Senseless (7 page)
“I’ll do all the invoices for the next three months if you let him keep the cat.”
King grinned. “You’re starting to like the kid.”
“I didn’t say that,” she grumbled. “I’m offering a hand.”
He sighed. “Fine. The cat can stay. Provided we can catch it. ”
She kissed him on the cheek. “You know you are the best.”
A faint hint of pink colored his cheeks. “I got to get Bobby up and ready for school. He’s got a spelling test today.”
She studied him and not for the first time wondered what made him tick. “Why did you do it? Why help me and the kid?”
“Why not? We all get into jams now and then.”
“Very few people go out of their way like you, King. ”
“I’m just a hell of a nice guy,” he grumbled. “Now leave it at that.” The hard lines of King’s face eased. “What do you have planned today?”
She understood a “back off” when she heard one. “I want to go back to the shelter.”
“Why?”
“I want to know what happened.” The cops would still be crawling all over the place, but after a restless night of dreams that reminded her of a time when she’d been so helpless, she felt compelled to return.
“Do they know who set the fire?” King had been more like a father to her in the last six months than her own father had been.
“I don’t think so, but I want to find out.”
“You be careful. You got a record and it ain’t smart for ex-cons to be so close to a crime scene.”
She could have told him how she’d hidden out in the woods last night, almost too afraid to think. She opted to keep that to herself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tuesday, April 4, 8:00 A.M.
A patrol car followed a beat-up Gran Torino station wagon into the shelter’s cul-de-sac and parked next to Garrison’s car. A tall, broad-shouldered woman got out of the station wagon and surveyed the damage. In her early fifties, the woman wore faded jeans, a
HANNA HOUSE
sweatshirt and tennis shoes. Black tendrils of curly hair escaped a topknot and framed high cheekbones and sharp gray eyes edged by deep lines.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks.
Garrison moved toward her. “Ms. Sally Walton?”
“Yes.” Her voice trembled as she shook her head and stared at the charred remains.
Garrison shook her hand, noting tension had flattened her lips. “I’m Detective Deacon Garrison, Alexandria City Police Department, and this is my partner, Detective Malcolm Kier.”
Malcolm stuck out his hand. “I sent the car for you so you wouldn’t have to drive.”
Silver bracelets jangled as Sally shook his hand. “I wanted to drive my own car, so the officer followed me.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m always getting calls on my night off. Most of them were nuisance calls, so lately, I’ve turned off my cell phone.”
“Understandable,” Garrison said. “Where were you last night?”
“My boyfriend’s. His name is Charlie Jones. He works in a garage in Arlington. You want his number?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going to need to verify where you were.”
She dug a pad and pencil from her purse and scribbled names and numbers on it. “Well, the sooner you can figure out I didn’t do it, the faster you can find who did.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He studied her elegant handwriting. “Can you tell us who stayed in the house?”
“I think so.” Sally had a rough, jagged tone to her voice that suggested a life of heavy cigarette smoking.
“Would you also write down the names of your residents and staff?”
“The officer told me none of my people were hurt.”
“We just like to be sure everyone’s been accounted for.” Sally wrote the names down, her hand steady and sure. “I’ve listed seven names. Six residents and one staff member. I starred resident names who supplied full names that I thought might be fictitious.”
“Fictitious?” Garrison said.
“I hadn’t had time to verify their identities. Some may have lied about their last names.”
“That happens a lot?”
“All the time. But I always check on people. I don’t want trouble. Yesterday was my night off and I was in a rush to get out. I didn’t take the time to run background checks. It was cold, and turning folks away seemed harsh.” She raised fingers to her lips. “Did one of my residents do this?”
“I don’t know yet.” Garrison glanced at his notepad. “You only had one staff worker on call last night?”
“I was supposed to have two but my second night worker called to say she’d be late.”
“Did her call surprise you?”
“No, no. Eva is very reliable. She just called to say she’d have to work late—at her other job. She works three jobs. She’s hustling to save money. I understood she’d be here as soon as she could.”
