“Take all the time you need. Here come the appetizers. I ordered one of everything.”
A waiter balancing an enormous silver tray carefully arranged eight small plates on the table.
After he walked away, I asked the question that had been on my mind since I sat down: “How did it go in Green River?”
He looked away and something passed over his face, a shadow of fleeting sadness. He was a detective and he worked homicide investigations, but he wasn’t hard. Murder got to him.
“It was tough. Max and her mother both took it hard. At least it’s over. When we finish here, I’m doing a second interview with her fiancé. He was at the crime scene this morning, briefly. It was all about him reacting. I’ve got a lot of questions for him.”
“Is it possible he did it?”
“He seemed pretty broken up. But yeah, he’s number two on the list.”
“But he would be, right?”
“He lost it when he saw the contractor. Flat-out accused him right there and tried to get physical. The contractor is missing in action, so maybe he’s right about him. Why else would he take off? I’m curious to hear your thoughts on her brother. He’s one of three impulsive men who were close to the victim. He’s number three on the list.”
“If you think a man killed her, the top motives for male murders are concealment and jealousy, followed by hate, revenge, and thrill. You didn’t mention any female names, but women kill for different reasons. Women kill when their security is threatened for financial gain, or when they believe they are killing for love.”
“Tell me about killing out of love?”
“An example would be an assisted suicide or when a mother kills a child because of misguided beliefs due to mental illness or because she plans to kill herself and fears the child won’t survive without her.”
“I’ve only met two women in Stacey’s inner circle.”
“Does either of them stand to benefit financially from Stacey’s death?”
“Not on the surface, but I’ll keep an open mind.”
“What about the men? Do any of them have a motive?”
“You said the top two are concealment and jealousy? I had to pull Collins off Swailes this morning.”
“Do you see evidence of concealment or jealousy with Max?”
“Nothing jumps out. You can tell me tomorrow when he signs off on you talking to me.”
CHAPTER 8
When Antelope left Bitter Creek Brewing, he drove across town to the Preserve, the modern apartment complex where Connor Collins lived. Six apartment buildings surrounded a large in-ground pool and patio on a large parcel of land. The compound had an unobstructed view of open land and White Mountain in the distance. Wildflowers bloomed on the desert floor. Connor’s building faced the mountain on the west side.
As he pulled into the parking lot, Father Todd Bellamy came out of the building. Antelope made a mental note to contact the priest.
Collins had the penthouse apartment. When he pressed the doorbell, a tired voice came through the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Detective Antelope, can I come up?”
A buzzer sounded above double glass doors. Inside the lobby of polished wood, large copper pots held arrangements of sage-brush and lavender. The sweet aroma carried him home.
When he stepped out of the elevator on the penthouse floor, he found Collins leaning against the doorjamb with his eyes closed. Barefoot and unshaven, the county prosecutor was drunk. He startled awake when Antelope cleared his throat.
“I’m wrecked,” Collins said. “Come in.”
The large, square living room, furnished with high-end designer furniture, reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. On top of the polished parquet floor, oriental area rugs in shades of muted green and brown reflected the desert floor, which was visible from the western windows.
Connor motioned to a pair of white leather couches. He sank into one of them and finished off the scotch in his glass. “Did you pick him up?”
“I’m here to ask you questions, Mr. Collins, not the other way around.”
“You’re wasting your time. Swailes did it.”
“Have you been drinking all day?”
“Damn straight. You would be too if someone murdered the woman you loved.”
“Make some coffee. Take a cold shower. I need you coherent. I’ll wait.”
Connor went for the scotch, but Antelope moved it out of reach. “Time is of the essence. I’m the one who’ll find her killer. Don’t get in my way. If you give me reason, we’ll take this interview to the station.”
A half-hour later, Collins returned, clean-shaven, in pressed jeans and a white dress shirt.
He placed two cups of black coffee on the table and lit a cigarette. “Ready when you are,” he said as he exhaled a stream of smoke.
“I need a timeline. When did you see Stacey last?”
“We met for dinner last night. Our usual thing, pizza and beer at Johnny Mac’s Tavern. We’re creatures of habit, some would say boring, but it worked for us. We ended the night early, both beat from the week. About eight o’clock she left for her place.”
“What’s the address?”
“Thirty-five Wardell Court, a tiny little place she shared with another gal, Toni Atwell. Used to be Sister Antonia back in the day.”
“Did you talk with Stacey again after she left?”
Collins looked away, considered the question. Antelope thought it shouldn’t be hard to remember a phone call with a fiancée. Under the circumstances, though—shock, grief, and too much to drink—maybe he should give the guy a break.
Maybe. But something about Connor Collins bothered him. It wasn’t rational, just a gut feeling that Collins was hiding something. He made a mental note to keep a check on his reactions, make sure they didn’t affect his investigation.
Collins looked at his phone and turned the screen so Antelope could see. “Looks like she called me to say good night—a thirty-six second phone call at 1:17 a.m., must’ve woken me out of a dead sleep. She never liked to go to sleep without saying good night and I love you.”
