Burning Proof (24 page)

ORSON RETURNED LUKE’S CALL
about ACME a short time after Lucy’s daughter called.

“I do have the name of someone from ACME. The CEO is retired now, but I met him once. He did some logistics consulting after the company failed. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to help you with simple personnel matters, but he might be able to put you in touch with someone who can.”

Luke thanked Orson and then spent the better part of an hour on the phone before he hit pay dirt. After three referrals, he reached a man who had been Gil Barone’s immediate supervisor.

“Barone, yeah. I remember that jerk.”

“Great. I’m trying to figure out the exact dates he was in Iraq and exactly how he was injured.”

“You’re lucky. I kept a file on the guy. I expected a big lawsuit from him, so I documented everything. He was gearing up to sue, but I remember that his dad died and left him some cash. I kept the file because guys like him never go away completely.”

“Why would he sue you? Rolling over an IED is hardly your fault.”

“IED? Is that what he told you? Ha!” The guy laughed for a moment; then he continued. “That’s rich. That coward didn’t get anywhere near any IEDs. The first week we were in Qatar, he got liquored up and crashed a company truck. Karma bit his butt. He ended up paralyzed. He was mad at me because there was a clause in his contract that said if he did get hurt in a combat-related situation, like an IED, he’d get a cash settlement. He wanted me to lie and not write the real reason for his crash on the paperwork that went home with him. Fat chance. I wasn’t putting my job in jeopardy lying for the likes of him.”

“I see.” Luke knew they were on the right track looking into Barone. Just one thing needed to be nailed down. “What day, exactly, did you leave for Qatar?”

“May 17, 2005. It’s funny, but back then Barone was a pain in my backside. He was only given the job because his dad knew the owner. Anyway, I’d have bet money he wasn’t going to show up. The closer our departure date got, the more squirrelly he was. But when it was time to stage for the flight, he was the first one at the warehouse all shiny and eager to go.”

Luke gave the man his e-mail and asked that he send him what he could about Barone. He’d forward everything to Jones at the Los Angeles County sheriff’s office. He thanked the man and disconnected. He grinned at Woody. “He left the day
after
Molly’s rape.”

“So he is a good suspect, looking better and better now. Are we going to give all that to Jones?”

“Yeah, he’ll have the power to pull Barone into an interrogation and pin him down about his whereabouts that day.”
Luke checked the clock. “Why don’t you call him first thing in the morning and tell him what we’ve found. My meeting with Lucy’s daughter is early.”

“Will do. Not sure he’ll have enough to order a DNA swab, though.”

“Even with all the lies the guy has told?”

“I’m no lawyer. We could still try to pick up an opportunity sample.”

“Maybe.” Luke drummed his fingers on the desk. “It bothers me that he’s so close to Molly. Remember that her sister, Callie, seemed to think a lot of the guy.”

“Well, he’s not the same guy he was ten years ago, and he has a lot to lose now. He’s a businessman, ties to the community and all that. Going after Callie would be stupid. My guess is he’ll lawyer up and stonewall us and the sheriff.”

“Maybe you’re right, but what if we just spook him and he runs?”

Woody shrugged. “Not a whole lot we can do. We found a viable lead to give to the locals. We can warn Molly and her family.”

“Which reminds me
 
—have you heard from Abby?”

“Yeah, while you were on the phone, she texted she was tired and turning in early.”

“Did she say how it went with Molly?”

“Nope, sorry. I did make plans to meet her for breakfast around eight or eight thirty. We’ll eat next door.” There was a restaurant adjacent to the hotel.

“Good idea. I might be back in time to grab a cup of coffee.”

When he went to sleep, Luke thought about Abby and Molly and winced inside for Abby as much as for Molly at the thought that the meeting might not have gone well. They all wanted to
help the girl, especially Abby, but maybe it was all too much for Molly to recover from. Like that soldier he and Woody had found living under a bridge. At the time he’d wondered if the man would ever recover. The soldier’s mom didn’t think so, but she was committed to caring for him.

