The Truth Seeker

  “There really was a dog; he ran away.”

  “I still think you made it up. You just wanted to see me drive into a ditch.”

  The soft debate continued as they walked slowly down the hall. Quinn watched until they were out of sight before turning to Marcus. And all the emotion suppressed in the last thirty minutes showed on his face. “I’m going to pulverize him.”

  “After me.”

  “He stuck around to watch her pick up the note, called her just after she paged you and Kate, not saying anything but delivering the message just the same.” Quinn could feel the fury at that additional twist of terror the man had caused. “What are we going to do?”

  “The guy that killed Marla Sherrall was here. Are we confident that’s the meaning of this message?”

  “It’s got to be a pretty vicious joke otherwise—someone would have had to have seen us Thursday in Knolls Park, known who Lisa was, and somehow figured out where she lived. It’s not like she’s in the phone book to be looked up.”

  “The killer lives in the neighborhood, he saw you two poking around, and he followed you when you left.”

  “A fact that gives you a real warm fuzzy feeling inside, doesn’t it?” Quinn shook his head and hoped that was actually true so they would have a place to start looking. “Conversely, he’s been following us for days. If Lisa’s right and these cases are tied together, then who knows when or what question we asked that caught his attention. It may extend all the way back to the visit we made to Grant Danford’s estate.”

  “What about before that? The guy in the Plymouth?”

  “Someone after me using Lisa as a convenient way to get my attention?” Quinn let the idea roll around and gel. “Yes, it’s possible. The hummingbird reference—it’s the first thing someone would notice about that crime scene. And the fact I haven’t seen the tail recently doesn’t mean he hasn’t been there, biding his time. Maybe we haven’t stirred up a killer, we’ve stirred up a guy who wants revenge.” He shook his head. “I don’t know which is worse.”

  Quinn looked around, seeing now just how poor the security was at Lisa’s home. Dead bolts and locked windows wouldn’t stop someone determined to enter. If he’d come after her rather than just left a note— “She can’t stay here.”

  “I’ll take her over to Kate’s for a few days, and we’ll be able to get her out of town this weekend for Jennifer’s wedding. It will buy us some time before we have to take more drastic measures.”

  “Marcus, if we put too much obvious police presence on this case, whoever this is will go underground as fast as he appeared and Lisa will never be safe. We’ve got to find him.”

  “Maybe we got lucky and he left a fingerprint. Maybe we’ll be able to trace the phone call. We can quietly canvas the neighborhood, see if anyone noticed a car, someone they didn’t recognize in the neighborhood.”

  “The landscaper. Walter Hampton.”

  “Do you think—”

  It was too obvious and Quinn didn’t think it fit the man’s personality, but he knew better than to make assumptions. “He’s got a crew working at the house down at the corner. He’s been around here to dump dirt and lay sod. He may have seen something suspicious.” The sound of sirens noted the arrival of medical help and police officers.

  “We get Lisa taken care of, then you and I are going to find some answers.”

  Egan Hampton’s burned-out house was gone; in its place was now only a cleared-out empty lot. Quinn slowed as he drove past, wishing the aftereffects of what had happened could be as easily erased.

  “I’m surprised the fire didn’t jump to that stand of oak trees,” Marcus commented, also studying the site.

  “No wind. Walter was fortunate. Had the wind been from the east, the fire would have raced through the nursery.”

  The road turned and the now empty lot disappeared. They drove along the east edge of the orchard. The manager at the greenhouse had pointed them this direction to find Walter.

  “There.” Marcus saw them first.

  Two men were wrestling a fifteen-foot elm tree onto a flatbed trailer using a forklift to help with the massive ball of burlap-covered roots. Both of them were straining to shift the weight toward the center of the flatbed. From the language Quinn could hear through the open car window, the man with Walter was cursing up a blue streak as the tree refused to move.

  Quinn parked behind the Nakomi Nurseries’ pickup truck. “It would be impolite to stand and watch them work,” he noted, even as he prepared to do just that.

