The Trouble With Murder (22 page)

_______________

My plan had been to return to my motel room. My day had
started unnecessarily early, and it was now nearing midnight. But I knew I
wasn’t going to have any luck trying to sleep. My last dream and the experience
of nearly shooting Ellmann that morning were still too fresh. So, I hit the
gym. 

Besides the guy at the front desk, who
was watching videos on his iPhone, I was the only one there. I eyed the
elliptical but decided I was too tired for that. And anyway, my lower half was
still sore from my last visit. So I hit the weights instead. To say I had no
idea what I was doing was an understatement. But I followed the charts and
tried to work both my upper and lower body, front and back muscle groups. After
about forty-five minutes, the fatigued, sore feeling was equally distributed
throughout my body, so I called it a night.

I went back to my motel room and
made another phone call, this time to order pizza. I showered while I waited
for the delivery guy, then I ate while watching reruns of
House
. I
deliberately chose to ignore how the pizza might negatively affect any progress
I’d made at the gym.

House was in the middle of an
argument with a new board member when there was a knock at my door. I snatched
up the gun and crossed slowly to the door. I braved a peek through the peephole
and saw Ellmann standing outside.

Who else could it be? He was the
only one who knew where I was. At least I hoped that was true.

I opened the door and looked out at
him. He was standing with his hands on his hips looking as pissed as I’d ever
seen him. Again, not saying much since I’d only known him a week.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he said, his
voice tight.

“Okay, I didn’t.”

He sighed and dragged a hand back
through his hair. “But you did, didn’t you?”

“It would help if I knew what we
were talking about; I could participate more in this conversation.”

“A buddy of mine called and said
there was another message about Tyler Jay’s whereabouts. He said the same girl
left both messages. That would be you. But you probably didn’t just happen to
walk past him while shopping at the mall.”

“Well, how likely is that? First, I
don’t spend my free time shopping, mostly because I can’t afford it anymore.
And second, if I did, I wouldn’t go to the mall. Not
our
mall, anyway.
It’s pretty sorry these days.”

“Whatever,” he said. “The point is,
you went looking for him. I told you he’s a bad guy. It’s possible he’s connected
to Stacy Karnes’s murder and the two attempts on your life. But you went after
him anyway. What were you thinking?”

My temper started to flare.

“I was thinking I was more than a
little pissed the police didn’t catch him the first time I found him,
especially since it could be him that’s trying to kill me. I knew exactly how
to find him and had the time to do it. Did you guys catch him?”

He shifted on his feet and his
expression changed. No. The answer was a big, fat no.

“We sent guys to the motel, but the
room was empty when we got there. The manager let us in, and the room had
obviously been lived in, but he was gone.”

“Are you kidding me?”

I turned away from the door,
leaving it open, my leg brushing past the Cushman parked in its spot beside the
door. I went to the bedside table to put the gun down. Frustration was boiling
up in me, and I thought it best not to be armed.

Ellmann followed me in and closed
the door.

“How hard is it to catch this guy?”
I asked, venting now. “Why is it you guys can’t even
find
him? It’s not
that hard. I’ve done it twice. He’s supposedly wanted, but no one’s really
putting any effort into catching him. Obviously calling the tip line is a huge
waste of time because no one listens to it. You know, there really should be a
live
person answering those calls. That way someone can send people out right away,
you know,
before
the bad guy gets away. Again.”

Ellmann sank down into a chair at
the table and listened to my tirade. He snatched a piece of pizza, eating it
while bobbing his head at appropriate times.

“I understand you’re upset,” he
began.

“Oh, don’t use that psychobabble
cop-talk stuff on me,” I snapped. “This is ridiculous. Tyler Jay is the most
wanted man in Larimer County. I’ve reported his location twice, and he’s still
wandering around free as a bird. Free to do as he pleases, which might very
well include killing me. Why isn’t anyone taking this seriously? What’s it
going to take?”

He’d finished off his piece of
pizza.

