“I can’t get drunk,” Paige said. “I got classes in the morning.”
Ta’Veya laughed.
“Honey, you’re already drunk.”
Paige fell back on the bed and watched the ceiling swirl. Then she leaned up on her elbows and said, “I did some research today.”
“What on?”
“Our hunt.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Do you know a guy named Mitch Mitchell, formerly known as Ryan Tasker?”
No, she didn’t.
Neither did she know Aaron Trane, formerly Gordon Andrews.
“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“Because then we’d know which one of them to focus on.”
Chapter Eighteen
Day Three—May 7
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
WHEN DR. LEIGH SANDT, THE FBI PROFILER, walked into headquarters mid-afternoon, she barely had time to set down a briefcase before Teffinger put her in a bear hug and spun her around full circle. She felt lighter and stronger than he remembered.
She stepped back and looked him over.
“You’re still jogging I see,” she said.
“True but not as fast,” he said. “You lost weight.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he wanted to suck them back and swallow them.
There were two subjects that should never be broached with a woman.
The first was age.
The second was weight.
Both were train wrecks waiting to happen.
“Yeah, a couple of pounds,” she said.
He exhaled.
A near miss instead of an actual crash.
“I want to see the boxcar,” she added.
ON THE WAY TO THE CRIME SCENE they talked about the woman down by the railroad tracks, bound in blue rope, and Teffinger’s initial theory that she might have been the woman who got held in the boxcar. But now he was backing off that concept since none of the fingerprints found at the boxcar matched hers.
“We’re still waiting on DNA,” he said.
She nodded and said, “I want to see the razorblade when we get back to your office.”
“What razorblade?”
She looked at him as if trying to figure out if he was messing with her. His face must have said he wasn’t because she said, “You didn’t find a razorblade?”
“No. Why? Should we?”
Then she told him something he didn’t know. The woman always got a razorblade. In fact, that was the point of the whole thing, to slowly drive her to suicide.
“Now do you see why this bastard’s high on my list?” she asked.
He did.
He did indeed.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT THE BOXCAR, the door was shut and padlocked as they had left it. Teffinger had forgotten about the lock and couldn’t remember what he did with the key.
“Wait here a minute,” he said.
Then, back at the Tundra, he miraculously found the key sitting innocently in one of the cup holders. When he got back to Dr. Sandt he said, “Left the key in the truck.”
Dark clouds pushed across the sky.
“What’s with that?” Leigh asked. “I thought this was Denver.”
“We’ve been a little under the weather.”
She grimaced.
“Not funny.”
“I wasn’t going for funny. I was only going for clever.”
He got the lock off and pushed the door open. Inside it was darker than he expected, so he ran back to the Tundra and got a couple of flashlights.
Then they stepped inside.
They meticulously searched the area where the collar and the drifter’s body had been found.
No razorblade.
“Strange.”
Then they worked their way across the floor.
“Bingo,” Leigh said.
Teffinger went to where she was, almost at the far end, and looked.
Sure enough, a shinny new razorblade lay half hidden in the dirt. Leigh had a weird look on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“She threw it over here so she couldn’t use it. I don’t think I could have done that,” she said.
Teffinger pictured it.
“That little act may have saved her life,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen
Day Three—May 7
Wednesday Night
______________
RAIN ST. JOHN ARRIVED at Tarzan’s building a few minutes before midnight wearing an expensive long-sleeve shirt tucked into a short black skirt.
No bra.
No panties.
High heels.
Mildly drunk.
Seriously sexy.
Smoke from the club hung in her clothes.
She looked over her shoulder to be sure no one had followed and ran from her car to the entry. She rang the bell, got buzzed in, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. A few candles provided the only light. Aaron waved to her from a bed at the opposite end of the room, not much more than a silhouette in the darkness. An exotic naked woman who Rain had never seen before muscled up from a lying position and studied her as she walked over.
The storm pounded on the roof and windows.
She unbuttoned her shirt on the way and had it off by the time she got to the bed. She twirled it in a circle and threw it over her shoulder, not watching where it landed, keeping her eyes locked on the woman the way a predator studies its prey.
Then she pushed the woman down on her back, straddled her and pinned her arms above her head.
“Who’s this?” she asked Trane.
Aaron chuckled.
“This is Del Rae,” he said. “Your co-conspirator.”
“Del Rae my co-conspirator, huh?”
She kissed the woman on the mouth, released her grip on the woman’s wrists and ran her fingers teasingly down her arms. She traced circles on her captive’s nipples until they got hard. Del Rae bit her lower lip, shut her eyes and stretched her arms higher above her head.
“I like her,” Rain said. “She’s cute.”
“Yeah, she’s not bad.”
