Helen found a tiny table in a corner and sat, while Patrick went up to the counter to order coffees. He threaded his way back through the crowd carrying two tall glass mugs of café latté, the milky foam on top threatening to spill over the sides.
He slid one of the mugs in front of her. “Thought we could both use something other than straight coffee after drinking two pots of Moira’s brew this afternoon.”
Helen squeezed his hand and smiled at him. In his jeans and leather jacket, with his black hair spilling over his forehead, he looked hard and rugged and more than a little dangerous. But underneath his tough exterior, he was so thoughtful—so sweet.
Her heart gave a little pang. Suddenly she wished they really were just an ordinary couple. Wished they could sit here drinking their coffee and holding hands, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. Wished they could forget about the case, forget about Candy Turner....
Patrick’s voice dragged her back to reality. “Think this might be her?”
Helen jerked her head up. The woman walking through the door was about her own age. She was petite, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail that swung halfway down her back. Her clothes were plain—an oversize yellow sweatshirt and tight jeans—and her face was scrubbed clean, like a child’s. A leather backpack was slung over one shoulder.
“I’m not sure,” Helen said doubtfully as the woman hesitated just inside the door. “She doesn’t look like I thought she would.”
“I’m not sure, either, but I might as well ask.” Patrick slid his hand out of her grasp and stood. “I’ll be back in a moment”
Helen bit her lip. She knew this was why they were here—to meet Candy Turner—but she couldn’t help half hoping that this woman wasn’t her. Not yet. She wanted Patrick to herself for just a few more minutes. Wanted to hold his hand and smile into his eyes, to hang on to the illusion that they were a real couple, like any of the other couples sitting nearby.
She watched as Patrick threaded his way through the crowded room and halted by the blond woman. As he spoke, her expression of uncertainty faded. Helen couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after a moment they walked back across the room together.
It looked as if it was Candy Turner after all.
Helen pushed away a faint twinge of regret. What was her problem, anyway? She should be thrilled that Candy had arrived. After all, Candy might have invaluable information, information that would help them solve the case. And solving the case was what she wanted more than anything...wasn’t it?
It was, she told herself firmly. It definitely was.
A second later Patrick and Candy reached the table. This close, Helen saw the white lines of worry that radiated from Candy’s mouth, saw the bluish circles of exhaustion and grief under her eyes.
Compassion filtered through her. “Ms. Turner,” she said gently. “I’m Helen Stewart.”
Candy nodded. Patrick pulled out a chair for her, and she sank onto it with an audible sigh. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was high and sweet. “I just got off work, and it’s real good to be off my feet.”
“Thank you for agreeing to speak to us on such short notice.” Helen paused. “I’m very sorry about Jamie Lee.”
Candy’s green eyes filled with tears. “I—I’m still havin’ a hard time believing she’s gone. She was...real special.”
“Can you tell us a little about her?” Patrick asked as he sat down. “What was she like as a person?”
Candy swallowed rapidly. “She was...a happy person. Always smiling and laughing. She looked on the bright side of things, you know? And she loved kids. She was so good to Courtney. Every time she visited, she’d always take Courtney to the Pacific Science Center or the Woodland Park Zoo for a treat.”
“Courtney is your daughter?” Helen guessed.
Candy smiled through her tears. “Yeah.” She fumbled with the buckle on her backpack and pulled out her wallet. She flipped it open to display a studio photo of a little girl with blond hair and a wide, gap-toothed smile. “I had this taken a couple months ago on her birthday.”
“How old is she?” Helen asked.
Candy rubbed her thumb gently over the protective plastic that covered Courtney’s face. “She’s six.”
“What a pretty little girl,” Patrick said.
The husky sincerity in his voice made Helen’s stomach flutter oddly. Suddenly she wondered. Patrick had told her he’d wanted to have children with his wife. Did he still want children of his own?
An image of him, cradling a baby against his bare chest, flitted across her mind, and her heart flipped over. If everything was different—if they had a child—what would he look like? Would he have Patrick’s black hair, his beautiful silver eyes? Or—
Patrick interrupted her thoughts. “Don’t you think, Helen?”
She snapped her head up. Patrick was looking straight at her, his gaze oddly intense. She blushed. Had her thoughts shown so clearly on her face?
She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said, her voice coming out low and strangely breathless. “She’s...beautiful.”
She saw a flash of heat in Patrick’s eyes—heat and something else—before the sound of Candy’s voice snapped her gaze back across the table.
“Thanks.” Candy lifted her chin. “I want to make a good life for her. A better life than what I had when I was a kid.”
“Can you tell us a little about your childhood?” Patrick asked. “And Jamie Lee’s?”
Candy bit her lip, her teeth digging into the tender flesh. Her fingers tightened on the picture as if it was a talisman to ward off evil. “W-why do you want to know about that?”
“The more we know about Jamie Lee, the more likely we are to catch the man who killed her.”
Candy nodded slowly, her face white. “Okay.” She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Where did you grow up?” Patrick asked.
Candy hesitated for only a moment. “In the Cascades. Right out in the mountains. Our dad was a logger.”
