Текст книги "I'll Never Let You Go"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” She dug deep for a bright smile, but she couldn’t find one. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, honey.”

Leah grabbed her purse and coat from her office, and as she exited through the back door, her hand on her Mace, she paused to scan the parking lot. She approached her car carefully, glancing in the backseat.

As she put her key in the lock, she hesitated, the hair on the back of her neck rising. She turned and scanned the parking lot, searching for anyone who might be watching her. There were only Gail and Dr. Nelson’s cars in the lot, but across the street, the strip mall was filled with cars. Anyone could be sitting in a car watching the people around the shopping center. And each shop window was large, designed so that customers could gaze inside at the merchandise.

But the windows were also for the monsters who liked to hide in plain sight, day and night, watching their prey.

Chapter Fourteen

Thursday, January 19, 6:30 P.M.

Leah arrived at the coffee shop just after six thirty. The café had a collection of small tables and, at the far end, a large glass counter filled with sweet and savory pastries. The air was heavy with the scent of coffee, cinnamon, and chocolate.

She moved to the counter and ordered a large coffee and a cheese pizza. Within minutes she’d settled at a table near the back wall. She faced the front door, which allowed her a clear view of everyone who entered. Back to the wall, she faced the door and counted the exits. Maybe one day she wouldn’t think so strategically when she entered a store or restaurant, but she doubted that day would come anytime soon.

She bit into her pizza and savored the taste of melted Swiss cheese and the blend of oregano and basil on the warm crust. She hadn’t eaten out in a long time. Too many people watching, too exposed. But tonight she didn’t want to worry. She wanted to enjoy her life, and maybe she’d add having fun to her growing list of resolutions.

Bells over the front door jingled and a cold blast of air elbowed its way into the room. Her gaze lifted, careful and wary, until she spotted a couple entering the coffee shop arm in arm, smiling. She noted the woman’s relaxed posture and the way she slung her arm casually over the man’s. He smiled down at her, and they laughed at a private joke. Envy jabbed at Leah. She doubted she’d ever enjoyed that kind of trust or joy, even in the early days with Philip.

On the heels of the couple, a final blast of cold air shoved David inside. The collar of his overcoat was turned up, and his thick hair had been tossed by the wind. Briefcase in hand, he looked every bit the professional. She’d never seen him dressed for work before, and though he’d always looked sharp working out, now he was distinguished. She waited for the flutter of attraction that would have been a normal response but none came.

He raised a gloved hand, smiled, and moved straight to the counter to place an order.

Coffee cup in hand, he moved toward her. She rose and smiled.

He set his cup down and reached over to hug her. The move was easy, relaxed, meant to be a gesture of friendship. She ordered her muscles to relax and gave him a quick hug, patting his back softly while keeping distance between their bodies. His faint cologne teased her nose. “David. How’re you doing?”

Straightening, he pulled off his coat and slung it over a spare chair before sitting. “I’m rattled as hell. How’re you doing? I can’t stop thinking about Deidre.”

“I’m still stunned,” Leah said.

“Me too. She was awesome. I really liked her.” He reached for two packets of sugar and dumped them in his coffee. “The cop said you found her.”

Images of Deidre, dead, upended her calm. “I did.”

He sipped his coffee, staring at her as if waiting for her to share details of the crime scene. She hadn’t told anyone at the clinic about the murder, and now to discuss it with David smacked of dishonor.

Understanding her hesitation but not ready to surrender, he hurried on to say, “It’s just so terrible. The cop came to see me. He had all kinds of questions. It almost felt like I was some kind of suspect.”

She reached for a piece of her pizza but realized her appetite had vanished. Many shared David’s morbid curiosity. She supposed that didn’t make him evil, just human. However, fear whispered, Smiles and nice clothes don’t mean he’s good either.

As if it were an annoying fly, she brushed fear aside. “What kind of questions did they ask?”

“Basically, if I knew of anyone who might have been bothering her. Did I see anything or notice anyone who set off alarm bells?”

