by Karen Rose
Isenberg’s brows lifted. ‘What fire?’
Novak answered. ‘Her stalker, Peter Combs, set fire to her apartment building two days before that. She wasn’t home, but a number of families lost everything they owned.’
‘I had a bad moment this morning,’ Vega confessed. ‘I went to find you, to find out how the victim had ended up with your old car. Then I saw the burned-out building and thought you might have been inside. Your super told me that you weren’t, but I looked for you all day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Faith said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be afraid for me. I should have. I should have thought about all of this. I should have thought that Combs wouldn’t simply give up, that he didn’t care who got hurt. Why didn’t I think?’
‘You did, but everyone was telling you that you were imagining things,’ Vega said sharply. ‘Stow the guilt, Dr Frye. You shouldn’t have thought of it then, but I need you to think now. Why Garcia Motors? I just looked them up. They’re tiny. You couldn’t have gotten fair market value for the Prius. Why not one of the bigger dealerships?’
‘Because I wanted the anonymity, okay?’ Faith hated how selfish that sounded. ‘I only got half of the blue book, but it was worth it to avoid the paperwork.’ She swallowed hard. ‘But if I had picked a bigger dealership, they would have done a thorough check and seen that the brake line had been cut. That mother and her son would still be alive.’ Hold on. Faith frowned. Suddenly something didn’t seem to fit. ‘Wait a minute. I sold the Prius on Saturday morning. When did the accident occur?’
‘Sunday morning,’ Vega said.
Faith leaned toward the speakerphone, concentrating. ‘If he’d cut the brake and steering lines before Saturday morning, wouldn’t I have felt some sluggishness or . . . something?’
‘Yes,’ Vega said. ‘Our lab estimates that the lines were cut Sunday morning, while the victim was at the grocery store. She bought the car Saturday afternoon and drove it enough miles that any damaged lines should have failed before she got home.’
‘Garcia Motors sure sold it fast,’ Faith murmured. There was something here. Something important that she was missing.
‘Priuses are sought after, and yours was well cared for,’ Vega said. ‘Plus Garcia bought it off you cheap. He could have sold it as a bargain and still made a profit.’
Novak had been listening carefully, his head tilted as he absently stroked his thumb and forefinger down the stark white of his goatee. ‘How did Combs know where to find the Prius on Sunday morning, Detective? If he followed Dr Corcoran to the used car lot, he would have known she’d sold it and he would have sabotaged the Jeep instead. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation, because Dr Corcoran would be dead. It doesn’t make sense that he’d sabotage the Prius after she’d sold it. What aren’t you telling us?’
Faith threw him a grateful glance. He just lifted his eyebrows and shrugged carelessly as if it was no big deal. But it was. That was the detail that she’d been unable to grasp.
Vega sighed again. ‘We found a tracking device tucked under the front wheel well.’
Faith sat back, stunned. ‘He was tracking me?’ She looked from Novak to Isenberg, both appearing equally perplexed. ‘Why would he track my car if he had already hacked into my phone? He knew where I was going all the time.’
Novak’s frown furrowed his brow. ‘Maybe he didn’t hack your phone after all.’
Faith lurched to her feet, walking around the table with movements jerky from the stiffness in her legs. It hurt to move, but she could no longer sit still. ‘But he had to have access to my calendar. Most of the time he’d just show up, so he could have followed me then. But not that last time, when his car was parked next to mine.’
‘Outside the pharmacy,’ Novak said, and she nodded.
‘I’d had dinner in a restaurant next to the pharmacy. His girlfriend’s doctor had called in a prescription to that same pharmacy hours earlier. He had to have known ahead of time.’
‘You’re right,’ Novak said, giving her a hard nod of approval. ‘So why plant a tracker?’
‘Maybe because you’d become too careful by that point, Faith,’ Vega said through the speakerphone. ‘CSU thinks he planted it right after the fire in your apartment.’
Faith sank into her seat. ‘Because he knew he hadn’t killed me in the fire. He put the tracker on because he figured I’d come back for the car at some point.’
