“This is a crime scene,” Noah said. “You’ll have to leave.”
Forest’s expression became a deliberate mix of horror and interest. “Mr. Bolyard?”
“No comment,” Noah said, but before he could step away Regina came closer.
“Stuart Bolyard called our office. Talked to one of our staff members.” Her eyes narrowed, catlike. “I’ll tell you everything I know if I get an exclusive.”
“Depends on what you know,” Noah said. “So what do you know?”
“Mr. Bolyard said he’d seen the Red Dress story on the news and recognized one of the women. That he’d seen her at a coffee shop and that he’d called the police for a meeting. I asked why he just didn’t tell the police everything when he called and he said his wife was ‘into celebrities.’ She wanted to meet Jack Phelps. Where is Phelps?”
“Not on duty right now,” Abbott said. “What else?”
“So you already knew all that?” she asked. “He also said he saw a man leave just after them.” Her smile bloomed, cagily. “And that he didn’t tell you.”
Noah’s smile was unpleasant. “Ma’am, we have an ongoing homicide investigation, as you’re well aware. Please don’t play games with us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. The staffer called me to the phone and when I introduced myself, Mr. Bolyard said his wife wanted to meet me, too, and be on TV. I told him I’d need to hear more. He told me he’d seen the man again, in the same coffee shop. Said he was a professor at one of the local colleges. Fifties, horn-rimmed glasses and a bow tie, and that his hands shook when he drank his coffee.”
Donner, Eve thought. To his credit, Noah didn’t blink.
“Do you know him, Detective?” Forest asked shrewdly.
“Did Mr. Bolyard approach this man?” Noah asked instead of answering.
“Yes. When he saw him today he asked if he was the one who’d left with the woman who got killed. He said the professor got angry and denied it. So, do you know this man with the bow tie?” She wagged her finger. “And no fair answering with a question.”
“We may,” Noah said. “As soon as we confirm, we’ll give you your exclusive. And you’ll hold back on broadcasting the tape your assistant is shooting right now?”
Forest scrutinized him. “Sure. Just don’t double-cross me, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Noah murmured as another car raced up the street, stopping behind the news van with a screech of brakes. Two men emerged, one with a camera.
“Detective Webster?” The one without the camera jogged across the street. “Can you comment on Detective Phelps’s attempt at murder-suicide?”
Forest’s brows shot up and Noah’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“No comment,” Noah said softly.
“I’d say that qualifies as a double-cross,” Regina Forest said, equally softly, and motioned at her assistant in the van to keep rolling tape.
The reporter looked annoyed that he’d been scooped. “Nelson Weaver, the Mirror. Is it true that Jack Phelps murdered his girlfriend and OD’d on booze and pills?”
“No. Comment,” Abbott repeated forcefully.
Forest’s lips curved, this time in disdain. “Nelson, I think we should grab a coffee. Chat.” She walked away, the confused newspaperman at her side.
“Goddamn it,” Abbott muttered. “So much for Jack’s privacy.”
“But now we know who killed five women,” Noah said, sounding oddly disconnected. “I’ll go pick up Donner.”
Abbott turned slowly toward Noah’s car, as if remembering Eve still sat there. “I’ll send a squad car to Donner’s house to hold him there, then I’ll pick him up. Drop her off at Sal’s before you meet me at Donner’s.”
Well, that was interesting, too, Dell thought, watching through his zoom. The guy from the Mirror he’d fully expected since he’d called him, but the chick from the TV news was a bit of a surprise. Looked like Phelps would be covered coming and going.
Phelps could still die, he thought optimistically, but even if he doesn’t, his face will be plastered all over the Twin Cities. A murder-attempted-suicide by a cop was big enough to be picked up by CNN. Hell, maybe even big enough for Yahoo.
Everyone had read that MSP article and thought Phelps was a god. Now they knew he was a murderer and a coward. In other words, everyone would know the truth.
“Now, on to Webster,” he said with a big grin. He knew how to hit Webster where it would really hurt. The man cared for his family.
