The Murder That Never Was

  Create a diversion. He was a master at that.

  Sure enough, Brown asked, “Why? Is there something to dredge up?”

  Milo pretended to look as if he wished he could recall those words. “Nothing that would make someone kill her.”

  He sounded less than convincing, and Atkins took over. “Let us be the judge of that. What was she involved in? Drugs?”

  Again, Milo looked less than forthcoming. “She lived a shitty life. So, yeah, she did a little drug running when she was young.”

  “And when she wasn’t young?”

  “Look, she didn’t share all the details with me. She was probably trying to protect me. But I know it turned out the gang she was dealing with back in the day were part of a bigger cartel. I think she met with a few bigwigs once or twice. That means she saw their faces and could identify them. Maybe that became a problem. I don’t know. But it’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Please, detectives.” Julie didn’t have to feign her anguish. “Please don’t harass us. Like Miles said, he was Lisa’s best friend. As for me, I just want to go on with my life and try to forget what I saw.”

  “I’ll never forget losing Lisa,” Milo added. “If I knew who did this, I’d have to be restrained from killing them myself.”

  Again, the two detectives exchanged glances.

  “I take it you two don’t plan on leaving Montclair?” Brown asked.

  “Of course not,” Julie replied. “I just bought a gym here and rented an apartment. Miles and I are splitting the rent and the space. Excalibur is my baby. I plan on making Upper Montclair my home.”

  “So we can find you either here or at your apartment?”

  “Yes. And you can call me anytime.” Julie handed them her business card. “My cell number is on there.”

  Milo dug in his pocket and produced a rather wrinkled business card of his own. “Sorry. I don’t carry too many of these around with me. But my cell number’s on it. Use it, and share it with the Chicago cops. Like I said, I’d love to face the bastards who killed my friend so I could beat the crap out of them. Just give me the chance and it’s done.”

  Atkins closed his notepad. “I think we have enough.” He shot Brown a let’s-go look. “We’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Emma was at her desk, electronically storing Marc’s interview with the wack job who was now Suspect Number One in the Worster case, when the phone rang.

  She hit the save button on her keyboard and scooped up the phone.

  “Forensic Instincts. May I help you?”

  There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, and Emma’s antennae went up. It was either Lisa or Miles. She knew it.

  Sure enough, a guy cleared his throat and said, “Is Ryan McKay there?”

  Emma would find Ryan if she had to pull him out from under Claire or smash all his gadgets. “Yes, he is. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Miles Parker.”

  Yes. Emma pumped the air with her fist, while she kept her voice steady and professional. “Just a moment, Mr. Parker, while I track him down.”

  The instant she put Miles on hold, Emma raced for the stairs, nearly tripping on her way down to the lair. Sending Ryan a text wouldn’t work, not if he was working.

  “Ryan!” She flung open the door to his man cave and burst inside. Big surprise. He was leaning over his computer.

  “Nothing yet, Emma,” he informed her. “And, in the future, please knock. I know you’re jumping out of your skin, but…”

  “Miles Parker is on the phone,” she interrupted, practically vibrating as she spoke. “He’s asking to talk to you. And I’m sitting in on the call when you take it. So put it on speaker.”

  Ryan’s head shot up. He looked like a kid in a candy store.

  “Line three,” Emma instructed, planting herself on a chair next to his workstation. “The phone’s under there.” She pointed at a slew of papers that were strewn everywhere. “And remember, put it on speaker.”

  Ryan was already clearing the pile, groping for the phone. “Only if you keep that mouth of yours shut,” he replied. “Miles is calling me. He doesn’t even know you exist.”

  “Yet.”

  “Right. Yet. But he’s scared shitless. Don’t make him run before we even get him through the door.”

  “I won’t say a word. I won’t even breathe. I promise. Just please, take the call before he changes his mind and hangs up.”

  With a nod, Ryan punched line three’s blinking light. “Hi, Miles,” he said calmly. “It’s Ryan.”

  “Julie and I need to talk to you.” Miles wasted no time on niceties. “Things have happened since you were here. We’re in real trouble.”

  Ryan leaned forward, frowning. “Are either of you hurt?”

  “Not yet. Not in the way you mean.” Another pause. “Look, I didn’t want to make this call. I don’t even trust you. But our backs are up against the wall. And we’ve got nowhere to turn. So you’re it—at least if we can come close to meeting your fee. We invested everything in the gym. We can scrape together a few thousand dollars left from the trust, but we…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ryan assured him. “We’ll work out a fair price later—one that won’t wipe you out. Right now, we need to hear your story and take whatever action we need to keep you safe.”

  “Can you come back to the gym?”

  “Bad idea.” Ryan shook his head at the phone. “From what you’re saying, I’d be willing to bet you’re under scrutiny. Let’s not give them something to scrutinize—like a big meeting in Julie’s office. All our resources are here at Forensic Instincts. That’s where you need to be. Take the train into Penn. I’ll give you directions from there.”

  “I don’t need directions,” Miles responded. “I know where you are.”

  “Sorry, Scooby.” Ryan tried to lighten up the conversation, since Miles sounded as if he were about to implode. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

  Miles didn’t laugh. “Can you see us today?”

