“Sally Cartwright’s boyfriend and father both have airtight alibis,” Caitlin supplied. The way Spense narrowed his eyes at her made her decide to let him dole out the information as he saw fit. Obviously, she’d said too much for his comfort, and he was the veteran investigator, not her.
“Maybe they hired someone else to do it for them. Like a hit man.” Junior was full of helpful ideas they’d already thought of.
“That’s always a possibility. We’re looking into that, too. Did your father receive any specific threats after he took the Kramer case?”
“Oh, yes.” Louisa set down her empty martini glass and rang the little bell for Elizabeth. “But Harvey turned those notes over to the Paradise Valley Police one by one as they came in. There were so many of them.” Oddly, she didn’t seem upset about the threats or angry that nothing had been done about them. She just stated it flatly as a point of information. Still, her earlier tears had seemed genuine, and anyway, everyone handled grief differently. Caitlin herself preferred not to put on a show of emotion for others.
“I wonder if it might be a good idea to try to lift some prints off those notes,” Junior said.
Spense’s brow dipped at the suggestion, but he didn’t rebuff Junior. Nor should he have done so in her opinion since Junior was doing his best to be helpful. “The notes have been fingerprinted already. But we’ve not been able to match them to any prints in our criminal databases.”
“What about Sally Cartwright’s family? Did you compare prints from those notes with their prints? Her family wouldn’t be in a criminal database, so it could still be them,” Louisa put in.
“Done. And not a match.” Spense pushed to a stand. “I think we’ve intruded enough for one day,” he said, seemingly ready to get out of there before he was pressed for more information or offered more suggestions as to how the police ought to proceed.
“If I think of anything important, I’ll give you a call,” Junior offered, without waiting to be asked. “And just for the record, like I told Detective Thompson, I was out of town that week. Work-related. I was in New York when I got the call from Mother.”
Spense pulled out a notebook and poised his pen in the air. “Who can verify that for me?”
To her right, Louisa Baumgartner gasped. “Are you joking?”
“No.” Spense added no conciliation, no sympathy to his voice.
Maybe ruling out the family as suspects was the sensible thing to do, especially if Thompson hadn’t bothered to verify the alibis, but it left a bitter taste in Caitlin’s mouth. She reached for one of the little crustless sandwiches, choked it down, and chased it with water.
“Any number of people. I’ll fax you a list. How about you, Mom?” Junior slung an arm around her. “You weren’t playing shoot-’em-up at the courthouse the other day, were you?” He pecked the top of her head. “I’ll have her check her calendar and get back to you.”
“Great. The sooner we rule you two out, the better.” Spense handed mother and son his cards, then Caitlin followed him wordlessly to the car. On the way back to his apartment, she kept silent. And not because of how he’d handled the family. He hadn’t been unkind, just neutral, professional. But Spense had known about the threats to Baumgartner’s life, and he’d never mentioned them to her. Her knuckles ached from holding her hands in tight fists, and her stomach had gone sour. If Spense hadn’t told her about the threats, she didn’t want to think about what other information he might be hiding from her. Watching how easy it was for him to lie to the Baumgartners set her nerves on edge. She understood his reasons for keeping secrets from this family very well, but what she didn’t understand were his reasons for keeping secrets from her.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday, September 14
From: Dizzy <[email protected]>
To: Labyrinth
Subject: Hello
Greetings Labyrinth. Greetings Man in the Maze. My name is Dizzy. I’m fifteen years old, and I’ve been lurking for a little while after stumbling across your group. I’m coming out of lurkdom in response to the Man in the Maze/Hangman post. I want to become a member of the club. I don’t know what I have to do to join, but whatever it is, I will do it.
You said you would like a whore to train up in your ways. Well, I can be her, that’s what everyone calls me anyway. I just need a place I can go to talk to someone, even if it’s only online. At school, things are really getting bad for me. I can’t walk down the halls without kids throwing cups and trash at me. Last week, someone took a piss in my locker. My best friend won’t talk to me anymore because she knows if she does, she’ll be next.
