Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 2 of 2: Forced Alliance\Out for Justice\No Place to Run (34 page)

The last trace of cockiness had dissolved with the word
murdered.
Nervousness had replaced the smooth, confident air. A telltale tightness stiffened his jaw, and one leg bounced a rapid rhythm. She couldn't see under the table, but she didn't need to. The movement radiated all the way into his torso.

“You don't have anything on me.”

“We'll see. My buddies are working hard at your place. And you'd better believe we're going to be thoroughly checking out that uniform of yours. It's amazing the stories that the tiniest of particles can tell. A strand of hair, a clothing fiber. And of course, we've taken in the Camry.”

His eyes widened again. “You impounded Jeff's car? He's gonna kill me.”

“He'll get it back when we're done.”

He lifted his chin and cast her a disdainful glance. “You guys are grasping at straws. Do you know how many white Camrys there are on the roads?”

“A lot. But most other Camry drivers don't happen to have a police uniform hanging in their closet and a bottle of chloroform under their sink. So that makes you a pretty good suspect.”

“Well, I'm not a Camry driver, and I don't know anything about any chloroform. So looks like you're batting one out of three. Not very good odds, I'd say.”

Lexi pulled a photo from the folder and laid it in front of him. It was an earlier picture of the first victim. She was gagged and restrained, but not too badly beaten yet. “Do you know this lady?”

As soon as his gaze fell on the picture, he turned away and pushed it back across the table. “I'm not saying anything else without a lawyer.”

“No problem.” She stood and crossed the room. After she knocked twice, the door swung open. “We're finished here.”

She walked from the room, leaving Wendell Moorehead in the hands of the officer. Moorehead was a jerk and a creep and a pervert. But was he a killer? Something in her gut told her no. She needed to go back to the station and talk to Tomlinson. And tonight she would run everything by Alan.

Maybe she would talk to Alan sooner.

She slid into the seat and plucked her phone from her side. When he answered, an involuntary smile crept up her cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“Are you available for an interview this afternoon?”

“For you, I'm always available.”

Warmth infused her chest and a pleasant tingle swept over her. “Can you meet me at one? Davis Aluminum, 98 North. You familiar with it?”

“I'll be there with bells on.”

“That's a scary picture.”

* * *

When she walked into the station, she met Greg Morganson heading out. She nodded a greeting and he turned to follow her.

“Sarge says you're going to interview the suspect.”

“Just coming from there.”

She kept walking and he fell in beside her.

“Learn anything interesting?”

“Yeah. He says he got the cop costume to wear to his company harvest party. Says he's worn it for the past three years.”

“What did he have to say about the Camry and the chloroform?”

“He doesn't know anything about the chloroform and never drives his roommate's car.”

“You don't believe him, do you?”

She looked over at him and shrugged. “I haven't decided yet.”

“How likely do you think it is that someone can have chloroform under their bathroom sink and not know it's there?”

“It depends on how observant they are.”

“If a strange brown bottle showed up under
my
sink,
I
would notice. If you ask me, he's guilty as sin. Chloroform is a controlled substance, not a common item in the average guy's house. Between that, the uniform and the Camry, it's too much to be mere coincidence.”

“Maybe.” But something didn't sit right with her. Greg was a newbie; he would go with the most obvious explanation.

She stopped outside Tomlinson's open doorway. “A lot of solving crimes is going with your gut. And my gut tells me we've got the wrong guy.”

When she entered Tomlinson's office, he was watching her with a knowing smile.

“Have a seat. You, too, Greg. Tell me how it went.”

She sank into the padded chair, and Greg settled in next to her.

“As you probably gathered, I met with Wendell Moorehead. He's cocky, irreverent and a perv. Definitely rubs me the wrong way. But I don't think he's our killer.”

Tomlinson nodded slowly and turned his attention to Morganson. “What do you think, Greg? You spent several hours at the suspect's house. What's your take on all this?”

Greg seemed to sit a little straighter. Tomlinson was good at building morale in those under his supervision, making them feel valued and competent.

“I think we've got him. The police uniform and the fact that his roommate has a Camry, those two things raised my suspicions. But finding the chloroform under the sink clinched it for me.”

“That's a good point.”

Lexi shook her head. “Stalking women to collect their photos doesn't fit with what we know of the killer. He's out for vengeance, every murder a payback for wrongs done ten years earlier.”