  “Catch the next train. We’ll be waiting.”

  “One more thing. I want your assurance that this isn’t a conflict of interest, that you’re not representing someone who’s potentially after us.”

  “You have my word,” Ryan replied. “You’re it.”

  “Okay. We’ll be there soon.”

  Ryan disconnected the call and looked at Emma. “Seems we have a new case, huh?”

  “Damn straight.” Emma high-fived Ryan. “And this one’s mine.”

  Julie was practically twitching in the train.

  “I hope we’re doing the right thing. I hope this isn’t some kind of trap.”

  “It isn’t.” Milo shook his head. “I did enough research on Forensic Instincts. Not only are they phenomenally successful, they’re the real deal. We might not want to trust them, but we’re going to have to. And, for what it’s worth, I believe Ryan McKay.”

  “Why? Because he’s AdrenoJunkie?”

  Milo had filled Julie in on pieces of his escape plan. He’d left out the part about not having a second backup.

  “No, because he’s been straight with me from the beginning—even when he was trying to figure out my motives for wanting to disappear.”

  “We could have run, again,” Julie muttered, knowing she was being utterly ridiculous.

  “With the cops on our tail? Great idea.”

  “Okay, you’re right.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “We’re up against the wall. So we’ll talk to Ryan McKay and that other guy—Marc something.”

  “Devereaux,” Milo filled in. “I’ll give you a full rundown now on all the team members and what to expect.”

  “Good idea.” Julie frowned as her iPad made a binging soun
d. “The damn thing won’t shut up.”

  Milo’s brows shot up. “And you’ve ignored it? Check it right away. It could be that Shannon kid.”

  “Yes. I know. Why do you think I’ve been avoiding it?”

  “You can’t run away from this one. The only way I can keep us protected is if I know what’s going on.” He pointed at the iPad. “Read.”

  Nodding, Julie opened her iPad and saw she had three Facebook messages—all from Shannon Barker. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?” she asked Milo.

  “I don’t want to be right. I want us to be safe. What does she say?”

  “Checking now.” Julie opened the Facebook Messenger app, seeing that the second and third messages were begging her to read and answer the first one.

  Her chest tightened.

  Quickly, she read the contents of the first message, shooting up in her seat. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it?” Now Milo looked concerned.

  “Apparently, that trainer, Jim Robbins, disappeared off the face of the earth five days ago. Shannon is hysterical. She thinks he’s dead and she’ll be next.” Julie lifted frightened eyes to Milo. “With me close behind.”

  “Given the timing? It’s possible,” Milo responded, speaking as calmly as he could so as to minimize Julie’s panic. “What else does she say?”

  Julie’s eyes returned to the lengthy message, and the fear in her eyes turned to panic. “Milo—we’re out of time. She’s coming here. She’s not going to be put off, not this time. She’s too young, too afraid, and too alone. She’s already packed, taken a few hundred dollars from her parents’ emergency cash drawer, and written a note to them saying she’s heard from me. She told them I’m running a gym in New Jersey, and that she’s heading over here to stay and work with me for a while to heal.”

  Milo’s wheels were turning. “Okay, the New Jersey slipup isn’t a big deal. Even the cops know we’re here. Does she say when she’s coming?”

  “Now. She bought a ticket from Union Station to Penn Station. She plans on leaving tonight and getting in around six tomorrow evening. She wants to know what time I can pick her up. Oh my God…what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to message her back ASAP.” Milo leaned forward, elbows on his closed laptop. “You’re going to tell her to take the train from Penn to Upper Montclair. You’re going to instruct her to message you as soon as she gets in so that you can pick her up and get her to your place. Don’t mention any landmarks or street addresses, and especially not Excalibur’s name. I don’t want her knowing any of that until she’s here, far away from her friends and parents, where she can’t blurt it out. The police are one thing. A chattering sixteen-year-old is another. We want to keep this quiet.”

  “What are you talking about?” Julie demanded. “You’re telling me to welcome her here with open arms? Are you crazy?”

  Milo looked up, meeting her flabbergasted eyes over his computer screen. “I’m practical,” he replied. “She’s coming whether we like it or not. She’s reached the out-of-control point. Not good. We have a much better shot at keeping her in check here than we do if she’s in Chicago. We still don’t know the full extent of this nightmare we walked into, and we’ve got to find out. Most of all, we need to keep a lid on the whole situation.”

  “You do realize that the second Shannon lays eyes on me she’s going to know I’m not Julie.”

  “Of course I know. But given the circumstances, that’s inevitable. Like I said, we can control her reactions once she’s with us.” Milo leaned forward, squeezed his friend’s hand. “Remember where we’re headed now. We’re meeting with Forensic Instincts. This is yet another thing to talk over with them. It’s going to be okay.”

  Julie knew what Milo was doing. Trying to calm her down. And, as always, it worked.

  She drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll message Shannon back right now. After that, you’d better brief me on Ryan McKay and his whole team. I want to be in the driver’s seat, right along with you.”

  Milo grinned. “That’s my girl.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Claire was in her yoga room on the third floor of Forensic Instincts.

