Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4)

by Susan C. Muller

  That didn’t make Noah cold like Roberto. Where was the funny Lefty Bob Noah kept telling her stories about?

  Idiot. He’s not going to tell jokes when he’s trying to rush you to safety.

  She’d feel better if his eyes weren’t so dead. He’d smiled at her a couple of times, but it felt forced. Like something that didn’t come naturally to him.

  He glanced at her again with that fake smile. “Did you need something?”

  “Wondering how soon until we get there. I guess that makes me sound like a kid on a car trip.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out.

  Roberto looked at her like he didn’t get the joke. They stopped at a light and he pulled out his phone. “At least forty minutes with this traffic. I’m texting Noah right now to let him know we’ll be a little late.”

  Pretty fast texting for his right hand.

  The light changed and he slid the phone back into his pocket, pulled out a comb, and ran it through his hair.

  Again with the right hand?

  Maybe he was ambidextrous? She tried to think of everything he’d done since she’d met him. He’d opened the car door with his right hand although his left was closer to the handle.

  He wore his badge and gun on his right hip and he didn’t wear a jacket to cover them the way Noah and Conner always did.

  Had she actually seen the photo on his ID?

  She tried to study his face for any sign of Hispanic heritage. He had several tiny spots on his cheek, near his ear. Moles? No, two of them had run slightly, leaving a barely visible trail of dark red.

  She twisted further toward the back to avoid looking at that thin red line. A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed it back. She had to say something casual, but what? “You must be quite the handyman to have so many tools.”

  “Yes, it’s my hobby. I was woodworking earlier today.” For the first time, his smile seemed genuine.

  All this playing detective had messed her up big time. That wasn’t blood and if it was, the woodworking was a reason for it. She sighed and studied the tools, lined so carefully against the side of the van.

  Tucked safely into the rack where it couldn’t spill out was a pair of right-handed scissors.

  Her mind flashed back to a documentary on snakes she’d watched last week in an attempt to overcome her unrealistic terror of them. It hadn’t worked, but she’d learned a lot. Boa Constrictors didn’t kill their prey by crushing them. They squeezed until all blood flow to the heart and brain were cut off, causing death.

  That was how she felt now. No blood. No air. No escape?

  Noah stabbed at Lefty Bob’s number on his cell so hard his finger hurt. Where the hell was the guy?

  He wasn’t having any better luck with Laurel. Both their numbers went straight to voice mail and he was tired of leaving messages no one answered.

  Conner paced behind him and peered over his shoulder. A sure sign he was just as worried. “Do you think one of us should stay here and the other go to her office or both go and ask the Lieu to let us know if they show up?”

  “I can’t sit here waiting another minute. We need to track down that guy Laurel gave us—Bradly Richard Bachman, Junior—but if something’s wrong, we should both go. And something’s definitely wrong. Let me call and leave a message so Lefty will know what we’re doing.” Not that it mattered. The guy wasn’t picking up so what were the odds he was checking his messages?

  At some point during the last ten minutes, Earl Sparks had arrived and was clearing out his desk. “Let me help. I can hunt down the address and any other information on that Big Dick character. It’ll be my last official job before I sign my retirement papers in half an hour.”

  “While you’re at it, check out that massage parlor we visited last week.” Conner slapped a sticky note on Earl’s desk.

  “We don’t have time for that now. If you’re worried about it, we can give the name to Vice later.” Given the chance, Noah would grab the note and toss it in the trash. Sure, Conner was a choirboy and those things bothered him, but he needed to get his priorities straight.

  “Fuji Massage and Spa. That’s a river in Japan.”

  “I thought Fuji was a mountain.”

  “A mountain and a river.”

  Fuck. Did he need to check every business in the city named after a body of water? He twisted toward Earl. “See what you can find, then turn it over to Vice. There’s no way we can get a warrant with the information we have, but if they raid the place, who knows what they’ll come up with. For now, we’ve gotta find Laurel and Lefty Bob.”

