Anyone he wants, Zack thought once more. What a life.
“I guess I was hoping to find company by ordering a large, hoping to attract a broke and hungry friend, right? You know, ‘Build it and they will come.’” Dr. Jay smiled, his pearly teeth perfectly offsetting his tanned skin and dark eyes. The pencil-thin mustache didn’t seem so outdated as it did when Zack had first met him.
“Yeah, right.” Zack agreed. “I was headed over to Jackson’s dorm with mine. Want to come?”
Dr. Jay nodded. “Sure.”
The girls at the table rose, making sure to command Dr. Jay’s attention by working what they had on their way out the door, then turning to wave and giggle. Zack was surprised to find Dr. Jay’s attention was on him instead of the vamping coeds.
“How are you doing, Zack?”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, you haven’t been to class this week.”
Zack tensed. “Considering the circumstances, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I do mind, Zack,” the professor said, sipping his soda, pinching the straw as if it were the molding clay he used in the sculpting class. He raised an eyebrow and added, “I understand, but I mind.”
Zack stared, dumbfounded. Why would he care whether Zack missed a couple of classes this week? Was he insane? Jill was dead. Murdered. What could be more important than that?
“I mind because the students look up to you,” Dr. Jay explained, his dark eyes sparkling with intensity. “You and I need to be their rock during their journey across an ocean of grief. Do you follow me?”
Zack’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t been aware of all the tension he’d been carrying in his back, his neck, his shoulders.
“Don’t you think I’d prefer to skip class?”Dr. Jay continued when Zack didn’t answer. He patted his TA on the shoulder. “Missing Thursday, okay. But again yesterday? That was too much. We can’t miss any more classes, got it?”
“Are you going to report me?” Zack blurted, wishing he hadn’t said it the second the words left his lips.
Dr. Jay shook his head. “No need to have you lose your grad student status over a few missed classes. I wouldn’t call that egregious in light of what’s happened.”
“Thank you,” Zack sighed. He wanted to both punch Dr. Jay in the jaw and hug him. He had no idea why his emotions were so completely conflicted and out of control.
“Bravo?” the pimply college girl called from behind the counter.
Dr. Jay patted Zack on the back again and retrieved his pizza. Before he was able to sit back down beside Zack, the girl slid another box on the counter and called out, “Rhodes?”
Zack retrieved his pizza, smiling at the bespectacled brunette. She returned the favor, revealing a mouthful of silver. Braces suck, Zack thought, feeling sorry for the poor girl. In that short a time, a blonde had approached Dr. Jay and was talking with him about something. She had her back to Zack, so he wasn’t sure whether to interrupt them. He decided to slide back onto the stool beside Dr. Jay and wait for them to finish their discussion so that he and the professor could walk across the street to Jackson’s dorm together.
“Zack, you know Brittany,”Dr. Jay said, touching her elbow as if introducing his wife at a cocktail party.
Renaissance Art History class. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Eleven o’clock. Third row from the back. Always by herself. “Yes, hi, Brittany.”
Brittany blushed, her eyes widening. “I didn’t know—”
“Relax,” Dr. Jay said. “Zack here was just leaving. Right, Zack?”
Zack opened his mouth to correct him, to remind him that they were going over to Jackson’s, when it dawned on him what Dr. Jay was doing.
“Oh, yeah. Uh, I was just on my way out the door. Just wanted to say good-bye to Dr. Jay. Bye,” Zack said, standing and taking his pizza with him.
“Bye, Zack,” Dr. Jay said, giving him a little wave and a smirk as Zack walked away. As he was leaving, Zack saw a second girl approach Brittany and Dr. Jay. A redhead. Tina. Same class. The same Tina that Micah had told him about yesterday. The one Dr. Jay was diddling. He heard Dr. Jay say, “I have enough for both of you. Are you hungry?”
The tinkling of the bell on the door drowned out their answer, but Zack knew what they’d say.
