by Sandra Brown
“I think you came here straight from bed, didn’t you? When have you ever come to work with wet hair? Having fun, Paris? Isn’t it nice there’s no inconvenient fiancé to eliminate this time?”
“That’s a tacky and extremely insensitive thing to say.”
Leaning toward her, he smirked. “Did I prick your conscience?”
She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from slapping him. “You don’t know anything about that or about me. This conversation is over, Stan.”
She turned back to the control board, checked the countdown clock, looked at the blinking telephone lines. She depressed one of them. “This is Paris.”
“Hi, Paris. My name’s Georgia.”
“Hello, Georgia.” She breathed slowly and silently through her mouth in an effort to calm her anger and focus on the business at hand.
“I’ve been having some doubts about my boyfriend,” her caller said.
Paris listened while the young woman whined about her boyfriend’s fear of commitment. During the monologue, Paris glanced over her shoulder. The studio was empty. As when Stan had come in, he’d left just as stealthily.
• • •
“We’ve got him!” Curtis shouted from his cubicle in the CIB. “They’ll have him here in ten minutes.”
Dean met the detective in the narrow passageway between offices. “Did he put up any resistance?”
“The arresting officers got the motel manager to open the door of his room. Armstrong was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands, crying like a baby. Kept saying over and over, ‘What have I done?’ ”
Dean moved toward the exit. “I want to tell Gavin.”
“Thank him for me. The lead he gave us narrowed the playing field considerably. And stick around, will ya? I’d like for you to be in on the interrogation.”
“I plan to be. I’ll be right back.”
Gavin and Melissa Hatcher were seated on the same bench outside the CIB where he and Paris had been sitting . . . when was it? Only yesterday? God, so much had happened since then, with the case, with them.
As the double doors swung shut behind him, he gave Gavin and Melissa a thumbs-up. “He’s just been arrested. They’re bringing him in now. You did well, son.” He placed his arm across Gavin’s shoulders and gave him a brief hug. “I’m proud of you.”
Gavin blushed modestly. “I’m just glad they caught him.”
Turning to the girl, Dean said, “Thank you, too, Melissa. Coming forward took a lot of guts.”
When Dean had arrived at the police station, Melissa and Gavin were already with Curtis. He and several other detectives were listening to her detailed account of the time she’d spent with Brad Armstrong.
Although she seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, she had looked a fright. Since then, she had washed the streaked makeup off her face and brushed her hair so that it no longer radiated from her head like spikes on a medieval mace. Someone, probably a policewoman, had located a cardigan sweater for her to put on over her sheer halter top, which had proved to be a distraction even to seasoned detectives.
Now she beamed at Dean’s compliment, but then wet her lips nervously. “Do I have to see him?”
“We need you to officially identify him as the man who assaulted you.”
“It wasn’t exactly assault. I was wasted, but I knew what I was doing when I left the bar with him.”
“You’re a minor. He had sex with you. That’s a crime. He also struck you and tried to hold you against your will. We can hold him on those charges while we’re waiting for Janey’s autopsy report from the medical examiner. I know it won’t be easy for you to see him again, but your help is essential. Have your parents arrived?”
“Not yet. They freaked out when I called them, but they weren’t as pissed as I would have thought, I guess since I coulda turned up dead, too. Is it okay if Gavin stays with me?”
“If you want him to. Gavin?”
He raised his shoulders in a shrug of consent. “Sure.”
“Okay then, Dr. Malloy,” Melissa said. “Bring on the pervert. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
• • •
“This is Paris.”
“It’s me.”
Merely the sound of Dean’s voice caused her heart to flutter and brought on a silly smile. “Did you lose the hotline number I gave you? Why are you calling on this line?”
“I thought I’d see what it was like to be an ordinary listener.”
“You might be a listener, but you’re certainly not ordinary.”
“No? Glad to hear it.” There was a smile behind his voice, too, but it soon turned serious. “They’ve arrested Armstrong. He’s due here any minute.”
“Thank God.” She was relieved, but her heart immediately went out to his wife. “Have you seen Toni?”
“Just a few minutes ago. She’s distraught, but I think she’s glad we got him before he could hurt anyone else.”
“Or himself.”
“The possibility of suicide had occurred to me, too. You’re getting as good at my job as I am.”
“Not even close. Oops, hang on a sec. I’ve got to do a station ID.” She dispatched her business, then came back on the line. “Okay, I’ve got a few minutes.”
“I won’t keep you. I promised to call as soon as I knew something.”
“And I appreciate it. My program will go a lot smoother now that I know he’s been apprehended. I couldn’t concentrate, and every time I answered a phone line, I held my breath, afraid it would be him.”
“You don’t have to worry about that now.”
“Is Gavin still with you?”
“He’s keeping Melissa company. What he did was great, huh?”
“I thought so.”
“Me, too. Shows maturity and a sense of responsibility.”
“And trust in you, Dean. That’s the most significant breakthrough.”
“After a few derailments, I think we’re on the right track now.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Speaking of misguided youths, Lancy Ray Fisher was released.”