What secrets hid behind his beautiful mask of concern? Deidre had said he once joked he was a man of secrets. “Did you?”

He tapped his index finger against his coffee cup. “No. I never saw anything. She never spoke about her ex-husband, but I’m wondering now if he could have been behind this.”

“Deidre didn’t talk to me about her personal life. If I hadn’t seen you two at Rudy’s on Saturday night, I’d have never known you were dating.”

“I wouldn’t say we were dating. Friends. With benefits. But no romance. Just laughs.” He sipped his coffee. “Have you heard when the funeral is going to be?”

“No.” She hadn’t attended Philip’s funeral, but months after the attack, when she’d regained some of her strength, she’d visited his grave. Fresh flowers had adorned the site, and she guessed that had been his grandmother’s doing. Myrna had adored her grandson. Leah had knelt in front of the stone for a long time, tracing her fingers over the raised letters of his name. She’d barely glanced at the year of his birth, but she’d stared at the date of his death for a long time. She’d thanked God he was dead. “I’ll be there.”

“Me too.”

She traced the rim of her cup. “That last morning you two ran. You ran extra miles that day.”

“She wanted to grind out five more miles and I was game. Not many people can keep pace with me, but she could. She challenged me.”

“Not every man likes to be challenged.”

“I liked it.”

A half smile tipped her lips as she weighed his words against his tone. “She was a great athlete.” She lifted her cup to her lips and paused. “You didn’t see anyone at the park that day?”

He sipped his coffee, sat back, and appraised her with a wary eye. “You sound like a cop.”

“Sorry. Most women who’re murdered are killed by someone they know.” During Philip’s stalking, she’d had a therapist suggest her husband could kill her. She’d dismissed the idea as preposterous. Her therapist had leaned forward in his chair, looked her in the eye, and said, “Seventy percent of the time, women are killed by someone who loved them.”

But David had said he didn’t love Deidre. Friends with benefits.

“I’ve called my lawyer,” he said.

“Why?”

“I didn’t hurt her. I can’t help the cops. But I only trust the system so far. Things get twisted. Evidence gets messed up or misinterpreted. It never hurts to have an attorney.”

Until now, her opinion of David had rested on his looks and athletic talent. Now, she decided, she didn’t like him very much. He wasn’t worried about Deidre. Only himself.

She checked her watch. “David, I really have to get going. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, sure. But you haven’t eaten.”

She pushed her plate away, her stomach knotting. “I’m not hungry.”

“Can I have it? God, I’m starved.”

“Yeah, sure. Help yourself.” She rose and pulled her coat off the back of her chair. He moved to stand, but she stopped him. “It’s okay. See you soon.”

She left him eating her pizza. Bells jingled overhead as she tugged open the door. An icy brace of air stung her face. As she zipped up her coat, she glanced back into the coffee shop. David, smiling now, had his head bowed as he typed into his cell phone. Deidre, what did you see in that guy?

She burrowed her hands into her coat pockets and moved down the street toward her car. As she walked along the cold, nearly deserted streets, her senses tingled, as if someone was watching her. The feeling grew so acute, she stopped and looked back, half-expecting to see someone there. But the street was empty. No sound of footsteps. No lingering shadows.

A chill rushed up her spine as she hurried to her car. She glanced in the darkened backseat and, satisfied it was empty, unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. Immediately, she locked the doors. The drive home took less than fifteen minutes, and she was grateful to pull the door to her town home behind her and lock it. She reached for the dead bolt, clicked it open and then clicked it closed again. Three times. Locked. Safe.

Shrugging off her coat, she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and changed into sweats and a T-shirt. She scrubbed her face clean of makeup. Without makeup, under the soft glow of the bathroom lights, her scars brightened. Gently, she traced the jagged line across her chin.