“I’m confused. You left the bar at eight o’clock because every-one’s beat but it’s one in the morning when she goes to go to bed?”
“I passed out right here and woke up this morning with my laptop open on my chest. Stacey’s a chronic insomniac. Trust me; 1:00 a.m. is on the early side for her.”
Collins threw his phone down. “The last time I’ll ever hear her voice and I don’t remember the call.”
“You got more coffee?” Antelope asked.
“Good idea.”
Collins left for the kitchen and his cell phone vibrated. Antelope noticed the call came from Father Bellamy.
“You had a call,” he said when Collins came back.
His host set the coffees down and reached for the phone, but put it right back down. “It can wait. Everything can wait until I’m ready.”
They drank coffee in silence for a minute, then Antelope launched in. “Tell me about your relationship with Stacey.”
“She was the love of my life. I can’t see my future without her. We got together the summer after I graduated from high school. I’m best friends with her brother, Max. They probably told you all about the accident. We thought we were going to lose him. Stacey was a basket case and needed a lot of support. I wasn’t doing too well myself but I did my best to be there for her. I guess it sealed the deal.”
“How were things between you?”
“It’s been a rough patch. My job eats up every waking minute. With the wedding plans and the house renovation, we didn’t have a lot of time together. It was all going to be fine, though, after the wedding. I don’t understand why you’re wasting time with me. I told you, Swailes is our guy.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Right from the get-go he wanted her. I could tell by the way he looked at her. Guys know these things. You can feel it when some guy wants to make a move on the woman you�
�re with. If I’d known how they met, I never would have hired him. But Stacey didn’t tell me until recently. I was pretty steamed when she told me.”
“How did they meet?”
“She met him in the hardware store looking at paint samples and they struck up a conversation. He planned it right from the start. If I’d known, he never would have gotten near the house, or her.”
“You sound angry.”
“I was angry. But Stacey was so trusting, bordering on naive; I couldn’t stay angry with her. She trusted everyone. I warned her, but she never listened.”
“What made you think he was interested in her?”
“The way he looked at her, flirted with her in front of me. He wanted her, no doubt in my mind.”
“Would she have told you if he’d made a move?”
“I asked her to tell me, and I trusted her.”
But she didn’t tell you how she met the contractor she convinced you to hire, Antelope thought—a lie by omission.
“You trusted her?”
“Absolutely, with my life.” Collins made the sign of the cross over his heart. Then he leaned forward in his seat. “I better tell you the rest of it.”
“What?”
“We didn’t go our separate ways last night because we were tired. We fought about Swailes. I told her to fire him the next time she saw him. She wasn’t happy about it, but she agreed to do it if it meant so much to me. The fight killed the mood for the night.”
“You think Swailes killed Stacey because she fired him?”
“When a guy like Swailes loses his meal ticket, don’t put anything past him.”
“He wants her, and then he kills her when she fires him?”
“This is how I figure it went down: She fired him. What did he have to lose? He made a pass at her. She told him no. He got rough and tried to force it. Stacey would fight him, I know that for sure. He lost it and killed her. Maybe he didn’t mean to—a crime of passion. If he can’t have her, he’ll make sure nobody else can, either.”
CHAPTER 9
As soon as the detective left the apartment, Connor started drinking again. His phone showed fourteen calls and voicemail messages. A lot of people wanted callbacks but he didn’t have it in him. Couldn’t they figure out he was in no shape to talk? Stacey hadn’t been gone a day. Christ, how would he make it without her?
The priest had called twice. What could he want? He’d just been here. But better not ruffle any feathers. The man could be persistent. He didn’t want him to get worried and drive over here and wake him up in the middle of the night to check on him.
He dialed the number and Bellamy answered on the first ring. “How did everything go with the detective?”
“I laid it all out for him, told him everything he needs to know to wrap this thing up.”
“And what did he think of your theory about the murderer?”
“He’s very interested in talking to Swailes. I made a strong case, and especially with him taking off, it looks very suspicious.”
“You don’t want to have to deal with an investigation going on indefinitely. It could be very stressful.”
“Stressful is not the word I’d use for my situation. I’m half-crazy over here. I’m mad as hell at her for getting involved with him and setting this whole thing in motion. I blame her. And I miss her. And I want her back. It happened so fast. Yesterday I had a normal life. I want my life back. Things will never be the same without Stacey. I should have trusted her. I never should have—”
“Stop,” Bellamy commanded, “don’t say another word. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re overwrought—and who wouldn’t be after what you’ve been through? Any thoughts you have tonight are bound to bring more pain and guilt and regret. Do yourself a favor. Shut off your brain. Go to bed.”
“Okay, okay, that’s smart advice. I feel like shit.”
“Call me in the morning. There are plans to be made for the services.”
Connor hung up without saying good night. Those words, “the services,” about did him in. He turned off his phone and plugged it into the charger.
His heart felt heavy and raw with Stacey gone. His eyes filled and a wave of sadness rose in his chest—a swell of darkness that threatened to drown him. If he opened his body up to tears, it would end with him howling like a mad man.
