Cold feet (28 page)

Caleb glanced at Gibbons when they received no response to their knock and banged again.

When the door finally opened a crack, the wafflelike imprint on Lance's face suggested they'd succeeded in surprising him. And the way he groaned as soon as he saw Gibbons left them in no doubt that he wasn't happy about it. "Oh, man! Not you again. What are you doing here? I've already answered all your questions."

"We need to speak with you again, if you have a minute," Gibbons said politely.

"Now?" He squinted in the porch light, which he'd flipped on only moments before. His short dark hair was bleached at the ends and that, taken together with his fake tan and slouchy posture, made him look like a misplaced beach boy. He was young--maybe twenty-five. "You can't go around waking people up in the middle of the night, you know," he said, his voice petulant.

"Who is it?" called another male voice from somewhere in the house.

"Don't worry, Ross, it's for me." The night was cold and he was wearing only a pair of jeans, but he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. "You know, I really don't like how you guys keep poking around in my life. I haven't done anything. I already told you that."

"You don't call
using
my sister something?" Holly said, immediately going on the offensive. "You don't call
killing
her something?"

Gibbons held up one hand. "I'll take care of this--"

"Look, I had a fling, okay?" Lance interrupted, scowling at Holly. "Screwing around on the side might not be right, but it doesn't make me a murderer!"

"What's the matter?" Holly retorted, leaning closer. "Did Susan find out about your fiancee and threaten to tell her about the two of you?"

"Holly," Caleb snapped, moving between them, "maybe you should wait in the car."

Holly lifted her chin and glared at him.

"Not another word or that's exactly where you'll be," he told her, using the weight of his gaze to get her to back off.

After a moment, she clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms, but continued to glare at all of them.

"I'm miserable, okay?" Lance said, changing his focus to Caleb and Gibbons. "I can't eat. I have trouble sleeping. I miss my fiancee, and I hate the fact that Susan's dead. But I'm telling you again, I never hurt her."

"Susan's car was found only two streets from here, on Lassiter," Gibbons said. "Any idea how it got there?"

Lance seemed honestly surprised. "That's not possible."

"Why not?" Gibbons asked.

"I would've seen it. I drive down that street every day. Where'd it come from?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Caleb said.

"I wish I could help you," Lance replied. "But I don't know anything about it. I only know I didn't murder anyone."

"Then you probably wouldn't mind providing us with a DNA sample," Gibbons said.

Lance looked a little fearful at that suggestion. "What does it involve?"

The detective handed him his business card. "It's not difficult and it only takes a minute. Call me in the morning. We'll talk about it then."

Goose bumps rose on Lance's arms as he stood in the chill wind, staring down at Gibbons's card. "This is insane," he said. "I liked Susan. I never would've hurt her."

"Like hell! If it wasn't for you, she'd still be here," Holly said, but Caleb dragged her away before Lance could respond.

"Calm down," he told her.

"I'm telling you he's the one," she said. "He killed her because he didn't want her to tell his fiancee."

"He has an alibi," Gibbons pointed out.

"His fiancee's mother could be lying," she retorted.

"It's not him," Caleb said. Whoever murdered Susan had copied the strangler
too
well. And twelve years ago, Lance would've been only about thirteen.

M
ADISON HOVERED
in the hall, wondering what to do. She needed to get dressed. She knew she'd feel much more secure and mobile if she had clothes on. But she was afraid to go to her room. She didn't want to pass Johnny's door on the way, didn't want to put herself in a place where she couldn't easily get out of the house if he came after her.

Except he wouldn't come after her. Madison wasn't even convinced that Sharon was right. If he'd killed Caleb's sister-in-law, he'd probably killed all the other women, too. Only he couldn't have. Johnny had been in jail when some of those women died--hadn't he? Without double-checking, there was no way to know for sure. He'd always drifted in and out of her life, and she didn't always know where he was. But he'd never tried to hurt her before, would have no reason to hurt her now.

