Tough Customer (6 page)

"Did you have a lawyer there during this meeting?"

"Yes. Last night, and again today."

"Good."

"He wasn't really necessary. Berry's under no suspicion. She hasn't deviated from her first account to Deputy Nyland."

"Do they believe her?"

The question took her aback. "Why wouldn't they?"

"Do they?"

"They seem to."

Dodge didn't comment. He asked, "So where do things stand now?"

"The official word is that Oren Starks is being sought for questioning, but Deputy Nyland secured a warrant for his arrest. As soon as I got the okay from him, I hired professionals to clean up the mess in the house. They're there now.

"I didn't want Berry to see those rooms again until everything was back to normal, so after our meeting at the courthouse, we went to lunch at the country club. Then I dropped her at the hospital. She wanted to check on her friend's condition. I came here to meet you."

She took her first sip of tea. It was no longer steaming. He watched her graceful hands, the way they handled the delicate cup and saucer. Her fingers were almost as translucent as the china. "That's everything up to the present."

Dodge waited for several seconds, then asked, "Does she know I'm here?"

Caroline shook her head.

"Does she know you called me?"

Another negative shake.

There were many unspoken questions on that subject hovering between them. For the moment it was better to let them hover. "This deputy. Nyland? Can he find his ass with both hands?"

She smiled. "Your vernacular is still colorful, I see."

"Sue me," he said, and she actually laughed. Music to his ears. Then her expression became serious again as she thoughtfully considered the answer to his question. In concentration, her forehead wrinkled just as he remembered. The lines were a little deeper.

"Tom speaks highly of him. He places a lot of trust in him."

"He would. Nyland's his deputy."

"From what little I've seen of him, he appears competent."

"What's he like?"

"Characteristically you mean? Serious. All business. Watchful. A man of few words. Even a bit brusque at times."

"I know a lot of button-up, by-the-book cops who've never solved a crime or found a fugitive," Dodge grumbled. "So, back to my original question."

"I don't know the level of his competency, Dodge," she replied with a trace of impatience. "That's partially why I called you."

He wanted to know what the other part of
partially
was, but again he saved that conversation for later. If there was a later. That was still a big
if.
So far this seemed Mickey Mouse. A bullet, a loss of blood, but not the earth-shattering, calamitous event he'd expected when he packed his suitcase last night.

"This whack job, Starks," he said. "What do you know about him?"

"Only what Berry has told me."

"I'll need a lot more than that, Caroline. I need to know what she hasn't told you or doesn't know herself."

"I figured that much. What I can tell you is that he's been pestering her for months. She was at her wit's end when I convinced her to get out of Houston for the summer. She agreed to, but it hasn't been easy for her."

"In what way has it been uneasy?"

"She's very focused and ambitious. She works as hard as ever from the lake house, but it's not the same as being in the office. I know because I've done it. There are inherent problems to working out of a satellite location. She hasn't talked to me in any detail about the difficulties posed by being away from her office, but I can tell when she's worried or--"

"You two are close?"

"Very, Dodge," she replied earnestly. "Very."

It knifed his heart to know how important they'd been to each other, and how dispensable he'd been to both. He hadn't done anything to make himself vital, though, had he? There were reasons for his being inessential to their lives.

Guilt was a parasite that would eat you alive, but only if you let it. So he forced self-flagellating thoughts from his mind and focused on what Caroline was telling him about the daughter he didn't know.

"Oren Starks had made her life hell or she wouldn't have moved to Merritt, even temporarily. She would be in Houston, at Delray, working. She thrives on it. She lives for it. Last year, someone else got a promotion she was hoping for, and she was crushed. Admirably, she used her disappointment to propel her, so that the next time a promotion comes along, she'll get it. Her career at Delray has been the focus of her life."

Her face became even more troubled. "She would never have imposed this exile on herself unless she felt she had no choice. Which should give you an indication of how much she'd come to fear this man. You called Oren Starks a whack job, but I think he's more dangerous than that, Dodge. And I believe Berry fears he is, too. Last night proves it."

