Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (27 page)

“He was the one talking about it. He even showed up a few times and hung around outside my apartment. I had to threaten to have a restraining order issued to get him to stop bothering me. The man had more problems than I thought.”

Cole’s frown deepened. “Look, I don’t want to pry into your personal business, but we’re in the midst of a situation that could be life-threatening. And we’re starting to think Alan may be involved. Are the problems you mentioned the kind we might need to know about as part of this investigation?”

A few moments of silence ticked by. “I don’t know. But I hate to make his life harder than it already is, even if I’m grateful he’s out of mine.”

“I understand that.” Cole motioned Mitch over as the other man wrapped up his call. “And if the information you give us isn’t relevant, it won’t go any further. Mitch Morgan, another County detective, is here with me. It’s just the two of us. Can I put you on speaker while we talk?”

“I guess so.”

“Hold one second.” He pressed mute. “The divorce became final this week. She had to threaten to issue a restraining order to keep Carlson from bugging her. She said he had other problems too.” He released mute and pressed the speaker button, holding the phone in front of him. “So what other problems are we talking about, Cindy?”

“Mostly gambling. He says he’s stopped now, but he’s told me that before.”

Cole exchanged a look with Mitch. “How serious is the gambling?”

“Very. We lost our house and all the money in our savings account. He went through the trust fund my uncle left me too. That was the last straw. When I walked out, he was not only broke, he owed some major bucks at several casinos. He kept trying to convince me he’d reformed and that he was taking other security jobs on the side to pay off his debts and replenish my trust fund. He sent me a bank statement a few weeks ago showing a healthy balance, so I guess he was telling the truth about that. But I’m not willing to take another chance his reform is permanent.”

As Cole watched, Mitch’s lips settled into a grim line.

That was his reaction too.

“Cindy, this has been very helpful. Let me give you my number in case you hear from Alan. But if you do, please don’t tell him we called.”

“Okay. Good luck with your case.”

“Thanks.” Cole hung up and slid the phone back onto his belt. “I’m liking this less and less.”

“Me too.”

“Motive, undercover experience, opportunity. It’s all there.”

“Getting himself made case detective would also be a brilliant move.”

“Yeah.” Cole exhaled and jammed his fingers through his hair. “It was the perfect setup for a perfect crime.”

“If we’re right, it’s not perfect anymore.”

“It might have been, if Kelly hadn’t thrown him a curveball by catching him in the act of whatever he was doing at her father’s house. But he’s a methodical planner, and he didn’t have the opportunity to plan this one. That’s why he’s made a few mistakes.”

“None that tell us where he took Kelly.”

Like he needed to be reminded of that. Gritting his teeth, Cole fought back a surge of panic. “If our theory is on target, though, her car is sitting somewhere as we speak, waiting to be discovered. And we
will
discover it.”

Mitch didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Cole could read his thoughts in his eyes.

Yes, they’d find the car.

But would they find it in time?

Finally.

They were here.

Alan got down on one knee and let Kelly slide to the ground. Placing his palms on his thighs, he sucked in lungfuls of cold air. He was in great shape, but carrying a hundred-and-twenty-pounds half a mile had taxed even his stamina.

He remained on his knees for a full minute, breathing hard and waiting for his pulse to slow. It finally did. But not as much as he’d expected.

Because now he’d arrived at the moment of truth.

He had to kill Kelly.

There wasn’t any option, of course. And he’d killed before. He could do this. Still . . . it was different. With her father, he’d let the carbon monoxide do the killing. And the first time with Kelly, the peanuts had been the instrument of death. It hadn’t been as if he’d put a gun to their heads or stuck a knife in their backs or wrapped his hands around their throats and squeezed.

Slowly he rose and walked toward a small plateau that jutted out from the path, where a cliff-top bench offered hikers a respite—and a great view—on sunny days. At the edge of the limestone bluff, he paused to look over. It had to be forty-plus feet to the bottom, and sixty feet beyond the base the Missouri River flowed by, dark and quiet. He’d chosen well. This was not a high-traffic spot—especially on the eve of a holiday and with more stormy weather in the forecast.

Odd, how he and Kelly had often spent time in this same area. She’d mentioned her hiking trips to Weldon Spring once, while he was “investigating” her father’s death. Little had he known that information would one day prove useful.

Shifting around, he looked at her still form. She’d gone limp during the last stretch as she’d bounced on his shoulder. That was a plus. If she was unconscious, he could pretend she was already dead.

He did a quick sweep of the ground. Rocks were plentiful here, as he knew from his more pleasant excursions, and with the night-vision goggles, it took only a few seconds to spot one that would do the job. Seconds later, he hefted it in his hands, testing the weight. Yeah. It was plenty heavy for his purposes.

