Dirty Deeds (7 page)

"Are they going?" She hoped so. Some failed to really grasp the danger they could be in when one of their family members played with the devil, like James McDonald had managed to do. Bad things could and did happen to people whose only crime was to be related to a screw-up.

He nodded. "It surprised me Mom didn't put up more of a fight. I guess the word murder did the trick. They're heading up to the cabin. It's remote enough no one will find them, without some experienced help anyway. I'm fairly confident they'll be safe there."

"Excellent." She liked the sound of "remote cabin." It wasn't a guarantee, but the folks pursuing James might not want to work that hard to get to the family.

He shifted from foot to foot, his intent gaze on her face. "Now what?"

Good question. She wanted to know more about the dead girlfriend, but there was little chance she'd get anything tonight unless she wanted to tell the police about her pre-911 visit. She didn't, which left her not much in the way of choices. She might still have friends on the job, but if they knew she'd been at a murder scene and left, it wouldn't go over well. Even friendship had limits when murder entered into the mix. The best choice, the only choice, was to go home, get some sleep, and hit it hard tomorrow.

"We go home," she told him with a shrug as she let her hand fall away from his arm.

The expression on his face could only be described as horror. "How can we do that? I mean, look what happened to that poor girl. If they're so quick to put a bullet in her, what's going to stop them from killing Jamie?"

She could sugar coat it, but why? Louie gave it to him straight. "Nothing."

"Then we've got to keep looking." He reached for the handle of the driver's door.

She put a hand on his arm again. "Not tonight. Right now, we're working blind and that's not good considering the stakes have gone up way beyond the bond money."

He shook his head. "No, I can't just go home. You do whatever you want. I'll keep looking."

She took both of his hands in hers. They were cold. "Paul. Go home. Get some sleep and I'll call you in the morning."

"I can't."

"Please."

He let out a big sigh, his green eyes intent on her face. "It just doesn't feel right. I need to be doing something."

She did understand. She also understood how futile the effort would be right at the moment. "I promise to call you first thing. We'll find him together."

Crap!
Why had she said that? She worked alone. It was one of the beautiful things about her kind of work. She not only worked alone, she reported to no one. Not like when she was on the job where there were partners, superiors, and lest she forget, the politicians. For the last five years, she'd worked beautifully. Alone. Now all of a sudden one look into the fabulous green eyes of tall, red-haired, and handsome, and she made him a partner. So what if he was all those things and made her body buzz the second she touched him? Didn't mean she needed to invite him to hang around all the time. It was wrong on so many levels.

"You promise?" The hope in both his voice and his eyes made any thought of backing out impossible.

Louie sighed, let go of his hands and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. She flipped it open and looked up at him. "What's your home number?"

He told her and she programmed it in. "There." She showed him the display on her phone. "Now all I have to do is hit speed-dial and voila, we'll be connected in seconds."

He nodded. "All right, I'll go home. I expect to hear from you bright and early."

"It's a deal."

She opened the car door for him and he slipped in behind the wheel. Almost without conscious thought, she reached over and touched him on the shoulder. "I'll call you in the morning."

She watched him drive away. She'd have expected him to own a flashy car, a Jag perhaps or maybe a BMW. Instead he drove what she'd describe as a soccer-mom vehicle: a late model SUV. It made her smile. She liked this guy better by the minute.

No soccer-mom rig for her either. She opened the door to her 1970 Chevelle convertible and slid in. Before long she'd have to put the muscle car into storage for the winter. For now, she was enjoying the last vestiges of good weather. The raw horsepower of the machine and the way men drooled over the Black Cherry American muscle was hard to resist. Soon enough, she'd be in her foul weather ride, a four-by-four extended cab pickup, but until then, it was speed and power all the way home.

She had one more stop before she headed home. She pulled the car into the long driveway that curved between tall evergreens before it opened into an ample parking area. She stopped the Chevelle in the far corner, as far away from any other vehicles as possible. Door dings were not an option. The cost to repair those nasty little dents was outrageously expensive and something she went to great lengths to avoid.

