Boneyard (24 page)

Kelly paused. The polygraph offer was a standard tactic utilized by defense attorneys, who knew that ninety-nine percent of the time the test was refused because the results were meaningless. And then they could say that their client wasn’t given an opportunity to clear his name. But the fact someone had leaked that offer to the press was worrisome. Had Doyle talked to the reporter? Or was Sommers’s lawyer grandstanding to the media? One of the only reasons she’d agreed to sit in on this ridiculous hypnotic regression session was because she wanted to get a better sense of the attorney. “A polygraph is inadmissible in court,” she responded, yanking her car door shut.

Jan leaned in the car window and dropped her voice. “You don’t think Sommers did it, do you? Off the record.”

Kelly leaned forward conspiratorially and matched Jan’s tone of voice. “Off the record?”

Jan nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

“I have no comment. But if I were you, I’d stop listening to Lieutenant Doyle. If I get the sense that anyone is leaking information from the task force, I’ll make sure you and you alone are off the media list. It’ll be hard to explain to your bosses why all of your reports take place on the steps of the local Dunkin’ Donuts, don’t you think?”

Jan snapped back from the window, her face pinching shut in a tight line. Kelly shifted the car into Reverse and backed out. As she drove away, in her rearview mirror she saw Jan standing there, hands clenched in tight fists, and felt a flash of empathy for her. It wasn’t easy being a woman in either of their lines of work. She recognized that drive and ambition—she used to be the same way. As she turned the corner and Jan dropped out of sight, she idly wondered when she’d lost the desire to get ahead. Lately all she cared about was getting through cases. She no longer had the emotional attachment, the urge to gain closure for the families, that had once served as her impetus. Had she burned out like so many other cops and agents she knew, and was that just part of the job after a certain point? And if it was true, if she really didn’t care anymore, why was she still bothering? She could go into a different line of work, spend less time traveling, maybe even start a family. Hell, she might even manage to take a vacation without getting interrupted by another murder. At the next stoplight she paused. It changed from red to green and back again as she sat, regarding herself in the rearview mirror. There were times these days when she didn’t know who she was anymore, and that frightened her more than anything.

Twenty-Two

He watched as she waddled over to the next patch of weed-choked flowers, carefully aiming a hose at them with one hand while sucking on a cigarette with the other. The flowers shuddered under the force of the spray, flattening against the ground. After pummeling them for a minute, she nodded her head, satisfied, and dumped the hose on the grass where it created a rivulet of mud that wound its way down to the crack in the driveway.

Martha Stewart would be proud, he thought wryly as he observed her through binoculars.

It was half-past three on Tuesday, and no cars had gone by in nearly an hour. The house was set back from the road and the overgrown lawn and trees that lined the front of the property provided good cover. The next-door neighbor on the right had piled her squalling brats into a minivan an hour earlier with what looked like a month’s supply of food and umbrellas; headed to the lake, no doubt. The single mother who occupied the ramshackle hut on the other side was working her day job at the diner. She wouldn’t be back until after six, and the guy across the street was a contractor who usually pulled in late in the evening. He’d rung all their doorbells about a half hour ago and got no response, so he’d have to trust that if anyone was home they were too drunk or disinterested to check out a strange noise.

So far he seemed to have gone unnoticed; he’d switched cars once, using his wife’s yesterday. The BMW was more noticeable than his truck, especially in a working class neighborhood like this one, but parking a car in the same spot three days in a row might draw more attention.

He’d rather do this at night, or without actually pulling into her driveway, but there was no way around it. He’d have to risk it. He’d smeared mud onto his license plate, concealing all but one number, and he’d painted the truck with washable paint; close up you could tell, but from twenty feet away it looked like a black truck. He took a swig of water, watching her totter into the house. He glanced at his left hand as he lowered the bottle; not shaky at all, which meant he was ready.

He slid on the work gloves, turned the ignition and pulled out of the side street. He cruised along slowly before turning into her driveway and parking. He strolled to the front door, the one they rarely used, holding a metal box in one hand. He glanced around and, as he’d suspected, from here he was only clearly visible to the house next door.