Wednesday, February 24, 10:15 p.m.
Noah clenched his steering wheel as he drove away from the Bolyards’ house. “What happened between you and Abbott?”
“He wants me out of the way so you won’t be distracted. I told him I’d comply.”
Noah tamped down his temper. No easy feat. “By going to Sal’s?”
“I figured Sal would cover for me. Abbott tried to take me to the safe house himself and that wasn’t going to happen.” She drew a breath. “Noah, I don’t know what to say.”
He gave her a hard glance. “About what?”
“Those people, the Bolyards… They were killed while we were…” She shrugged.
“I know. But you told me that Jack made a bad choice, letting a woman he didn’t really know into his bed. You were right. The Bolyards made a bad choice, too. They could have told us what they knew and we could have picked Donner up before he shot their heads off. They didn’t. They wanted their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Looks like they got it,” she said sadly. “But back to you. Abbott’s right. I’m a distraction to you right now. Drop me off at Sal’s. I’ll go home with Callie and ask one of the cops to follow us. I’ll even call you when I get there so you know I’m safe.”
“I’ve got an idea that I like better. Brock and Trina’s house,” he said, then blinked when she forcefully shook her head.
“No. They’ve got kids. No way will I lead Dell to them. I’ll go to a safe house first.”
His heart squeezed hard. He hadn’t expected her to say that, but now that she had, he was totally unsurprised. “They sent the kids to Brock’s dad for the night. He’s a retired cop and understands what’s going on. The boys will be perfectly safe there. I called Brock while I was in the Bolyards’ house and he says it’s fine with them.” He lifted his brows, engagingly, he hoped. “Trina is a really good cook.”
“I don’t want to put them out. And what about Callie?”
“I can have her taken to Brock’s, too. You girls can do each other’s nails and stuff.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Would it keep you non-distracted?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go. Thank you for finding a different way.” She studied his face, hers troubled in the darkness. “Do you believe Donald Donner killed five women?”
He looked over at her. “Do you?”
She wagged her finger. “No fair answering with a question,” she said, mocking the Forest woman, then shrugged. “No, I don’t. He’s angry, but forgetful. Sometimes he’ll be teaching and just trail off, staring into space. He forgets what he’s assigned. His obsession is getting published. I don’t think he has the mental organization to do these murders, or frankly the physical strength. He’s pretty old.”
Noah nodded thoughtfully. “What you said.”
“But you’re picking him up anyway.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said grimly.
“I’m assuming this couple saw Martha at the Deli,” Eve said, “because that’s where Donner goes for lunch. Whether or not he’d go there on a Saturday night? Don’t know.”
“Hopefully the Deli’s security video will shed some light.” He glanced at the computer on her lap. “Did Donner know about Shadow-land? I mean, did he play?”
“I don’t know what he did at home. He needed me to explain the game to him, every time we talked. If he was faking his forgetfulness, he’s a damn good actor.”
“I agree. Did you check on your red-zone cases? Are t
hey where they should be?”
“Yes.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sorry about the Bolyards. About Jack, about all of this.”
“Not your fault.”
“I don’t mean that. I’m not apologizing that it happened. I’m… sorrowful. Sorrowful that you have to see all this pain and death and that it hurts you.”
Emotion, exhaustion, exhilaration… all welled up in a wave that closed his throat. This is what he’d missed. What he wanted. What he needed. Unwilling to trust his voice, he pressed her hand to his cheek and held it there.
Wednesday, February 24, 10:30 p.m.
The Bolyards hadn’t locked their back door. Donner appeared to be more careful with his locks.
He broke a pane of glass in the basement door, reached in, and twisted the doorknob from the inside. A quick survey of the house revealed Donner and his wife were not home. Dammit. Donner was supposed to have been here tonight. They’d had an appointment. Bastard stood me up.
I should have grabbed him before I killed the Bolyards. This could be tricky. He could only hope that, wherever Donner had gone, his alibi would be as shaky as before.
