FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (9 page)

“Like in a date?” she blurted out.

He nodded, his eyes anxious.

Oh, shit! I didn’t mean to lead him on.

She was a little shocked as well. He didn’t seem to be the type who would ask a married woman out. But then what did she know about him really?

“Tim,” she said quietly, “I’m not available.” She tugged her arm out from under his hand and wiggled her fingers. The overhead light sparkled on her diamond ring.

Confusion crowded out the anxiety on his face. “Yeah, but you said it had been a long time. I thought maybe you might be ready to move on.”

What the hell is he talking about?

Understanding dawned. He thought she was still wearing Eddie’s rings, as widows often did. As she had, until the night Skip proposed.

“Tim, I
have
moved on. I remarried in 2007.”

He broke eye contact and turned his head away. A red tide crept up his cheeks. “Oh, boy,” he muttered softly.

“Skip Canfield is my husband.”

His head whipped back around. “The big, buff guy?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Kate said, although she knew what he meant. Aikido classes three times a week kept her in shape, but still the lovely and voluptuous Julie Wallace was more in Skip’s league, in terms of physical attractiveness, than she was.

“Oh, man,” Tim said. “I’m being a jerk all over the place here. Of course I think you’re a very attractive woman, or I wouldn’t have, you know…”

“You’re not being a jerk at all. I’m flattered. I truly am.”

And a little tempted
, a tiny voice said in the back of her head. She shushed it.

“Maybe we should get back to the case,” she said.

His nod was vigorous.

“You said the torture marks were similar on all five of the New Haven victims. Do you have crime scene photos for them?”

He tapped his tablet sitting on the table in front of him. “Are you sure you want to look at them?”

“I can handle it.”

Tim called up the photos, one at a time, for her to study them.

Bile rose in her throat a couple times, but she managed to swallow it down. After she’d been through the photos twice, she asked, “Can you put two of them side by side on here?”

“Sure.” He fiddled with the tablet for a moment and then turned it around for her to see.

“Can we zoom in?”

He punched a spot on the tablet.

Suddenly she was looking at two bellies, one male, one female.

“That’s the first and the last victims,” Tim said.

She stared at the tablet for a full minute, looking back and forth between the two photos. She tore a piece of paper off her notepad and laid it on top of the tablet. But when she touched the tip of her pencil to it, the picture underneath changed. She’d accidentally told the tablet to zoom back out again.

“Here, let me try.” Tim took the pencil from her and drew very light lines wherever the cuts appeared on the one victim’s stomach. He made dots for the cigarette burns.

He moved the paper over a few inches and looked at it for a couple beats. Then he sat back in his chair.

Kate turned the tablet around, the paper on top, and looked for herself. She let out a low whistle, a little surprised that she had been right. “He uses a template.”

Tim grabbed the tablet back and punched the screen several times. “Here it is, the crime scene photos of the 2002 New Haven case.” He ran his finger over the tablet’s screen, searching. “Yeah, here we go. Close-ups of the wounds.”

Kate handed him the piece of paper with the pencil markings.

He laid it over the tablet and studied it for a moment.

Looking up, he said, “Exact match!”

CHAPTER TEN

2:00 p.m. Saturday

Skip and Julie’s phone calls to apartment building managers had yielded five places on the second floor–the ones rented to the forty-something male roommates, to the company, and to three of the couples who fell into their age range.

The middle-aged, single man’s apartment was on the third floor, but they’d checked him out first anyway. He was a bit heavier and taller than Charles had described, and mostly bald, with a fringe of salt and pepper hair. Since he could have been wearing a wig when Charles saw him, Julie Wallace ran a background check on the guy. He’d been a Maryland resident all his life and his only crime on record was speeding on I-83.

The roommates turned out to be flamboyantly gay and neither was much of a match for Charles’s description.

Out on the sidewalk, Julie let out a sigh. “What next? The couples or the company?”

“Not sure,” Skip said. “Lemme think for a minute.” They walked toward his truck.

He had been the one who’d talked to the manager of the apartment rented by the company. The guy had told him in no uncertain terms that they’d have to get a search warrant before he’d let them in. He had, however, given him the name and phone number of the real estate agent who had rented the place for the firm. She had said she’d been contacted first by phone and then had received a confirmation letter on the company’s letterhead. Her contact person had told her the firm did a lot of business in the Baltimore area, and it was cheaper to rent an apartment for their sales reps to use rather than putting them up in hotels all the time. She held the key at her office and the sales people were supposed to come see her when they got to town. So far, nobody had done so. When Skip had asked if they could borrow the key, the woman had paused, then said no.

Skip pulled his truck key out of his pocket and held it out. “You drive, Julie. I’m gonna call that real estate agent back.”

She raised her eyebrows in the air at the use of her first name. “And where exactly should I drive to?”

“One of the couples lives near the place rented by the company. Head there for now.”

“Which is it?” She held her phone up to show him the list of addresses.

He pointed to one. “There.”

Once in the truck, he pushed the passenger seat back to allow room for his legs. Then he searched recent calls for the agent’s number.

She answered and he identified himself.

“What now?” she said. “I’m busy.”

His jaw clenched.

Ya get more bees with honey than vinegar.
His mother’s voice.

I know, Mom
.

Mustering a cajoling tone, he said, “I’m so sorry to bother you again, ma’am, but we’ve got a very serious situation here.”

Julie narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head.

Eyes on the road
, he mouthed to her.

“I can’t give you the details, ma’am,” he said into the phone, “but the FBI is involved and a woman’s life is in danger. We only have a limited amount of time to find her, before it will be too late.”

Silence on the line.

“Are you there, ma’am?”

“Yes. What do you need?”

To get into that apartment!