Next, she allowed her gaze to drop to the scars she so often ignored. Carefully, she fingered the slash above her left breast and the short, jagged scar along her collarbone. The scars, like memories of her marriage, had faded but were not forgotten. And as hard as she worked to deny them, in the end they were always lurking, waiting to be unmasked.

When she turned from the mirror, she wasn’t upset or troubled by her scars. Like DNA, the scars were an undeniable part of her. A readiness to move forward washed over her. Time to abandon the past’s lonely road. Life brought enough darkness without her stirring up what had passed.

She dressed in pajamas and moved into the living room. There, she flipped through the day’s mail, which was mostly bills. The last envelope was light purple and hand-addressed, clearly personal. She turned over the envelope and saw her aunt’s return address. They spoke from time to time. Her aunt had slipped into the spot her mother had once filled. But the handwriting didn’t quite match her aunt’s.

Carefully, she tore open the end of the envelope and removed the card. On the cover was an adorable black Lab. Touched that her aunt remembered her love of Labs, she flipped open the card. It read, “Thinking of you.”

She turned the card over to see if there were any other notes, but the rest of the card was blank. She checked her watch and realized it was early in Oregon so she dialed her aunt’s number.

She answered on the third ring. Her voice sounded rough and heavy, as if she suffered from a cold. “Hello.”

“Aunt Jane, it’s Leah.”

“Leah? This is out of the blue. Is everything all right?” In the background, a television hummed with the sounds of a game show.

“Everything is fine. The job is going well and I seem to be settling into the new town house.”

“Something must be wrong.” Her tone had grown stern.

Leah deserved her aunt’s skepticism. She’d called too many times, terrified and scared, in moments when she’d imagined Philip lurking in the back booth of a café or hovering at the edge of an alley. The shrink had said it was PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. He’d given her tranquilizers, which she’d never taken. “No, it’s all good. I got your card and wanted to thank you for sending it. I love the Lab puppy on the front.”

A silence followed. “Leah, I didn’t send you a card.”

“The card has your home address on it.”

“Leah, I didn’t send it.”

Her smile flattened to a frown. “Are you sure?”

“Honey, I know when I’ve sent out a card. You said there’s a Lab puppy on the front. What does it say on the inside?”

A tension crept up her back and circled around her throat, constricting her breath. “It says Thinking of You.”

“Is it signed?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s an old card, maybe one that got lost in the mail? I could have sent it last year.”

She picked up the envelope and rechecked the return address. The handwriting was bold and masculine. “It’s your new address. The house on Mulberry, so it can’t be more than a couple of months ago.”

“It didn’t come from me, honey.” Her aunt spoke carefully, as if fearing Leah would panic.

“Any relatives staying with you who might have sent it?” Leah stared at the card, all traces of goodwill fleeing as she struggled to find logic.

“No, hon. I just got back from my cruise, so no one has stayed with me in a while.”

The chill skimming along her skin grew colder. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Her aunt paused. “But Philip is dead.”

“Yes. Of course.” Her voice didn’t hold the conviction it should have.

“What about the local police? Have you called them?”

Several times in Knoxville, she’d imagined sounds and called the cops. They’d never found signs of any intruder. “A neighbor called them a month ago. I was having one of my nightmares, and they heard my screams. I’ve made a New Year’s resolution not to stress about sounds and noises.” She wanted to tell her aunt about Deidre, but that remained too painful.

“My word, I think the earth just stopped spinning.”

Her aunt’s dry tone coaxed a half laugh. “There’s life on the other side.”

“Yes, there is. And it’s good to hear you laugh, Leah. I’ve missed hearing you laugh.”

Leah traced the edges of the pup’s face on the card. “Aunt Jane, I’m not going to worry about this card. It’s some kind of odd mistake.”

“Of course it is. I wouldn’t worry, honey. I know, given your history, it’s natural to be worried and upset. But my guess is that the card is some kind of advertisement or mistake.”

