Читать книгу One-Night Alibi - Kara Lennox - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

HUDSON WOKE INSTANTLY, sat up and listened. He heard it immediately—the sound of a window rattling from the other bedroom. And it wasn’t the wind.

He leaped out of bed and grabbed his pants, jumping into them commando style. His gun was in the safe in the closet, damn it. He’d seen no need to take it with him to a wedding, and he would never leave it where a burglar could steal it. Too many stolen guns were on the street.

“Go into the bathroom,” he said in the take-charge voice he used when he intended to be obeyed. “Take your cell phone and lock the door in case you have to call for help.” He slid open the door of his closet and quickly worked the combination, then grabbed his backup weapon, a sturdy Glock.

He noiselessly opened the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony, which completely encircled the house. As he stepped out onto the wooden decking in his bare feet, he realized Liz was right behind him. And damned if she didn’t have his Louisville Slugger gripped in both her hands. She’d obviously thrown on the first item of clothing she’d found, which happened to be his dress shirt. She’d buttoned only one button.

Some other time that would be really charming.

He wasn’t going to waste time and breath trying to get her to obey orders. She obviously wasn’t the hide-in-the-bathroom type of woman.

“Just stay behind me,” he whispered. He walked to the corner of the house and peered around it.

Sure enough, a guy in a ski mask was halfway through his window.

The ski mask told him a lot. This wasn’t a simple burglary. The intruder knew the house was occupied, and he didn’t want to be identified. The other thing that told him a lot was the gun in the guy’s hand.

Hudson raised his weapon. “Police! Freeze!”

The guy didn’t follow orders. He pulled himself out of the window, pointed his gun straight at Hudson and squeezed off a shot.

Liz screamed.

Fortunately, Hudson pulled back around the corner, and the shot wasn’t too well aimed to begin with. He heard the bullet whiz past his head and sail off into the trees behind the house.

Hudson would have been well within his rights to shoot the guy, but he didn’t return fire. Maybe it was because he was already in so much trouble; if he added deadly force to the mix, even justified, his career was over. Or maybe it was simply because he didn’t want to take the life of some scrawny drug addict.

If the burglar had raised his gun again, Hudson would have shot him. But he didn’t. He turned and vaulted over the balcony railing. It was a long drop, but the guy landed on his feet. Hudson watched him hightail it out to the street and away like a jackrabbit on fire.

“Are you okay?” Liz asked, coming up behind him.

“He missed me by a mile. Not even sure he was really trying to hit me, though he ought to know better than to draw down on an armed cop.”

“Maybe he didn’t know you were a cop.”

“I identified myself.” The more he thought about it, the more disturbed he became.

He’d never had any crime problems here before. His house wasn’t an attractive target for burglars; he didn’t have any fancy electronics or silver or jewelry. And if a burglar were simply choosing a house at random, there were plenty of unoccupied vacation cabins around.

“We should call the police,” Liz said.

“I am the police.”

“Well, yeah, but shouldn’t you report this? Maybe he’s still in the area.”

“You kidding? The way that guy was running, he’s halfway to Louisiana by now.”

“What about evidence? Fingerprints and such.”

“They wouldn’t send out CSI for an attempted burglary.”

“Attempted murder more like it,” Liz argued. “He could have killed you.”

“He wore gloves. He didn’t leave behind any evidence.”

“What about his tattoo? Did you see that?”

Now that he thought about it, Hudson did remember seeing a tattoo on the man’s forearm. Something like a big fish. Now, that could be useful.

“I’ll call it in tomorrow,” he said, “but it’s the kind of almost-crime that makes most cops shrug.” Not to mention, he didn’t want to have any contact with his fellow cops right now. Most of the guys he worked with didn’t believe he’d beaten up Franklin Mandalay for no reason. They knew him better than that. But he couldn’t take their well-meaning pity.

Hudson took the bat out of Liz’s hands. “You could have been killed. Next time I tell you to hide in the bathroom, hide in the bathroom. And by the way, that’s a fetching outfit you have on.”

He couldn’t be sure, because it was too dark, but he thought he saw the hint of a blush as she turned and went back inside.

“I wasn’t going to let you go out there alone.”

“I’m a cop. You’re not. But...thank you.” He tossed the bat aside, put the gun in the drawer of his nightstand, handy in case the guy came back. When he refocused his attention on Liz, she was shrugging her way out of his shirt.

