Miranda turned to see a full-figured woman of about forty with red-gold ringlets piled atop her head. She was dressed in waitress black.
The man named Cesare nodded to her stiffly. It was obvious he didn’t care for her causal approach. “Rayleen, this is Miranda Steele and Wade Parker. They’re private investigators from Atlanta and they’re looking into that dreadful murder on the ocean front.”
Rayleen’s smile disappeared. “Oh, my. Do you really think there’s a serial killer on the loose here? What are you doing to catch him?”
“Everything we can,” Miranda said firmly.
“We’re hoping you can help us,” Parker added.
“How can we help?”
“We think the young woman who was killed had a date Friday night. She and her escort may have come here.”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “Josie Yearwood did come here a lot.”
She knew her by name. Miranda’s hopes began to rise.
“I don’t know if she was here on Friday, though. I’ll have to ask the girls.”
The thin man pointed to his book. “Here’s a list of who was on duty.”
“Thanks, Cesare. I know who was here. Give me a minute.”
Rayleen stepped around the gray brick divider while the stuffy Cesare greeted a couple who had just come in.
Miranda strolled over to the seats in the waiting area and sank down into one of them, glad to get off her feet, though her hopes sank down with her. All the way to the soles of her shoes.
“This is going to be another dead end,” she whispered to Parker. “I can feel it.”
“Patience. Someone had to have seen her Friday night.”
Not if the guy nabbed her off the street. But Parker was right. They had to go through the motions and tick off the boxes.
After another ten minutes, Rayleen marched back around the stone wall with a young woman who couldn’t have been older than twenty.
She was also all in black and so thin, she looked like an exclamation mark next to Rayleen’s fuller frame. Her long blond hair was pulled into the standard waitress ponytail and her eyes were wide with emotion.
“This is Fern. She was on duty Friday night. Tell them what you just told me, honey.”
Fern rubbed her arms and looked at her boss, then at Parker, then at Miranda. “Josie Yearwood was here Friday night. I served her.”
Miranda shot to her feet. “Who was she with?”
Fern gave her a frightened look. “I didn’t recognize him.”
“But she was with a date?”
“Oh, yes. She was always with a date.”
“What did he look like?”
“Um.” The young woman glanced at Rayleen again. “Maybe longish hair, kind of wavy, I think. It might have been darker. I’m not sure.”
“Good looking?”
“Well, yeah. The thing is, Ms. Yearwood came here a lot. Every other week or so. Most of the time with a new guy. All of them were good-looking. They kind of run together after a while.”
Miranda thought of a different angle. “Did the guy on Friday pay with a credit card?”
“No. That I remember. He paid with two hundred dollar bills and told me to keep the change. I mean, the meal was pricey, but it wasn’t that much.”
So the guy did have money. And paid in cash to avoid being identified. Maybe he went to an ATM nearby. If the bank had surveillance—
“Do you use security cameras in your parking lot?” Parker asked before her thought was formed.
That was an even better idea.
Especially when Rayleen’s face brightened. “We sure do. Follow me.”
The supervisor led them past the couch, behind another gray brick wall, and through a hidden door. They followed her down a narrow dimly lit passage where shouts and clattering pans and sizzling sounds could be heard from the nearby kitchen.
At the end of the hall she opened a door to a cluttered office and stepped inside. “I apologize for the mess. I don’t get time to clean up often.”
There was a large desk off to one side piled with papers that nearly hid a computer screen. A ragged looking desk chair was tucked under it. Next to it stood a bookshelf, its shelves stacked with more papers and files.
Rayleen pointed to a narrower desk along the opposite wall. Another computer screen and keyboard sat on the desk, a zigzagging screensaver running on it.
That’s our surveillance system, such as it is. “Willie set it up for us. He’s one of our cooks.”
Miranda strolled over to the desk and pushed the mouse. A video frame appeared. A single camera mounted on one of the eaves of the roof offered a partial shot of the parking lot, near where she and Parker had entered the place. She could just make out the dim figures of a family and two couples getting out of their cars and heading for the door.
The image was black-and-white and very grainy.
“Not a very clear picture,” Parker murmured. Miranda could hear the frustration in his tone.
Rayleen let out a sigh. “I keep telling the owner to upgrade, but he doesn’t think it’s necessary. This is a safe town. Or it was. Maybe he’ll listen to me now.”
“Do you have anything from Friday night?”
“Willie backs the data up every week. I think he’d have it here.” She shuffled through a holder of disks and pulled out one with the date written in marker on its sleeve. “Here it is.”
It would take a while to go through a whole night’s worth of video. “Do you mind if we take this back to the station?”
“No, not at all. I hope it will help you find that killer.”
“So do we.”
“Would you like something to eat?” Parker wanted to know as they left the restaurant.
“We can’t stop.”
She knew he would love to stop and feed her something fancy after the trying time they’d had. But they had others to think of and a video to watch.
“You need sustenance,” he said sternly.
