Sole Witness (10 page)

He moved to the desk and nudged the cordless mouse
with his knuckle.

The monitor glowed to life, displaying a blank
desktop. A book lay open next to the keyboard. Davis opened it to the bookmark.
Chapter Seven, Logos and Slogans. Interesting. He closed the book, took a deep
breath, and headed for the hallway.

No wonder Lori looked like a Mack truck blindsided
her.

Davis shuddered. Nobody should ever have to see
someone they love look like this.

As many cases as he’d been on, he doubted he’d ever
get used to it. He doubted anyone ever truly did. He wished he could take Lori
into his arms, comfort her.

But he couldn’t.

No matter how he sliced it, Lori was still a ‘person
of interest’ until forensics said otherwise. No alibi, no forced entry. His gut
said there was no way in hell she could have done something like this, but his
report was going to have to list the facts. With no editorializing.

He stepped back into the hall and almost smacked
into Bock.

“You all right?” Davis asked.

Bock nodded, but he still looked wobbly.

“I want you to find all the hairbrushes in here and
bag some samples.”

Bock frowned. “Why?”

Young cops. God save him from the F.N.G.
“Exclusionary purposes.”

“You’ve got hair at some other scene?”

What did he need, a map? “Something like that. Can
you take care of it?”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Oh, and…”

“What?”

Bock looked like he might throw up again. “I don’t
know if it means anything, but there’s a whole mess of cat hair outside.”

Sweat sprang to Davis’s neck and sleet filled his
stomach. “What?”

“You see that orange tree?”

“Yes. Tell me about the cat.”

Bock sagged against the wall. “No cat—just cat hair.
Lots of claw marks at the bottom, as if it fell out of the tree.”

No doubt these marks were from the missing Mr.
Giggles. Fantastic.

“Thanks, Bock.”

“No problem. I’m on the hair samples, too.”

Bock peeled himself from the wall and bounced off.
He was a freaking puppy.

Or a cat.

Mr. Giggles was MIA. How was he going to tell Lori?

*          *          *

Detective Carver stood next to Lori in what she no
doubt hoped was companionable silence.

No matter. Lori didn’t want to speak anyway.

What was there to say? Her best friend had been
carried outside. Not on a stretcher to the hospital, but on a one-way trip to
the morgue.

Lori no longer faced the road. Instead, she watched
the door to her house. Waiting.

Ah, there he was.

She frowned. Something was wrong.

“Where’s Mr. Giggles?” Lori demanded when Davis
reached earshot.

Detective Carver inched away, as if she thought
there might be a throw-down in the front lawn.

“He’s not here,” Davis answered. He slanted his
partner an inscrutable look. Stupid man. He probably thought she was going to
go bonkers. She was perfectly calm. Why not lose Mr. Giggles, too? She’d lost
everyone else.

“But where is he?” Lori shouted, unable to keep the
words in her mouth. She flung her arms toward the house, palm-up. “I let him
run off?”

“I– I’m sorry, Lori. At least he’s okay. We’ll let
you know if he turns up.”

Damn
it. Lori blinked faster and faster
as hot tears prickled her eyes.

She hadn’t cried yet, and she wasn’t going to cry
now. She would not let a single– the first tear hovered on her eyelashes before
burning a hot streak down her cheek, but Lori forced the rest of the tears back
inside her heart.

She’d lost Mr. Giggles. She was the worst friend
ever.

“I’m sorry, Kimber,” she mumbled.

Davis loomed closer. “Lori, I’m going to need to
know who to contact about Kimberley. Does she have family in town?”

Lori swallowed.

She had to be strong for Kimber’s parents, at least.
She wiped her cheeks with trembling hands and faced Davis. Before she could
reply, the young cop from the station materialized at his side and nudged him
on the shoulder.

“Hamilton.”

She squinted at his tag. Oh, yeah. Officer Bock.

Davis gave her a gentle smile before turning to the
uniformed officer. “What?”

“Should I get one from her, too?”

Lori frowned. “One what?”

Officer Bock held up a plastic bag. “A hair sample.”

“For what?”

“To match against the other case Hamilton’s–”

“Bock.” Davis looked like he wanted to strangle the
officer. Lori wanted to throttle Davis.

“You think I killed her? You think I killed Tommy,
and then I killed my best friend? You’re an ass. I’m not telling you anything
else about Kimberley. I’ll talk to her parents myself. I don’t want you
marching over there and making it sound like I shot their daughter!”

Davis touched her goosebumped arm and she twisted
out of his grasp.

“Lori–”

“Screw you, Davy. I don’t want to hear it. I’m
leaving. I can’t stay here tonight.” Lori turned to Detective Carver. “May I
go?”

The detective glanced at Davis before nodding. “You
can’t stay here anyway, until forensics is done. Active crime scene and all
that. You got somewhere to go? I’ll be glad to drive you anywhere you want.”

Furious, Lori shook her head. “I’ve got a car, but
thanks.”

“Don’t worry,” Bock piped up. “Forensics is done
with your car anyway. Clean.”

Lori whirled back to Davis. “You should be using
your so-called brain, Davy. I’m no murderer. I’ve never even used a gun.
Somebody is after me
.
”

He blinked. “After you?”

“Tommy and Kimberley aren’t dead because I killed
them. They got in the way of somebody killing
me
. Think about it. Nobody
knew Kimber was staying with me, except maybe her parents, and I doubt they’re
who you’re after.”

“So… the killer is blind?” Davis asked, raising
skeptical brows. “Both were shot at close range and you don’t look much like
either of them—especially T2. If a killer was after you, he’d have killed you,
not random people in your acquaintance.”