Hudson went instantly hard, ready to go again. Judging from the look on Liz’s face, she was ready, too.

“Oh. My,” she said when he shucked his pants. “I’ve heard adrenaline sharpens one’s libido, but here I have some rather convincing proof.”

“Adrenaline’s got nothing to do with it, sugar. It’s all you.” He playfully wrestled her down to the bed and kissed her—hard and fast, then slow and soft.

“Liz,” he said before the lovemaking got so involved that he lost any ability to think or speak. “There’s something you probably should know about me.”

“I know all I need to know.”

“Maybe not. I was suspended last week. A guy I arrested claims I beat him up for no good reason. Unless Internal Affairs clears me—and really, I have no way to prove the guy’s lying—I might be out of a job.”

“You’re telling me this now...because...?”

“Because I want to see you again. But I figured you ought to know the worst before you decide if that’s gonna happen.”

For a moment she looked unbearably sad. Had he disappointed her that thoroughly? But what she said next surprised him.

“I already knew.”

“What?”

“I saw it on TV. That’s why I was staring at you at the wedding. I recognized you.”

“Oh.” He rolled away from her, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “Please don’t tell me you’re turned on by the idea that I’m violent.”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not that at all.”

“Then what’s this about?” Some women were attracted to notoriety, even the negative kind. “You like bad boys? ’Cause I’m not one.”

“I know you’re not. I confess I was a bit curious, but after spending a very short time with you, I was sure you couldn’t have done what you’re accused of.”

“Really? That seems a little naive.” All those doubts he had about why she’d come on to him reared their ugly heads. He should have listened to his gut when it told him something was off-kilter. His gut was always right. “Did Mandalay send you? Or his lawyer?”

She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. “Good God, no.”

“That would be a good ploy. Send the pretty girl to seduce the sucker. Set up a fake burglary. Maybe coax the disgraced cop into yet another violent act, conveniently witnessed by said pretty girl—”

“You can’t think I had anything to do with that.”

“I don’t know what to think. Most women would have cowered behind a locked door. But you were right behind me, where you could clearly see everything that happened.”

“I’m not most women.”

He wished she didn’t look so damn fetching wrapped in a sheet. Even while he suspected she might be trying to finish trashing his career, he wanted her with an acuteness that stole his breath away.

Hudson scrubbed his face with one hand. Maybe he’d made a mistake. “Okay. Okay, I’m probably wrong.”

“Maybe I should go home now.”

“Liz, you don’t have to leave.”

“Oh, I think I do. Don’t stir yourself. I’ll call a cab.”

“No, I’ll take you home.” Maybe she’d cool off on the drive to her home. Maybe he could undo what might have been the worst mistake of his life. “Just let me jump in the shower. I won’t be five minutes.” He needed a shower in the worst way. A cold one.

He didn’t wait for her to agree. He scooted off the bed and trotted to the bathroom. He’d be done by the time she was dressed.

He scrubbed down quickly, then dried off and brushed his teeth. He’d be damned if he’d force her to deal with his morning breath. In the unlikely event she let him get close enough that she could smell his breath.

A quick swipe of deodorant, and all that was left was to throw on some clothes. He exited the bathroom.

“Liz?”

Nothing. He checked the kitchen, living room and second bathroom.

Her things were gone.

She was gone.

* * *

“I COULDN’T DO IT.”

“What the hell? Couldn’t find him? Couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“He had a woman with him.”

“So?”

“You think I should have plugged her, too? Or left her behind as a witness?”

“You were wearing a ski mask. She wouldn’t have recognized you. It would have been written off as a burglary gone bad.”

“I don’t leave loose ends like that. And I don’t kill women. Nuh-uh. You didn’t say anything about a woman.”

“Christ, do I have to do everything myself? You realize if I go down, so do you. Hudson Vale got a good look at Jazz. If he finds her before we do, it’s all over. She’ll sell us out like day-old fish. It will all come out—do you understand me? We’ll all go down.”

“We’ll get him another day.”

“Time’s running out.” The man paused, thinking hard. “You know, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked a boy to do a man’s job.”

“Oh, go screw yourself. You think it’s so goddamned easy to kill someone, you do it.”

The man hung up. It was remarkably easy to kill someone. Establish an unshakable alibi. Pay in cash. Leave no evidence behind, including no body.

His muscleman had outlived his usefulness. He was going to have to take care of him. Tonight, before the idiot got drunk and blathered to someone what he’d been up to. Then he’d take care of the others. He’d find Jazz and finish her off. Himself.

