unconditional love of your own pooch. I took her into my lap, where she began to lick enthusiastically at my face, and after a time, I was better. “I just feel like I’ve failed her,” I said. “Skylar, I mean.”
Dutch leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You did everything you could, dollface.”
I turned to him. “Did I?”
He swept his arm toward the stack of photos and witness statements on the dining room table. “You’ve been eating and breathing this case for over a week. What else could you do?”
I hugged Tuttle and shrugged. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t shake the feeling like we came close to solving what really happened, but still managed to miss it.”
Dutch squeezed my knee and got up. “It could still come to you,” he said. “But don’t try to force it. Come on, help me with dinner and take your mind off it. Maybe something will pop for you later.”
I followed Dutch into the kitchen, passing the table and all those photos. I swear they were calling me to take another look, but I’d studied every single horrible image for hours. What more could I see? What more could I do?
Turns out, I wouldn’t know the answer until the following day.
Chapter Sixteen
Dutch woke me as he left for work the next morning. I muttered something about wanting to sleep in and the next thing I knew, he’d put both Eggy and Tuttle on the bed to cover me in squirming, wiggling, furry cuteness, and I sat up, glaring hard at my husband, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I fed them,” he said, “but I’m late for work. Can you water them?”
“Watering” the pups was code for “walk them around the block.” Which meant I’d have to get out of bed. Something my grumpy ass wasn’t much enthused about. “Go, go,” I said, waving him out the bedroom door. The pups were digging tunnels in the bedcover, and I lay back on the pillow with a groan, then closed my eyes and had calm thoughts, hoping to influence the pups into settling down and sleeping a bit more with me. Eggy curled up in the crook of my arm, but Tuttle was having none of it.
She wriggled around for a bit; then she sniffed my eyelids; then she settled down to personally groom me for ten minutes, never letting up until I finally curled her into a hug and smothered her with kisses. This got Eggy jealous, and he barked in protest. And then I was chasing after them all around the bed, covering them with sheets and throw pillows as they danced and darted back and forth, wagging their tails and having a good romp.
We ended up outside not long after, and even though my worries over Skylar never faded, the walk did both me and the pups a whole lotta good.
Back at home I took a long, lazy shower, then made myself a truly superlative omelet, sharing much of one corner with the pups, and was just about to sit down to eat it when my cell rang. “Dang it,” I muttered. The ring was coming from the bedroom, where I’d left my phone.
“Where’ve you been?” I heard Candice ask me.
“Out for a walk with the pups,” I said, realizing she must’ve been trying to get ahold of me.
“Matt tried to call you several times already,” she said. “I was starting to worry.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Gallagher made bail,” she said, cutting right to the chase.
“What?” I said, sinking back down in the chair at the table. “How?”
“I have no idea. The bail hearing was this morning, and the judge heard Gallagher’s ca
se first thing. He set the bond at two hundred thousand, and Matt thought for sure we’d have Gallagher right where we wanted him back in lockup, but within an hour his bond was posted and he was out.”
I glanced at my watch. It was only ten thirty. “Who posted the bail?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out, Abs,” she said. “I’ve called every bail bondsman in town, trying to find out who put up the ten percent, and no one is owning up to it.”
“But how is that possible?”
“The only way it could be is if someone put up the entire amount in cash. And if they did that, then I can’t get the name without a court order.”
I suddenly had a very bad feeling. “Candice, we need to find Dennis Gallagher.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” she told me. “I’m coming over to pick you up.”
“How far away are you?”
“Five minutes.”
“Good. I’ll be ready.”
I picked up the plate holding my omelet and carried it with me, taking big unladylike bites as I hurried around the house in search of an appropriate outfit, shoes, keys, ID, etc. I’d finished the omelet and put myself together (mostly) about thirty seconds before Candice’s car pulled into our drive. Kissing the now sleepy pups on the nose, I hurried out and got in her car with a breezy smile.
“You’ve got egg on your shirt,” she said, the corners of her mouth quirking.
I looked down. “Dammit!”
Candice held out her hand, and I rolled my eyes, digging into my purse for a quarter. She tossed it into a compartment next to the emergency brake. It clanked against a whole lot of its friends. “We are gonna have such a good time on our next girls’ weekend,” she said.
Candice had made a rule that every time I swore in her car she’d donate the quarter to some future girls’ getaway. So far, I was funding the entire trip.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, scrubbing at my shirt with a tissue.
Just then my cell rang. It was Matt. I held up the display so that Candice could see before I answered. “Hey,” I said. “I heard.”
“Abby, I’ve got Dennis Gallagher on the other line,” Matt said, practically running over my greeting. “He says he needs to talk to you. Exclusively. He wants your cell phone number, but I wouldn’t give it until I got your okay.”
I sat up straighter in the seat. This was a sudden turn of events. “Give it to him, Matt,” I said. “I’ll record the call.”
“Good,” he said. “Good.” With that, he was gone.
Turning to Candice, I said, “Dennis Gallagher wants my cell number. He called Matt to get it. He wants to talk to me.”
Candice nodded with satisfaction. “Told ya,” she said.
“You did,” I replied as my cell rang. I let it ring a second time while I switched on the recording app on my phone, then answered his call. “Dennis?”
“Uh, hi,” he said. “Is this Abby Cooper?”
“It is, Dennis. I’m here. What did you need to talk to me about?”
“How do I know this is really you?” he asked.
“Because you called my cell,” I said as calmly as I could. Man, this guy was a fry short of a Happy Meal.
“How do I know this is Abby Cooper’s cell phone?” he asked me.
I sighed. “You know what, Dennis? You don’t. But right now you’re sounding a bit too paranoid, which tells me that something’s got you spooked. How about you just take my word for it and tell me what’s up and we’ll go from there?”
