Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 02 - The Hustle (23 page)

“I told him to stay away from you, but he wouldn’t listen. He said you’re the only one who believed him.”

Only I hadn’t believed him enough. I shivered, stomped my feet to stay warm. “Can we talk inside?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

I glanced at the Mrs. Her head swiveled back and forth between me and Shawn as if watching a tennis match. The spark of amusement in her eyes gave her a hungry look. I found it a bit unnerving.

Another hard shiver rattled through me. “Please,” I said. “I have something important to show you…and tell you.”

He curled his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “If you think you can rope me into whatever game you’re playing with Eddie, you can forget it.”

“He didn’t mention I was working his case pro bono?”

Shawn scrunched his face. “Pro what?”

“It means I wasn’t charging him. I have no reason to con him. I don’t need money, and if I did, wouldn’t I have at least asked Eddie for an advance?”

He shrugged his bare shoulder. “Don’t know what you’re after. Doesn’t mean I care.”

“But you care about Eddie, right?”

His eyes looked as though they sank deeper into their sockets. His lips formed a straight line. “Eddie doesn’t always see clearly. What happened to his family messed him up. I stepped in. We became more than friends, more than cousins.”

His wife nodded gently, a parishioner approving every word of a sermon.

“Won’t you even lis—”

“Fuck off. And stay away from my cousin.”

He slammed the door in my face. I staggered back, stirring snow with my feet. I hadn’t even had the chance to show him the picture…or tell him what had happened to Eddie.

I knocked again. Upgraded to pounding. Then resorted to a steady and quick rapping with my bare knuckles, the sound like a pissed off woodpecker.

Shawn finally threw open the door. Behind him, his wife stood on her tiptoes, neck stretched to peer over his shoulder.

“I’ll call the cops if you don’t get off my porch. Got it?”

I whipped out the sketch and held it out to him. “Do you recognize this man?”

Shawn didn’t even glance. “To hell with the cops.” He turned around to his wife. “Get my coat and boots.”

I’d had enough. I crossed the threshold into their home and put a cold, gloved hand on his shoulder. Shawn spun, fast, and clocked me in the side of the head. I stumbled sideways and bumped into the wall. A dull ache awoke inside my skull. Lucky for me, I dodged the second time he went to hit me. His knuckles put dimples in the dry wall behind where my head used to be.

“Would you relax a second?”

His wife bounced on her feet and clapped her hands together at her breast, giggling. Nothing better than reality TV than reality itself. Glad I could entertain her.

When Shawn swung again, I saw it coming. I sidestepped and deflected the blow with my forearm, then I threw a jab at his face.

He dodged and came back at me with haymaker to the chest, right at the solar plexus.

All the air
whuffed
out of me. I shuffled toward the open door, the wind moaning as it pushed through the entrance. I raised an arm against another strike. He was too fast. He hit too fucking hard. He reminded me of…well…of one of those guys from the fighting championship Eddie had said his cousin came over to watch. I got the impression Shawn was more than a casual spectator to the sport.

“Hold it,” I shouted. “Would you just listen?”

Shawn squeezed his fists until the knuckles cracked. “I’d rather fuck you up.”

“It’s Eddie,” I said. “Eddie’s gone.”

He drew up short, none of the malice out of his posture and expression, but enough question to temper it for a second. “What do you mean, ‘gone?’”

“He was…” I didn’t know how much to tell him. Not yet. “It looks like he had an accident. Slipped in the shower.”

Shawn grabbed my arm, pulled me away from the door, then shut the door before facing off with me again. “Why did you say ‘looks like?’”

Oops. “I don’t know.”

Shawn pulled me further into the house and around a short wall that separated the entry way from the living room. Still gripping my arm with terminator fingers, he pointed at the wall with his free hand. A shiny placard about the size of a hardcover book hung where he pointed. I could just make out the engraving on the silvery surface:
Regional Champion, Michigan Chapter of Freestyle Fighting.

“You know what that means?” he asked.

I tried to pull my arm free. His grasp tightened enough to spark pain from shoulder to elbow. “You’re a tough guy. Noted. Now let go of my fucking arm.”

He did. The sudden rush of blood re-circulating made my arm tingle.

“What happened to Eddie?” he asked. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Fine,” I said. “But you better not touch me again.”

“Or what?”

Feeling a little bad ass—which helped the bumps and bruises Shawn had delivered to my ego—I unzipped my coat and pulled away the left side, showing him a glimpse of my holstered gun. “You can say hello to my little friend.”

“Never seen him.”

Shawn and I sat at his kitchen table. He stared down at the sketch I had slid across the table to him.

The potential for bloodletting now passed, the Mrs. had retired to her bedroom.

“You’re sure?” I asked, though not entirely surprised.

Shawn leaned closer to the sketch like an archeologist trying to figure the best way to dig up an artifact without breaking it. His gaze scanned up and down the sheet of paper. “I’m sure. I don’t recognize him at all.”

Which left me back at square one with Bobby and, worse yet, in a whole new ugly world when it came to Eddie. I knew the fact that the Arndts were the ones targeted had some significance, but I couldn’t yet think of what. I had the best surviving source sitting with me, though. “Can you think of anyone who might want to do this to Eddie?”

“Someone who had stalked him, killing off relatives almost his whole life? No idea.”

“What about someone you met recently, someone you didn’t know?”

He gestured toward the sketch. “I already said I’ve never seen him before.”

“Not him. Someone else, though?”

He shook his head. Then a light dawned in his eyes. The corners of his mouth turned down. “If this guy is killing Eddie’s family, doesn’t that put me at risk?”

“So far it looks like the killer has only targeted family on the Arndt side.”

“So far. But I’m the last relative close to Eddie. Why stop now?”

