Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)

by Janice Kay Johnson - Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)

  “Sit, sit,” Stillwell said, waving expansively at the conversation area on one side of his sizable office.

  Could be it was the office he didn’t like, Clay reflected. A trucking company should be utilitarian, shouldn’t it? The exterior of the building was. A long row of loading bays dominated it. He shouldn’t have been surprised at how extensive the facility was, because the trucks, displaying a logo of a stylistic elk head circled by the name of the company, were a common sight on the highways in Oregon. It hadn’t really clicked, though, until he’d noticed the logo on the cab of a semi backed up to one of the bays.

  Once he’d stepped through a steel door, he’d found the reception area to be fancier than he’d expected. Ditto the receptionist, a twenty-something beautiful blonde who looked as slick as her boss.

  Other offices opened from the hall extending behind the receptionist’s desk. Stillwell’s was at the end, which put it on the corner of the building and allowed two large windows, in one of which Angel Butte, a small volcanic cinder cone, was framed. The deep blue carpet was so thick, his footsteps were silent on it. Clay wouldn’t have liked that. When he was absorbed working on his computer, he wanted to hear anyone approaching.

  Call it paranoia.

  The desk was a huge slab of wood from some ancient tree. He kind of thought ponderosa pines didn’t get that big. A sequoia? The chair behind the desk was scaled to make the man sitting in it look more imposing than he was.

  Clay let himself be directed to the set of four leather chairs surrounding a low table topped with a matching slab of wood.

  “Nice office,” he commented.

  Stillwell couldn’t hide his gratification, although he tried. “The appearance of success breeds success,” he murmured.

  Could be. In Clay’s world, success didn’t look quite like this. It was often the sweet click of handcuffs closing on a pair of wrists.

  “I’m getting the feeling Stillwell Trucking is a much bigger company than I’d imagined. Doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m here about, but I admit I’m curious. Are you entirely regional?”

  When he began the company, James Stillwell said, he’d had only a couple of trucks. Used ones, but with shiny new coats of paint and the logo that had now become well known. “Mostly we operated within the state,” he explained. “There were runs between Portland and Bend, The Dalles and Klamath Falls. Ten years ago, we expanded to encompass the Northwest. Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana. Now we cover the entire west coast.” He chuckled. “San Diego to Vancouver, B.C. We’ve kept the original business, of course. We have long-haul trucks and short-haul ones. There’s scarcely a business of any significance in the tri-county area that doesn’t turn to Stillwell Trucking for their transportation needs.”

  That was the brochure version, but Clay couldn’t really blame him.

  “So, Ms. Wilson. I gather she’s in your bookkeeping department?”

  Department, it developed, was a misnomer. There were only three people in Finance—Stillwell laid it on heavy when he corrected Clay—including, yes, a CPA as well as Ms. Wilson and a Betty Jean Bitterman. Betty Jean had been with the company the longest, but Stillwell implied that, as much as he valued her for her loyalty, she hadn’t caught on to new software well. He couldn’t imagine functioning without Melissa. He shook his head in dismay and repeated, “I just can’t imagine.”

  Clay asked a few polite questions. Did Mr. Stillwell have the sense anything had been troubling Ms. Wilson? Did he socialize with the Wilsons? Was he aware that a move out of the area was a possibility?

  Troubling her? He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Not at all. But of course he didn’t see that much of her on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps Sergeant Renner would care to speak to the people who did...? Delicate pause. Yes, Sergeant Renner would.

  Stillwell claimed he’d never been to the Wilsons’ home, but naturally had met Melissa’s husband at Christmas parties, company picnics and the like. The children, too. He’d found them delightful. Delightful.

  He did love to repeat himself.

  “Yes,” he agreed, frowning enough to make plain that he had been concerned, “she did tell me that her husband’s job hunt hadn’t borne fruit. We would hate to lose her, but certainly will understand if she and Drew have to make that choice.”