He decided to work up to that. “The name and number of your contact person at that company, for starters.”

“Hang on a sec.” The line went silent again.

Skip lifted one hip off the seat so he could get his notepad out of his back pocket. Julie was watching him out of the corner of her eye, a frown on her face. He opened the pad on his lap and pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket.

“Eyes forward. I like my truck without dents.”

She growled under her breath but turned her attention back to the road.

“Okay, here it is,” the agent said in his ear. She gave him a phone number. “The name of the guy I’ve dealt with is Jim Buchanan. He said I was only to talk to him.”

“Did you ask him why?”

“No.”

Of course not. All you care about is your commission.

It dawned on Skip that it was Saturday. “Do you have a home number for him by any chance?”

She sighed in his ear. “Hang on again.”

This time she was back more quickly. She rattled off another number. “Look, I’m showing a house at the moment. Is there anything else?”

“Not right now. Let me try this Buchanan first. I’ll get back to you if we need anything else.”

He disconnected, then plugged in the business phone number. He got a canned message identifying the company and inviting him to leave a message. His call would be returned as early as possible on Monday.

“Yeah, Monday will be too late,” he muttered, jamming his finger on the end button. He punched in the home number.

“Hello.” A soft female voice.

“Could I speak to Jim Buchanan, please?”

“He’s not here at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“When do you expect him, ma’am?”

“About four. Who’s calling, please?”

“I’ll try back later then. Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.” He quickly disconnected before she could ask again for his name.

“Why didn’t you ask for him to call back?” Julie said.

He gave a slight shake of his head. “There’s something fishy about this.”

He called the agent back and tried to convince her to meet them at the apartment and let them in. She refused.

He gritted his teeth. “Look, a lady’s life is at stake and we’ve got–”

Julie had put a restraining hand on his arm. She shook her head at him.

He pointed at the windshield, then took a deep breath. “Ma’am, it’s very, very important.”

“Look,” the woman whispered. “I’ve got out-of-state clients here looking for a house. Well-heeled clients. They’ve got to leave for the airport at six tonight. You get the picture?”

His jaw throbbed from clenching his teeth. Before he could say anything, she continued, “I can meet you there at six-fifteen. That should give you time to get a search warrant.”

“We’ll be there at six-fifteen,” he managed to get out in a semi-normal voice. He disconnected, then slammed the heel of his hand against the dashboard.

Julie jumped. “You’ve got a temper,” she blurted out.

“Yeah, but it takes a lot to activate it. She wants a search warrant too.”

“We haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting one at this point.”

“I know,” Skip said. “Not enough probable cause. Let’s check out these other folks first. I’ll call Buchanan back at four. If he gives his permission, she’ll let us in. I’m sure she’s worried about liability if she does it on her own.”

“And if you can’t reach him?”

Skip shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell an FBI agent his Plan B. He had his lock picks in his glove compartment.

~~~~~~~~

They were walking on the beach in Ocean City. They’d come down in mid September, after the summer crowds were gone, but the weather was still pleasant. Too cold to swim, but neither of them cared about that.

Sally couldn’t remember the last time she had been this happy. Maybe she’d never been this happy before.

Oh, she’d dated in her youth, even fancied herself in love a couple times. But those men never stuck with her. Her personality was too brusque for their egos, and later her dedication to the center had taken precedence over a social life.

Charles was different. She knew it in her bones. Maybe she’d just needed to wait until the men matured enough, had enough confidence to handle her. Charles certainly had that confidence. He took her brusqueness in stride. And when he wrapped his arms around her, somehow the hard edges of her personality softened into curves.

She’d always been proud to be a woman, but for the first time in her life, she felt feminine.

He took her in his arms now, but his face wasn’t quite clear. He said something. She couldn’t make it out, but somehow she knew it was funny.

She threw back her head and laughed.

And suddenly something was in her mouth, pushing its way down her throat, choking her. She coughed, tried to suck in air. The thing shoved further down.

She was lying on the beach, hacking. Heart pounding, she tried to sit up but something was bound around her body. She struggled to breath, to cough, but the wad of something in her throat wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t lift her hands to remove it.

The small rectangular room–her prison–came into focus. She’d been dreaming. But the blockage in her throat was real.

My God, I really am choking on the damn gag!

Suddenly the cloth was ripped away.

Her captor stood over her, panting. “How did you get this loose?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She coughed, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Didn’t…” she croaked out. “Water.”

“You’ll get water when you explain how you got this loose, young lady!” His tone was that of an irate father.

“Can’t talk,” she whispered hoarsely. “Need water.”

She struggled to a sitting position.

He took a step back and glared at her for a good thirty seconds. Finally, he relented and reached for the water bottle. He held its straw to her lips. “You have some explaining to do.”

With her mouth better lubricated, she said, “I was asleep. How would I know how it came loose? Maybe I moved my head around in my sleep.” Too late, she heard the irritation in her own voice.

He clenched his fist, started to cock it back.

“I did
not
do it on purpose. If I had I would have made sure I didn’t choke on the damned thing.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady.” But he relaxed his fist. “Do you realize how close you came to choking to death?”

Sally snorted, then started to laugh.

I’m gonna die anyway!

The laughter edged toward hysteria. She let it go there.

For it had just registered that she could see into a sparsely furnished living room. He’d left the door in the wall open in his haste to save her. She started rocking back and forth, laughed harder.

“Stop that. It’s not the least bit funny. You scared the bejesus out of me. I could hear you choking from the other side of the wall.” He truly sounded like a scared parent. At the same time, his face was turning red.

“Stop that!” he yelled, lunging toward her as she rocked forward. Their heads collided with a sickening thud. He reeled back, staggering to catch his balance.

And Sally made a run for it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN