Читать книгу The Killer You Know - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 15
ОглавлениеQuinn pulled up to the Daniels home and frowned when she saw news vans still camped out in the street.
That’s not very classy, Quinn thought with a sniff, even though she was there for the same reason.
But it was different for her. She actually cared about the family.
She started up the steps when a car door closed behind her.
“You’re like an unlucky penny.”
Quinn bit her lip and swore mentally before turning to face Silas.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for answers. The question is...what are you doing here? I would’ve thought that picking at the family during their time of grief was going too far for a local who supposedly cares about them.”
Quinn seamed her mouth shut. The man had a comeback for everything. “I do care about the family. I wrote a story about Rhia’s award-winning photography in the amateur division at the state fair level. It was a big deal around here. And the story was very well received.”
“Something tells me the family isn’t going to embrace you with open arms to chat about their dead daughter, no matter how many fluff stories you wrote about her.”
“Feature stories are not fluff,” Quinn retorted, freshly irritated. “But what would you know about journalism? Nothing. I won’t tell you how to do your job and you won’t tell me how to do mine.”
“Well, the press’s place is over there.” Silas pointed to the row of vans lining the street. “I’ve got work to do.”
Quinn knew that if Silas gained access to the Daniels family before her, he’d find a way to shut her out. Swallowing her pride, she hustled after Silas with a quick proposition. “Look, we both have jobs to do and we are both at a bit of a disadvantage. I say we help each other. We don’t have to be enemies.”
“I don’t work with press,” Silas said, climbing the steps and knocking on the door. “Now, get out of here before you upset people.”
Before Quinn could counter, the front door opened and a haggard Mrs. Daniels answered.
Silas produced his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Kelly. May I take a few moments of your time to talk to you about your daughter’s case?”
Mrs. Daniels swung red-rimmed eyes toward Quinn and recognition broke. “Are you...with him?” she asked.
“God no,” Quinn answered quickly, actually stepping forward to put some distance between them. “We just happened to have the misfortune of arriving at the same time.”
“Why is the FBI interested in Rhia’s case?” Mrs. Daniels asked, her fingers clutching at her necklace.
“May I come in so we can discuss the case?”
“I...” Mrs. Daniels’s gaze darted again and Quinn took the opportunity to insert herself.
“Mrs. Daniels, if you’d be more comfortable... I’d be happy to sit with you. I can only imagine the pain you’re going through. Rhia was an amazing and talented girl. The story I wrote on her photography has always been my favorite.”
Mrs. Daniels nodded, tears brimming. “Yes, she was.” Then she gestured for Quinn to come in as she said to Silas, “I suppose I can answer a few questions if it would help Rhia’s case.”
If Silas was pissed that Quinn had outmaneuvered him, he didn’t show it. Quinn had come to the conclusion that Silas was built from ice.
The man was as stoic as they came.
Did he ever smile? What did his laugh sound like?
Quinn couldn’t even imagine his face allowing a smile to happen.
But if it did...man, he was probably devastating.
Again with the smile. She was annoyed at the broken record of her thoughts. Give it a rest already.
Quinn shoved aside the unwelcome meandering thought and smiled for Mrs. Daniels as they each took a seat in the family room.
It was as Quinn remembered.
Several clocks interrupted the silence with soft ticks while the house seemed to sigh with grief.
Quinn wasn’t one to entertain woo-woo stuff but the sadness in the air was almost a physical thing, and not even Mrs. Daniels’s fondness for crocheted doilies could lighten the mood.
She fingered one of the delicate lace creations draped across the arm of the sofa like a frozen lily pad, murmuring, “So pretty,” for Mrs. Daniels’s benefit.
The grieving mother accepted the compliment with a nod. “My grandmother always said, ‘A bit of lace will brighten any room.’”
“So true,” Quinn agreed, wondering when Silas was going to pounce. She’d prefer that he be the bad guy in this scenario but she desperately wanted any information that could help her story.
Quinn already knew Rhia’s backstory—miracle child, beloved darling of much older parents, indulged and pampered—but in spite of all this, Rhia had been a decent kid.
At least what Quinn could remember of her.
Who knew what kids were really like when their parents weren’t around?