After setting the rock next to Kelly’s crumpled form, he bent to cut the restraint off her hands as she lay on her side. When a sudden gust of wind rustled the few dried leaves that remained on the trees, his pulse accelerated and he did another scan of the area.

All was clear.

Willing his nerves to settle down, he stuffed the restraints and the hand towels that had protected her wrists into his backpack. Picked up the rock. Stood.

This was it.

The putrid smell of decaying leaves invaded his nostrils, and all at once he felt sick to his stomach. But not just from the odor. His life was like those leaves—slowly disintegrating. To win back his wife, he’d become a man she could never love. He’d killed once, and he was getting ready to kill again. He was no better than the criminals he’d chased for his entire career.

But Cindy never had to know that. No one did. And he had no choice now. There was no turning back. Kelly could identify him. If she lived, his life was over.

Inside the latex gloves, his palms grew clammy as his fingers tightened on the rock. He positioned himself over her head. Inhaled. Lifted the rock.

All at once, she stirred.

His grip on the rock tightened.

She rolled onto her back, opened her eyes, and stared up at him.

The roiling in his stomach intensified. He couldn’t smash her face. And he couldn’t ignore the plea in her eyes.

He’d thought he could do this . . . but he wasn’t a killer. Not this kind of killer.

Arms shaking, Alan lowered the rock and forced himself to think. She had to die. Just as her father had. But he had to find a less direct method.

He walked to the edge of the cliff again. The odds of surviving a fall from this height were miniscule, at best, even without prior injury. Plus, an ice storm was predicted. Between injuries and exposure to freezing weather, she wouldn’t last the night. And the odds were very small anyone would notice her car before then. Nor would hikers be on this trail for the next couple of days, if by chance she managed to call for help.

Maybe he didn’t have to kill her before he threw her over the edge. Maybe all he had to do was make certain she stayed where she fell and let nature take care of the rest.

Okay. He could handle that.

He moved back beside her. She was trying to stand, but a slight shove sent her toppling again. Positioning himself beside her legs, he planted one foot on her ankle to hold it in position, lifted the rock and slammed it into her knee.

He heard the crunch of bone. She jerked, and her guttural moan of pain as she writhed beneath his foot clawed at his insides. But he could have smashed the rock into her skull instead. She was lucky he had no stomach for direct killing.

After tossing the rock back where he’d found it, he untied the gag, pulled it from her mouth, and stuffed it in a plastic bag that he tucked into his backpack. She was moaning, low in her throat, and when he picked her up again, her leg dangled uselessly. She was conscious, but her eyes were glazed with pain.

The weakness in his legs surprised him as he walked to the edge of the cliff and lowered her to her feet, holding her up so she wouldn’t crumple. He pulled off her hat. Tossed it into the chasm. Yanked off one glove. Threw it over as well. Unzipped her jacket halfway. Took a deep breath.

This was it.

Heart pounding, he swallowed, looked toward the river, and shoved her over the edge.

He didn’t watch as she fell, but he could hear her crashing through some brush attached to the ragged, ledged face of the cliff.

At last all was silent.

He looked over the edge. It took him a moment to locate her, more to the right than he’d expected, lying on her side. Her leg was twisted. Her jacket had come unzipped and flapped open, exposing her even more to the elements.

And she wasn’t moving.

Swallowing past the bad taste in his mouth, Alan returned to his backpack and lifted it. Using the edge of the sport shoe he’d soon discard, he smoothed out the thick carpet of leaves. The ground was hard and dry, so even in exposed areas, there would be no footprints. That, at least, had worked in his favor. And he’d pulled socks over his shoes in the gravel parking lot, so there would be no sign of a third party there, either.

With the night-vision goggles still in place, he did one final survey of the area. It appeared undisturbed. As if no one had passed this way today.

Hefting the backpack to his shoulder, he started back down the trail.

It was done.

Deputy Trent Adams stifled a yawn and took a swig of lukewarm coffee from the insulated mug that was standard equipment on his late-night patrols. Not that eight o’clock qualified as late-night, but it felt like it. He and Angie had been on the go all day preparing to host their first Thanksgiving dinner as a married couple. She was freaking, and he was beat. What he needed tonight was a quiet, uneventful shift.

A sudden ping on his roof refocused his attention, and he set the coffee back in the cup holder. It seemed the meteorologists had been right for once. Too bad. Things could get messy if many people decided to venture onto Highway 94 in the middle of a sleet storm.