  Conner opened his desk drawer, grabbed his weapon and spun around. “I’ll get my car. Meet you in front.”

  Noah tried to protest. He’d rather take Lola, either because he drove faster or because he needed to feel in control of something, but it didn’t matter because Conner was already out of sight.

  One more useless call to Lefty and another to Laurel where he got a message that her mailbox was full—had he called that many times?—and he spun toward the door.

  He’d returned his cell to his pocket when it started ringing. Lefty’s name appeared on the screen. About. Damn. Time. The bellow in his voice echoed across the room. “What the fuck have you been doing? You were supposed to call me the minute you got to her.”

  A youngish voice with a heavy Hispanic accent answered. “Yo. Settle down, man. It’s all cool.”

  Something cold and dark tried to slither up Noah’s throat, but he forced it down. “This is Detective Noah Daugherty. Who is this?” If a voice could streak through a phone and grab the person speaking, his would have.

  “Sorry, sir. This is Officer Chaz Perez. My sergeant told me to see if I could get the person who keeps calling this number to say anything helpful.” All traces of an accent were gone.

  “And I’m trying to figure out who has Detective Hernandez’s phone and why.”

  “Oh, shit. Our vic’s a cop?”

  That cold, dark thing in Noah’s throat exploded, wrapping its tentacles around his neck and chest and gut so that he couldn’t breathe or speak.

  Lieutenant Jansen stepped out of his office, his face the color of the paper gripped in his left hand. “Just had a call from dispatch. Shooting victim on Memorial. Isn’t that where you sent Lefty Bob?”

  Noah managed a nod and squeezed out a few words. “Male or female?”

  “Male.”

  Noah held up his cell. “I’ve got a young officer calling me on Lefty’s phone, talking about our vic.”

  “Go. Now.”

  Conner screeched to a halt in front of the Headquarters building. Noah jumped in, a panicked expression on his face.

  What the hell happened in the five minutes it took to get his car?

  “There’s been a shooting on Memorial. Sounds like Lefty Bob.”

  Conner’s breath whooshed out as if someone hit him in the gut. “Do we know how he is? What about Laurel?”

  “Bad enough he hasn’t identified himself as a police officer. And no one has mentioned Laurel.”

  Had they allowed the Sanitizer to shoot their friend and make off with their only witness? Not that she’d witnessed anything, but she knew which direction the investigation was heading. And if he had her, he’d know soon. “We need to put out an APB on the white van.”

  “Already done. The Lieu took care of it. And Lefty’s car also. We don’t know what vehicle he took.”

  Was there anything else they could do while driving? “You’ve tried her office?”

  “Half a dozen times. All I got was a recording. The Lieu is trying to find her boss. Last I heard, the uniform on scene was at the office door looking for emergency contact information.”

  Conner didn’t often drive with lights and siren going. Most of their victims were already dead. Weaving in and out of traffic, noise throbbing in his ears, flashing lights assaulting his eyes, worry about his friend burring into his brain, had his heart doing summersaults.

  None of this
mattered. People were depending on him. He couldn’t let them down. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator and he roared through an intersection, ignoring Noah’s tight grip on the armrest and the incongruity of the infant seat bouncing behind him.

  He reached Royce Elkins Realty in twelve minutes and slid to a halt behind an ambulance as two dejected-looking EMTs loaded their equipment back inside.

  Noah didn’t wait for Conner to come to a complete stop. He threw open the door and jumped out. Most of the activity seemed to be to the side of the office, in a parking lot. He ran that direction.

  A group of uniformed officers, and jumpsuited techies huddled near a flowerbed.

  Noah’s feet gained ten pounds with every step. Benny Schroeder, the pint-sized, Bozo-haired techie held up his hand. “You don’t want to go any closer.”

  The hell he didn’t.

  He pushed forward and the group stepped aside. Doc M knelt over a prone body. One glance at the cheap sport coat and worn shoes and he knew it was Lefty Bob.

