Devil in the Deadline

by Walker, LynDee

  I stared at the ceiling fan until the last of the cops left just after three. Landers and Kyle had a debriefing outside my door, wherein Kyle promised to have me call Landers the next morning. It didn’t occur to me until then I hadn’t asked Landers why he’d been on his way to my house at eleven o’clock. At least I had a good excuse for the lapse.

  I heard the door whisper across the floor and turned my head. “I’m not asleep.”

  Kyle crossed the room in four long strides, laying a hand on my arm. “It’ll be okay. They found a couple of guys a few blocks up who were drinking on the front porch. Saw them speeding off. Got a good description of the vehicle. We’ll find them.”

  “What about what Landers said?” My voice thickened. “What if they come back? I’m scared, Kyle.”

  He pulled me up into a hug, his arms offering a harbor I needed more than air.

  I buried my face in his chest and sobbed. He stroked my hair until I was through, then crooked a finger under my chin and tipped my face up to his. “You really think I’m going to let anything happen to you? Sleep. One of us should. I’m on sentry duty. White has a patrol car across the street until sunrise. Let’s get Lila on her way home, and then we’ll figure this out.”

  I squeezed him again. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head in dismissal, stepping toward the door. “Of course.”

  I fell back onto the pillows, Darcy sighing from her bed.

  Another half hour of staring at the fan and the clock later, my eyes fell shut.

  I was so tired I didn’t even dream.

  My mom’s grin when she saw Kyle the next morning would’ve cracked anyone else’s face. He just smiled and nodded, positioning himself in the hallway to block her view of the living room as she got ready for her flight. I followed her back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom, chattering about nothing with an energy I must’ve borrowed from someone who got more than three hours’ sleep.

  Mom hummed through putting her makeup on, stealing I-told-you-so glances at me. Pretty sure she mistook my jitters for some kind of afterglow.

  A big cup of coffee in one hand, she loaded her bags into the rental car and turned to hug me. “I love you, baby. I’m so sorry about all this. I just want you to be happy.”

  I tightened my arms around her. “I know that feeling,” I said. “Be safe. Call me when you get home.” I pulled my head back. “And hey—any excuse to see you is a good one. I miss you.”

  She kissed my cheek and slid into the car. “I have to go now, or I’m going to cry. Love you best, baby girl.”

  “No, I love you best,” I said, pushing the door closed and waving.

  She turned right out of the drive at my direction, never seeing the boarded-up window or the police tape littering the front porch.

  “Nice work,” Kyle said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Get a bag and grab the dog. You’re coming home with me.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, turning to face him.

  He raised one hand, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I won’t take no for an answer, Nicey. These people are dangerous. I’m not leaving you here alone with a six-pound dog for protection.”

  I sighed. “I appreciate that, but I have so much going on the next few days. I’m sure it will be fine. You said Aaron had a good lead on them.”

  Kyle folded his arms across his chest, his biceps visible through the cotton of his wrinkled shirt. “You have what stuff going on?”

  I bit my lip. The kind of stuff he wouldn’t like, but an edict from Jesus himself wouldn’t stop me from going to Way of Life Saturday.

  “No.” Kyle shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No way, Nichelle. You’re not going back out there. Are you kidding me?”

  “I have to.” My eyes flicked to where my mom had disappeared to a few seconds before. I wanted to know what happened to Jasmine. I also wanted a face-to-face with the who’s who of the ministry, and Elise’s plan might actually work. I set my own jaw and snapped my eyes at him. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t under investigation by the ATF. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “You are determined to get yourself killed,” he said through his teeth. “Why? Give White what you’ve got and let them go after this guy. If they killed that girl, Landers will turn it up. I watched him last night. He’s a good cop.”

  “The legal fortress around that place could put the Alamo to shame,” I said. “It’ll be so much easier for me to get the truth and hand it to Landers.”

  “Not if you die before you can tell him what you know. These people obviously have no qualms about shutting you up. And if they shot up your house last night, they’re not exactly going to sit for an interview.”

  “I’m not going in with a pen and pad asking them questions,” I huffed, looping a thick strand of hair into a knot. “Give me a little credit.”

  He stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m giving you a lot of credit. But you’re no match for these guys.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “You know why my mother was here?”

  “I’m guessing because she was worried, after what you told me the other night. She’s a smart lady.”

  “My father.”

  Kyle’s eyes widened. “No shit? What about him?”

  “He got Jesus in a big way when she wouldn’t marry him. Turns out he was an actor from the studio, not a friend from school.”

  “It’s not this Golightly guy?” He didn’t manage to keep his jaw hinged at that.

  “No, he’s too old, and she said she’s never seen him on TV. But she thinks he’s involved with a televangelism outfit somewhere, somehow. That’s why she flipped when she heard we went out there.”

  “Do you want to find him?” He moved his hands to my back, pulling me close to him.

  “No.” I rested my head on his shoulder, slowly shaking it. “Can I tell you something I haven’t even had the guts to admit to myself yet?” I mumbled into his shirt.

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “I want to make sure he didn’t murder this girl.”