* * *

ELIZABETH FELT AWFUL for the teenage girl huddled in her office. Tonda Pickens was in a terrible situation, no doubt about it.

“If Jackson finds out I’m pregnant,” she said tearfully, “he’ll kill me. He will.”

The fear was not ungrounded. When a woman was pregnant, she was much more likely to become the victim of violence from the very person who was supposed to love and protect her. Plus, in Tonda’s case, her boyfriend-slash-pimp had hit her before.

“What about going home to your mother?” Elizabeth asked. “You haven’t talked to her in a while. Maybe the fact you’re having her grandchild would improve her attitude.”

“Hah, you kidding? This is what she did to me for just kissing a boy.” She lifted her hair off one side of her face, revealing a jagged scar. “I can’t even imagine what she’d do if she found out Jackson and me...” She looked out the window, swallowing convulsively. “I have to get rid of it. I got no choice.”

“Yes, you do have a choice.” Elizabeth wouldn’t counsel a nineteen-year-old prostitute to have a baby and keep it. But neither would she advise her to “get rid of it.” Her job was to lay out all the options and let the girl make her own decision. It was the only way, because Tonda was the one who had to live with the physical and emotional consequences. “You do not have to go back to Jackson or your mother. There are shelters for women in your situation. Safe havens.”

“If you’re talking about one of those homes for unwed mothers where they make you pray and then make you give up the baby for adoption, no way. I won’t carry a baby nine months and give it away. I’ve seen girls do that. It racks ’em up bad.”

Elizabeth had, indeed, been thinking about a place similar to what Tonda described. It was a godsend for some girls, but not suitable for everyone.

“There are a number of places you could go. We could look into them together, find the one that suits you.”

“What if I wanted...to keep the baby?” Tonda asked cautiously.

“If that’s what you want to do, you have that right. No one can make you give it up. I won’t lie to you—it won’t be easy. If you want to keep the baby, you’ll have to find some way to provide for it and yourself. Jackson would be legally obligated to pay child support, but I’m guessing that forcing him to do that would be a challenge?”

“I’d rather not even tell him.”

Elizabeth would rather she didn’t, either. What kind of father figure would a pimp be?

“I shoulda been more careful.”

“You’re not the first person to make a mistake, or the last. It happens. The thing to focus on now is making good decisions going forward.”

Tonda placed a hand on her abdomen. “I know I said I wouldn’t go for adoption, but what if I changed my mind? Could I find a good home for the baby?”

“We can certainly try. If you do a private adoption, you get to approve the adoptive parents. Just say the word, and I’ll get you into a women’s shelter—a temporary place until we can figure something out. But you don’t have to go back to Jackson.”

Tonda shook her head. “No. I’m not showing yet. Jackson won’t know. I have to think. Maybe I’ll call Mama. Give her some time to get used to the idea before I see her in person.”

Elizabeth hated to let Tonda go home to her unhealthy situation. If she was still prostituting herself, she risked illness not just for herself, but the baby. But they’d discussed that already. Tonda wouldn’t be pushed into anything—she had to make the decision herself.

“Just remember one thing, Tonda. No one has the right to hit you. Whether it’s Jackson or your mother or a customer, if tempers start to flare, get out. Call the police. Call someone. Don’t just think you have to put up with it because you have no choice. There are always choices.”

Tonda nodded. “Thanks. I won’t let anybody hit me, don’t worry. I have more to worry about than just myself now.”

That was a mature attitude, and Elizabeth was glad to see it. She walked Tonda to the door of the clinic. “You take care, Tonda.”

“I will. Thank you, Ms. Downey.” She gave Elizabeth a quick hug—something she’d never done before. The gesture warmed Elizabeth’s heart. Tonda shouldered her backpack, which had a picture of a kitten on it, and pushed the door open.

Although Elizabeth tried to maintain a professional distance from her clients, she’d always had a soft spot in her heart for Tonda, who’d been coming to the clinic for almost a year now.

As the door closed behind Tonda, Elizabeth turned. That was when she saw two people standing in the lobby, watching her. The clinic manager, Gloria Kirby, stood awkwardly beside them. She motioned for Elizabeth to join them.

“Elizabeth,” Gloria said, “these are detectives with the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Department. They’d like a word with you.”

What? “Oh, no, did something happen to one of my clients?”