  For the first time since he’d known Doc M, his eyes held warmth. “Stay back, Noah. You can’t be involved in this case. You’re too close to the victim. Even I’m gonna get someone else to do the post.”

  “Fine. I’m not working this case. I’m working the case he was working. Now, give me everything you’ve got.” That ploy might work for a few minutes, but not once the Chief of Ds got involved.

  Conner was beside his shoulder and he could feel the sharp intake of breath when he recognized Lefty Bob. Within two seconds, his partner was back on the job. “Any sign of the woman he came here to see?”

  A uniformed officer with stripes on his sleeves and a SGT Rusty Bourgeois nametag stepped forward. “The realty office is empty and locked. We found an emergency number. My boss tracked it down and the owner is on his way back. Sorry we didn’t identify the detective sooner, but we just found his wallet. It was in the flowerbed and blended with the mulch. The gun on the ground made us think he might be up to no good.”

  So the guy took Lefty’s badge and ID, hid his wallet, but left his gun? Why? Did he come prepared with his own? “Have you started canvassing the neighborhood? Did anybody see anything?”

  “Not so far.”

  Conner had his spiral out, taking notes. “What about the white panel van? Did you know to look for that?”

  “Just found out. Haven’t asked anyone yet, but the old Volvo is here in the lot so they cancelled the BOLO on it.”

  “When you do ask, add a tall white guy in his mid to late thirties, to the list. Might be the driver.”

  “Anything else you want me to check on?”

  Noah wanted to knock the guy across the parking lot. “Well, there’s the missing woman. You might want to look for her. She’s blond, slim, about five-four.”

  “Any distinguishing marks?”

  None that he’d had a chance to check out yet.

  Crime scene tape had been strung around the area and a silver Infiniti drove up to it and stopped. After a short discussion with one of the uniforms, the car pulled forward.

  A puffy-faced man with bad skin waved them over. “I’m Royce Elkins. I got a call. Did something happen to Laurel?”

  This was Laurel’s boss? She said he wasn’t too healthy. Easy to believe. “She’s missing at the moment. Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Were you expecting a client?”

  “No, we were pretty much done for the day. She only needed to man the office for another hour.”

  “She was on the phone.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Noah turned toward the back seat. An elderly woman the size of a blimp glared out at him, her lips compressed into a disapproving line.

  “She was all nervous and sneaking looks around before we left. As soon as we were out the door, she picked up the phone.”

  “How do you know if you were outside?”

  “Could see her reflection. Couldn’t wait for her boss to leave.”

  “That was me she called. Wanted to report a suspicious call earlier.”

  Noah twisted back to Royce. “Did you see a white Mercedes panel van around here anywhere? Or a tall guy. Mid-thirties, white?”

  “No, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “It was parked across the street.” The woman pointed to three-story brick building. All the windows in the front had closed blinds. “Facing that way.” She motioned with her head.

  “Did you see the guy inside?”

  “Kind of. The windows were tinted. I think he was tall. He skooched down when we passed like he didn’t want us to see him.”

  “What about his face? Beard or clean shaven?”

  “Looked clean to me, but he could have had one of those ridiculous little tuffs of hair under the lip.”

  A soul patch. Noah wouldn’t want the judgmental woman for a neighbor, but he loved her for a witness.

  Conner tugged on his arm. “Earl texted me with Bachman’s address. He sent a patrol car to check it out and another to check out Laurel’s townhouse. Here’s his driver’s license photo.” He held his phone in front of the woman. “Is this the man you saw in the white van?”

  “Certainly could be.”

  A positive ID would have been better, but that might be enough for a warrant if Earl worked his magic.

  The guy with the sergeant’s stripes looked their way while talking on his cell. Noah caught Conner’s eye. “Let’s get out of here before the Chief of Ds shows up and takes us off the case for good.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Laurel didn’t like the sound of the guy’s voice. She hefted her purse onto her lap. “Looking for my phone. I think I left it at the office. Can we go back and get it?”

