by Lisa Harris
“Someone broke in.” Riley shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “In the middle of the day? This neighborhood has always seemed so safe. I’ve never worried. Even when my husband travels on business.”
“Can I ask you a few more questions?” Nikki asked. “We want to make sure we find whoever did this to Kim.”
Riley pressed her lips together and nodded.
“Have you been gone all day?” Nikki asked.
“I had an early morning meeting at work, then came home to run. I’m training for a marathon.” Riley stared at the sidewalk, her voice barely above a whisper.
“So you didn’t hear or see anything unusual.”
“No. Nothing.”
“When’s the last time you saw Kim?”
“Last night. She brought me a plate of brownies. She’s a bit of a foodie. Always trying out new recipes. Her love for desserts only managed to wreak havoc with my running regime and diet, but now … a few extra unwanted calories don’t seem to matter at all.”
She was crying again. Quietly sobbing. Nikki gave her a moment to compose herself before continuing.
“How long had you known her?”
“My husband and I moved into this neighborhood about three years ago. She moved in a couple months after we did. Said she hated apartments and wanted a bit of land. She was nice. We hit it off right away. We’re about the same age, working far too many hours away from home.”
“Does Kim have any family?”
“Nobody close by. I guess that’s why we were good friends. Most of my family’s in New York. Her father passed away a few years ago, but her mother … I think she lives in Shreveport, and she’s also got a sister who lives out in California. She usually goes to visit one of them for the holidays.”
Nikki pulled out her phone and held up a photo of Erika. “Did you know Erika Hamilton?”
“Erika? Yes … She was one of Kim’s friends. We used to hang out together sometimes. Wait a minute. Is she involved in this somehow? Is she okay?”
“We hope so. She’s missing.”
“Missing. I don’t understand all of this.” Riley pressed her fingers against her temples and started rubbing. “And you think that this … that Kim’s death and Erika’s disappearance are somehow related?”
“Yes, we do.”
“This is crazy. I mean, you read about horrible things happening to people you don’t know, but when they happen in your own neighborhood … to people you know …”
“Can you tell me about Erika?”
Riley sniffed. “She, uh … the three of us hung out sometimes. Went to the gym. Or more often than not, Kim and Erika talked about how they should be at the gym. I never could get them interested in running. Erika came around every few months. She had this really obsessive boyfriend, and from what she said, he didn’t really like her to have other friends.”
“Did you ever meet him?” Nikki asked, showing her a photo of Russell.
“Yeah, that’s him. I just met him once. He seemed decent enough, I guess. Just too jealous and clingy for my taste.”
“Do you know how they met?”
“I think she worked for his wife at one point, but they were getting a divorce. Or at least he kept telling Erika he was going to divorce her. You know how men can be. Full of promises they never intend to keep.”
“What about friends, family?” Nikki pressed. “Anyone she spent time with?”
“I know Erika has a brother. I think his name is Justin. He came around here a few times with her. Nice guy, though I heard he ended up going to prison a few months ago. Not sure what he did. Erika wouldn’t talk about it. I think it embarrassed her, though they seemed close.”
“I’ll see what Gwen found out about Erika’s brother from the FBI notes,” Jack said, stepping away from the porch steps.
Riley looked up at Nikki and caught her gaze. “Why all the questions about Erika? You don’t think she’s dead too, do you?”
“All we know right now is that she’s missing,” Nikki said. “Tell me more about her boyfriend. You said he was obsessed and jealous.”
“Those are my words, not hers, but Kim and I talked about their relationship a few times, and we were worried about her. Kim even tried to talk to her a couple times about it, but I don’t think she listened. She’d been seeing him for several years. Took her to all kinds of fancy parties and fundraisers. Gave her an allowance.” Riley picked at a sliver of wood on the edge of the step. “He is a bit of a sugar daddy, though I think she really does love him. She came by one night wearing this black, open-back sheath dress. She told us it had cost over two thousand dollars. For a cocktail dress with barely a yard of material.” Riley shook her head. “He’d also given her some diamond-stud earrings. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Was she afraid of him?” Nikki asked, as Jack stepped up beside her.
“She never said she was, but I wouldn’t be surprised. There were a few times when she hinted there was a problem, but like I said, she never came out and said so. At least she didn’t to me. She was closer to Kim, and I do know that he didn’t like her coming to see Kim. I actually got the impression he didn’t like her having friends at all. I mean, Kim was a hard worker, but she made a living as a secretary. He had this fancy house in an upscale neighborhood in Houston where Erika spent a lot of her time. Neither of us were exactly the kind of people he wanted her hanging out with.”
“And yet she still came by?”
“Erika was loyal to her friends, though she always seemed torn. She loved the attention and the clothes.” Riley took a tissue from her shorts pocket and blew her nose. “I’m sorry … I just can’t believe Kim’s gone.”
“Riley, I’m going to give you my card. If you can think of anything else that might help us find her, or if Erika tries to contact you, please give me a call.”
Riley took the card. “Okay.”
Jack’s phone rang as they headed toward his car. He took Gwen’s call and put it on speaker.