In other words, Davis found her capable of murder.
Didn’t he know her at all?

“I have no idea how a psychopath’s mind works,
Davis. I don’t even know how yours works.” Lori turned back to Detective Carver.
“Do you have some kind of safe house?”

The detective shook her head.

“Department can’t afford anything like that. Our
budget couldn’t even put you in the Holiday Inn, not that you’d find a room
anyway with Spring Break in full swing. You sure I can’t take you somewhere?”

“No, I’ll–” No safe house. Either that, or the
partner didn’t think anyone was after her, either. Great. Where would she go?
“I’ll go to my mom’s,” Lori decided before casting one last burning glare
toward Davis. “After I talk to Kimberley’s parents.”

Detective Carver nodded. “Just make sure we know
where you are.”

“Fine.”

Lori stalked to her car.

She glanced backward before unlocking her door, but
nobody made a move to stop her. Good. She turned her back to her house and set
out for Kimberley’s parents’ place across town.

Her hands had stopped shaking when she hit the
halfway point of the journey, but they started again when she parked and took
her first steps toward their front porch. It wasn’t every day she told her best
friend’s parents their daughter was dead.

She’d hoped for ‘never’.

With a palsied hand, she rang the doorbell.

After a few moments, lights flickered on and the
door cracked open until it caught on the chain lock.

“Oh!” Mrs. Jackson exclaimed. “Lori. What on earth are
you doing here?” She shut the door for a moment, the chain clinking as it
disengaged.

When the door reopened, her husband stood behind
her. “You want to come in?” he asked. “Where’s Kimberley?”

Lori hesitated. What was protocol here? If she went
inside, she’d probably start bawling. Was it rude to stand outside and give the
bad news? This was awful, awful, awful.

She forced a smile and stepped into the doorway, but
no further.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, I’m really sorry. It’s
Kimberley. She–”

“Oh my gosh.” Mrs. Jackson clapped her hands over
her mouth and stumbled from the room.

“What happened?” demanded Mr. Jackson. “Where’s our
girl? Is she all right?”

Lori shook her head, the tears she’d hoped to avoid
fogging her vision.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “There’s been an… an
accident.” An accident? Boy was she fumbling this. She should’ve let Davis come
out with her. He’d know what to do.

Mr. Jackson paled, his pockmarked cheeks turning as
white as his mustache. “Is she…?”

Lori nodded. “I– I thought you’d want to hear it
from me. I’m pretty sure the police will be by.”

He stared at her without blinking for a long moment.
“Thank you. I think… I think I’m going to go to my wife now.”

Nodding again, Lori stumbled outside. The door
closed behind her.

After all this, could she really go to her mother’s?
Mama had said never to come back, that she never wanted to speak to her again.
But she couldn’t mean it, could she?

Lori was her daughter. Mothers opened their doors to
daughters when they were needed. And Lori was pretty sure she’d never needed
her mother more than she did tonight.

Kimberley was dead. Davis thought she was a
murderer. The cops humored her about her unknown stalker. A killer was in her
home, her privacy invaded, her best friend shot in her bed. Lori was forced
from the house she hadn’t spent a night away from since Sara’s death.

Her life tilted on its axis.

Mama would welcome her, make her feel better. She
would.

Lori pulled into her mother’s drive and ventured up
to the door. She banged the knocker three times and waited.

After a moment, the door opened. Her mother stood,
backlit by a reading lamp. She wore her hair curled in bobby pins and dressed
in a long cotton nightgown, wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe.

“Mama–” Lori began.

“What the hell are you doing here? It’s eleven
o’clock at night.” The too-familiar stench of booze wafted from her lips as she
spoke.

“I know. I’m sorry. I–”

“You’re always sorry. You’re the sorriest one there
ever was. I told you not to come back. You don’t listen.”

Heat flooded Lori’s face. Her mother could always
make her feel like she was five years old. “Mama, please. I need you. I–”

“You, you, you. Always you. If you’d needed your
sister, she’d be alive right now, not buried in a box because you talked her
into being as reckless and stupid as you are.” She retrieved a bottle from
behind her back and took a healthy swig. “Don’t come back.”

Lori shoved her foot forward to stop the door from
slamming in her face.

“Mama–”

“What?” Her mother crossed her arms and scowled,
irritation etched in every wrinkle.

“Kimber’s dead,” Lori blurted.

Her mother took a step back, loosening her pressure
on the door. “What?”

“She’s dead. Somebody came into my house and killed
her while I was gone.”

The flash of shock passed, and suspicion reentered
her mother’s eyes.

“So you thought you’d come moseying around here?
Spread a little of your poison around? No thanks. I’ve had about enough of you.
You’re no daughter of mine.”

This time when her mother slammed the door, Lori
offered no resistance.

She turned and trudged to her car, hating the
impotent rage and humiliation coursing through her veins. If a mother couldn’t
forgive her own daughter, was there any hope? Lori shoved the keys into the
ignition and eased down the block.

Maybe her mother was right. Lori had sure heard it
enough.

Twenty years of more or less the same speech—always
doing the wrong thing. Lori was tired of being blamed. Tired of feeling guilty.
Was it her fault Sara was dead? Was it her fault about her father, too?

When Mama had told Daddy to hurry home, and Lori had
grabbed the phone to ask for blue-raspberry slurpies…

How could she have known there’d be trouble? A
convenience store robbery, a cop in the wrong place at the wrong time, his
hands too full of slurpie to reach for his weapon fast enough.

Her fault. Always her fault. Over and over again.
She didn’t deserve forgiveness.