She moved farther up on Del Rae’s chest, grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms even tighter above her head. Then she wiggled up until her crotch was almost on Del Rae’s mouth.
“Does she eat?” Rain asked.
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” he said. Then to Del Rae: “Do you?”
“I do if she does,” Del Rae said.
Rain lifted her skirt up and off, over her head. Then she sank her weight down until she was on Del Rae’s mouth.
“You first,” she said.
AFTER THE WOMEN PLEASURED ONE ANOTHER they gave Aaron a two-for-the-price-of-one blowjob. Then the three of them laid back on the bed, watched the candlelight flicker on the ceiling and talked about how things would work.
Tomorrow would be the day.
When Rain finally got around to leaving, Aaron handed her a shoebox full of hundred dollar bills.
“Don’t deposit that anywhere,” he said. “We can’t have anything happen out of the ordinary. Put it in a safe deposit box if you’re worried about it.”
She lifted up her skirt and flashed as she headed for the elevator.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Chapter Twenty
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Morning
______________
PAIGE FORCED HERSELF OUT OF BED when the first rays of light hit the hotel windows, unsure where she was. Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed cotton in it and taped her lips shut. In the bathroom she turned on the cold water, found no cups, bent over and put her mouth under the flow.
Lapping at it with her tongue.
Then she turned on the shower, waited for the temperature to adjust and looked around to see if the hotel supplied shampoo.
No.
Of course not.
It wasn’t quite that kind of place.
It did supply one bar of soap, though, so her hair got that. By the time she soaped up and toweled down, the alcohol haze around her brain had almost dissipated. Her legs needed shaving but she had no razor or time.
That was the least of her worries.
The immediate problem, other than staying alive, was to not tank her Secured Transactions exam this afternoon. That would be hard even if she jammed information in her brain all morning.
Starting this second.
As soon as she opened the bathroom door Ta’Veya pushed through and said, “Got to go like a madman.” She must not have been kidding, because she headed straight for the seat without even slowing down to swing the door closed.
When she came out Paige said, “I have a huge test at two o’clock that I absolutely, positively have to get ready for.”
Ta’Veya had no problem with that.
“Go for it,” she said. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll head out and get us some breakfast. I saw a McDonald’s down the road. What do you want?”
“Whatever—as long as it comes with three gallons of coffee.”
“One Whatever with Coffee, coming up.”
Paige knew she should smile but couldn’t.
Instead she pulled out her notes, spread ’em on the table and tried to get her arms around the best way to shoehorn ten pounds of information into a two pound brain.
A half hour later Ta’Veya fetched breakfast and coffee, lots of coffee, three larges for each of them to be precise.
Then she wrote down the addresses of the two defendants Paige came across during her research yesterday—the men Poppenberg may have been investigating.
Mitch Mitchell—formerly Ryan Tasker.
And Aaron Trane—formerly Gordon Andrews.
The blue-rope-in-the-trunk guy.
She picked up her keys and said, “I’m going to swing by their places and see if I can at least get a look at them.”
Paige brought her head out of the notes.
“I thought you never got a look at the guy,” she said. “You said he wore a mask.”
Ta’Veya nodded.
“That’s true,” she said. “I want to get a look at ’em so we know who to follow.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
“I’m serious,” Paige added. “Stay out of sight until we can come up with a game plan.”
“I’ll be fine. Just worry about your test. I’ll be back at 12:30 to take you to class.”
“I really wish you’d wait until I can go with you.”
“We don’t have that luxury,” Ta’Veya said. “Time’s already running out.”
TRUE TO HER WORD, TA’VEYA RETURNED just before 12:30 and said, “I think we’re still safe here, so I paid for another night. Come on, I have food in the car.”
They wound over to I-70 and headed east, eating Arby’s roast beef sandwiches and fries, sipping diet Cokes.
“How’d the studying go? Did you get it all crammed in?”
Paige swallowed a fry and said, “Good enough to fake it.”
“I thought it was a law test?”
“It is.”
“Sounds more like an orgasm test.”
Paige laughed.
“God I hope not,” she said. “I haven’t picked up that book in over three months.”
“No boyfriend?”
“No time.”
“Well at least get a vibrator,” Ta’Veya said.
“No time.”
“Honey, you got your priorities all mixed up. You know that, don’t you?”
Then Ta’Veya told her what she’d found out this morning.
The address for Aaron Trane turned out to be an old four -story building in a ratty industrial area on the west edge of downtown, close enough to the 6th Avenue freeway to pick up plenty of noise, and next to a switchyard to get even more. All the windows were on the west side of the building, meaning they’d have to get into the track area to see inside. That had been impossible this morning with all the train workers around.
“The place gave me the creeps,” she added. “Even in daylight.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you could do all kinds of insane things in there and no one would ever know.”
