Hide Out (17 page)

“Where are you hurt?” Pete asked. “Michelle? Are you bleeding?”

She shook her head back and forth, over and over.

“Michelle,” Pete said more firmly. “You need to tell me where you’re hurt.”

The headshaking continued. “Not me,” she finally said, her voice sounding loud in the dark closet. “G-Greg.” His name disintegrated into a sob as she started to cry.

“Trevor,” Pete barked as he stood up. “Watch her.” He ran up the stairs four at a time. At the second floor, he began checking rooms. The door to the third room stood open.

When Pete looked in, he saw Greg—bloody and naked, gagged and tied spreadeagle to the bed. He forced himself to flick the switch by the door and light flooded the room. Blinking at the glare, Pete stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the area. Except for him and Greg, it appeared to be empty.

At the side of the bed, he stared into Greg’s clouded, sightless eyes and knew the man was dead even before he pressed two fingers to his neck to feel for a pulse.

“Fuck,” he muttered, not allowing himself to glance at the bloody mess that had been Greg’s body. “So much for quiet small towns.”

* * * * *

Trevor was waiting for him a few steps away from the closet. Naked relief washed over his face when Pete descended the steps.

“Is he…?” Trevor asked, jerking his head toward the upstairs. Pete quickly glanced at Michelle. Her head was bowed, her forehead resting on her knees. He gave Trevor a short shake of his head.

“We called for help, Michelle,” Pete told her, crouching down next to her huddled form. “They’ll be here soon.”

“I shook him but he wouldn’t wake up,” she said, sounding bewildered as she met his eyes. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

He hesitated and then nodded.

Michelle gave a choked groan, her head flopping forward as if someone had cut a string.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words sounding empty and inadequate. She just shook her head against her knees.

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“Did you see who did it?” Pete asked, getting another headshake in response. “So what happened?”

Michelle was quiet. When she raised her head, Pete was surprised. He’d thought he’d gotten the most he was going to get out of her—nothing.

“I was shopping,” she said in a quiet and toneless voice, “in Benson. My friend, Jill, lives close by, so I went out to dinner with her. I was just going to stay over at her house but I called home and I could…I could tell…” There was a silent pause.

“You could tell what?” Pete urged softly. Trevor had crept closer until he was just a few feet from Pete.

Michelle’s eyes met Pete’s, sharp and direct. “I could tell he was cheating on me again.” The focus faded and she tipped her head forward once more.

“Michelle, stay with me,” Pete commanded. “What happened then? Tell me.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she went on. “I slipped out and left Jill a note, drove back and let myself in. I was dreading going upstairs, not knowing who I’d find in bed with him. I kept going over and over how I should react, what I should say, if I should kick the slut out or leave myself. I still hadn’t decided when I walked in to…that.” A tear trickled onto her cheek and ran past the corner of her mouth to drip off her chin.

“Is that when you screamed?” Pete could hear the faint wail of emergency vehicle sirens.

She blinked at him. “I don’t remember.” Her face crumpled as she began to sob. Reaching out, Pete patted her shoulder and she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against him. He almost toppled back but caught his balance in time.

She cried against him until what appeared to be the entire sheriff’s department arrived, followed closely by two paramedics, who gently pried Michelle away from him and settled her on the couch to check her over.

Pete moved over to where Trevor was waiting next to two deputies. As he nodded to them, he wondered when the county had last seen a murder. Judging by the deputies’ wide-eyed expressions, it’d been a while.

“You’re all bloody,” Trevor told him. Glancing down, Pete saw that, sure enough, some of Greg’s blood had transferred from Michelle to his bare chest.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Excuse me,” he said to what appeared to be the older of the two deputies, although even she looked fresh out of training. “I’ll be happy to talk with you guys once you get things sorted out here, but would it be okay if I ran across the street to my house to take a quick shower?”

“Just sit tight, sir,” she told him. “We’ll need to talk with you and get some pictures and samples first.”

“Right.” He’d expected that answer. “Mind if we sit?”

“Just don’t get blood on anything, sir,” she warned him. “You’ll contaminate the crime scene.”

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Pete resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She’d probably have him pinned on the floor if he did. “I’ll be careful,” he said calmly enough. “We’ll go sit in the kitchen.”