"Yeah, let's talk some more about last night." Setting aside his timidity toward all things breakable, Dodge pushed away the glass of melting ice and took a drink of his Coke straight from the bottle. "Specifically, what about this Ben Lofland?"

"He'll survive the wound."

"That's not what I meant."

Caroline fiddled with her spoon, avoiding eye contact. "He and Berry are friends."

"He's married."

"Happily, Berry says." His silence caused her to lift her gaze back to his. "I believe her, Dodge. She's never lied to me. If she says their relationship is platonic, then that's what it is."

He took another swig of Coke, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers. "Okay. So, the guy caught in his undershorts recovers from his wound and lives happ'ly ever after with his oh-so-understanding wife. The competent veteran Sheriff Tom, who's your nice, social friend, along with his trusty, tight-assed deputy catch the bad guy and lock him behind bars. Berry returns to her Houston office. Then all's well and life goes on." He leaned forward. "Why'd you call me here? Come up with something more dire than this, or back to Atlanta I go."

"What's more dire than Berry's life being threatened?"

"That's
exactly
what I'm trying to get from you," he said in a tense whisper. "The death threats of a guy who's unhinged, sputtering, and chanting can't be taken as serious unless his motivation for being unhinged, sputtering, and chanting is. So, either cough up what you haven't told me yet, or I'm outta here."

Her eyes sparked. "You're still a bully, aren't you?"

"Yeah. And I still want to fuck you. Just like I did the first time I set eyes on you."

DODGE SET TWO CAPPED FOAM CUPS OF COFFEE ON THE counter.

The cashier smiled at him. "Is that it?"

"How about throwing in those doughnuts, gratis?" He gestured to the clear acrylic box, which in the morning was filled with fresh bakery goods. At this hour of the night, all that remained were one glazed doughnut with sprinkles and one with chocolate icing.

"Un-uh, no way."

"You won't sell them. They're dried out. See the cracks in that chocolate?"

"The last time I gave you something for free--that Eskimo Pie, remember?--I got in serious trouble with the boss."

"Come on, Doris," Dodge wheedled. "He's not here." He winked at her. "I'm not gonna tell on you."

"He's an A-rab, you know," she said in an undertone. "He'll call it stealing and cut off my hand or something."

"Pretty please? With sugar on it?"

"Oh, shoot." She glanced at the security camera. "At least pretend to pay me for them."

"You're the best, Doris."

"And you're full of shit. I haven't forgotten that you promised to take me dancing."

Grinning, he said, "I'm taking lessons."

"My ass."

Out the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of headlights on the patrol car parked in front. "Gotta go. Don't bother sacking the doughnuts. Just set them on top of the coffees."

She did as he asked, and, as he backed out the door, balancing the cups and doughnuts, she said, "I'm holding you to that date."

Dodge's partner had kept the engine running. He reached across the front seat and pushed the passenger door open. "We're on."

Dodge tipped the doughnuts off the cups and onto the console. "You get the sprinkles, I get the chocolate."

"You got the chocolate last time."

"Sue me." Placing his coffee cup in the holder, he buckled his seat belt. "I'm the one stealing from the A-rab, and one of these days I may have to make good my promise to take Doris dancing. What've we got?" he asked as he fixed the plastic lid on the coffee cup so his partner could drink while he drove. He'd already sped from the 7-Eleven parking lot and turned on the emergency lights.

"Domestic."

"Damn!" Dodge, like most cops, hated responding to domestic disturbances because the offenders often turned their rage onto them. Cops got killed that way. He bit off half the stale chocolate doughnut. "Who called it in?"

"The alleged victim."

"That's good. Means he hasn't killed her."

"Not yet," Jimmy Gonzales returned grimly.

