The Trouble With Murder (20 page)

“What about Pezzani?” he asked.

“What about him?”

“What about you and him?”

“No such thing. Never was. Never
will be.”

He looked relieved. “I thought you
were together.”

“No.” If I was honest, it had been
Ellmann from the beginning. I waved a hand between us. “He didn’t make me feel
like this.”

Ellmann just smiled and kissed me
again.

_______________

Something on the periphery of my consciousness wasn’t right.
It mingled with the horror playing out in my subconscious. Sweating, panting,
trembling, I sat up and scrambled backward. In my dream, my father, whose face
I’d been able to see clearly through the black ski mask, had held a gun this
time. Instead of chasing me, he brought the gun up and aimed, controlling his
breathing, choosing his shot. He’d always been a frighteningly good shot.

With bleary eyes, I quickly took in
the room, which I hadn’t yet placed. Then I heard the voices on the other side
of the door
—
the reason I’d
woken up. The fear was immediate and nearly complete, eclipsing all other
judgment and dictating all behavior.

I looked around the room, searching
for anything I could use to defend myself or for a place to hide. Outside, there
was some shuffling, some more talking, whispers now, then movement against the
door. There was some rattling and banging followed by the unmistakable sound of
the keycard sliding into the door. Panic seeped in around me like black oil, blotting
out all sensory information and stalling my thinking. My heart hammered against
my chest.

The lock beeped and retracted, then
the handle turned and the door opened. Finally, my attention skimmed over the
Sig Sauer on the bedside table. Blindly, I clamored for it, grabbing it up.
Holding it in both hands, I swung it toward the door as someone stepped into
the room. My index finger began squeezing the trigger.

“Whoa,” the person said. “Easy.”

His voice was calm and steady, and
it penetrated my panic-stalled brain.

Ellmann stood in the open doorway,
his cell phone pinched between his ear and shoulder, both hands full: one with
a brown bag and the other a drink carrier. He was wearing the same clothes,
though the shirt now hung unbuttoned over the t-shirt, and his aviator
sunglasses.

Suddenly the pressure from the fear
and panic was gone, though I still felt both quite potently. I lowered the
weapon quickly and dropped it onto the bed at my feet. My stomach roll with
nausea as I realized how close I’d come to pulling the trigger.

With shaking arms, I pushed myself
back against the headboard and pulled the sheet over me. Ellmann shut the door
and walked to the small table.

“No, not you,” he was saying.
“Listen, I heard you. I’ll do what I can. I need to go.”

He deposited what looked like
breakfast on the table then put the phone in his pocket.

It was daylight, sun streaming in
around the heavy drapes over the windows. I finally remembered where I was and
why. I also remembered what I’d done the night before, both at Pezzani’s as
well as with Ellmann in this very room. Nausea rolled through me again.

Ellmann came over and picked up the
gun, returning it to the bedside table. I heard something else heavy drop
beside it: his gun. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped me in his arms.
He kissed my forehead.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.
I could feel his heart beating just a little too fast. “I didn’t even think
about it when I opened the door.”

He’d thought about the possibility
of someone else coming through the door, though. My gun had been on the table
when I’d gone to bed. He’d moved it closer.

“It wasn’t just you.” My mouth was
dry, my voice hoarse. “I was having a nightmare.”

“Must have been some nightmare.
I’ve never seen anyone look so terrified.” His voice was a tight whisper.

Yeah, so terrified I’d almost shot
him. I shuddered. And swallowed down the bile that rose in the back of my
throat.

“It’s over now,” I said. I didn’t
want to think about it anymore. Fear and panic weren’t going to get me anywhere,
and I had things to do. As I thought about the fact that I was homeless,
carless, and in job-limbo, I felt depression calling to me again. Add to that
list being marked for death and mixed up in a major crime, and my thoughts went
immediately to the Jack Daniels still sitting on the table.

“Did you bring coffee?”

Ellmann didn’t push me. Allowing me
to change the subject, he kissed my forehead again and got up.