Okay, but so did her team. “Let’s pick up some food for everybody at that sandwich shop.”
“Excellent idea.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Miranda and Parker strolled into the back of the police station, arms laden with pastrami and corned beef and Italian subs, they were greeted with cheers and a round of applause.
She’d been right. Her police hounds hadn’t eaten since lunch, and they were ravenous again.
Hill pointed them to a break area off to the side of the desks and everyone shuffled in and got a sandwich.
“We’ve got to work while we eat,” Miranda told them as eager hands dugs into the bags for the Styrofoam containers of goodies. She’d wait until they were settled before she told them about the video. First she needed an update on everyone’s status.
As everyone shuffled out of the room, she pulled Wesson over to a corner and spoke low.
“Any luck with the rental company?”
Wesson nodded. “It took a while, but I had Cindy rack her brain, and she came up with a friend of a friend of the manager, Marilyn Little. We called, and after an hour or two the friend was able to contact Little. She just called us back.”
“And?”
“The rental company is East Seaside Properties. They take care of the house. That’s who Little works for. But the house itself is owned by Cardinal Mutual Trust Company.”
Miranda’s brows rose. “A trust company? There’s no single owner?”
“Apparently not.”
“Who’s renting the place from Seaside?”
Wesson pursed her lips with chagrin. “That’s the thing. Little told us that house hasn’t been rented since late September.”
Not rented for a month and a half? A chill went down Miranda’s spine and she knew Wesson was feeling the same sensation. Did their guy just break into the place? But there had been no sign of forced entry.
“Who rented it in September?”
“Little didn’t know. She’s going to look it
up when she gets back to town tomorrow. We’ll be doing some digging then to find a contact at the trust company as well.”
Miranda nodded. “How’s Smith?” she asked in an even lower voice.
“Okay.” Wesson glanced at the door. “She made the phone calls, got Little to give her more information than she wanted to. And Ballard went home for the day shortly after you left.”
Miranda shook her head. The sergeant had left the lackeys to do the dirty work. It was just as well. She didn’t want that guy browbeating the team who was now hers.
“Okay. We’ll get back at it tomorrow, then.”
“Right. Oh, and Cindy asked to drive me back to the B&B when we’re done here. I think she wants to talk.”
“Sure.”
Wondering what that was about, Miranda started toward the work area, then remembered Parker’s past advice about how to be a boss.
She stopped and turned back. “Good job, Wesson.”
Looking a little surprised, Wesson grinned. “No problem.”
Feeling awkward as ever being “the boss,” Miranda gave her a nod and moved out into the hall.
The work area for the police officers was a long rectangular space stretched between the two halls on either side. It was filled with desks stationed in various positions. Those belonging to the detectives sat at the corners of the space, while the ones occasionally used by the other officers were jammed together in the middle. Each desk had a rolling chair, one or two guest chairs, and a trash can.
Portraits of the governor and the mayor hung on the wall beside a large police emblem. Near a row of filing cabinets stood a pole with the state flag. The air smelled of stale coffee and the food they’d just brought in.
The scene hadn’t changed much since she’d seen it that afternoon. Most of the desks were covered with computer equipment and case files stuffed into plastic organizers or stacked in piles.
Miranda marched over to the desk in the corner near the door, where Officer Doug Hill was munching on a Reuben. “What have you and Becker come up with?”
Hill held up a finger as he chewed and swallowed his last bite. “I just got off a video conference with him before you and Mr. Parker came in. What a cool guy.” Hill reached for his soda can and gulped down a mouthful. “He showed me some nifty apps, and we scrolled through the dating sites looking for key phrases.”
Sounded promising. “Did you find any matches?”
“Not anything we could piece together for a date Friday night. It looks like after the vic decided a guy had potential, she switched to communicating with him on her phone. She’d given a bunch of guys her number.”
That was progress. “Do you have information on them?”
“The app is gathering that data now. But it won’t tell us when or if Josie set up dates with any of them for sure.”
It was something. “Good job. Let me know when you get that list.”
“Sure thing, but—”
“What is it, Hill?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that Becker thought there was something funny about the dating sites.”
“What do you mean, funny?”
Hill raised his hands. “I’m not sure. He rattled off some terminology I didn’t understand and then said, ‘Never mind.’ I don’t think he wanted me to say anything to you yet.”
Miranda frowned. Becker usually wasn’t secretive—unless she asked him to be. She’d talk to him about that later. “That’s okay. If he says anything else like that, let me know.”
Hill seemed a little bewildered, but nodded. “Okay. Will do.”
She moved over to Deweese, who was standing in the far corner near a metal filing cabinet, his back to the room.
He was on his cell.
“How are you coming along?” she said when he’d hung up.
“Good,” he grinned and held up his phone. “That was Fry. He got the samples we sent and has started working on them.”
Miranda nodded, hoping Fry could do his thing and get them something to work with fast. She scanned the room and focused on the only clean desk in the area. There were just a few things on it. A pen, a blotter, a green apple near the corner. Next to the apple sat a brass name plate reading “Ross Garwood.”