  Sitting in lotus position, she breathed deeply, holding Marc’s report on Suspect Number One in the Worster case, along with the fountain pen that Marc had stealthily managed to swipe from the scumbag’s office. She finished glancing through the report, then curved her fingers around the fountain pen, focusing on the feelings it evoked.

  They were ugly. Dark. Rife with anger and hatred toward Mr. Worster. He was capable not only of sending those emails but of acting on them. Marc needed to know.

  Claire was just rising to her feet when the door blew open, and Emma burst in.

  She blinked in the dimly lit room, glanced at the pen and file folder Claire had gathered up, and then realized what she’d interrupted.

  “Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought you were doing your yoga. I had no idea you were working on the Worster case.”

  Claire waved away Emma’s apology. “No problem. All done here. I’ve just got to find Marc.”

  “He’s in the conference room, talking on the phone with Hutch and making arrangements to sublet his apartment to him.”

  “Thanks.” Claire shook her head in amazement. Emma was an emotional, reactive carbon copy of their calm and factual Yoda. The two of them always knew exactly what was going on at FI. The extent of their awareness was somewhat unnerving—especially when it came to her sex life.

  “I have a huge favor to ask,” Emma broke in to Claire’s thoughts to ask.

  Cautiously, Claire said, “Go ahead.”

  “Miles Parker called Ryan. He and Lisa Barnes are on their way over to meet with him, and then probably the whole team. Ryan’s alerting Casey now.”

  “That’s good.” Claire said it with the knowledge that it was so. “Now we can help them.”

  Emma chewed on her lip. “The thing is, this feels like my case. You know all the reasons why.”

  “Yes, I do, and it’s completely understandable,” Claire replied gently. “You know Casey will make you a part of it.”

  “I know. But first impressions matter. A lot.”

  Claire’s lips twitched. “Yes, I do know. I remember Alice in Wonderland walking into our office six months ago to apply for a job.”

  A grin. “Yeah, I pulled that one off well. I was like a bouncy little cheerleader, gushing on and on about all of you.”

  “Right. And then picking all our pockets without us feeling a thing.”

  “That part’s irrelevant—at least to what I’m saying.” Emma shook her head in frustration. “I’m just talking about your reaction to me when I first walked in. You know what I mean.”

  “You mean that you want our potentially new clients to respect you.”

  “Exactly. And they won’t do that if I’m sitting at the front desk like…”

  “Like an assistant and a receptionist?” Claire supplied. Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she started to laugh. “You want me to switch places with you and greet our guests?”

  Emma grimaced. “It wouldn’t exactly be switching places with me. You don’t have to say you’re the team’s assistant. You could go ahead and tell them who you are, and say you’re looking for something at the desk. I just need you to man the position so I don’t look so…so…low level.”

  “I think our little pickpocket has become a snob,” Claire said, still laughing.

  “I’m not a snob; I’m a realist. I look like a combination of Barbie and Skipper. That usually works in my favor, but not in this case. I want to look like a professional; like this isn’t my first case.” Emma turned pleading eyes to Claire. “Please help me.”

  “Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope,” Ryan s
aid in a high falsetto. He was leaning against the door jam, arms folded across his chest, an exasperated expression on his face. “You’re still the most convincing little con artist going. You picked the softest-hearted target here and went there like a homing device.”

  His gaze shifted to Claire. “You don’t have to do this, Claire-voyant. I told Emma she could assist. I didn’t tell her she was taking Casey’s job—or mine, for that matter.”

  Claire raised her brows at him. “Just because I’m kind doesn’t mean I’m naive. I know Emma. And, believe me, I could hear the violins playing a mile away. The thing is, she’s right. First impressions are everything. So I don’t mind participating in this two-minute charade. Frankly, I’d love to see what Emma could do with this case if she were given a chance. She’s inside Lisa Barnes’ head, Ryan. She understands what foster kids like Lisa and Miles go through. We’d be stupid to waste that connection because of my ego—or yours.”

  Ryan heard her, loud and clear. “You’re right,” he surprised her by saying. “I might be the brains behind this case, but Emma has the heart to pull it off.”

  “That’s what teams are for.” Claire walked to the door. “Let’s grab Casey now and run all this by her. If Lisa and Miles are already on their way, we’d better get things moving.”

  Twenty minutes later, Casey, Marc, Patrick, and Emma were seated in the smaller, less intimidating conference room—less intimidating but with no less of Ryan’s tech-tools—and Yoda on standby. Ryan was downstairs in his lair, waiting to be summoned by Claire, who was gathering together some fictitious material at the front desk.

  During the ten minutes she’d been there, the phone had rung five times—calls from potential clients to law enforcement to the media. She’d answered questions, taken messages, and then finally sent everything to voice mail, simultaneously buzzing Casey in the conference room.

  “Give Emma a raise,” she said. “I can’t handle this job.”

  Casey began to laugh, even as Emma pumped her fist in the air and hissed, “Yes.”

  “No raise,” Casey told them both. “Maybe a few high fives, but no raise. Besides, Emma is getting her reward right now. She’s about to make her investigative debut.”