Maybe with Molly it was the same. She was lost and would need to be cared for by her parents. Luke fell asleep praying that whatever Lucy’s daughter had to give him would be helpful, at least to Abby.

“I’m not certain I helped her at all,” Abby said when she and Woody met for breakfast. She played with her eggs, sipped her coffee, and felt utterly defeated. “I tried a little tough love, but . . .” She threw her hands up. “So where’s Luke?”

She wouldn’t admit to Woody how disappointed she was to not see Luke with him. She wanted to talk to Luke, go over the discussion with Molly. For some reason she was sure Luke would understand more than Woody did. Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe in reality she just wanted to see Luke.

What about Faye?

“He had an appointment to keep. Let me tell you about this guy Barone. He’s as dirty as they come.” Woody told her what they had found out, but Abby wondered why he dodged the question about Luke. Woody’s description of Barone sidetracked her for a minute.

“That sounds great, gold. If it were my case, I’d be all over him.”

“I called and left a message for the sheriff about all that we found.” His phone buzzed with a text.

“Is that Luke?”

“No, it’s that dog rescue lady, Carol. She’s found me a dog to look at. I figured since I was up here, if I had time, I’d look into adopting a rescued dog. Never thought she’d find one so quickly.”

“Woody, that’s great. What kind of dog?”

“Lab mix. If you guys don’t think you’ll need me, I’m going to head out there and take a look.”

“I think that would be fine. You’ve done all you can do by forwarding what you found to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Go get a dog. I’m happy for you.”

Woody smiled. He bent to text. “There, we’re set. As soon as Luke is back, I’m going to see a woman about a dog.”

His grin brightened Abby’s day, but it still bugged her. Where was Luke?

KELSEY BARELY SLEPT.
When they’d arrived in Tehachapi, they’d found the hotel easily enough. They even located Murphy’s car. Kudos to Jerry for giving them the license plate. That was when the fight started with Quinn.

“I have enough C-4 to blast his car to the moon.”

“Nothing subtle about you, is there?”

He’d cursed. “I know how to get the job done. Why do you think I’m here?” He’d stormed away from her to his room, but later Kelsey heard him go out again. She could only guess where. And that was when it dawned on her the answer to his rhetorical question. She knew why he was there. He was going to kill her as well. It was foolish to think that her employer sent him along for any other reason. Like Jerry and the computer guy, she was a loose end. The only question was, when would he strike and would she be ready?

Quinn had asked her exactly what Murphy was doing here, and she’d played stupid, wondering if having that information gave her any advantage at all. Kelsey already knew what Murphy was doing, of course, but it behooved her to make Quinn believe
she was as incompetent and blind as he thought she was. He’d make his move when he didn’t need her anymore. Maybe he’d even kill Murphy and then make certain she was blamed for it. Thinking out possible scenarios had kept her up all night.

She swallowed an energy drink and changed her clothes, struggling to make herself presentable. There was no way to get rid of the bloodshot eyes.

It was dawn and the sun was brightening everything now. They’d stayed at a different hotel. Kelsey wondered if Quinn would want to do a drive-by of the La Quinta to be certain Murphy was still there. She double-checked her weapon, a habit from work she’d never tried to break. A knock on the door made her jump.

“Yes?”

“Just me.” Quinn. “You ready to go?”

“Be right with you.”

When she stepped out of her room, Quinn was leaning against the wall across the way like a male model. He looked like a
GQ
secret service agent, and the smirk on his face troubled her.

“Let’s saddle up.” He headed for the door, Kelsey on his heels. “I spoke to the chief,” he said as he walked, without turning toward her. “There’s been a change in plans.”

Kelsey’s hand was on her gun. Quinn called their boss
chief
simply to grate on her nerves. Kelsey herself had retired as a deputy chief, and for some reason Quinn thought that was a failed career. Their boss had never been chief of anything. And that their plans would change without Kelsey’s input was troublesome.

“What do you mean?” she asked as they stepped out into the parking lot.

“The chief likes my solution for Murphy. So I’m taking the lead here.” He stopped at the car and turned to face her. “You got a problem with that?”