“You said her name was Eva?”
“That’s right. Eva Rayburn.”
“And the other volunteer?”
“Beamer.”
“We spoke to him last night. He was in the front of the house watching TV with the residents when the fire broke out.”
“Sounds like Neal. He likes his television. I’m glad Eva wasn’t on site.”
“Why?”
“She’d have been in the back of the house in the kitchen working. The kid barely sits down.”
Garrison thought about his victim. “What does Eva look like?”
“She’s short. Maybe five feet. Dark hair. Blue, blue eyes. Pretty girl. Could pass for a fifteen-year-old. Why do you ask?”
Eva matched the description of his mystery woman. “We found the body of a woman behind the shelter. I’m trying to identify her.”
The furrow in Sally’s brow deepened. “Oh, God. Was the girl Eva?”
“Judging by your description, no.”
Sally pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Was this woman killed by the fire?”
“We’re still trying to determine the cause of death.” He pulled a Polaroid of the victim’s face shot before the medical examiner’s office bagged her body. “Would you mind looking at a picture of the woman? ”
Sally straightened her shoulders. “Of course.”
The lines on Sally’s face deepened as she stared at the picture of the victim. Tears welled in her eyes. “Poor woman. God bless her.”
“Do you know her?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sure?”
She drew in a breath and refocused on the picture. Seconds passed. “Sorry, I don’t know her.”
Garrison took the picture back and tucked it in his breast pocket. “No problem.”
“What can you tell us about the people who were staying in the house?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you have at this point.”
“Two of the women had jobs as cleaning ladies at a local school. The men didn’t work, but collected Social Security. ”
“Did you have any trouble here recently?”
“No. In fact, it’s been as smooth as glass. No fights. No contraband found. I knew trouble was bound to return. Looks like it did in spades.”
“What’s your idea of contraband?”
“We do surprise searches every day. If I find something that breaks our house rules, I confiscate it. Knives or guns. Drugs. Alcohol. The usual troublemakers. If a weapon or drugs are found, the resident has to leave immediately, but if it’s alcohol we sometimes cut them a second chance. The resident is issued a warning and if it happens a second time they’re evicted.”
“You evict anyone lately?”
“It’s been a couple of months since I had to kick someone out.”
“Who was it? ”
“Oh, I’ll have to go back and check my records.” She glanced up at the shelter. The charred ruins glared back at her. “The files were in my office. They were destroyed.”
“And you don’t remember this person’s name?”
“Only that it was a woman. She brought drugs into the shelter. I tossed her out. She called me a few names.”
“Any threats?”
“Oh, yeah. In fact, Eva stepped between us. She’s small, but the girl is strong and isn’t afraid of a fight.”
“What did Eva say to her?”
Sally raised a brow. “She spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear, but whatever she said it had a real impact.”
“Ever hear from that resident again?”
“No.” Sally paused then snapped her fingers. “Her name was Brenda.” She frowned as if burrowing into her memory and then shook her head. “But the last name escapes me.”
“Anything else you can tell me about Brenda?”
“She worked the streets. Said she wanted to get her life together but she was just one of those people who seemed more interested in a bed and a hot meal than putting her life back on track.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Enough. But for every one hard-core addict that shows up here, two others really need us. Most of our residents just have trouble managing the day-to-day details of life caused by mental illness.”
“Would you be willing to look at a few mug shots to see if we can identify this Brenda woman?”
“Sure. Sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Where are my residents? I want to talk to them.”
“We bused them to the YMCA so they could shower and get a meal.”
“I’ll need to check on them.”
“Sure. An officer can drive you.”
“He can follow if he wants, but I drive my own car. First the Y, then the station.”
“Sure.” Garrison pulled a card from his pocket. “Call me if anything else comes to mind.”
Sally took the card. “Sure.”
Tuesday, April 4, 8:15 A.M.
