Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 2 of 2: Forced Alliance\Out for Justice\No Place to Run (33 page)

Greg cleared his throat. “Who does the dog in back belong to?”

“He's Wendell's.”

“Is someone going to take care of him while Wendell's gone?”

Lexi smiled. They were in the middle of a possible murder investigation, and he was worried about the dog. Nothing wrong with being an animal lover.

“I take care of him any time Wendell goes away.” He gripped the knob and swung open the door. “You got a card or something so I can call and find out when I can come back?”

She pulled a business card from her front shirt pocket and handed it to him. Her gaze drifted past him, and her eyes widened.

A Toyota Camry sat in the drive.

It wasn't all the way white. It was two-tone, with that common beige-gold color at the bottom. But the majority of the car was white.

Lexi nodded toward the driveway “Is that yours?”

“The Camry? Yeah. Why?”

“Do you ever loan it to Wendell?”

“Once or twice a long time ago, when his truck was in the shop. Not in the past year. Why?”

“I'm afraid we're going to have to impound it.”

“What?” The word exploded from his mouth. He wasn't so laidback anymore. “I need to get back to work.”

“Detective Morganson here can take you.” She cast a glance at Greg. “Pick him up some lunch, too.”

“Come on, man. I'm okay with you taking over my house if Wendell's in some kind of trouble. But what's that got to do with me and my car?”

“If Wendell's gotten into trouble, he's done it in your car.”

Jeff shook his head. “No way, man. If he took my car, I would have known it.”

She didn't respond, just fished her keys from her pocket and handed them to Greg. They would get the warrant extended to include Jeff's car. If there was evidence to be found, that was where they would find it.

She watched Greg leave, Jeff in the back. The crime scene unit would arrive anytime. Meanwhile, she would see what else she could find.

By the time Greg returned, more than an hour had passed. Crime Scene had already arrived and was processing the bedroom. He held up a bag and cardboard carrier with two drinks, then made his way to the kitchen. An enticing aroma preceded him. She smiled wryly. Her palate must have degraded to basement levels when she classified fast food as enticing. But she was hungry. The drive-through lines must have been long.

Greg pulled out two wrapped sandwiches from the bag and handed her a third. “I got you a grilled chicken. You don't look like a greasy-cheeseburger kind of girl.”

Frankly she was a whatever-was-fast kind of girl. But grilled chicken was fine.

After wiping a wet paper towel across the kitchen table, she washed her hands over a mountain of dirty dishes. Greg made the smart decision and washed up in the bathroom instead.

She sank into the chair and unwrapped her sandwich. With the dirty dishes piled up three feet away, it wasn't like eating in her kitchen at home. But she had eaten in worse settings.

Greg took the chair across from her. “Sorry it took me so long to get back here. The drive-throughs were packed, and I had to hit two of them. Jeff wanted Chinese, and I wasn't sure if you did Chinese. So I went for the all American.”

She held up her sandwich, now a third of the way eaten. “As you can see, you made a good choice.”

“So anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Not really. Last I checked, Crime Scene was processing the uniform. Of course, they'll bag it up and take it with them.”

“Then what's next? After we're finished here, I mean.”

“There's a good chance this will all be turned over to Homicide.”

Greg nodded. “That's where I'd like to end up someday. It seems really interesting.”

Yeah, that was one way to put it. But she could think of a few other adjectives, too. Such as grueling. And frustrating. And heart wrenching.

“We'll go ahead and get some crime scene tape up. Then I'll get you back to the station.” There was no reason for Greg to hang out there the rest of the afternoon while Crime Scene did their tedious work.

Tomorrow she would talk to the suspect. And during the course of the next two days, hopefully they would find the evidence they needed to put this creep away for good.

She stepped out the front door with her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. Tonight she would go see Alan. She was still upset at him for talking to Tomlinson. He'd had no business interfering in her life.

But she was hours away from solving the case.

And for some reason, he was the first one she wanted to tell.

THIRTEEN

A
lan pulled into the driveway of the small brick house and disappointment washed over him. The Mazda wasn't there. It was eight o'clock. He had hoped she'd be home by now.

He glanced over at the frosted-glass vase held somewhat secure by the passenger seat belt. Two dozen red roses could atone for a lot of wrongs. At least that was what he was banking on.

He turned off the engine, picked up his phone and brought up Lexi's number. She answered on the third ring. At least she was taking his call. And her “Hello” didn't sound the least bit annoyed. Judging from the background noise, she was driving.

“Where are you?”

“I'm headed to Harmony Grove.”

“Going to see your mom?”

“No, you.”

A grin climbed up his cheeks. “In that case, turn around. I'm sitting in your driveway.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I'm here to see you.”

“Dumb question, huh?” There was a smile in her tone. “See you in about ten minutes.”

He ended the call, relief coursing through him. This encounter was going to be even more pleasant than he had hoped. Whatever had happened, her anger with him seemed to have evaporated.

True to her word, ten minutes later she rolled to a stop next to him, and by the time she killed the engine and removed her seat belt, he was at her door, roses in hand.