  Kyle pulled in a deep breath, his arms tightening around me. “Damn.”

  The thought had whispered in the corners of my brain since about five minutes after my mom finished talking Wednesday night, and shored up the more I thought about the things I knew, precious and few that they were.

  He went batshit when my mom didn’t want to get married. Jasmine worked in the offices. She was pretty. Not unlike my mom—willowy, with long, thick hair. Men often fixate on a type of woman from an early age. And the men at Way of Life tried a little too hard to keep themselves from being attracted to the opposite sex, evidenced by their insane unwritten dress code.

  Sex and money: in my years at the crime desk, only a handful of murders had motive outside those two.

  What if Ruth Galloway had been sleeping with my father? Crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t say it was impossible.

  “What did your mom tell you?” Kyle asked finally.

  “He was always religious, but he went really deep in when she refused to marry him,” I said. “She said he called her horrible names. Threw things at her. In her parents’ house, with them there.”

  Kyle nodded. “Violent temper.”

  “I don’t know for sure he’s ever heard of Golightly. But Jasmine worked in the executive offices. Elise has a plan to get me in tomorrow morning, and I will find a way to talk to them. I have to.”

  “I can’t let you go alone,” Kyle said.

  “I don’t see where you have a choice.”

  “I have twenty-four hours to come up with something.”

  I pushed back and smiled. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll come to your place with Darcy if you’ll back off with the overprotective routine.”

  “Somehow I think I’m getting shafted. You get to not stay here and be a sitting duck, and I get to keep my mouth shut about you strolling into the wolf’s den. How is that a good deal for me?”
<
br />   I smiled. “It’s the only one I’m offering?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Deal.”

  I turned back for the door. “Coffee?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “As thick as you can get it.” Kyle stepped into the kitchen and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes were test-cramming bloodshot.

  “You really stayed up all night.” I didn’t bother with the question mark, laying a hand on his bristly cheek.

  “Of course I did.” He smiled. My chest tightened. Swallowing an onslaught of tears, I reached up and kissed him, just a gentle thank-you.

  He smiled when I pulled away. “Get your stuff. It sounds like I have more work to do than I have day left. We’ll come by here this evening to grab the dog.”

  I made him a triple-strength cup of coffee and handed him a package of Pop-Tarts. “Ten minutes.”

  24.

  Style analysis

  Overnight bag stowed in the back of my little red SUV, I parked in the garage at the Telegraph office at seven-fifteen. Resting my head on the steering wheel for a second, I tried to collect my thoughts.

  There were too many to corral, let alone compartmentalize. I shoved the personal stuff into a drawer in the back of my brain and focused on the murders. Two young women in a week’s time was odd for anywhere smaller than New York. It was too early to call Landers, but I planned to ring his phone at eight sharp.

  I closed my eyes, memory of the crime scene tape leftover from Landers’s midnight visit to my house breaking my concentration for a second.

  A tap at the window nearly sent me through the roof of the car.

  Rubbing the back of my head where I’d whacked it, I turned to the window, my hand flying to the key that was still in the ignition.

  “Jesus, Parker.” Closing my eyes, I pulled the key out and opened the door. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry.” He took my bag and threw it over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll make it up to you. I just wanted to say thanks for whatever the heck you told Mel. She said you talked some sense into her the other night, and things are…way better.”

  I punched the elevator button and smiled. “I’m glad I helped. And excessively in need of good news this week. Yay for you two.”

  He frowned, stepping into the elevator. “Why so jumpy?”

  I leaned against the wall and smiled. “The cops digging bullets out of my living room walls kept me up half the night.”

  He flashed the grin that made women in five counties call for smelling salts—and read our sports section. It faded when his emerald eyes met my serious gaze. “You’re not kidding?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, how I wish I was.”

  He laid a hand on my arm. “You playing Nancy Drew again?”

  I chuckled. “How ever did you guess?” I batted my lashes.

  He shook his head. “Not funny. What did the cops say?”

  “They have a good lead,” I said, waving one hand in a show of bravado I would’ve given my shoe closet to actually feel. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Someone shot at you. I see no scenario in which that’s ‘fine.’” His voice carried as he stepped off the elevator and an intern spun to stare at us. I smiled and nodded at the kid and he continued in the direction of the break room.

  Turning to Parker, I shushed him. “I’d prefer to keep this to us for as long as I can,” I said. “In particular, I don’t want Bob knowing about it.”

  “You know this is a newsroom, right?” He shook his head. “Good luck with that.”

  I sighed because he was right. “Just, shhh. Please?”

  “The cops really have a good lead?”

  “And I’m staying with Kyle for at least the weekend. My landlord will be thrilled about having the window replaced, I’m sure.”

  “That’s what insurance is for,” Parker said. “Kyle is the federal agent ex?”

  I nodded, and he patted my shoulder. “That makes me feel at least a little better. Let me know if you need anything. Budget season. I’m doing a lot of sitting around watching TV while Mel listens to the council argue over which programs get what money they have.”

  “Thanks, Parker.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “I don’t fancy getting shot again.”