My mom tried to fix things with the principal, and yeah, you can imagine what a shitstorm my life has been since then. Even worse than before, if that’s even possible. I don’t sleep at night. I cry all day. My head is filled with poison and pain. I have no one left in this world. I will be yours to punish if you will only be my friend. I can’t take my life anymore. Maybe one of you would like to kill me. I tried to do it myself, but I lost my nerve. If it would give you pleasure to off me, I give my consent. At least then I would be worth something to someone.
Dizzy
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday, September 15
Rutherford Towers
Phoenix, Arizona
CAITLIN TOOK ANOTHER sip of her Arnold Palmer and placed it on a coaster. She aimed a smile at her former nurse, Jenny, who sat kitty-corner from her in a leather armchair in Spense’s living room. “Thanks for stopping by and thanks for the get-well gift.” The handmade pottery mug Jenny had presented her had a Southwestern motif crafted by a local artist. It also had a special handle, and Jenny had called it a hand-warming mug. “It’s truly lovely, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
Jenny waved in protest. “It’s nothing. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. I know I can be gruff at times, but it’s just my way. I always had your best interest at heart.”
Catlin laughed. “It was for my own good, I remember.” They’d had their ups and downs, but she was grateful to Jenny, nonetheless. “I’m sure I was a big pain, but I appreciate all you did for me.”
“How’s the recovery going?” Jenny leaned in attentively.
“Very well. No seizures since that first day, even without the Tegretol.”
Jenny’s cheeks pinked up at the mention of the Tegretol, and Caitlin wished she hadn’t mentioned it. “Good to know. I-I . . .”
A key turned in the latch, and both Caitlin and Jenny turned at the sound to find Spense filling the doorway. The entire room seemed to expand with his presence. He had on a dark, lightweight suit jacket, slacks, and a tan shirt that brought out the golden hue in his eyes. When his arm lifted to rake a hand through his thick brown hair, cut short in typical Bureau style, his jacket opened to reveal the Glock holstered at his hip. He looked every bit the special agent: tall, dark, and devastating . . . and packing heat.
Jenny sent him a sweet smile. “Oh, glad to see you, Spense. I had no idea you’d be home. I just dropped over to check on Dr. Cassidy, and it’s good to see she’s doing great. I guess you’ve been taking good care of her.”
“I can’t take credit. She doesn’t let me do anything for her.” He cocked an eyebrow at Caitlin. “Regular pain in the ass if you ask me.”
Since she’d been released from the hospital, Spense had barely let Caitlin out of his sight except to shower. This morning, he’d been out of the apartment less than ten minutes, dropping off a gift for a neighbor’s birthday. Jenny knew enough about their situation—that Spense was providing protection for Caitlin until the shooter was apprehended—to have realized he wouldn’t be far from her side. It suddenly dawned on her that Jenny hadn’t stopped by because she was concerned for Caitlin. Her shoulders stiffened at the obvious deception.
People lie a
ll the time. It’s no big deal.
But it was. She hated lies, even small, inconsequential ones. In fact, she hated the little lies the most because they were so unnecessary. At least the bigger lies generally had a purpose—to protect oneself, or maybe a loved one. But why had Jenny lied? Why pretend she hadn’t expected Spense to be around when it was obvious she’d been hoping to see him?
Not that it was any of her affair if Jenny had a thing for Spense. She simply didn’t care for disingenuous behavior on principle. “Are you sure I can’t get you a coffee or soda or something?” Caitlin asked Jenny for the second time since she’d arrived, doing her best to make her former nurse feel welcome. If Jenny wanted to spend time with Spense, there was no reason for her to stand in the way. She’d be just fine hanging out in the kitchen giving them a chance to talk or . . . whatever.
“No thanks. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” But Jenny didn’t rise from her chair.
Ack. More deception. Why couldn’t the woman just own her intentions? “Don’t be silly. You’ve only been here a few minutes.”