He rapped three times, a confident knock, nothing sneaky going on here, he thought. As she warily opened the screen door a crack, he flashed his most brilliant smile. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Whadya want?” She squinted at him as smoke snaked toward her receding hairline. She was a tough-looking woman, all creases and folds, like a shrunken elephant. What remained of her hair straggled down the nape of her neck in wispy yellowing strands, too-red lipstick glared from her mouth. Her shriveled form was covered by an ancient paisley housedress that hung like a shroud.

To be honest, he felt a little badly for this woman who’d never done anything to him. But then he wasn’t the one who had involved her. “I’m Russ, a friend of your son’s? He said you had some pipe problems, asked if I could take a look. I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by.”

“You a plumber?” She squinted at the gray coveralls he was wearing, the name “Russ” emblazoned on his chest, red letters in a white oval.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She regarded him skeptically. “Dwight doesn’t have any friends.”

He guffawed as though she’d just said the funniest thing in the world. “You kidding? Dwight and me go way back. I see him almost every night at Ace’s Place. He’s picked up the tab for me enough times, I owe him.” He started to reach for the door handle, but she held on to it firmly from the other side.

“Nope, you’re lying,” she said decidedly. “I know my Dwight, he’s too cheap to buy me a drink, never mind the likes of you. Go on and get off my property, now.” She waved a hand, shooing him as if he were a gnat, and his smile vanished.

He yanked the door open with one hand as she raised both of hers in fear, backing away. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, ma’am.”

She started to scream and he crossed the room in a bound, grabbing her head with one hand as he stuffed a cloth in her mouth with the other. With practiced precision he peeled a piece of duct tape off the back of his pants and slapped it over her mouth and nose, holding the cloth in place. She gagged slightly, eyes wide as she struggled to breathe. She tore at his arms, but her fingers slipped off the smooth fabric and he grabbed her hands in his, holding them tightly by the wrists as she flailed.

He watched for a minute, then said calmly, “If you stop fighting me, I’ll take the tape off your nose so you can breathe. But you have to stop fighting me, okay?”

She nodded frantically. Her eyes were starting to pop a little, her skin already waxing pale.

“All right, then. Be a good girl,” he chided. He eased back the tape around her nose, exposing her nostrils. She greedily sucked in air, wheezing slightly through her nasal passages.

She calmed down as she breathed. Her eyes focused intently on him. He had to give her credit, for an old bird she’d put up more of a fight than he’d anticipated. The important thing now was to keep her calm. “All right, Nancy, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to tape your hands together behind your back, and I’m going to tape your feet together. You and I are going to take a little ride. But if you do everything I say, no harm will come to you. Understood?”

A tear ran down her face, but she issued a slight nod.

“All right. Here we go.”

Five minutes later he had her stuffed in the oversize duffel and stowed in the back seat of his king cab. He’d straightened up the kitchen, erasing any sign of a struggle, leaving no indication he’d been there. Well, almost none, he thought with a slow smile.

He could hear her rasping in the back seat. He shook his head at her naiveté; what did she think, that he was planning on holding her for ransom? One glance at her dump of a house told you she didn’t have a pot to piss in. People were too trusting, when it came right down to it. Whatever happened to them was their own damn fault.

Twenty-Three

Kelly glanced up at the rap on her office door. Jake stood there, grinning, a white paper bag in one hand. “Excuse me, Officer, I’m looking for my girl. She’s a good-lookin’ redhead, about yay high?” He held a hand just under his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“Your girl, huh?” she asked.

“If you haven’t seen her, I suppose I’ll have to give this cheeseburger to some other needy soul.” He peered into the bag quizzically. “It’d be a shame, though. Got one topped with brie, which I know she’s a fan of.”

“Brie? Yum.” Kelly jumped up from the desk and crossed the room, reaching for the bag. He swept it away and held her back with one hand.

“Not so fast, missy. Gotta pay the kiss toll first.”

She leaned in and let her lips graze his, then relaxed and probed a bit deeper. Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. He caught her look and smiled.