“One doesn't rule out the other,” Greg argued. “Just because he likes to stalk women and take their pictures doesn't negate the possibility that he's also on a vendetta. I'm sure we've got our guy. I just hope we can get enough on him to bring him to justice.”

Tomlinson stayed silent while they debated back and forth. Greg was as sure of his position as Lexi was of hers.

Lexi shook her head. “I'm not convinced. I want this creep caught more than anyone. But I just don't think this is him.”

Finally Tomlinson spoke. “I trust your gut, Simmons. If you've got doubts, it's probably for good reason.

She glanced over at Greg and almost felt sorry for him. Being one of two detectives to put away a serial killer would be a nice feather in the cap for a new detective. She hated to take it away from him.

Greg stood and walked from the room, and Tomlinson again addressed her.

“Keep working on it. I'm leaving you in charge of the Moorehead case. But remember, the murder investigation is Kaminski's.”

“Yes, sir.” As she said the words, a pang of guilt passed through her, the sense that she wasn't being totally honest. At the time Tomlinson had reassigned the case, she had already begun the work of locating and contacting Lysandra's sorority sisters. With messages left and searches half completed, it didn't make sense to stop midstream. Kaminski knew, but Tomlinson didn't.

“Sir, when you pulled me from the case, I was in the process of locating Lysandra's sorority sisters. I had already made some contacts and left messages. I'd like permission to continue.”

“We've been over this, Simmons.” That now-familiar stern tone was back. “I don't want you involved.”

“Sir, you're trying to keep me out of harm's way because of my resemblance to Lysandra and my relationship with Kayla. I appreciate that. But all I'm doing is searching databases and making and receiving a few phone calls.”

“I know you. You're not going to stop there.”

“But I've already proved to you that I will. All those nights I was at Jen's, I never stepped outside, even the night the killer showed up.”

Tomlinson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. But he didn't shut her down. Maybe he was reconsidering.

“I've gotten two return phone calls, and I'm waiting for some others. If it comes down to paying any of them a visit, someone else can do that. But with all the work I've put into this thing in the past six months, please at least let me finish what I've started.”

For several moments, Tomlinson didn't speak. Finally he uncrossed his arms and rested them against his desk, shifting his weight forward. “Simmons, you're like a dog with a bone. Once you sink your teeth into something, you won't let it go.” Some of the sternness left his gaze, and the hint of a smile touched his mouth. “That's what makes you such a good detective.”

Warmth spread through her at his compliment. “So can I finish making these contacts?”

“Finish what you started. Make your phone calls. Talk to your ladies. Then give the information to Kaminski. That had better be the extent of your involvement. Do you understand?”

She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. “Yes, sir.”

With the leads Lysandra had given them, they were close to solving this thing. She had nine names. Nine women who had had contact with the killer.

One of them was bound to have something that would seal the case up tight.

FOURTEEN

D
avis Aluminum wasn't any rinky-dink operation, if the elaborateness of its showroom was any indication. A mini screen enclosure stretched along half of one wall, with a glass room completing the span. The opposite wall held samples of awnings, roofing panels and handrails. Several framed photos filled the space behind the counter, showing off completed pool cages, carports and other product offerings.

Alan stood leaning against the end of one of the shelf units holding bins of screws, washers and other parts and pieces. Lexi roamed the room while a difficult customer harassed the harried clerk behind the counter.

The young woman heaved a sigh. “Sir, the warranties on our carports are for one year. Yours was built over five years ago.”

“But it's got dings in the roof.”

“That's normal wear and tear. You probably had some hail.” She cast a glance at Lexi before returning her gaze to the old man. “How about if I have Mr. Davis call you?”

“You do that.”

Alan watched him write down his phone number and make his way to the door with indignant steps. The old guy would be able to plead his case with the boss. Not that it would do him any good. Mr. Davis likely didn't build a successful business by giving away carports.

Lexi approached the counter and Alan stepped up beside her. Technically, she was working the Moorehead stalking case. But there was still that possible link to the murders, something that she would no doubt be pursuing, so he was tagging along.

The young lady flashed them a pleasant smile.

“Sorry about that. That's how it goes. They all run off to lunch and leave me here by myself, and that's when the difficult ones show up. What can I do for you?”

