Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  Jake picked up a crumpled receipt on the console and squinted at the date. Andrea had bought a soda and a bag of chips at a gas station convenience store at 8:46 p.m. yesterday. If she had been dead for about twenty-four hours like Billy thought, this must’ve been her last trip outside.

  Resting his hands on the steering wheel, he murmured, “What happened when you got home, Andrea?”

  The door to the kitchen swung open, and a cop stuck his head into the garage. “Is that you, Detective Mac?”

  Jake waved his hand out the car door. “Checking out the vehicle.”

  “Okay, medical examiner is here, and Detective Crouch is done talking to the victim’s ex.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  The cop ducked back inside the house and the door slammed shut. Jake dropped the receipt into a plastic bag.

  He slid from the car and tried the handle of the door back to the kitchen. The handle didn’t turn, but he was able to push open the door. He ran his finger over the button on the handle, which was in the locked position.

  “What are you doing?” Billy stuck his foot against the door to hold it open.

  Jake tapped his fingertip against the wad of gum lodged against the lock tab in the door. “This is how the bastard got in...and he left his DNA.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kyra propped up the wall in the back of the conference room as Jake and Billy took turns reviewing the evidence in the Andrea Miles homicide. Most of the equipment from the previous task force hadn’t even been removed yet.

  Despite her role in the takedown of Jordy Lee Cannon, the Copycat Player, she felt her place was still at the back of the room. Jake hadn’t told the rest of the task force that her mother, Jennifer Lake, had been one of The Player’s victims twenty years ago, and if she continued to keep a low profile, they’d never find out.

  She didn’t want to be that girl, and had gone to great pains to put the past behind her and forge a new identity. She didn’t need the publicity splashed all over the local news and the internet. That notoriety could only lead to disaster for her.

  A wad of gum flashed on the slide. Jake said, “I found this crammed in the lock mechanism of the door that leads from Andrea’s house to her garage. If you always keep that door locked, chances are you don’t check it. You just let the door close. We believe the killer slipped into Andrea’s garage when she pulled out, and then he stuffed the gum in the door she’d left open, which her ex said they did a lot. This gave the killer access to the house at night, where he could lie in wait. When she pulled her car out that last time, he slipped in, gained access to the house and hid out, waiting for her to return and go to sleep.”

  Kyra crossed her arms against the shiver snaking through her body. That meant the killer must’ve stalked Andrea long enough to learn some of her habits.

  “But—” Jake aimed a red laser at the slide on the screen “—if he chewed this gum to soften it up, we have his DNA and maybe even teeth impressions.”

  Clive Stewart, the fingerprint tech standing next to Kyra, mumbled, “Idiot. He might as well have left a bunch of prints at the scene.”

  Kyra moved closer to Clive and whispered, “Which he didn’t?”

  “Not a one.”

  Jake and Billy took a few more questions before adjourning the meeting, and several members of the task force moved next door to the conference room, which had been repurposed into the task force war room.

  The officers were already calling this killer The Player 3.0. It was either that or Copycat 2.0. What was it about The Player’s reign of terror that had so fascinated two killers twenty years later?

  As she grabbed the back of her chair in the war room, Jake called, “Kyra, I have Andrea’s contacts.”

  She pushed in the chair and wended her way through the other desks to Jake’s. “Is her family here?”

  “Her parents are coming out from Atlanta, and two of her friends and her ex have requested some assistance in dealing with her murder.” He slid a piece of paper toward her with names and phone numbers printed on it. “We questioned the ex-boyfriend this morning. His alibi is solid. He’s also shaken to the core. The breakup was Andrea’s idea, and he wasn’t over her.”

  “I’ll reach out to them.” She shoved the piece of paper in her pocket. “Something else?”

  Jake drummed his thumbs on the edge of his keyboard. “Matt Dugan left all of his worldly possessions to you. Did you know that?”

  “H-he did?” Kyra pulled her sweater around her body.

  “His parole officer called to tell me.” Jake shrugged. “You were the closest thing he had to family.”

  “We were two mixed-up kids in the same foster family at the same time. I’d hardly call that family. I’d hardly call someone who stalks and harasses you family, either.” She spun around and called over her shoulder, “Not interested in Matt’s worldly possessions, whatever they are.”

  “That’s the thing, Kyra. We don’t know what they are.”

  She stopped her forward movement, but didn’t turn around to face Jake. During the Copycat Player’s killing spree, Matt Dugan had left playing cards at her house and car in an attempt to terrorize her over her mother’s murder, as her foster brother was one of the few people who knew her real identity. Matt’s actions had prompted Jake to go digging into her background...and he probably would’ve dug further if Matt hadn’t died of a drug overdose.

  She cleared her throat. “I can assure you, Matt didn’t accumulate much of anything during his stints in prison.”

  “But before he died, he told me someone had paid him to plant those cards for you. Maybe that info is among his effects. Maybe we’ll find something, something that will connect that person to Jordy or this current killer.”

  She turned slowly, still clutching her sweater. “Why would you even think that? Matt was a scammer. He was yanking your chain to up his price for information.”