  “Good. I’d rather be asking the questions before Walter has time to think up the wrong answers,” Marcus replied, a bite to his words.

  “Lisa doesn’t think he’s involved.”

  “She likes people who are nice to her pets.”

  Quinn, who was normally the stand-back bad guy during interviews, found himself mentally reversing roles and wondering how hard Marcus was planning to push. His partner was rolling toward a boil. “He did help save Lisa’s life,” Quinn noted, more curious to get Marcus’s reaction than to change his mind.

  “And he’s done a remarkable job at weaseling himself into her life since then.”

  This was an O’Malley family matter, and the skepticism level anyone would have to pass was stratospherically high. For Lisa’s sake, Quinn was glad.

  They walked toward where the men were working.

  The tree finally slid to the center of the flatbed with the use of a two-by-four fulcrum. Walter reached around the tree for the first securing line. Only when it was in place did he acknowledge their presence with a nod of greeting. “Mr. Diamond.”

  “Walter.”

  The man working with Walter ignored them, pulled tight his gloves, and started threading the first rope through the metal tie-down ring. When the rope coiled the wrong way on him, a snap of his wrist straightened it. Quinn noted the neat coil and the precision of the man’s movements in tying the knots, recognized his skill with the rope.

  Walter grabbed the edge of the flatbed and swung himself to the ground. He left the other man to the job and walked over to meet them. As Walter approached, Quinn double-checked his original assessment. If there had been nervousness the first time they met, there was merely interest this afternoon. Walter met his gaze straight on. “What can I do for you?”

  “We have a couple questions if you have a moment.”

  Walter rubbed the dirt from his hands. “Glad to have a reason to take one.”

  “I don’t believe you’ve met Lisa’s brother. This is my partner, Marcus O’Malley.”

  Walter was a little slow in offering his hand. “Marshal.”

  It was the job that made the man nervous. Quinn tucked that observation away for later.

  “I saw you finished laying the sod at Lisa’s,” Marcus commented, introducing himself with the question.

  “I also planted a tree and a couple bushes and flowers she picked out of the catalogs.” Walter glanced between them. “Sidney didn’t get into that honeysuckle, did he? I knew that was going to be a risk planting it so near the back deck.”

  “Sidney will dig it up long before he tries to eat it,” Marcus noted. “He’s already started with the snapdragons.”

  Walter winced. “At least he’s got good taste.”

  “When were you last at Lisa’s?” Quinn asked.

  “Monday? No, Tuesday afternoon. Chris and I took the new elm tree over.”

  “You haven’t been there since?”

  Walter shook his head.

  “Where were you last night?”

  Walter frowned at the question, started to say something but was cut off. “He was bailing me out of jail,” the man kneeling on the flatbed tying down the tree retorted. “Leave the guy alone. He didn’t do whatever you’re probing about.”

  Walter’s expression flashed hot with anger. “Chris, shut up.”

  Chris—the brother who had testified at Grant’s trial, the gambler willing to ask for a bribe. Quinn pivoted an
d did some poking of his own. “Where were you since you got out of jail?”

  “Arrest me, and we’ll have a staring contest over the answer.”

  Walter took off his baseball cap, ran his hand through his hair, then put the cap back on. The move was more to get control of his anger than to adjust his hat. “Ignore him. My brother is in an exceptionally bad mood today.” Walter looked over his shoulder. “And it started with dumping a tree on a busy freeway!”

  “If you’d used a less fancy knot that would actually tighten, your precious tree would still be in one piece.”

  “There was nothing wrong with my knot, the problem was your driving. If you dump this one too, I’m going to take it out of your inheritance.”

  “As if a chunk of dirt I can’t sell would matter one whit to me either way,” Chris retorted, pausing to loop the extra rope around the corner post of the flatbed truck before swinging himself to the ground. Quinn’s eyes narrowed. Most people would have tossed it to the ground. “I’m leaving. If you want me to help plant this tree, you’d best catch up.”