“I would tell you not to go after
Tyler again,” he began, “but it’d be like telling a bear not to shit in the woods:
pointless. So, instead I’m going to advise you to be careful. Even if Tyler Jay
isn’t the one shooting at you, he’s very dangerous. He’s killed a lot of
people, most of them just for fun.”

I scoffed and threw my arms up. “What
the hell good would it do? It would be a waste of everyone’s time. If I find
him again, I’ll have to catch him myself.”

At that statement, real fear flashed
in his eyes.

“Call me.”

“What?”

“
If
you find him again, call
me. You know that’ll be faster than leaving a message.”

The last little bit of fight rushed
out of me, and I dropped into the chair across from Ellmann. When he reached
into the pizza box for a second piece, I snatched another for myself. We sat in
silence eating our pizza with
House
playing in the background.

“How long are you going to stay
here?”

I shrugged. “How long is my house
going to be a crime scene?”

“We’ll probably release it at the
end of the week.”

“Great, I’ll be able to get my
stuff. I know the management company is anxious to get the place cleaned up and
another renter in.”

“I’m going to tell the boys not to
bother with cleanup. Let them take care of it. Seems fair after kicking you
out.”

“I’ll just end up paying for it.
She’s going to take the cleanup costs out of my deposit. I probably won’t get
back half of what I put down.”

The look at that news was anger.

Ellmann’s hard to read because he’s
been a cop so long. He’s had a lot of practice hiding his real thoughts and
feelings. But I was beginning to understand that Ellmann’s a passionate person
and feels things in extremes. So, if he let his guard down, even for few
seconds, it wasn’t hard to see the emotions burning in him. And he seemed to let
his guard down a lot around me.

“You didn’t tell me that part,” he
said. The cop-face was back in place.

I shrugged and took another bite.
What difference would it have made? I was still out a lot of money, whether he
knew about it or not.

“Did you explain things to the
lady?”

I nodded. “The discussion turned
into an argument, which deteriorated into a fight. She called me some names,
and then I left. I was thinking I might take another crack at her. I had pretty
good luck with my former mechanic this morning.”

He looked at me.

“What happened with the mechanic?”

“I explained the situation to him,
and he kindly refunded all of my money.” And then some.

“Just like that?” He didn’t believe
me for a second. I liked that as much as I hated it.

“Pretty much. After he understood
the facts, he was quite reasonable.”

“And I suppose you’ve sworn Manny
to secrecy.”

“You wouldn’t check up on me, would
you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Fine. Go ahead and try. Manny
knows what happened to Krupp. He should be able to imagine what will happen to
him if he spills.”

Ellmann looked worried. “Is this Krupp
guy . . . still alive?”

“Oh, please. Of course he is. He’s
just a little unhappier, a few thousand dollars poorer, and in need of a new
gun, that’s all. Oh, plus Manny poached one of his customers. Anyway, I don’t
kill more than one person per day. I have my limits.”

“Tomorrow will be a new day. I’d
hate for the real estate lady to get killed.”

“Tomorrow
is
a new day. But killing
people isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t really solve your
problems.” I sighed. “Let’s not be so cavalier about killing, please. I don’t
feel good about what I’ve done.”

I dropped the uneaten portion of my
pizza slice onto the lid of the box, my appetite gone.

Ellmann winced slightly then leaned
forward, taking my hand in his.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m
sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

I gave a small nod, and he squeezed
my hand. Then he leaned back in his chair.

“When are you going to talk to
her?” he asked, resuming our conversation.

“Probably in the morning.” I looked
up. I could see the wheels turning. Uh-oh. “Why?”

He shrugged then reached for my
unfinished slice. “No reason.”

Right.

He raised his eyebrows in silent
question, indicating the pizza. I nodded. He took a bite.

“Please stay out of it,” I said. “I
can take care of this myself.”

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment
and looked at me. “What if I give you twenty-four hours?”

“And after that?”

“Then it will be my turn to have a
talk with the lady. What she’s doing is wrong, and that’s sort of my job.”

“She’s a problem for a lawyer and a
judge, not a cop.”

“Twenty-four hours. Take it or
leave it.”

For the first time in days, I slept soundly without
interruption. And it had been two days since anyone tried to shoot me. I was
feeling pretty good. Maybe things were looking up.

