All the same, Elizabeth couldn’t help but note the change in his tone, this one of authority, this one the cop’s.
She had duly driven straight home, put Holly to bed with a story, then showered and changed before his arrival. By the time the doorbell rang and she emerged from her upstairs office wearing casual gray slacks and a pale pink cashmere sweater, he was standing in the living room with his hands clasped behind his back, his steely gaze directed out over the garden through the large picture window in the sitting room.
“Thank you, Katie,” she told her housekeeper as she saw her to the door on her way out. “I appreciate your staying so long.”
“No problem, Mrs. McClaine.” Just as the housekeeper was about to leave, she shot a worried glance back at Delaney. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. You take care.” She watched Katie go to her car, then closed the door, and returned to the living room.
“Lance…or should I address you as Detective?”
He dropped his head a moment, acknowledging the situation. “I know this is official business, Elizabeth, but I just need to get a picture of what’s going on here.”
She walked briskly across to the sofa and sat with her legs crossed, one knee up and her hands clasped it to conceal the tremble she could feel radiating through her.
“I guess it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I get a hatchet job in the local papers about my funding recommendations, then the woman responsible for client placement is murdered.”
“So, you admit you did have an argument with her.”
Elizabeth snorted and rolled her eyes skyward. “I had nothing of the kind, Lance. I was looking for information. I wouldn’t say she stood in my way, but she wasn’t exactly helpful, either. I’m sorry she’s dead, but I wasn’t the one who did it. Why would I? Seriously,” she said flippantly, “if I was going to kill anyone, it would be that Jennifer Reels.”
When his eyebrows shot up, she added, “Strike that. Bad joke.”
“Consider it stricken.”
He was still standing, she noted. Still in his official capacity. As a cop. A detective, determined to get at the truth. And she, whether he admitted it or not, was now a suspect.
He let his eyes range out just above her head. Maybe not wanting to meet hers. “Do you mind telling me where you were today?”
Switching her position on the sofa, she tucked one foot up under her and rested one arm along the back. Trying to look composed. Unsure if she conveyed the demeanor of the innocent. “Good Lord, I’ve been all over the place. What time, exactly?”
His eyes met hers. “Three-forty-five this afternoon.”
“Three-forty-five?”
“Or thereabouts.”
She placed a knuckle to her lips and frowned. “Let me see. That’ll be when I met with Kyle. At his office. I’m sure his secretary would confirm that.”
“She already has. When did you last see Velma Stanford?”
“Yesterday morning. Our meeting didn’t last long. Perhaps five minutes.”
“One of the staff said ten.”
She flipped a hand and huffed. “Okay, ten.”
“Did she say where she was going straight afterwards?”
A shard of annoyance lanced through her. “Lance, do you honestly think I killed the woman? Okay, anyone would tell you I wasn’t her biggest fan. All I wanted was an explanation of what had happened to Kimmy Donohue. You’d think I’d asked her for secret military codes.”
“This is my job, Elizabeth. I need to get to the truth.”
“Then tell me something: what do you know about Gate Westrum?”
His demeanor switched; his curiosity piqued. “What does Gate Westrum have to do with this?”
“I have no idea. But Jennifer Reels gave Gate Westrum the same hatchet job she’s been giving me. I’ve been trying to find a connection. There is one, Lance. I know it. The second I started looking into why Kimmy was left bruised in Sunny Springs and a nurse aid left, I touched a nerve. I just don’t know whose.”
The concern was obvious on his face.
“Mind if I sit?”
She gestured to a chair, and he perched on the edge, elbows on the rests, hands dangling.
“Gate Westrum was a young property developer we’d been investigating.”
“For what?”
“Fraud. Syndicated money laundering. To mention only a few. We had a solid case against him. We were close to taking him down when he was murdered.”
Elizabeth wasn’t expecting that. She blinked at him. “Are you saying he was involved in some kind of organized crime? Who did he work for?”
“Our connections tell us he’d been dealing with a syndicate that sprang up in Boston a few years ago—illegal casinos, nightclubs, high-ticket prostitution—all rackets owned by the Veluccio family.”
“And you think they killed Gate Westrum?”
“Looks like. We think he found out something he shouldn’t. My guess is he tried to blackmail them, and he wound up in a dumpster with his throat cut.”
“Why would they do that? Surely, they could have come up with a better way to get rid his body,” she said.
“That’s exactly what we thought. But his lawyer identified him so we had no choice but to close the case.”
“But I still don’t understand what this has got to do with me—unless…”
“Go on.”
She sat forward. “It’s a long shot, but the girl—the one who was caring for Kimmy. She suddenly left Sunny Springs that very day. Now Laney’s trying to find her.”
“What girl is this?” he asked, urgency sharpening his tone.
She gasped as the pieces slotted into place. “They young nurse aid who was caring for Kimmy. Oh my lord, why didn’t I think of it until now—she could be your dead girl.”
He said, “Will you excuse me a second?” and immediately got to his feet, dredged his phone out, and walked to the window while he dialed.