  “Assuming you actually get the tree there.”

  “Walter, you might be older, but you’re no more the boss than I am.” Chris pulled open the driver’s door of the truck pulling the flatbed. “I won’t be waiting around for you if you’re late.” The truck pulled out, the tree rocking against its restraints.

  Quinn seized the moment. “Walter?”

  He looked over and scowled. “What?”

  “Where was your brother last night after you bailed him out of jail?”

  He didn’t like the question but took heated pleasure in answering it. “He’s living in the former nursery manager’s house down at the south end of the orchard. You can see it from Egan’s place. I dropped him off there; as far as I know that’s where he stayed.”

  “And this morning?”

  “I am hardly my brother’s keeper. He dumped the tree at 4 A.M. He finally showed up back here around 1 P.M. Not only did he cost me a landscape job I worked two years to cultivate, he destroyed a good elm tree.”

  “And what about you?”

  He bit back a retort. “Gentlemen, I spent last night cleaning up stupidity. Chris was driving a nursery truck last night, drunk, when he was arrested. He claims to have misplaced his car, which probably means he wrecked it. I spent this morning visiting my aunt Laura, who wanted to know how come my uncle Egan hadn’t brought her coffee this morning, something he hadn’t done in over a decade even before his death. And then I came back here to the office about noon to find I had a customer with a hole in the ground, no tree, and unexpected guests arriving. Now I really do need to go.”

  “Did you see anyone when you were at Lisa’s house on Tuesday?”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  He checked his impatience and thought about it. “A kid on a bike—early teens? It was a blue mountain bike with red handlebars. And there was a mom, two kids, and a poodle. The dog barked so much I heard Lisa’s parrot start to mimic it. That’s all that I recall. The neighborhood is quiet. Anything else?” His tone of voice suggested there had better not be.

  “One last question. Have you ever done any work in Knolls Park?”

  “Not in the last five years since I’ve been doing the scheduling.”

  “Before that?”

  “During the life of the business? Probably. But Egan kept business records as order carbons, and it’s impossible to get the simplest question answered. If you’re feeling adventurous, ask Terri at the office. She can point you to the file cabinets as well as I can.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  With a terse nod, Walter headed to the Nakomi truck to go after his brother.

  Quinn and Marcus walked back to their car.

  Quinn started the car, then pulled onto the road. “What do you think? Walter?”

  “It’s obvious he could have left the note, but it doesn’t type: too much the older brother, in control, forces life to fit his mold. He’s getting Lisa’s attention the direct way, finding reasons to see her.”

  “Christopher.”

  Marcus nodded. “He would have to have seen you in Knolls Park, but assume for now that somehow he did—”

  Quinn thought about it and shook his head. “Christopher’s not the type to leave a note,” he decided. “He’s too in-your-face. He wouldn’t hide behind paper.”

  “So what did we learn?”

  “Beyond the fact the brothers hate each other? Not much.”

  “Still—tell Lincoln to push a little harder. He’s been wanting a reason to ask some questions about Christopher ever since he learned about the bribe Grant paid him.”

  “Have him look up any Knolls Park records?”

  “Yes. Add it to the list for Emily to sort out.”

  Traffic had increased as the Sunday afternoon wore on. Quinn headed toward Kate’s.

  Marcus broke the silence. “I don’t think the note was a cruel joke, I think the note really was left by Marla’s killer.”

  “So do I,” Quinn replied grimly.

  Sixteen

  “We can rule out Grant having killed Marla.”

  At Lisa’s voice Quinn looked up from the phone company log of calls to Lisa’s home. She was tucked into one of the tall wingback chairs in Kate’s apartment with a pink sweater around her shoulders, purple socks on her feet, and a quiet determination to ignore what her family suggested about lying down and trying to get some rest. He was relieved at the reappearance of that stubbornness, for it was a good indication that the shock of the morning was finally wearing off.