‘Why weren’t you in your apartment that night?’ Isenberg asked.
‘I was at a hotel. He’d tried to climb in my bedroom window two weeks before and I’d moved to a secure place. Plus I’d just gotten Lasix on both eyes. I didn’t want to be vulnerable.’
Isenberg inclined her head. ‘Reasonable. When did you move your car?’
‘Saturday morning. I’d taken a series of cabs from the apartment to my hotel the week before – the morning after he broke in – because I thought he was following my car. I took a cab from my hotel back to the apartment parking lot Saturday morning. The police tape from the fire was gone by then. I just got in the Prius and drove straight to the used car lot.’
‘And how did you buy the Jeep?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Craigslist. I paid cash. They didn’t ask any questions.’ But something still wasn’t right. She rubbed at her forehead, trying to work it out. Her gaze landed on the map on the wall and then she knew. ‘Your theory that Combs followed me here doesn’t hold up, logistically. He couldn’t have tampered with the Prius on Sunday morning and made it back to my grandmother’s house by five o’clock that evening. It’s a sixteen-hour trip by car if you don’t stop. That means he would have needed to leave Miami before midnight on Saturday.’
‘How do you know he was in the house at five on Sunday?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Because I heard a scream.’ She closed her eyes, remembering it, wishing once again that she’d done something. ‘I thought I was imagining it, but it had to have been Arianna.’
‘You said you arrived at five thirty,’ Novak said, his eyes grown sharp. And perplexed.
‘About that, yeah. And he was in Cincinnati on Friday night at eleven, because that’s when he abducted Arianna and her friend.’ She looked over at Novak. ‘That’s thirty-two driving hours over a forty-two-hour time frame. Plus the time to locate the car and do the damage. And sleep somewhere in there. It doesn’t look good for your theory.’
‘Unless he flew,’ Novak said, his jaw firming.
Faith looked unconvinced. ‘I suppose he could have.’
‘You really think Combs is behind your abductions, Agent Novak?’ Vega asked doubtfully.
Faith watched Novak exchange a long glance with the lieutenant, who gave him a small nod.
‘We don’t know,’ Novak said. ‘But somebody doesn’t want Dr Corcoran to take possession of that house. It might be Combs, it might be someone else. If you can locate Combs, we may be able to eliminate him. What have you done to find him?’
‘Hell. What haven’t I done?’ Vega had swung from doubtful to frustrated. ‘He’s gone under. Nobody’s seen him or heard from him in weeks. His girlfriend suggested that he’d gone back to his ex, but she and her daughter claim they haven’t seen him since his arrest.’
‘I put a BOLO out for Combs’s girlfriend’s car,’ Novak said.
‘I know where the girlfriend’s car is,’ Vega said. ‘Combs doesn’t have it.’
‘How can you be sure he doesn’t have access to it?’ Isenberg asked.
‘Because we have it. I got a warrant for the car after Combs broke into Dr Frye’s bedroom.’
Faith stared at the phone. ‘I didn’t know that. I wasn’t sure if you even believed me.’
‘I believed you but couldn’t prove it. Nothing turned up to implicate Combs or point to where he’s hiding. However, we did find a half-kilo of coke under the seat. I arrested the girlfriend for possession and dealing and impounded the car.’
‘Will that stick?’ Faith asked. ‘Did the warrant cover the gi
rlfriend?’
‘No, and some high-powered attorney will probably get the arrest thrown out, but for now, Combs’s girlfriend is without wheels. As is Combs.’
Novak tilted his head abruptly, as if a thought had hit him hard. ‘Vega, can you send me the ballistics on the shot that killed Faith’s old boss?’ He gave her his email address. ‘We recovered a bullet from Faith’s house. If the ballistics match, we can tie these crimes together.’
A keyboard clacked on Vega’s end. ‘I just sent you guys the whole file.’
‘Thank you,’ Isenberg said. ‘Did Combs always drive his girlfriend’s car, Dr Corcoran?’
‘Yes. Except for once. When he tried to run me off the bridge he was driving a white van. I gave a description to the officer who took my statement. It’s in the police report.’