“Is there any reason you can think of why Rhia would be around Seminole Creek at this time of year?” Silas asked, going straight to the hard questions.
Sheesh, man, way to go for the soft spots right away.
Quinn took a different approach. Sidestepping Silas’s brutal question, Quinn interjected with kindness.
“How are you holding up, Mrs. Daniels? I can only imagine the hell you’re in right now. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Mrs. Daniels sniffed back tears but cast a grateful smile Quinn’s way. “You’re such a good girl. Thank you.” She drew a halting breath to steady her nerves and said to Silas, “I haven’t a clue why she was down at the creek. She wasn’t the kind of girl who snuck off in the middle of the night.”
“Maybe she was meeting with a boyfriend?” Silas suggested.
“Rhia didn’t have a boyfriend. She wasn’t allowed to date until she was seventeen,” Mrs. Daniels said, shaking her head. “Rhia was a very good girl, focused on school. She wanted to go to...Berkeley University in California. It’s all she talked about.”
Whether Mrs. Daniels wanted to admit it or not, kids often held back information from their parents. Censoring was normal. But Quinn knew they gained nothing by pointing that out to the grieving mother.
Quinn caught the subtle shift in Silas’s body posture and she sensed that he was on the same wavelength. She held her breath. Was he going to go there?
But he didn’t and she was a little disappointed.
Now you pull back? Go figure.
“Can you lead us through the timeline, Mrs. Daniels?” Silas asked, his voice gentling.
The bereft woman took a moment to collect herself. The pain Mrs. Daniels suffered was almost palpable. Quinn shifted against the pinch of conscience that tempered the hunger she had for a breakout story.
“My husband and I went to dinner that night. Rhia said she had homework and stayed behind. We got home around eleven and went straight to bed.” Suddenly, her eyes started to brim. “We didn’t think to check if she was in her room. Maybe if we’d checked...”
But Silas shook his head. “Don’t go there. I’ve seen too many parents blame themselves for something that was completely out of their control and it eats them up inside. Please don’t do that to yourself.”
Quinn was silently in awe of Silas’s gentle handling. What happened to Mr. Frosty?
Mrs. Daniels nodded, fresh tears tracking down her face. “That’s very kind of you. I can’t get it out of my head how she must have suffered. I...I can’t sleep or eat. All I think about is that my daughter is gone.”
“What happened next, Mrs. Daniels?” Silas asked.
“We got a call from the sheriff saying that Rhia’s body had been found by a fisherman the next morning.”
Silas nodded, jotting down notes. “Is there anyone you can think of who might want to hurt Rhia?”
“No one,” she answered, shaking her head almost desperately. “Everyone loved Rhia. She was kind and considerate to everyone she met. I can’t imagine anyone having a problem with her.”
Quinn would normally chalk Mrs. Daniels’s statement up to a parent’s bias but to be honest, Quinn knew that Rhia was well liked.
“How about friends? Who are Rhia’s closest friends? Sometimes kids censor themselves around their parents but they’re more open with peers.”
Mrs. Daniels seemed troubled by that possibility but gave up a few names. “Well, she’s very close with Britain Almasey. She’s another cheerleader on the squad. They’ve been best friends since grade school. But Rhia didn’t keep secrets from us. We were very close.”
“I appreciate that, but I like to cross all the Ts and dot the Is.”
Mrs. Daniels nodded, relief coming from understanding. “Of course. I appreciate your diligence, Mr. Kelly.”
Silas offered a business card to Mrs. Daniels. “Please feel free to call me anytime. Even if you just need to talk.”
Quinn felt foolish trying to follow in Silas’s footsteps. Instead, she said, “Rhia was a lovely girl and she will be missed. Your family will be in my prayers.”
“Bless you, child.”
Silas pocketed his notebook and they rose to leave. Quinn didn’t like the way her mind was churning.
Whatever she’d hoped to get by talking with Mrs. Daniels, she’d discarded out of guilt.
It was one thing to chase a story when you weren’t staring at the grieving parents of a murdered child, quite another when you could practically feel the grief covering you like a blanket.
Once outside, Silas scrutinized Quinn openly. “Do you pray?”
