Deadly Intent (30 page)

He wouldn’t have dreamed of offending her by turning her offer down. Besides, he loved Pilar’s cooking. “Thank you, Pilar.” He took out Arturo’s picture from his pocket. “But what I really came for is information.” He handed Manuel the mug shot. “Have you seen this man around here?”Manuel and Pilar both studied the picture. “No,” they said in unison. Manuel looked up. “Who is he?”

John told them and described the truck. Pilar pressed a hand to her chest. “Murder. Madre mia.” Worry filled her eyes. “You really think he’s hiding in this neighborhood?”

“That’s a possibility. What do you know about the owner of Enrique’s Garage on Center Street?”

Pilar shook her head, but Manuel apparently knew the man. “That would be Enrique Soledad. He’s a good man, and a hard worker. He got himself in a little trouble a few years back, but he’s straightened up since then.”

“Would he harbor a fugitive?”

“Never.” Manuel gave a firm shake of his head. “Not Enrique.” He handed the photo back. “You want me to keep my eyes and ears open, amigo?”

“I’d appreciate that, Manuel.”

Half an hour later, John was back in his Plymouth. In his back seat was a bag filled to the brim with an assortment of breads, soups and pastries, all of which would take a week to finish.

The real payoff from his visit would come later, hopefully. After twenty years in the area, Manuel and his wife had strong ties to the community and knew just about everyone within a ten-mile radius. If Arturo was in their neighborhood, or anywhere close to it, the Cabreros would find out.

Thirty-Two

John waited until he had left the outskirts of Trenton before calling Tina on her cell phone. As the father of a young boy, he was as anxious to have that horrific pedophile caught as any parent in the Princeton area.

“How did it go with Barbara Michaels?” he asked when she answered.

Her grumble spoke volumes. “Not as well as I had hoped. She only saw the driver from the back and the only thing she’s sure of is that it was a man and he wore a big, light-colored hat, tan or gray. It may have been one of those large-brimmed straw hats you see at the beach, but she wasn’t positive.”

“Isn’t that the same description the Eastbrook teacher gave you?”

“Pretty much. Miss Foley said the hat was definitely a fedora, which is why I spent the morning going from one department store to another to see how many fedoras had been sold in the last week. The result is none. Hell, most stores don’t even carry fedoras!”

“Look at it this way,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “Now you know the perp is a snappy dresser.”

He kept his tone light for Tina’s sake, but he knew this was serious business—serious enough that he, Clarice and Jordan had sat together two weeks ago to discuss newsafety rules. John and Clarice disagreed on a lot of things, but Jordan’s safety was something neither took lightly.

His remark made Tina chuckle. “A snappy dresser. Let’s see, in a town like Princeton that narrows it down to a couple of thousand men.”

“You’ll flush the right one out,” John said with absolute confidence. “You always do.”

He hung up. Then, on impulse, he dialed Campagne.

“Are you allowed to take coffee breaks?”

At the playful sound of John’s voice, Abbie glanced at the clock, which read two-ten, and switched the phone to her other ear. “Have you sworn to wear me down?”

“Is it working?”

Oh, it was working, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’ve been known to take an occasional break. I’m not all work and no play, you know.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His low chuckle sent a little shiver down her back. “Can you come out and play right now?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing too serious. Coffee at Winberie, right here on the square.”

“I think I can arrange that. Give me two minutes.”

She hung up and turned to find Brady watching her, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Going somewhere?”

“To Winberie, for a coffee break.”

“Who are you meeting there?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She tossed her apron on a chair. “Can’t a girl have a little privacy around here?”

Brady waited until she had reached the swinging doors before yelling, “Give my regards to Detective Ryan!”

B. Winberie, in the heart of Palmer Square, was a typical Irish pub, with thick burgers, a large selection of

beers and, according to Brady, the best Guinness in town. Abbie smiled at the hostess, whom she knew, and let her eyes roam the busy room, searching for John. She found him in a back booth, looking terrific in a tan jacket and a brown shirt opened at the neck. He rose when he saw her.

“What?” she asked at his expression. “Why are you looking at me that way? Do I have chocolate mousse on my face or something?”

“No.” He continued to gaze at her as he sat down. “You’re just perfect.”

She let out a self-conscious laugh. “That’s nice to hear, even if it is an exaggeration.” A waitress stopped at their table and they both ordered coffee. When she was gone, Abbie spoke again but in a lower voice. “You know something, don’t you? I can tell.” She was learning to read him, when he let her.

He nodded. “We’re making progress, thanks to an unexpected source—Rose’s missing cell phone. Ian had been using it, and when we didn’t find it at the crime scene, we assumed the killer took it.”

“Did he?”

“Someone took it. And did something very stupid.”

“He made a call.”

“Bingo. I traced the call to a garage in south Trenton that belongs to an Enrique Soledad. Unfortunately, Enrique claims he’s never heard of Arturo Garcia.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Let’s just say Enrique was not totally comfortable having me there.”

“So you think he knows Arturo?”

“He may know where he is, and is afraid to talk. Can’t say I blame him.”