“Don’t worry, looks to me like the rest of the office checked out for the day.”

“They have? What time is it?” She turned over her wrist and squinted to see her watch face in the dim lighting.

“That’s right, almost eight,” he said when her eyes widened. “So much for our seven-o’clock dinner reservation.”

She raised a hand to her mouth. “God, Jake, I’m so sorry.”

He waved off her apology. “Don’t be. You’re on a case, I’m the one that dropped in on you. I figured this way at least we could eat together.”

“Thanks.” She gratefully took the bag and spread the contents out on the table in the center of the room. As she chewed the first bite, her eyes half closed. The burger was delicious, and she was famished. She realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

“Little hungry, huh?” he said, bemused.

“Starving. What did you do today?” she said through a mouthful.

“Pretty great hike, actually, up the Appalachian Trail toward Vermont. Checked out a section of your boneyard.”

“Yeah? I thought that was still closed,” she said, her forehead creased.

“You need more than some stinking police tape to keep me out,” he said. He caught the look in her eye and held up one hand. “Hey, I was just curious. Although I was seriously considering dumping a body there, thought it might get us a little quality time together.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, I’ve got more than enough bodies to deal with without any extra help from you.”

“Anything so far?” he asked.

“Not really. Got an ID on one of the bodies we just exhumed, it matches a ten-year-old missing persons case. But no real leads. I spent the afternoon watching someone get hypnotized, though.”

“Yeah?” Jake chuckled. “Hey, don’t bogart the fries, pass a few over here. How was that?”

“Interesting. Not what I expected.” Kelly chewed reflectively. She’d expected the lights to be turned low and a couch to be involved somehow, but the therapist just had Sommers sit back in a leather armchair and close his eyes.

“Did you buy it?” Jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. He claims Jim agreed to come with him as long as Sommers didn’t turn him in to the cops. Then they got pulled over. The cop got them out of the car, said he was going to bring them in. When Sommers had his hands on the car hood, waiting to be cuffed, he felt a pinch in his neck. After that, he doesn’t recall much. Said he was in the back of a car, though, and saw Jim dead.”

“Sounds guilty to me,” Jake said.

“Maybe.”

He looked at her. “You don’t sound convinced.”

She hesitated, then replied, “It’s almost too obvious, you know? And Sommers has a decent alibi for Danny’s murder, unless his lawyer is shadier than he seems. So far, his reputation checks out. He even testified against a client who tried to use him as a middleman to order hits from prison. That almost destroyed his practice.”

“But you might be looking for two killers, right? So maybe Sommers is just one of them,” Jake pointed out.

“Maybe. I don’t know, I feel like this case is starting to bury me.” She wiped the grease off her hands and took a sip of ginger ale. “I’m afraid I might be stuck here for months.”

Jake started to clean up the wrappers, tucking them back in the bag. “Could be worse. I hear fall is nice here, leaves turning and all. Maybe we could find a place to rent.”

“Maybe we could what?” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s up with you? Don’t you have to go back to work?”

Jake shrugged. “I got some money saved up. And I got a call from Dmitri today. I guess his meeting last weekend went well, it looks like he might stay in New York for a while to set up this victims’ foundation. It’s not a bad drive up and back, I could probably even commute some days.”

“You didn’t get fired, did you?”

He grinned at her. “Oh ye of little faith. Nope, still gainfully employed. I’m just excited to be stateside for a while. Thought we could take the opportunity to spend a little more time together.”

“Sure,” she said uncertainly.

Jake stood and crossed the room toward the trash can. When he spoke, there was hurt in his voice. “Wow, that was a glowing endorsement. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, I just…I feel a little blindsided here,” she said apologetically, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you about this since I got here,” he retorted.

“I know.” Kelly glanced away. She didn’t know why she always reacted this way whenever anyone tried to get close to her. But then she’d thought things were perfect just the way they were: they shared a few stolen weekends here and there, the rest of the time they got on with their respective lives and responsibilities. She’d assumed Jake felt the same way. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say,” she concluded lamely.