“You were supposed to be paying attention. I could’ve been anyone.”
“You are anyone.” I rubbed the ache.
“Are you okay?” Connor reached out, his fingers lightly touching the spot I was sure would end up black and blue.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I need my flashlight.” I leaned into the car, searching. The light had gone out. I hoped it wasn’t broken. The driver and passenger seats were empty, so I reached farther in, trying to feel for the flashlight in front of the driver’s seat, carefully patting against the glass chips.
“I’ll get it.” Connor handed me his flashlight and pulled the door open, reaching into the footwell. Coming up empty-handed, he shifted and dropped into the driver’s seat, seemingly unconcerned about the sharp edges of the broken window. As he searched, I stepped closer, shining the light past his long legs and into the passenger side.
“Maybe it rolled under the seat.”
Connor got out of the car and crouched near the door, yanking on the lever that would move the seat. It didn’t budge. He got to his feet and gave another yank, slamming his hand against the back of the seat, but it still wouldn’t move. I stepped forward, handed him the flashlight, and moved him out of the way. I knelt beside the seat and reached underneath.
“Connor?”
“Yeah.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six-three. Why?”
I scrambled off my knees and sat in the driver’s seat with my legs stretched out. “According to the police report, Burke was five-seven. I’m five-seven.” I looked at Connor, then back toward my feet. He followed my gaze with the beam of the flashlight.
“So how did he reach the pedals?” Connor asked.
“Maybe the seat got jammed during the accident?” I suggested.
Connor shook his head. “The pictures.”
“Right. The car landed on the front grille.”
“Yeah, and the car seat’s jammed back. It could have happened when the rescue guys removed the body.”
“And I’m next in line for the pope’s job.”
He laughed. “For the record, I’m against any job that requires you to be celibate.”
“You have a one-track mind.”
He started a slow search of the dashboard with his flashlight. “It’s the best track, though, don’t you think?” The circle of light rested on the passenger side for a moment before he rounded the car and tugged the door open. He sat in the seat with his back toward me, his legs stuck out the door. He moved closer to the headrest and the upholstery. He pulled the seat belt out and away from the door, then leaned back, holding the seat belt with one hand and the flashlight with the other. He looked at me over his shoulder.
I stared at the irregular stain, barely visible against the dark material. “Blood?”
“If I were guessing.”
“So Mitchell Burke was already dead when he got moved.”
“Or he was already hurt. And his killer was at least six feet tall.”
We got out of the car and closed the doors, brushing the plastic pieces of safety glass from our clothes. Connor took my hand and we walked down the aisle, past the still-sleeping dog and to the fence. I reached out and grabbed the chain link.
“Head bashing? My money’s on the loving children. Bud, the gambling cretin with the assault record, is pretty short. The other one, Stewie the glue sniffer, is tall.” I swung one leg over the top of the fence. “He could have killed Burke, drove him out here, and then had his brother drive him back.” I dropped to the ground, where Connor was already waiting.
“Next stop, Sergeant Wesley.” Connor took my hand and we headed back to the car.
Chapter Twenty-six
“At least six feet tall isn’t much to go on, Con nor.
We need proof before we go to the cops.”
We were out of the parking lot headed back to the freeway when I finally spoke my thoughts aloud. My motives weren’t pure. I wanted Emma to know she’d been right. I wanted her to have some closure. The evil sons were pond scum. I knew they had something to do with Mitchell Burke’s death. The cops hadn’t done anything before. Would Wesley bother to investigate if the local police stuck with the easy accident explanation? It wasn’t his jurisdiction, and what if the blue wall held? Would he question another police officer? Would he take over? Could he take over?
“We’ve got the car.” I insisted. And Emma. Besides, it’s the police’s job to investigate and make the case, not ours. We’ll do the good-citizen part and tell them what we know, and they can take it from there.”
“Emma is a distraught wife who doesn’t want to believe that her husband could have committed suicide. And the car isn’t proof.”
“It’s still a police problem.” We wove slowly through dark streets.
“We found the car.”
“It’s not ours. Neither is this murder.”
“So you admit Emma’s husband was murdered.” I pointed at him in the darkness, a prosecutor catching a witness in a revealing statement.
“I’m convinced,” he stated matter-of-factly, concentrating on the road. “I’m sure the police will be, too.”
“The police”—I laid emphasis on the word—“wrote the whole thing off as a suicide. They didn’t investigate when the evidence was fresh.” I tugged at the seat belt.
“Sara, you’re becoming obsessed with this thing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Not.”
“Sara . . .” His voice held a warning tone. My peripheral vision caught his glance in my direction, which I deliberately ignored.
“Okay, so maybe I am into it a little. But we’re close, Connor. Can’t you feel it?” I reached over, gripping his arm, trying to infuse some of my enthusiasm into him.
“That’s the part I don’t like.” His voice was dry. I dropped my hand back into my own lap.
“I really hate to be critical here, but aren’t you the one who spent four years at the Naval Academy and another two training to become a SEAL just so you could feel like this?”
“I joined the navy for a lot of reasons. And it’s different when my very impulsive wife is involved.”