“What about the other guy?”
“Mitch Mitchell?”
“Right.”
“That’s weird too,” she said. “He doesn’t live that far from here, actually, on a dead-end street off South Golden Road, next to something that looks like an old armory.”
“I know where you’re talking about. It has an old canon out front.”
Ta’Veya nodded.
“He has a dilapidated house, not more than a thousand square feet. It couldn’t pass a code inspection in a thousand years. It’s the last house on the left.”
Paige laughed.
“Just like the movie.”
Ta’Veya looked confused but didn’t press it. “I drove down, not knowing it was a dead-end, and actually had to turn around in his driveway. There was no car in the yard and the front door was shut just like you’d think if no one was home. I didn’t see any signs of life, but felt eyes on me.”
Paige studied her.
“It really bothered me that there was only one way out,” Ta’Veya added.
Chapter Twenty-One
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Morning
______________
TEFFINGER WOKE UP BECAUSE SOMETHING WAS WRONG. A recessed survival gene pounded on warning drums deep inside his brain and made his heart beat faster. He opened his eyes and concentrated. For a brief moment he thought he heard a noise, but it disappeared as quickly as it came and he couldn’t be sure.
He was in his bedroom.
It was dark.
He turned his head and looked at the red digits of the clock.
4:57 a.m.
The alarm would go off in three minutes.
The strange sound came again, unmistakable this time, definitely not his imagination. He slowly got out of bed, realized he was naked and concluded just as quickly that he had no time for clothes. He pulled his gun out of the holster, took off the safety and walked as quietly as he could towards the sound.
It came from the kitchen.
He held the gun with both hands, in firing mode, and twisted around the corner as fast as he could. Someone was there. He pointed the barrel at the person’s heart and almost pulled the trigger before he recognized who it was.
Dr. Leigh Sandt.
Then he remembered that she spent the night in the downstairs bedroom. A look of terror gripped her face. Then, as she realized he wasn’t going to fire, it washed off.
“I knew I’d see you in the morning,” she said. “I just didn’t realize it would be this much of you.”
He winced.
“I am so sorry—”
She laughed.
“Don’t shower, we’re going to jog. Remember?”
He disappeared around the corner.
“Right.”
“I thought I’d get up early and make coffee,” she hollered.
“Good idea.”
“You got anything to stir it with?” she shouted.
“Not funny,” he shouted back.
HE WASHED HIS FACE, popped in his contacts and slipped into gray sweatpants and a T-shirt. Five minutes later they were jogging down the street, clicking off the streetlights.
“I’m going to say something, but if you ever repeat it I’ll deny it,” she said.
He dreaded what was coming but asked anyway.
“What?”
“Nice.”
He thought he knew what she was talking about but wasn’t positive.
“What’s nice?”
“Don’t press it Teffinger,” she warned. “You were lucky to get it once.”
He laughed.
“Oh, that.”
“Right, that.”
&
nbsp; “Glad you approve.”
“At least now I know the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?”
“About the size of your feet.”
Teffinger lived in a green split-level ranch near the top of Green Mountain on South DeFrame Way. It was the third house from the end of the street and backed to open space. None of the neighborhood roads were level. They all went up or down, depending on which way you were going. That made jogging problematic.
Teffinger hated running uphill and didn’t like downhill much better but Leigh didn’t seem to mind.
“I’ve been thinking about the case,” she said. “And the more I think about it the more it bothers me.”
“What bothers you?”
“The dissimilarities.”
“What do you mean?”
“This scene is too different from the other ones,” she said. “The collar looks similar but it’s different. The razorblades from the other scenes are identical, from the same manufacturer in fact, maybe even the same box. This one’s similar, but different. Then we have the padlocks. The prior scenes all had identical Master locks. This one has a Master lock too, I admit, but it’s bigger. Same thing with the chain, close but not quite.”
Teffinger sucked in enough breath to talk.
“So what?” he said. “Different stores sell different things. There’s no magic in one padlock versus another or one razorblade versus another. They’re all the same for what this guy does. He buys what he needs wherever he finds it. That’s all there is to it.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Of course it is,” he said.
“There’s something here, some kind of a clue or something and I’m not smart enough to figure out what it is.”
“Here’s your clue,” he said. “No one ever does the same thing the exact same way twice. For example, I had a girlfriend once who was a great lover, and yet—”
She pushed him.
“What?” he asked.
“Spare me the details. I catch your drift.”
“Okay.”
“But there’s more to it, trust me.”
Teffinger laughed and said, “You’re too stubborn. Does your husband ever tell you that?”
“All the time,” she said. “It doesn’t do him any good.”
Pretty Little Lawyer (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Page 6