“Don’t go,” Spense put in. “Stay for lunch if you like.”
Caitlin felt a devilish satisfaction knowing that should Jenny decide to accept Spense’s invitation, she’d be in for a bland experience indeed, not the spicy one she suspected Jenny was hoping for. Mock meat loaf, made from some rubbery substance called seitan, was on the menu today.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly, but thanks.”
Maybe she’d been forewarned Spense was a vegetarian. After all, she’d known what brand of aftershave he wore. Good. Although there was no reason, Caity would just as soon have Jenny be on her way. But despite her protest, Jenny still didn’t make a move to leave. “Thanks again for coming,” Caitlin offered hopefully.
Apparently there was Super Glue on Jenny’s chair.
Spense shrugged. “No lunch? Your loss.” Then he settled himself on the couch next to Caitlin. He watched Jenny for a moment, and the tension among the three of them grew palpable. Something was up. Finally, Spense broke the awkward silence. “What’s going on, Jenny? Don’t get me wrong, it really is great to see you, but for some reason I get the feeling this isn’t a social call.”
The flush on her cheeks deepened. “Well, now that you mention it, I’ve been curious about the investigation. Anything new?”
Caitlin didn’t blame Jenny for wondering. After all, it was Jenny who’d brought her a pill that had been bagged and tagged in her presence. Naturally, she’d be interested to know the crime lab’s findings.
“Did you confirm the pill was cyanide? The one I brought into the room? Because I would never do anything to hurt Dr. Cassidy, and I could lose my job if it looked like I’d made a mistake with the medications and nearly killed a patient.”
Spense leaned forward, keeping eye contact with Jenny. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter.”
Jenny’s shoulders sagged, and a hurt look came over her face. “Oh, okay. Well, maybe you could at least tell me if it’s true the police are calling this whole mess the Ferragamo case because of a bloody footprint found at the courthouse?”
Now that set off Caitlin’s radar. The cyanide findings had not been made public, but because Kramer had been poisoned on the same hospital floor where Jenny worked, she could understand how Jenny and the rest of the staff might’ve put two and two together. But the Ferragamo case? That moniker hadn’t been made public, and there was really no way for Jenny to know . . . unless someone on the task force had leaked the information. “Where did you hear the case called Ferragamo?”
“Oh, I don’t know, in the news I suppose.” Casting a glance to the corners of the room, Jenny crossed, then uncrossed her ankles. Caitlin noticed Spense eyeing Jenny’s pretty legs, but she didn’t blame him. Jenny was wearing those short shorts that were so popular with the college coeds. Jenny was no coed, but she was off duty and had the legs for just about anything.
“No, you didn’t. That information hasn’t been released to the press,” Spense challenged Jenny’s assertion, but kept his voice nonconfrontational.
“Well, I must’ve just heard it around then.”
Caitlin noticed perspiration beading on Jenny’s forehead.
“Around where?” Spense asked.
“The hospital, of course. Cops in the ER are always talking, and word spreads like fire in a hospital. Or maybe I heard it somewhere else.” By now, Jenny’s entire throat and chest were covered in red blotches. She was holding something back, and that something was making her squirm in her seat. Spense looked at Caitlin sideways, as if he, too, had noticed Jenny’s whole demeanor was off.
Caitlin drew a deep breath and smoothed her expression into her go-to look for this sort of situation: neutral but expectant. “What else have you heard?”
“I-I heard that pill I brought you turned out to be cyanide, and that Judd Kramer’s death was ruled a homicide—due to cyanide poisoning. You don’t think the police might come after me, do you? I swear I didn’t know what was in that pill. I swear it.” She buried her face in her hands, smothering a sudden sob. Caitlin couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or just putting on a show.
Spense reached out and patted her hand. “No one thinks you did anything wrong. To my knowledge, the police aren’t looking at you as a suspect. So please don’t worry. But some of the questions you’ve asked lead me to believe there’s a leak in the team somewhere. You said you might have heard all this somewhere outside the hospital. Whether you did or not, I don’t need to know, but hypothetically speaking, if there were an information leak that needed to be plugged, where do you think it might be?”
