Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (8 page)

“Then let’s go over it together,” Savannah said. “Last night at the premiere, when the two of you were alone with him, did anything happen that was out of the ordinary? Does anything stick out in your mind?”

“Yes,” Ryan said right away. “When he asked us to come by the hotel later.”

John nodded. “That was strange, indeed. Even at the time, I could feel a bit of a shiver down my back. I knew he wasn’t asking us over just to have a pint and chat about the old days.”

“Exactly when and where did this happen?” Savannah asked. She could hear her own voice change as the old cop’s investigatory tone replaced the personal, down-homey one.

Once an interrogator, always an interrogator.

“It was right after the movie ended,” Ryan replied. “We’d gone into the men’s room in the VIP lounge. John and I had finished our business and washed our hands. So had Jason. But he was taking a lot of extra time, washing his face and combing his hair. Then he took forever, fiddling with one of those pain patches he wears sometimes—taking it off, putting it back on, repositioning it. I think he was deliberately stal ing.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “It was as if he was biding his time until everyone else in the WC had left.”

“And final y,” Ryan said, “when it was just the three of us, he bent over and glanced up and down the line of stal s, like he was looking for feet.

When he was sure we were alone, he said, ‘Listen, guys. I’m gonna ask you for a big favor. I’d real y appreciate it if you’d come by my room at the Island View tonight after you drop off Savannah and Dirk. I know it’l be late, but there’s something I real y need help with. And you two are the only ones I can trust with something like this.’ ”

“No wonder your antennae went up,” Savannah said.

“He didn’t give you any idea at al what he was talking about?” Dirk asked.

“Not a clue.” John shook his head. “No sooner had he said that than a couple of blokes walked in, and that was the end of the conversation.”

“Do you think it might’ve had something to do with you dudes being bodyguards?” Dirk suggested.

“Yes,” Ryan answered. “I remember that’s what I thought at the time. He sounded sort of nervous, a bit scared. And I thought maybe he intended to hire us for security. Not that we would’ve taken his money.”

“Most certainly not,” John added. “He was family to us . . . like the two of you.” Savannah smiled. “You say he was wearing a pain patch?” she said, changing the subject.

Ryan nodded.

“I’ve seen him use those many, many times,” John said. “With his training regimen he was always pul ing or straining something. He said they didn’t take the pain away completely, but they made it a bit more bearable for him.”

“Where was the patch?” Savannah asked.

“About here,” Ryan said, pointing to the center of his own chest. “He complained of a condition cal ed costochondritis—inflammation of the breastbone. He’d come down with a severe case of it years ago, when he was a bodybuilding champion.”

“Aye,” John added, “the physicians told him to give it a rest and al ow it to heal. But, of course, he wouldn’t. He was that sort. Driven. That was Jason.”

Savannah thought back to the hotel room—to the young man’s body sprawled on the hotel floor. “He wasn’t wearing a patch on his chest,” she said. “When you found him, his chest was bare.”

Ryan looked at her, considered her words, and nodded. “That’s true.”

“Maybe he took it off,” she suggested.

“He might have. He wouldn’t have put it on unless the pain was real y bad. He wouldn’t even take an aspirin unless he absolutely had to.”

“That’s true,” John added. “He wasn’t like a lot of those bodybuilder chaps. Stayed away from medications as much as possible—though sometimes the pain got the best of him, and he had to use things like those patches and over-the-counter pil s.”

“After he messed with the patch, what happened then?” Savannah asked.

“We walked out of the lounge,” Ryan replied. “And then we left the theater.”

“You walked him to his limousine?” Dirk asked. “And you actual y saw him get in?”

“Yes, we stuck close by,” John said. “It seemed like he was stil a bit nervous. Had been ever since the bal oon-popping affair. And then with that mysterious thing he said in the lounge—we thought he might feel better if we stuck close.” Savannah recal ed the moment she had seen Ryan and John put their friend into the limousine. Jason had seemed jumpy, eager to get into the vehicle as soon as possible.

She had seen that sort of behavior, that frightened demeanor, many times before. But usual y the skittish person was a female, often one who was trying to escape a stalker.