Logic refused to listen to fear’s rants. “The envelope has your address and mine. Whoever sent this knows where we both live.” She glanced toward the front door and resisted the urge to test the lock. “Yesterday someone sent me flowers at work. They were addressed to me, and the card said Happy Anniversary.”

“Your wedding anniversary is a few days away. Could they’ve been for some other kind of celebration?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Leah, have you seen anyone around your town house?”

“No.”

“Has anyone been bothering you?”

“No.”

“What about odd phone calls?”

“Those are all the kind of things Philip did.”

“I know.” It wasn’t any one event but the drip, drip, drip of all those little things that coalesced into a flood.

“Did you call that South Carolina detective?”

“I left a voice mail. She hasn’t called me back yet. She probably thinks I’m back in crazy town.”

“You were never crazy. Never forget what happened was all Philip’s doing. How many days has it been since you called?”

“A few.”

“Why don’t you call her again tomorrow? Be polite and ask her about Philip. Just double-check. It will make you feel better. Do you think it could be Philip’s grandmother? She always took his side.”

An unspoken tension hummed between them. “His grandmother passed last year, but I know he had cousins and a half brother.” She moved toward the front door, peered past the drawn drapes at the dark parking lot. She double-checked the dead bolt on the door. Locked. “He also had friends who weren’t happy with me. They could have sent them.”

“How would they know our new addresses?”

“Philip was clever. No one ever questioned his intelligence. For all we know, there could be others in his family or at his old job just as clever.”

“Only a monster would support something like that.” Her aunt spoke carefully, as if speaking to a wild horse ready to spook. “Just call the detective tomorrow and save the card, like you had to do in the old days.”

Leah moved to her purse and pulled out her journal. “I’m sorry we can’t ever have a real conversation. I’m sorry there’s always a problem.”

“You didn’t deserve this. It was never your fault. And I’m happy to talk to you any time.”

“I insisted on dating Philip. Mom was against it, and we argued a few times about it.”

A sigh shuddered through the phone. “Maybe one day I’ll share with you some of the boneheaded things I did when I was young. And a few things your mother did as well.”

A mental picture of two mature women, neatly put together, didn’t jive with the confession. “You two couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You might be surprised. Just do me a favor and don’t let this throw you into a tailspin. Stay away from the cigarettes and keep going to your group meetings. You’re still going, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I went yesterday.” As much as Leah wanted to talk about Deidre, she didn’t dare. She’d brought more than enough trouble to her aunt’s doorstep and didn’t need to bring anymore.

“Are you going to be okay?”

She pulled a pen from her purse. “I’ll be fine. Sorry to bother you, Aunt Jane.”

“Don’t worry about it. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Call me when you figure this out.”

“I will.” She ended the call and immediately began to write about the incident in her journal.

Alex arrived at the state medical examiner’s office minutes after eight, a newly acquired file tucked under his arm. He approached reception, showed his badge, and stated he had an appointment with Dr. Heller. He’d only had minutes to wait before she appeared at the side door. Dark slacks and a chestnut-brown turtleneck accentuated her long frame. She wore her hair pinned up in a tight bun at the base of her neck. Reading glasses perched on her head.

She crossed the lobby, smiling. “Alex, what can I do for you?”

“I have a file I’d like you to review.”

“Sure. Come on back.” She scanned her card at the door and it clicked open, and the two moved to a small conference room off the lobby. She sat at the head of the table and he took the seat to her left. “What do you have for me?”

“It’s an autopsy report. Done by a coroner in South Carolina.”

“Okay.”

He pushed the file toward her. “Read it and let me know what you think. It’s only a couple of pages.”

She perched her glasses on her nose and leaned forward as she opened the file. She read the first page and frowned. The second page deepened that frown, and by the time she’d reached the third page, she looked puzzled.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s rather incomplete. The body was badly burned in the car accident, but there was no DNA testing done, nor were dental records pulled. The identification was made solely on a charred wallet at the scene, a ring on the victim’s finger, and hearsay from several witnesses.”

“If you were going to fake a death . . .”