“I walked to Einstein’s for bagels
and coffee. I don’t know what you like, so take your pick.”

I smiled. “Sounds perfect. You
know, I’m beginning to suspect you’re a pretty sweet guy.”

He shrugged and grinned. “Don’t
tell anyone, okay? It’ll ruin my reputation.”

I got up and dressed, my thoughts
inevitably drifting to my reason for being naked in the first place. I’m not
the type to fall into bed with someone I know so little about. The night before
was very much out of character for me. Maybe it was the trauma of having just
used deadly force to defend a second attempt on my life. Maybe it was the hurt
of the rejection from Pezzani. Maybe it was the shot of whiskey. Maybe it was
the way Ellmann made me feel. I didn’t know. More likely, it was all of these
things working together. And because I had no experience with this, I didn’t
know what to do next.

I joined him at the table,
discovering the fortunate news that he and I have similar tastes in coffee and
bagels. I took my choice of coffee, and Ellmann had his choice of bagel. We
were both quiet for a while as we ate and sipped.

“What’s the deal with Tyler Jay?” I
asked.

He looked up. “We chased down the
leads you gave us, but he was long gone by the time we got there. We’ve got an
APB out on the Honda you described, but we’re not hopeful. It came back
registered to Derrick Bilek, the dead guy in your living room.”

“Little car for such a big guy. Are
you sure?”

He nodded. “That’s what the DMV has
on file.”

“What about hospitals? I know I hit
that second shooter last night. There were a couple drops of blood on the
stairs that could not have come from anyone else.”

Again he was nodding. “We know.
Initial forensics says there were two different blood types. It’s way too soon
for DNA, so that won’t help us right now. No one showed up to the ER at PVH or
MCR with a gunshot wound or any other injury that could possibly be a gunshot
wound. I’ve got a guy making the calls to other hospitals like Greeley,
Loveland, Cheyenne, Denver, but I’m not sure we’ll find anything. He might not
be able to go to a hospital.”

“Because I killed him, or because
he’s Tyler Jay?”

“Either. Although, I’d be surprised
if he turned up dead. There wasn’t enough blood for a serious injury.”

“He split the second I hit him.
It’s possible he wasn’t in the house long enough to bleed.”

“Anything is possible.”

“Aside from Tyler Jay, how does
Derrick Bilek tie to Stacy Karnes?”

He was about to take a bite but
stopped and looked up at me. Slowly, he set the bagel down. “No.”

“No, what?”

“The answer is no.”

“What’s the question?” I knew the
question.

“Whatever you have in mind about
Tyler Jay or any of the rest of this mess, the answer is a big no.”

“I don’t even know what that
means,” I said. I knew exactly what it meant.

But who was I to let a little thing
like Detective Ellmann stop me?

After breakfast, Ellmann left to go
to work, and I showered and dressed. I went to the office and arranged for
another night. I was climbing onto the scooter as my phone rang.

“It’s Manny. Are you able to stop
by?”

“When?”

“What are you doing now?”

“What’s wrong?” All my little
antennas were standing up at attention.

“You need to see this.”

“Now’s good. I’ll be right there.”

_______________

It was a ten-minute drive from the Inn to the garage. I
parked outside the small, dingy office and bypassed the door, seeing no one
inside. Both garage bay doors were open, and four men were working inside. Two
were working on a Lexus SUV on the lift, while the other two had their heads
under the hood of my truck still sitting on the ground.

“Manny?” I called to the group at
large.

Both men looked up from my truck.
The smaller of the two wiped his hands on a rag as he walked toward me. When
his skin was as clean as it would get without the aid of soap, water, and
professional-grade degreaser, he extended it to me.

“I’m Manny.”

“I’m Zoe.”

He was five-six with shoes on, his
black hair long and hanging on either side of his eyes. He had brown skin and
tattoos covering both arms, visible around the greasy t-shirt he wore. He had
hazelnut brown eyes and a goatee. His jeans sagged slightly on his hips and
were as dirty as his shirt.

“Let me show you,” he said, tipping
his head over his shoulder toward the truck.