Ellmann was asleep beside me, his
breathing slow and regular. I rolled onto my side and watched him. He lay on
his back, his head to one side, his feet hanging off the end of the bed. His
hair was messy and his face scruffy. His bare chest rose and fell with each
breath.

I leaned forward and kissed his
shoulder. Then I kissed his collarbone. I pushed myself up and kissed his neck.
I could feel his breathing change as he started to wake up. I straddled him and
kissed his cheek and his chin. He began to stir. He rolled his head toward me,
and his mouth found mine. Then he was fully awake. As the kiss deepened, the
rest of him began to wake up.

More than an hour later, we were
still in bed, tangled together, hot and sweaty, blissfully unaware of the rest
of the world. Ellmann’s phone rang on the table beside his gun and badge. He
didn’t seem to hear it. Or, if he did, he had no intention of answering it. A
while later we lay together, catching our breath. I had a pleasant, almost
numb, sensation throughout my body, and I felt lighter than air.

Ellmann picked up the phone and lay
back in bed while he listened to the messages. It sounded like several. I’d
only heard the phone ring once, but maybe it had been ringing all morning. I
didn’t know, and I didn’t care. He hung up.

“I have to go.”

“Sounds like somebody needs you
pretty bad.”

“Four messages. Did you hear the
phone ring?”

“Just once.”

“Me too.”

“I can be pretty distracting.”

“You have no idea.”

Twenty minutes later, he was
showered, dressed, and out the door, a slice of cold pizza in his hand.

I showered, standing under the
water for a good long time, enjoying the feeling I was experiencing. As I
dressed, I decided it was more a
humming
feeling than a numb feeling.
Either way, I thought it was great.

After grabbing breakfast, I stopped
at the shooting range. I’d gone the day before and run through a whole box of
ammo, but this was a poor time for slacking off. As if my life depended on it,
I purchased another box and shot every last bullet with focus and
concentration, because when it came right down to it, my life
would
depend on it.

Then I headed to Fort Collins
Property Management. I felt optimistic about talking to Margaret Fischer. My
phone rang as I stopped for a light.

“What’s the real
estate lady’s name?” Ellmann asked.

“You said you’d give me twenty-four
hours.”

“That was the plan.”

“Was? What’s wrong?”

“The name, Zoe?”

I answered.

He disconnected.

The questions started forming in my
mind as I drove to Fischer’s office. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but I
guessed it wasn’t good. I also suspected it had something to do with those
phone calls he’d been getting all morning. I parked and went inside.

The receptionist looked the same as
she had the last time I saw her. She barely glanced up at me from her computer
screen when I walked up to her desk.

“Can I help you?”

“You know . . . Jasmine,” I said,
reading her nametag. “Your attitude, and Margaret’s . . .”

Suddenly, just like in a cartoon, a
light bulb went off inside my head. An idea occurred to me for the first time.
I couldn’t help smiling at my epiphany.

Fort Collins Property Management is
a small division of a large company I know well. Several years before, I’d made
them a great deal of money.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t made
the connection before. I still had friends at Colorado Property Management
Group; if Fischer couldn’t be reasoned with, I’d call in a favor from one of
those highly placed friends and have them help me sort this mess out.

“Is there something I can help you
with, or not?” she said sharply, enunciating each word carefully.

“I came to see Margaret. Is she
in?”

Even before I’d finished asking the
question, I started around the desk toward Fischer’s office door. Jasmine
hurried along behind me, going on about how I have no right to just barge in,
and how she was going to call the police, and harassment wouldn’t be tolerated,
blah, blah, blah. I pushed the door open. The office was dark and empty. No
Margaret Fischer anywhere, and no sign she had been in the office today at all.

I backed out and turned on Jasmine.

“Where is she?”

Blah, blah, harassment, blah, blah,
blah, police, blah, blah . . .

“Jasmine!” I snapped, getting her
attention. “Where is she? Is she coming in today?”

“I don’t know!” she finally spat.
“She didn’t come in this morning, and we haven’t heard from her. I can’t reach
her. It isn’t like her.”