“Callaghan, get someone from Sunny Springs over to the morgue first thing in the morning. Make sure it’s someone who can identify the nurse aid who left Sunny Springs yesterday morning…what was her name?” he asked Elizabeth.
“Wendy something…Laney didn’t get her last name. She said she was foreign.”
He relayed the information, then said, “Correct,” into the phone, listened, then hung up.
Stuffing his cell back in his pocket, he turned to Elizabeth. “I beg you not to get involved in this, Elizabeth. If it’s who I think it is, these people are dangerous.”
“But why would they kill her? She wasn’t doing anything wrong, was she?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Listen, I have to go. I’ve got another line of inquiry opened up.” He got to his feet, dug out his car keys, and fumbled with them for a bit, head down.
Elizabeth also got up. “So, I’m not under arrest?”
“I didn’t come here to arrest you. I came because I…” He cut his attention to the window, then back. “Because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her cheeks warmed as she dropped her gaze to the floor. Then looked up. “What about Laney? She’s gone off to find this girl.”
“Where did she go?”
“Right now, I have no idea. But according to her aunt, she’s on her way to Boston.”
Worry lines deepened on his forehead. “When did she leave?”
Elizabeth checked the time. “Hours ago, I’d say.”
“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, don’t speak to the press, and…I just have to ask you…”
“Not to leave town?” she asked.
He tipped his head. “Something like that.”
***
The Associate
At last, she was gone. For months now, Velma Stanford had been like the sword of Damocles, hanging over him.
Ever since he’d secured the job for Katarina at Sunny Springs as a nurse aid, Velma had asked about his interest in this girl, tried to find out
the connection. He’d fudged the answers, not exactly lying, but not telling her the truth, either, and ultimately, she’d done as he’d asked. From that moment, he had planned to leave Katarina, let her get on with her life.
What he hadn’t counted on was how intense his infatuation had become, how deeply in love he’d fallen. He simply couldn’t bear to be away from her. Just the sight of her made his blood run hot in his veins, gave him a spring in his step. When he was with her, he felt like a man thirty years his junior. The flush of youth was euphoric, something he’d never felt before.
So, against his own better judgement, he’d visited her at Sunny Springs. That was when Velma had seen them together. Almost at once, she had clicked as to the nature of their relationship. That wouldn’t have been a problem. It was only when she spotted the tattoo on Katarina’s wrist that she knew exactly who she was; knew where she had some from. And exactly who to call.
So she came up with her plan to wring every penny out of him that she could. She’d threatened him with exposure, told him exactly what she knew and who she’d tell.
How much money had he paid out to her since that day? He didn’t even want to think about it.
Now Katarina was gone, far beyond his reach. He’d never get her back. Heartbroken, he’d had to accept that fact.
But Velma still wasn’t done. All that time she’d been waiting in the wings with her hand out. He had to deal with her once and for all. Because as long as she was there, he’d never be safe.
With virtually no planning, he’d called her, told her to meet him somewhere quiet. She was the one who had suggested the quiet lane not far from Sunny Springs. Probably to save her the time of driving anywhere else, the miserable shrew. But it suited him. Almost no traffic at that hour. No one for at least a mile. And no way to connect the location to him.
She was already sitting there in her car when he arrived, mentally counting out the money she was about to squeeze out of him, no doubt.
He had parked behind her, checked the street back and forth, and gotten out. When he walked up alongside her, she looked up, that conceited grin curling her lips. Careful not to touch her car, he’d motioned her to lower the window.
She’d looked a little hesitant, but did so.
Without a word, he’d pulled the pistol from his coat pocket and shot her once in the forehead. It was so fast she didn’t have time to react. Blood spattered through the car behind her and she fell back.
Checking the area once more, he’d quickly pocketed the pistol, gone back to his car, and sped away.
All he knew was that she was dead. Now there was only one more to get rid of, and his troubles would be over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DAY TWO—11:23 PM—LANEY
The drive had been exhausting. Particularly after the day Laney had had. She’d stopped twice for gas and to check the best route to Boston. A can of Red Bull and a stale hot dog from a truck-stop café were all that kept her going. That and the determination that she would find Katarina, that she’d keep her promise. But now it was more than that. Somehow, in her determination not to fail, not to back down against a few short odds, her resolve had strengthened. Something in her gut told her that if she gave up now, everything her aunt had believed about her would be true. And that was something she couldn’t accept.
When she got to the outskirts of Boston, she turned on the GPS in the phone she’d snagged at the computer store, and entered the address she’d found. Turned out it was somewhere in the area of Hyde Park .
This time of night the traffic was sparse, but her eyes were bleary. A couple of times she nearly missed the turn, but after another half hour of twisting through streets of enormous Victorian houses with latticework fences and roses in the front yard, she found what she was looking for.
She pulled over to the side of the street and looked it over.
From the outside, it looked like the perfect set for a historical romance—a stately four-story Victorian home, dark gray with white-painted windows, and stained-glass panels in a front door that stood at the top of ten broad front steps. A wide verandah ran around the lower floor with tall white plant holders visible even in this light at each corner, each carved into a ring of cherubs supporting the base with a large palm sprouting from the top. Two identical turret-shaped additions on either side of the house completed the postcard-perfect appearance, as did the gaslight-style posted down the walkway. On a metal sign that swung in the breeze, she could just make out the ornate lettering that spelled out the word, Hyde Park Luxry Rest Stop.