She looked over at the open kitchen, which was in easy view of the deputy’s position, and gave a short nod. Pete jerked his head at Trevor, who led the way into the kitchen. After making sure his hands were clear of blood, Pete pulled out a chair and plopped down.

“Well,” Trevor said quietly enough so no one except Pete could hear. “We get to sit in real chairs. Guess that’s something.”

Huffing a laugh, Pete nodded. “I guess.”

After a quiet second, Trevor asked, “The husband?”

“Dead.”

“Figured.” He paused again. “Murdered?”

“Definitely,” Pete told him. “Naked, gagged, tied to the bed, dick cut off, stabbed.”

“Holy shit.” Trevor blew out a breath. “Cut off?”

Pete nodded and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Think she did it?” Trevor asked, nodding toward Michelle’s huddled form.

“Doubt it,” Pete said. “If she did, she’s a hell of an actress.”

The front door opened and a man walked in. Even if the uniform hadn’t given it away, Pete would’ve known it was the sheriff by the collective silent sigh of relief from all the deputies. The guy in charge was here now.

Bumping Trevor’s foot with his own, Pete nodded toward the sheriff, who was getting the rundown from the woman who’d been watching them. “Check it out,” he said under his breath.

Trevor looked over. “Sheriff?” he guessed and Pete nodded.

“We’ll need to talk to him,” Pete said. When Trevor cocked his head and looked at him blankly, he elaborated, “He might be curious after running your name,
Joey
.”

“Right.” Trevor made a face. “Great.”

“If I were an annoying asshole, I’d remind you now that I told you to stay home,”

Pete muttered.

“Yeah,” Trevor scoffed. “I’m going to let you run out alone in the middle of the night after we hear someone scream. Dumbass.”

The sheriff was talking now. Although he was speaking quietly, he had one of those voices that carried easily, whether the owner of the voice wanted it to or not. “You two go outside and start talking to the neighbors.” He glanced up, catching Pete’s eye. Leaning closer to the female deputy, he asked, “What’s with the Chippendale show in the kitchen?”

Although the sheriff had lowered his voice even more, Pete could hear every word.

“Think we should be insulted or take that as a compliment?” he asked Trevor under his breath.

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Trevor shrugged. “It’s a toss-up. Those strippers are built but they’re also pretty slutty.”

“Nothing wrong with slutty.”

“True.”

The sheriff was headed their way.

“Sheriff,” Pete greeted him, taking quick inventory of what he could see. Although the sheriff looked to still be in his thirties, he had an air of confidence about him. Pete hoped his competence matched that assurance.

The sheriff nodded in response. “Zack Osgood,” he said, holding out a hand to Pete.

“Peter Giordano.” He shook the sheriff’s hand. “This is Richard Joseph Long,” he said, introducing Trevor.

Osgood’s mouth twitched as he extended a hand. “Dick Long?”

Trevor just gave him a cool smile and shook his hand. “Call me Joey.”

“Sheriff Osgood,” Pete said. “Mind if we find a private place to talk?”

The sheriff glanced around. “Not in this place,” he said ruefully. “Goddamn open floor plan. Unless we want to jam ourselves into that little bathroom, this is probably the most privacy you’re going to get.”

“No offense, Sheriff,” Pete told him, “but your inside-voice needs a little work. How about the backyard?”

“I’m afraid there are people everywhere.”

Pete thought for a second and then asked, “Can I borrow your notepad and a pen?”

“Sure.” The sheriff handed them over.

“I’ll give you the number of the person who can explain everything,” Pete said, low-voiced. “Not
this
, of course,” he gestured toward Michelle and the entire crime scene, “but the two of us, at least.” He scribbled Detective McDonald’s name and number on the pad. Below it, Pete wrote “protected witness” and drew an arrow pointing toward Trevor.

Osgood took the notepad back and glanced at it. His eyebrow shot up. Reaching over, Pete adjusted the notepad in the sheriff’s hand, turning it so the arrow actually pointed at Trevor.

“Yeah, Giordano, thanks. I got it.” The sheriff’s free hand moved, his fingers forming shapes in quick succession. Pete stared at his hand, knowing Osgood was doing sign language but not knowing
what
he was saying in sign language.

“No?” the sheriff asked. “Yeah, not too many do. Thought I’d try though.” Taking the pen from Pete, he wrote “Fed?”