  “If there’s a chance that there’s a clue among Matt’s stuff, wouldn’t you want to find it if it stops one more murder?” Jake’s hazel eyes seemed to probe her soul—he knew where to hit her.

  “Of course. I just think you’re putting too much faith in a master manipulator. Even this—” she flung out her hand “—leaving his junk to me is a last jab to get under my skin.”

  He held out an envelope in the space between them. “I got this from his parole officer. It’s Matt’s handwritten will and a key to his apartment. His roommate still lives there.”

  “Lucky me.” She snatched the envelope from Jake with a hand she hoped he hadn’t noticed was trembling. When would she ever get Matt out of her life?

  An hour later, she was on her way to Jeremy Bevin’s place to discuss his feelings about his murdered ex-girlfriend. As a therapist and victims’ rights advocate, she’d worked closely with the LAPD in the past on homicide cases. She had a unique perspective to bring to the table, even though only Jake knew about that.

  She’d been eight years old when her mother, Jennifer Lake, had been murdered by The Player twenty years ago. That case had never been solved, despite Detective Roger Quinn’s best efforts. Quinn and his wife had wanted to adopt her, but Quinn’s alcoholism and probably his age at the time had quashed those plans.

  She pulled across the street from Jeremy’s apartment and stepped out of the car. She tilted up her nose and sniffed. Despite the sunshine and warmth, fall had crept out from beneath the blanket of oppressive heat that often characterized late summers in LA. Only a true Angeleno could discern the differences between the sunny, blue skies of summer and the sunny, bluer skies of fall. The quality of the air had a slight lilt to it instead of the stillness of waiting. The feel of the sun on her shoulders was more like a light scarf than a beach towel.

  Kyra walked across the street and planted herself in front of the heavy security door of the apartment comple
x. She trailed her finger down the row of buttons with names neatly typed out beside them and located Jeremy’s apartment number. She drilled her thumb against the button, and the lock on the door clicked without a peep from the intercom. He was expecting her, but she thought he would have been a little more careful after his ex-girlfriend had just been murdered.

  She heaved open the door and stepped onto the cool tile floor. Veering around a group of people carrying bags of groceries, Kyra headed for the elevator. In the style of the sprawling San Fernando Valley, this apartment building didn’t have many floors. She rode the elevator to the top and got off on the fourth floor, where the front doors to the units were all tucked into alcoves off the main hallway.

  Before she reached Jeremy’s door, she heard a click and a rustle, and a young bearded man stepped into the hallway. “You’re Ms. Chase?”

  “Yes. You can call me Kyra. Can I call you Jeremy?” She took his outstretched hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Yeah, Jeremy’s fine.” He widened the door for her, and she walked into his bare apartment. He hadn’t bothered to put pictures on the wall yet or even unpack boxes, which were stacked in a corner. Hadn’t he and Andrea broken up a few months ago?

  “Have a seat.” He waved in the general direction of two chairs, both facing a flat-screen TV, a small table in front littered with to-go boxes, chip bags and video game controllers.

  She’d seen pictures of Andrea’s tidy house. Maybe she’d kicked her boyfriend out for reasons of cleanliness, or maybe these were signs of his depression.

  She sat in one of the chairs and placed her purse at her feet, gun pouch outward, not that she needed her weapon for a discussion with Jeremy, the jilted boyfriend.

  “Do you want something to drink? I got soda in a can or bottled water.”

  “A soda would be great, thanks.” She always wanted her clients to feel she was comfortable so that they could take the cue from her.

  Jeremy banged around the kitchen and returned with two cans—a soda for her and a beer for himself. He handed her the drink and cracked the tab on his own.

  “You don’t mind if I have a beer, do you? I figure that’s one of the advantages to having a therapist come see you at home.”

  “Have you been drinking a lot of beer?” She took a sip of her soda, didn’t see a clear space to set it down and so held it in her hand, her fingers tingling from the cold.

  “You mean before or after the...murder?”

  “Either, both.”

  “Both. I started drinking more when Andrea and I split up, and I’m not about to stop now that she’s dead.” To prove his point, he gulped back a quantity of liquid from the can.

  “I’m not here to get you to stop drinking, unless that’s what you want. As you know, I’m a victims’ rights advocate. I’m here on behalf of the LAPD, and I’m here to help you, if you need it or want it.”

  “I do.” He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “I don’t mean to be an ass. I just feel so...guilty, you know?”

  “That’s not uncommon, and I can sit here all day and tell you Andrea’s death isn’t your fault, but you’re still going to feel guilty.” She wet her lips again with the drink and set the can at her feet. “Tell me about Andrea and your relationship with her.”

  Her request opened the floodgates, and Jeremy talked about how he and Andrea had met online a few years ago and had bought the house together nine months ago.

  “My friends all thought I was crazy to buy the house with her because we fought a lot, but I always had faith in us.” He scratched his beard. “It wasn’t even because she was Black and I’m white. Our race wasn’t the issue, ever. She just always had a lot more going for her than I did, and she expected me to step it up and I never did.”

  “Had she moved on to someone else?”

  “No. That’s why I thought we still had a chance. I was hoping our meeting the other day might lead to something. I was going to prove to her that I wasn’t stalking her.”