  The sound he made was probably supposed to be a laugh. “Noah would have my balls for breakfast if I did that. I’ll text him and see if he’ll stop and pick it up on the way to the safe house.”

  “But he can’t get in. I have the keys here.” She held up the office key on its flashlight key ring.

  “My mother will have a fit if I don’t call her soon. She’s been trying to reach me all day. I had to turn my phone off and stick it in a drawer.” That much was true. She’d switched it off and hidden it. Out of sight. Out of mind. Only she’d grabbed it and stuck it in her jacket pocket when she got her purse.

  Her left-hand pocket.

  The one nearest the driver.

  And she couldn’t get it out without some sort of distraction.

  She clunked her heavy purse on the center console and began digging through it.

  “What are you looking for now?” His voice wasn’t as rough, but it still held an edge of warning.

  “My lipstick. Whenever I get nervous, my lips get dry.” She moved things randomly in her purse until he quit staring at her. She flipped down the visor and made a show of putting on lipstick, returned the tube to her purse, and waited until he switched on his blinker for a left turn. Using her purse as a shield, she slid the phone out of her pocket and into to her right hand.

  Now what?

  The volume had been turned down, but did that affect anything but the ringing? Could you still hear the voice of the person speaking? There was space between the seat and the door so she held the phone down there and used her fingernail to turn it on.

  Trying to hold the phone in her right hand while pressing Noah’s name with her thumb was tough and took all her concentration. The ringing sound was faint, but she could hear it.

  “Everything okay?”

  The sound of the driver’s words caused her to jump. The phone slipped out of her hand and fell under the seat. “Oh, I’m fine. Just wondering why I carry so much junk in this purse.” Was her voice a little too loud? Shaky? That shouldn’t seem too odd, considering she was supposedly being whisked away from a dangerous situation.

  “Look at all this stuff! I’ve got three lipsticks, lip balm, sunglasses, a package of cough drops, allergy medicine, a coin purse I never use because there has to be two
dollars’ worth of change floating around the bottom, the case my phone is supposed to be in, my key ring, the office key ring, and all these receipts! What are they all for, anyway?”

  How long could she keep this up? She was running out of things to list in her purse and she didn’t even know if she’d managed to dial Noah’s number.

  The driver guy, Bachman, if that’s who he was, looked disgusted at her prattling but if he heard a voice coming from under her seat, what would he do?

  “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

  He shot her an icy glare. “It doesn’t work.”

  “Stop here for a minute.” Noah pointed toward a grocery store parking lot well away from the activity around the realty company. “My phone’s blowing up and so is yours.”

  Conner pulled into a spot away from other cars with easy access to the exit. “Yeah. We need to figure out where we’re going before we drive any farther.”

  Noah’s phone went off again before he had time to answer the first call. “No one answered at Laurel’s townhouse and her car wasn’t there, but we knew that because it was parked next to Lefty Bob’s.” His throat tightened at the effort of saying his friend’s name.

  “They didn’t have any better luck at Bachman’s place. Kind of like R.J. Perry. He lives in an apartment in the Galleria area. On the seventh floor. A quick search of the parking garage didn’t turn up any sign of the van, either.”

  Noah’s phone continued to buzz. “Oh, shit. It’s Laurel. Finally.” He took a deep breath. He had to be careful. He’d yelled at Lincoln Montgomery and at the officer he thought was Lefty Bob. He couldn’t afford to yell at Laurel. They had no way of knowing where she was, what had happened to her, or if she knew about Lefty Bob. Whatever was going on, he needed her to be calm and in control.

  “Hey, Laurel, I’ve been trying to contact you. Where did you go?”

  The only answer was a loud, uneven hum. A car? Had she butt dialed him? If so, he needed to get her attention before she disconnected. He drew in a breath to shout when he thought he heard her voice.