“I come bearing gifts. And words of apology. I'm sorry for going behind your back and talking to Tomlinson. It'll never happen again.” He held up a hand. “Scout's honor. Forgive me?”

She climbed from the car and took the roses from him. “The jury's still out on that. But this definitely helps.” She flashed him a smile, that same beautiful, sweet smile he had fallen in love with.

He followed her to the door, and she turned to face him on the porch. Excitement shone from her eyes. “I have good news. We might have caught our killer.”

His chest tightened, whatever excitement she was projecting tempered by his own fear. “He didn't come back for Jen, did he?”

She unlocked the door and led him inside. “No. We picked him up on a completely unrelated case, stalking. When we checked out his place, we found hundreds of photos.”

“What kinds of photos?”

“Women. But none of them were of any of the victims.”

“So what makes you think he's the killer?”

She dropped her purse on the coffee table and continued to the kitchen. “After looking at the photos, I checked out his closet. And guess what I found. A police uniform.”

She set the vase in the sink and topped off the water before continuing. “It's generic, nothing identifying it as being associated with a particular department. It's navy instead of dark green, but since it was dark when Jen got stopped, she could be mistaken on the color.”

“I don't know. She seemed pretty sure.” They were going to have to come up with a lot more than that to charge the guy with murder.

“That's what I thought. Then his roommate showed up. In a white Camry.” She lifted the vase from the sink and set it on the counter, then flashed him another smile. “Thank you for the roses. I'm keeping them up here so Midnight doesn't eat them. He's usually pretty good about not getting up on the kitchen counter.”

He followed her gaze to the flower-eating bandit, who was currently weaving in and out of her legs. So was the vocal Siamese. The big gray one hadn't appeared yet. Lexi picked up Suki and walked into the living room.

As he settled onto the couch next to her, Suki made herself at home on her lap, voicing her contentment with loud purrs.

“Anything else tying him to the killings?”

“We don't have anything back yet from Crime Scene, but I did check out his book-in photo. I know the descriptions we have are pretty vague, but they do fit—buzz cut, muscular. He could possibly even pass for mid-thirties. We're going to do a lineup to see if Jen can identify him. We'll do the same for Denise.”

She ran a hand down Suki's back and the cat purred even louder. “The poor girl will finally be able to come home. If she even wants to. The times I've talked to her, she seems pretty content up there. I'm afraid Polk County holds too many bad memories.”

He frowned. “It's probably better that she stays put. In case they've got the wrong guy.”

“What's wrong?” She cocked a brow at him. “You don't seem convinced.”

“You say he's got all these photos of women, right?”

“Hundreds.”

“But he apparently didn't kill any of them.”

“Not that we know of. We'll be running them through the databases over the next few weeks. Of course, we know one of the women. She filed the restraining order that got him picked up.”

“But there isn't a single picture of any of your five victims.”

“He's too smart to leave behind that kind of evidence.”

He shook his head. “I don't know. You pick the guy up for stalking, and he just happens to be the killer. It seems too easy. Too coincidental.”

She turned to face him more fully and grinned. “Haven't you been praying for divine help?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You don't think your God is big enough to drop the guy in our lap?”

“I have no doubt that God's big enough. I'm just saying that something about this feels off.”

She studied him, the smile still there. Finally she gave a short nod. “I've missed you.”

“You have?”

“Yep. Our brainstorming sessions, bouncing ideas off each other. We make a good team.”

He returned her smile. “We do.”

He had missed her, too. And it wasn't just working together on the case. It was everything. Eating together, laughing, talking, walking hand in hand at the park.

And it wasn't just this week. He had missed her for the past six years.

“How about letting me take you out to dinner Friday night?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. She hadn't fully forgiven him for talking to Tomlinson. Asking her out was rushing things. “You know,” he added, “to discuss the case. Not as a date or anything.”

The teasing smile she gave him shattered his reservations.

“But what if I
want
a date with Harmony Grove's most eligible bachelor?”

He matched her smile with one of his own. “Then I'd be happy to oblige.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

Her smile faded and her eyes grew warm, emotion flickering in their depths, traces of what used to be there every time she looked at him. Was he really seeing what he thought he saw?

He reached up to run a finger along her jawline. What he wanted to do was to kiss her. But that
would
be rushing things.

“I'm going to leave and let you get some rest.” He pushed himself to his feet.

She moved Suki off her lap and let him help her up. “I'm going to question the suspect tomorrow morning. I'll let you know how it goes.”

“You want some company?”

“Mmm, probably not. If he feels like we're ganging up on him, he'll be more likely to clam up.”

He nodded and moved toward the door. “You might be right. Keep me posted.”

“I will. And keep the prayers going, will you?”

“So you're acknowledging that maybe God does listen?”

“I'm leaning a little in that direction.” One side of her mouth quirked up. “Who knows? I might even show up at your church one day.”

“I'll save you a spot.”

A ringtone sounded from her purse on the end table and she hurried to retrieve her phone. She looked at the screen, then cast him a glance filled with anticipation. “It's Tomlinson.”

