Waking Nightmare (11 page)
It was dangerous for a profiler to draw impressions from anything other than the evidence at hand. Opinions, unsubstantiated by facts, could blind her to different prospects. Certainly this man’s height and weight were general matches to the description Barbara Billings had given. But the sullen answers he’d made to Ryne’s questions gave the impression of someone with low-average intelligence. She’d been betting their UNSUB—unknown subject—was batting a heck uva lot higher in the cognitive lineup.
Ryne let out a low whistle. “Appears you’ve been holding out on us, Hidalgo.”
The other man slumped a little farther in his chair. “Told you I did a stint at Dodge.”
“For B and E’s, you said. Failed to mention you were a weenie wagger.”
“I never did time for that.”
“Lucky public defender or a lenient judge. Doesn’t matter. You like to expose yourself to women. Young, old.” Ryne was skimming the record. “Weren’t too discriminating, were you?”
Abbie felt her interest sharpen. It was a myth that so-called nuisance crimes never escalated to something far more serious. She’d worked plenty of cases where the perps had started out as Peeping Toms or obscene phone callers.
“That was a long time ago,” muttered Juarez. “Not anymore. Besides, what’s that got to do with stolen plates on my Bronco?”
Ryne snapped the folder shut. “Unfortunately for you, a lot. Your vehicle was seen in the vicinity of a rape that occurred a couple days ago.”
“What?” Juarez rose from his seat, his expression panicked. “I didn’t rape no one! I don’t have to. I got a girlfriend. You can ask anyone.”
“You’re going to want to sit down, Hidalgo.” Ryne’s voice had gone steely. He waited until the man sank into the chair again before continuing. “Your vehicle, bearing stolen plates, was described in a police report a block away from the location of the last rape. If we find any trace evidence inside linking the Bronco to the attack, then we’ve connected it to the rape, you got that? And given the fact that you ran when we came to question you . . . well, you can see how that looks to us.”
Abbie watched the man intently. He was sweating profusely, despite the air-conditioning. “You know why I ran.” “The baggie we found on you?”
Juarez nodded. “I don’t wanna get sent back to Dodge. I figured if I took off, dumped the pot before you caught up . . . nothing to tell my parole officer, you know?”
“Let’s forget the marijuana for the moment.” Ryne braced his hands on the table, leaned closer to the man. “Let’s even forget the little matter of assault on a law enforcement officer.” When Juarez screwed up his brow, Ryne elaborated, “You threw that meat cleaver, remember? But for now let’s focus on the Bronco. If you weren’t driving it, you must have loaned it out to someone.”
Juarez shook his head doggedly. “No, I never do that. I don’t got insurance. If I’m not using it, I have it parked in back of my apartment. I’m the only one with keys.”
“So maybe you can tell us where you were three days ago. Between five p.m. and twelve a.m., specifically.”
The man swung his gaze to Abbie, as if looking for help. She had none to offer him. Her interest in his answer was as keen as Ryne’s.
“I don’t know. Sleeping probably. I work two jobs. Usually first shift at Valu-Mart. Six in the morning ’til three.” “You were there tonight,” Ryne reminded him.
“Yeah, ’cuz I picked up another guy’s shift for him. He needed someone to cover and I could use the money, you know? Usually I get home around four and sleep until midnight, when I go to sweep up at Shorty’s Garage, over on First and Levine.”
“Do you drive to Shorty’s?” Abbie asked.
Juarez shook his head. “Naw, it’s only a few blocks. I always walk.” A few beats later he straightened, face brightening. “Someone must have taken my Bronco or something. It sits out back from four in the afternoon until I leave for work in the morning. I’d never know the difference.”
“Yeah, that’s a convenient story, all right.” Ryne’s sarcasm was all the more cutting for being controlled. He leaned forward, pushed a yellow notepad and pen toward the man. “Write down your whereabouts for last Tuesday night, from five p.m. until twelve a.m. I want every minute accounted for.”
