by Rebecca York
He’d been too busy to go back to Baltimore, so he’d asked for information on Lacy and Callie Anderson, the sisters who had been abused by their father. As it turned out, the request had been handed over to the Light Street Detective Agency, which worked closely with Randolph. Bree Brennan, the Light Street staffer who did most of the research work, had handled the request.
He found confirmation that Callie Anderson was dead. And some information about her sister Lacy that made his eyes widen in shock.
He sat there for a long time, going through the information from Bree, trying to rearrange his thinking.
He’d been almost sure that Lee Tillman was dead. Now he was wondering again if the man had decided to pull a disappearing act.
Maybe he’d be able to figure it out after another trip to The Refuge. But before he went to Tillman’s, he had another important stop to make.
Some time after two in the morning, he did take off his shirt and jeans and lie down on the double bed. Almost immediately Sara moved toward him in her sleep.
He settled against her, wondering what the hell he was going to tell her about Lacy Anderson. There had been so many secrets between them. Now he was carrying around another—something Sara should know. But he couldn’t tell her—not until he cleared it with Lee. If Lee was still alive.
He slept better than he’d expected, and when he woke he felt refreshed. Maybe because since he’d hooked up with Sara he hadn’t been awakened by one of his nightmares.
Just before first light, he eased out of bed, took a quick shower, then opened Sara’s purse and quietly took out her keys. Carefully he removed the one he’d watched her use on Lee Tillman’s front door. After replacing the rest of the keys, he crossed the room and bent over Sara, stroking her cheek until her eyes fluttered open and focused on him.
“I’m going out,” he said.
“Where?”
“To the cemetery to look around,” he said, telling her part of his plans. “Go back to sleep.”
“Um…”
She closed her eyes again, and he slipped out of the room, carefully locking the door behind him.
Back to the scene of the crime, he thought as he pulled through the gates of Green Meadow Cemetery and drove up the road, passing the spot where he and Sara had grabbed each other and held on for dear life, until he’d called a halt.
The wild, possessive flood of feelings that had engulfed him then came sweeping back. He had needed Sara more than he had ever needed anyone in his life, and the realization was enough to make his mouth go dry. He’d told her last night that they had to solve the Lee Tillman case before they could focus on their relationship. What he should have said was that he was scared spitless to think in relationship terms because his mind kept asking the question “What if Sara turned out to be like Cindy?”
Cindy had been passionate. Cindy had said she loved him. And then she’d turned around and brought another man to their marriage bed.
Momentarily light-headed, he clamped his hands around the steering wheel, trying to anchor himself.
As he did, he deliberately started coming up with all the ways that Sara was different from Cindy. Cindy had never pretended to need anyone. She’d been self-possessed and independent, right from the first.
He’d thought he liked those qualities. They’d turned out to mean she didn’t need him.
But Sara…Sara had called him when Billy and his partner were after her. She’d thought of him before any other source of rescue. And that wasn’t all. She hadn’t just reached out to him for help. She’d been there for him, too. Like when she’d gone upstairs to get the rifle or when she rushed in and had gotten the drop on Tripp Kenney.
She’d trusted him to save her life. Then she’d returned the favor and risked her life to save him. Both of those things fairly took his breath away when he considered them separately and together.
The new insights warmed him.
Until they led him to other thoughts. In the silence of the cemetery, sitting only a few yards from his brother’s grave, he was struck by a painful realization. He’d been acting like a fool. Sara had accused him of being self-destructive. So had Dan, for that matter. And maybe they were both right.
He’d been in pain over the failure of his marriage and that had given him a certain dangerous attitude about his own safety. He hadn’t cared if he’d taken risks. Actually, to be brutally honest, he’d gone searching for risky solutions to problems. Maybe he’d even been secretly hoping that somebody would kill him. And it wouldn’t be his fault.
He died with his boots on, folks. In the line of duty.
Then he’d met Sara. And getting involved with her had only made things worse. He’d been terrified to admit his feelings for her. Terrified to confront his vulnerability.
So his behavior had gotten more risky, more reckless. And the risk hadn’t been only to himself. He’d dragged Sara into the danger zone with him.
A deep, guttural sound tore through his chest. Sara. He’d been risking Sara’s life because of his own doubts. Both of them could have gotten killed here last night when that sniper had started shooting. And whatever happened between them, putting her in jeopardy was the worst mistake he’d made in a long line of recent mistakes.
So what to do about it?
His hands tightened into fists. Well, for starters he had to face his own shortcomings and admit that he wasn’t a one-man vigilante squad. He had to accept help from somebody.
He was going to call Hempstead. After he took care of a couple more items on his own.
When his surroundings finally registered on his consciousness again, he realized it was fully light. He’d better get on with his search before the cops showed up and he got charged with impeding a police investigation.
He walked back to the spot where he’d been standing when Kenney had taken the bullet. He made a visual inspection of the area from outside the yellow police tape. Then he considered where the shooter would have been.