“I am not impulsive.”
“You define impulse. Jesus, you married someone you knew a week.”
“So did you.”
“For me, it was an aberration. With you, it’s a lifestyle.”
“I don’t think I like being referred to as an aberration.” A flash of light caught my eye as we turned a corner getting onto the highway. “Connor, stop.” My feet pressed against the brakes I didn’t have.
“What?”
“We just passed the diner.” I grabbed my armrest, feeling the car slow.
“You’re not hungry again, are you?”
“Actually, this spy stuff does whet the appetite, but that’s not why I want to stop.”
Connor pulled off the side of the road, checking his mirrors before heading back toward the little building. He pulled into the lot, parking between two pickup trucks in the half-full lot. He released his seat-belt and turned toward me.
“Okay, Holmes, why have we stopped?”
“The other driver.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Let’s assume for a moment that somebody did drive up here with Burke in the car and pushed the thing over the cliff. He couldn’t have done that alone. At a minimum, the killer would need some way back to town. A wheelman. Which means our killer had an accomplice he could trust. For grins, let’s imagine he has a brother.”
“Babe, we don’t have any reason to believe that the Masterson kids had a motive for killing Mitchell Burke.”
“One’s a druggie and the other is a thug. Their father is missing. His right hand at the company is helping the lawyers investigate. Who knows what they think? Maybe they’re the reason Dad can’t be found. Maybe they took his walkabout as an opp
ortunity to help themselves to the corporate coffers. Who could figure that out? A controller. It would make Mitchell Burke a threat to them.” I hated that he was poking holes in my theory.
“Only if your assumption is correct, and we have no basis for that. No proof, Sara.”
“Humor me. Say it was six-foot Stewie who did it. He puts Burke in the passenger seat and drives him up here. Maybe he remembers one of the previous crashes, or maybe he just knows this is a risky stretch of road. He gets lucky or, depending on the timing, creates his own luck by staging the accident near where another has already happened. Small police force already stretched thin. No one will think twice. He gets the brother to follow them up and drive him back after it’s over.”
“That’s all guesswork, and neither of these brothers struck me as either that smart or that controlled.”
“Maybe, but say I’m right. Or even say I’m wrong about who did it. No matter who you were, would you take a second car to the scene of the crime?”
“No.” Connor shook his head, his eyes searching mine. “Too conspicuous.”
“Exactly. So if it were me, I might go somewhere where a stranger wouldn’t look out of place.” I stared deliberately at the brightly lit building.
“Like the parking lot of a diner open late-night. Got it.” We went into the restaurant. One of the bookend codgers still sat on a stool at the far end of the counter. Two middle-aged women were playing cards at a central table, and a couple of handholding teenagers necked discreetly in a far booth. We hesitated in the doorway as Vera came out of the kitchen.
“Guess you two just can’t stay away, huh?” She approached, patting her beehive and winking at Connor.
“We missed dessert.” Connor winked back.
“What did you have in mind, honey?” She waggled pencil brows at him, including me in a broad smile. I smiled back. Who was I to stand in the way of a little harmless flirting? I didn’t have the impression that Connor’s taste ran to sexagenarian Marge Simpsons.
“Ice cream and a little conversation.”
“We got plenty of both, sugar. You know what you want?”
“Whatever’s the house specialty will be fine.”
“Comin’ right up. Why don’tcha grab a booth and I’ll be right over.”
“Great.” Connor steered me toward a booth near the front plate-glass window, far from the other customers. We sat side by side. I drummed my fingers impatiently against the Formica tabletop. Connor reached out and took hold of my hands, stilling their restless movements.
Vera came to our booth with two hot-fudge sundaes and a cup of coffee on an orange plastic tray. With a big smile she placed a sundae in front of each of us. Then she slid opposite us and set the tray down, lifting the cup and gulping at the steaming brew.
“Thanks.” Connor picked up his spoon, taking a quick bite of whipped cream. “We want to know if you remember anything about an accident that happened not far from here on March first of this year. A man was killed.”
Vera swallowed, nodding.
“Sure. It even made the city papers. Seven people killed, including two sweet little high school kids. They was so young. It was terrible.”
“I’m sure it was, but we’re actually interested in another accident that happened that night. One fatality.”
“Course, I remember that one, too. Comin’ the same night after them other people died. You’d think the police would have figured out how to make that road safer by then. Why you interested? You two reporters or somethin’?”
“Nothing like that,” I assured her. “The victim’s widow is a friend of ours.” I spoke slowly, trying to decide how much to tell her. I swallowed a spoonful of ice cream, taking my time, holding the icy dessert on my tongue for a second before allowing it to slip down my throat.
“Poor thing. I hope she’s doing okay. I wouldn’t want to be losin’ my Dave; that’s for sure.” She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, her eyes dark with sympathy.
“She just has a lot of unanswered questions, you know. We told her it didn’t matter why her husband was up here, but she just can’t let it go. We were wondering if you remember any strange faces in the diner that night.”
“Maybe you oughta just tell her he was on business. Even if you don’t know for sure. I mean, it ain’t gonna do nobody no good to go telling some poor widda woman that her man was cattin’ around right before he goes off and gets hisself killed.” She lifted her cup to her lips, her eyebrows raised.