When Eva approached the shelter, she parked on a side street like she had last night and again cut through the yards. When she rounded the corner her breath caught in her throat as she got her first daylight look at the burned-out structure. The old Victorian had collapsed into a pile of charred, smoking timbers. The scent of smoke still hung in the air. It truly was a miracle that anyone had gotten out alive.
“Eva.” The unknown man’s deep voice caught her off guard and she turned, startled. The cop from last night stood only a few feet from her. She’d not heard him approach.
She faced him. “I’m sorry?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are Eva Rayburn.”
Not a question but a statement. “Who are you?”
“Detective Deacon Garrison.” He pointed to the badge hanging around his neck. “You are Eva.” He glanced through the yards at her truck. “And that is your vehicle?”
She could lie. But checking her license would be easy enough. “The truck belongs to my boss. Toby King owner of King’s Pub.”
He nodded. “You work at the shelter?”
“How do you know my name?”
He moved a few steps closer, but was careful not to get too close. “I spoke to Sally Walton a few minutes ago. She described you.”
“You’ve seen Sally?”
“Yes. She’s fine.”
Some of the tightness eased in her throat. “Good.”
“How many were staying at the shelter last night? ”
Garrison stood well over six feet and she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. “They expected five or six. But often more show up by lights out. I was running late so I couldn’t say.”
“Where were you?”
“I deliver subpoenas. You can ask my boss, Luke Fraser, at LTF Processing.”
“I’ll do that.”
Eva resisted the urge to drape her arms around her chest. No need to feel defensive. In fact, sounding defensive fueled the flames of suspicion. “Great.”
He hovered, clearly not finished. “Do you know who was staying here?”
“I can jot down a list of who was here. We have regulars but I have no way of knowing. Didn’t Sally know?”
“She did. Just double-checking.” He handed her a pad from his pocket. “Write them down.”
Tense fingers gripped the pen and she wrote names in neat, precise handwriting. “I don’t know if these names are real or assumed. Sometimes our residents lie.”
“Do the best you can.” He smelled of soap. No aftershave. No frills. Neatly trimmed nails and a starched shirt projected a button-down, by-the-book image that would have been totally believable if not for an intense energy that seemed barely restrained.
She handed back the notebook, mindful not to touch him. “Did anyone die?”
“We had one fatality.”
“Oh my God. Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you know how the fire started?”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
“Me? I wasn’t here.” This moment mirrored another night ten years ago. Cops threw leading questions at her and interrupted when her answers didn’t fit what they wanted.
“Come on, Eva, the other girls told us you and Cross were having an affair.”
She’d been up over thirty-six hours and could barely string two thoughts together. Her body ached. All she wanted to do was go home. “We were not. ”
“The girls said so.”
“The girls lied. “ She was so tired that her words slurred.
The sheriff leaned so close she could smell the way his sweat mingled with his soap. “You are the liar.”
Her mouth was dry. Her eyes burned. “Josiah raped me. I’m the victim.”
“You had sex with him and in a jealous rage killed him.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
To her shame, she’d wept. God, but she was so tired. “Why don’t you understand? Josiah raped me and burned my own pendant into my flesh.”
“The fireman says the house fire heated the pendant and when you fell back it burned your skin.”
“No. Josiah burned me.”
“Tell me the truth,” he said so softly. “And I will let you see your sister.”
“My sister is here?”
“She’s outside waiting.”
She glanced up at him. She’d held strong while he’d yelled at her, but now that he came at her with kindness her mind tripped with confusion. “I want to see Angie.”
“I know. She’s waiting for you.”
The haze of sleep deprivation coupled with thirst and fear left her so weak. She just wanted the nightmare to end. “Okay.”
“Okay what, Eva? Are you saying you killed Josiah?”
Shame burned in her belly. “Yes.”
She wanted to leave and get away from Garrison who was drawing her into a web she feared would be impossible to escape.
“I saw you in the crowd last night.” Before she could deny it he said again, “I saw you. ”
Eva had learned to walk the tightrope between lies and the truth when she’d been in prison. Too many lies were hard to remember and too much truth endangered her safety. “I was scheduled to work last night. I saw the flames and just kind of froze.”