There were several reasons why he thought the bullet had come from a high-powered rifle. The sound was one clue. Then there was the accuracy of the shot and the amount of damage the slug had done to the militia leader’s chest.
And finally, there was the getaway. Whoever had shot Kenney had been far enough from the kill to make an easy escape into the darkness.
Which meant he’d been using a telescopic lens. Specifically a nightscope.
Not so long ago, a nightscope would have been expensive. Now anyone could buy a right nice one in almost any neo-Nazi Survivalist or gun enthusiast catalog for about three hundred dollars. And it could be mounted on any long gun.
He thought about the distance, then walked rapidly to the part of the cemetery where he figured the shooter might have been. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Anything, really. A cigarette butt, a chewing-gum wrapper, a beer bottle. Something that might provide DNA evidence.
Twenty minutes after he’d started searching, he hit pay dirt. A glint of sunlight off metal led him to a small brass cylinder with a swirly rainbow-colored ring around the mouth.
Carefully, he used a small stick to pick it up.
It was a shell casing. In the dark and in his haste to get away, the killer had failed to retrieve it after it had been ejected from his rifle.
Looking at it, Alex felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn’t just any shell casing. It was from a very recognizable gun, a .22 Hornet. Although it was a great rifle for hunting or assassinations, there weren’t very many of them around. It had good ballistics, good range for a small caliber, almost no recoil. It was inherently accurate. Yet somehow it had never caught on with the great gun-owning public.
However, Alex knew who owned one.
Chapter Fifteen
Lee Tillman owned a .22 Hornet. Alex had seen it in his gun cabinet and commented on it. And the man, in his blustering macho way, had given him a twenty-minute recitation on its virtues.
Alex carefully set the casing down where he�
��d found it. He’d told the police he thought the weapon that had killed Kenney had been a high-powered rifle, so hopefully they’d search the same area he had. They’d find the calling card, they’d start checking gun shops and they’d find out who had bought Hornet shells.
So was Lee alive? And had he killed Bandy after all—and then Tripp Kenney? Or had the same person who’d killed Lee also killed the other two?
Alex walked rapidly back to his car. When he’d set out this morning, he’d had a good reason to go to Lee’s house. Now he had another one—to see if by some chance the Hornet was still in the gun cabinet.
His mind was working rapidly as he climbed into the SUV and started toward The Refuge. If the gun was missing and the killer wasn’t Lee, then it was most likely somebody with access to the house.
Lewis Farmer, the handyman, was a prime candidate. He worked for Lee, and he’d come snooping around on the same day that Alex and Sara had been checking out the attic. Apparently, he didn’t have a key to the house. But Lee could have let him in on the fatal morning. After killing Lee, Lewis could have taken his victim’s rifle.
What was his motive, though? Maybe robbery, since he seemed chronically short of money. Or maybe Lee had caught him at something and he’d killed in haste. Lewis had always been a hothead—which was why it was good that he hadn’t had a gun in his hand back in high school.
But was Lewis capable of planning several subsequent murders and of framing Alex for one of them? And was he working with the militia to go after Sara?
That seemed less likely. So, although Alex couldn’t dismiss him as a suspect, he could come up with a more likely possibility. Which meant that he might be able to trap his suspect into a taped confession. However, this time he was going to play by the rules. He was going to ask for Hempstead’s help. But he needed information to set in front of the chief—information he could only get from Lee’s house.
Again he came up along the river, making sure he wasn’t being observed. Again he slipped on latex gloves, then used the key that he’d taken from Sara’s purse, wondering if he could slip it back before she noticed.
His first stop was the gun cabinet. The Hornet was missing, and if he recalled correctly, so were several other weapons. Like maybe the .22 handgun that had shot Emmett Bandy.
Interesting, he thought as he turned away and started for the stairs, heading for Lee’s bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he found several bottles of prescription drugs. He wasn’t surprised to read the label on one of them. Actually, the information confirmed what Bree Brennan had told him in her e-mail.
He stood staring into space for several moments. Then he replaced the bottle where he’d found it. It seemed unlikely that Lee would have gone off without this stuff. But maybe he had a spare. Maybe he’d gotten a whole new prescription before he’d gone on vacation.
He made one more stop before he left the house. The private gallery. Stepping inside the door, he looked at the works of art, seeing them with new eyes. Leda and the Swan. The two lesbian lovers. The woman with her hands bound to the headboard. He’d thought they were kinky when he’d seen them earlier. Now he realized that they confirmed what he’d learned about Lee Tillman last night.
One picture was still missing. One picture that might be a significant clue to Lee’s disappearance. What was it? he wondered.
Alex was tempted to nose around the house some more, but knew it was better not to press his luck. So he slipped outside again, locking the door behind himself. Back in his car, he phoned Hempstead’s house.
“Can you meet me for breakfast?” he asked.
“Is this a social call? Or do we have some business?”
“Business,” Alex answered.
“Okay. How about the doughnut shop on the south edge of town? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
Alex agreed, thinking that the man would probably be better off with skim milk and oatmeal. But he didn’t voice the observation.