The two cops regarded her gravely. One of them was a fortyish man, tall, thin and pale with a shaved head. The other was a humorless-looking Hispanic woman, who could have been twenty-five or forty-five, with her hair pulled back in a severe knot.

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” the man said.

“Sure.” She led them to her office, which was hardly more than a glorified closet, furnished with a battered wooden desk, an ancient metal file cabinet and two mismatched armchairs. She thought about offering them refreshments. She kept a cooler with water and soft drinks behind her desk and a stash of peanut-butter crackers in a bottom drawer. Often her clients arrived hungry.

But these two cops didn’t look as if they wanted to eat or drink. She sat down behind her desk, and each of them took a chair.

“What can I help you with?” she asked, her stomach tying itself into knots.

They both looked uneasy. “I’m Detective Sanchez,” the woman said, “and this is Detective Knightly.”

“Ms. Downey,” Knightly said, smoothly taking over, “can you tell us where you were Saturday night?”

This did not sound good. It was how the cops began every interview with someone suspected of a crime, at least if she could believe what she saw on TV.

“I was at a friend’s wedding,” she said.

“Until about what time?”

“I’m not sure. Seven? Eight?”

“And then where did you go?”

I went home with a man I just met and had mind-blowing sex. She was so not saying that. “I went home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.” Lying to cops was getting to be a habit with her.

The two cops exchanged a glance. The woman, Sanchez, took notes.

“C’mon, why are you asking me this?” Elizabeth prodded. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about your father,” Sanchez said. “We found him...well, there’s no easy way to say this. We found him in Lake Conroe.”

“Oh. Oh, Jesus.” Every drop of blood drained from Elizabeth’s head, and she was glad she was already sitting down. “Dead? He was dead?”

“Yes,” Sanchez confirmed. “The M.E. puts his time of death sometime between the hours of 11:00 p.m. Saturday night and 5:00 a.m.”

“My father was murdered?” she asked, just to be sure that she hadn’t misheard something. The reality of those words tasted strangely sour in her mouth. She’d always assumed she’d be indifferent to the man’s death. But hearing the news, she felt an odd sting of sadness.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Sanchez said in a perfunctory way. “His housekeeper told us you were his next of kin.”

She nodded. “What should I do now? Do I need to identify him? Maybe there’s a mistake.” She grabbed on to that thin thread of hope. She wasn’t ready for her father to be dead just yet.

“We identified him through his fingerprints,” Knightly said.

“Oh.” Elizabeth swallowed back tears. Why was she crying? Her father had been a thorn in her side for years now. She hadn’t even spoken to him in months.

“Can anyone verify when you arrived home?” Sanchez asked. Back to business.

She hoped not. “I doubt it. I live in a big building—people come and go a lot.” She paused, then realized where the questions were leading. “You think I had something to do with my father’s murder?”

“These questions are just routine,” Knightly quickly said. “We always check on the whereabouts of family members of any murder victim.”

Any grief Elizabeth might have felt was quickly pushed aside in favor of fear. This was not routine. Anyone close to her or her father—including Mrs. Ames, the housekeeper—knew he and Elizabeth were estranged. She had even taken her mother’s maiden name so that people wouldn’t associate her with him. And now she was a suspect.

And if she gave them Hudson’s name? The one man more likely than she to be the killer. Dear Lord. That was going to look very, very bad.

She shrugged helplessly. Had she used her cell phone that night? No. Her phone had been out of juice, and she’d used Hudson’s landline to call a cab.

“When you went home,” Sanchez asked, “did you make any phone calls, check your email?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I went to bed with a book.”

“It’s all right,” Knightly said soothingly. “I’m sure there’ll be no problem. Again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

Sanchez didn’t look so sure. She snapped her notebook closed. “I guess that’s all for now. Don’t leave town.”

Elizabeth sighed quietly in relief. Maybe this would all blow over. They’d find who did this, and they wouldn’t scrutinize her any further.

Sanchez stood, but Knightly remained seated, looking troubled. “Ms. Downey, do you know anyone who would want to hurt your father?”

“Detective, my father was a high-powered attorney who made his money by taking advantage of people in vulnerable situations. I imagine many of the people he dealt with hated him. I suggest you look there for a suspect.”

“We’ll do that. Again, sorry for your loss.”

Elizabeth didn’t take another full breath until the detectives were gone. Of all the lousy times for Franklin Mandalay to get himself murdered, why had he done it on the night the two prime suspects had been together?