Under Suspicion

by Lee, Rachel

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s on the golf course somewhere. I was following his footprints in the dew. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “The mowers just cut them away.”

  “Have no fear, partner. We’ve got the chopper up. If he moves, we’ll see him.”

  Jackson switched the automatic sprinklers to manual and pushed the switch. The gauges held. Finally. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad night after all. Maybe it’d be a good day, at least.

  * * *

  The mowers moved closer, drowning out any possibility Gil could use the phone. As they passed him, they looked at him with astonishment. Well, he must look really cool, he thought, a guy in shorts, topsiders and a polo, holding a phone in one hand and a gun in the other. He didn’t think it was his imagination when they seemed to speed up to get past him. Behind them lay perfectly trimmed swaths of grass that revealed nothing except their wheel prints.

  Overhead, its engines drowned by the sound of the mowers, he saw a police helicopter against the predawn sky. Its flood lamps came on, and the search began in earnest.

  There. Two hundred yards away, a shadow darted. Far too distant for Gil to catch him. But he could tell the search team where to look. “Vinzano,” he yelled into the phone.

  Then with a hiss and a spitting that alerted him but didn’t give him time to do anything, the sprinklers along the fairway turned on.

  Drenching him. Killing his phone. Turning the last of his night into hell.

  He just hoped they weren’t pumping reclaimed water.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Two police cars sat in front of Anna’s house. Another officer had settled on her back deck. The officer who’d been asleep in his car had been taken away in an ambulance. The sun was up, promising another hot, bright day.

  But even daylight didn’t ease Anna’s fear. Someone had done something to the cop who was supposed to be protecting her and Anna, and Gil had torn off into the night after him. And Gil still wasn’t back.

  Trina was curled at one edge of the couch, wrapped in a blanket, looking fearful and exhausted. Anna’s heart went out to her, and as she so often had during the past few hours, she sat beside the girl and hugged her.

  “I wish Dad would come back,” Trina said.

  “Me too. But I’m sure they would have told us if he’d been hurt. He’s probably just talking and working with them. Maybe they caught the bad guy.” She wished she believed it, but deep in her heart she knew it wasn’t so.

  She was afraid for Gil, too, but she was trying desperately to hide the fear from Trina.

  “My mom always hated him being a cop,” Trina said, her chin trembling. “Always. She said he was going to get killed.”

  “Well, he hasn’t been killed yet, and if you ask me, the longer he’s a cop, the safer he is.”

  Trina raised questioning eyes. “Why?”

  “Because he has more experience. He knows how to avoid getting hurt.”

  That seemed to soothe Trina, but it didn’t soothe Anna at all. Gil had gone tearing off into the night after a killer. Nobody was safe under those circumstances.

  Nancy, who was sprawled on the recliner and had been heard snoring gently from time to time, stirred. “He’ll be here soon,” she told Trina. “You’ll see.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a witch. Ask Anna.”

  Trina started to smile, then looked at Anna. “Really?”

  “Sure, she keeps her broom in the laundry room. It only works on Halloween, though.”

  A little chuckle escaped Trina. “You guys are crazy.”

  “Totally,” Nancy agreed. “Well, I am anyway. Anna’s always trying to pretend she’s sane.”

  “Next to you,” Anna retorted, “anyone would look sane.”

  Nancy spread her arms. “That’s why the world needs people like me. So everyone can look at me, pat their own backs, and think, ‘Thank goodness I’m not like her.’ “

  Trina chuckled again, making an effort.

  Anna spoke, “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Trina?”

  “Not yet. I think Mom’s pregnant, though. She keeps barfing in the morning.”

  “Wouldn’t she tell you?”

  “Not yet. She and Andrew aren’t married yet.” Trina shrugged. “I’m not supposed to know they’re having sex.”

  “Ahh.” Anna looked at Nancy who shrugged. “I gather you do know.”