“What about him?” She gestured in the direction of the desk.
“Garwood?” Deweese scratched his head. “He left an hour ago. Told me he’d called a few florists, but all the rest on his list were closed.”
Miranda put her hands on her hips and stared at the desk.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but you might not get a lot from him.”
“Oh?”
“He’s been here a long time. An old school guy. Figures he’s put in his time, and he doesn’t think he can help much on this case. He’ll retire in a month or so.”
“So he’s phoning it in.”
Deweese shrugged. “He’s a good detective, but he’s a short-timer. What can I say?”
She watched him glance up at the picture of the mayor. Ballard’s being in charge probably had something to do with Garwood’s attitude, but she didn’t have time to worry about the department’s politics. “Okay. You have a computer free?”
“The one on my desk. What do you need it for?”
“We’ve got a video to watch.”
“You and Mr. Parker got something?”
“From one of the restaurants along the dock. Bayside Manor.”
His let out a low whistle. “The pricey one.”
“Yep.” She handed him the disk. “Let’s have a look.”
Everyone pulled up chairs and gathered round as Deweese took the disk out of its sleeve and slid it into the player on his desktop.
The screen went black, flickered a bit, and then a grainy image of static appeared.
Everyone groaned.
“What’s wrong with it?” said Hill.
“Did it fail to record?” Smith sounded panicky.
Miranda felt her stomach start to roil.
Deweese held up a hand. “Wait. There it is.”
Suddenly the static cleared and an image of the parking lot outside the restaurant came into view. It was dark and unclear, but better than what they had a minute ago.
“The resolution isn’t very high,” Hill said.
“The restaurant manager sends her apologies for that,” Parker told them flatly.
Miranda folded her arms. “It was the best we could get. Squint hard and see if you can see anything.”
They all did just that, craning their necks, watching dark blurry cars and customers come and go for an hour. Then two hours.
When the time on the clock read eight-forty-eight, Miranda was ready to give up. They’d struck out again.
“Wait a minute.” Smith rose from her seat and put her nose close to the screen. “Is that her?”
Wesson let out a little gasp and leaned in.
“Stop the video.”
Deweese hit the mouse and the image froze.
Miranda peered at the screen. The image of the back of a woman in a dark dress, heels, and a plaid jacket came into view as she headed away from the restaurant’s entrance.
Was that her?
“Let it run.”
Deweese clicked the mouse again and the image began to move. The woman looked like she was laughing as she tossed her long light colored hair over her shoulder.
“It’s her,” Smith breathed.
“Definitely Josie Yearwood,” Deweese agreed.
“It’s her, all right,” Wesson chimed in.
They were right.
It was the same woman Miranda had seen in those photos Josie had posted on the dating sites. She was sure of it. As the woman moved across the lot, the form of a man materialized beside her. He was dressed in a dark suit and looked like he had wavy hair that was cut short on the sides, but he was in the shadows and it was hard to make him out.
After another minute the couple strolled over to the row of vehicles on the left of the screen. Whi
le Josie stepped to the passenger side of one of the cars, the man opened the driver’s side.
“Didn’t help her inside,” Hill noted.
“He knew the camera would catch his face if he turned this way,” Parker said.
The man said something. Josie laughed again, then got into the car.
Miranda held her breath as she waited for the vehicle’s lights to come on. Slowly it rolled out of the spot.
“There. Stop it right there.”
Deweese did, and once again everyone stared at the screen in silence.
The plate number was too fuzzy to read, the image too grainy and dark.
“Is that a Mercedes logo?”
“Could be an Infiniti.”
“Or a Mazda.”
Damn. “Do you have any software to enhance—never mind. Becker does.”
Deweese let the video run again. The car rolled out of the lot, turned left onto Queen Elizabeth, and disappeared.
Miranda watched it with an empty feeling. They had something, and yet they had nothing. They had to find more. “Rewind to the spot where Yearwood first appears and get a splice of that section. Watch it again and see if you can spot any details. I’m going to make that call to Becker.”
Parker met her gaze as she got to her feet. He didn’t say anything, but he looked troubled.
There was no time to talk, so she went down the hall and put in another call to her buddy. He was putting the kids to sleep and she hated interrupting him.
“I’m sorry, Becker, but we need you.”
“It’s okay,” he said after he shut Callie’s bedroom door. “We have to get that killer before there’s another victim.”
She was glad he understood. “We’ve got surveillance video from the parking lot of the restaurant where the vic was Friday night. We need it enhanced.”
There was a pause. “Is the resolution good?”
“Not really. It was taken with pretty antiquated equipment.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can.”
It was all she could ask for. “Thanks. I’ll get it to you ASAP.”
She hung up and returned to the work area.
“Becker’s going to work on enhancing that shot of the tag,” she announced. “The good news is we know Josie Yearwood got into a car with someone in the Bayside Manor parking lot just before nine o’clock on Friday.”
Roses from My Killer Page 9