Cold Midnight (33 page)

Kylie started to say the usual: I’m fine. But the headache had been building for the past half hour. “The pain is starting to drill through my right eye.”

“Did they give you something for it?”

“Tylenol.”

Jane rose, smoothing the wrinkles out of her slacks. “Tylenol’s not going to do much.”

“I noticed.”

“If you want, I can go see if there’s something stronger they can give you.”

Kylie smiled.
If you want.
Jane was actually asking permission to help her out instead of barreling ahead. “Could you do something else, too?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe find me something to wear out of here? My clothes are . . .” Covered with a dead man’s blood. She swallowed and forced herself to focus. “My clothes are ruined.”

Jane nodded. “Be right back.”

48

SAM, A MANILA FOLDER UNDER ONE ARM, MET
Chase in the hallway outside Kylie’s room. “How’s she doing?”

“Shaken up but looks like she’s okay.” Chase indicated Sam’s folder. “What’ve you got?”

“ID on the attacker. Name’s Benny Kirkland. Got a rap sheet as long as a full-grown gator. Drug offenses, assault, breaking and entering, petty theft, loan sharking.”

“Please tell me there’s a last-known address.”

“Sorry. There’s a brand-new McDonald’s on that corner.”

“Fuck.” Chase ran a hand through his hair.

“You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks,” Chase drawled, irritated. “That’s helpful.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Food won’t help solve this mother
fucking
case.”

“I realize that, but we could grab something in the cafeteria while I fill you in on some stuff.”

“I don’t want to leave Kylie.”

“There’s a guard at her door.”

Chase cast a glare at the guard, who straightened as if a drill sergeant had just fixed eyes on him, and then at Sam, who looked unmoved by his sour mood. “Fine,” Chase muttered.

Sam fell in step beside him. “So what’s next? Safetywise, I mean.”

“I’m going to hire some security and rent a vacation house in Naples,” Chase said as he pressed the “down” button at the bank of elevators. “Something that can’t be associated with the police department.”

“You think that’s necessary? I mean, the guy stalking her is dead.”

“Doesn’t mean the bastard wasn’t working with someone.”

“Good point.” Sam tapped the manila folder against his palm. “Do you need any help? I could hire security or even set up the rental, if you want. Maybe put it under my wife’s maiden name? Get the rental folks to prepare it?”

Chase blew out a sigh. He’d been such an ass earlier, and now Sam was being a good friend. “That’d be fantastic. My hands are . . .”

“Full,” Sam said with a sympathetic smile. “Very full.”

Chase chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

They didn’t speak on the elevator ride down to the cafeteria level, and then they waited for the other occupants to exit ahead of them before stepping into the hallway and the scent of hospital food. Chase’s stomach growled. Okay, maybe this was a good idea after all.

He cast a glance at Sam. “Sorry about the attitude back there.”

“No need to apologize. I get it.”

“It’s just making me crazy, you know. How did that son of a bitch find her at a
safe house
?”

Sam raised the folder. “I’ve got an answer to that. But, first, we get food.”

Ten minutes later, Chase bit into his overdone cheeseburger and chewed. It was probably the worst burger he’d ever had, but it was fuel. He gestured at the folder Sam had set on the table. “So tell me.”

Sam flipped open the file. “Like I said earlier, his name was Benny Kirkland. Twenty-five.”

“And how’d he find the safe house?”

“He spent some time there himself.”

Chase couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding. He was a protected witness?”

“Yep. Busted for selling dope a year ago. In exchange for the name of his supplier, he walked. He spent about three months in protective custody.”

“Why the hell didn’t they lock him up in a cell for that time?”

“Safe house was part of the deal. The department keeps only two safe houses at a time. They recycle them every year or so. I don’t know if that was the same house where Benny stayed, but it’s got to be.”

“Jesus. I made it easier for the bastard to find her than if I’d just taken her home.”

“There’s more. T.J. Ritchie’s description of the man who tried to get him to bust Kylie’s windshield? Fits Kirkland.”