“I’m thinking of hiring him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She laughed at his shocked tone. “I’ve never worked with a producer, although management has offered me one. It would be a good way for Lancy to learn, get some experience.”
“What would Stan think about it?”
“It’s not his decision to make.”
“Any backlash over what happened earlier?”
She hesitated, then said, “He’s brooding, but he’ll get over it.”
Dean had enough on his mind without her telling him about her most recent altercation with Stan. It had made her uneasy. After everything that had been said, could they mend fences and resettle into a comfortable working relationship? Unlikely.
However, the prospect of dissidence in the workplace didn’t upset her as it would have even a week ago. Then, her life had revolved around her job. Anything that affected it had a profound effect on her, because that’s all she had. That had changed.
As though following her thoughts, Dean said, “I want to spend the night with you.”
The declaration evoked memories of the abbreviated but precious time they’d spent in bed earlier this evening and sent a tingle through her all the way down to her toes. “I’m supposed to disconnect callers who say things like that.”
He chuckled. “I want to, but unfortunately I don’t know how long I’ll be needed here.”
“Do what you need to do. You know I understand.”
“I know,” he said, sighing. “But tomorrow night is a damn long time to wait.”
She felt the same. With as much professionalism as she could muster, she said, “Caller, do you have a request?”
“In fact I do.”
“I’m listening.”
“Love me, Paris.”
She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment, then said softly but emphatically,
“I do.”
“I love you, too.”
• • •
John Rondeau took the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator. His email exchanges with a counterpart in the Atlanta PD had yielded new information on Stan Crenshaw, which he was eager to share with Curtis. Rather than forwarding it by email or telephoning, Rondeau wanted to deliver it in person.
But when he reached the CIB, it was humming with activity. For the number of personnel bustling about, it could have been high noon rather than nearing midnight. As a policewoman barreled past him, he hooked his hand in her elbow, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “What’s going on?”
“Where’ve you been?” she said, frowning at him as she extricated her arm. “We got Armstrong. They’re about to bring him in.”
Rondeau spotted Dean Malloy in conversation with Toni Armstrong and a gray-suited man who had “lawyer” stamped all over him. He found Curtis in his cubicle, hunched over his desk phone and rubbing his palm back and forth across his burred head.
He was saying, “No, Judge, he hasn’t confessed, but there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence pointing to him. We’re hoping the autopsy will produce some DNA, although the body was washed—”
He stopped speaking, apparently having been interrupted. He rubbed his head a little more briskly. “Yes, I’m well aware of how long DNA testing takes, but maybe when Armstrong knows that we’re submitting his for a possible match, he’ll crack. I certainly will, Judge. By all means. As soon as I know more. My condolences again to Mrs. Kemp. Good night.”
He hung up, stared at the receiver for several seconds, then looked up at Rondeau. “What?”
Rondeau raised the file folder he’d brought with him. “Stan Crenshaw. The guy has been a deviant since grade school. Raising girls’ skirts. Indecent exposure. Interesting reading.”
“I’m sure it is, but he’s not Valentino.”
“So what do I do with this? Ditch it?”
Standing, Curtis shot his monogrammed cuffs and smoothed down his necktie. “Leave it on my desk.”
“Somebody should look at it,” Rondeau insisted.
A sudden shift in the atmosphere indicated that something momentous was happening beyond the walls of Curtis’s cubicle. Rondeau followed him out. They wended their way into the center of the CIB.
Rondeau recognized Dr. Brad Armstrong from the family snapshots taken off the CD. Flanking him were two uniformed policemen. Handcuffed, he stood with his head down, his aspect that of a defeated man. He was ushered into an interrogation room. Malloy, the attorney, and Toni Armstrong crowded in. Curtis was the last to enter the room. He closed the door behind him.
Rondeau, feeling rebuffed, tapped the folder against his open palm. If Curtis thought he had Valentino, then he should probably just let it drop and forget Stan Crenshaw.
But what if, after interrogating Armstrong, Curtis determined they had the wrong guy? What if the result of the autopsy cast doubt on or even refuted the circumstantial evidence against him? What if his DNA didn’t match any samples they collected from Janey’s remains, if they even could since her body had been chemically cleansed?
Reaching a decision, Rondeau left the CIB in a hurry. As he went through the double doors, he spotted Gavin Malloy and a girl seated together on a bench in the vestibule. He had missed seeing them when he came in. From the open staircase, he had turned right to enter the CIB. They were seated to the left of the stairs. At the sound of the doors closing, the girl turned her head toward him.
Oh, shit!
He didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her plenty of times. If she recognized him, he’d be up shit creek.
John Rondeau made a dash for the stairs.
• • •
“Hey, Gavin, who’s that guy?”
“Huh?”
The past few days had caught up with him. His head had been resting against the wall, and he’d been dozing.
Melissa nudged his elbow. “Hurry! Look!”
“Where?”
