Senseless Page 18

  “Damn right, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you. And every other damn cop in this world.” Her breath rose and fell. Her pulse thrummed in the hollow of her neck.

  She wedged her body along the wall, freeing herself from him. He let her go, watching as she hurried back to the bar.

  Garrison stood in the room alone. He’d scared the shit out of her just as he intended. He needed to know if she was involved with the murders. The raw fear in her eyes said she wasn’t, but he’d need evidence to back that up. Though he’d gotten the answer he needed, he realized shaking her up might have shut her down to him permanently. It wasn’t like him to push unless absolutely necessary. He’d learned long ago that he got more information out of a suspect with a bit of kindness than with heavy-handed techniques.

  So why had he pushed Eva so hard? Why had he wanted to shatter the wall of ice around her and force her to deal with him? Why did he feel a sense of relief when he’d gotten the vibe that she was innocent?

  What had Macy said the other day? “You like a puzzle.” Shit. He didn’t need any more puzzles in his life. And yet his attraction to Eva was undeniable.

  Back in the main room, he found Eva behind the bar serving drinks. Color flushed her cheeks and her hands trembled. He could tell her he thought she was innocent but she’d not believe him. He doubted she’d believe anything he had to say again.

  But he needed her to believe in him. She was the key to this case, and if his instincts were on target she might very well be on the killer’s hit list. He regretted now that he’d come on so strong. He thought back to her police file and the young girl who’d looked so lost. “We’ll talk again soon.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to talk. You want a suspect. And I’m not going to be it.”

  “We’ll talk again. Like it or not, we’re joined at the hip until this case is solved.”

  As he turned to go, he saw a kid run out from the kitchen and back behind the bar. The kid ran right up to Eva and showed her a piece of paper. Her stony features softened and she took a moment to examine what the boy had given her. The kid seemed to beam around her. Who was he? A brother? A son?

  There was a hell of a lot he needed to find out about Eva Rayburn.

  Eva could barely concentrate or breathe as she stared down at the row of numbers Bobby had written down. She wasn’t so good with stories or coloring but she could add numbers and that’s what they had done for fun earlier today. They both liked puzzles.

  But with Garrison so close, staring at her, she could barely breathe, barely concentrate on what Bobby was saying. When she heard the pub door open and close, she dared a glance back over her shoulder and discovered he’d gone.

  Her shoulders slumped forward. “You’ve done a great job, Bobby. I like the way you wrote the number five. It’s not backward this time.”

  “I traced your numbers a couple of times.”

  The child reminded her of a dried sponge, starved for anything she could pour into his brain. She took the pen from him and wrote five more simple math problems. “Add these up and then I’ll check them. Once you’re done we’ll get you ready for bed.”

  A normal kid would have balked at bedtime and math problems. But he nodded, so happy to please. “Okay.”

  “Monster check in five minutes?”

  “Will do.”

  His acquiescence broke her heart. The kid had been starved not just physically but mentally as well.

  When he dashed back into the kitchen, she turned her attention to the rows of liquor bottles, pretending to search for something. She’d inventoried and alphabetized the bottles her first night and knew not only where each was located, but also how much remained in each. But she needed the pretense to gather her thoughts.

  Just because Garrison had come here didn’t mean this case would repeat the last. She’d done nothing wrong. Her arrival at the fire had been coincidence. And if he wanted to ram some cop theory down her throat, she wasn’t having it. She wasn’t a frightened kid anymore. She was an adult who’d read most of the legal textbooks.

  She could handle whatever he threw at her.

  Still, the star. Lisa had been burned with a star just like her. And so had Sara. The odds of a killer choosing a four-pointed star like the one that marred her shoulder were beyond calculation.

  Eva grabbed a rag and started to polish glasses. She’d done her best to block out what had happened years ago. And for the most part she’d done okay. She almost never stood in front of the mirror anymore and stared at the scar on her shoulder or cried at night when she felt alone. When Josiah had raped her, he’d killed the innocent girl. Prison had transformed that wounded girl into a harder, stronger woman.

  But the past now screamed to be noticed. Who would have done this to Lisa and Sara? To kill them so savagely. She wouldn’t have wished that on anyone.

  She’d thought that once Darius Cross had died, she could return home and recapture some of the old life she’d had to forfeit. But maybe coming back had been a mistake.

  Panic continued to churn in her belly when she took Bobby upstairs and got him ready for bed. He climbed under the covers.

  “I can read you a story,” she said.

  “I’ve read all my books.”

  “All? That’s great. Tomorrow, we will find more books for you. Maybe a chapter book or something we can read together at night.”

  “Okay.” He exuded caution, not enthusiasm.

  “I know it’s hard to believe in promises, Bobby. But I’m not making a big one tonight. I’m just promising a new book and some reading time. Something simple.”

  “Okay.”

  Not a ringing endorsement but a touch less defiance. A kiss on the cheek still felt too over the top. The kid wasn’t hers. They both knew foster care could be so temporary, and the less ties the better. She settled for a pat on his hand.