Lucky bastard.
I HAD RESISTED THE temptation to go home all afternoon.
I had originally planned to be gone all day to give Lisa, Agent Pierce, and Detective Brandt some space and privacy to get their work done. It made me feel good to help the FBI and police find Jill’s murderer, even if it was in such a small way, by lending them my home as their headquarters. But my original plans to keep my distance changed after I heard what the guys had told me about the novel Crime and Punishment, about Jill’s conversation with them the last day she had worked, and about the ominous Jonah reference and its biblical significance. Or insignificance. Maybe I’d been fancying myself a bit too much like Nancy Drew or, more to my taste, Encyclopedia Brown, and I’d put too much emphasis on the importance of some of the things I’d learned.
But I would have expected Lisa to call me back long before now. Particularly considering the urgency of my message. Around two, when I hadn’t heard from her, I became a bit concerned, but then I remembered that the cell phone reception wasn’t that great up here in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, considering the steepled mountains and the limited number of towers. And I convinced myself that I’d forgotten to give Lisa my work number.
Then Detective Brandt had called about three hours ago. Not only did that mean he and the FBI agents had my work number but also that Lisa was tied up in an interview, in the field, or in a mess of some kind;otherwise, she would have been the one to be in touch. When Brandt had reached me I was so excited to unload my mind of all the details I’d learned from the guys at lunch I hadn’t paid much attention to his odd questions and his stiff, unnatural tone. Now that I had started my long journey home, I was reflecting on the ominous nature of his side of the conversation and becoming more worried about what was not being said.
“Liv, good,” Detective Brandt had said when the call was transferred into my office around three fifteen. “Are you still at work?” he had asked, wondering if the transfer had been made on a landline elsewhere or to my cell phone with me in transit.
When I had told him I was in my office, he had asked how long I planned on working. I had told him as long or as short as he needed me to stay. He seemed relieved, judging by the long breath he exhaled. He said if it were all the same to me, he would prefer I not come home until six or later. I told him I would plan on being home at six thirty and that I’d bring dinner for all of them. Detective Brandt, lover of food, told me I didn’t need to go to that much trouble.
As I rounded a corner of U.S. Highway 287 near Bellevue, it hit me that something serious must have happened. Detective Brandt was stalling, not wanting me to find out.
My foot got a bit heavier on the accelerator and I flew over the hill near Laporte and into Fort Collins. I was just fifteen minutes from home, my mind racing. I punched in Lisa’s cell phone number, knowing I had clear signals now that I was near civilization.
No answer.
I punched in my home number and hit send.
On the first ring, a man answered. “Hello?”
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” His voice sounded so prim and proper.
“Liv Bergen, the owner of that house.” I knew I hadn’t done such a great job keeping the annoyance from my tone, but I didn’t care.
“Ah, Miss Bergen. Nice to meet you,”the man said. “I’m Agent Kelleher.”
He sounded more like an English butler than an FBI agent.
“Is Lisa—I mean is Agent Henry there, please?”
At first, I thought he was handing Lisa the headset. Then I realized from his soft breathing, he had simply not answered me. The pause was unsettling.
“Where are you, Miss Bergen?”
>
“On my way home,” I answered. “Put Agent Henry on the phone, please?”
He finally admitted, “She isn’t here.”
“Agent Pierce?”
“Not here either.”
He pronounced “either” with a long “i” sound rather than a long “e”sound. More so because of the concern that was roiling inside me, not wanting to admit I was scared to death about not knowing what was happening, and afraid to admit I was inexplicably filled with dread, I was really getting annoyed with this man.
“Let me talk to Detective Brandt then.”
“Gone,” the man said. “I will fill you in on everything the moment you arrive, Miss Bergen.”
“Stop calling me Miss Bergen,” I snapped and instantly felt ashamed. I didn’t even know this man. He was in a stranger’s home trying to do his job investigating a murder, and here I was yelling at him about my name. I took a deep breath. “Liv, please. And I look forward to meeting you in person.”
