Текст книги "Malevolent"

Автор книги: Jana Deleon

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“And when he gets bored with that?” Corrine asked.

“He’ll kill her.”

Chapter Eight

Shaye tossed and turned in her bed, unable to relax. Every time she started to doze off, Eleonore’s words echoed through her mind on stereo. Before she’d even asked for her opinion, Shaye already knew that Eleonore would say the stalker’s ultimate plan was to kill Emma. He was a cat with a mouse, playing with her until the fun was gone. But hearing Eleonore say it made it more real. More immediate.

Her foot began to ache and she flung the covers off and sat up, drawing her leg up so she could rub her foot. She’d had two surgeries to try to fix the damage, and they’d succeeded in allowing her to walk without a limp, but the pain was never completely gone. It remained there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice to remind her that she wasn’t the same as other people and never would be.

Rain must be coming. It always ached more when it rained.

The massage didn’t seem to be working, so she climbed out of bed and headed into the kitchen for aspirin. She’d learned the hard way that the longer she waited to take something, the worse it got, and it took twice as long for the pain to subside.

The bottle of aspirin was still on the kitchen counter where Corrine had left it. Between the stalker talk and the wine, her mother’s head had probably been on the edge of explosion. At least, that was the way she described it. Shaye dumped a couple of aspirin into her palm and tossed them back with a big gulp of water. Time to grab her laptop and head back to bed.

Then she heard a scraping noise outside.

She froze, trying to identify the source and location of the sound, but all she heard was the low rumble of distant thunder. She went back to her bedroom and grabbed her pistol, then systematically checked every window in the apartment. The streetlights were dim, and with the impending storm, no moonlight was available to improve visibility.

The street appeared quiet. No sign of movement, not even an automobile.

Then she heard the noise again.

This time she was certain it came from the courtyard between her apartment and the building next to hers. She grabbed a spotlight from her bedroom closet and placed her ear against the side door that led into the courtyard. It was quiet now, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there. The storm hadn’t moved in yet, so the air was still—no wind to blow things around and create the noise. And the only items contained in the courtyard were the trash cans for the building occupants and a tiny wrought iron table and two chairs that sat under a tree in front of the back wall of the courtyard.

She sat the floodlight on the floor next to the door, disarmed the alarm, and inched back the dead bolt. She turned the doorknob slowly, then pushed the door open a tiny bit and slid her foot against it to keep it from closing again. She switched her pistol to her right hand and reached down to pick up the spotlight with her left, then she counted to three and threw the door open.

She jumped out, clicked on the spotlight, and directed it down the breezeway toward the brick wall. The breezeway was empty, but twenty feet away, one of the trash cans moved. She trained her pistol on the cans. “I’ve got a weapon. Come out of there.”

The can rattled again and its shadow cast across the breezeway morphed as if something behind it had moved. Her finger tightened on the trigger and she felt her chest constrict. Her pulse beat in her throat and her temples, pounding like a jackhammer. She inched forward.

“Come out or I’ll shoot.”

One of the cans swayed and a black-and-white cat jumped on top of it and let out a loud meow. She jumped back, and the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding came out in a whoosh.

“Damn it, cat. Are you trying to get shot?”

The cat sat and started cleaning its paw. Shaye shot it a disgusted look and hurried back inside. She locked the door, slid the dead bolt into place and leaned back against it, willing her pulse to slow. All that aggravation and stress over an alley cat.

If you were still living with Corrine, you’d probably be asleep.

She pushed herself away from the door and headed into the kitchen. To hell with sleep. If her mind worked better at night, then so be it. She’d work at night and catch a nap in the daytime. What was the use of being your own boss if you couldn’t make the rules?

###

From the rooftop across the street, he watched as she slammed the door to her apartment shut. He lowered the night-vision goggles and frowned. He’d been right. She was no interior decorator. He’d thought he recognized her when he saw her at the house. It had taken him several hours to locate the old copy of New Orleans Magazine that had the picture he remembered. The girl in the photo was younger than the woman he’d seen with Emma, but he was certain it was the same person.

Shaye Archer.