“Let her know I need to speak to
her when she does get in.”

I walked through the front door and
out to the sidewalk as Ellmann exited his Charger. He didn’t necessarily look
surprised to see me, but he didn’t look happy about it, either. Considering the
morning I’d given him, I figured this was about work. What would it have said
if it was about me personally?

“What are you doing here?” I asked,
walking down the sidewalk toward him.

He was hurrying up to me. He closed
his hand around my arm and steered me forward, toward my truck. I’d been headed
that way anyway. I didn’t understand why I was being escorted.

“What’s going on?”

“You need to leave. Right now.”

“I’m not going any—”

“Zoe, I need you to trust me,” he
said urgently, cutting me off as he pulled open the truck door. “I know you
don’t do that well, but I’m begging you. Please, trust me. Get in the truck and
drive away right now.”

He shot a look up and down the street,
anxiety rolling off him freely.

A sick and twisted part of me
wanted nothing more than to stay, just to irk him, to show him I wasn’t going
to be ordered around. The smarter (more functional) part of me simply nodded
and climbed behind the wheel. I was turning the corner when I saw a patrol car
pull up and park beside the Charger. I had no idea what was going on, but I
didn’t doubt Ellmann had just saved me a lot of hassle. And I would never admit
it out loud, especially not to him, but I was glad I had done as he’d told me.

Whenever I’m glad to have followed
someone else’s orders, it only ever means I am in big, big trouble.

_______________

Ellmann said the police had gone to America’s Best Inn and found
Tyler Jay’s room empty. I cruised north through town to have a look for myself.
I thought it was a long shot, but I needed a place to start, and that seemed as
good a place as any. I also wanted to keep my thoughts away from what had
happened at Fischer’s office and why Ellmann had sent me away.

I turned into the parking lot and
drove around once. As I did, I consulted the notes I’d taken the day before
about the cars I’d seen in the parking lot. There were a couple more now, which
I added to the list—for what purpose, I didn’t know—and several were missing. I
circled the ones that were no longer in the lot and put squares around the ones
that were. I drove over to the gas station and parked.

I spotted a homeless-looking man
standing at one end of the building, two large bags at his feet. I approached
him, and he eyed me warily. Probably people didn’t just walk up to this man.

I reached into my bag and withdrew
two fifty-dollar bills.

“Would you be interested in making
a hundred bucks?”

More skeptical studying. “What’s
the job?”

“Walk over to the Palom—I mean, the
Inn, and knock on door 217.”

“That’s it?” He was beyond
skeptical.

“That’s it. I need to see who opens
the door, without them seeing me.”

“You a cop or something?”

“No, nothing like that. My ex stole
a bunch of stuff from me when he took off last week. I’ve heard he’s still in
town, but if he catches wind I’m looking for him, he’ll split.”

“He must have made off with
something pretty important.”

“My great-grandmother’s antique
furniture and artwork, the bastard. More than the monetary value, it has
priceless sentimental value.”

The man nodded and looked at one of
the bags on the ground. “What an asshole. If he’s there, you want me to tune
him up for you?”

Tune him up? The guy who maybe
enjoys killing people? Not a good idea.

“No. If he’s in there, I’ll hit him
right where it hurts.”

There was a single nod. “I’ll do
it.” He held his hand out.

I passed him a single bill. “Half
now, half when it’s done.”

“Deal. Can I lock these bags in
your truck?”

The lock on the tailgate of the
Scout is busted. It broke the day I took Stan for one last ride in the truck.
He’d been at death’s door, too sick to work for nearly a month. His dying wish
had been to drive the Scout once more. He’d had to settle for the passenger
seat. I’d always thought the lock had basically fallen off out of sadness. The
Scout seemed to love Stan as much as Stan loved it. Foolish, yes, but turns out
I’m more sentimental than I let on.

I’d never gotten the lock fixed.
Mostly because my half-assed attempts to find an original lock had turned up
zilch, and Stan would never have approved of anything else. That, and it seemed
unnecessary.

