Читать книгу Dead End - Lisa Phillips - Страница 13

FIVE

Wyatt pulled up in front of the house and parked. “Her name is Theresa Hammett, seventy-one. Works the checkout at a high-end health food grocer. I called while you were sleeping.”

“Sorry about that.” Nina brushed hair back from her cheeks. “I didn’t get much rest last night.”

Why did she feel guilty for having slept on the drive to Portland? He’d been content to listen to the radio and know she was recharging while he drove. It did his heart good, especially since every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Nina on the floor of her condo, unconscious.

“Theresa’s here, and she’s prepared to talk to us. The investigating detectives haven’t gained a new lead on her daughter’s murder in months. I didn’t mention your personal connection to this, but she knows we’re here because of a case that could possibly be linked.”

Nina cracked the car door. “The daughter was married?”

Wyatt said, “Divorced, the husband is army. One child, a girl. Emily.”

“Same MO.”

He nodded. “There are some distinct similarities. That’s why it was flagged with your mom’s case.”

“She was stabbed?”

“Actually, no. It was blunt force trauma to the side of her head that killed her.”

So far there was no correlation in the manner of death, only the situation of the murder victim—female, married or recently divorced, one female child. Wyatt was having trouble making sense of any of it. Least of all, how this man—if it really was a serial killer—picked his victims.

“Let’s go.” He got out his side and came around the car. Nina moved like the drive had stiffened all her muscles, the bruises making themselves known. He’d been in enough fights that he knew what that felt like.

They walked up to the front door side by side while Nina brushed her hair down with her fingers and smoothed out her clothes.

Wyatt lifted his hand to knock, and the door opened. “Mrs. Hammett?”

The woman was five-two with light brown skin, dark hair and eyes, and a trim figure that said clearly she wasn’t about to let being in her seventies stop her from doing all the active things she wanted. She smiled at them, not happy, more hopeful and pleasant. Wyatt decided then that she likely had devoted regulars at the grocery store who went in for purchases but stayed for the conversation she offered. She just had that kind of warm demeanor.

“Deputy Marshal Ames?”

He smiled. “Wyatt is fine. This is Nina Holmes, a friend of mine.”

Theresa led them to a stylish living room and offered them coffee. When they were all settled with mugs, he asked a few general questions about her daughter. As Theresa’s eyes started to fill with moisture, he pulled back and added in questions about the husband.

“He’s a good man,” Theresa said. “A little hotheaded, but he never crossed any line.”

“Why the divorce?”

“Abigail said she fell out of love. Mason was gone so much she felt like they’d stopped connecting. Emily was nine when they split. Not old enough to understand why two people quit loving each other, but old enough to open up about her feelings. Since Abigail’s death it’s like she closed off. Too much, too soon, I suppose. She may be talking to someone, but it’s certainly not me.”

Nina reached out and squeezed Theresa’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Theresa swallowed and nodded. She sipped her coffee and sat back in the chair. “Abigail didn’t always make the best choices, but she loved life. She loved her husband well while she did, and treated him well enough when she didn’t. Emily was the world to her, so much that it’s left Emily adrift without her mother. I try to fill the gap, but what do I know about being twelve?” The smile was gone so fast it was almost a mirage.

Wyatt said, “Can I ask... Was Abigail seeing anyone?”

Theresa nodded. “She kept it pretty secret, but I could see the change. At first I wondered if she wasn’t reconnecting with Mason, but when I asked about it she said she’d met someone. It lasted maybe four months before she was killed.”

Nina perked up. “Did you ever meet him?”

“No. She had plans to bring him around, but he always had business. After she was killed I never had anyone come by to pay condolences. I kept waiting for a man I’d never seen before to show up at the house and pay his respects.” Theresa shrugged. “He never did.”

Nina deflated. Wyatt shifted on the couch, tempted to squeeze her shoulder, but he could comfort her later. He knew how important it was to her that she discover Mr. Thomas’s real identity.

He asked Theresa, “Abigail’s ex-husband, Mason, was originally the prime suspect. What were your thoughts on that?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

Theresa wrinkled her nose. “He was deployed. That’s why they thought he might have done it. There was a question as to whether he’d managed to get home somehow, for a day, without anyone knowing. I told the police it was ridiculous. They didn’t know how he felt about her, how he’d always felt about her. Mason claimed he fell out of love with Abigail at the time they were divorcing, but I never saw it. The way he looked at her?” Theresa shook her head. “He loved her. I think he loved her enough that when she asked for a divorce, he let her go so she could live the life she wanted.”

“What made the police change their minds?”

“Emily was adamant Abigail’s boyfriend was the one who killed her.”