“He acted like someone was after him,” she said under her breath, more to herself than to the others.

But they heard her.

“Yes, he did,” Ryan replied. “He was acting like somebody who’d had a death threat.”

“And a credible threat at that,” John added. “If I live to be a hundred, I’l be haunted by the thought that he needed our protection, and we didn’t keep him safe.”

Ryan’s eyes fil ed with tears. “No kidding,” he said. “That’s what we do for a living. But we couldn’t even save our friend. I’m never going to get over this.”

Savannah looked at them both, seeing two of the dearest people she had ever known. In her life, she had borne more than her share of guilt over situations that were quite similar.

She thought about what Dr. Liu had said: “The truth makes things better, even when the truth is painful.” And in that moment Savannah silently promised her friends and herself that, one way or another, she was going to find out what had happened to Jason Tyrone. Even if it’s ugly, truth is truth. And without it there would be no justice and no freedom from guilt.

Nothing could be done to bring Jason back. Dead was dead. But maybe, just maybe, she could provide a bit of healing to the living.

Chapter 8

The forensics lab was in the industrial part of town—where graffiti was the only form of paint on the buildings’ gray cement-block wal s, and the weeds that sprouted from between cracks in the asphalt road provided landscaping.

Unlike the morgue, which contained grieving family members, dead bodies in various stages of decomposition, and, worst of al , Officer Kenny Bates, Savannah didn’t mind the forensics lab so much. In fact, she had often thought it would be an interesting place to work.

Not a fun place, because of Eileen. But interesting.

Eileen was an enormous woman, oversized in every way. She was at least six feet, two inches tal , and she had a sizable girth, a booming voice, and the personality of a Marine dril sergeant whose hat and boots were two sizes too tight.

Eileen’s personal work ethic was impeccable. She did things the way they were supposed to be done and when they were supposed to be done, if not sooner. And as head of the lab, she demanded equal dedication from every employee unfortunate enough to work under her.

She didn’t suffer fools. She didn’t particularly like people, especial y men. And she hated anyone who wasted a minute of her precious time while she and her team were processing materials from a crime scene.

Therefore, she loathed Dirk.

Although she hadn’t found enough evidence to convict him of being a “fool,” he was far too masculine for her female sensitivities. And probably more than anyone else in the SCPD, he had wasted her time by bugging her every five minutes when she was trying to find the much-needed answers to questions about his cases.

Long ago, Dirk had been banned from the lab premises. But fortunately for him, Eileen was quite fond of Savannah and would usual y tolerate his presence if he brought along the fairer member of the Van-Dirk team.

Apparently, he was thinking about this as he pul ed the Buick into the parking lot near the simple white door that bore a smal county seal.

“Do you have any idea how demeaning it is,” he said, “to have to bring you along every time I come here?” Savannah shot him a look. “Do you have any idea how demeaning it would be to walk around for the next week with a black eye and a fat lip?”

“You know what I mean.” He sniffed. “I got me twenty years on the job, a gold detective’s shield, and a ful y loaded Smith and Wesson against my ribs, but that woman in there won’t even answer the damned door unless I’ve got you along for the ride.” Savannah chuckled. “That’s because she’s under the delusion that I keep you under control at al times. She figures that if I’m around you won’t curse, handle the evidence, pass gas, or spit on the floor.”

“What’s the matter with that? She does al that stuff and more. She is one scary broad, if you ask me.”

“It’s her lab. She’s big. She’s mean. And she knows how to murder you at least a hundred ways. And get away with it.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” he said, as they got out of the car and walked up to the door. “She’s probably got vials ful of acid and nasty crap that she could just spil a drop or two on you, and you’d fal down and crumple up into a wriggly, snotty, slimy heap and die right then and there.

You know, like a slug when you sprinkle salt on it.”

Savannah gave him a weird, sideways look. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said. “Way more than you probably should’ve.” She punched the doorbel button. From inside they could hear a loud, irritating buzz that must have resounded throughout the building, like a ten-foot-tal , angry mosquito.

“Maybe that’s why Eileen’s so cranky,” she said. “I’d be cranky too, if I had to listen to that thing al day long.”