‘Sending that one to you too, Novak,’ Vega said, ‘along with the Frye stalker file. Faith, the van you described was white, no windows, had license plates with a sun on them.’
‘Lots of states have suns on their plates, though,’ Faith said. ‘I never saw the state or any of the numbers.’
‘We might be able to narrow it down after this call,’ Novak said. ‘Anything more, Vega?’
‘Only that you keep me up to speed with what you find. I have three unsolved homicides hanging on Combs. I’ll continue to search for him down here in case he’s not involved in your case, and I’ll press the girlfriend for his whereabouts.’
‘We’ll keep you up to speed,’ Novak promised, ‘if you do the same.’
‘Then I’ll sign off now. Good night, and Faith, be very careful.’
The line went dead. Faith looked Isenberg in the eye. ‘Am I free to go, Lieutenant?’
‘Of course,’ the lieutenant said mildly. ‘Did you think yourself a suspect?’
‘I wasn’t sure.’
Isenberg’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but it did serve to soften her severity. ‘I’m still not sure either, but I’m willing to give you – and Novak’s gut – the benefit of the doubt.’ She stood. ‘I’ll expedite the ballistics on the bullets pulled at the scene. Novak, narrow down that license plate. And Dr Corcoran, don’t go out alone. Someone is determined to see you dead.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 1.10 A.M.
Well, shit. He’d been monitoring the location of Faith’s red Jeep as he’d raced back from eastern Kentucky. The Jeep had been stationary for over an hour. Now he knew why.
He glared at the twisted hunk of red metal, still on the flatbed trailer along with the Earl Power and Light truck. And the locksmith’s car.
All of which were currently being unloaded into the Cincinnati PD’s forensic garage. The cops had Faith. He couldn’t be sure why.
But he knew how she felt about cops. So he could count on her refusing to talk to them about anything. I’m safe. For now. It was just a matter of time before she went into the house, and then . . . Who knew what the bitch would do?
The only action he could reasonably predict was that Faith would return to her hotel at some point. And had she already returned for the evening, she’d come back out again in the morning to go to work. Either way, he’d be waiting.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 1.25 A.M.
Isenberg had been gone for a full minute, but neither Deacon nor Faith said a word. If he’d had any doubt about her innocence, it was gone now. Her tears hadn’t been delicate or pretty. Her grief had been wild and consuming. He’d been unable to stop himself from touching her. Giving her comfort. Even though he’d felt Isenberg’s scrutiny the entire time.
Isenberg was no fool. She’d picked up on his attraction to Faith Corcoran. But she’d said nothing, even directing further contact when she might have ordered him to switch places with Bishop, which was what he would have done under the same circumstances.
But she hadn’t. So either she trusted him to do the right thing and keep the connection professional, or she was setting him up to take a fall. He doubted the latter. Isenberg seemed too direct to orchestrate something like that. It was possible that she’d set up a test, though.
He realized that was probably the smart thing to do in these circumstances.
‘Thank you,’ Faith murmured, breaking into his thoughts. ‘You kept me from falling apart.’
‘Their deaths were not your fault.’
‘Of course they were. I knew that he knew my car. I should have considered that he’d do something like this. But it’s done now and I can’t change what’s happened. Only what will happen. What can we do to narrow down that license plate?’
We. He was liking the sound of that too much. ‘I can show you some examples of sun graphics. Use some mild hypnosis to help you remember. You’d have to be open to it, though. It’s my soothing voice, which you don’t seem to care for.’
‘I think I was more angry that it worked. You’ve been trained in hypnosis?’
‘Yes. And in facial cues. I don’t want you to think I’m using any of it to trap you.’
She met his eyes squarely. ‘I don’t think you would. Let’s give it a try.’
‘Give me a few minutes to prepare. Relax.’
Her smile was brittle. ‘Find my happy place?’
‘If you can. If you can’t, just breathe.’ He forced his eyes away from her face and down to his tablet, connecting to his email account. True to her word, Vega had already begun to send him email after email with large attachments, each subject line a short description of the incident. He opened the report on the bridge incident and immediately had to fight the need to scowl.
