Distortion (Moonlighters Series) (6 page)
“Yeah, okay.” The girl fiddled with the belt, as if she couldn’t remember how to hook it.
Wishing she’d gotten more information out of her, Holly dropped her off at the Admiral, a hole-in-the-wall motel, then watched her go up the stairs and into a room. It looked a little like a place Holly had lived last year.
She checked her watch and decided to head back to the drug house to see if David was still there. If she watched him long enough, maybe he’d connect with the guy in the white Camaro. Otherwise it might be days . . . weeks . . . before they figured out who killed Bob. Juliet needed answers before then, especially with these mysterious threats hanging over her head.
Holly felt that she’d done pretty well as a private investigator. Michael had taught her a lot since she first started working for him months ago. She’d helped him solve a number of cases—even though they were boring, mundane ones. She felt like a spy, driving her cab and working as a PI behind the scenes, but she liked it that way. It fit her.
The extra money Michael paid her came in handy, especially at a time like this, with a new house and the baby on the way.
She found the street again, but David’s truck was gone. Great. She should have come up with a reason to not give the girl a ride. Now she’d lost him.
She headed back to his house, hoping he had gone home and she could start over with her surveillance, but his truck wasn’t there either. It was just as well. There was only so much she could do in a bright yellow cab.
T
he voice mail left on Bob’s cell phone had given Michael and the police a few leads, but as hard as he tried, Michael couldn’t find any patterns or connections that clicked things into place.
He’d left home early this morning to follow Steven Harper, the middle brother who still used the address on Tidewater. During the night, Michael had texted Juliet the driver’s license pictures of all three Harper brothers, but she didn’t recognize any of them. That didn’t mean one of them wasn’t the killer.
The blue sedan Michael was following pulled into the parking lot of an out-of-business fast food restaurant. Michael made a quick left into the parking lot of a liquor store across the street and two doors down. He idled there a moment, picking up his camera and zooming in. But Steven just sat in his car, smoking a cigarette with his window down. Was this a dead end? Was the guy jerking him around? Had he spotted him?
Just in case Steven was watching, Michael went into the store and peered out the tinted window.
“Help you?” the cashier asked.
“Just a minute.” Michael put his phone to his ear as if listening to a call. The clerk went back to whatever he was doing and ignored him.
A car pulled into the parking lot where Steven sat and crept up beside him. It was a navy blue minivan. Michael quickly turned his phone on video camera and zoomed in as he watched them exchange something through the windows.
Man! If only he had his real camera with the zoom lens that would capture their faces, but he’d left it in the car. This was clearly a drug deal. Was Steven buying or selling? It was hard to tell.
The minivan drove off, but Steven stayed put, toking on another cigarette.
“You gonna buy something or what?” the clerk asked Michael, irritated.
Michael turned back to him, glanced around the store. “I don’t think you have what I came in here for,” he muttered. “Thanks anyway.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Michael pushed through the door and, without looking across the street, got back into his car. He adjusted his rearview mirror, grabbed his camera, and caught Steven in his viewfinder.
And then he saw it. A white Camaro, turning in. Michael’s heart pounded. He zoomed in and started snapping, desperate to see who was behind that wheel as Steven and the driver talked and exchanged something. He pulled the Bluetooth out of his pocket, stuck it in his ear. He tapped it, turning it on, then pressed Max on speed dial.
His brother didn’t answer, so Michael waited for voice mail. “Max, it’s Michael. Call me. I found the white Camaro.” The Camaro was facing him, so he couldn’t get the tag number. He waited until they’d finished making the exchange, then pulled out to the street. When the Camaro pulled out, Michael followed as soon as there was a break in the traffic. He set down his camera, got his flip cam, and began videotaping as he drove.
There were two cars between them, but he passed one. “Come on, man,” he said to the car in front of him. “Move!” The white Camaro turned, and Michael followed. Now it was just the two of them on the street. He kept taping. The tag was XFM 320. He set the camera down, grabbed a pen, and wrote it on his hand without looking. Then he called Max again.
This time his brother answered. “Whatcha got, Michael?”
“I got a tag number,” he said.
“For what?”
Clearly, Max hadn’t heard his message yet. “The Camaro. XFM 320. I just watched him making a drug exchange with Steven Harper—one of the brothers who uses Tidewater as his address.”
Max laughed. “Nice work! Could be our man.”
“Run the tag, see who owns the car. I can’t do it because I’m driving.”
“Will do,” Max said. “I’ll call you back.”
Michael followed at a distance, letting three cars get between them. When the Camaro pulled into a vacant parking lot, Michael parked some distance away, watching. So if this was the guy who’d pulled the trigger on Bob, then it could’ve been about drugs—the guy was either a buyer or a seller. So what did that mean? Had he killed Bob for drugs? Was he
hoping to get Bob’s prescription pad? Cash? But if so, why didn’t he get out of the car and rob him?
No, Bob had been in jeans and a T-shirt. He hadn’t been carrying anything but his wallet, his phone, and some change. The shooter must have seen Juliet following Bob at the gas station, so it wasn’t like she had unexpectedly interrupted the robbery.
After he saw them at the gas station, why would he follow them unless he thought Bob would be a safe mark, that Juliet couldn’t possibly defend him or herself—and that her screaming wouldn’t be enough to bring unwelcome attention before he got what he wanted? And if he assumed all those things, why hadn’t he immediately jumped out of the car and shaken Bob down?
His phone beeped, and he tapped his Bluetooth. It was Max. “Did you find him?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, it’s registered to a Jerome Henderson, twenty-two years old. Been in jail like four times since he was twelve. Once for three years.”
“You got a picture? Driver’s license?”