But I didn’t mention this to the
homeless man. After the bags were secured in the back of the Scout, we split
up. He walked to the Inn, and I made my way on foot north along the highway. I
strolled past the Inn and watched out of the corner of my eye as my hired
helper walked through the lot, scanning doors for room numbers. I stopped
behind the six-foot privacy fence separating the Inn’s parking lot from the one
next door. I hoped it would appear I was waiting for something, like the bus
maybe, rather than obviously snooping.

I peered through the old, weathered
slats and saw the man climb the stairs and walk to the same door Tyler’s mom
had, number 217. He knocked and waited. Nothing happened. He knocked again,
harder, then tried to peek in through the window, past the curtain. A moment
later, he was descending the stairs, and I was hustling back around the fence.
I hurried to the office.

“Hi. Can I help you?” The desk
clerk was eighteen, maybe, with a pimply face and a math book spread out on the
desk in front of him. He pushed his glasses back onto his nose with an index
finger and smiled, showing me a mouthfull of braces. Zits, glasses, and braces:
the trifecta of adolescent hell. Poor kid.

“Yes, I’d like to check in.”

“Okay,” he said, moving to the computer.
“We can take care of that.”

“Last time I was here, I stayed in
217. Is it available?”

“Um . . . let me see.” There was
some typing and some mouse-clicking. “Yes. It is.”

“Great. I left my wallet in the
car. I’ll just go grab it.”

The kid eyed the bag on my
shoulder. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

I left with no intention of
returning.

_______________

I swung by my house the crime scene and found it actually
was
a crime scene. Which confirmed my problem was much bigger than I had originally
anticipated.

It was déjà vu. There were patrol
cars, a coroner’s van, and a crime scene van. A dozen people were standing
around on the driveway, sidewalks, and front yard, talking and pointing. I
could see the front door was open, and there were more people moving around
inside. I didn’t see Ellmann’s car.

It was obviously a bad time to drop
by. The books I’d been after could wait. So I dropped by Tyler Jay’s mom’s
house instead. Twice in a row I had struck pay dirt there, and I figured the
odds were pretty good a third time would pay out. It was just a matter of time.

With nothing to distract me, my
mind wandered. I only made it about ten minutes. My mind ran rampant between
ideas and questions, most of them on subjects I wanted to stay away from.
Finally, I dug a piece of paper out of my bag and scrounged up a pen.

I feared Margaret Fischer was dead.
The activity at the house made me think another body had been discovered there.
There was a reasonable connection between Fischer and the house. It didn’t seem
totally far-fetched to think it was
her
that had been found dead.

I thought the better question was,
why? Of course, I still wasn’t clear on why the last guy had been killed there.
But the list of reasons for Fischer to visit the house was pretty short.
Perhaps she’d wanted to have a quick look around to help her calculate what she
would charge me for cleanup. So, then, who killed her? She wasn’t a threat. Or was
she? If she was a threat, what had made her so? Did she know something? Did she
see something? If it was the same people who killed the first guy, what were
they doing back at the house?

I jotted down notes: questions,
thoughts, random ideas. I then circled some and drew lines between them,
illustrating a connection. There weren’t enough clear connections to satisfy
any of the questions I had. I worked at this a while longer, then my phone chimed.
Time to go to work.

The lot was full when I arrived. I
snagged an open spot near the front (against policy), grabbed my vest, and went
inside. My heart sank when I spied Tony perched at the podium.

The day proved to be a repeat of
the one before. I spent the first part with Tony. Then I was sent to the
customer service desk. Finally, I was paired once again with Landon. Walking
into King Soopers was starting to feel like my own nightmarish version of
Groundhog
Day
. 

Under Landon’s ever-critical eye, I
managed to bag an old woman’s groceries without inciting comments or complaints
from either her or Landon. It was the first such occurrence that day. After I
placed the last bag in the cart and my offer to help the lady out was refused,
a page went out for the dreaded wet cleanup in aisle fifteen. Something in the
way the person said the word “cleanup” caused a foreboding feeling to bubble up
in my gut. I also knew before looking up Tony was going to charge me with the
task.