She listened as he told her about Arturo’s long list of felonies, the most serious of which had ended with him in

prison for eight years. His angry outburst in the courtroom, where he had shouted obscenities at Ian and sworn to gut him like a fish, made her realize just how close a call she’d had that night at the lake. Had Arturo been able to get to her, he would have killed her without a moment’s hesitation.

Their coffee arrived and Abbie poured a container of dairy creamer into hers. “How will you find him if he stays hidden?”

“According to Detective Bloom, Garcia is a restless creature. Most men who have done time are. My bet is he won’t be able to remain totally out of sight. A man like Arturo needs to get out, move around, drink a few beers. A friend of mine in the Trenton area is keeping a lookout for him.”

The thought of a massive search for Arturo Garcia failed to reassure her. As badly as she wanted her attacker caught and put behind bars, she would have preferred to hear he had fled the state and was a thousand miles away.

“I know you’re worried about him,” John continued. “And I wouldn’t presume to tell you not to be. Just remember that although Garcia is not too bright, he’s not a complete idiot either. I doubt he would try anything while being the object of a statewide manhunt.”

“He seemed pretty determined to get that money from me.”

“I know. That’s why you should be careful. Be aware of what’s going on around you, but don’t lose any sleep over him.”

She nodded. “Brady already said he’ll stay until closing time from now on. He’s always wanted to do that anyway. Now is his chance.”

Her attention was suddenly drawn to the bar, where a man was sitting at the far corner and watching her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. It wasn’t until their

eyes met that she realized the man was Ken Walker. She was almost certain he hadn’t been here when she’d arrived. She tried to tell herself his presence at Winberie was perfectly innocent, nothing more than an annoying coincidence. If he had as much time on his hands as his wife claimed, he was bound to get bored and thirsty.

As she debated what to do, John glanced over his shoulder. “Someone you know?” he asked, turning back.

“No. I mean yes.” She pulled her gaze off Ken and picked up her cup. “He’s a former employee.”

“He makes you nervous. Why? Has he been bothering you?”

She smiled. “Is that your psychology training showing? Or am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe a little of both.” He turned again and this time his study of the man lasted a few seconds longer. Walker’s gaze quickly focused on his beer.

John returned his attention to Abbie. “What’s the story with him?”

“Brady caught him stealing money from me and I fired him. A few days ago, he came to the restaurant, said he was no longer gambling and asked for his old job back.”

“The man is not lacking in nerve.”

“No. The situation quickly escalated to the point where Brady had to throw him out. Yesterday, while I was at the funeral, he came back. He didn’t make a scene, but he was there, walking around outside the restaurant and annoying Brady.”

“You could request a restraining order.”

“I don’t want to do that. Ken is angry right now. It’ll pass. See?” she said when she looked up and found the bar deserted. “He got bored and left.”

John didn’t look convinced, and neither was she, but she didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, she con

centrated on John’s second reason for wanting to see her. The warden of Stateville Prison had agreed to let him visit Earl Kramer. John was flying to Ohio first thing Sunday morning. The news made Abbie both elated and nervous. What if Kramer decided to play hardball? Or if the truth was not what she expected. What then?

Pushing aside her morbid thoughts, she smiled and raised her cup. “Here’s to a successful trip.”

John leaned forward as he raised his own cup. “And to new beginnings.”

“New beginnings?”

“As in, you and me.”

Abbie laughed. “My God, you are persistent.”

“You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook so easily, did you?”

She had been hoping he wouldn’t. In fact, she had been thinking about him a lot lately, about the way he had looked at her the other night at her house, how her hands had felt in his, how badly she had wanted him to kiss her...

“To tell you the truth,” she said, unable to resist a little teasing, “I haven’t given it much thought. With all that’s been happening—“

“Liar.”

Abbie pretended to be shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a lousy liar, Abbie DiAngelo. You enjoy my company every bit as much as I enjoy yours. The difference is that I’m willing to admit it and you aren’t.”

“Well, well,” a female voice said, cutting short Abbie’s response. “Is that what our tax-paid police force does during duty hours? Cavort in local bars.”

John’s smile faded and he straightened in his seat. “Mary Kay.” Ignoring her previous remark, he added, “Do you know Abbie DiAngelo?”

The woman gave Abbie a phony smile. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Abbie took the extended hand, quickly noting the slender shape, elegantly clad in white slacks and a fitted black jacket, the pronounced cheekbones, the keen hazel eyes that were openly assessing her.

“Mary Kay Roder is a reporter for the Mercer County News.” His expression stony, John took a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it on the table. Then rising, he added, “You’ll excuse us, won’t you? We were just leaving.”

Her eyes remained on Abbie. “Not on my account, I hope.”

“You flatter yourself, Mary Kay.”

Bewildered, Abbie scrambled to her feet, felt John take her arm and followed him out the door, running to keep up with him.

“Wow,” she said when they reached the sidewalk. “What was that all about?” She glanced back toward the pub. “If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under by now.” She looked at John. “And so would you.”

“Mary Kay is a royal pain in the butt. And a vulture in more ways than one.”