The man seized the pen eagerly, then paused to think before he began scribbling. Abbie wished she knew when to expect results from the crime scene techs, who were processing the Bronco at that moment. There would be another round of interviews if the search yielded some evidence, unless Juarez had lawyered up by then.
But most of all she wished she could shake the feeling that Juarez was telling the truth.
Chapter 6
“You can’t know that.”
Robel’s voice was irritated as he slid across the cracked red vinyl of the diner’s booth. Abbie followed suit, facing him across the table, already regretting she’d allowed him to bait her into rendering an opinion.
“You didn’t ask me what I
know
. You asked what I
thought
. And with what we have right now, I wouldn’t have picked Juarez as our guy.”
know
. You asked what I
thought
. And with what we have right now, I wouldn’t have picked Juarez as our guy.”
“The techs found blood in the back of the vehicle. If it matches Billings’s—and I’ll bet you twenty that it will—you might think differently.”
Abbie took one of the plastic-coated menus from the rack holding the salt and pepper shakers, opening it without much hope. A quick glance confirmed her worst fears. Leave it to Robel to find the greasiest spoon in the city. But at this hour of the night, there couldn’t be many spots to choose from. “I’ll be surprised if that Bronco wasn’t the vehicle that transported Billings to the sound. But that doesn’t mean . . .”
“That Juarez is the rapist. Well, I’m not so sure about that.”
She was too used to his annoyance with her to allow it to have much effect. “You’re the one who pushed for an opinion. Do you really believe Juarez is smart enough to have committed four rapes, leaving no trace evidence—”
“Yet—”
“Smart enough to steal plates so his vehicle can’t be identified, but dumb enough not to get rid of them?”
“Hey, ninety percent of the people I arrest are a couple fries short of a Happy Meal.” He held his mug up as a waitress walked by and she came over to fill it with coffee. Abbie shook her head when the woman offered some to her and waited until she’d walked away before continuing. “Guys like that can be cunning about the crimes they commit, even if they aren’t exactly rocket scientists.”
She knew he was right. One study done on rapists suggested nearly eighty percent of them made little or no effort to disguise themselves to avoid identification. But that was hardly the case with the UNSUB they were tracking.
Their discussion was cut short when the waitress returned with an order pad. “All right, honey, now what can I getcha? You want to hear about our specials?” The words, delivered in an obviously flirtatious tone, were directed at Ryne.
“I’ll have the number three on the breakfast menu, eggs over easy, with bacon and toast.”
“No hash browns? Cook makes ’em with plenty of butter. Best in the city.”
Abbie managed to avoid rolling her eyes. The syrup in the woman’s tone was as thick as the spray in her heavily teased hair.
“None for me, thanks.” The waitress reluctantly turned her attention to Abbie.
“Do you have any fresh fruit?”
The woman looked blank. “You mean like grapefruit?”
Giving up, Abbie said, “Just get me half a ham and cheese omelet with orange juice, please.”
After the woman had moved away, Ryne said, “Sure that will hold you? I thought we decided that neither of us had eaten since breakfast.”
Which was the only reason he’d suggested she accompany him to get a bite, Abbie knew. After the interview they’d both been punchy. She’d been on the job since seven that morning, and he’d been there when she’d gotten in. “I’ll be fine.”
He picked up the coffee mug, drank. “You do much running like you did today, you’re going to need more than an omelet to refuel.”
He had a slight smile playing around his mouth, but it was a far cry from the sardonic little smile he’d given her a few times her first day on the job. It altered his face, softened the hard angles of his jaw, which was in need of a shave. It made him look all too human. And dangerously attractive.
To distract herself, she took her time putting the menu back in place. “I run. Usually work out in a ring regularly, too. I meant to ask you about a place where I can do both.”
Interest sharpened his gaze. “You box?”
“Spar,” she corrected. “I train in Muay Thai. But I like to stay in shape on the road.”
Ryne sat back in the booth and surveyed her speculatively. “Kickboxing.”