She pressed the phone to her ear, and moments later, her brows lifted. “That's too much to be mere coincidence. I'm going to the jail tomorrow to interview him. I'll bring that up.”

In the next span of silence, her face fell. “Come on, Sarge. I know it's Kaminski's case, but let me do this. If Moorehead's not our killer, this is just a stalking case, and you've already assigned it to me. If he
is
our killer, he's locked up. So I'm safe either way.”

Moments later, the corners of her mouth lifted. “Thanks. And no need to call Alan. He's here.” Her cheeks flushed a little pink at the admission.

She ended the call and dropped her phone into her purse, eyes shining with excitement. “A bottle was retrieved from under the suspect's bathroom sink.”

“What kind of bottle?”

“Brown, made of glass. It has some kind of liquid in it. According to one of the crime scene techs, it's sweet-smelling, made him kind of light-headed.”

He raised his brows. “Chloroform?”

“If it's not, I'll eat my socks.”

“So how did Tomlinson respond to your argument for letting you interview the suspect?”

She grinned over at him. “He accused me of liking to push the boundaries. But he's letting me do it.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know none of the photos Moorehead has are of the dead girls. But what are the chances of him having a police costume, a roommate with a Camry and a bottle of chloroform under the bathroom sink?”

“Pretty slim.”

“He
has
to be our guy.”

“Unless the chloroform belongs to the roommate. The Camry does.”

“But the roommate doesn't fit the description of the killer. Based on the book-in photo, Moorehead does.”

Alan nodded and stepped into the balmy evening air.

For her sake, and for the sake of the single young women of Polk County, he hoped she was right.

* * *

Lexi sat at the polished oak table, a manila file folder in front of her. It was closed. She didn't need to review what was inside. She had it almost memorized.

But she flipped open the cover anyway and scanned the sheet on top. She may as well, because the room she waited in certainly didn't offer anything of interest. Except for the table, four chairs and a fake plant sitting in the corner, the space was bare. No pictures decorated the plain white walls, just a simple clock—a clock that had advanced fifteen minutes since she'd entered the room.

She dropped her gaze back to her folder until the rattle of the doorknob caught her attention. The door swung open and a corrections officer led in an inmate in an orange jail jumpsuit.

“This is Moorehead.” The officer turned toward the door. “I'll be waiting outside.”

She watched him leave the room, then nodded toward the chair opposite her. “Have a seat, Wendell. It's all right if I call you Wendell?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He settled into the chair and leaned back, weight shifted to one side in a devil-may-care pose that he didn't quite pull off.

“I'm Alexis Simmons. I have a few questions for you. I spent a good bit of yesterday at your house.”

A flicker of concern flashed across his features—so brief she might have imagined it.

“It seems you have a pretty impressive collection of photos.”

“I'm a hobby photographer. There's nothing illegal about that.”

“There is when you're doing it thirty feet from a woman who has a restraining order against you.”

He shrugged and one side of his mouth cocked up in an irreverent half grin. “I've been through this before. They're not going to keep me that long.”

“You might be a guest of Polk County longer than you think. So tell me, what's the police uniform for?”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“It's a costume.”

“What for?”

“My company's harvest party. We do it every year, the last weekend in October. It's a costume party. I've gone as a cop the past three years.”

“What company is this?”

“Davis Aluminum.”

That would be easy enough to check out. They were a good-size aluminum contractor, right on one of the main drags through Lakeland.

“How long have you worked there?”

“About four years.”

She nodded. That cocky air was as pronounced as ever, but at least he was answering her questions.

“What's in the brown bottle under your bathroom sink?”

“What brown bottle? You're going to have to be more specific.”

“A brown bottle about five inches tall, glass, unmarked.”

“How am I supposed to know? I'm sure there are all kinds of bottles under there.”

“They tell me it smells an awful lot like chloroform.”

He gave an irreverent smirk. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Chloroform. Puts people out. Women are a lot more cooperative when they're unconscious. Not nearly as feisty.”

He stiffened and sat straighter. That cockiness was falling away by the second, and concern was moving in. “What are you trying to pin on me?”

“I'm not trying to pin anything on you. I'm just trying to get at the truth.”

“Well, you've already got the truth. I went out and took some pictures. That's the extent of it.” He once again settled back into that nonchalant pose, but now that cockiness held an undercurrent of fear.

“When is the last time you drove the Camry?”

“What Camry?”

“Jeff's Camry.”

“I don't drive Jeff's car. I've got my own.”

“How about after he goes to bed at night?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you don't want to be seen driving your own car?”

“What, has some kind of a crime been committed using a white Camry?” He gave a snicker. “Someone going around stealing doughnuts? Got you cops in an uproar?”

“Maybe. But we're more concerned about the girls who are being murdered.”

His eyes widened and he raised both hands. “Hey, lady, that's not me. Okay, I admit it. I like women. I like to look at them and admire them and photograph them. But I'd never raise a hand to hurt one of them. If you're looking for a killer, you got the wrong guy.”