“I’d pick a jurisdiction like this. It’s rural, the county coroner isn’t a medical professional by trade, and it would be a place where identification mistakes are likely. That’s not to say they didn’t ID the right guy. They may have, but I’d want more evidence to make a ruling.”

He sat back in his chair, almost sorry his instincts were proving correct. “Right.”

“Why pull this file?” She glanced at the name on the file again. “Why care about Philip Latimer? It’s way out of your jurisdiction. Why care about a guy who died in South Carolina four years ago?”

“Latimer was a police officer in Nashville until four years ago. His boss disciplined him when his estranged wife filed stalking charges against him. Latimer ended up trying to kill her.”

Frown lines appeared as she tapped a finger on the file. “I think I remember that case. She survived.”

“She did.” Alex mentally traced the scars on Leah’s palm, remembering their roughness. “Latimer stabbed his wife twenty-three times.”

Dr. Heller yanked off her glasses. “Deidre Jones was stabbed twenty-three times.”

“Yes, she was.”

“Are you suggesting a connection to the Deidre Jones case?”

“I am.”

She wrapped her index finger around a thin gold cross hanging from a chain around her neck and absently slid it back and forth. “How’d you come up with this guy’s name?”

“The woman who found Deidre’s body was Leah Carson. Also known as Leah Latimer. She was the wife Latimer stabbed twenty-three times. Deidre’s sister also got into serious trouble five years ago. Drugs. The arresting officer was Philip Latimer, and the key evidence in the case vanished.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I have no hard evidence, only a theory. I think Deidre approached Philip for a favor, and he helped her out. Then, a couple of months later, when he was on the run after nearly killing his wife, he called in Deidre’s favor. She helped him get out of town.”

A deep frown furrowed her brow. “And fake his death?”

“I don’t know. But you’re not happy with the quality of the report. And given the manner of Deidre’s death—twenty-three stab wounds—I’m wondering if Latimer might be alive.”

“Why come back after all this time?”

“Money. Deke had a suspicion Deidre was skimming money from some of her cases. Up until a month ago she worked hard at her job, and there were no whispers of scandal. Then money started vanishing. Maybe she got tired of paying and Latimer killed her.” That didn’t explain the John Doe at the warehouse, or how Deidre’s business card had ended up in a bag nearby. He didn’t have all the pieces but he would.

“You really think Deidre helped him?”

He always relied strongly on instinct. “I do.”

She closed the file, absently tapping her index finger on the folder. “Have there been any signs that Latimer is alive? Has anyone seen him?”

“If they have, they haven’t said.” Maybe the charred body was an unlucky bastard who spotted Latimer. But it begged the question: if Latimer were alive, why had he left Leah alone these past four years? Why hide out and not go after her again?

“Has his ex-wife noticed anything that would suggest she’s being stalked?”

“Not that she’s told me. And I think if Latimer is alive, and he did kill Deidre, he would have to lay low, stay out of sight.”

“What’s he waiting for?”

“Their anniversary. According to the files, he stabbed her on their wedding anniversary.”

She leaned back and pulled off her glasses. “That’s one heck of a theory, Agent.”

Hints of doubt rang clear. “I’ve asked Georgia to cross-check the fingerprints and DNA found at the murder scene against Latimer’s.”

“I would consider that one hell of a connection if you can make it.”

“If I’m right, we only have a few days before Latimer makes a move on his ex-wife.”

He sat in his car, just a half block down the street from Leah’s house, shelling peanuts and popping them in his mouth. The shells littered his lap and the floor mat around him. Charlie slept wrapped in a warm blanket on the seat beside him.

A small speaker sat by him on the passenger seat, and he listened as Leah moved around her house, restless and unable to sleep. She’d called her aunt. Worried about the card. Good. Worry. Guess. “I did send the card. I know all there is to know about you.”

Charlie glanced up at the sound of his voice and he rubbed her between the ears and gently tucked the blanket around her.