  Reaching for her soda can, Kyra almost knocked it over. “Excuse me? Someone was stalking Andrea?”

  “I don’t know. I think she was making it up.”

  “Making up what, exactly?”

  Jeremy dented one side of his beer can with his thumb. “She accused me of trying to scare her into asking me to move back into the house.”

  “Scare her how?”

  “She asked me if I was following her or watching her.”

  “Did you tell the police about this?”

  Jeremy blinked. “No. I kind of forgot about it, honestly. She made her accusations, and I denied them. It was just another way we went around and around. Do you think...?”

  “I think it’s important enough to tell the police about it. Maybe the killer was stalking Andrea.”

  Jeremy slammed a fist into his palm. “If I could get my hands on that guy, I’d kill him. Andrea would’ve taken me back. I know it.”

  Kyra doubted Andrea had had any intention of taking Jeremy back, but if he wanted to believe that, she wouldn’t dissuade him. Instead, she encouraged him to talk about his feelings of rage and revenge.

  They wrapped up their conversation after about an hour. Jeremy had even cleaned off the table while she was there and had traded his beer for water. Progress.

  As she left, Kyra handed Jeremy one of Jake’s cards. “Make sure you call Detective McAllister and tell him what you told me about Andrea’s stalker. It could be really important information.”

  “I will. Thanks, Kyra.” He shoved the card in the back pocket of his jeans. “You know, that house is mine now. She hadn’t removed me from the title yet, but I don’t think I can ever live there.”

  Kyra said goodbye and returned to her car. As she wasn’t sure Jake’s business card would ever make it out of Jeremy’s pocket and would probably end up in the washing machine, she called Jake herself.

  “How’d the session go with Jeremy Bevin?”

  “Interesting.” Kyra started the engine of her car. “He said something about Andrea having a stalker. Did you get that from him?”

  “Not at all. We asked him if she had a new boyfriend or any enemies, and it was a no to everything.”

  “Andrea thought Jeremy was stalking her to scare her into letting him move back in.”

  “That’s...drastic.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s kind of a dramatic guy. I wouldn’t put it past him, and apparently neither did Andrea. Anyway, I gave him your card just in case he lost the one you gave him and told him to give you a call, but he’s a lost soul right now.”

  “I’ll keep on top of it.” Jake cleared his throat. “Are you going to check out Matt’s apartment?”

  “You mean to inspect my inheritance?”

  “I’m serious, Kyra. I’d like to see what Matt has among his possessions.”

  Kyra’s heart did a somersault. She wouldn’t mind seeing what Matt had in his apartment, either, but she’d prefer to do it alone, away from Jake’s curious eyes.

  “Okay, I’m already out here in the Valley. It won’t take me long to get to Matt’s place. You can meet me there.” She shifted into Drive and pulled away from the curb before she even ended the call. If Matt had anything incriminating about her past in his stuff, she could snag it before Jake even arrived.

  She entered Matt’s address in her phone and navigated the streets as it chirped out directions. About twenty minutes later she rolled onto a street of matching run-down apartment complexes. Trash cans between buildings overflowed, and broken toys and discarded furniture created an obstacle course along the sidewalks. She slowed down to scope out a parking space as her tires hit pothole after pothole in the asphalt. Leave it to Matt to find a neighborhood where his hardened appearance would barely raise an eyebrow.

  She parallel parked her car between an old junker and a monstrous late-model S
UV with big, shiny rims and blacked-out windows. As she slid from her car, two men lounging on an abandoned sofa at the curb gave her the once-over. She rested her hand on the gun in her purse and walked past them with a long stride.

  Matt’s building had no security entrance or lobby, just a dirty courtyard that the residents seemed to use for storage. Kyra stepped over a deflated inner tube and climbed the stairs to Matt’s unit.

  She held her breath as she knocked on the door. Matt had a roommate, but Kyra was in no mood to exchange small talk with another parolee like Matt.

  She knocked once more before inserting the key in the dead bolt. It didn’t turn. The roommate hadn’t bothered to lock the top lock. She shoved the key into the lock on the door handle, turning it at the same time. She bumped the door with her hip and it opened.

  “Hello?” All she needed was for the roomie to come at her from the back, but nothing stirred in the apartment.

  She sniffed the air, detecting the skunky smell of weed clinging to the drapes and worn upholstery. She yanked back the curtains at the front window, sending a flurry of dust to swirl in the sunbeams.

  She wrinkled her nose. The place wasn’t as messy as she’d feared. Maybe because Matt hadn’t been here for weeks.

  Nothing in this room belonged to Matt, so it didn’t belong to her. She tripped over a pair of boots on her way to the bedrooms in the back. She poked her head into the first room she came to and dismissed it. Not Matt’s—too neat. She crossed the hall to the room with the door shut and pushed it open. Yeah, definitely Matt’s.

  The bed remained rumpled from Matt’s last night there, and piles of clothes dotted the floor as if he’d undressed and let his clothing drop in small heaps where he stood.

  She had no intention of cleaning up Matt’s mess. If his roommate wanted to trash the clothes or donate them or whatever, he was welcome to them.