“You’re probably right. The thing is, if he was meeting someone, and it was innocent, she could ask about his last hours, you know? Maybe he mentioned her or told a funny story or something she could hold on to.” I felt Connor’s arm slide behind me. I took it to mean that I was believable without being schmaltzy.
“I suppose that would be a comfort. Lemme see. We got lots of skiers up here that time of year.”
“It would have been pretty late. The car was found around two in the morning, but we think it happened earlier.”
“Place was really empty with the big accident and all. Everybody wanta’ to be home with their lads, y’know.” She closed her eyes as she considered for a moment before opening them again. “Oh, my Lord, yes, there was one woman.”
A woman. Damn.
“No one else?”
“Not a soul. Like I said, it was real quiet that night.”
“Was there anything else out of the ordinary that night? Anything at all?” I was deflated. I’d been so sure I was on the right track.
“Jus’ that she couldn’t take that cell phone out of her ear. Talkin’ real loud and all. It wasn’t like we had lots of customers to disturb or nothin’, but she could keep her personal business private, if you know what I mean. If you ask me, those cell phones are ruinin’ this world.”
“Did you hear what she said?”
Vera rolled her eyes. “I’m not an eavesdropper. I don’t go listenin’ to people’s private conversations ’less they force me to by talking loud enough to wake the dead.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” Connor added his agreement with a nod.
“She was waitin’ for somebody. Kept askin’ him where he was, like he was keepin’ her waitin’. I tell you, that woman did not like to wait. Finally she said, ‘I’ll be right there,’ and dashed off like she was bein’ chased.”
“What did the woman look like?” Connor asked, switching his empty sundae dish with my half-full one.
“She was young, black, pretty in a city kinda way.”
“Probably just skiers on their way back to Seattle.” I sighed again, letting my hand fall to rest against Connor’s jeans-clad thigh. I’d really thought I was onto something. There was no way either of the Masterson kids was going to be mistaken for a pretty black woman.
“Oh, she wasn’t no skier. Not with those nails.”
My own nails dug deep into Connor’s thigh.
“Something I said?” he muttered into my ear, pulling my hand free from its grip.
“Nails?”
“Beauties. Bloodred and at least a coupla inches long. Bet they cost a pretty penny.”
“We’ve got to go.” I pulled a crumpled twenty from my jeans pocket and set it next to the empty sundae dish before pushing against Connor’s shoulder to get him moving.
“Did I say something to upset you folks?” Vera was looking at me in confusion, her penciled eyebrows and painted-on lips adding an element of whimsy to the expression.
I sent my brightest smile in her direction.
“Absolutely not. You’ve been a big help. I just remembered somewhere we have to be.” Connor was standing, and I jumped up beside him, continuing to prod him into motion. Vera looked from him to me and back again before turning up the wattage on her own grin.
“Like that, is it?” She rose, chuckling. “I’ll just get your change.” She reached for the twenty.
“It’s yours.” Connor finally started moving toward the door, and I urged him to pick up the pace.
“Have a good time. Where is that man of mine? Dave?”
The door jangled as we stepped through. Connor pulled the keys out and I reached for them, striding to the car. I jumped in, clicked his door lock, and started the motor. The second he closed his door I set the car in motion, peeling out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Connor reached across to pull my seat belt across me before clicking his own into place. I kept the gas pedal near the floor.
“You realize that our friendly neighborhood waitress thinks you’re dragging me off to bed.”
I leaned closer to the steering wheel, trying to see beyond the darkness, trying to keep the too-fast car on the road.
“If that’s your intention, I really don’t mind.”
A flash of lights blinded me for a moment and I took my foot off the gas, blinking rapidly. As soon as the car passed by us, I depressed the accelerator, quickly climbing back above the speed limit.
“I think I can wait if you wanted to slow down enough to get us there in one piece.”
I took a corner too tight and the reflectors clicked against the wheels.
“That would be the wrong side of the road.”
My mind was shooting down the road faster than the car. Jepsen, the bastard. He’d killed Mitchell Burke. It was his fault that Emma was sitting alone in her house with a bunch of dolls, for God’s sake. And he thought he’d gotten away with it. That burned me the most. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it any longer. His time was up.
“That’s it, Sara. Pull over. Pull over.” Connor was shouting. I glanced at him and the car skidded wildly. Connor grabbed for the wheel and we struggled to keep the car on the road, ricocheting back and forth across the asphalt, spinning gravel on both shoulders. I took my foot off the gas, careful not to slam on the brake as we worked on straightening the car. Thank God the road was deserted. Finally slowing, we gently rolled onto the shoulder, the motor still idling. Connor pushed the gearshift into park and turned the engine off, yanking the keys out of the ignition. I took a shuddering breath and leaned back against my seat, my heart hammering in my ears. I pulled my shaking hands from their death grip on the steering wheel and twined them in my lap. There was no movement beside me. I could still hear my own breathing coming in harsh gasps, but Connor was deathly silent. A tingle crawled up my spine.
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