“Did you find anything on Erika’s brother?” Jack asked, stopping at the end of the drive.
“The woman you were interviewing was right. Erika’s brother, Justin Peters, was convicted of embezzling from his boss and is currently serving a three-year prison sentence.”
“Do you have any way to know when Erika last spoke with him?”
“Erika wouldn’t have been able to call her brother in prison, but they do have a new system set up where friends and family members can leave a message. Messages are then passed on to the prisoner. I called in a favor and found out that Erika left a message for Justin shortly after the plane crashed, asking him to call her as soon as he could. I listened to the message. She sounded upset.”
“We’ll head back to the precinct now,” Nikki said. “If you could arrange for us to talk to her brother, she might try to contact him again.”
“And what about Russell’s ex-wife,” Jack asked. “She might be able to help us track down Russell. I’m convinced that if we find him, we’ll be able to find Erika.”
“It might take longer to get you both in to talk with Justin,” Gwen said, “but I can have Russell’s ex-wife brought in to the precinct in the meantime.”
“Do you really think Erika might be behind Kim’s murder?” Jack asked, ending the call.
“I don’t know, but we’ve got two people dead and one common denominator,” Nikki said, matching his stride as they headed for the car. They needed to tie the facts together if they were going to find Erika, but she wasn’t convinced they had pieces from only one puzzle. “Which seems to mean that either Erika’s having a string of very bad luck, or like I told Agent Brinkley, she’s playing him.”
Jack unlocked his car. “I definitely agree it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”
“Agent Boyd … Agent Spencer!” Brinkley jogged down the sidewalk toward the car. “Hold up, will you?”
“I thought you’d left,” Nikki said, slamming the door shut and stepping back onto the
curb. “What’s going on?”
“I was just getting ready to leave the scene, but I received a phone call from a contact with the Houston PD.”
“And …” Nikki said.
“A store employee found a body in a Dumpster this morning, about six miles from Hobby International Airport, and called 911.” Brinkley’s fists balled at his sides. “The authorities just identified the man as our marshal … Patrick Hughes.”
9
6:03 p.m.
Kim Parks’s front yard
“I just can’t figure out how this happened,” Brinkley said, stepping off the curb in front of Nikki and Jack, then shoving his fists into his pockets. The veins in his thick neck pulsed as he spoke. “Hughes called me on his cell phone when he was pulling into the airport short-term parking garage. He was there.”
“What about the officer who was supposed to hand Erika off to him?” Nikki asked, feeling her own frustration growing. “Have you spoken to him?”
“He says he checked the man’s credentials and everything seemed fine. They met next to security as arranged, and a minute later he left.”
“What time was that?” Nikki asked.
“About forty-five minutes before the flight was supposed to leave,” Brinkley said.
“Then there had to have been a second man,” Jack said. “Someone had to have taken out Hughes right before Erika was handed off to our fake marshal.”
“And he probably planned to ‘escort’ her right to Brian Russell when they got to Nashville,” Nikki said, leaning against Jack’s car.
“Agreed,” Jack said, “but there was something they couldn’t have figured into their plan—”
“The crash,” Brinkley said, finishing his sentence for him.
“But the plane does crash,” Nikki said, “and when Erika realizes her ‘bodyguard’ is dead, she gets off the plane, only to recognize one of Russell’s men, so she panics and runs.”
She looked back up at Kim Parks’s house, where the sun was beginning to drop beneath the roofline. The coroner was rolling the young woman’s body toward the ME’s van. Most of what they knew was nothing more than speculation. Nikki longed for real evidence, something concrete to build out from.
Her cell phone went off as she started for the passenger door.
“Gwen?”
“Just wanted to let you know that Russell’s ex-wife is on her way to the precinct. She goes by Claire Gordon now, and according to her, the next hour’s the only time she could possibly even consider taking time out of her busy schedule.”
“I’m going to assume she’s not happy about coming in?” Nikki asked.
“Not at all.”
Nikki watched Claire Gordon rush into the precinct thirty minutes later like a tornado, in her short tweed skirt, three-inch heels, and an oversized black purse slung across her shoulder. A young woman who didn’t look a day over eighteen walked half a dozen steps behind her, lugging a leather briefcase.
“Ms. Gordon.” Nikki thanked the officer who’d escorted the woman into the station, then introduced herself and Jack, all the while taking in the bleached-blonde hair and heavy makeup. “We appreciate your coming down and speaking to us about your ex-husband.”
“Please, call me Claire,” she said. “I hope this won’t take long. I have a dinner I can’t miss at eight.”
Nikki flashed the woman a smile. “Then the sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish.”
A phone went off and Claire fished it out of her bag. “Would you mind excusing me for just a moment. I need to take this call.”
“We really need to—”
She held up her hand, then stepped away.
“I’m sorry.” Her assistant fiddled with the padded shoulder strap on the briefcase and shrugged an apology. “She has a huge art show starting this weekend and is a bit distracted with all the details. She won’t even let me handle most of them, and I’m supposed to be her assistant.”
“How long have you worked for her?” Nikki asked.
“Three months. She can be a challenge to work for, but I’m learning a lot. And she pays well.”