  What else could he say?

  Clay was ushered to the finance department, where utilitarian made a reappearance. Walls were white, floors vinyl, desks nothing fancy. Betty Jean, who at a guess was in her early sixties, expressed her deep emotions and assured Clay she had been praying for Melissa and that poor, poor child. As for troubled, on the contrary, she’d had the impression Melissa had been feeling especially pleased about something. Betty Jean, too, had known that a move was a possibility, but didn’t recall Melissa saying anything about it in some time. Perhaps as much as a couple of months? she said hesitantly.

  Clay had to wonder how friendly these two very disparate women really were.

  The CPA was fortyish and gave the impression that the interruption wasn’t welcome. Glenn Arnett had his own office, so although he surely interacted on a regular basis with the two women, he wouldn’t be spending the day listening to their chatter. Clay got the feeling he’d hardly known Melissa Wilson had children or a life outside Stillwell Trucking. If in fact, he had a closer relationship with her, he was a damn good actor.

  Clay thanked them all, thought about detouring back by James Stillwell’s office but decided not to. He hadn’t learned anything especially useful. It was possible Stillwell knew all his employees intimately, but his enthusiasm for Melissa, his insistence that he relied on her, had pinged on Clay’s radar. She was a lowly bookkeeper. Why would she have any special significance to him?

  Unless...

  Damn it, he thought, shaking his head as he walked to his department-issue Explorer, how could Jane not know what her sister had been up to? Was there any chance she was shielding her?

  He unlocked the vehicle and got in behind the wheel, mulling over his next step. After a moment he grimaced.

  Somehow, all he could think about was Jane.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STEAMING FROM HAVING to run a gauntlet of reporters outside, Jane held on tight to Alexis’s hand. Couldn’t they see they were scaring a little girl? Thank God the hospital administration was refusing to let them inside even as far as the lobby.

  She hated thinking that the two of them might appear on the evening news. Thank God she’d taken Alexis by her house so she could change clothes and pack. Viewers would have really loved the sight of her in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes.

  A day or two and the vultures will lose interest, she told herself. No, better yet, they’d lose interest as soon as Bree was found. It was the missing child that had them all thinking this was a gripping, front-page, top-of-the-hour story.

  Walking down the broad hospital corridor, her steps shortened to accommodate her niece’s, Jane was startled to see Drew sitting on one of the chairs clustered in the open alcove in front of ICU. Even from a distance, she saw despair in his posture. He was bent over, both of his hands fisted in his hair.

  Fear shot through her like an electric shock. Oh, dear God—had Lissa died?

  “There’s Daddy!” Alexis cried. “Daddy!” she called.

  For an instant, he didn’t respond at all. At last he slowly, painfully straightened and Jane saw his face. He’d aged yet another ten years. Oh, no.

  “Drew?” She didn’t realize she was whispering until Alexis looked up at her.

  “What’s wrong, Auntie Jane?”

  “I... Nothing.”

  Drew had risen to his feet. “Lexie.”

  She ran to her daddy, and he swung her up into his arms and held her as if she was a glimpse of heaven. Eyes closed, he laid his cheek against her head.

  J
ane walked as slowly as she dared, fighting the desperate desire to turn and run away. She didn’t want to know. Her chest ached. My sister.

  But Drew was looking at her now and holding out an arm. Jane walked into the circle of it and, for a moment, laid her head on his chest, feeling the comfort of an embrace that also contained Alexis’s small bony body.

  But finally, she had to know. She straightened and stepped back, and his arm dropped away. “What’s happened?” Jane was horribly conscious of the way Alexis’s head came up and her alarmed stare, but how could she not ask?

  He only shook his head. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just...getting to me. Here, sweetheart.” He bent to set his daughter down. “Look, they have some toys over in the corner.”