“Likewise,” Agent Kelleher quipped.
Oh, I had really pissed off this one. How to win friends and influence people—not! Way to go, Liv, I told myself as I closed my cell phone and slipped it back in the charger.
Within minutes, I pulled into my garage, spotting one unfamiliar car at the curb outside my house. I closed the garage door and turned the knob to the door into my house from inside my garage, but it was locked. I never locked this door. I figure if a burglar breaks into my garage, he’d break the lock or the door or both from the garage into my house. So out of convenience, I leave it unlocked. Something about locked doors keeping honest people from entering, I suppose.
I tried the knob again, hoping for a different result. No dice, and I couldn’t for the life of me think where I had a house key since I so rarely used it. The key to my house was my garage door opener.
Before I had a chance to retreat to my Explorer and dig through my key rings, the door opened wide. A tall black man in a gray pin-striped suit, starched white shirt, and maroon tie stood inside my house. His short hair was gray around his temples, and he wore a very tight smile.
“Miss Bergen?” he said, sticking out a long, lean hand.
I gripped it and shook. “Liv. You must be Agent Kelleher.”
He stepped aside and I walked up the stairs into the living room, glancing around, stunned. Everything had been rearranged, put back in place where it had been before Lisa had come to stay with me. Before my house had been turned into FBI headquarters. The couch was back where it belonged. The table. The desk. The computer was gone. No satchel, no files, no papers, no crime scene photos. Nothing. The entire house looked as if the prior two days had been nothing but a dream. And it reeked of ammonia.
I blinked twice. I turned around and squared off with the FBI agent, glaring at him.
Agent Kelleher’s smile had disappeared and his face was pinched. “Have a seat. Please.” He motioned to the couch.
I didn’t move. Fear crept into my chest. I balled my fists and stood my ground. I was afraid. I wanted to believe I was afraid because I didn’t know who this guy was that was giving me orders in my own home. For all I knew, maybe he was de Milo.
“Show me your badge.” I didn’t recognize my own voice.
He slipped his hand into his suit jacket. For a split second, I thought he was going to pull out a gun, just like they do in the movies. He pulled out a wallet and showed me the shiny gold emblem and identification. Special Agent Phil Kelleher. The picture was old, obviously taken in Kelleher’s much younger days. He was thinner now, grayer, eyes tired compared to the mischievous eyes in the photo.
“Credentials,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s not a badge. Police carry badges. FBI agents carry credentials.”He motioned me to the couch a second time.
I sat. He chose the armchair closest to me.
“Miss Bergen,” he started, clearing his throat.
“Liv, damn it,” I said for the third time.
“Liv,” he said. “Agent Pierce called me today and asked me to meet with you. He’s very sorry for not being able to meet with you himself and wanted to thank you for all your hospitality.”
My eyes were pinned on his face. This wasn’t about thanking me for using my house. There was more. Much more. And I wanted him to get to the point.
“Where is he?”
“He’s not here.”
“I know that. Where is he staying?”
“He’s still in Fort Collins. At an undisclosed location,” Agent Kelleher said.
He hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch since sitting down. His erect posture made it look as though he was sitting on the head of a needle rather than on the softest armchair I owned.
“Undisclosed,” I repeated.
He nodded.
“And Lisa?”
He didn’t flinch. “That’s why Agent Pierce asked me to come here.”
My heart jumped. I had never even met Streeter Pierce, but right now I was angry as hell at him for putting me through all this weird veiled discussion about undisclosed locations with a tight-lipped, pretentious prick who acted like he woke up this morning to someone squeezing a lemon on his asshole.
“Where’s Lisa?” I demanded.
For the first time, he shifted, casting his eyes to the floor. I pinned him with my eyes and he eventually lifted his gaze to me. His eyes had softened. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Dead,” he said, and his brows slackened.