The cops had breathalyzed her. Suggested that the gunshot she’d heard was no more than the van backfiring. Portrayed her as pathetically delusional, possibly mentally ill.
No wonder she hadn’t trusted him. But she did now.
Deacon committed the date, her route and the road conditions to memory, then ran a search on license plates bearing suns. Faith was right – there were a ton of them. ‘Did the police have you look at any license plates the night on the bridge?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said bitterly. ‘They didn’t seem to take my complaint very seriously.’
‘But Vega did. And so do I. That’ll have to be enough for now.’
She drew a breath, shifted her shoulders. ‘You’re right. I’m just agitating myself and that will block your hypnosis.’ She opened one eye, peeked at his screen. ‘I did that same search. I went over each and every license plate a hundred times, but I couldn’t remember.’
He wasn’t surprised that she’d tried. If she’d been even half as tense as she was right now, he wasn’t surprised that she’d failed. ‘We’ll try it a different way, together.’
She sighed wearily. ‘You want me to go back to the night of the bridge, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but first we’ll do some breathing. You’re still too tense.’
He guided her through the breathing exercises that were part of his routine, watched her grow more relaxed. Told her to remember a place where she’d been happy, at peace. And privately wondered which memory she’d chosen. ‘Where were you going that night, Faith?’
‘To my apartment.’
Not home. Just her apartment. ‘Where had you been?’
A sad slump of her shoulders. ‘The hospital.’
He controlled the sudden spear of concern, keeping his voice smooth. ‘Why?’
‘Because of Ivy.’
‘Who is Ivy?’
‘She was one of my clients,’ she said, her tone still depressed. ‘She was only thirteen.’
Oh no. ‘Why were you with her?’
Faith’s throat worked as she swallowed. ‘She took every pill in her medicine cabinet. Then she called me to ask for help. But I was in sessions. I let it go to voicemail.’ Her voice cracked and so did a piece of Deacon’s heart. ‘I heard her message too late. She died that night.’ Two tears seeped from beneath her lashes and rolled down her cheeks unchecked.
He wanted to wipe them away, w
anted to stroke her hair, but that might break her concentration. ‘So you left the hospital. Is it day or night?’
‘Night. Late. After midnight.’
‘You’re tired,’ he murmured. ‘And so sad. Where are you?’
‘In my car. Driving. It’s hard to see.’
‘Because it’s dark?’
‘No. Because it’s wet.’
‘It’s raining?’ he murmured, knowing otherwise. The report had stated that the night had been clear, the road dry.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘You’re crying,’ he said, and she nodded, a tiny movement. ‘Where are you now?’
‘Still driving.’ A frown bent her lips as she concentrated.
‘Do you see anyone?’
‘No. Just me.’
Just me. Her aloneness struck him again, hard. ‘What about the van?’
‘It came out of nowhere,’ she said, her voice tinged with panic.
‘It has to be somewhere,’ he said soothingly. ‘Think about your rear-view mirror.’
Another frown, followed by an indrawn breath. ‘On the shoulder before the bridge. I forgot that before. He was waiting for me.’
‘So he pulls on to the bridge. How fast is he going?’
‘Fast. I was surprised. He came up beside me. I thought he was passing me.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘No. He stayed in the left lane. I thought it was kids. Stupid kids.’
‘Can you see in the window?’
‘No. The glass was dark. But the window rolled down a little. And there was a gun.’
Deacon frowned. That she’d seen the gun wasn’t in the report. That changed things. ‘Is it a handgun or a rifle?’
She bit at her lip. ‘Handgun. I saw the barrel.’
‘Good.’ Very good. ‘And then?’
A hard swallow. ‘He shot at me.’
He had to concentrate to keep the rage from his voice. ‘Did he hit you?’
‘No. He missed.’ Her eyebrows crunched. ‘He swerved, then he started to come over, wanted to force me over.’ She was breathing hard now, fresh panic in each word. ‘I stopped.’