“Fuck.” Chase stared at his decimated cheeseburger. He wondered when Kylie had eaten last. And whether she was sleeping. She had looked so tired. That bastard Benny Kirkland did that to her. He looked up at his partner and told himself not to be grateful Sam killed the guy. At the same time, he wished he’d been the one who’d chased Kirkland. He would have had the satisfaction of putting a bullet in that asshole’s brain. And then he wondered . . .

“What?” Sam asked, eyes inquisitive.

Chase realized he must have been staring intently at his partner. “Did he have a gun?”

“Who? Kirkland?”

Chase nodded. “Kylie said he had a knife, but he dropped that in the kitchen. He said he was going to kill her, but he didn’t pull a gun on her, and he no longer had the knife.”

Sam’s face flushed red. “So, what, you’re questioning my self-defense call?”

“I don’t doubt it was a good kill, Sam. I’m just asking.”

“He tried to grab my Glock after I tackled him. We struggled, and I pulled the trigger. Fuck me, Chase. If he’d gotten my weapon away from me, I’d be the one wearing the toe tag.”

Chase sat back and drained the rest of his can of Coke. What was his problem anyway? Sam had done the world a favor by taking out the pond scum who’d hurt Kylie as well as who knew how many other people. “Forget I said anything. My brain is fried.”

Sam shrugged the tension out of his shoulders, but his face remained set in a scowl.

“So what’s Kirkland’s connection to Kylie?” Chase asked. Moving on was best.

Sam crumpled up his napkin and tossed it on his cleared plate. “I have a theory. If you’re interested.”

“Yes. Great.”

“I took the liberty of looking into Quinn McKay’s finances.”

Fuck. That was
not
what Chase wanted to hear.

Sam, shuffling through a pile of papers, went on without noticing that Chase had stiffened. “He makes less than thirty-five grand managing the health club. He has no savings and a ton of credit card debt. The only thing he has that’s worth anything is his home. That’s doubled in value in the past several years, and, get this, he cashed out equity of thirty grand three months ago.”

Chase sat forward. This was something he hadn’t expected. “What’d he do with it?”

“Gambling? Drugs? Who knows? But my bet is he chucked away his equity, then went to a loan shark for more. Guess who has a history of loan sharking.”

Chase’s heart sank. “Benny Kirkland.”

Sam nodded. “Bingo. So Quinn bailed on his loan, and Kirkland went after Kylie to force him to make good on his debt.”

What Sam said made sense, yet something didn’t fit. Or maybe Chase just didn’t want it to fit because of Kylie.

“You don’t look convinced,” Sam said.

“I just . . . I don’t know. Something’s nagging at me.”

“Can you be specific?”

“Nope.”

“Then maybe you’ll be convinced after you take another crack at him.”

“Maybe.”

“You want some backup?” Sam asked.

“I think it’d be better if I did it alone, at least at first. He’s going to be intimidated by me because of Ky.”

Sam pushed back his chair and stood. “If you say so.”

Chase rose as Sam started to walk away. “Hey, Sam.”

His partner turned back to him, clearly unhappy. “Yeah?”

“I appreciate your help on this. I know things suck for you right now and . . . I’ve been a major pain in the ass.”

One side of Sam’s mouth quirked up, and the annoyance that hooded his gaze lightened up. “And you think that’s different than usual?”

49

AS HE AND SAM GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR ON KYLIE’S
floor, Chase spotted Quinn and Jane in a huddle, their heads close together and voices urgent but low as they talked.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam muttered.

Chase didn’t acknowledge the comment, more interested in the content of the two siblings’ intense conversation.

Jane saw him first and immediately straightened. Chase didn’t have to be a lip-reader to know what she said to Quinn: “Here’s Chase.”

Quinn turned, and Chase didn’t like what he saw one bit. The other man’s dark eyes were rimmed in red and bloodshot, his face pale and filmed with sweat. His clothes—denim shorts and a light blue polo shirt—looked as though he’d pulled them out of the bottom of a full-to-the-brim laundry hamper. Chase would have bet money that he’d been drinking away his problems again.

“Quinn, you got a minute?” Chase asked.

Jane’s eyes narrowed to killing slits, but she said nothing as her brother nodded.

Chase gestured down the hall. “Let’s talk in the lounge.”

Before Quinn could take a step in that direction, Jane grabbed his arm and whispered fiercely, and not too quietly, “Stop acting so guilty.”