“A form of it.”
“I don’t know of a place like that around here. But the gym I belong to has a ring, a track, and free weights. Nothing fancy, but a lot of cops use it. I think you can buy passes by the week.” He took a pen from his pocket and wrote the name of the place and the address on a napkin, then pushed it across the table toward her. “Just don’t let McElroy talk you into climbing into the ring with him. He fights dirty.”
“Hardly surprising,” she said dryly. But she tucked the napkin away in her purse. With no way of knowing how long she’d be here, a gym with weekly passes would be perfect for her. “But if I ever find myself in the ring with McElroy, I think I can handle myself.”
His smile reached his eyes. “I’m beginning to believe it. I jog myself, but you weren’t jogging out there today. You looked like . . .” He shook his head, as if words failed him. “Never figured someone your size could move that fast. It was like trying to keep my eye on a hummingbird.”
She didn’t know whether to be offended or pleased. She’d been fighting the battle of bias about her size all her life. In the end, though, it was the warmth in his gaze that decided her. It sent an answering heat sliding along her spine that was both unfamiliar and alarming.
“I’m a sprinter. Did low hurdles in high school, too, but in college my race was the hundred-meter dash.” Running had saved her sanity once, a long time ago. Even though she’d given up believing she could outrun her memories. It’d taken her years to accept that her past was wrapped up inside her, no matter how hard she’d tried to shake it loose.
It was time to switch the conversation back to business. Even the scanty amount of personal information she’d shared made her uncomfortable.
Because he saw too much. She’d noted that yesterday, and she wasn’t any more willing today to have that shrewd gaze aimed her way. And if he was looking at her as a man instead of as a cop, well, that was unwelcome, too. Nothing shifted her attention from a case she was working. Not even its lead detective.
Especially
not its lead detective.
not its lead detective.
“Any other interesting developments today?”
He shook his head. “Nothing important. No progress made working the list of Bronco owners, although that’s no surprise now. Heck of it is, they’d worked through the H’s. Probably would have hit on Juarez tomorrow. The kennel lead is a dead end. The manufacturer ships all over the world. That particular brand is sold by a half-dozen pet stores in the area, in addition to being available from department stores, farm supply outlets, vets . . . There are even some breeders who keep a few on hand to sell to customers.”
“What about the syringe angle? Some states still require a prescription, don’t they?”
“Georgia’s not one of them. They can be purchased over the counter and at veterinary supply stores. Hell, they can even be bought on the Internet. If Juarez does turn out to be our guy, he wouldn’t have had to work too hard to get his hands on them.”
“But from what you’ve told me about the drug, we’re looking for an UNSUB who has the chemical skills to mix his own drug, and access to the ingredients, or—”
“I see where you’re going with this.” Ryne sat back as the waitress approached and set a steaming plate of food in front of him. “Juarez probably doesn’t have the expertise, I’ll grant you that. But our perp doesn’t have to be scientifically inclined, he just has to know someone who is.”
With amusement, Abbie noted that the waitress was spending an inordinate amount of time arranging Ryne’s plate in front of him and placing a napkin in his lap. Even more entertaining was his look of discomfit at the attention. Despite his expression, she didn’t doubt that he was a man used to a woman’s interest.
Abbie’s food was delivered with much less care, and they both commenced eating. After the first bite, she discovered that she was ravenous. They were both silent for several minutes as they attacked their meals. She reached for her juice, drank, caught his gaze on her.
He pointed his fork in her direction. “You went shopping.”
For a moment her mind went blank. Then she looked down at the blue striped shirt she was wearing and made the connection. Caution slammed firmly into place. “Didn’t have a lot of choice. I suppose I should be grateful whoever broke into my place didn’t slice up my pants and shoes, too.”
“I was thinking about that.” He chewed slowly, watching her. “Chopping up your clothes seems personal. A vandal might spray some graffiti, smash up the place, but what was done in your closet . . . sounds like something a woman would do.”
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