“Is he still living?”
“No. He died when I was ten and Jamie Lee was six. He was a faller, and one day....”
Within minutes, the sad story of Candy and Jamie Lee Turner tumbled out.
After their father died in a logging accident, their mother had married again to survive. But the man she married was a drinker, a violent and bitter man who treated her more like a punching bag than a wife. For sexual fulfillment, he turned to her two young daughters.
As teenagers. Candy and her younger sister fled to Seattle, desperate to escape their stepfather, desperate to survive any way they could.
The rest was a story Helen had heard more times than she could count.
“But then I got pregnant with Courtney,” Candy concluded. “Best thing ever happened to me. My whole life changed. Bein’ a dancer might not sound like much, but it pays the bills. And it’s a whole lot better than standin’ out on some street corner.”
“What about Jamie Lee?” Patrick asked.
“She got beat up pretty bad a few times down here, so she went up to Evergreen. Thought it wouldn’t be so dangerous working up there.” She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat. “I tried to get her out of the life, but she kept sayin’ no.”
“Why do you think that was?” Helen asked.
“Jamie Lee...she always figured things were gonna turn around for her. She was always lookin’ for the silver lining in the cloud.” Candy paused. “She had some plan to get rich, and as soon as it worked, she swore she’d quit.”
“Do you know what this plan was?”
“Not really. Just that she and some cop cooked it up.”
Helen’s heart began to thump. “A cop. Do you know his name?”
“She never said. But he was a vice cop. Busted her for soliciting. That’s how they met.”
A vice cop. Marty used to work vice. Excitement coursed through Helen’s body, and she slid a glance at Patrick. He
met her gaze, his silver eyes flaring with the same excitement.
They were getting closer.
“So, this cop offered Jamie Lee some kind of deal?” Patrick asked.
“I guess.” Candy dragged her hand across her eyes. “The...the cop put a video camera in her room. I remember her laughing about it, sayin’ it was hidden in the ceiling.”
“A video camera?” Patrick squeezed his hands into fists. “Did Jamie Lee say anything about blackmail?”
“I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.” Tears welled up in Candy’s eyes, flooding onto her pale cheeks. She wiped them away with the heel of her palm, her hands trembling. “Oh, God. If it was blackmail, that must’ve been why she was killed.”
“Candy, I know this is very difficult for you,” Helen said. “But we have to ask you one more question. Somebody told us you might know the names of Jamie Lee’s regular customers. If one of them was the target of blackmail, he may have killed her.”
“She never told me their names.” More tears trembled on her lashes. “I’m sorry.”
“Did she tell you anything else about them?” Patrick asked. “What they did for a living? Where they lived? Anything at all?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
Candy started to shake her head, and then she froze. “Wait a minute. She did tell me one thing. One of her regulars got kinda rough every now and again. One time he threatened to carve his initial in her cheek. To mark her as his.”
Helen caught her breath. “Do you remember what the initial was?”
Candy chewed on her lip. “I think...I think it was the letter C.”
“Carmel,” Helen whispered. An image of Edward Carmel wrapping his huge hands around Jamie Lee’s slender throat shot through her mind. She squeezed her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. “Carmel.”
“Hell. It was him all along.” Patrick’s eyes darkened to the color of cold steel. “Marty taped him with Jamie Lee, and the girl threatened him with exposure. He knew his career would be over if the truth came out. A cop—a lieutenant—with a hooker!”
“He must have strangled Jamie Lee, not knowing that Marty also knew the truth. But then Marty blackmailed him over the murder. Carmel paid Marty off, but then he thought better of it and killed him.”
Candy’s eyes widened. “You know who did it?”
“Yeah,” Patrick said, his voice thick with disgust and hate. “A cop. That’s who did it. A damn cop. He strangled your sister, he shot my partner, and then he killed the only other person who could identify him.”
“But you’re going to get him?”
“Damn right.” Patrick’s jaw clenched. “Damn right.”
The betrayal and anger on his face pierced Helen’s heart. Patrick had spent his whole life standing up for justice; that was why he’d become a cop. Carmel’s actions perverted the very idea of justice. Instead of using his position to protect and serve, he had used it to kill. It was the ultimate betrayal of everything Patrick stood for.
Helen reached across and curved her hand around Patrick’s cheek. “I know,” she said quietly. “We’ll get him.”
Under her palm, she felt the quivers of rage racing through him, but he gentled at her touch. He took a deep breath, his hands slowly uncurling.
Helen turned back to Candy. “If you give me your home phone number, I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Th-thank you. After what he did to my sister....” She gulped, and her voice thickened. “I want to know for sure that he won’t get away with it.” She dug a pen and a matchbook out of her backpack, scrawled a number across the inside of the cover, and pushed it across to Helen.
Patrick shoved back his chair and stood. “Don’t worry, Candy. He’s not going to get away with anything.”
Candy stood, as well, her face white, her lips trembling. “Good luck, okay? I hope you get him. For my little sister.”
Helen touched her hand. “We will.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said harshly. “We will.”