Quinn cast a miserable glance at her as his face reddened. “Would you just chill?”

“I’ll
chill
when you stop acting like you did exactly what they’re accusing you of.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Janie, so just shut the fuck up.”

“Why don’t you just go ahead and confess? You can spend the next five years moping around in prison. That’d probably be a good thing. You can dry out and get—”

“Jane,” Quinn snapped.

She clamped her mouth shut and looked from Quinn to Chase and back again before cutting lethal eyes at Chase. “When this is over, we’ll see you in court for harassment.”

“Frankly,” Chase said, “I’d be happy if that’s the trial we end up at. Quinn?”

Chase strode to the staff lounge he and Sylvia had used earlier, Quinn a few steps behind him. With the door closed, Chase gestured at the round table surrounded by four chairs. Quinn sat without speaking and clasped his hands on the table’s surface. His red eyes looked watery, as though he was trying to suppress tears.

Jesus, Chase thought. The guy was about to dissolve into a blubbering mess. And he reeked of alcohol.

Chase paced for a few moments, trying to get his thoughts in order. He wished he’d taken the time to check on Kylie. She could have grounded him.

Glancing at Quinn, he decided to cut to the chase. Pausing in his pacing, he gripped the back of the chair straight across from Quinn and leaned in. “We found his body.”

Quinn barely twitched. “Whose body?”

“Mark Hanson’s.”

“Who?” Nothing but baffled confusion.

“He was buried on the construction site of the tennis center.” Chase paused for dramatic effect. “His skull was bashed in by a baseball bat. Guess which bat.”

Quinn jerked as if he’d been zapped by an electrical current. “What? Shit.”

“You want to tell me how that happened?”

Quinn sat up straighter. “I have no idea.”

Chase resumed pacing and crossed behind Quinn’s chair. “Tell me about Benny Kirkland.”

Quinn twisted around to watch him. “Who?”

“You heard me. Benny Kirkland. Drug-dealing loan shark extraordinaire.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Chase grabbed the back of the chair next to Quinn’s, lifted it a few inches off the floor then slammed it down, satisfied when Quinn jumped. “Look, why don’t we make this easy on everybody? Just lay it all out for me. You resented the hell out of Kylie for everything she was that you weren’t and you got Mark Hanson to help you take her out of the game. Then what?”

“No,” Quinn barked. “That didn’t happen. None of it. No fucking way.”

Chase pulled the photo of Mark Hanson out of his back pocket and slapped it onto the table in front of Quinn. “This is the guy. He was a friend of yours. You commiserated about how much you both resented Kylie, and then you ganged up on her and smashed the shit out of her knee.”

Quinn stared down at the picture for less than a second then vigorously shook his head. “No. No, I don’t know him.”

“He was in your graduating class.”

“There were almost four hundred people in my class.”

“How’d it happen, Quinn? Did Mark try to blackmail you afterward, so you had no choice but to take him out?”

“No.”

“Did he threaten to tell Kylie or perhaps your father or even me who tried to cripple her?”

“No!”

“Okay, then tell me about Benny Kirkland. How much do you owe him?”

“Nothing, damn it. I told you I’ve never heard of him.”

“Come on, Quinn. You owed Benny money, and when you couldn’t pay up, he went after your sister to force it out of you.”

“No! I don’t owe anyone any money.”

Chase yanked a chair out and sat next to Quinn. Leaning forward, he looked Quinn dead in the eye. “You can’t prove it. You can’t prove any of it. And we’ve got the evidence that’s going to put you away for a very long time. You’re going to prison. Not just for assaulting your sister with a deadly weapon, but for murder. And you’re not coming out.
Ever
.”

“Jesus.” Quinn’s voice broke, and he sat back, dragging both hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ. I didn’t do it.”

“Prove it.”

“I can’t!” Quinn surged up out of his chair. “I fucking can’t!”

“Somebody bled all over Mark Hanson before he was buried,” Chase replied, his calm stark compared with Quinn’s slipping control. “We’ve got experts who’ll testify that they’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain that whoever did all that bleeding was the same person who killed him. We’ve got his blood and Kylie’s blood on your shirt, Quinn, wrapped around the murder weapon.”