Because, I thought, with Eddie dead, the killer had reached his end. Anyone killed now would not contribute to Eddie’s suffering. And it was clear, this guy had wanted to mentally torture Eddie until it was time for Eddie himself to go.

I drew another piece of paper from my inside coat pocket. I unfolded the paper and put it on top of the sketch. “This is a list Eddie put together of people he thought might have it in for him. Do you know any of them?”

He studied the list in silence for a couple minutes. “I don’t know her,” he said. “But Eddie told me about the Amanda girl.”

“Any of the others?”

“The Warren guy. I think that’s him—” he cut himself short. “I think I recognize the name.”

You didn’t have to be a PI or Wonder Woman with her Rope of Truth to know Shawn had told me a fib. “I know what happened with Warren, if that’s why you’re afraid to talk about him.”

“The stairs?”

I nodded. “Broken arm for a broken arm.”

“And Hunter.” Shawn’s eyes watered. He swiped at them and took a deep breath to knock off the sadness that clearly wanted to lie upon him. “Can we talk about something else?”

I didn’t know what else to talk about, though. He didn’t recognize Bobby. He didn’t know of anyone that might be after Eddie except, perhaps, Warren. I could see the final curve of this circle I had already traveled several times. “What do you know about Warren?”

“What I know about him, I only know because Eddie told me. I’m five years older than Ed and I went to private school.” He shrugged. “Before the funeral, I barely knew him, let alone anyone from his school.”

“How does Hunter fit in?”

“He stood up for Eddie. Who knows why? Hunter had anger management issues. I guess he figured it was a good excuse to get some aggression out.”

Bump, bump, bump went my head against the wall. No point in following a line of questioning about Hunter, unless I wanted to betray Eddie’s secret to Shawn. Which left me back with Warren. Déjà vu. “Did you ever meet Warren?”

Shawn shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t know the guy outside of what Eddie told me.” He sucked on his teeth, wheels turning. “You think this Warren guy finally made good on his promise?”

Unless Eddie had left someone off his list, someone he didn’t know had a grudge. “I gave the police everything I know, but they’re stuck looking at it as an accident. So if it was Warren, we would have to find out for ourselves.”

“Maybe it
was
an accident.”

Wouldn’t that make life so much easier? We could blame it on the Arndt family curse. All the Arndts were destined to die of unnatural means because an ancestor had pissed off a troop of gypsies.

I’d run out of questions for Shawn, and didn’t want to overstay my welcome while he mourned the loss of his cousin. “Thanks for letting me grill you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

I wished he hadn’t reminded me. The whole one side of my face began to throb at the mention. I stood, and Shawn escorted me to the door. He stopped me before I headed out.

“Eddie had a lot of issues. Who wouldn’t after coming home to find his dad had killed his little brother and mom before offing himself?”

He paused, as if waiting for something from me. I didn’t have much to add.

“I guess what I’m trying to say…he’s been looking for answers for a long time. He talked to me a lot about that day, how he was sure someone else was responsible. Sometimes he almost had me convinced.”

“But?”

“I appreciate you helping Eddie and not charging him for it. I was off base about what I said earlier. You seem to have his best interests at heart. I just don’t want to see you waste your time.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ve got the bee in my bonnet. I’ll see this through to the end if I can.” I turned to leave, stopped short, and turned back. “One last question?”

“Whatever I can do to help.”

“Did you ever notice a torn sticker on Eddie’s bedroom door?”

His brow wrinkled. “A sticker?”

“Guns ‘N’ Roses.”

“You mean back then? While Eddie was still living with his parents?” He shrugged. “Sorry, but it doesn’t ring a bell. He had lots of stickers on his door, though. I remember anything that had a sticky backing went on that door.”

I thanked him again and left.

Chapter 24

Had to be the longest Friday of my life. Which was why I drove straight home, totally forgetting that I had skipped out on the bar’s busiest night of the week. I didn’t realize my mistake until I was already in bed. I was surprised Paul hadn’t called, but he must have guessed the case had me tied up. If I kept this up, I really would have to give Paul a raise. Better yet, I could promote him to manager and not let the bar chew up so much of my life.

These thoughts racing through my head, I fell asleep.

The following morning I woke up to the sun casting a square of light from the window across my face. While in the shower, I took stock.

Shawn hadn’t recognized the sketch of Bobby, which ruled Bobby out as playing Eddie in order to play me. Shawn also claimed he hadn’t spoken to anyone about Eddie’s personal life. On top of that, he didn’t know about the sticker. So, when it came to Eddie’s case, I had nothing except another run at Warren.

Where did this leave me?

I mulled it over as I got dressed and had the answer when I retrieved my phone from the nightstand. The advantage of working two separate cases (now that I’d established these were, in fact,
separate
cases) was that if you grinded to a halt on one, you could move to the other and let the first sit with the subconscious to have a private chat.

I had forgotten about Sheila’s promised email with the names of Lincoln Rice’s “Club Med.” So I switched horses to see how far I could ride this one. I brought up my email account on my iPhone and found her message in my inbox.

Here are the names
, the message read.
Some spellings and such might be off.

A list of three names followed. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I never thought I would. Just names. One of them might lead me to my daughter. Now I had the edge in Bobby’s race, had info that he did not. I felt a warm flow of self-satisfaction until I opened the email message that followed Sheila’s. The subject line read:
Information About Crime Scene.

I didn’t recognized the address, but the subject line lured me in like it was meant to:

Dear Ridley,

I noticed a bunch of police at your friend’s apartment building. I hope your case with him didn’t end as badly as your race with me will. If it makes you feel any better, I saw who visited him last. Even took some pictures. I think you might recognize the face. It’s been interesting watching you work. Got to get back to my own investigation now.