Death Angel (25 page)

“Got ya, Chief.”

“That covers everything I had on my
list. Anyone have anything else?”

“One more thing,” Bob said. “I was going
through my paperwork, Bea, and came across that short list you gave us on May
eleventh. Four names with PF license plates that had triggered an alert. Did
anything come out of that list?”

Bea shook her head. “Sorry, guys. I must
have dropped the ball. I don’t have the foggiest idea what happened. Who was
handling it?”

“Yo. I haven’t got my notes typed up
yet.” Tony patted down his sport coat, reaching into the inside pocket and
withdrawing a wad of crumpled papers. Unfolding them, he read down the list.
“Four names. Bushnell, Danello, Nathanson, and Zmudzki. The last one you can
count out entirely. He was the one accused of beating up on his kid. Got into a
bar fight a week after the Warner kid was killed. He’s been in a coma ever
since.”

“Sounds like a prince,” Bea said.

“Real prick. Danello, the car dealer.
He’s also out of the picture. His wife caught him humpin’ a customer in the
back of a Jeep Grand Cherokee and she’s suing him for divorce. The day of the
murder he was in court the whole day. The little woman has a hotshot lawyer
from the Chicago firm of Gill, McGuire and O’Keefe. By the time she finishes
with Danello, he’ll need a car jack to get it up. Nathanson and Bushnell are
still on the active list.”

“Part of this is my fault, Bea.” Bob
interrupted. He pulled a sheet of paper from the back of one of his files. “I
told Tony I’d check into Bushnell. He’s the old guy, neighbor of the Warners
whose name came up in connection with a porno sting we were running. At any
rate, he’s never had any arrests but over the past couple years he’s come under
scrutiny. Always something on the sexual fringes.”

“A latent molester?” Bea leaned forward,
her curiosity piqued.

“Not sure.” Bob shrugged. “I suppose an
ex-mayor could be a deviant, but he seems more like an old dodderer who’s
interested in porn and ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Last week
one of our guys was working an adult bookstore up near the Wisconsin border and
happened to recognize Bushnell when he came in to buy a film. When he told me
about it, I sent him over to Bushnell’s for an interview.”
 

“Did he have an alibi for the time of
Jenny’s death or the jogger?”

“Said he was at home. The wife was
adamant that he had been in the house both times. The interview notes said he
looked nervous and she was plenty ticked that he was being questioned. They’ve
got big money and political connections. The wife kept threatening to call
Mayor Etzel.”

“As if Etzel wasn’t already breathing
down my neck,” Carl groaned. “Anything else to link him to the murders?”

“No. Nothing except he’s an odd duck and
fits the profile for an old pedophile.”

“Nice job, Bob. Ex-mayor or not, keep
Bushnell on the active list. Who was the last one?”

“Nathaniel Nathanson, the soccer coach.”
Tony once more riffled through the crumbled papers. “I called my cousin’s
husband, Fred Weller, on the Rockford force. He’s into computers in a big way.
He says the Internet is one of the greatest opportunities for crime that’s come
along in years. Porn. Chat rooms. All without letting on your real identity.”

“Does this have anything to do with
Nathanson?” Carl was impatient for the meeting to be over.

“Yeah. Fred’s set up some kind of
Internet sting. He pretends he’s a twelve-year-old boy. He’s been keeping a
list of people who’ve tried to contact him. Some are legitimate, but some sound
questionable. Fred’s got some source that can find out the real names and
addresses. Nathanson’s name came up.”

“Did you check him out?”

“Briefly. He’s twenty-eight. Single.
Never been married. He coaches for the soccer league and is active with the
kids’ summer concerts. No alibi for the time of either murder. Has the PF
plates. And last year he went on a vacation to England, Ireland, and Scotland,
so he could have bought some of the ButterSkots candy.”

“Anything to tie him directly to the
murders?” Bea asked.