Gonzales looked more Anglo than Dodge did. When they'd become partners, Dodge had asked where the Hispanic name had come from. Gonzales had shrugged and said, "Dunno. Must've been a Spanish or Mexican gene in the deep end of the pool."

"Did the caller say her name?" Dodge asked him now.

"Nope. Disconnected after giving the address. No answer when the dispatcher called back. The house is a rental."

Gonzales was a good partner, reliable, always enjoyed a joke, but knew when it was time to shut up and focus on the job. As now, while they covered the short distance from the convenience store to a tidy house on a quiet street in a middle-class neighborhood.

He pulled the squad car into the driveway and left the lights on. He and Dodge alerted the dispatcher of their arrival and got out. They were watchful and wary as they approached the house. Dodge was particularly skittish about the windows overlooking the front yard and the exterior lighting, which seemed to him as bright as spotlights on him and Gonzales.

They made it to the porch without being shot at or threatened, and he counted that a good sign. When they reached the door, Gonzales stood aside, his hand on his holster. Dodge raised the brass knocker and tapped it loudly several times. "Police. Is there a problem in there?"

The door was pulled open immediately by a man who, Dodge would guess, was in his late twenties. His shirttail was hanging out, but his clothes looked expensive. He was good-looking and clean-shaven, although his black hair looked like it had been recently groomed with a gardening tool. His whole aspect was one of agitation.

He divided a look of disgust between the two officers. "I can't believe she called the police."

"Where is she?" Dodge growled.

"She's all right. She got upset--"

"Where is she?" Dodge asked with menace, emphasizing each word.

The man hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Bathroom. End of the hall, right-hand side. She's locked herself in. Can you turn off those damn lights on your car?"

Dodge didn't deign to answer. He pushed past the man and crossed a neat living room, stepping into a dark hallway. He heard Gonzales telling the son of a bitch that the emergency lights stayed on and asking if an ambulance was needed. "Hell, no!" the guy exclaimed. "I didn't hurt her."

"Maybe I'll call one anyway," Gonzales said.

"I'm telling you, she's fine."

"What's your name?"

"Jesus."

"Are you cursing or being a smart-ass?"

That's all Dodge heard. He'd reached the end of the hall. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Ma'am? This is Police Officer Dodge Hanley. Would you open the door, please?" He tried the knob. It was locked. "Ma'am? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

He heard the snick of the lock, then the door was opened. She was petite, reaching no higher than his collarbone. The guy who'd met them at the door was about Dodge's height, over six feet. Without even knowing the circumstances, Dodge already wanted to kill him.

The overhead light shone on reddish hair. Her head was bowed, and she was holding a folded, wet washcloth against the side of her face like a compress. She was fully dressed, but her clothes and hair were in disarray, as though she'd struggled.

"Ma'am, do you need an ambulance?"

She shook her head, then lowered the compress and tilted her face up.

When she did, Dodge felt his whole body expand and levitate as though it had suddenly been inflated like one of those Thanksgiving Day parade balloons. Then her eyes tethered him and slowly he resettled, but he still didn't return to normal. He retained that sense of buoyancy.

"I'm all right." Her eyes were the color of sherry, and if aged whiskey generated sound, it would be exactly like her voice. "I should have called back, told the operator there was no reason to dispatch the police, but Roger had taken the phone away from me, and I was afraid..."

"To leave the bathroom," Dodge stated, finishing for her when she foundered.

She lowered her head again and reapplied the compress.

"What's your name?"

"Caroline King."

"Is he your husband?"

"Boyfriend."

"Whose house is this?"

"Mine. I mean, I lease it."

"He live here, too?"

"No."

"Does he pay the rent?"

Her head came up quickly, and Dodge could tell that his implication had affronted her. "No. I do."

He was glad to know it and didn't apologize for asking. Instead, he gestured at her upper cheek. "Mind if I take a look?" She removed the washcloth. At the outside edge of her eye socket, the skin was red and beginning to swell. "We'll get you to the emergency room."