My mouth fell open. I didn’t believe him. I pushed myself up from the couch and marched back to the spare bedroom. As I stepped into the room, the smell of ammonia hit me. My stomach flipped. My eyes scanned the bare room. The bed had been stripped and all the pictures and mementos I had on the dresser were gone. Lisa’s bag and satchel were missing. It was as if she had never been here.
I stepped across the hall. The master bedroom was the same as any other day. Bed made. Neat. Orderly. Nothing missing. Nothing out of place. I poked my head in the master bathroom and the spare bathroom in the hall. No Lisa. I shuffled back down the hall to the living room, confused. Agent Kelleher was still perched at the edge of the armchair, erect, his hands neatly folded in his lap. His eyes were still soft.
“She’s not dead,” I said.
He said nothing.
I eventually slumped back into the couch across from him.
“She was murdered,” he stated. “We think it was de Milo, but we’re not sure.”
“How? Why?” I asked, stunned by the news and numb to the implication and meaning behind it all.
“We don’t know yet. She may have been on to something. Her files were compromised.”
“Compromised? Her files? She had left everything here, spread out on the desk and table I had set up for her. Why didn’t she leave the files here? With everything else?”
He looked at me and blinked.
I didn’t understand any of this.
In a steady monotone he said, “She didn’t take her files anywhere, Miss Ber—Liv.”
“But that means . . . ” My eyes must have bugged out of my head, because his words came quickly.
“She was killed here. In your home.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to blow chunks all over the man’s custom-made suit.
“We think he came in through the front door. There was no sign of forced entry. We think he caught her off guard. Agent Henry put up a good fight. A great fight.”
My head was spinning. Lisa was dead. She’d been murdered. In my home. If only I hadn’t invited her to stay here. If only I had been more persistent about my phone call earlier. If only I had not resisted the urge to come home. Maybe I could have stopped this whole nightmare from happening.
I registered his words as though from a great distance. “Agent Pierce asked me to stay with you until this is over. He’s concerned for your safety and regrets the FBI’s presence here having compromised or endangered you in any
way the past two days. He wanted me to share with you his appreciation and deepest condolences on the loss of your friend.”
Was this really happening? One minute my employee is murdered, the next my friend is murdered. In my house. How could this be?
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I have swept the house and prefer to stay in the room where Lisa was staying so I can be close to your room. I will be able to protect you best from there. Will that work for you?”
I was half listening. Lisa was dead. I had just talked with her this morning. Shared a cup of coffee with her. Agent Pierce was still sleeping when we two had talked. She had just rolled out of bed, yet she was still as beautiful as a princess with her long black hair in tangles and blue eyes heavy with drowsiness.
A flurry of thoughts rushed into my head. “Maybe it was a student.”
“A student?”
“Maybe that’s who killed Lisa. A student.” My mind was racing. “The guy who left the book for Jill. Jonah. In Crime and Punishment, a graduate student killed someone thinking he would never be caught. Maybe Jonah’s a student. Maybe he left the book as a way to flaunt his murders to the rest of the world, like he’s smarter than all of you—all of us. Maybe the Venus de Milo murderer is a student, thinking he can get away with this.”
Agent Kelleher looked at me as if I’d completely lost my mind.
Then I remembered the conversation I’d had with Lisa about Boeing and the carpet cutting methods. “Did she tell you about the water?”
“The water?”
“Cutting carpets with water. At Boeing, where I used to work. Was that how he killed her? With water?” I gasped.
For the first time, Kelleher loosened his tight smile and shook his head. He looked much younger now. “Agent Henry told Agent Pierce of your idea about water being the potential murder weapon.”
I stared at him, willing him to tell me more. I couldn’t bear the thought of feeding Lisa with the information that led her to being killed.
“You were right,” he said.
In the Belly of Jonah: A Liv Bergen Mystery Page 14