  “Sure. I don’t need a crystal ball. I guess she’s afraid I might get the wrong idea. Anyway, they’ve been dating for a couple of years, and now they’re suddenly talking about having a quiet wedding. Like my dad says, two plus two equals four.”

  Anna had the feeling that not much slipped by this girl. “What about your boyfriend? What’s he like?”

  Trina frowned. “I don’t know. I used to think he was so cool, but… I don’t know. He was kind of mean to me the other day, and now Dad says I can’t see him anymore.”

  “That must have been some mean.”

  Trina shrugged. “He was just mad. People get mad sometimes.”

  “Well, sure,” Anna said, suddenly feeling helpless. “As long as he doesn’t hit you or anything.”

  “He didn’t! He just kicked sand at me.”

  Anna and Nancy exchanged looks. Anna could tell she wasn’t the only one who didn’t think that was the full story.

  Nancy spoke. “Well, much as it pains me to admit it, sometimes older heads are wiser heads. And getting hit by someone you love kind of changes your mind and heart forever.”

  Anna’s heart skipped, and she stared at her sister, wondering if Peggy had hit her.

  “But he didn’t hit me,” Trina argued. “Not even once.”

  Anna knew all the warning signs of domestic abuse, and her head was full of them, starting with the fact that it often began with threats of violence, direct or indirect, such as kicking sand or throwing things. But she refrained from saying so because she had no right to counsel Gil’s daughter. And Gil appeared to have his head screwed on straight about the boyfriend.

  The front door opened, causing all of them to start. Clarence Tebbins poked his head in, and said, “Knock, knock.”

  Anna didn’t know if she was glad to see him or not. It felt like aeons ago that he walked out that door, and yet it seemed too recently. He irritated her.

  “Come in,” she said.

  He closed the door behind him and walked farther into the living room. “You’ve had quite a night, I hear.” Then his gaze settled on Trina. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

  “Gil’s daughter,” Anna said. “Trina Garcia. Trina, this is Detective Tebbins.”

  Tebbins’s eyebrows lifted, but he leaned forward in a simulation of a courtly bow. “A pleasure, Miss Garcia.”

  “Hi,” Trina said in a subdued voice. “Is my dad okay?”

  “Alive and well,” Tebbins answered. “He’ll be here soon.”

  Trina sagged with relief, and Anna would have done the same, only she refused to reveal that much to Tebbins. He was already sticking his nose too far into her life.

  “What about the cop who was watching outside?” Anna asked him.

  “He’s going to be all right. Apparently he was drugged, but he’s waking up now.”

  “Drugged?” All the fear slammed back into Anna’s heart. “My God…” Drugged. So easy to do. Her stomach knotted painfully, and she wondered if she would dare eat or drink again. “How?”

  “We’re working on that.” Tebbins pointed to the rocker. “May I?”

  “Please.”

  He sat, looking from one to the other of them. Nancy had brought the recliner up a bit and stared back at him from reddened eyes. “You have to do something, Tebbins,” she told him flatly. “My sister and I both need some sleep.”

  “We’re going to strengthen the surveillance,” he said placidly.

  “Oh, gee, thanks,” Nancy answered sarcastically. “Be still my beating heart.”
>
  Tebbins’s expression didn’t change. “I could put you both in protective custody, but I doubt you’d sleep any better in the jail.”

  Jail. With overwhelming certainty, Anna realized that Tebbins would actually like to do that. He honestly believed she was behind all this.

  “Jail!” Nancy slammed the footrest down and leaned forward. “If that isn’t just perfect. Put the victims in the slammer.”

  Tebbins shrugged. Nancy scowled at him. “How about solving the crime?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Do you have any idea what it feels like to us? What it feels like to Anna? She’s had someone break into her house to leave a terrifying message, someone who’s willing to drug a cop to get to her.”

  “Nancy…” Anna wanted her to stop. It wasn’t going to help anything to repeat what Tebbins already knew, and it certainly wasn’t something Trina needed to hear.