Inside the big brick building located on the other end of the lot, Louie waved hello at the guard seated just inside the double doors. Low, sweet music played overhead. A subtle antiseptic smell pervaded the interior. At first it had bothered her. Now, it was strangely comforting.

"Hey Joe, how's life treating you?"

"Doing fine, Lou, and you?" Six-feet-six in his socks, Joe was a fixture in her world these days. She looked forward to seeing him and cherished his warm sense of humor. He could always make her smile and there were days when a simple smile made all the difference.

"Great. How's Abby?"

"Good as gold. Says to tell you hey and wondering when you're going to settle down with some fine man. You know have a kid or three." He was grinning as he said it.

Louie laughed. "Soon. Tell her real soon." Good thing Joe didn't see the way she had her hands all over Paul McDonald. It'd be all the ammunition he'd need to start making wedding plans for her.

"I'll give you away, ya know."

"I'm sure you will." She tapped the counter as she walked by laughing.

His laughter followed her most of the way down the first long hallway. Still smiling, she made a right at the T and kept walking. A few feet down this hallway and she could no longer hear Joe or the soft music. Instead, it was quiet except for a low mechanical hum. Like the smell of the place, the hum had also become a comfort to Louie.

The door she stopped at was second to the last. Here the hum was louder. Before she went in, she tapped her fingers twice on the door. She didn't really know why except she did the same thing each time she came here. Part ritual, part prayer. In the back of her mind, she hoped one day when she tapped twice on the door, Chris would tell her to come in. Tonight wasn't that night.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The lights were on near the bed positioned parallel to the large picture window. One of the efficient attendants had been in to draw the blinds shut against the darkness of the evening. She grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it next to the bed.

"Hi, Bro." She took his pale, motionless hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She kissed Christopher's hand and then put it gently down on the sheet. He was thin and pale, his short dark hair a sharp contrast to his paper-white skin. His eyes were closed, as they were most of the time. Louie was torn between wanting him to open his eyes and fear of the emptiness in them if he did. Every day of the last five years she waited for Christopher to open his eyes, sit up and ask, "What've I missed?"

It hadn't happened yet and it didn't happen now. Instead, he lay unmoving in the bed as she spent the next hour telling him about James and Paul McDonald. She talked to him of her own thoughts and concerns as if he could hear and understand every word. Deep in her heart she hoped he did, and one day they'd look back on these days with a smile about the conversations held in the light of the lamp, alone in a room at the end of the long hallway.

Someday.

Chapter Five

Jamie was scared and didn't know what to do, so he returned to Kendall's only to find it six feet deep in police. He'd told her he'd steer clear except he loved her and just wanted to see her one more time before he headed north. The reality that he might not be able to be with her for a long time hit him really hard and so here he was.

He'd come with absolutely no intention of going up to the house. His whole plan was to sit down the street and watch. That was all. Just look at her and know she loved him. If he could see Kendall again, he'd be able to work up the courage to make a run to the border.

Now, as he drove in the opposite direction, his entire body trembled. He drove slowly because he didn't want to draw attention to himself in any way, shape or form. A few miles from the house, he found a spot on the street in Browne's Addition where he was able to park the car. This part of town was full of large homes built in the early years of the city, many of which had been converted into apartments. Cars parked on the street garnered little or no attention because everyone who lived in the area parked on the street. The only ones who didn't were the people who lived in the newer high-dollar condos shoved between the old places. No one would notice Kendall's car for at least a day or two.

He was still shaking when he took a T-shirt out of his backpack and wiped the car down, trying to reach every spot on the car he'd touched. As soon as the police discovered her car wasn't in the garage, they'd come looking. They'd never believe she loaned it to him. Whoever believed him?

Once the car was as clean as he could get it, he tossed the rag in the back of a pickup truck parked a few cars ahead of Kendall's. In the gathering darkness, his jeans and navy hooded sweatshirt helped him blend into the night. He pulled the hood up. The damn red hair was worse than a flashing neon sign.