  “Then stop pissing off criminals.”

  “It appears to be an occupational hazard.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you need an new occupation. Do I know anyone at the Post? Maybe Tony does.”

  I smiled. Parker’s friend Tony Okerson was a retired Redskins quarterback, and my dreams of covering the White House for the Washington Post were common knowledge. “I wouldn’t turn down a good word or two from him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned toward his office, then stopped and grinned at me again. “No, I won’t. We’d miss you. But do me a favor and dodge the bullets, okay?”

  “Doing my best.”

  I continued to the break room and flipped on the coffee maker, my thoughts racing as the thing burbled. Thirty thousand items on my to-do list. Better start checking them off.

  I plopped into my chair, my coffee mug already half-empty and the newsroom still fairly quiet. Opening my laptop, I stared at Google. How could I find Ruth’s back-home flame if her folks wouldn’t talk to me? Jared. A first name was all I had to go on.

  I tried searching for her name.

  And found a Facebook profile. Clicking the link, I held my breath.

  Last update: about a month before she arrived at Way of Life. I scrolled through her photos. She liked selfies—especially ones of her kissing a tall, gorgeous guy with dark skin and a dazzling smile.

  “Damn,” I mumbled. Jared the mechanic looked like a Calvin Klein ad. I clicked the tags. His last name was Abernathy. Whitepages got me an address, but no phone number. Probably only had a cell. Crap.

  I clicked back to Facebook, finding his profile. And the name of the shop where he worked.

  They had a phone.

  I dialed, sending a silent prayer up.

  “Motors and More, this’s Mel,” a voice said.

  “May I speak to Jared, please?” I drew loops and squiggles with my pen.

  “Hang on.” The phone clattered to a desk, and Mel bellowed.

  “Jared. Can I help you?” His voice was deep and rough.

  I hauled in a deep breath. Could I tell anything about him from a phone call? Maybe. Especially if he didn’t know she was dead.

  I introduced myself.

  “What can I do for you?” He sounded more curious than guarded.

  “I’m working on a story about a murder case, Jared. I’m so sorry, but I think you knew the victim.”

  A rush of air issued from his chest through the phone.

  “It’s her isn’t it? She’s gone.” His voice was soft.

  I froze. How did he know? No way Aaron had called him.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “My Ruthie.” A sob cut off his sentence. He cleared his throat. “I saw a drawing in the paper. It said the cops in Richmond were looking for information on a murder victim they couldn’t identify. But she’d never been to Richmond. Her hair was longer, I thought. And she was so thin.”

  “A friend has identified the victim as Ruth Galloway,” I said. “You two were involved?”

  “We were engaged,” he choked out. “In love. Her folks hated it. Hated me. Bigoted control freaks. But I’ve been saving up to open my own shop, and I’m almost there. She was coming home.”

  I scribbled. News to me.

  “When did you last talk to her?”

  “Last spring,” he said. “My letters started coming back in the summer. But she’d have found me. She loved me.”

  Engaged? But she had a boyfriend at Way of Life, and another in Richmond.

  I stared at the photo of Jared on my screen, my thoughts roaming back to the murder scene. So much blood. I bet there were cows in Wallingford. Someone she trusted enough to let into the loft. Someone who knew
the altar set up might point to her folks or the church?

  Hot damn.

  “Have you ever been to Richmond, Jared?” I asked.

  “No. Why was Ruthie in Richmond?”

  “She was living on the streets,” I said. “Ran away from Way of Life.”

  He gasped, then fell silent. “Lady, you have the wrong guy,” he said finally, relief flooding through the speaker. “She would never.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I’m afraid she would. Did,” I said.

  “But why would anyone stab Ruthie?” he asked. “She was such a happy person. Always found the bright side.”

  Now that jived with her rainbows and unicorns journal of life on the street.

  Wait. My pen froze mid-word.

  I didn’t say anything about a knife.

  “Thanks so much for your time, Jared,” I said, scribbling the rest of his comments. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Not a speck of red tape near this guy. A phone call from any of the cops I’d entertained at midnight would have him in his local sheriff’s lockup before lunch. “I appreciate your help.”

  He hung up.

  I texted Kyle and Aaron his name and place of employment, plus a rundown of the conversation.

  Kyle pinged right back. “You solved it! Now you can stay home tomorrow.”

  “Nice try,” I tapped. “See you at six.”

  Aaron shot back a thank you ten minutes later.

  I saved screenshots of both profiles, rereading my notes. Maybe he saw the M.O. in the paper—he did say he read the story.

  But he still thought she planned to marry him when she’d carried someone else’s child for at least a few weeks. Definite motive. And he looked plenty strong enough.

  I highlighted his comments about her folks, too—if they got wind of an engagement, they’d have motive.

  Staring at my notes until the letters swam didn’t get me anything else.

  Next up: email. Seventy-eight new messages. I deleted the morning round of “lose weight without trying!” and “bigger breasts TODAY!” spam, stopping at a message from Shelby. Three-fourteen in the morning. I should make an extra pot of coffee.

  Hey Nichelle, I think I found something. Will you be around in the morning?