The future, the next few days, was a dense thicket of old trees with gnarled roots and a roof of twisted branches.
And how would he face her mother? Stacey had told her about his anger and his need to control every freaking thing in his world. Fern would figure it out and she would blame him. The thought brought a stabbing pain to his eyes. He couldn’t think about it now.
He carried his bottle and glass to the bedroom; they were the only friends he wanted tonight. He needed the comfort of his bed.
He stripped naked and poured a three-finger nightcap. The whiskey went down fast and burned his throat and eyes. His head was a concrete sphere, too heavy and ready to topple. He slipped between the cool sheets—freshly washed after the cleaning lady’s visit the previous day—and pulled all the bedclothes over his head. The light from the bedside lamp was a warm gold glow outside his cocoon.
He refused to sleep in the dark. When Stacey stayed with him, she always wore a sleep mask to block out the light. Ever since he’d lost his parents—in an auto accident, when he was five years old—the dark had made him think of them locked up in their black, airless coffins.
In the drawer of the bedside table, the silk mask smelled of lavender and sage and something else uniquely Stacey. The smooth cloth pressed to his mouth, made him long for her soft lips and fierce kisses.
His last thought before sleep was a comfort; his breathing slowed as the idea took root. He hadn’t lied to the detective. Antelope had never asked if he’d left the apartment last night, so there had been no reason to offer any information. His legal training was clear and unequivocal: don’t answer a question that hasn’t been asked.
CHAPTER 10
Val Campion sat on the hood of his gold Lincoln Town Car, smoking a Cuban cigar and enjoying the stars as they showed themselves one by one in the purple sky. Music and laughter escaped from the club and lifted his spirits. Sometimes he needed to be alone with his thoughts. The police had come about the dead woman.
It had been a long time since anyone had questioned him. He lived as he pleased and answered to no one; he was an outlaw, under the radar.
He’d known about his nephew’s involvement with her before Jack had told him. He made it his business to know what went on in the lives of those he loved. Jack was a fool. He’d set himself up for trouble with this business with the girl.
Did he think she’d leave her world for him? We are what we are, Val thought. Change is hard. Lovers think love solves everything and it solves nothing.
Life had taught him different. If you wanted misery, you chose love.
He stayed free of women and their traps. His rule—Don’t commit to one woman—made it easy. Having more than one woman kept him from being dragged around by the nose, heart, and balls by any of them. If you have just one woman, he thought, you think you can’t live without her.
Jack had forgotten about the rule when he met this woman, and that had made him vulnerable and dangerous. Before the woman came along, Jack had his pick of the dancers, and why hadn’t it been enough? Greed led to trouble. If Jack had followed his advice, the woman might still be alive.
The only way to protect himself and Jack was to stay close to the situation. One of his dancers was in the middle of the whole mess. He would make his move tonight, after the club closed down. But first he would enjoy watching her dance.
He heard the voices of the audience through the open window. On Saturday night they always drew a sizable crowd. His favorite attraction—a marketing idea he’d come up with himself, Legs and Eggs—brought customers in for a morning breakfast show.
The Astro Lounge kept a low profile in the community. T
hough it was alternately referred to as a bar, lounge, nightclub, and dance club, everyone knew it was a strip club, even the schoolkids who passed by on their way to Bridger Elementary School.
CHAPTER 11
The news of Stacey Hart’s murder didn’t slow the Saturday night action in Rock Springs. It was a great night to party. All over town the bars were packed, doors open to the warm summer night; couples laughed; men grabbed at women who didn’t object.
Daylight lingered long into the evening in the high desert. Antelope loved these summer nights full of lightness and expectation. The sun set late, well past nine. Fading light cast long, purple shadows along the streets.
When the deputies couldn’t locate Swailes, Antelope had authorized a surveillance of the back entrance of his place, hidden at the end of a narrow lane off a side street in old town. His room at the cottage was clean, his clothing and toiletries were there—no sign he’d left town in a hurry.
Antelope pulled into the parking lot of the Burger Bar on Pilot Butte, across from the Astro Lounge. Time to visit Swailes’s uncle, Val Campion.
Inside, four security guards, Campion’s private security team, manned the premises, disguised as regular patrons. Unrecognizable to most folks in the audience until trouble started and they stepped up, sudden as flashing lights on unmarked cars.
The vibe in the club was dark and decadent with an under-current of crime—a sense of something not right, of something sinister about to happen. Antelope felt at home in the Astro, and he wondered what that said about him.
Most bars lured customers in with neon lights and open doors, loud music, and the promise of excitement. The Astro, in contrast, showed a plain face to the world—a beige stucco building, the name painted in plain red. Advertised as “The World Famous Astro Lounge” with the tagline “Serving Mankind,” it was known as the best adult club in Wyoming and drew customers from bordering states and beyond.
From the burger joint’s parking lot, Antelope downed his double cheeseburger and large order of fries and watched the evening clientele enter the Astro Lounge. From all walks of life and every age group, they had one thing in common: each one wore a hat to shield his face.
On a Quiet Street Page 4