Claire ended her call, then pressed her hand against her chest before walking back to them. “That was the caterer for this weekend’s new art show. My regular caterer came down with the flu, which meant I had to find someone else at the last minute, but now the man calls me every hour with a new question.” She caught Nikki’s gaze. “Then on top of that, I now have to deal with Brian and some kind of federal investigation. He always did have bad timing.”
Nikki opened her mouth to speak, but Claire wasn’t finished with her tirade.
“Trying to come up with a new menu for the hors d’oeuvres is enough by itself to push me over the edge today, and now—”
“Ms. Gordon … Claire,” Nikki interrupted. “I understand that you’re a very busy woman, and I’m sorry about the problems with your caterer, but if you wouldn’t mind putting down your phone for a few minutes and stepping into the conference room with me, this won’t take long at all. I promise.”
“Fine.” Claire frowned and turned to her assistant. “If he calls back with any more questions, tell him to call George. He might be sick, but he owes me that at the very least.” She handed the girl her phone. “Make sure he got my message about adding those raspberry truffles so we have another gluten-free option for those with dietary restrictions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And if—”
“The sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish,” Nikki said through a forced smile.
“I’ll wait here and handle the caterer,” the young woman said, taking the phone from her boss. “And the show will end up being perfect, like it always does.”
“Fine.”
“Then if you’ll come with me,” Nikki said. “We just have a few questions we need to ask you about your husband and his businesses.”
“I don’t know why you people keep calling me in.” Claire followed Nikki down the narrow hallway where Jack waited for them, her heels clicking against the tile flooring. “I’m sure it’s in your records somewhere that I have already spoken to the FBI several times, and each time I told them that I don’t know anything about Brian’s business ventures outside the ones we share together. And yet they keep calling. And on top of that, they’ve never been able to prove any of their accusations against him, which are all circumstantial. Surely they know it’s simply a waste of time and that the judge will throw out the case against him if it ends up going to trial.”
Not if they have their witness.
“And,” Claire continued, “my lawyer assured me that I was in no way connected in the upcoming trial.” She paused. “Should I have called my lawyer? Because—”
“Claire …” Nikki said, stopping in front of Jack and interrupting the woman’s tirade. “This is my partner, Special Agent Jack Spencer. He’ll be joining us in the conference room.”
Claire sat down on the edge of the offered seat in the precinct’s simply furnished conference room, finally quiet.
“Like I’ve already mentioned,” Nikki said, “we’re only interested in finding your ex-husband.”
“He was in Texas last time I talked to him, though I hardly keep tabs on him anymore unless I need to discuss business with him,” Claire said.
“I understand that, but it is crucial we get ahold of him, which means speaking to those closest to him. Can you tell me when you last saw your ex-husband?”
Claire fiddled with one of her fake fingernails. “I spoke with him briefly on the phone five … maybe six days ago. He seemed fine.”
“What is your current relationship with your ex-husband?” Jack asked.
Claire leaned forward, elbows on the table, long, manicured nails now clicking the tabletop. “Our divorce finally went through a couple months ago, but while we’re definitely no longer a couple, our divorce was amicable, and we decided to remain business partners. It made sense financially.”
�
��Tell me about the business ventures you have with him,” Nikki said. “You run an art gallery. Does your ex-husband have anything to do with it?”
“We’re co-owners. We work primarily with local artists both here and in Houston but also represent a few on an international level. Edgar Grimes, for example. We run one of his galleries in downtown Nashville.”
“And some of the profits made through the galleries are then donated to various charities?” Jack asked.
“Brian’s always been a bit of a philanthropist. He has family money and uses my gallery for fundraisers for various nonprofits.” Claire leaned forward and tapped her nails against the table. “But like I’ve said, the FBI has already asked me countless questions, which I answered to the best of my ability. I thought this was about finding Brian.”
“It is. We have just a couple more questions, and then we’ll let you get back to work.” Nikki flipped over the folder in front of her and pulled out Kim Parks’s photo. “Do you recognize this woman?”
“Should I?”
“Take another look,” Nikki said.
Claire frowned. “I can’t be certain, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her. You have to understand that not only do I own a number of businesses but I’m always hiring staff, both full-time and part-time, from gallery managers to the caterers.”
“What about this woman?” Nikki asked, pulling out a photo of Erika.
A flicker of recognition crossed the woman’s face. “I believe she worked at the gallery a few years ago. We have a number of interns in the summer, particularly who are enrolled in local art programs. They mostly answer phones and greet clients. I can’t remember her name.”
“Erika Hamilton.”
“Yes, that was it.”
“So she doesn’t work for you anymore?”
“She’s been working at our Houston gallery the past few months, I believe.”
Jack leaned forward and caught the woman’s gaze. “Did you know that Erika was having an affair with your now ex-husband while you were married?”
Claire shoved the photo back across the desk. “What happened when we were married doesn’t matter anymore. And so what if they were? The key word in our relationship is ‘ex.’ He has the right to do what he wants and so do I, because trust me, any spark died out in our marriage long before the actual divorce went through.”