Searching for Secrets (14 page)

"CHRISTA." KIRK HATED TO WAKE HER, but it was after 8 a.m. He had some ideas, and he needed to get working on them. But he wasn't going to leave her.

"Sure," he said, ignoring the temptation to offer to help her. Kirk walked back to the kitchen and poured himself a second cup of coffee. He didn't usually drink so much so early, but he hadn't slept well. He tried to blame the sleeper sofa, but that was just an excuse. He kept thinking of Christa, and not just as a citizen in danger. He walked to the dining room and studied the front page of the newspaper he had brought in from the mat outside her door. There was no point in thinking about it. Sure, she'd returned his kiss, but they'd both been scared. In dozens of ways, Christa Heckertt made it clear she was an independent woman and wanted to stay that way.

It was no wonder, really. The background check he had run on her showed she had not had so much as a traffic ticket. So he had called Sandra Macklin to ask how Amy’s second school day had gone. In passing he had said he was concerned about Christa.

Sandra had immediately warmed to the topic. If only, she had said, Christa had some family. Sandra had known her when her mother died, and thought it was so sad that there had not even been cousins to attend the funeral.

Kirk supposed having such a small family could explain some of her reserve. Though she was certainly good with Amy. Maybe it’s just you she’s standoffish with. Her loss.

"I have a couple great ideas," she said as she strode into the dining room a few minutes later."

Kirk listened to her explain why they should talk to Chas' friends and what they might learn from the bank. The ideas were good, but the mouth that relayed them was exquisite.

"Kirk, don't you think so?" Christa was regarding him with a strange expression. He realized he must have been staring at her.

"Uh, yes. But, I don't want you to be any more exposed to these guys."

Her countenance darkened. "Any more exposed? It's not a matter of whether I want to be or not. These thugs have my number and they aren't going to give it a rest until I'm slumbering six feet under."

"All the more reason we need to find a safe place for you to..."

"I will not be thought of as a child who needs to be protected from the big bad world." She pointed to herself as she talked, and he realized for the first time that she was no longer wearing the blue sling. "I'm not only capable of taking care of myself, I've been doing it on my own for many years."

"Of course you have. I just want to be sure that there are lots more years to come."

That seemed to mollify her slightly, but she continued to argue for several more minutes. Kirk finally agreed that she could ride along, but insisted that he would be the judge as to whether she accompanied him into any interviews. And the more he thought about it, the bank was out.

KIRK PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT around the corner from police headquarters and scanned the area for Mark Hadley. He'd been to catch his partner before he hit the streets for the day. Hadley was getting a couple pictures of Fast Freddy from the file so Kirk could use them when he talked to Chas Johnson's former housemates.

"There he is," Christa said.

"Mr. Energy," Kirk said as he rolled down the car window. "Hey, buddy, what time did you get in this morning?"

"I slept in. Five-thirty, and not a minute earlier." He passed the envelope to Kirk. "If we were observing this action," Hadley grinned at Christa, "we'd call that the hand-off."

She smiled in return. "I'll wait for the video."

"Listen," Hadley hesitated as he glanced at Kirk, then Christa, then back to Kirk. "There is some news on the jar of chemicals left at Christa's place." Mark looked from Christa back to Kirk.

"It's OK, Mark," Kirk said. He figured Christa might as well hear whatever it was from Mark than badger him about it later.

“You know that sulfur smell is common in meth kitchens. It..."

Kirk turned to Christa. "Places where drug dealers cook up batches of methamphetamine." She nodded.

"Right," Hadley continued. "Very combustible mixture. And not always the same chemicals. The full analysis isn't in yet, but when I checked with the lab guys this morning they said that it's definitely some of the same materials. In their opinion though it wasn't a device to smell up Christa’s place and get you guys to come out. It was supposed to explode."

CHAPTER TEN

"HOW CAN THEY BE SURE?" Christa felt her throat tighten even as she spoke.

"Some of the chemicals that they use to make the stuff are more explosive than others. The lab guys said the folks who work in the meth kitchens would never have deliberately made that mix when they were making the drugs. Too dangerous." Hadley reached inside the window and poked Kirk on the arm. "It's not like you to keep your mouth shut this long when we're talking about drugs."

Christa thought the expression on Kirk's face was more pained that the situation warranted. After all, whoever left the explosive cocktail had failed in their attempt to blow up the apartment.

Kirk turned slightly until Christa had to look him directly in the eye. "I seem to recall explaining, not that anyone listened, that this was looking more dangerous all the time, and..."

"If this is another one of your lame excuses about why I should leave this to you, you have another thought coming," Christa said.

Hadley knocked on the exterior car door. "Whoa. I know my cue to exit. Just remember," he looked around Kirk at Christa, "Every now and then this guy has a good idea. Whoever these people are, they would just as soon you not get up tomorrow morning."

Hadley walked away and Kirk rolled the window back up. "Look, Christa, you've been a certain amount of help..."

"A certain amount?" She tried to keep her anger from making her voice shake. "Who do you think was on this from the start? And who else thought it was some flunky burglar who didn't even warrant an investigation?" She paused, sensing his building fury. Kirk's jaw line tightened, but she plowed ahead. "If I hadn't found that computer file..."

"Damn it, Christa, will you listen to me? Just once?"

His eyes bore into her and it was all Christa could do not to lean toward the passenger side door.

"These...people have no qualms about maiming or killing anyone. It isn't just murdering Chas Johnson. That stuff they sell kills hundred of people every year, maybe thousands. They killed..." As quickly as Kirk's rage had come it left.

Finally, Christa found her voice. "They killed who?" Kirk brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. Could those be tears from this tough cop?

"I think Freddy gave my nephew Timmy, Tim, the drugs that killed him," he said, in an almost toneless voice.