  Nancy looked at her, then seemed to reconsider. “Jerks,” she muttered.

  Tebbins began twirling one end of his moustache again, but didn’t reply to Nancy’s outburst. Silence fell over the room, thick and heavy.

  The door opened again, and Gil stepped inside. Trina leapt up from the couch, crying his name, and ran toward him. His arms welcomed her into a bear hug.

  His legs were scratched, Anna noted. And his chin. The navy blue polo shirt he’d been wearing earlier had been exchanged for a blue hospital scrub shirt. When he lifted Trina off her feet and swung her around, Anna saw that the lower back of his head had been shaved and a gauze bandage covered it.

  “What happened to you?” she demanded.

  “Four stitches,” he replied easily enough. “A case of stupidity.”

  “Daddy…”

  “I’m fine, sweetie. Just fine. My worst problem is a couple of big blisters.”

  That’s when Anna noticed the bandages on his heels.

  “Wrong shoes,” Gil said cheerfully enough. “Don’t pursue a suspect in topsiders.” He looked down at his daughter. “Make a note of that.”

  Her face had brightened. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Didn’t catch him, unfortunately,” Gil said. “He had an advantage: He knew where he was going.” Then he stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a couple of white balls. “It wasn’t a total waste. I picked up two perfectly good Titleists. I guess they’re worth the price of a drowned cell phone.”

  He winked at them, and Anna started laughing. She couldn’t help it. It was as if the tension of the night past needed to spill out somehow, and that was it. Trina started giggling, too, and even Nancy finally joined in.

  Only Tebbins remained silent and unmoved.

  “I need to get Trina home,” Gil said. He and Tebbins were standing in the front yard. Trina was already in the car, with the motor and air-conditioning running, playing with the radio. Faint sounds of whump-whump came through the closed windows.

  Tebbins looked up at him, stabbing a finger at his chest. “What the hell were you doing, bringing your daughter along and leaving her with a suspect? Hell, what were you doing coming over here at five in the morning?”

  “Well, I had a bad feeling. And I wasn’t going to leave my daughter alone in the house, especially after a car that was parked out front took off the instant I saw it.”

  “What?” Tebbins frowned.

  “I think maybe it was her boyfriend. They had a fight, and he threatened her.”

  “Damn.” Tebbins shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t stand the human race anymore. Sometimes I think the solitude of a desert island might actually be preferable.”

  “Yeah, me too. Job hazard. Anyway, I couldn’t leave her at home. And suspect or not, Anna wasn’t going to do anything to my daughter.”

  “I guess not. It’d be too obvious.”

  “But,” Gil reminded him, “I chased a suspect. There was someone outside. Ergo, Anna didn’t do it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. We need to talk. Now.”

  Gil looked at his daughter again. “That’s just a wee bit difficult right now.”

  “I can’t believe you’re carting her around with you on the job.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Leave her to the mercies of that creep she’s dating? And her mother’s away on a trip, so it’s not like I can just hand her back.”

  “And they thought women were going to be a problem in police work because of kids.” Tebbins snorted. “The real problem is divorce.”

  Gil didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t like having his judgment called into question when he was doing the best he could to deal with a difficult situation. Right now he had two equally high priorities: catch a bad guy and protect his daughter from harm.

  “Hell,” said Tebbins, sighing. “Let’s go to my place. She can play video games while we talk.”

  “You have kids?”

  “No. I don’t even have an ex-wife.”

  Interesting, thought Gil. Somewhere deep inside him a grin was born as he considered the rather surprising image of Clarence Tebbins playing video games.

  The watcher waited until most of the police had left, hiding himself behind tall thatches of pampas grass across the street. He had to be careful not to brush the grass too hard because it sliced like a razor. He already had a thin cut on one arm.

  He was still exhausted and frightened from the close call when Garcia had chased him. Angry that his plan had been blown apart by that man’s unexpected appearance. Angry that, for a while, the jaguar god had abandoned him.