“
Niente.
”

“Keep on this guy, Tony. Maybe he
shouldn’t be spending so much time around kids.” Carl sighed. “Any other
problems or comments?”

When no one spoke, Carl sat up
straighter, leaning forward onto his elbows, his eyes registering the
discontent on each face. “I realize that nobody wanted this sort of
inconclusive solution to the two murders. In the long run, it doesn’t matter
whether Richard Warner is dead or alive. The main thrust of our investigation
has to be to discover if he murdered Jennifer Warner and Walter Hepburn. Or if
someone else did.”

It was time to go home.
 

Kate heard Mike and Chessy fighting in
the bedroom. Their voices were muted, but she could feel the tension in the
clipped snatches of conversation. Since the night Mike and Leidecker had come
to tell her about Richard’s disappearance, she had been staying in Chessy’s
apartment on Lake Shore Drive. Knowing the amount of publicity Richard’s
disappearance would arouse, Mike had insisted that she couldn’t remain in the
house. Too stunned to fight, she had agreed.

It was just a week ago, and yet she
could only remember bits and pieces of that awful night. Thinking about
Richard’s disappearance made Kate clench her teeth to hold back the pain.

Since arriving at the apartment, she had
tried to block out all memories, existing in a cocoon of numbness. She had
turned all the details of life over to Mike and Chessy. Except for visits from
Leidecker and calls to Marian, she had isolated herself from everyone for the
past week.
 

She slept. She ate a little. And she
slept again.

Muffled voices behind the bedroom door
reminded her that she had outstayed her welcome. Coming home from vacation to
an uninvited guest, and one in an emotional crisis at that, had been hard on
Chessy. She had been gracious, but the two-bedroom apartment was too small for
Chessy, Kate, and a constantly hovering Mike. Kate’s continued stay would push
the boundaries of friendship.

Wearily she stood up, walking across the
oak floor to stare out at Lake Michigan. She would miss the view. She had been
comforted by her closeness to the water. Watching the boats moving on the
surface, she convinced herself that the Coast Guard had not given up the search
and eventually they would have news.

Six days, and still no word of Richard.

Had he committed suicide by swimming out
into Lake Michigan?

Mike, Chessy, Chris, and Marian had all
been too considerate to ask the question. Only Leidecker had asked. She’d hated
him for asking. She didn’t want to think about it. She accused him of hounding
Richard and blamed him for the depression that had settled over Richard.
 

Although she’d balked at saying the
words out loud, in the darkness of the sleepless nights she acknowledged that
Richard was dead. Since his disappearance, she had suppressed her emotions as
she had in the days following Jenny’s death. At least when Jenny died, Kate had
a feeling of closure, if not acceptance. For a week she had been waiting for
Richard’s body to surface and when it didn’t she was left in a state of limbo.

Even though she believed he was dead,
the comforting ceremonies were absent. With no body, there could be no funeral.
And worst of all, his guilt or innocence in his daughter’s death would always
be questioned.

She stared out the window, breathing
deeply until she was calmer.

Even eleven floors above the city, she
could feel the chill of the water. She turned away and went into her room.
Keeping her mind purposefully blank, she stripped the bed linens, packed her
clothes and checked the bathroom to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. She
called Marian to say she would be home later in the day.

“Good, dear. I’ll turn on the air
conditioner. It’s really hot out today. I’m just on my way to the grocery
store. I’ll pick up some things for you, and then you won’t have to go out for
a few days.”

“Thanks, Marian. I appreciate it. And
thanks for everything the other night.”

“Nonsense. What are friends for? The car
doors woke me. I’m just glad I was there.” The soft voice sharpened. “You come
on home. I’ll turn the lights on and get the place cooled off. Then I’ll pop
over tomorrow for a chat. You’ve been in my thoughts and prayers, dear.”

Kate swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Thank you, Marian. See you tomorrow.”