  “Why?” he asked simply.

  “He’s in jail. It’s obvious he couldn’t have left the note or placed the call. So someone else killed Marla. Lincoln’s right, and we’re on the wrong trail.”

  “Lisa—” He didn’t want to confuse the situation for her but had no choice. “It’s not quite that simple. The note may simply have been a lucky guess by someone who saw us in the neighborhood.” Even if he didn’t think it likely, he had to make sure they didn’t rule out anything.

  His words caught her off guard. “A guess?”

  “What was the first thing you noticed about the place where Marla was killed?”

  She hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “The hummingbirds,” she whispered. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked over at him, confused, angry, struggling not to cry from the intense frustration. “You really think this might have been a cruel joke?”

  Her emotions were in such turmoil and there wasn’t much he could do to help but promise it was going to go away. “We’re going to figure out who it was; it just may not be a simple answer.”

  “What does the report show for the phone call?”

  He set aside the printouts. “A cell phone.”

  “Nothing useful.”

  “What I expected,” he clarified, hearing her disappointment.

  Lisa tugged at the sweater, frowning at the thread she pulled by accident. “Why do you think it might have been an ugly joke?”

  “Someone has been following me.”

  Frustration, annoyance, and fear all crossed her face. “So they go after me?”

  “It got my attention,” he replied dryly.

  “That’s why you didn’t want me involved initially with the Rita Beck case.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want the details.”

  She had a right to them, needed to know them now. “The day you came home from the hospital I spotted him for the third time. He was tailing me as I drove back to the hotel.” Quinn winced inside, realizing that if it was the guy also responsible for the note, he would have known her address for weeks. “Dave and Marcus almost got him that night. Since then—I haven’t spotted him again, but a problem like that doesn’t just go away. He’s probably been watching me on and off ever since.”

  She frowned. “You were tailed long before we ever visited the Danford estate?”


  “Yes.”

  “Quinn, which is it? Was the note left by the guy who killed Marla, who may have killed all the victims, or by someone who’s been tailing you, watching where we go?”

  “You’re staying here until we can figure out that answer.”

  “You promise you’ll take good care of my pets?”

  “Guaranteed. I’ll even give Iris her peanuts.”

  “I want to keep going to work.”

  “I’ll take you, or Kate can. But until this is solved, you won’t be doing any more unescorted window-shopping during your lunch hour.”

  She half smiled. “At least I’ll save some money.” The smile faded. “The note will tell us a lot. Andrew is good at the analysis. He won’t miss anything. Prints, brand of paper, handwriting . . . ”

  “He’s already promised to call you with updates as it’s processed.”

  “So what are we going to do in the meantime? That’s going to take days.”

  “Marcus had a good point. We may not know who this is, or what it is that we’ve done that has gotten his attention, but we’ve clearly succeeded. We’ve got his attention. So if we keep doing exactly what we have been, he’ll likely come calling again. And this time there will be Lincoln, Marcus, Dave, and Kate around to help spot him.”

  “We keep investigating.”

  He nodded. “All the questions we were pursuing yesterday before this happened. Did Amy ever come to Chicago? Is Grant Danford innocent or actually guilty of killing not only Rita but others? I keep trying to track down the dark green Plymouth I saw. You keep working to connect the four cases you’ve found.”

  “I don’t like the way this is escalating.”

  “Which is why we have to push harder and break it open. We are apparently a lot closer to the truth than we realize.”

  There was a rustle of sound as the front door was unlocked and opened. “Pizza’s here!” Kate called.

  “It’s about time.” Lisa set aside the book she had been paging through. “Even if a pizza from Carla’s is worth the wait.”

  “You’re hungry.”

  She gave a sheepish smile. “Fear does that.”

  Trust her to have the opposite reaction from most people. “I’m glad.” He turned toward the hall. “Kate, you need a hand?”