“Abby Cooper knows what happened in that trailer,” he said to me, and suddenly I understood exactly what he was angling for.
“Yes,” I said. “I do. I know exactly what happened, Dennis. If you help me, I’ll help you.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t,” I said bluntly. “But, buddy, what other choice do you have right now? I’m the only thing holding you away from either the frying pan or the fire. Your call.”
Dennis was silent for a long time. So long in fact that I felt he was wavering a bit too much. To help things along, I said, “Okay. Call me when you’re ready to help me and yourself, Dennis.” And then I hung up.
Candice eyed me with raised eyebrows, and I bit my lip. That’d been a bold move, but I needed to jar him away from the idea of stalling for more time. We didn’t have it. My cell rang about five seconds later. “Don’t hang up on me again!” he said angrily.
“Let’s get something straight here,” I told him in an even, flat tone. “You do not call the shots here. We both agree to a compromise, or we both walk away and let the chips fall where they will.”
“I’m trying!” he yelled back.
“Okay,” I said, easing up on him a bit. “What would you like to do, Dennis?”
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I’m available.”
“But just you. Nobody else.”
I frowned. No way did I want to meet this guy in a dark alley all alone. “See, you say stuff like that, Dennis, and it makes me doubt that you’re willing to cooperate.”
“That’s nonnegotiable,” he said. “Seriously. I’m freaked-out, okay? I don’t know who to trust or where to go. But there’s something I need to show you.”
Candice, who’d been listening as I held the phone between us, shook her head vehemently. I ignored both her and common sense and said, “Okay. I’ll meet you. Where?”
“Alone,” Dennis insisted. “No cops. No other FBI people. Just you.”
Candice shook her head again, and I ignored her a second time, just as easily. “Alone,” I told him. “Where?”
“Be at the Starbucks on Fifty-first and I-Thirty-five in an hour.” With that, he hung up.
Candice glared hard at me for about ten seconds. “It’s a public place,” I said. “And perhaps you didn’t notice my crossed fingers when I made the pinkie swear.” I held up the crossed fingers of my left hand and she gave me a gentle punch in the arm.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s coordinate this with Oscar and Cox. Even if the Starbucks is packed, I don’t want you in there alone.”
I saluted. “Game on.”
An hour and ten minutes later I sat in the chill air of the Starbucks, sipping at my caramel Frappuccino, wishing I hadn’t ordered the frozen version because they had the AC on a setting that would’ve made a penguin ask for a sweater, when my phone rang. “Hi,” Dennis said. “It’s me.”
“Where are you?” I looked warily around the café, careful not to make eye contact with Agent Cox.
“I’m in the park on the other side of the hospital,” he said.
I glanced outside. The Starbucks was in the same area as the Home Depot where Dennis had first met Noah and Skylar Miller. In the opposite direction was a large park with a running trail, a playground, and several inviting seating areas under shady trees. “Where in the park?” I asked.
“Head outside,” he said, “and I’ll direct you to me.” With that, he clicked off.
I stood up stiffly. I didn’t like that the plan had changed, but what choice did I have? Gathering up my drink, I walked to the trash bin next to Cox and dropped the drink in while murmuring to Cox, “He wants to meet me in the park.”
Cox gave no indication that he’d heard me. Instead he lazily turned the page of his newspaper and took a casual sip of his coffee. I knew that Candice and Oscar were also someplace nearby, but neither of them had told me where they’d be, and I think they did that on purpose so I wouldn’t be tempted to look in their direction and possibly tip off Gallagher.
More than a little nervous, because I suddenly had a very bad feeling, I walked out into the heat and bright sunshine. Donning sunglasses, I began walking toward the park. It was down at the end of a long street, which was farther away than it appeared, but I walked steadily until my phone beeped
and I looked at the display. It was a text from Gallagher. He wanted me to head to the entrance at Lancaster and Philomena, which was a heck of a long haul when you’re hoofing it in the summer heat.
It took me ten minutes to get there. I was dripping with sweat when I arrived, and perhaps more than a little peeved. And then I saw him.
Gallagher was standing under the shade of a large live oak tree, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and the same clothes we’d arrested him in. He held his hand up to let me know he saw me too, and I began to move toward him when there was a sound like a hammer hitting the concrete, and all of a sudden, Gallagher sank to his knees. He clutched his stomach and through his fingers I saw a blossom of red. It took me several seconds to put it together that he’d just been shot. Then I was sprinting toward him. Behind me I heard shouts, but I paid them no attention—I simply ran as fast as I could toward Gallagher.
I got to him and dropped down, and he sort of fell into my arms, his face a mask of agony and blood pouring out of his stomach wound faster than I thought it should have. “No, no, no, no, no!” I whispered, cradling him in my arms and trying to ease him gently the rest of the way to the ground. He cried out in pain and I stopped, holding us perfectly still for a few seconds.
Our eyes met and he tried to mouth something to me. I caught only one word. “Noah.”
“Hang on!” I begged him. “Dennis, hang on! The hospital is right over there, okay? We’ll get you to it. Just stay with me!”
His face had completely drained of color, and his lower lip trembled while his eyes leaked tears that slid down his cheeks. I held him as close to me as I could without causing him further pain, and just kept repeating, “Hang on. Hang on. Hang on.”
Somewhere in the distance I heard the sad siren sound of an ambulance, and more shouts, some of which were my name. I ignored all of it and held Dennis’s gaze, willing him to stay with me. But he couldn’t. And, intuitively, I knew it was over even as he sucked in one last labored breath. With a feeble effort, he pushed something at me. And then his head lolled back and his chest rose no more.
Sense of Deception Page 29