  Eva left the light on as she had the other night and went back behind the bar and finished out her shift. By the time she climbed the stairs to her apartment just after midnight, she’d convinced herself that sticking around was a bad idea.

  The time had come to cut her losses.

  She moved into the bathroom, closed the door before she turned on the lights to wash her face and hands.

  Eva studied her expression as she’d done a million times since her attack.

  A knock on the door had her looking down to find Bobby standing there. He rubbed his eyes. He wore one of King’s oversized black T-shirts that read BAD TO THE BONE.

  “Eva.”

  “Hey. What are you doing up?”

  “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You just looked mad tonight.”

  “I’m not mad. Just tired.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  She knelt in front of him. “No, honey, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “So you won’t leave me.”

  What could she say to him? She wasn’t his family. She wasn’t even family to King. She was a boarder with no roots. No plans. No alibis.

  But he wouldn’t hear any of that. All he’d hear is that she didn’t want him. And she just couldn’t do that. Not now.

  “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Not tonight.”

  “Mean it?”

  “Yeah. I mean it.”

  He took her hand in his and squeezed gently before he turned and left the bathroom. The warmth of his fingers against hers remained long after he’d gone to bed.

  These last six months she’d been drifting. The time had come to stop drifting and to dig into the past and to really fight for what she wanted.

  Chapter 12

  Friday, April 7, 8:02 A.M.

  Garrison and Malcolm arrived at Sara’s office located at Fairchild Advertising minutes after it opened. Chrome polished elevator doors opened to a sleek front desk and sign that read FAIRCHILD ADVERTISING. A young woman sat behind the front desk. Slim and smartly dressed, she look
ed as if she’d been plucked from the pages of a fashion magazine. She glanced up from her computer screen. “Can I help you?”

  Garrison pulled out his badge. “We’d like to speak to Sara Miller’s boss.”

  “Sara didn’t come in today.”

  Garrison nodded. “I know. Who is her boss?”

  “Ross Fairchild. He’s in a meeting.”

  As Garrison tucked his badge back in his breast pocket, he smiled. “I’d like you to interrupt that meeting.”

  She raised a plucked eyebrow and injected authority into her voice. “It’s an important meeting.”

  “This is more important.” He leaned forward a fraction. “You need to get him.”

  “Is Sara all right?”

  “We need to see her boss.” Garrison had discovered that Sara’s parents were out of the country and unreachable for a week and none of her neighbors were home. The boss was the next likely step until the others could be tracked.

  She frowned. “Sure.” She vanished around a corner.

  A few minutes later, a tall, gray-haired man in a slim black suit appeared. He approached Garrison and extended his hand. Gold cuff links winked in the light. “My name is Ross Fairchild. I understand you have questions about one of my employees.”

  “We do. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  “My office.” Fairchild led them down a carpeted hallway decorated with colorful advertising posters that clearly illustrated some of their more successful campaigns. Cereal. Watches. Cars. Fairchild Advertising seemed to do it all.

  Fairchild opened the mahogany doors to his office. The wall behind his polished desk was all windows and looked out over the city and in the distance the river. Given different circumstances, Garrison would have admired the view. He glanced around the office, taking in the art, polished brass, antique oriental rugs and the credenza behind the desk filled with awards and pictures. A picture on the far end featured Fairchild and Sara Miller. He held a crystal award and she grinned up at him, adoration glistening in her eyes.

  Fairchild took a seat at the head of the conference table. He looked annoyed. “Please have a seat. Can I get you coffee?”

  The officers sat down, each choosing chairs on his left. “No. Thank you.”

  He rested his flat palms on the table. “So what is this about Sara?”

  “Ms. Miller’s secretary called in a missing-persons report early this morning.”

  “Yes. I asked her to. I asked her to keep the call quiet. I don’t want rumors spreading.” A smile twitched at the edge of his lips. “Sara is my most dedicated salesperson, and when she didn’t show up Wednesday and Thursday, I got worried. I tried her cell and her home numbers but no answers. Have you found Sara?”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  A small frown creased his forehead. “We had a breakfast meeting three days ago.”

  “Which was when?”

  “Seven A.M., give or take.”

  “Did she seem upset or distracted?”

  “She’s a tense woman. Always has been. But that’s what I like about her. Advertising is a very competitive business and I like to surround myself with people who are on the edge. Maybe even a bit neurotic about working long hours.”

  “Lot of burnout in this industry. ”

  “Sure. AEs, account executives like Sara don’t generally have a long shelf life. Clients like working with younger people. It makes them feel younger. So they have to make hay while the sun shines, so to speak.”

  “They’re disposable.”

  “Sure.”

  “So Sara worked killer hours?”

  Fairchild raised a brow. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “What’s ordinary?”

  “Eighty, ninety hours.” Fairchild tapped his manicured fingers on the conference table’s polished wood. “Have you found Sara?”

  “We did.” Garrison studied Fairchild’s face closely. “A jogger found her body yesterday on the WD&O trail. She’d been murdered.”

  The color remaining in Fairchild’s gaunt cheeks drained away. For the first time his rigid posture eased. “My God, how?”