Quinn scowled. Of course he would ask her that question. “No.”
“Then why’d you say that?”
“Because it seemed the right thing to do.”
Silas chuckled at her logic. “If you were so concerned with the right thing, you never would’ve walked inside that poor woman’s house.”
Quinn stared as Silas drove away.
I kinda hate that man.
Because he was right? A voice questioned.
Her scowl deepened.
Shut up, Inner Voice of Latent Conscience—you’re not helping.
* * *
Silas returned to his hotel room with takeout Chinese and a plan to reacquaint himself with Spencer’s case file, when a knock at his door interrupted his process.
He peered through the peephole and saw Quinn Jackson, of all people, standing outside his door.
What did she want?
For a heartbeat, he was tempted to pretend that he wasn’t there.
But clearly she must’ve tracked him down and she knew he was on the other side of the door so ignoring the woman would just be childish.
Silas exhaled and opened the door. “What can I do for you, Miss Jackson?”
“First, you can call me Quinn. Second, you can admit that if it weren’t for me, Mrs. Daniels wouldn’t have let you in the front door. And third, you can definitely serve me up a plate of that Chinese food that I can smell because I’m starving.”
The girl had balls, he’d give her that. “And why would I want to do any of those things?”
“Because we need to work together, not against one another.”
At that he laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” she disagreed, darting past him and into the room. Quinn did a quick survey and said, “Couldn’t the FBI spring for a better room? This place looks like the kind of hotel Dean and Sam Winchester would hole up in because they’re trying to catch a wendigo or something.”
“Dean and Sam?” Silas asked, confused.
“Do you live under a rock? Supernatural, of course. Best show ever. I mean, every season you think they can’t outdo themselves and bam! They come up with something even more amazing than the last season. That’s talent.”
“I don’t watch a lot of television.”
“Your loss. If you want to borrow a few seasons, I have them all on DVD. Or you could stream it from iTunes. Whatever your poison.”
“Back to the point. I don’t work with reporters.”
“You know, you keep saying that but you haven’t given me a good reason why. So, what gives? Why don’t you work with reporters?”
Her bald question threw him off guard. The woman was as in-your-face as a stereotypical redhead. Or a cartoon character.
“Because I don’t,” he answered.
“What happened to Mr. Nice Guy? Are you like a Mr. Jekyll and Dr. Hyde kind of person?”
“You have that twisted. It’s Dr. Jekyll—”
“Whatever.” She waved away his correction. “You get my point. You were, actually, pretty amazing with Mrs. Daniels. I thought maybe you had been possessed by the spirit of someone with an actual heartbeat but now I see that was an act for her benefit.”
“It wasn’t an act,” he growled. “And if we’re calling people out, what about you? You manipulated that poor woman into letting you in. So what sensational little story are you going to write about the woman’s grief?”
“I’m not writing about that,” she shot back. “Give me some credit. Why do you hate reporters so much? I have a job to do, just like you. But you seem to think it’s okay to beat me with the guilt hammer because of mine. What gives?”
Quinn settled into the chair and started checking out the contents of his takeout.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating. Duh.” She scraped a few pieces of his garlic chicken onto a paper plate and then went for his rice. “I told you...starving. Try to keep up. I thought the FBI were supposed to be the sharpest of the bunch. So far, you seem to have a problem holding on to details.”
The woman exasperated him but there was something daring about her that intrigued him, even if begrudgingly. Hell, he wanted to toss her out, but something kept him from doing just that.
Maybe because he didn’t trust putting his hands on her. Silas was already suffering the urge to touch that creamy skin. If he accidentally brushed one of those lush, full breasts, hiding his insta-erection would be an embarrassing challenge.
He frowned. Well, if he didn’t grab a plate, there’d be nothing left. The girl could put some food away.
Silas took the seat opposite her and made his own plate, watching her enjoy his food without shame.
“Do you always barge into strange men’s hotel rooms and eat their food?”
“Only on Tuesdays but for you, I’ll make an exception.” When he continued to stare, she added, rolling her eyes, “That was a joke. Look, I get it, you don’t like me. And maybe I’m not terribly excited about you, either, but the fact is we need each other.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t see it that way.”