“Who’s cranky?” came a loud, annoyed voice from the speaker mounted over their heads.

The door was yanked open and there stood Eileen. Al of her. Topped off by a thick mane of curly silver hair that Savannah had often thought could have provided coverage for at least half a dozen regular folks.

She was convinced that was one reason why Dirk didn’t like Eileen. Anybody who daily counted the hairs on top of his head wasn’t likely to look fondly upon someone with so much to spare.

“Did I just hear you cal me ‘cranky’?” Eileen barked.

“Cranky? You?” Savannah deepened her dimples and batted her eyes. “Why, darlin’, would I say something like that about you? In al the years I’ve known you, I don’t recal the two of us sharing a single cross word between us.” Eileen raised one bushy, silver eyebrow that had never once been visited by a pair of tweezers. “Wel ,” she said, “we haven’t had any differences that a bag ful of your homemade chocolate chip cookies wouldn’t resolve.”

She looked down at Savannah’s hands but saw only a purse. “Apparently, you’re here on a peaceful mission, and this guy you’ve dragged along with you isn’t going to piss me off by asking if I’ve already processed everything I took out of that hotel room.” Dirk gulped, and Savannah had to repress a giggle. It amused her to see how scared he was of Eileen. Oh, he would yel at her and get in her face if she got his dander up. But as tough as Dirk thought he was, he had a healthy respect for feisty females and more than a smidgeon of fear.

And Savannah was very happy she was included in that number.

Chivalrous as Dirk was, he felt the need to pul every punch when dealing with the fairer sex, which left him at a disadvantage. With another guy he could go at it, tooth and claw, holding nothing back. But with a woman, Dirk always played the gentleman.

Savannah loved that about him and never, ever used this lovely quality against him.

Eileen, on the other hand, had no such standard.

“I mean it,” Eileen was saying, her hands on her ample hips as she glared at Dirk. “If you think you’re going to come into my lab, and pace up and down my floor, and look over our shoulders, and ask every five minutes, ‘When are you gonna be done?’ then you can just get back into that pile of crap you cal a car and go find somebody else to bother.”

Dirk’s hair-thin thread of patience snapped. Nobody insulted the Buick and got away with it. “I would like to have it noted for the record,” he said,

“that I have just been standing here with my teeth in my mouth, minding my own business, while you ladies talk between yourselves. I haven’t asked one question or made one demand. But in spite of my restraint, my basic character was criticized and my vintage vehicle disrespected.” Eileen seemed to think that over for a moment, and some of the harshness faded from her face. She gave him something that Savannah might have cal ed a smile, had someone else been wearing it.

“Okay,” the CSI said in a half-friendly tone, “what can I do for you two today?” Savannah considered her next words careful y. A gentle peace had been established; it had to be preserved at al cost. How could she ask the question and yet preserve this new spirit of cooperation?

Unfortunately, she didn’t think quickly enough.

Dirk had time to jump in. “We wanna know what you found there in that hotel suite. You processed the scene . . . what . . . oh . . . about eight hours ago? You oughta know by now whether you’ve got something good or not.”

The next thing they knew, they were staring at a closed door—a simple door, a white door, the door with the county seal on it.

Savannah supposed there was at least one thing to be grateful for. If Dirk’s nose had been even an inch longer, it would’ve been broken.

“Boy, you just beat al ,” she said. “You take one step forward then slide face first in the mud half a mile back’ards.” Dirk shook his head sadly. “And I thought we were doing so wel there for a minute.”

“We were. Then you had to go open your trap and be your ornery, cantankerous self.” She turned and socked him on the arm. “You know what this is going to cost me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. It means we have to stop at the grocery store on the way home for the chocolate chips. Lots and lots of chocolate chips.”

“It sure does,” Savannah said. “And I gotta tel you, after missing out on a whole night’s sleep I’d much rather spend my afternoon snoozing than baking a monster batch of homemade cookies.”

“Maybe she’d settle for store-bought.”

“Eileen? No way. She can total y tel the difference.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He looked and sounded like he meant it, so she decided to take pity on him. “It’s okay. I forgive you. But you have to stir the dough . . . and you can’t gobble down a bunch of it either, like you usual y do.”