“Lack of sleep is going to impair Leah’s judgment,” he said softly. “A canceled credit card is going to make life a challenge. That’s all good.”

The dog thumped her tail under the blanket.

As he rubbed the dog’s head, he closed his eyes, remembering Deidre’s face when he’d stabbed her. After the first plunge of the knife, terror had flashed in her eyes and reason had deserted him. He’d felt empowered. Aroused. Vindicated. When he’d stepped away from her lifeless body, blood had dripped from his face and hands. A lesser man would have crumpled, but his training and weeks of practice had taken over. Outside, he’d stripped off his Tyvek suit, shoved it in a garbage bag, and left the scene. The bag had landed in an incinerator. No trace evidence. Only memories remained.

He opened his eyes and looked at the dog. This savage side of himself was a surprise. Monsters stabbed women. Monsters raped and killed. He was no monster of course, so where had this streak of violence come from?

He’d been raised well. Had wanted a traditional life, including a wife and children. He didn’t want this kind of mayhem and violence stalking him. He wanted to be free of it. He was a victim.

Later, as he’d watched the flames devour the bag filled with the blood-soaked suit, he’d promised himself to have more control the next time. Lack of control led to mistakes. And if he didn’t make sloppy mistakes, it would all work out in the end.

He reached into the paper bag and pulled out another peanut, cracking the shell in his palm. Charlie looked at him, her ears perked. From his pocket he dug out a dog treat and handed it to her. She took it, greedily chewing the soft beefy strip.

He would be careful around Leah. He wouldn’t let it get out of hand. He wouldn’t strike until he was ready.

He reached for his tablet and found the Web site dedicated to Leah. It wasn’t live yet because the story wasn’t finished, but that was simply a matter of time.

ALL ABOUT LEAH

The Web site wouldn’t pass as professional, but it wasn’t bad. Leah’s picture was front and center. The first tab revealed thousands of older pictures. Many had been taken with a phone when she’d been a senior in college. Racing across campus with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Standing in line at the sandwich shop.

He’d created a new tab for photos taken in the last few months. Leah at the clinic, walking a dog. At her running group, warming up as the sun rose. On a date with David, the blond con man, who poached other men’s wives. He zeroed in on one image. She’d been at the park and he’d called out her name. He’d startled her, and she’d turned with only the barest hint of panic in her gaze. He loved the combination of the sun, her hair, and the way her panic brightened her blue gaze.

Watching her, trailing her was intoxicating. Distance was key right now, but a couple of weeks ago he’d bumped her shoulder as she’d passed him on a crowded street. He’d smelled her perfume, heard her soft intake of breath and her quick footsteps behind him. He’d vanished into the crowd, excited that he’d touched her.

Hunting juiced him.

He touched another tab. This one was marked FRIENDS. He opened the tab and searched the faces of David, Alex Morgan, and of course Deidre. Many of the pictures he’d taken as the trio had been running. Parks were an easy place to hide, or so he’d thought. Deidre had spotted him, though. He’d tried to turn away, but she’d caught the sunlight glinting off the lens of his camera. He’d feared her conscience would get the better of her and she’d confess all. Though he’d been thinking about killing her for weeks, in that moment he’d known she had to die that night.

Charlie still chewed her treat. “Be right back, girl.”

He got out of his truck and, glancing sideways to ensure he was alone, approached Leah’s car. He flicked open the blade of a pocketknife and knelt by the tire. Though tempted to slice the tire, he wasn’t ready to leave solid proof. Better to keep them all guessing until it was too late. He unscrewed the cap on the air valve and pressed the tip of the knife into the valve. Air hissed out and conjured memories of the air gurgling from Deidre’s lungs as she’d gasped her last breaths.

Killing Deidre had been more thrilling than he’d imagined. The plunge of the knife into her skin. The tear of her flesh. The warm, sticky blood on the tip of the knife. He wondered if killing Leah would offer the same level of excitement. A few more days and he would know.