“I do want to help, but . . .” Her eyes dropped to her hands, and she seemed to be reading her fingernails like tea leaves. “Hypothetically speaking?”
“Hypothetically speaking.”
“Someone could have gotten inside information from a friend.”
“Hypothetically speaking, would this friend be a police detective?”
Silence. Then finally, “I promised not to reveal my source.”
Without warning, Caitlin’s patience dissolved. “First, you’re not a reporter, so revealing your source doesn’t apply. Second, this is a murder investigation. Do I have to remind you four people are already dead? What if protecting your source costs other people their lives?” Caitlin raised her hand for the purpose of ticking off the dead one by one. “A deputy sheriff. A respected attorney. A man accused, but not convicted of a crime, and a pharmacy technician who worked beside you at Good Hope. That could’ve been you, Jenny. So don’t give me any more bull about not revealing your source. Where the hell did you hear the term Ferragamo?”
“From Louisa Baumgartner.” Her gaze was unfocused. Her voice shaky.
Harvey’s wife. But Spense had been careful not to mention the bloody shoeprint to the Baumgartners. Which meant someone inside the investigation had leaked the information to the family. Likely one of the detectives had let it slip. Surely not Baskin. As lead investigator on the case, she’d hope he would be more discreet. Her entire body tensed. What little confidence she’d had in the task force was beginning to evaporate.
Spense worked his Rubik’s cube, then put it away—just that fast. “How do you know Louisa Baumgartner, Jenny?”
“I guess I’ve known her forever. My aunt is her best friend—they’re in the Woman’s Club together, and Harvey Jr. was a friend of my brother’s when they were in high school. After my mom died, Louisa took me under her wing. She’s practically family.”
“And you just now saw fit to mention this?” Caitlin could hardly believe her ears.
“I had no reason to. Why would I?”
Spense threw his arm across Caitlin’s chest just in time to stop her from leaping from her seat. “Because Jenny. There’s a killer on the loose. If you knew the family of
one of the victims intimately, I’d say that’s something you should have shared with the police from the get-go. And quite frankly, you don’t seem too torn up about the recent death of a family friend.”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes snapped. “I never said he was my friend. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Harvey Baumgartner was a creeper. You, know what I mean? I tried to tell Louisa, but she had a blind spot where Harvey was concerned. I’m not saying I’m glad he’s gone, but . . . well, I’d say you had it right the first time. I’m just not all that torn up about it. In my opinion, Louisa and Junior are better off without him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, September 15
Southwest Museum of Art
Phoenix, Arizona
“TELL ME AGAIN, why we’re here,” Spense said. “I’m all for culture,” he added quickly, sounding not the least bit for it to Caitlin. “And, yes, we did finish our homework and turn it in to the teacher, but a field trip to the museum isn’t at the top of my to-do list—not while we’re trying to catch a killer. When we’re not revising and evaluating the profile, I like to use the downtime to sleuth around and see what shakes loose. Guess it’s the old field agent in me, rearing his good-looking head.”
They traversed a green lawn, then passed an impressive bronze statue of Native American women in front of a massive, cornmeal white adobe building complex. Spense paused to crane his neck at the high arches that led into the main lobby of the Southwest Museum of Art. “Nope. Not how I’d choose to spend my afternoon . . . no matter how absolutely outstanding the architecture is. Is this a Frank Lloyd Wright?”
Delighted by Spense’s sudden interest in Arizona architectural history, she smiled. “No. Not every building in Arizona was designed by him. This is the work of Bennie Gonzalez. But you’re not too far off. The story goes that Bennie, as a school-aged boy, worked in his uncle’s brick factory. One day, he caught a glimpse of Frank Lloyd Wright and decided on the spot he wanted to design buildings rather than make bricks. I don’t know how true the story is, but I’d like to believe in the little boy who grew up to make his dreams come true.”
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