Unless he knew she was going to the police. But he couldn't have heard her say anything about that. He'd been clear down the hall. She'd checked several times.

The floor creaked as she inched closer.

"Madison?"

She froze, heart pounding so loudly she was afraid he could hear it. What now? Should she answer him?

She didn't want him to get up, so she said, "Yes?"

"Who was that?"

"A friend of mine," she said, and cursed the false note in her own voice.

There was a moment of silence. "What did she want?"

Madison's legs were feeling peculiar, weak. She clung to the door frame to keep from sinking to the ground. "Just to talk."

"This late?"

"She couldn't sleep."

Madison licked dry lips, preparing for a "why?" or "what friend?" But he didn't say anything else.

Gathering her nerve, she said, "Good night."

Again he didn't respond. But he seemed to be going back to sleep, so she forced her legs to carry her to the bedroom as though nothing had changed. She'd get dressed and wait for a while,
then
she'd leave.

Unfortunately, finding the right clothes and getting them on proved more of a challenge than she had anticipated. The adrenaline running through her body was making her hands shake, and the pills she'd taken were starting to compound the problem. "Come on, come on," she whispered to herself.

She managed to don a pair of jeans and a sweater. But only with great concentration did she tie her tennis shoes. When she was finally dressed, she sat on the floor, trying to calm down while watching her digital alarm clock flip from one glowing numeral to the next: 2:43...2:44...2:45....

She made herself wait a full fifteen minutes. Then she shoved Sharon's number in her back pocket, grabbed a lightweight jacket and hurried into the hall--only to run full-tilt into Johnny.

M
ADISON TRIED TO DODGE
Johnny and run. She couldn't see him in the pitch-black hallway, but she'd certainly felt their collision and could hear his ragged breathing. He was close. Probably too close. But if she could only get around him...

Bumping into the wall, she stumbled and nearly brushed past him. She had to get her keys, open the door, reach her car. But he clutched her by the shoulders before she could go anywhere, and yanked her back, surprising her with the strength of his grip.

"Johnny, let me go," she cried, twisting and pushing at him.

"I can't." His fingers curved painfully into her flesh. "Not until you tell me what Sharon wanted."

He knew. He'd known all along that it was Sharon. He'd been baiting her.

Madison tried not to panic. "Nothing. She didn't want anything except to...to talk about her problems with Tye." Again Madison attempted to wrench free, but the sleeping pills were making her light-headed. She felt dizzy, weak...terrified.

"You expect me to believe that's why you're creeping around?" His grip tightened. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. I--I couldn't sleep and--"

He gave her a little shake. "That's bullshit. What did Sharon say?"

"She's worried about you, Johnny."

"Don't lie to me! She's never liked me. Is she running to the police? Is that what's going on? Or is that what
you're
doing?"

"No, I--"

"Tye told me some detectives came around, asking questions about the night that woman was murdered. Now that Dad's gone, they're looking at me. Isn't that right? They think I had something to do with it."

Madison's mind raced, searching for options. But she knew he'd never trust a denial. "Sharon knows the truth, Johnny. It's over."

He went deathly still. "What truth? I didn't kill anyone. You have to believe me, Maddy."

Tears stung Madison's eyes. She
wanted
to believe him, but mere wanting didn't count. "All I know is that we have to make sure nobody else gets hurt. You...you need help."

"But it wasn't me! I swear I didn't do it." His voice sounded gravelly, torn.

"Johnny--"

"Maddy, listen to me."

She felt his grip weaken, knew she should take the opportunity to break away and dash for the door. But his denial and her memories of him from when she was a child were crowding close, confusing her.

Unless you want another fat lip, don't ever talk to my sister like that again....

Tye, she's just a kid. Leave her alone....

Haven't you ever seen a tadpole, Maddy? Want me to catch you one?

"Maddy?" he said.