  She hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave her father, but temptation sent her trotting to the play corner, where there was a child-size plastic table and pair of chairs, coloring books and crayons, and toys that looked designed to keep little hands busy. She took the seat that allowed her to keep an eye on her father and aunt, however.

  “Something’s wrong,” Jane said with certainty, keeping her voice low.

  “That cop.” The kindest, most easy-going of men, he snarled the two words. “He thinks I did something to hurt Lissa, and God knows what he thinks I did to Bree. He asked if we have life insurance on each other or the kids.”

  Despite herself, Jane was shocked. “Sergeant Renner?”

  “Who the hell else?” Drew never swore, either.

  “Do you?” she blurted.

  He stared at her without comprehension for a moment. “Life insurance? Oh, I had some through my job, but it’s probably expired now. I guess Liss might have it as part of her benefits at work. I don’t know. But on the kids? Why would we buy something like that?”

  Jane decided she had to divert him. “What else did Sergeant Renner say?”

  Nearly black with despair, Drew’s eyes met hers. “He didn’t say anything. He asked questions. He kept finding more to ask. Did Lissa and I sleep together? Have sex? Have we been fighting? Why do I think she didn’t want to take Bree with her? Why did I want her to take Bree? He thinks—” Looking shattered, he stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. His knuckles turned white. Jane watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. At last he was able to look at her again, and this time tears glazed his eyes. “He thinks I wanted to hurt her. And Bree!” His voice held even more horror. “You know how much I love her!”

  Jane knew. She also, with a cop’s eye and ear, saw and heard that he wasn’t sure he did love his wife. That maybe something was wrong between them. And, heaven help her, as much as she wanted to hate Clay Renner for upsetting Drew like this, she also couldn’t blame him.

  I would have done the same, she admitted silently.

  But she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him anyway, and let him squeeze her back so hard it hurt.

  * * *

  THE SIGHT OF the two of them in a clinch brought Clay to a halt halfway down the hall. You couldn’t have squeezed a toothpick between them. The son of a bitch had his head bent and his face buried in Jane’s wild, curly hair.

  The tide of possessiveness sweeping through Clay felt so primal, he didn’t know himself. He’d never been jealous about a woman in his life, if that was what this was. God help him, he had to get a grip before Jane saw him.

  He stood there breathing hard, his hands opening and closing into fists. Not until he thought he could hide his emotions did he resume walking.

  He was only a few feet away when he thought suddenly, Oh, hell. What if Jane’s sister had died? They could be consoling each other.

  Drew didn’t show any sign of being aware of Clay’s approach, but Jane did. She made slow, separating-herself motions before turning her head and locking her gaze with his. A trace of shock entered her eyes, making him wonder if he’d hidden what he felt as well as he’d thought he had.

  “Clay?” she said.

  The brother-in-law seemed to sway on his feet. He looked like hell, Clay realized, his stab of alarm sharpening.

  “Any change?” he asked when he was close enough.

  Jane shook her head, although her mouth was tight. “I haven’t been in there, but...Drew says not. It’s just all hitting him.” She gently took the guy’s arm and led him to a chair. Her nudge signaled him to sit. He definitely wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Clay guessed he couldn’t blame him.

  If that had been Jane in a coma, lying in ICU...

  His throat tightened. She wasn’t his. He had to accept it. What was he going to be, the kind of asshole who was consumed by what he wanted?

  No.

  But the anguish didn’t let up, either. If it was Jane in there...Clay knew. He’d look as bad as Drew did.

  Shake it off, he told himself, but saw that it was too late. She’d seen something on his face; her forehead puckered and her lips parted.

  “Clay?” she said again, as though she were asking him... He didn’t know.

  He managed to swallow most of the lump and simply shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not.”

  He couldn’t talk about it. Not in front of her brother-in-law and—he’d finally noticed—her niece. No, not at all, given how she felt about him.

  “I’ll check on your sister,” he said.