Nina reacted. This story was sounding more and more familiar, though thankfully this time the husband hadn’t gone to prison for murder. Wyatt knew from the file that he’d never been charged, since there hadn’t ever been enough evidence beyond the fact that Abigail had possibly argued with someone and either fallen, or been pushed, onto the dresser, slamming the side of her head hard enough to kill her.

Nina’s back was straight, as though all the muscles had locked in place. “Did the police ever find the man who did it?”

Theresa shook her head. “There was nothing in her house, on her phone, or on her computer that indicated she’d been in a relationship. Emily was the only one who’d seen him, and I’d only heard about him. I didn’t even know his name. Abigail never told me. When the police couldn’t find him, they didn’t know whether to even believe he existed. They wanted to know if Emily was prone to making up stories, as though she’d created him to cover for her father.”

Wyatt was going to follow up with the detectives and ask. He’d have likely thought the same thing, though. Especially when there was no physical evidence a person even existed, only the word of a traumatized child whose mother had died. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find out who it was that Abigail was seeing?”

Nina glanced at him, and he knew what she was thinking. But the child, despite living here, wasn’t present. When he’d called ahead, Theresa had told him she was sleeping over at a friend’s house for the weekend. Wyatt had figured that was a big part of why they were there, Theresa trying to shield Emily from any more trauma.

Nina wasn’t going to get an interview with the kid. As much as he wanted to help her, Wyatt wasn’t going to let her push just because she wanted results. They’d have to figure this out the right way, and not by barreling over people’s lives and emotions. Her own mother had been killed and her father framed. He got that she wanted answers more than anything and that she didn’t have a whole lot to lose by following through. Especially when Mr. Thomas had paid her a visit.

Maybe he could convince her to let him finish out the investigation on his own. Mr. Thomas didn’t need to know. He’d only see that Nina was leaving it alone. Then she’d be safe, and he could find the answers for her.

The front door swung open. All three of them turned to see a slim African-American preteen stride in. “Gramma! I’m home!”

* * *

Nina stood. The twelve-year-old had long, curly brown hair and big almond eyes. In ten years she was going to be a knockout with a deceased mother and an absent father. If Theresa wasn’t careful, this girl was going to lose her way big-time. Nina was going to add the girl to her prayer list.

Emily set her hand on her hip. “What is this? What’s going on?” She glanced through Nina and Wyatt to her grandmother.

Theresa stood. “Honey, what happened at Shanelle’s?”

“Vanessa and Trish were colossal jerks so I rode my bike home.”

“Honey, you should have texted me.”

“I was so mad I needed a time-out, Gramma.”

Nina felt her lips twitch. Had she ever had this much presence or attitude? The girl was a spitfire, that was for sure. Nina was a little less worried about her now.

“So what’s going on?”

Wyatt stepped forward. “I’m Deputy Marshal Ames. You can call me Wyatt. This is Nina Holmes.”

“Not a marshal?”

Nina shook her head. “I was a CIA agent.”

The girl’s eyes flashed wide. “Seriously, a CIA agent?”

“I’m retired now, but yes.”

“Epic.”

Nina laughed. Wyatt’s low, manly chuckle sounded like a rumble. She glanced at Theresa and saw the resigned look on her face, then stepped forward. “Would it be okay if I talked to you?”

“About my mom?”

“How did you know that?”

The girl shrugged. “What else would it be?”

Nina waved in the direction of the couches. “Would you sit with us, Emily?”

The girl dumped her purse on the hall floor and strode over. “Sure. Whatever. Can I take a selfie with you and put it on Instagram? All my friends will be so mad I met a CIA agent.”

“No. Sorry.”

Emily shrugged. “Worth a try.” She slumped into the armchair opposite her grandmother, and Wyatt and Nina both took their seats again. “What do you want to know?”

Nina led in, asking the girl where she had been when her mom was killed—staying at her gramma’s that night—and how she’d come home from school to find her mom. Her dad’s face when they had told him had been the hardest part for Emily. Then Nina asked her the best thing she remembered about her mother, and the favorite thing they would do together.

After Emily relaxed, Nina got down to the serious stuff. “The police report includes a statement that you made about your mom’s boyfriend at the time. Can you tell me about him?”

Emily’s nose wrinkled, almost an exact copy of her grandmother’s face. “He was older, and he always wore a suit. At least the couple of times I saw him.”

Nina held her reaction in. If this girl could help her figure out who Mr. Thomas was, they would be one step closer to finding and catching him. “What did he look like?”

“His hair was gray, with only a sprinkle of black. He had a square white face. Blue eyes. Some lines on his face.” Emily glanced to the side, like she was remembering. “Veins stuck out on the back of his hands, and they weren’t rough like Dad’s. He wasn’t anything like Dad. He had money. We went to an expensive restaurant, and I had to wear a dress.” She made another face. “But he was nice. Not really friendly, just pleasant. Snooty.”