Madison squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't let herself remember those things. Johnny was a killer,
the
killer. At least that was what Sharon thought. And in some ways it made sense. His childhood had warped him, scarred him, and somehow their father had realized the truth. That was why Ellis shot himself....

"Dad thought it was you, too, didn't he?" she asked, making no effort to restrain her tears.

She felt his chest shudder against her and knew, despite the lack of light, that he was crying, too.

"He wouldn't believe me," he said. "I tried to tell him I'd never seen the stuff in that box, that I had nothing to do with it. But he...he just looked at me. And his face--" He shuddered again. "You have no idea what it was like seeing him that way. I'd always known he was disappointed in me, but right then I knew I was worse than dead to him."

Tears dripped off Madison's chin as she imagined the scene--the guilt her father must have experienced for not loving Johnny better. The pain Johnny must have known when confronted with their father's pure contempt.

"So you did what?" Madison could barely say the words for fear of Johnny's response because another, even more insidious thought had entered her mind. What if her father hadn't killed himself at all?

"I didn't do
anything,
" Johnny insisted. "I told him he could go to hell if he didn't believe me, and I left."

"Then where did that box come from?"

"Dad said he found it buried in the woodpile. He figured I'd left it there, but I didn't. I wasn't lying--I'd never seen it before. Anyone could've hidden it there. Anyone!"

His grip was lax enough now that Madison could have gotten away. She knew that. But something made her hesitate. Maybe the sleeping pills were interfering with her thinking. Or maybe compassion wouldn't allow her to condemn her brother quite so soon. "Sharon overheard you and Tye--"

"I know, but we weren't talking about murder. We were talking about what I did the day I got out of prison. Tye was angry. He knew that since I'm on probation, they'd put me back in prison if anyone ever found out."

"Found out what?"

She couldn't see him, but she could imagine the tortured expression on his face. "That I...that I went to the cemetery."

His arms fell away from her, and he stepped back. But Madison didn't run. She didn't so much as flip on the light. Somehow she knew they both needed the darkness right now. "It was you who dug up Dad's coffin?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Why?"

"I was so angry, Madison. So...damn angry at him. Why wouldn't he believe me? I told him I didn't do it. For once, couldn't he have listened to me?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't speak, couldn't move. The passion in his voice was so real.

"I just wanted him to believe me," he said. "I
hate
going to sleep at night and seeing that...that damn look on his face." He drew a ragged breath that testified to the depth of his emotion. "I was high when I went to the cemetery. I wasn't thinking straight. Or I would've known it was far too late." His tone turned deadpan. "I couldn't convince him even when he was alive."

Poor Johnny. He lived with so many demons. Even now drugs stood between him and any kind of recovery. But he was no killer. He just didn't have it in him.

Putting her arms around him, Madison tried to draw him close, to offer him some of the support and comfort he'd never had.

At first he stiffened, tried to push her away. But then she said, "It's okay, Johnny. I believe you." And after a few moments, he was sobbing on her shoulder.

C
ALEB SAT AT HIS
kitchen table with a cup of coffee and watched the sun rise. He'd arrived home nearly three hours ago, but he hadn't gone to bed. He had too much on his mind. Mostly Madison. And the investigation. Neither of which were going the way he'd hoped.

Did you really help a friend move when you borrowed my father's truck? Or did you make me walk into that garage and get that truck so you could search it?

He'd done worse than that. He'd made her walk into that garage so he could search Ellis's truck
and
have Gibbons check the tires. And it had all been for nothing.

With a yawn, he rubbed his tired eyes. After spending most of the night thinking about Madison, he'd finally decided that what had happened between them yesterday was probably for the best. Their relationship couldn't have gone anywhere. She wasn't emotionally available; she'd told him that several times. And he was going back to San Francisco. Better to get over his fascination with her now and focus on what he needed to do before he could return home.

Shoving his coffee away because the caffeine seemed to be making him sick, he called Gibbons.

"Shit, Trovato, don't you ever sleep?" Gibbons complained, picking up after the answering machine had come on.