If it was what Laney suspected, resting wasn’t what patrons had in mind, and the inside offered no luxury for the occupants.
She got out of the car and trotted across to the front gate. Still wondering what she was going to say, she stepped straight up to the front door and knocked. A shadow crossed the glass on the inside and the door cracked open. The musky scent of incense rolled out on a wave of warmth, and a sloe-eyed girl with tousled brown hair peeked out.
“Oh hey, I’d like to spend some time with one of your girls—name’s Katarina. Hers, I mean, not mine. I was recommended her. By a friend,” she added, hopefully.
The girl blinked confusion at her.
She drove her hands into her jacket pockets. “Yeah, well that’s what I was told. Y’know, that I could come here for a little girl-on-girl…that kinda stuff. He said I could find it here.”
The girl ran her eyes down Laney’s battered leather jacket and tatty jeans.
“I am sorry. No one here,” she said and closed the door while Laney put her hand on the wood panel making desperate noises to stop her.
“Dammit,” she said as the door clicked closed. Cursing her stupidity, she knocked again. The door cracked open almost immediately. Same girl.
“Okay, I’m not looking for…whatever it is you do here. I’m just looking for a friend. Her name is Katarina, okay? I just need to know where she is.”
“I cannot help. Please go.” And she closed the door again, this time followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock.
Laney muttered a few words Kimmy would pitch a fit over and went back to her car.
She was sitting looking the place over in the yellow glow of the streetlamps, considering her options, when a sleek black car hummed down the narrow road from behind her and slid into the parking slot in front. Some fancy-ass car: shiny executive thing, late model. The inside light popped on as the driver’s door opened, and a man in a black coat got out. Perhaps in his fifties with hair graying at the sides, dark suit pants, and shiny, expensive-looking loafers, he furtively checked the street, and crossed to the house. Just before making for the front steps, he scanned the street once more, straightened his lapels, then hurried up to the porch to press the bell.
“Dirty bastard,” Laney sneered to herself. Just the sight of him made her want to spit. But then she had an idea. Might not get her in, but it would give her some satisfaction.
While he stood on the front verandah, hunching into his coat and waiting to be let in, she got out of the car, slammed her door, and called, “Oh, hey! Excuse me, but I wonder if you can help me.”
The man shot a scowl back over his shoulder, buttoned the front of his coat, and cautiously moved to the edge of the steps, checking the street again.
“Are you talking to me?”
She drove her hands into her jacket pockets and walked quickly towards him. “Yeah, I’m kinda lost. Can you tell me if I’m at the right place? I’m looking for a girl—name’s Katarina—Katarina Novak. She told me she lived around here. And you know what?” She snorted and shook her head. “I’m damned if I can find her.”
This was met with a stony glare. For a second he seemed to weigh his response, then he said, “I’m sorry, I’m not from around here. I don’t think I can help you.”
When he moved back to the door, she approached, going as far as mounting the two bottom stairs while she addressed him again. “But you know who lives here, rig
ht? Maybe they’ll know.”
Slowly, deliberately, and radiating impatience, he turned back to her. This guy clearly wasn’t used to answering to anyone.
“Believe me, the people who live here won’t know her. I suggest you recheck your address.”
Behind him, the door cracked open and a dim yellow light knifed across the porch. He leaned towards whoever was on the other side of the door, and muttered something. Then to Laney, he said, “Good luck finding your friend,” and he disappeared inside.
“Good luck, my ass,” she muttered after him.
There had to be another way. Back at the bottom of the steps, she spotted a narrow, overgrown path leading around the side of the house. She dropped into the shadows and followed it. Pale warm light glowed from behind the heavy drapes across the first-floor windows. Even around the back, every drape was drawn. But around here, it was so dark she could barely see the path.
She groped her way past some kind of climbing plant and rounded the back of the house. Out here, a rear light shone a dim circle over the back steps where a young woman sat in a silky pale-colored kimono smoking a cigarette, her long auburn hair bundled into a disheveled knot on top of her head.
Laney watched her for a moment. The lighted end of the cigarette glowed bright as she drew on it, then allowed wisps of smoke to trail into the air as she hugged herself against the chill of the night.
Seeing no one else around, Laney stepped from the shadows and the girl gasped. She pulled the kimono around her, and immediately stubbed out the cigarette, preparing to flee back in through the door behind her.
“Wait! I need to talk with you,” Laney called in an urgent whisper.
The girl’s eyes were wide with fear, but she paused, arms folded tightly across her chest. She cut a look back to the house behind her, then said, “Who are you? What do you want?” An accent. Eastern European. Maybe Russian. Or Kosovan, if Fatso could be believed.
Laney moved slowly towards her, one cautionary palm up to her. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to talk.”
The girl dashed another look back to the house, her lower lip tucked between her teeth, caught in indecision. “I cannot. I am sorry.”
[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman Page 16