  The nurse fussing with a monitor only shook her head. Clay stood for a minute beside Melissa’s bed, gazing down at her. Nobody would call her beautiful now. The swelling and discoloration on the left side of her face made it grotesque. Her skin tone was pallid, even though he could tell she’d probably had a light tan. It was the slackness that allowed flesh to appear to be melting from bone. If not for her chest rising and falling slowly, the breaths seeming shallow, he might have thought she was dead.

  “It’s really only been a little over twenty-four hours,” the nurse said.

  He glanced at her, surprised. Did she think he needed to be comforted? Disconcerted, he realized maybe he did. This was Jane’s sister. Except for the kids, she’d said Melissa was her only family. Clay didn’t want her to lose her sister.

  He nodded, said, “Thanks,” and left, pushing through the doors a minute later to find Drew still slumped in the same chair and Jane perched on one of the kid-size chairs helping the little girl put together a simple puzzle. His chest cramped, seeing her tender expression and the gentle way she directed Alexis’s hand to set a piece into place. She looked so much like a young mother, the kind of woman he’d expected to fall in love with.

  Once again Jane seemed to become aware the moment he stepped through the doors. He shook his head slightly, much as the nurse had done, and saw her shoulders sag.

  She murmured something to Alexis, then stood and came to Clay.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, chin tilting up to suggest a hint of antagonism.

  “I was hoping to talk to you.”

  “Not Drew?”

  “You,” he repeated.

  Seemingly disconcerted, she said, “Oh, okay.” Her head turned. “Um...do we need to sit down somewhere? Or...?”

  “How about the cafeteria?” he suggested. “I haven’t managed any lunch yet.”

  She acquiesced, taking a moment to tell her brother-in-law where she was going and then joining Clay again.

  He didn’t say anything during the short walk to the hospital cafeteria. There they separated and each filled a tray. He noticed she’d gathered some food he assumed wasn’t for her—a couple of sandwiches, cookies and the like.

  He led her to a round table in the far corner, well away from the few scattered diners, mostly medical personnel.

  She poked without a lot of enthusiasm at her salad. “Is this going to be an update, or an inquisition?”

  Mood momentarily lightened, Clay grinned.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other.”

  She chuckled, then looked surprised that she had.

  “My mother always said that,” he explained.

  Her smile dimmed. No happy memories of her mother, he diagnosed.

  He took a few bites of his burger while he tried to decide how to frame his questions. He needed her on his side, not firing up in defense of Mr. Nice Guy Drew.

  After a moment, Clay set down the burger and looked at Jane. “I may be entirely off base here, but I keep thinking something was going on between your sister and brother-in-law that might help explain what happened.” Too blunt? Trying to read her expression, he forged on. “Talk to me. Help me figure out whether this is a dead end or important. If it’s a dead end, I can quit wasting my time and focus on other things.”

  Her head stayed bent although she didn’t take a bite. “I was thinking about this earlier.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You really upset Drew. His whole world has been shattered, you know.”

  “I understand.” Better than he could admit. If she’d been the one in there, unconscious... It was disconcerting how fast that fear resurfaced. No, he couldn’t afford to go there. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something he’s not saying, Jane.”

  At last she lifted her head and met his eyes, looking shattered herself. “I think so, too,” she said, so softly he barely heard her.

  He reached for a French fry to give her time.

  “I don’t know what was wrong, though,” she said at last, sounding miserable. “And...why didn’t I have a clue?”

  “Did you really not?” Clay asked. “Or is it possible you noticed and just didn’t want to believe their marriage was in trouble?”

  She stabbed at the salad some more. “When I think back, I really didn’t see much of them together this past month or so.”

  “It’s summer. Time for family picnics. Fourth of July fireworks. You sound like you’ve been over there a lot.”

  “The kids are such a distraction,” she tried to explain. “Every time we get together, they’re hanging from me and chattering away. Anyway, my days off don’t coincide with my sister’s. I see more of Drew.”