Would it matter if I did?
Kelsey thought. What she said was, “No, just as long as you get the job done and don’t screw it up.”

“Ha-ha. Like that would happen. I’m not you.” He opened the car door, laughing at his dig while all Kelsey could do was hurry around to the passenger side.

GIL DIDN’T KNOW
what time it was when he killed Bart. After they’d been home for a bit last night, Gil tried to explain to his friend who he was and told him the big secret of his life: that he used to rape and murder stupid girls and dump their bodies in the desert. He thought Bart would understand, that he’d want to join him in designing a big exit strategy. He did need Bart’s help with some things. But after hearing everything, Bart freaked out, practically wet his pants, and couldn’t accept what Gil was saying. There was nothing Gil could do but shoot the moron and shut him up.

There was no turning back now. He’d wanted more time to plan, more time to make his departure spectacular. He admired those guys who could hijack a plane and then fly it into a building. That was showmanship, making a statement. But nothing like that was available to him. Still, he’d do his best to cook up something. He needed a few things from his shop. And he kept thinking about the one that got away, Molly.

He thought about her as he trussed up Bart. It was an effort to drag him behind the chair and get him outside, but it was worth it. The guy was stinking up the man cave. Once that task
was over, he showered, trimmed his beard, and dressed. He put on a new company polo shirt and made sure every hair was in place. He wanted to look good when his picture was plastered all over the news.

He drove to the shop as the sun began spreading a ripple of bright across the sky. There were just a few things he needed, and then he had to get into position for the most important part of his plan. He filled a bag with his needs, then wheeled back, turning his clock sign around. It read
Be back at
and pointed to the time on a clock. Gil set the hands to read twelve, then remembered the cocky British guy. He reset the hands to say eight, grinning at the thought of the stupid Brit stopping by and being frustrated by his absence. He took one last look around the shop and briefly wondered if maybe there was another way. Remembering Bart in his backyard put his mind right, so he locked the door and got back into his van.

He parked at the corner, pleased that morning traffic wasn’t heavy yet. He knew she’d have to ride her bike by here on the way to the deli. He’d just opened the side door and made the transfer from the driver’s seat to the wheelchair when he saw her, pedaling down the street on her way to work.

When she got within earshot, he called out. “Callie?”

She stood up on the pedals and looked his way. He smiled and waved. Her frown disappeared and she smiled back, directing her bike to come to a stop next to his van.

“Hi, Mr. Barone! What brings you here?”

“I’m having a little problem. Bart is sick today and I dropped the keys to the shop in the van. I think they rolled to the back and I can’t get them. It’s a good thing I saw you. Do you think you can get them for me?”

“Oh, you bet. No problem.” She climbed off her bike, took her backpack from her shoulder, and hung it on the handlebars. “Can I lean the bike against the van?”

“Sure, sure.”

Once the bike was stable, Callie stepped up into the van and turned her back to Barone. “Where do you think
 
—?”

The words died in her throat as Barone grabbed her from behind, encircling her neck with his powerful arm, putting her in a choke hold, something he’d learned from his father years ago. Stupid girl didn’t even ask what he was doing there. Flexing the muscles in his biceps and forearm, he cut off the blood flow in her carotid arteries, keeping the grip tight until she went limp in his grasp. He then released her to fall to the floor of the van and made sure she was still breathing. He didn’t want her dead . . . yet.

He peeked out the door and saw no one around. As quick as he could, he duct-taped her mouth and hands. Her bike was a problem. Glancing down at her, hoping she didn’t wake up, he rolled to the van’s chair platform and lowered it so he could grab the bike. When he did, the backpack fell off and slid under the van, out of his reach. Cursing because there was no time to get it, he raised the platform and laid the bike on top of Callie, who was just starting to stir.

He pushed the button to close the side door and transferred back to the driver’s seat. He planned to be home before the girl was fully awake and felt the tires of the van roll over the backpack as he accelerated away from the curb. That couldn’t be helped, and in the big scheme of things he didn’t think it mattered much anyway.