“How long have you worked at the shelter?”
“About six months. ”
“Why here?”
“Easy work. Good pay.”
She picked at a stray thread. Now the truth would serve her better than a lie because she suspected Detective Garrison ate liars for breakfast. “I work at a pub called King’s. Sally is one of my patrons. A few months ago, she offered me the work and I never say no to work.”
“Mind my asking how old you are?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“You look ten years younger.”
“I get that a lot.”
“And where did you say you worked?”
“King’s. It’s in Old Town Alexandria. I tend bar and waitress. I also rent a room on the top floor.”
He nodded. “Sally said you called last night and that you were running late.”
“You already asked me about that.”
“Humor me.”
“I also serve subpoenas for extra cash. Last night’s delivery took longer than expected and I ran late.”
“How many nights a week do you work here?”
“Depends on my work schedule. One or two.”
“What was your schedule last night?”
If she’d been on time she realized now that she’d be dead. “Nine to nine. I was supposed to spend the night.”
“Being late looks like a lucky break.”
She glanced past him at the charred remains of the shelter. “Yeah.”
“Sally said you had words with a resident six or seven weeks ago.”
“That’s right. Her name was Brenda. She tried to stir up trouble and I stopped her.”
“How’d you stop her?”
“I told her to be nice.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He suspected she’d phrased it much differently. “Where can I reach you?” Garrison said.
“Why would you need to reach me?” He reminded her of a dog who’d just picked up the fox’s scent.
“Just for good measure. Questions do pop up.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets. “King’s is in the phone book.”
“You have a cell?”
“Can’t afford it.” Which was true. Landlines weren’t totally extinct, plus she didn’t like being tethered to anything, even if it was just a phone.
He appeared in no rush. In fact, she sensed he got a kick out of dragging this out. Cops. All control freaks.
“Any unusual phone calls? Any cars hanging around the shelter lately?”
“Like I said, nothing out of the ordinary.” A little digging into her past and he’d find out she’d done time. So be it. Her manslaughter conviction would haunt her forever.
He planted his hand on his hip. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. I don’t have a reason to lie.”
He lifted a brow. “Let’s hope not.”
Eva folded her arms over her chest, refusing to allow old fears to rise. “If you have something to say then say it.” He could shove his silence and piercing gaze.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Rayburn. If I have something to say, I will.” Instead of rising to defensiveness, he kept his stance relaxed. “You said you moved here six months ago. Where from?”
The shift in conversation robbed her of some bravado. “Down by the Richmond area.”
“You know a little place downtown called Sid’s?”
“Can’t say I’ve been there.” After she’d been released from prison, she’d spent a few weeks in a halfway house in the Fan district. With only a hundred bucks from the prison system for a fresh start, there’d been no money for restaurants.
“It was mighty popular.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t stay in Richmond long.”
“It was off Hanover Street.”
“All I know is Eddie’s on Franklin.” She walked past it daily on her early-morning walks. She’d walked just after sunrise because crowded streets triggered minor panic attacks. Funny, she’d longed for freedom for ten years, but after so much time in partial isolation, regular everyday things like grocery shopping and talking to people on the street overwhelmed her. Hell, her first month out, she kept asking for permission to go to the bathroom.
“I remember. Bar was constructed of lumber from an old mine.”
She ran her fingers through her long hair, not surprised he’d know a detail like that. Homicide detectives were good at the details. “Care to quiz me about anything else?”
His quick grin didn’t reach his eyes. “No. No more questions for now.” He pulled a card from his breast pocket. “But you’ll be sure to let me know if you decide to up and move.”
She flicked the edge of the card. “Why do I have to let you know? ”
Steel glinted in his eyes. “For now let’s just call it a curiosity. ”
No missing the thinly veiled order. This guy would track her down if she left the area. And she’d bet a paycheck he’d find her inside a week. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
She turned to leave, anxious just to stuff distance between them.