His headlights picked out the sign for the entrance to the next trailhead parking lot, and he slowed. Normally, he’d drive by. Weldon Spring was Department of Conservation territory. But his boss had made a big deal out of a BOLO alert in a missing-person case, and his instructions were to check every nook and cranny in his patrol area.

Swinging onto the gravel surface, he aimed for the back of the lot. Once he did a quick circuit, he’d mosey over to the fast-foot outlet near I-64 and replenish his coffee. After his hectic day, he’d need a steady infusion of caffeine to . . .

His headlights arced across a car in the far corner and he slowed, frowning. On a night like this, the lot should be empty.

He backed up, turned the wheel the other direction, and pulled up behind the car. It was an older model Focus. Dark blue.

Like the car in the BOLO alert.

Tamping down the flutter of excitement in his stomach, he squinted at the number on the license plate. Then he angled in his seat and pulled up the alert on his computer screen.

The plate matched.

Adrenaline surging, he reached for his radio.

So much for his quiet night.

“There were no telephone crews in this area today.” Mitch slid his phone back on his belt as he rejoined Cole beside the CSU van parked in front of John Warren’s house.

A frigid breeze blew past, and Cole felt a sting on his cheek. Just what they needed. Sleet. This was as bad as Buffalo weather. Once again he regretted leaving home without his coat last night.

“I’m not surprised.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glanced at the house. Lights shown from behind the shades in every room. “Let’s hope Hank finds something.”

“He will, if there’s anything to find. Hank’s the best crime scene investigator I’ve ever worked with.”

“Yeah, but temperamental. And cranky.”

“You’re just mad because he threw us out.”

“We weren’t contaminating any evidence.”

“We had better things to do, anyway.”

Cole shot him a disgruntled look. “Unless you had more luck than I did, canvassing the neighborhood was a bust. So was my call to Carlson’s sister. She hasn’t heard from him in months, and she’s not expecting him for Thanksgiving.”

“Maybe the officers interviewing Kelly’s neighbors will turn up some usable information.”

“I checked. Nothing there, either.”

Cole knew he could have let the street officers do all of the door-to-door questioning here in her father’s neighborhood too, but he hated feeling useless. Without any leads to follow, suspects or witnesses to interrogate, or evidence to analyze, there wasn’t much he and Mitch could do except grunt work. They needed a break, or a new piece of information to follow up on.

“Look, we’re spinning our wheels here.” His fingers closed over the keys in his pocket and he pulled them out. “Why don’t I run you by the office so you can pick up your car? I want to get on the computer and see what I can dig up on Alan.”

“You know, we could be totally off base on that idea.”

“Maybe. But it all fits. And he’s still not answering his phone. If he’s not headed for Chicago or K.C., then where . . .” His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt, checking caller ID. “It’s dispatch.” He tapped the talk button. “Taylor.”

“Detective Taylor, we have confirmation from the St. Charles County Sheriff Department that the car we issued the BOLO alert on earlier has been found in their territory.”

His heart stuttered as he tightened his grip on the phone. “Is there . . .” His voice rasped, and he cleared his throat. “Is it empty?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on.” Depressing the mute button, he tried to breathe as he tossed the keys to Mitch. “They have Kelly’s car. I’ll meet you at mine in two minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he took off at a sprint for John Warren’s front door and resumed his conversation with dispatch. “What’s the location?”

He listened as she gave him the information, taking the steps to the porch in one leap. “Okay. Hold again.” He opened the front door and sped across the foyer toward the hall. He found Hank in John Warren’s office. “I need some stuff from the back bedroom. Now. The pillowcase and clothing items from the overnight bag.”

“I’m not done in there yet.”

“Give me what you can. Enough for the K-9 unit.”

As the man rose, grumbling under his breath, Cole turned away and took the phone off mute. “Okay. Patch me through to Brett Layton.”

While he waited for the call to connect, he returned to the small foyer and began to pace.

“Layton here.”

“Sarge, it’s Cole Taylor. Mitch Morgan is with me and we’re about to head out to the Weldon Spring trailhead where Kelly Warren’s car has been found. I want to run a theory by you and talk about ordering a thermal scan and getting a K-9 unit out there ASAP.”

Hank reappeared, the requested items in a plastic bag. Cole took it from him and exited the house, sprinting toward the running car where Mitch waited, giving the unit supervisor a full download.

And praying whoever had taken Kelly hadn’t yet had a chance to carry out his lethal plan.