“Yep.”
“How about texting it to me?” Michael said.
“All right. You have a make on the guy?”
“Yeah, he’s sitting in a parking lot right now, probably using the dope he just bought. If you come make an arrest now, you might be able to catch him with the drugs. Then you could get him in a lineup.”
He half expected Max to balk at the step-by-step suggestions, but maybe his brother was growing up. “All right, stay with him until we can get there.”
Michael hung up, glad his brother was finally treating him
with respect instead of trying to compete with him on every case Michael had any part in. It was something. Since Joe’s death, Max and Michael had had a hard time relating to each other.
It was Michael’s fault that Joe’s killer had walked away scot-free. If he hadn’t screwed up the case, Leonard Miller would be sitting on death row right now. Michael’s family had never forgiven him, though they pretended to. Communication had been strained between them ever since.
Cathy had forgiven and defended him, even though she’d been devastated by the murder. She’d become Michael’s closest friend, and now . . . well, now it was more. He couldn’t shake the guilt that she’d been his brother’s girl first, but he just hoped that from his place in heaven—and Michael had no doubt Joe was there—Joe loved them both enough to be okay with it.
Michael had been working on finding Leonard Miller, without any luck. He’d hoped to watch him until he committed another crime, and help put him away once and for all. Now he felt the same sense of injustice. He wouldn’t let another killer walk away. Juliet was like family to him. He couldn’t stand to see her hurting like this.
If they were able to arrest the guy in the Camaro, that would be huge. When Max interrogated Henderson, he might be able to get to the reason behind the shooting. It wouldn’t bring Bob back, but at least filling in the blanks and knowing his killer faced justice would give her some closure.
He knew too well that grief without closure left open wounds that never quite healed. He didn’t want that for Juliet.
J
uliet hated planning funerals, and she’d never intended to plan Bob’s. She’d always hoped she would go first, after living a nice long life with him. But she had no choice now. She’d spent the afternoon meeting with the pastor and funeral director, then at home she’d riffled through pictures of Bob, choosing some that could be used at the service. She’d tried to include Zach and Abe in the planning, but Zach had wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t blame him.
She’d talked at length with Bob’s devastated mother and sister, and her cell phone had rung off the hook with condolences from Bob’s friends and colleagues and their church family. She’d finally turned the phone to silent and stopped taking the calls. She hoped her friends understood.
Sapped of energy, she lay on the bed with her arms around Abe when the doorbell rang.
What now? Had some of her friends tracked her down?
She heard the door opening downstairs, voices, then little footsteps on the stairs. Jackson appeared in the doorway. “Aunt Juliet, Daddy wanted me to tell you that Mr. Michael is here. He needs to talk to you.”
Juliet sat up. “Okay, I’m coming.” She looked down at Abe, whose eyes were red and puffy. “You okay, honey?”
He just nodded.
Jackson came to lean on the bed. “Want to play Angry Birds with me, Abe? You can teach me level six. Daddy doesn’t know how to do it.”
Abe pulled himself up. “Okay.”
Satisfied that Abe wouldn’t be alone, Juliet went downstairs. Michael was in the kitchen with Jay, talking in a low voice. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and she knew him well enough to know he hadn’t slept since Bob’s murder. “Juliet, we found a guy in a white Camaro,” he said. “They were able to make an arrest.”
She sucked in a breath. “Really?”
“Yes. Max needs you to come see if you can identify him in a lineup. There’s no guarantee it’s him, but he is connected to the people who made the call.”
Juliet looked around for her purse. “Has he said anything? Did he confess?”
“No. They only got him on drug charges. He’d just bought a large quantity of cocaine, and he had a big envelope of cash. They can’t link him to Bob unless you identify him.”
She found her purse in a chair at the kitchen table. “Okay, let’s go. Jay, can you watch the kids?”
“Of course.”
As she headed toward the door, Zach stepped off the stairs. He’d clearly been listening. “Mom, I want to go.”
Juliet slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Kiddo, I’d rather you stayed here. Abe needs you.”
“No,” he said. “Mom, I’m twelve. I can do this. I want to go with you. I want to see this guy.”
Juliet stared at her son for a moment. This was the first thing that had animated him since the shooting. Maybe it would do him good to see justice being served. She blew out a long breath. “All right,” she said. “You can come.”
As they rode in Michael’s Trailblazer, Juliet’s mind raced with memories of the night before. She tried to capture a snapshot in her mind of the man who had looked at her at the gas station then pulled up in the U-Haul lot and gunned her husband down. She hoped she could remember. What if none of the men in the lineup looked familiar? What if he was there, but he looked different now? What if she couldn’t be sure?
Michael talked on the phone to Max as they drove. Juliet wondered who else they would put in the lineup. Would it be other police officers, people off the street, other inmates in jail? What if she chose wrong?
Zach was quiet as they rode. She patted his knee, hoping this wouldn’t traumatize him. She had no idea if she was doing the right thing by including him.
At the police station, she followed Michael in, purpose quickening her stride. Zach trailed behind. Cathy was there, waiting in the lineup room with Max and his partner. “You okay?”
Juliet nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Juliet, thanks for coming in,” Max said. “I want you to look at the six men in the lineup and see if you can identify the shooter. Make sure you’re absolutely certain before you ID anyone.”
“Got it.”
She felt Zach stiffening next to her, and she took his hand. His was cold, clammy.
The light came on in the small area behind the glass where the men would stand. A side door opened, and the first of the men walked in and turned toward the glass, followed slowly by the second.
“Can they see us?” Zach asked.
Max shook his head. “No, their side of the window looks like a mirror. Take your time, Juliet.”