Both hands in his pockets, he put his head down and began to walk briskly down the street. He wanted to run. People ran all the time through the streets of Browne's Addition, just not usually in jeans and a hoodie. If he was in running gear, no one would take a second look. He wasn't, and they would. He had to be content with a brisk walk to put distance between himself and Kendall's car.

On the grassy knoll near the sign that defined the start of Browne's Addition, he sat on a bench with a view of the city. What a mess. When he first saw the police at Kendall's house, Jamie hoped it was because of something as simple as a break-in. His hopes and his heart were crushed the minute he saw the body rolled out of the house on a wheeled gurney that squeaked loud enough to wake every neighbor. Nobody needed to tell him it was Kendall. Nobody needed to tell him it was his fault she was dead.

How he get himself into this? Everything went wrong. Everything. And now his beautiful, sweet Kendall was dead. Tears ran down his cheeks. He wiped at them with the back of his sleeve, not caring that the fabric soon became soaked through.

The darkness grew deeper as he sat on the bench. Overhead, stars glittered like millions of diamonds, and the moon was a mere sliver of buttery yellow. Cars passed on the street and occasionally someone would walk by, many with a dog at the end of a leash.

He should move except he didn't know where to go. A few blocks north was the area known as Peaceful Valley and it would be easy to hide along the banks of the Spokane River. But the night was chilly and he feared hiding there would be too cold.

At last, he got up and walked east, stopping in the center of the Maple Street overpass. Even at this time of night, cars traveled the bridge both north and south. He watched them for a long time as an idea grew.

In a crouch, Jamie inched beneath the Maple Street Bridge overpass where it curved down from Riverside Avenue. It smelled of things Jamie couldn't bear to think about. The toes of his sneakers kicked empty beer cans and broken needles. The only good thing was the hiding spot turned out to be deserted. It would have to do until morning. He sank to the dirt, cramming as far back into the shadows as possible and willed himself to become invisible.

The sound of cars driving across the bridge overhead was almost comforting in its steady rhythm. Every so often, someone would walk by on the sidewalk above. He'd hold his breath and then as they passed by, would let it out. Weariness finally overcame fear, and he drifted into an uneasy rest.

The shadows were thick when the sound of footsteps snatched him from sleep. He jerked and banged his head on cold steel. "Fuck," he muttered, then slapped a hand over his mouth.

The footsteps grew closer. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Nothing. Not a single thing to use as a weapon.

A bad smell reached him before a dark mound settled into the dirt not far from Jamie's feet. He tensed and waited, praying his bladder would hold. Every sound the intruder made sent Jamie's pulse racing. Minutes ticked by like hours punctuated by the rattling coughs of the man beneath the mounds of clothing.

Finally, dawn sent shafts of thin light to puncture the darkness beneath the bridge. Hunched against the damp cool air of the early morning, Jamie crawled out into the daylight. His legs were so stiff it was hard to straighten them. His back and shoulders ached.

Dirt stuck to his jeans and he brushed it away as best he could. He started to walk way and then stopped. Crouching, he peered beneath the bridge. In the morning light he was able to get a better look at his evening's companion. Throughout the endless night, a deep, rattling cough had shaken the huddled mass of clothing. Jamie still didn't know if he was young or old. He did know the man was sick.

The other man was still curled up in the shadows though now enough light cut into the space Jamie could see his dirt-streaked face. He couldn't have been more than twenty if he was even that old. What could have driven someone this young to the underbelly of the city? The cough made him sound like he was eighty and Jamie worried he'd die lying in the dirt.

"Hey," Jamie said to him. "I think you need to see a doctor."

The kid's blue eyes were watery as he looked up and shook his head. "No, man. I'll just lay here a while."

Jamie didn't like it. What could he do? He was in so much trouble himself that he wouldn't—couldn't—be much help. He did the only thing he could think of. He dug in his pocket and pulled out one of the fifty dollar bills. He held his hand out to the sick kid.