As the sleet intensified, coating the roadways and ground with an icy glaze, Alan cursed. The three miles from the trailhead to the fast-food outlet where he often got a cold drink after biking had been a lot slower going than he’d expected. Especially since he’d tried to stay away from the two-lane highway and hug the woods. He’d finally had to leave his cover as he approached the I-64 overpass, but at least the roads were deserted except for an occasional lone car creeping along. He’d slipped and slid across the bridge, then picked up his pace.

At last the outlet was in sight.

Detouring into the deserted parking lot of a small office building, he checked for security cameras. All clear, as he expected. Modest operations didn’t often spring for elaborate security.

In the back, he found the requisite dumpster. After pulling the plastic garbage bag out of his backpack, he tossed in the towels, restraints, shower cap, and the socks that had covered his sport shoes in the trailhead parking lot. Then he wadded the bag into a small bundle and pushed against the ice-encased lid with one hand.

It didn’t give.

Annoyed, Alan set the bag on the ground, tugged his leather gloves higher on his wrists, and pushed with both hands. The ice seal broke. Excellent. He picked up the bag, lifted the lid, and tossed it inside. He’d dispose of the latex gloves at the fast-food outlet.

The sleet was coming down harder now, and he ducked under an overhang on the office building as he pulled out his cell to order a cab. It could take a while to get one on a night like this, but he was in no hurry. His job was finished. All he had to do was drive to his sister’s in K.C.—but he wasn’t going that far tonight. An hour out of town, at most, in this weather. He’d finish the trip tomorrow.

As he suspected, the cab company made no promises about a pickup time. So he didn’t rush to get to the restaurant. And once there, he spent a few minutes in the restroom, cleaning up, checking that his disguise was still intact, and disposing of the gloves.

Much to his surprise, the cab pulled up ten minutes later as he was sipping a cup of coffee at one of the tables by the window. He downed the last few mouthfuls and exited into the storm, head bent against the relentless pounding of the sleet.

“Picked a bad night to be out, buddy.” The driver looked over his shoulder as Alan slid into the cab.

“A bad night for car trouble too.”

“That what happened?”

“Yeah.” He’d worked out his story on the miserable jog up Highway 94. “I met a friend from out of town for a quick cup of coffee, and when I went out to my car afterward it wouldn’t start. My wife’s up to her neck in pies or I’d have called her.”

“I hear you. I wouldn’t tell this to the wife, but I volunteered to work this shift. Too many relatives under one roof at our house. And too much noise.” He checked a clipboard beside him. “You’re going to Chesterfield?”

“That’s right. Valley View Apartments.” The friend who’d lived there had moved a few months ago, so even if he ran into anyone, he wouldn’t be recognized.

“Okay. Sit back and relax. I’ll get you there, but no promises how long it will take with this weather.”

Alan buckled his seat belt, already thinking ahead to part B of the plan. Once he got to Chesterfield, he’d call another cab from a different company. He’d instruct that one to leave him a couple of blocks from where he’d parked his car, near John Warren’s house. He’d walk to his car, point it toward Kansas City—and start thinking about how he was going to celebrate his final payoff from Rossi.

Things were going exactly as he’d planned.

“There’s the entrance to the parking lot.” Cole leaned forward in the passenger seat and peered through the sleet. They were having trouble keeping the windshield clear even with the defroster running full blast. If Kelly was out in this, he hoped she was dressed warmly.

He refused to consider the possibility that her attire might not matter.

Mitch swung in, tires crunching on the icy gravel as he drove toward the far corner, where two St. Charles County squad cars and a Department of Conservation vehicle were parked.

Cole’s phone began to vibrate, and Brett’s number flashed on the screen.

The supervisor wasted no time on preliminaries. “We have a no-go on the thermal imaging. The weather’s too dicey for the helicopter. A St. Charles K-9 unit is en route to the trailhead, with an ETA of five minutes. One of our own K-9 units is on its way too. A CSU van has also been dispatched. We had a patrol officer do a drive-by at Carlson’s house, but there was no activity. And unless we have more to go on with him than supposition, that’s about as much as I want to do at this point. What’s your location?”

“We just pulled in to the trailhead parking lot. We’re going to need paramedics standing by.”

“A team in St. Charles is already on alert and prepared to move. Keep me in the loop.”

As Brett ended the call, Cole looked at Mitch. “He’s not buying Carlson’s involvement.”

“I can’t blame him. It’s a stretch. And we don’t have any hard evidence.”

“Yet.”

Mitch didn’t respond as he pulled to a stop behind one of the police cruisers. Before the brake was set, Cole was out the door and jogging toward Kelly’s car. A young deputy came forward as he approached.

Cole pulled out his credentials and flashed them at the man without stopping. “St. Louis County PD.” He didn’t pause until he was a dozen feet from the car. “You checked the trunk, right?”