We walked over and stood in front
of it. The other man, who resembled Manny, was still standing beside the truck.
We all looked on, and for a moment we were like mourners at a funeral.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“We figured out what the problem
was,” Manny began. “It was the fuel pump. That’s simple enough to fix. When we
went looking, though, we found a bunch of interesting stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Parts that don’t go on a Scout.
Whoever’s been working on this truck changed parts out of the electrical, fuel,
cooling, and exhaust systems.”

“That son of a bitch,” I breathed.
“That
son
of a
bitch
!”

“All of that contributed to the
problems you were having. How much did the guy charge you?”

“More than four thousand over the
last year.”

Manny was nodding his head. “Yeah,
some of those parts have been in there for a while. Who’s this mechanic?”

“Leonard Krupp. Know him?”

Manny looked pained. “You could say
that. Listen, this isn’t the first time good ol’ Lenny’s done something like
this.”

“Lenny was friends with the guy who
owned this thing before me,” I said. “Stan vouched for him. How could he do
this to his friend’s car? This Scout is a classic.”

“Sometimes money is more important
than friendship,” Manny said philosophically. “You should ask Ellmann to go
visit him with you and get your money back.”

“Ellmann? Why would I bring him?”

“The power of the law. Sometimes
people respond to that sort of force.”

“I’ll be more effective without him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Ellmann has to stick to the
law and keep things legal. I’m not really limited that way.”

Manny and the second guy both smiled.

“Can you put all these parts in a
bag or something?” I asked.

“When are you planning to visit
Lenny?” Manny asked.

“As soon as you get the parts out
of the truck.”

“Give us fifteen minutes. And I
want to go with you.”

“Usually I’m a solo act, but I’ll
make an exception on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Whatever happens at Lenny’s stays
at Lenny’s.”

He grinned wider. “Deal.”

True to his word, the parts were
all in a plastic grocery sack Manny had lying around the shop fifteen minutes
later. We climbed onto the scooter and motored over to Krupp’s garage while
Manny’s friend started putting the truck back together. I was horrified by the
number of parts in the bag: the thing was so full the handles wouldn’t meet. I
could only imagine the price tag on this garage visit, and I saw the balance of
my checking account drop dramatically.

I parked outside Krupp’s office and
went inside. While there was activity in the open garage, Krupp was visible
behind the desk, talking on the phone. An elderly woman sat in a chair,
waiting. I walked in as if I owned the place and dumped the parts onto the counter.
They bounced and clattered to the floor. Krupp stopped speaking mid-sentence
and stared at me open-mouthed. I couldn’t be sure of the expression on his face,
but my bet was anxiety. The old woman looked scared.

Krupp mumbled something about
calling back later and hung up. As he did, his demeanor shifted, and he slid a
defensive mask onto to his face. When he looked back at me, he was aiming for
indifference—falling short, but aiming all the same.

“What’s all this?” he demanded,
waving his hands over the parts.

“Your lies.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Evidence of your
con. These are all the parts you swapped out of my truck and charged me for.” I
turned to the old woman. “He’s not working on
your
car, is he?”

“Well, uh, actually, yes.”

“My advice? Take it to someone
else. I recommend this guy.” I pointed to Manny.

“How dare you march in here and
accuse me like this!” Krupp cried.

Manny walked over to the woman and
extended his hand. She placed hers in his, and he gently helped her up, then
guided her to the door. He was talking softly to her.

“We have a problem here,” I said to
Krupp. “You charged me more than four thousand dollars over the last year, and
you’ve been swapping out parts the whole time.”

“You can’t prove where these parts
came from,” he said as Manny returned to stand beside me. “You can’t prove I
put them there. You probably put them there yourself.”

“I keep very detailed records, and since
Stan died, you have been working on my truck exclusively. That doesn’t look so
good. You know, Stan’s probably rolling over in his grave right about now, you
bastard. He trusted you.”

Krupp had the decency to look
ashamed, if only briefly. His eyes darted to the floor, and he shuffled from
foot to foot.