  “We’re not releasing that yet.” Garrison glanced at Fairchild’s smooth and perfectly manicured hands. No scratches or torn nails, something a killer might have if his victim fought back.

  “I can’t believe this. Not three days ago, Sara stood in this conference room laughing and smiling.”

  Malcolm eased back in his chair. “Did she date anyone?”

  Fairchild shrugged. “No, not that I’m aware of, but she didn’t tell me everything.”

  “Close friends?”

  “No time for that, she said. She lived her job.”

  “Making hay while the sun shined.”

  “Exactly. ”

  “Did she notice any odd people around here? Sending her texts or e-mails.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d like to have access to her computer.”

  Fairchild stiffened. “I can go through it and send along any personal data. ”

  “I’ll go through it.”

  “That computer contains a lot of confidential business information. I can’t just let it leave these offices.”

  Malcolm leaned forward. “I’m good with computers and I’ll protect the information.”

  “I’ve got millions riding on several campaigns. I can’t have Sara’s information leaked out.”

  Garrison leaned forward. “I promise it won’t be leaked.”

  Fairchild’s frame stiffened. He’d recovered and retrenched to protect his business. “I’ve seen how other police departments leak information. Accident photos, mug shots and police reports. No one knows how the information got out but the fact is that it did.”

  Garrison could feel the muscles in his neck tighten. “Nothing’s ever been leaked from my department.”

  “I can’t take that chance.”

  “You’ve no choice.” Garrison removed a slim sheet of paper from his pocket. “I’ll obtain a warrant to seize all of Sara’s belongings, her computer and her files in an hour if need be.”

  Fairchild nodded. “Get your warrant.”

  Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. “A young woman was brutally murdered. That’s got to mean something.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The picture on your credenza. It’s of you and Sara.”

  “So?”

  “The way she’s looking at you suggests there were shared feelings.”

  He brushed imaginary lint from his coat sleeve. “I won the Chamber’s service award that night. She was proud of the honor. ”

  Garrison sensed he’d hit a nerve. “She’s smiling at you like she thought more of you than just an employee would. She wasn’t thinking about the award.”

  His chin raised a fraction. “You’ve no proof of that.”

  The old man’s reaction shredded Garrison’s patience. “You were having an affair with her, weren’t you?”

  His spine stiffened so much, it looked as if it would snap. “Don’t even say something like that. Even a rumor can be very damaging.”

  Garrison’s gaze dropped to the man’s ring finger and the gold wedding band encircling it. “Did your wife know about the affair?”

  Fairchild rose. “You need to leave.”

  Garrison stayed seated, knowing he’d hit a few major nerves. “So that’s a no? If you can’t tell me I’d be happy to ask her.”

  Fairchild fisted his fingers. “It’s time you left.”

  Malcolm leaned forward, his muscular build radiating raw power. “If you don’t make me work for the computer, I can go out of my way to keep any damaging e-mails secret. You make me work for it and I promise you I will recover every bit of data and make it as public as I have to.”

  Color rose in Fairchild’s face as if he were teetering between anger and raw fear. “I’m calling my attorney.”

  “Do that,” Garrison said. “Where can I find you
r wife?”

  Lips pursed, Fairchild rose and his fingers pulled away from the buttons on his phone. “Fine. Have a look at the computer. But if one word leaks out about our ad campaigns or clients I will have your job.”

  Garrison rose, straightening to his full six-foot-three frame. “I really don’t think you’d want it.”

  Malcolm rose. “Not nearly as glamorous as television portrays it.”

  “We start early here.” Fairchild’s gaze skipped between the two until finally he nodded. “This way.”

  They followed Fairchild down the corridors past open offices. With each open door they passed, more stunned employees glanced up at them. Several moved to their office doors to watch their boss.

  At the end of the hallway, they reached a corner office whose doorplate read SARA MILLER. Garrison blocked the doorway, halting Fairchild’s advance into the office. “We’ll take it from here.”

  Malcolm sat behind Sara’s desk. He opened the laptop and turned it on. “Let me check her Internet history. Might give me an idea of what she had planned.” After three clicks of the button, he said, “She checked out The Warehouse restaurant and O’Malley’s Bar.

  “She had reservations at The Warehouse for dinner. She had a client meeting at eight.”

  Garrison frowned. “Which client?”

  In the doorway, Fairchild hesitated then said, “Cross Industries.”

  “Cross Industries,” Garrison said. “As in Darius Cross of Cross Industries.”

  “Darius died eight months ago. We were pitching to his son Micah. They’re switching ad firms and it could be a big coup for us to get them.”

  “You went after them?”

  “No. They came after us. Asked us for a proposal.”

  “Who contacted you?”

  “Micah. He recently took over the firm after his father’s death. He’s looking to shape up the company image.”

  Garrison glanced at Kier. “Check her e-mail.”

  Fairchild cleared his throat.

  “How long did your affair with Sara last?” Garrison asked.

  Fairchild moved into the room and closed the door. “Does it matter? My wife can’t find out.”

  “How long?”