Once he had a name, it took no time to find out everything he needed to know about Shaye’s life, her family, and most importantly, her new business venture. He’d almost tired of clicking on links when he came across her website. He’d smirked when he read the home page. Private investigator. What in the world were poor little rich debutantes going to think up next to waste everyone’s time? The thought of that inexperienced, frail-looking girl getting the better of him was laughable.

But she was messing up his game.

He wanted Emma alone and frightened. Allies and others who would bolster her confidence and keep her from falling apart would interfere with his fun. No way was he allowing a stupid twit like Shaye Archer to detract from his pleasure. Something would have to be done, but first, he had to make sure he knew where to find her when he was ready to strike.

When he saw the address on the website, he figured she was using the apartment for both her living quarters and her office, but he needed to be sure.

It had been a simple matter to put fish behind the trash cans in the breezeway, then drop fishy liquid from the freezer bag along the sidewalk to where he’d spotted the cat. Then he’d climbed atop the building across the street and waited. He’d wondered, at first, if he’d miscalculated, because lights were on in the apartment. She might be working late, but that wouldn’t indicate she was living there. But when she’d burst outside barefoot and wearing gym shorts and a tank, he knew she’d been in bed.

With every light in the apartment on.

Apparently, Miss Archer was afraid of the dark.

Chapter Nine

Jackson slipped his cell phone into his pocket and looked across the desk at Vincent. So far, he’d spent the morning at the very dangerous job of completing paperwork and fetching Vincent coffee. He could almost feel himself aging in place. “We got anything up right now?” he asked.

“Paperwork from that drug bust last week,” Vincent said. “Since you had the better view of everything that went down, I figure you need to do the write-up.”

Translation: Because I’m lazy, I waited out back while you busted in and did all the hard work. Because I’m super lazy, I think you should do all the paperwork as well.

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “I started it already. Got about thirty minutes or so on it to finish. If that’s all, I’m going to take off for an hour or so. I got to talk with my landlord about some maintenance problems.”

Vincent barely glanced at him. “Sure. Take whatever you need. If we get a call, I’ll let you know.”

Jackson struggled to keep the disgusted look off his face. They weren’t likely to get a call unless no one else was available or Vincent downed a case of energy drinks and a bucketful of courage. The man apparently intended to spend the rest of his career cruising into retirement, and if he had his way, Jackson would be sitting in the passenger’s seat, snoozing along.

At 10:00 a.m., the drive across the French Quarter was a fairly easy one. He located a parking spot half a block away from the café he was looking for and headed up the street. It was a tiny place, maybe fifteen tables total, and had a surprising amount of natural light from front and side windows. At a table in the back corner, Shaye was easy to spot. There were only two other patrons, an elderly couple sitting near the front. Otherwise, the place was empty.

Shaye was watching as he came in, and he gave her a nod and headed for her table. As he slid into the chair across from her, he noticed the huge coffee cup with a single packet of artificial sweetener in front of him.

“Black, right?” Shaye asked.

He poured the sweetener into the cup and stirred. “Good memory.”

“It’s not a difficult order.”

“No, but most people wouldn’t have noticed.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Touché.” He knew Shaye wasn’t most people. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but only a few minutes of exposure to the young PI had fascinated him. Had him wondering what made someone like Shaye Archer tick. When he’d gotten back to the police station, he’d pulled out his personal cell phone and searched the Internet for information on her. He’d expected to find a Facebook page full of pictures with college girlfriends and family. He’d been shocked when the first five pages were full of news articles about Shaye and her missing past.

He’d spent two hours reading through the stories and finally risked searching police records, even though he knew if Vincent caught him, he’d crawl all the way up his ass to Alaska. If Vincent never heard the name Shaye Archer again, it would probably be too soon. Jackson doubted his so-called superior officer had made the connection between Shaye and the girl Detective Beaumont had pulled off the street years ago, even though he was working at the precinct at that time. But then these days, Vincent didn’t seem to notice much besides the clock hitting five.

If the news articles had been disturbing, the police reports had been downright horrifying. Even now, sitting across from her, he marveled that she could sit there so normal, so sane.

So beautiful.

He took a drink of his coffee. Where the hell had that come from?

“You said you wanted to talk,” he said, forcing all thoughts of anything but business out of his mind.