  But he had not been abandoned, he reminded himself. What had happened on the golf course had saved him, and he had no doubt that the god was behind it, protecting him until he could finish carrying out the curse.

  But he also reflected on the possibility that he wasn’t doing it correctly. The appearance of Anna’s twin sister had spurred him, making him speed matters up.

  He hadn’t known about the twin, but now that he did it seemed perfectly obvious that he would have to kill them both to satisfy the curse. They were, after all, both the children of the man who had caused the desecration of Pocal’s tomb.

  But he had moved too quickly, fearing that the sister would go back home, wherever that was, before he could act.

  He had thought, when the cop left the coffee on the hood of his car, that the perfect opportunity had arisen. It had been easy, so easy, to slip out of his hiding place and pour the drug into the bottle. It had seemed like a blessing on him, a sign that this was the time.

  Apparently not. Just when he’d been creeping toward the back porch after the woman who was standing out back smoking, the cop had arrived.

  And now there were two cop cars parked out front, making any action on his part virtually impossible.

  But he would find a way around it. The jaguar would give him the opportunity.

  Sighing, he slipped out of the bushes into a backyard, then began to walk home, looking like any other soul out for an early-morning stroll. He needed to think some more. To revise his plan.

  The jaguar wouldn’t bless it until it was right.

  Tebbins had an extensive collection of games for his system, most of them bang-bang shoot-’em-ups. None of which Gil wanted his daughter to play. But Trina eventually settled on some innocuous game involving a lizard and a marked absence of loaded guns and dead bodies. Satisfied, he left her to play and went into the kitchen.

  Tebbins had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up and was busy making some kind of omelet loaded with peppers, onions, and sausage. A fresh pot of coffee had just finished brewing.

  “Help yourself to the coffee,” Tebbins said. “Cups are in the cupboard right above the pot. There’s some cream in the fridge, and the sugar bowl’s on the table.”

  “Thanks. I take mine black.” He found a cup and filled it. “So what did you want to tell me?”

  “Thermos bottles.”

  “Thermos bottles?”

  “Thermos bottles,” Tebbins said flatly. “Remember what you
told me about the guard telling his friend that he hoped somebody brought cappuccino that night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Richter, the cop who was drugged, says Anna gave him a Thermos bottle of coffee.”

  “Christ.” Gil felt his stomach sink.

  “That alone is enough to arrest her if we find the coffee was drugged.”

  “But I chased that guy!”

  Tebbins didn’t say anything for a moment as he carefully folded the eggs in the pan. “It could have been a run-of-the-mill prowler.”

  Every cell in Gil’s body rebelled. “It doesn’t fit,” he said finally. “It doesn’t fit. The shape is wrong. Christ, Tebbins, why would she be doing this? There was no reason to drug the cop. No reason at all.”

  “Maybe not.” Tebbins sighed. “Motive is a problem, I admit. But you’ve been around as long as I have, and you know there often isn’t any logical reason for what people do. Maybe she has some kind of psychological glitch. Maybe she gets a thrill from it.”

  “But she’s not faking her terror.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe she believes in the curse and is terrified of having the dagger in her possession. Maybe all she’s trying to do is point the finger away from herself.”

  “Well, that won’t add up with Richter’s drugging,” Gil said forcefully. “No way. She as good as put a sign on herself by giving him that coffee.”

  “And maybe she wants to be caught. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  No, it wouldn’t. Gil didn’t even try to deny that. “Maybe the perp’s setting her up.”

  Tebbins thought about that while he carefully lifted the fluffy omelet onto a serving dish. “Could be,” he said finally. “Could be. If so, he’s succeeding, because she’s in deep trouble now.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” Nancy asked.

  Anna was rooting around in her laundry room cum storage room like a madwoman, shoving things carelessly aside as she searched. “I’m going to make sure that bastard can’t get in my house ever again!”