“Let me break it down for you. You’ve been gone a long time. Doors are closed. They don’t trust you. I, on the other hand, am everyone’s trusted local reporter. I’m the one who takes their kids’ pictures for Student of the Month and I write about when little Johnny places at the Science Fair. Yes, stupid stuff, but it paves the way to their trust. You, by comparison, are the big bad FBI agent who is, I might add, mysteriously poking around a local case that should have no federal jurisdiction.”
Silas offered a cold smile. “Just because I don’t share the Bureau’s interest, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Oh, I know your interest. That’s pretty easy to figure out. This is all about your little brother. Don’t look so shocked. You’re not the only one who is capable of poking around. How are you hoping to tie Rhia’s murder with a case that happened twenty years ago?”
Silas shifted, fighting against the urge to shut her down for hitting too close to home. But for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he answered. “Because they were both found in Seminole Creek, both strangled.”
“Not to be a buzzkill, but strangulation is a pretty common way to die. I mean, no tools required, you know? What else do you have that might lead you to believe they are connected?”
“Good try,” he said, withdrawing as he speared a nugget. “Not interested in sharing.”
“You’re a stubborn little muskrat, aren’t you?”
He nearly choked on garlic chicken. “That’s a new one.”
“Yeah, well, I like to be original.”
“You also like to poke around where you’re not wanted.”
Quinn didn’t take offense. “That’s my job,” she said simply. “No one wants the press to air their dirty laundry. I hardly think politicians are clamoring for the chance to have their secrets splattered all over the New York Times, but that happens and the public is thankful for the information.”
“Politicians are fair game. Little kids aren’t.”
“I’m not trying to capitalize on Rhia’s murder—”
“How do you say that with a straight face?”
Frustration laced Quinn’s voice as she chewed vigorously. “You are impossible. Let me guess, single? You don’t have to confirm. I can tell. You’re rigid as a freaking plank.”
He was single. The job was his life. But hearing Quinn make such an easy and flippant observation pinched.
“I date.”
“Sure you do.”
Was he really going to debate his dating habits with a reporter who was at least ten years younger than him? “Shouldn’t you be getting home? I’m sure there’s a curfew of some sort.”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Not a kid. I’m actually twenty-four.”
“Whoa. Practically an old lady,” he retorted. “What about you? Let me take a crack. Also single, because you’re too damn pushy for anyone to handle on a daily basis.”
He must’ve hit a nerve. But Quinn wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Wrong. I’m single because I choose to be. I don’t need a man to validate me. I have big dreams, and getting hitched and popping out kids are not on my agenda.”
“What is your agenda?” Silas asked, going straight to the point.
“Getting out of this town.”
He saw the hunger, the drive to succeed beyond the borders of her environment, and he recognized that need as something he’d often struggled with in the early days.
“What happened to the Port Orion champion?”
“It’s a good town. But I want more.”
“And you’re going to use the Rhia Daniels case as your stepping stone to bigger and better,” Silas guessed with a wry chuckle. “You may think you’re an original but that’s the tune every reporter has sung in my experience, and they never care about the cases they ruin or the lives they shatter on their way to the top.”
“I care about the people here,” Quinn replied, stung. “I grew up in this town. I have a vested interest in seeing that this story is handled with sensitivity.”
“By the very nature of your job, that’s not possible.”
“You don’t know how to do my job.”
“Sure I do. Go for the jugular...if it bleeds, it leads.”
“Damn, Silas. Who pissed in your cornflakes? Do you hate all reporters, or just me?”
Silas laughed and trashed his empty plate. “Don’t take it personal—I hate all reporters. Now, seeing as you’ve eaten all my garlic chicken, I’m going to have to send you on your way, unless of course, you’d like to finish the fried rice.”
This time, there was no negotiating.
Quinn seemed to sense that he wasn’t kidding. She rose with an unhappy glare but before she allowed him to send her out the door, she snatched his only fortune cookie.
“That’s bad luck, you know,” he told her.
Her voice on the other side rang out as she said, “You will work with me, Silas Kelly. You may be a muskrat but I’m a badger!”
A reluctant smile crept onto his lips.
Quinn Jackson was a major pain in his ass but at least she wasn’t boring.