Shaye nodded. “A couple of things have happened. Emma isn’t interested in being mocked again, but you said to call if I got something.”

“Definitely. What’s going on?”

Shaye told him about Emma’s car trouble and the returned scarf.

“Do you think the skater could identify the man?” he asked.

Shaye opened her phone and showed Jackson a picture of David Grange. “I tracked him down and showed him this photo. Obviously, the man who had the scarf wasn’t David, but the skater said it looked enough like him that they could be related.”

Jackson blew out a breath. “Which supports Emma’s insane claim that she saw her husband in her house. With only moonlight, looking through that tiny hole in the wall, and terrified, I can see why that’s the first thing she thought.”

“That’s not all. Yesterday, I met her at the house to have a look around.” Shaye pulled a card out of her purse and slid it across the table. “He left this on her front steps while we were inside. It’s a birthday card—one that she’d thrown away.”

Jackson stared. “In broad daylight?”

“Yeah.”

Jackson pulled out the card and saw the inscription “Happy Birthday, my darling. David.”

He slipped the card back into the envelope and looked at Shaye. Her expression reflected everything he was thinking—this was bad. Whoever was after Emma Frederick was crafty and cruel, and seemed to have no fear of discovery. The more unpredictable, the more dangerous.

“I assume Ms. Frederick is staying somewhere else?” he asked.

“She’s been staying in a hotel since the night he broke into her house. Given that he found her at the shop in Bywater, I had her change hotels yesterday. She probably burned a tank of gas driving around before checking in, just to make sure no one was following her.” Shaye tapped her fingers on the table. “He’s not going to stop. Not until she’s dead.”

“I know.”

“Is there anything you can do about it?”

He knew the question was coming. Had known it since he’d heard about the car battery and the scarf. “Not officially. Not until there’s some sort of threat.”

He didn’t blame Shaye for the disgusted look she gave him. At the moment, he felt the same way.

Shaye shook her head. “You and I both know that everything I just told you is a threat. Hell, he’s coming right out and telling Emma he can get to her any time he wants to.”

“The law doesn’t see it that way, and even if we could convince other people that everything Emma says is the gospel, we have no idea who this person is. We can’t arrest a shadow.” He blew out a breath. “How much do you know about David Grange?”

“Very little. I tried the usual Internet searches, but it returned sixteen thousand matches. I went through a couple hundred pages before giving up. The images were the same.”

He nodded. “We checked for a criminal record when Emma filed her report on the assault and it came up clean. I imagine a person like Grange would keep a low profile. I wouldn’t expect to find him posting selfies on Twitter or anything.”

“I didn’t really have an expectation that I’d find anything, but I had to try.”

Jackson ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Look, there’s nothing I can do in a professional capacity…not on the record, anyway. But let me see if I can run down anything on David Grange—brothers, cousins.”

“That’s my plan for the day. I’ve got a meeting with his former boss in an hour, but if you can find out something, I won’t turn down the help.”

“It’s a long shot, but I’ll give it a whirl. I might not be able to get to it until this evening, though. If Vincent catches me helping you, he’ll have me demoted.”

“For helping a woman being stalked?”

“For helping someone without hard evidence, especially the woman who cut him off at the knees and got him razzed by rookies for an hour.”

She gave him a rueful look. “At least that’s something. So he’s really that big of a douche bag?”

“And then some. He’s been looking for a way to take me down a peg ever since they assigned me to him. So far, he’s managed to submarine my career through inactivity. If I gave him a reason to cause me more grief, he would take it in a heartbeat.”

“Why don’t you complain to his superior?”

“I’m the new guy. Maybe when I’ve been there a couple years, and if my nose is clean, someone will listen. But right now, the old guys see me as a new face that probably won’t last long. A lot of guys do a turn in New Orleans, then move on to the suburbs for less stress and a higher paycheck.”

Shaye frowned. “I owe you an apology.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’ve been judging you unfairly. My mother is a social worker, so I hear all about the politics of government work. I wasn’t extrapolating that same set of nonsense to police work. It was shortsighted of me.”

“The politics are the most frustrating part of my job.”

“My mother’s as well, and that’s saying a lot in both cases given what you do. Anyway, I appreciate any information you can provide, but I don’t want you to risk your job or your reputation in doing it.”