Pete shook his head.

“Good,” Osgood said. “They can be a pain in the ass. Wait here until the forensics guys show up and let them get some pictures and samples of that.” He gestured at the 98

Hide Out

bloody smears across Pete’s chest. “Then I’ll give you both a ride to the station and we can talk in my office.”

“You’ll keep this to yourself?” Pete asked, nodding at the notepad the sheriff was sliding into his shirt pocket.

“Thought that was why we went through the whole dog-and-pony show in the first place,” the sheriff told him. When Pete just looked at him, waiting, he added, “Just between us.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. By the way, you’ll find my prints on the light switch upstairs.”

Osgood gave a brief nod and walked away.

“Fuck,” Trevor breathed. “We’re never going to get to bed tonight.”

Shooting him an amused glance, Pete asked quietly, “Since when are you so interested in sleep?”

Trevor snorted. “Didn’t say sleep, did I?”

Pete had to laugh at that. “Don’t think we’ll be getting much of either tonight.”

“Then fuck twice.”

“Actually, it’s fuck none-ce,” Pete corrected.

Trevor gave him a look and Pete laughed again, settling back in his chair. Not much more he could do tonight.

“You two okay?” Rhodes and Wash strode into the kitchen. Pete stared. “How the fuck did you two get in here? Thought they’d be keeping you out with everyone else.”

“They were.” Wash grinned. “Amazing what can slip through that back door.”

With a snort of laughter, Trevor told him, “You should know.”

“Enough,” Rhodes said sharply. “You hurt?”

Glancing down at his gory chest, Pete shook his head. “Third-hand. It’s the guy upstairs who bought it.”

“Yeah?” Wash’s gaze sharpened with interest. “Foul play?”

Pete nodded. “Yeah, unless he decided to tie
himself
to the bed and cut off his own dick.”

Rhodes and Wash both winced. “The wife?” Rhodes guessed, glancing at Michelle on the couch.

“Widow now,” Pete told him.

Rhodes shook his head. “No, I meant do you like her for it?”

With a shrug, Pete said flatly, “No.” The more he thought about it, the less he thought she was guilty. “Hard to fake being in shock.”

“Maybe killing him was shocking enough,” Wash suggested, but Pete shook his head.

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“It took some time and forethought,” he said. “Tying him to the bed, gagging him, stabbing him multiple times… That kind of planning and execution doesn’t lead to shock. I think she’s telling the truth that she just found him.”

“Hey!” The sheriff’s voice boomed down from the top of the stairs. “Did the Chippendales just double? What the hell are the two of you doing in the middle of my crime scene?”

“Just checking on our friends, Sheriff,” Wash called up with a cheeky grin.

“They’re fine.” Osgood was not amused by Wash. “Now get the hell out before I arrest you both.”

“We’re leaving,” Rhodes said. Turning back to Pete and Trevor, he lowered his voice. “You two headed in for interviews soon?”

“Yeah. Make yourselves as comfortable as possible. We probably won’t show up until tomorrow morning.”

Rhodes nodded. “Call if you need anything.”

“We leave on a walk and you end up in the middle of a murder,” Wash told them, shaking his head. “Hope you at least had time to make out a little.”

Flustered, Pete didn’t answer.

“Wash,” Rhodes snapped. “Quit messing around or I’m leaving you to get arrested.”

Wash winked at them and then turned to follow Rhodes out the front. “You’d leave me alone with the cute sheriff? And his handcuffs?” he was asking Rhodes, whose growled response was lost as the front door swung shut behind them.

* * * * *

“The detective backed up your story,” the sheriff said. Pete just nodded, shifting in his chair. Osgood was interviewing both of them in his office instead of an actual interrogation room, which was a good sign. Trevor was lying on the sheriff’s couch, apparently asleep despite the uncomfortable-looking way he’d contorted his body. Before they’d headed to the sheriff’s office, Pete had been allowed to take a quick shower. Trevor had just grabbed a shirt and shoes.

“Why don’t you take me through what happened tonight, Officer,” the sheriff requested, glancing at his watch. “
Last
night, I guess it is now.”

Pete pushed a stack of paper toward the sheriff. “Here it is in writing. I had some free time over the past four hours.”