This did save him from having to kill Mrs. Donner, though. Killing people not in his original plan chafed at him, and he was still plenty chafed over the Bolyards.
I should have stayed outside that coffee house and waited, like I did with the others. But the night he’d met Martha had been so damn cold. He would have drawn more attention to himself sitting outside in his car than going inside. But now he had two unplanned murders and a lot of extra effort to explain it away.
He had to hurry. The TV news reporter had probably already shown up at the Bolyards’ house to get the interview he’d promised from Stuart’s home phone, only to find Webster’s crime scene instead. Pretty soon this place would be crawling with cops. They were supposed to find the house empty, because he’d taken Donner.
He went straight to Donner’s bathroom and frowned. Both toothbrushes were gone, as were several toiletries, leaving gaps in the row of bottles and cans on the bathroom shelf. The Donners had gone away for more than the evening.
In Donner’s kitchen, however, he had to smile. There was a lone highball glass on the table. He sniffed at it. Donner had been drinking bourbon. He’d make sure the sixth of his six victims had a bottle in her house. He dropped the glass in a plastic bag.
Donald Donner had never been a real suspect in Webster’s eyes, but even Webster wouldn’t be able to explain away hard evidence.
As for Donner’s whereabouts… On a hunch he hit redial on the kitchen’s cordless phone and hung up before the number could connect. Committing the number to memory, he took out his BlackBerry, connected to the Net and did a reverse call lookup.
Ah. The number belonged to Adele Donner, Donald’s mother. He’d confirm it, of course, but instinct told him this was where Donald had retreated.
He dialed 411, let it connect, then hung up when the operator answered. He’d knocked Adele’s number from the last-called spot so the cops couldn’t do what he’d just done. They could get the number from Donner’s LUDs, but that would take them time.
Time was something he didn’t have a great deal of. He left the way he’d come, and none too soon. As he rounded the block, a squad car entered the neighborhood, lights blazing but siren silent. Sorry, boys. Dr. Donner has left the building.
Wednesday, February 24, 11:00 p.m.
“Nice place,” Eve murmured. Brock and Trina lived in a brick house with a chimney from which a cozy stream of smoke billowed. Just looking at it made her queasy.
“Nice people,” Noah said quietly. “Why are you nervous?”
“It’s serious when you meet family.”
“You know them from the bar.”
“This is different. This is… personal.”
“Damn straight it is. You introduced me to Tom tonight,” he noted.
“I know.” Her face still heated in embarrassment at the stern way Tom had studied Noah, as if Tom were the father and she were an errant teen. “Kid’s a pain in the ass.”
“He loves you. You’re his family. And I passed muster,” Noah added with an arched brow, then he smiled. “Trina already likes you. Why are you nervous?”
“I don’t know. Maybe my spider senses have been on tingle mode so long today, my nerves are shorted out. I don’t know how you cops cope with all the excitement.”
He came around to open her door. “Normally it’s not this exciting. Normally it’s all paperwork. Don’t forget your phone.”
Her computer bag had fallen on its side and the phone had slid out of the front pocket. Out of habit she flipped it open. “I’ve got a million missed calls.”
“You’ll have time to catch up inside,” he said, a little impatience in his voice.
She made her feet move. He had work to do and she was distracting him again. “Sorry. I procrastinate when I’m nervous.”
“Well, stop it. You don’t need to be.” He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him, hip to hip, her head on his shoulder as he walked her to Trina’s front door. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmured in her ear and she shivered.
Because it did. And that made her nervous, too.
He sighed. “Just enjoy it, okay?”
She realized she was holding her breath. “God. This shouldn’t be so hard.”
“Try to relax. I’m the least of your worries right now.”
“That’s what you think,” she muttered, then jumped when the cell phone in his pocket vibrated against her leg.
“Eve, relax. Trina doesn’t bite. Not anymore, anyway.” He was smiling until he looked at his caller ID. “It’s Abbott.” He stopped on the front porch and took a step back, turning his face away as he listened to his boss.