Chapter 14
Patrick was silent as they left the coffee shop and strode out into the night and the rain. Helen could feel the anger emanating from him as they hurried up Pike Street toward her car. Even his footsteps sounded angry as they echoed against the pavement.
Helen glanced at his face as they rounded the corner onto Second. “You want to go back up to Evergreen tonight, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” His jaw hardened. “I want to confront that bastard Carmel right away.”
“Of course. I know how you feel.”
Patrick stopped abruptly and swung around to face her. A bar sign buzzed overhead, and in its faint neon glow she saw that his eyes were blazing. “Helen, I worked with the man for over a year. I figured he was involved with this somehow, but I never thought he was a killer. Never. Do you know how it feels to be wrong about something like that?”
His words cut to her heart. “Don’t blame yourself. How could you have known?”
“Carmel must have been out theré on the old highway Monday night. I must have seen him. Maybe even shot at him. So why can’t I remember? Why?”
“You can’t help it. Didn’t your doctor tell you memory loss is common with concussion?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. But if I hadn’t screwed up to begin with, I wouldn’t have been concussed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cannot must have shot me, knocked me out, and got my gun away from me. He used my own gun to kill Marty. If I’d been on guard, if I’d been more careful, it never would have happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She squeezed his hand tight. “You couldn’t have expected your boss to shoot you.”
He shook off her hand. “I’m a cop. I should have known. I should have seen him for what he was. And I should have done something to stop him. Something. Anything. Just like—” He broke off, his jaw tight.
Helen caught her breath. “Just like what?”
“Nothing,” he said, but his voice was hoarse. “Just forget it.”
She stared at him, at the pain in his eyes and the tension in his jaw, at the cords standing out on the side of his neck, and she took a deep breath. “It’s not nothing,” she said slowly. “Is it?”
He looked away, into the darkness and the rain.
“Please,” she said. “Tell me. Just like what?”
It took a long time before he spoke, and when he finally did, his voice was hoarse with pain and anger. “Just like Jessica.”
Jessica?
Helen’s mind spun. Wasn’t Jessica his ex-wife?
Suddenly she knew they weren’t just talking about the case anymore. They were talking about something else altogether. Something far deeper, far more painful. Maybe even something that could explain the scars on his heart....
“Patrick,” she said carefully, “what should you have stopped Jessica from doing?”
His eyes were as bleak and cold and empty as the rain. “I should have stopped her from killing our baby.”
“What?” The word came out as a horrified gasp, and she felt tears of shock and disbelief start to her eyes. She raised both hands to her mouth. “Oh, God, what happened?”
“She had an abortion. An abortion.” His voice was thick, and the words spilled out as though he’d been holding them inside for so long, he couldn’t stop them anymore. “She got rid of our baby as if he was nothing more than so much garbage. I never even knew she was pregnant—she didn’t bother to tell me. I only found out about the abortion because it showed up on our medical bill.”
“But...but why?” Helen could hardly contain her horror.
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“She said she didn’t want to have a baby. Not with a man like me. A man who couldn’t live up to her expectations. A man who didn’t have money or power or social position—and never would. A troublemaker. She said having my baby would ruin her life, and that I’d end up ruinin
g the baby’s life, too....” His voice trailed off in the rain.
Helen’s throat tightened with grief for him, grief and anger at the woman who could be so callous, so cruel. “But, Patrick, it wasn’t your fault.” She looked into his shadowed eyes. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Do I?” His voice was hoarse. “At first, I blamed her. Blamed her completely. Even when I found out she’d had a baby with her new husband—that lawyer—I still told myself it was her fault. But now, with everything else that’s happened, I can’t help thinking. What if there’s something I could have done? What if I’d tried harder, done something different? Would our baby be alive?”
The anguish in his voice cut her to the core. “Oh, Patrick, you’re not being fair to yourself.”
“Fair?” He swore, long and fluently. “And it was hardly fair to our baby, hardly fair he didn’t even get a chance to live.”
She reached for him again, her heart aching for his grief. “Don’t torture yourself with it. You can’t change what’s already happened.”
He stepped back, out of her reach. “I know,” he said, his voice low and raw. “But I can make damn sure it doesn’t happen again. I can make sure no more innocent people die because of my mistakes.”
“You mean Carmel.”
He clenched his fists. “I won’t let him kill again.”
“He won’t. We’ll see to it.”
“‘We’?” he asked roughly.
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “Do you think I’d leave you now? No way. I’m not going to run out on you. Not like—” She broke off and lifted her chin. “We’re going to deal with this. Together. ”
He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes, and she gasped.
He held her gaze. He didn’t speak, but deep in his eyes she saw a flash of emotion. Something fierce and wild and strong. Something almost like....
Helen’s heart hammered. “Patrick?” she whispered.
Slowly, he reached out through the rain and cupped his hand around her jaw. With exquisite gentleness, he stroked his thumb over her wet cheek.
Shivers of pleasure danced down her spine, and a tiny sigh escaped her lips. She leaned closer to him, inexorably drawn by the force of his gaze.
Motive, Means... And Marriage? Page 21