“There’s way more at stake than my job.”

Shaye’s expression darkened. “Yeah.”

“Remember when I told you to be careful? I’m telling you again. I’d bet anything he saw you at Ms. Frederick’s house. If he thinks you’re in the way…”

“I had a cover…interior decorator, complete with sample books. But I’m being careful. I’m always careful.”

He nodded, but her assertion didn’t do anything to lessen the nagging dread that was starting to consume him. Given her past, Shaye Archer was probably one of the most careful women in New Orleans. But she still wasn’t any match for a psychopath.

Especially an unknown one.

Chapter Ten

Emma rushed across the hospital parking lot to the entrance. She’d parked in the visitor area, and if anyone had a problem with it, they could kiss her ass. If someone insisted she park in the garage with the other employees, she’d give them her two minutes’ notice. She’d been struggling with the decision all morning at the hotel. She’d had room service for breakfast and lunch, too scared to leave her room, all the time dreading going to work because the hospital was the easiest place to find her.

When she entered the hospital, she headed straight for the security office and was relieved to see Jeremy watching the monitors. He looked up as she entered and smiled. “Afternoon, Ms. Frederick. You get your car looked at?”

“Yes. I wanted to thank you again for getting it running. I took it to the mechanic yesterday.”

“They get you back to a hundred percent?”

“Yes, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The mechanic said there was practically no chance the terminal came off accidentally.”

Jeremy frowned. “He thinks it was deliberate? But who would do that?”

“I’ve been having some trouble since David…anyway, I think someone’s following me, trying to scare me.”

Jeremy straightened in his seat, clearly concerned. “If someone’s bothering you, then you need to go to the police.”

“I have, and there’s nothing they can do. There’s been no threat, and I have no idea who it is. But I’m not interested in becoming a victim in order for them to have a clue.”

“Of course not!”

“Anyway, all of this is to say that I parked in the visitor’s section in front of the building, so please don’t have me towed.”

Jeremy nodded. “And don’t you go walking out to that car without me.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“Be careful, Ms. Frederick.”

Emma nodded and headed out of the security office. She was so preoccupied that when she rounded the corner into the hallway, she almost ran right into a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh,” she said as she drew up short, then took a step back. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” a voice said, and the flowers lowered.

A man’s face emerged and his eyes widened. “Emma?”

She slowed her racing mind long enough to focus on the man with the flowers. “Stephen. It’s been a long time.”

She’d dated Stephen for three years of high school. He was the only child of one of New Orleans’s “good” families and had a bright future ahead of him following in his father’s footsteps as a lawyer. He was good-looking, popular, and intelligent, but he’d been more invested in their relationship than Emma. When she got word of her college scholarship in Dallas, Stephen had begged her to stay, even said he’d marry her, which probably would have sent his highbrow parents over the edge. But aside from knowing she wasn’t remotely ready to be a wife, Emma also wasn’t convinced that Stephen was “the one.”

The breakup had been heart-wrenching. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him and had been surprised with how badly he’d taken her rejection of the marriage proposal, but over the summer, his feelings cooled and they were on decent terms when she left for school. He even helped her pack her car. They’d stayed in touch by email for six months or so, then as most college students do, they got involved in their campus lives, and communication got less frequent until it finally stopped altogether.

“When did you move back?” he asked.

“About a year ago.”

“You look great,” he said with a huge smile. “But then, you always did.”

“Thanks. So do you.” And he did. He’d put on some bulk since high school, and his long wavy locks were darker and military short, but he still had the chiseled face and wide grin.

“Do you work here?” he asked. “Wow. That’s a stupid question given that you’re wearing a badge.”

“I’m a critical care nurse.”

“Wow. That’s a tough area.”

“It is, but it’s also very rewarding. I considered working for a specialist—weekday office hours and a regular schedule were tempting—but ultimately, I felt trauma was my calling.”

“I bet you’re great at it. You were always the calm in the middle of a storm.” His smile vanished and he shuffled in place. “I heard about…you know. I’m really sorry, Emma. I can’t imagine how horrible all that has been for you.”

“Thank you. It’s been…something. I don’t know that I can even describe it.”