“Ms. Rayburn, why’d you move to Alexandria?”
Careful to keep the tension from her face and voice, Eva ignored the way her muscles clenched as she met his direct gaze. “Curious. And more jobs.”
“Just that simple.”
“Sure, why not? You’ve never just gone with your curiosity for a new locale?”
“Maybe on vacation but not to live.” He grinned. “Must be nice to be such a free spirit.”
Actually, it kind of sucked. She longed for roots and a real home. “It’s the best.”
“Mind if I ask you a favor?”
Crap. Favors never boded well. Still, her lips curved into a smile as she turned. “Sure.”
He reached in his breast pocket. “I’d like you to look at a picture.”
“Of?”
“A woman. We found her behind the shelter. She’s dead.”
A sick wave washed through her limbs. “I really would rather not.”
“The shot is just of her face.”
“Still, I’d just rather not.” A deep fear rooted in her bones.
“Please,” he said. “Just one look.”
Why was she so afraid? She nodded, unable to speak.
He held out the picture, holding her gaze until she had the courage to lower it to the picture. The image nearly took her breath away. It was of a young woman, not any older than her. She had pale blond hair and a fair complexion. For just a moment, Eva couldn’t breathe or clear her thoughts. She’d been labeled a murderer and yet never had looked into the face of death.
The woman’s image teased memories on the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t translate the shadowy images into words. Who was this woman? Had she seen her at the pub or maybe along King Street?
Eva cleared her throat. “I don’t know her.”
“You sure about that? You been staring at her a good while.”
“I guess it’s just a shock to look at death.” She handed the picture back to him, trying to keep her hands steady. “How did she die?”
“Can’t really say right now.” He studied her a long moment. “If something comes to mind, you’ll tell me?”
“Sure.”
She moved toward her truck, praying her legs did not collapse. How had her life turned upside down so fast?
Angie nursed a cold can of ginger ale and a packet of crackers as she unlocked the front door of the law offices of Wellington and James. The firm was housed in a brick townhouse built in the 1890s. A black lacquer front door sported a large door knocker fashioned of brass. Flanking the entrance were twin sets of hand-blown windows underscored with iron window boxes filled with topiaries. The building was located on a tree-lined section of Cameron Street near the banks of the Potomac.
Charlotte Wellington had promised a partnership to Angie if she could bring in the business. So far she’d delivered. For the last year, her days had been spent finding clients or racking up seventy-plus billable hours a week. They were scheduled to have a partnership discussion next week when Charlotte returned from her vacation.
Angie dropped her keys in her purse and with her foot nudged the self-locking front door closed. Oriental carpets, landscapes and subtle grass wallpaper gave the reception area a traditional feel that suggested old Virginia and money.
Charlotte always said lawyers needed to convey a certain level of class to get the right client. The one contradiction to the antique furnishings was the state-of-the-art security system Charlotte had installed just weeks before Angie had joined the firm. In the top corner of the room red lights blinked from three motion sensors. Charlotte insisted that everyone keep the front door locked. If a visitor arrived, they were buzzed inside. Charlotte Wellington developed an obsession with security after an armed man had forced his way into the firm a year ago and shot Charlotte. She’d barely escaped with her life.
Angie moved down the carpeted hallway to her office and set her large black purse on her desk. Three rows of neatly stacked folders rested in the center of her desk. She prioritized the next day’s work before she left in the evening.
On the credenza behind her desk were only two pictures: one of her mother taken thirty years ago, and the other of two young girls dressed in matching blue dresses. It had been snapped fifteen years ago by their mom. Angie had been sixteen, and her sister was twelve. Angie had been living with her dad by then and visited her mother and sister only occasionally. They’d had a rare special day with their mom who treated them to the movies and lunch with dessert. Three years later their mom had died of cancer. Angie’s father had refused to take the child his ex-wife had conceived during an affair. He’d also threatened to cut Angie off if she left school to care for Eva. So Angie’s sister had been sent to foster care. To this day, Angie regretted that she’d not stood up for Eva.