He raised his head, blinked open his gritty eyes, and looked in the direction of Melissa’s pointing finger. Through the metal railing of the staircase, he caught a glimpse of John Rondeau’s head just before he cleared the landing below and disappeared.
“His name is John Rondeau.”
“Is he a cop?”
“Computer crimes,” he muttered. “It was him who ratted out the Sex Club.”
“Seriously? Because I’ve seen him somewhere. In fact, I think I might’ve balled him.”
Terrific, Gavin thought. If she placed Rondeau as someone who hung out and partied with the high school crowd, then blabbed about it, Rondeau might think he was the one who’d fingered him.
“No way. He’s got one of those faces that always remind you of somebody else.” It wasn’t a very good explanation, but it was all he could think of.
Melissa frowned thoughtfully. “Guess I’d have to see his cock to know for sure. But I could swear . . .”
Just then they heard a ping signaling the arrival of an elevator. They turned in time to see a nice-looking, well-dressed couple step around the corner and into their view.
Melissa stood up.
“Your folks?” Gavin asked, surprised by how presentable and respectable they appeared. He’d been expecting the Osbornes, not June and Ward Cleaver.
Awkwardly, Melissa wobbled toward them on her platform sandals, self-consciously tugging down her short skirt. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”
Their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. Gavin wanted nothing more to do with Rondeau, and that extended even to talking about him. He hated being the keeper of the cop’s dirty little secret, but, remembering Rondeau’s threat toward his dad, Gavin would carry that secret to his grave.
chapter 33
“I’m sorry, Toni. I’m sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
Dr. Brad Armstrong seemed more concerned about his wife’s opinion of him than he did about the serious allegations being made against him, which could potentially cost him his life. He appealed to her plaintively and somewhat pathetically.
“Let’s get through this first, Brad. There’ll be plenty of time later to talk about forgiveness.”
She was stoic, her voice calm, which was amazing in light of the ordeal confronting her. She was probably being held together with the emotional equivalent of Scotch tape, but she remained intact. Dean gave her a “hang in there” nod as she left the interrogation room, leaving her husband alone with him, the attorney, and Curtis.
Curtis identified everyone present for the benefit of the tape recorder, then began by telling Bradley Armstrong everything they knew about him and why they considered him a suspect in the kidnapping and murder of Janey Kemp.
“I didn’t kidnap that girl.”
His earnest denial didn’t impress Curtis. “We’ll get to that. First let’s talk about the time you molested Paris Gibson.” Armstrong grimaced. “I see you remember the incident,” Curtis remarked. “To this day you resent Ms. Gibson, don’t you?”
“She got me fired from a lucrative practice.”
“Do you deny touching her inappropriately?”
He lowered his head and shook it.
“Answer audibly for the recorder, please.”
“No, I don’t deny it.”
“Have you called her radio show recently?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“I may have.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t hedge on the easy stuff, Dr. Armstrong,” Curtis advised. “Have you ever called her while she’s on the air? Yes or no?”
The dentist raised his head and sighed. “Yes, I called her, said something rude, and hung up.”
“When was this?”
“Long time ago. Shortly after we moved to Austin and I realized she had a radio program.”
“Only that once?” Dean asked.
“I swear.”
“Did you know that there was some involvement between Ms. G
ibson, Dr. Malloy, and a man named Jack Donner?”
Dean looked at Curtis and was on the verge of asking him where the hell that question had come from, but Armstrong answered before he had a chance. “It was on the news down in Houston.”
Then Dean realized the validity of the detective’s question. Valentino had said Jack’s death was on their consciences, indicating that he was acquainted with their history.
“When you called her, where did you call from?”
“My house. My cell phone. I don’t remember, but I certainly never called her about Janey Kemp.”
Curtis had learned that Armstrong’s cell and home phone records didn’t list any calls to the radio station, but he’d only requested records going back several months. Armstrong could be telling the truth, or he could have used a public telephone to make the Valentino calls, or he could have an untraceable cell.
Curtis asked if he had disguised his voice when he called.
“No need. She would never have recognized my voice. We only met that . . . that once.”
“Did you identify yourself to her?” Curtis asked.
“No. I just said, ‘Screw you,’ or something to that effect, then hung up.”
“Where’d you get Valentino?”
He glanced at his lawyer, then at Dean, as though seeking an explanation.
“What?”
“Valentino,” Curtis repeated.
The news stories had cited Paris Gibson’s telephone warnings as a key element in the case, but the caller’s name had been withheld to prevent chronic confessors from gumming up the investigation with false leads.
“You pick that name up from the silent movie actor?” Curtis asked. “And why seventy-two hours? Did you pluck that deadline from thin air? Why not forty-eight, which is closer to what it turned out to be, isn’t it?”
Armstrong turned to his attorney. “What’s he talking about?”
“Never mind. We’ll come back to that,” Curtis said. “Tell us about Janey Kemp. Where did you meet her?”
With his attorney closely monitoring every word, Armstrong admitted that he’d frequented the Sex Club website and had eventually begun joining its members at the specified meeting places. “I invented reasons to leave the house.”