“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I know we haven’t been in touch for a while, but I’m always there for you. We should get together for lunch or dinner and catch up—whatever works for your schedule.”

“That would be great.”

He put the flowers down and pulled a card out from his wallet and handed it to her. “Business hours you can reach me at the firm. My cell number’s on the bottom.”

Emma took the card and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you. I’ll give you a call as soon as I catch a break.”

“It was good seeing you again,” he said, and gave her arm a squeeze.

“You too. I have to run or I’ll be late for my shift.”

She gave him a wave and hurried down the hall to clock in.

It had been nice seeing Stephen again—a smiling face from her past. She’d been gone for so long that most of her old friends had moved. A couple still remained, but they were knee-deep in baby diapers, a completely different place in life than Emma. Maybe when all of this was over, she’d take Stephen up on that offer for a meal and conversation. Right now, she wasn’t about to take the chance of bringing someone else into her circle. She was already worried about Shaye. She didn’t need another person on her conscience.

###

Shaye walked down the hallway of Wellman Oil and Gas and knocked on the door at the end of the hall. The nameplate on the door read “Richard LeDoux—Operations Manager.”

“Come in,” a deep voice yelled from inside.

Shaye opened the door and stepped inside. The man behind the desk waved at her as he yelled at someone on the phone. He was a big guy—muscles clearly visible beneath his polo shirt with the oil company logo on it—and younger than Shaye had expected. She’d figured that the man yelling behind the door would be midfifties. To have this position so young, Mr. LeDoux was either born into the right family or had serious skills. Since his last name wasn’t Wellman, she was going with the latter.

“That’s not negotiable,” he said and slammed the phone down. He looked up at Shaye and waved her to the chair across the desk from him. “Please sit. I’m sorry for the language. No, that’s not true. I’m not really sorry as the jackass deserved every word I said, but I apologize that you had to hear it.”

“That’s all right. I’ve had a word or two for jackasses in my day.”

He smiled. “Kindred spirits then. What can I do for you, Ms. Archer? Greta said you needed some information on a former employee? You don’t look like a cop or one of those hard-ons from an insurance company.”

“I’m neither.” She pulled out a business card and passed it to him.

His eyebrows went up. “PI? You look like you should still be in college. You must be one of those annoying overachievers.”

“I suppose you would know.”

He stared for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess I would. So what can I do you for, Shaye Archer, Private Investigator?”

“I wanted to know what you could tell me about David Grange.”

“Well, he used to work here and now he’s dead.”

“I know the highlights. I’m working for his wife.”

Richard frowned. “I didn’t think the state was pressing charges, given the circumstances and all. That’s what they said on the news, anyway.”

“There are no charges against my client for David’s death. She hired me because she’s being stalked, and the stalker is leaving her mementos related to David.”

“Seriously? Man, that is screwed up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I can tell you aside from his job description and pay range. There were several levels of management between us, so aside from a brief conversation the day he interviewed, I never really talked to him.”

“Would you be willing to check his personnel file and see if he listed any next of kin other than Emma?”

“Sure. If you think it will help.”

“I honestly don’t know, but I’m checking everything I can. Would it be all right if I spoke to the employees who worked with him?”

Richard reached for his keyboard and started typing. “You’ll want to talk to Charlie Evans. The assistants work in pairs, so if anyone knows something about David, it will probably be Charlie.” He stopped typing and looked at the screen. “And it looks like you’re in luck. Charlie’s crew just got back from offshore.”

He grabbed his phone. “Hey, send Charlie Evans to the conference room. There’s someone who needs to speak to him.” He hung up and rose from his chair. “I hope it’s okay if I set you up in the conference room. I would stick around but I have a meeting with the owners in ten minutes.”

“That’s no problem at all.”

Richard opened his office door and she followed him back up the hall to the first room on the right. He flipped on the light and waved her inside. “I’ll have Greta check that personnel file for you. If you need to talk to anyone else, let her know and she’ll run them down if they’re here, give you contact information for them if they’re not.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate all your help.”

He grinned and winked at her, then hurried back down the hallway. Shaye poured herself a cup of water from the cooler in the corner. If Charlie Evans was as helpful as Richard, and actually knew something relevant, today might start looking up.