When he slid into the back booth across from the chief, however, and saw the strained expression on his face, he couldn’t hold back a quick question. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’ve got a little indigestion. Maybe I’d better skip the doughnuts.”
The waitress came, and Alex ordered coffee. The chief asked for a mug of tea, which gained a raised eyebrow from the waitress. Tea apparently wasn’t his usual.
“How about telling me why you called this meeting,” he said when they were alone again.
“I’d like you to help me trap a killer.”
“You mean this time you’re letting me in on your plans?” Hempstead asked, a wry note in his voice. “I mean instead of rushing off to get yourself arrested or shot at.”
Alex shifted in his seat. He wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but he understood where the chief was coming from. “Yes.”
“Why?” Hempstead pressed.
Alex sighed. “I can see I’ve been going about this wrong. Don’t rub it in, okay.”
“I’m glad to hear that insight. I was worried about you, son.”
“I think I’ve got my priorities straight now.”
“You mean you’re not going to break that girl’s heart after all?”
Alex swallowed, unable to answer. “Maybe we’d better talk about Lee Tillman.”
Hempstead gave him a considering look. “Okay.” As Alex began to explain what he’d found out, the information brought a shocked expression to the chief’s face.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“Positive. My researcher at the Light Street Detective Agency has traced him back to the year he appeared in St. Stephens, and further back still—to his old identity.”
Hempstead nodded slowly, still apparently grappling with the shocking revelation.
The tea and coffee arrived. Alex took a sip from his cup. Then he began outlining his plan. Hempstead made some suggestions, and they agreed to talk again in a couple of hours, after Alex had set things up.
Instead of heading back to the motel, Alex drove to the well-kept Victorian house where Dana Eustice lived.
Pulling up in front, he sat studying the facade for several moments, then climbed out and strode up the walk.
When he rang the bell, there was no answer, but he could hear pounding rock music from somewhere inside. Classic rock.
It wasn’t what he would have expected.
He had to ring several times, then knock loudly on the door before the lady of the house appeared. She was wearing a gold leotard and gold tights. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. In the formfitting exercise outfit, her figure looked very feminine. But without makeup, her face showed more signs of age than he’d seen before. Or perhaps she was reacting to stress. Whatever had happened to Lee, she had to be concerned about him.
“I was doing my morning workout,” she said.
“Yes. Can I come in for a minute?”
“It’s a little early for visitors.”
“This is important.”
She made a face, then stepped aside. He followed her into a square entryway with an antique hall rack and stained-glass ceiling fixture, then down a hall into a well-equipped modern kitchen.
Turning to confront him, she folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”
“I need to speak to Lee,” he said.
“I think Lee’s made it clear that he’s not available.”
“It might be in his best interest to see me.”
Her chin jutted out slightly. “Why?”
On the way to Dana’s house, he’d mulled over several ways to play this scene. Now he made a quick decision.
“I’ve been digging into Lee’s background. I know…” he said, letting the sentence trail off.
“About what?” she snapped.
“About his sexual-reassignment surgery.”
Dana wasn’t able to keep a look of dismay from washing across her face. “No,” she breathed. “Nobody knows.”
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“I’m afraid I do. Lee Tillman was born Lacy Anderson. Twenty-eight years ago, she went to a clinic in Amsterdam and had a series of operations that changed her from a woman into a man.”
Dana opened her mouth and closed it again.
“You’ve been Lee’s girlfriend for more than twenty years. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.” He pressed on, aware that he was out of bounds yet needing to wring a reaction from this woman. “It must have made some difference in your sexual relationship.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not. But I think you aren’t Lee’s only sexual partner. I think he’s into some pretty kinky stuff, and his sexual practices have left him open for blackmail.”
Her head jerked up. “I won’t discuss this with you.”
“You’d better discuss it with him. He hired me to find out who was threatening him. He left out quite a few suspects, but I’ve figured out the person threatening him may well be one of his sexual contacts.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m the only sexual contact that means anything to him. He doesn’t get naked with anybody else. Only with me. The rest of them are…just because he has a strong sexual appetite. And it turns him on to watch other people.”
The pictures had given Alex a pretty good idea of what Lee liked to watch. Instead of commenting, he asked, “If Lee’s away, why did he leave his supply of male hormone pills at home?”
“Because he’s got more than one bottle of the stuff,” she snapped. “And I won’t allow you to go any further with this line of questioning. Lee had his reasons for changing his sex. But discussing them with you would be betraying his confidence.”
“His father abused Lacy,” Alex said. “Abused Lacy and her sister, Callie. Callie ran away from home, hooked up with a guy who was too much like her dad and got pregnant. She died, and Lacy placed the baby for adoption. Then she went off to Amsterdam.”
Dana didn’t deny the information. In a tight voice, she asked, “How do you know all that? Lee hid his background very well.”
“I have my sources. One of them is the man who adopted Callie’s child. He’s been digging into his daughter’s background, and that’s led him to Lee.”