After checking the room once more, she
carried her suitcase out to the front hall. Mike and Chessy were in the
kitchen, and Kate broke the news that she was going back to Pickard.
 

Mike met her announcement with anger.
Chessy’s reaction was a mixture of embarrassment and relief. She dutifully
pressed Kate to stay longer, but they both knew it was time to leave. Mike was
unconvinced. Right up to the moment he put her suitcase into the car, he
continued to offer alternate plans. Once on the expressway, he drove in
silence, his expression grim in the flicker of lights from passing cars.

How strange, Kate thought, as they drove
down the streets of Pickard. So much had happened, yet nothing’s changed.
Somehow she expected the town to look different, perhaps reflect the despair
and pain that she was feeling.
 

The car pulled into the driveway. In the
glow from the front door light she could see new plants in the flower garden
beside the steps and red-orange petunias spilling over the edges of the window
boxes. Marian’s way of welcoming her home.

Mike turned off the ignition. Kate
reached over to touch his sleeve.

“After all you’ve done, I’m sorry I was
so stubborn about leaving.” She felt rather than saw the slight shrug of his
shoulders. “Chessy was a lovely hostess, but it was time to go. I have to put
my life back together.”

“You don’t have to rush into it.”

“Let’s not argue. Besides, you’re bound
to get mad all over again when I tell you I don’t want you to come in.”

“It would be easier if I did.” Mike pushed
a hand up through his hair.

“Perhaps. But I have to do this alone.”

A tense silence filled the car. Kate
knew how much Mike hated it when things didn’t go the way he’d planned. She
waited and was rewarded by a sigh.

“You win,” he said. “Much as I want to,
I can’t protect you.”

“No. Through everything, you’ve been an
incredible support, but now I have to start functioning on my own. Decisions
have to be made. If Richard is gone” — Kate’s voice broke on the word — “I have
to figure out what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.”

Mike reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I know you don’t want to hear any of this now, but at some point I’d like to
talk about your finances.”

“You don’t need to. Chris called me
yesterday and talked about that too.”

“Are you all right for immediate cash?”

“Yes. The money from my job at the
library has always been in my name. Richard didn’t approve of my working, and
refused to let me use it for household expenses. There are legalities involved
in Richard’s disappearance, so for the time being I’ll use that.” A lone tear
slid down her cheek and she brushed it away. “Sorry. Memories kind of sneak up
on me. Time to get moving.”

Before she could reconsider, she opened
her car door. Mike carried her suitcase up the front steps. He had always had a
key to the house but hesitated before he unlocked the door, staring down at
Kate as if to ask permission. She nodded, a short jerk of the head. He unlocked
the door, stepping away without opening it.

“When you get back to Chessy’s, give her
a big hug from me.” Kate pulled on Mike’s lapels until he bent his head and she
could kiss his cheek. “I love you both, but I have to learn to get along on my
own. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Taking the suitcase from him, she
slipped inside the house and closed the door, leaning against the wooden panels
and listening as Mike started the car and drove away. The silence of the house
closed around her.

With determination, she pushed away from
the door and started toward the kitchen. She noted the yellow carnations on the
coffee table in the living room and the white ones on the dining room table. In
the kitchen was a vase of mixed flowers from Marian’s garden. With each
bouquet, Kate’s spirits revived. By the time she reached the family room, she
was able to smile at the showy blossoms of the Unique Blanche roses on the
table beside the couch.
 

She stared at the flowers, remembering
the day they had dug the rose beds. For a few hours, the shadowy suspicions had
been held at bay. Richard had not been happy, but at least he had been less
sad. Sinking down on the couch, she breathed in the scent of the flowers.
 

God, she was tired. Maybe tomorrow in
the sunlight, life would not be so frightening.

Checking the lock on the sliding doors,
she turned off the lights and the air conditioner, heading back into the front
hall. Turning out the porch lights, she double locked the door, picked up her
suitcase, and headed up the stairs.