A couple of minutes later, a scruffy blond-haired man walked into the conference room and gave her a wary glance. Shaye put him late twenties to early thirties, and he had a look about him that said he was no stranger to trouble.

“The boss says you wanted to see me,” he said.

“Yes. My name is Shaye Archer.” She stuck out her hand. Charlie gave it a single shake and released it almost immediately. “Why don’t you have a seat?” she said.

Charlie pulled out one of the chairs and dropped into it, his arms crossed. Shaye shut the door to the conference room and sat on the same side of the table as him but a little ways down. Enough space to keep him from being crowded, but no table in between to make him feel like he was on trial. Eleonore had taught her well.

“I’m a private investigator working for David Grange’s wife,” Shaye said.

Charlie’s eyes widened. “This is about David?”

She nodded and his shoulders relaxed a little. Apparently, Charlie thought his own butt was in a sling. Now that he knew the summons wasn’t about him, he wasn’t as anxious. “Ms. Grange has had some trouble lately. Someone is harassing her, and they seem to know a lot about David and their marriage.”

“She don’t know who it is?”

“No. But he’s gone so far as to break into her house, so she’s rightfully scared.”

“Why don’t the police do something?”

“They don’t have any evidence to work with.”

Charlie snorted. “And Emma ain’t got the clout to make them jump. Cops suck.”

“The rules suck.”

He shrugged. “Amounts to the same thing for the people who need help, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does. Can you tell me anything about David—specifically about family, friends, his past?”

“Ron got him the interview. Said they were cousins. He didn’t talk about no other family, except Emma, of course.”

“Was he friends with any of the other employees?”

“Not really.” He shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, I know you ain’t supposed to speak ill of the dead and all, but the truth is I didn’t like David much. He was weird—nice one minute, then he’d completely lose his shit the next. It’s hard to be around people when you don’t know what’s going to set them off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like this one time when we was offshore, some of us were playing poker. Willie was talking smack about his own mom, saying as how she was a crazy bitch who’d ran his dad off and probably caused his heart attack. David gets all antsy and tells Willie to shut up—that he didn’t know anything and maybe his dad was just another piece of shit that abandoned his family because it was convenient.”

“Willie’s talk made David mad.”

“More like furious. I know it probably sounded bad, but in Willie’s defense, I’ve known his family my whole life and his mother is definitely a crazy bitch. I’m surprised his dad stuck around as long as he did.”

“What did David do?” she asked.

“Willie told him to shut up since he didn’t know nothing about nothing. David’s face turns dark red and before we knew it, he flips the table over and launches across it, grabbing Willie by the throat. It took four of us to pry him off of Willie. If we hadn’t been there…”

“You think David would have killed Willie?”

“I know it. If you coulda seen the look on his face. I ain’t never seen anyone look that way. Don’t ever want to again.”

“Did you report what happened to management?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“No. Willie didn’t want to be on the hook for someone losing his job. A couple of us tried to talk Willie into reporting it, but he said David was a soldier and we should all cut him some slack this once. Willie served too. His whole family did. Willie said sometimes you see things that screw with you, and hopefully, David would work it out.”

“Did Willie ever talk to David about the attack?”

“No. We left the rig the next day and David was killed a couple days after.”

“But that’s not the only time David lost his temper?”

Charlie shook his head. “It was the only time he got physical, but he yelled at people a lot. Sometimes he’d sit out on the deck and just stare across the Gulf. I could see his lips moving, but wasn’t nobody out there with him.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Don’t tell anyone I said it, but it kinda creeped me out.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Since her first conversation with Emma, Shaye had found the case chock-full of creepy. “So there’s nothing else you can tell me about David’s past, no other friends or family that he mentioned?”

“Nah. I mostly kept quiet around him. I always had this feeling he was going to blow someday, you know? That thing with Willie confirmed it.”

“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” She pulled out her card and handed it to Charlie. “If you think of anything that might help, please give me a call.”

He nodded and rose from the chair. He stuffed the card in his jeans pocket and headed out of the room, pausing at the door. “I hope you catch the guy,” he said. “I only met Emma once, but she seemed like a nice lady.”