Eve didn’t want to know what was happening. The day was catching up to her and she was suddenly overwhelmed. No more. Not tonight. But Noah’s call wasn’t quick and too much energy had her flipping her phone open to look at the incoming calls.
Oh God. It was the same number that had sent the text. She lifted her eyes to Noah, who was now pacing the width of the driveway as he talked with Abbott in low tones she couldn’t hear. Her hand trembling, she hit the speed dial for her voicemail and put the phone to her ear.
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?”
She was breathing hard, the cold air hurting her lungs. Her knees gave way and she sank to the edge of the porch, numb. It was him. Him. It couldn’t be. He was dead.
But it was. The voice that taunted her nightmares until she woke screaming. Her phone slid from her fingers, hitting the porch with a clatter that brought Noah around.
He ran to her, dropping to one knee in the snow. “What?”
“Him.” She shook her head hard, trying to clear it.
“Dell Farmer?”
“Yes. No. God.” She was hyperventilating and she pursed her lips, made herself breathe through her nose. “It was a voice message. Winters’s voice.”
Stunned, Noah did a fast take. “Are you sure?”
She ground her teeth. “Fucking sure. I hear that voice in my dreams. Dammit.”
“Sshh,” Noah soothed. He took her phone, punched in the numbers to replay the message. And his face grew grim. He pocketed her phone and helped her to her feet. “I’ll tell Olivia. We’ll find him.”
“How did he get it? How did he get his voice?” She heard the hysteria in her voice, tried to battle it back. “How did he know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe from an old interview. I found a few on the Net this morning. Try to breathe, honey. It’s just words. Winters can’t hurt you now.” His arms were around her, holding her up. “He can’t ever hurt you again.”
She thought of Harvey Farmer and Katie. And Kurt Buckland and David. “But Dell can. He wants to. He won’t give up.”
“Breathe.” He pounded on Brock and Trina’s door, loud enough to wake the dead. But nob
ody answered and he pounded again, harder. “Open the damn door.”
It opened only a few inches, Trina’s face peeking around the edge. “Noah,” she said brightly. “Eve, what a surprise.” Then she frowned. “Go,” she mouthed. “Now.”
“Goddammit, Tree, I don’t care if you’re both naked and having sex from the damn chandeliers. Move.” Noah knocked the door open with his shoulder.
Trina’s words hadn’t matched the look in her eyes, Eve thought numbly. Slowly, the look in Trina’s eyes sank in. Run. Pulse shooting like a rocket, Eve backed up, but it was too late. Trina was yanked from sight and Eve heard a loud thud a split second before a hand grabbed her arm, dragging her inside.
“No,” Noah thundered, trying to yank her back. Eve thrashed like a wild cat. But it was too late. She went still when a gun was shoved against her temple.
Noah had gone still as well. “Dell Farmer,” he said quietly.
What a shock, Eve thought, her mind racing now, even as her body was motionless.
An arm locked over her throat, squeezing. “The great and powerful Noah Webster,” Dell scoffed. “You couldn’t have found your own ass in the dark.”
“I seem to have found you,” Noah said calmly, his focus on Dell’s face.
Dell scoffed again. “Yeah, right. Only because my old man gave me up.”
Noah looked surprised, though none of his focus dulled. “No, he didn’t.”
Eve could see Trina, hands and feet bound, lying dazed against a wall. Where’s Brock? Then Eve was lifted on her toes, Dell’s gun digging harder into her head.
“Don’t lie to me, Webster,” he snarled.
Eve found her voice. “He’s not,” she said. “I found you. It wasn’t that hard.”
Dell stiffened and for a split second the pressure from the gun slacked away. But he recovered and Eve winced in pain when he ground the barrel harder. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I found an article by Kurt Buckland, with a nice photo of your father standing at V’s graveside. You resemble your dad.” She paused for effect. “Or you did, until you killed him. You don’t look much like him anymore, what with that hole in his chest.”