"But, I thought Frances said he had some kind of a heart ailment." Christa knew that's what she said. She could see Frances, standing with the cleaning cloth in her hand, talking about her son's death.

Kirk shook his head. "It's true, he died because of a heart attack. What I never told her was that it was probably brought on by methamphetamine use. It can send the heart into spasm."

Christa tried to remember some of the anti-drug ads she'd seen on TV. "Wouldn't...wouldn't there have been other signs, the TV always says bad teeth..."

"If it wasn't his first use, it was one of the first. He didn't have the traditional signs, like a suddenly bad complexion or rotted teeth." He stared out the car's windshield. "Some people's hearts can't take being up 24 hours, or racing that fast."

The silence hung between them. Christa could see the anguish on his face, but knew no words would comfort him. "I wish it could have been different."

Kirk sat up straighter and turned on the ignition. "It will be different. I'm going to catch the scum I think sold him the stuff."

"How do you know it was Freddy?"

"Because he sells it in small wax paper envelopes. Which all the dealers do. But," he continued with obvious bitterness, "Freddy seals his with happy face stickers."

"And Timmy had one?" she asked.

"Exactly." Kirk's jaw was set in a firm line and his eyes stared at the road straight ahead. A dozen questions went through Christa's mind, but she decided to wait a little while before asking them. Not the least of them was how he thought he could keep such a secret from Frances for the rest of their lives. Instead, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"What I insist," Christa said calmly, "is that I not be left as a sitting duck for these morons. I'm going with you."

Kirk seemed to consider that. "I suppose you're right." He glanced at her. "About the sitting duck part, I mean. I wish I could think of a safer place to leave you."

"There isn't one," Christa said. "It's October 29, Kirk. Two days more until this so-called 'Delivery Day.' We can work on this together or separately, but I'm not letting these jerks get away with whatever somebody wants to pay them for. Not without a fight, anyway."

She watched his hands tighten on the steering wheel and then slowly loosen their grip. "All right. But you have to do as I tell you. These people would just as soon kill you as breathe."

Christa said nothing. She would listen to what he said; he was, after all, a police officer and should know a thing or two about tracking criminals. But she wasn't about to promise to do as he said. She didn't think she could trust Kirk Reynolds--or any other man, for that matter--quite that much.

Kirk slowed the car in front of a small house not far from the University of Iowa football stadium. Christa took in the brick ranch, with the front door that needed repainting and the lawn with all of its fall leaves yet to be raked. "Chas lived here?"

"Yes. And I don't know who else does, so you wait in the car." He unfastened his seatbelt and began to open the driver's side door.

Christa unbuckled hers. "People will be more likely to open the door to a couple than a single man." She unlocked her door and let herself out before he could protest.

"You promised," he said, curtly.

"No, you said I had to. I never did." The car shook as he slammed his door, and she braced herself for the verbal onslaught. But Kirk said nothing as he mounted the steps.

The first two knocks went unanswered. Christa thought she saw someone peer from behind the window shade, but she couldn't be certain. Finally, a woman's voice asked, "What do you want?"

The door opened a crack, and Christa was surprised to see an older woman peering at them. Judging from his expression, it was not what Kirk had expected, either.

"Good morning, ma'am." The woman did not open the door any further. "I'm Kirk Reynolds with the Iowa City police and ..."

"I already talked to the police about Charley."

"I appreciate that. I'm, we may have a lead on the people who murdered him, and I thought maybe you could talk to us some more."

The door opened more fully, and Christa regarded the frail woman who was probably in her early seventies. She was tiny and leaned on a cane, but her posture made it clear the small frame encompassed a proud spirit. "I'm Charley's grandmother. Do you have a badge?"

Kirk showed it to her and she invited them in. "Who are you?" The eyes bore into Christa.

"I'm Christa Heckertt. We think the same man may have taken some shots at me a few nights ago." She extended her good arm and the woman clasped it. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Hattie Isbell. You can call me Hattie. I saw your picture on T.V. Your classroom had the computers stolen, and you fell through an old cellar."

Christa smiled as she released the woman's hand. "You have a good memory."

She gestured that they should sit down. "Since Charley died, I pretty much watch TV."

Christa took in the small room. Its sparse furnishings were old, and the fabric on the two stuffed armchairs was worn. She guessed the doilies on the arms of one chair covered bare spots. There was not a speck of dust.

"You'll pardon my surprise, ma'am, but the police files indicated Chas, Charley, lived with housemates. I assumed they were people his own age."

"Some of them were. I made ends meet by renting the basement to two girls who go to the university. Charley was on this floor, with me." There was a catch in her voice, but she continued. "The girls were frightened when he died. They moved out."

"Leaving you all alone?" Christa knew that feeling. When Hattie Isbell did not respond, she said, "I'm sorry about your grandson, Mrs. Isbell. And sorry you lost your other tenants as well." She felt as if her remarks were clumsy, perhaps even insensitive.

"Do you know where they moved to?" Kirk asked.

Hattie shook her head, then nodded slightly at Christa. "Thank you." Hattie smiled slightly, and Christa sensed the woman had once had a fun-loving disposition, maybe would again if there were a reason to be happy. She had to have a decent sense of humor to have had three college students living under her roof.

"What I wanted to know was whether you had seen this man with Charley in the days or weeks before he died." Kirk took Freddy's picture from his breast pocket and passed it to her.

Hattie nodded. "Fast Freddy they call him. He's not someone you should mess around with, young man." Christa suppressed a smile.

"I'd like to fix it so no one has to deal with him. When was the last time you saw him?"

"The bastard had the unmitigated gall to come around after the funeral, to say how sorry he was that Charley died."