Lexi pulled a notepad and pen from her pocket. “We need to ask you some questions about Wendell Moorehead. He works here, right?”

“Yeah, he's our shop guy. He keeps the floor swept, organizes the materials, helps stage jobs and do inventory, stuff like that. He didn't show up for work yesterday. I heard he's in jail. What did he do?”

“He violated a restraining order, for starters. What can you tell me about him?”

“Well, he's worked for us for four years. He's single. Pretty much keeps to himself.”

“Have you ever known him to have a girlfriend?”

“No. It's hard to picture him with a girl.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, he just seems socially inept in the picking-up-girls department. He doesn't act very comfortable around women, at least younger, attractive ones.”

Alan leaned against the counter. “Has he ever bothered you in any way?”

“No, not at all.”

He nodded. She was cute, with a small, upturned nose and faint freckles spattered across her cheeks. But based on what Lexi had told him, “cute” didn't cut it. The girls he stalked were drop-dead gorgeous.

Lexi picked up the line of questioning. “Has he ever asked you out?”

“No.”

“Ever done anything that made you feel uncomfortable?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Anything. Any inappropriate comments? The way he looks at you?”

“No, not at all. He's more shy than anything.”

Lexi tapped her pen on the counter for a moment before continuing, “Davis Aluminum throws a party every October, right?”

“Yeah, a costume party.”

“Does Wendell go to these parties?”

“Always. He comes as a cop, even brings a toy pistol and handcuffs. He seems to really get into the part, especially after he's had a couple of drinks. It's as though the costume makes him feel like a ladies' man.”

“How so?”

“Not in an obnoxious or creepy way. It's more like it gives him confidence.”

“Anything else you can tell us about him?”

“Not that I can think of.”

After thanking the clerk, Alan pushed open the glass door and let Lexi walk out ahead of him. Gray clouds were beginning to gather on the western horizon, but it would be some time before Lakeland would benefit from the cooling effect. The sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the black asphalt parking lot and making it feel more like summer than midspring. Of course, between the heat and humidity, Florida felt like summer most of the year.

He let the door swing shut and walked with Lexi to her car. “So what do you think?”

“The same as I did before. He's not our guy.”

“I agree.” The killer was methodical, organized and highly intelligent. Whatever job he had, it probably wasn't sweeping floors. “So where are you headed off to now?”

“I think I'm going to pay a visit to Jeff Underwood, Moorehead's roommate. You want to come along? I want to see what kind of light he can shed on Moorehead's activities. I also want to know what the two of them were doing with a bottle of chloroform.”

“That's a good question.”

She unlocked her cruiser and he slid into the passenger seat. “So where do we find this Jeff Underwood?”

“Probably at work. Phil's Tire and Automotive.”

When they pulled into the parking lot, the four bay doors were open, with vehicles occupying three of the four slots. Lexi pointed at the end bay.

“That's him there, mounting a tire.”

She stepped from the car and headed straight through the bay door, not bothering to use the customer entrance. Two of the mechanics stopped their work to watch them enter. Lexi ignored them and approached Jeff.

“Do you have a few minutes?” She had to shout over the hiss and bang of the tire-changing machine and the high-pitched drone of impact wrenches.

Jeff laid down the crow bar and pulled two foam plugs from his ears, leaving them dangling on the nylon string that circled the back of his neck. “Let's go outside.”

He led them around the side of the building to a wooden picnic table that sat on a concrete slab. A light breeze rustled the trees. The storm clouds were gaining mass. If he and Lexi didn't hurry and finish their business, they would probably get wet before the afternoon was over.

Jeff sat on the bench that ran along the back side of the table, and Lexi took a seat opposite him. Alan settled next to her. This was probably where employees sometimes ate their lunches. Or where customers who preferred nature escaped the noise of the television that usually ran from opening to closing in most of these places.

Lexi laid her folded hands on the table. “How long have you and Wendell been roommates?”

“About six months. He's quiet, minds his own business. And he's always on time with the rent.”

“I guess you know he's a pretty avid photographer.”

“Yeah, he's always heading off somewhere with his camera.”

“Has he ever showed you any of his photos?”

“Some.”

Lexi nodded. “Lots of women, right?”

“What he's showed me, yeah.”

“They look like candid shots, right? Maybe even shots taken without the women being aware.”

Jeff shrugged. “I guess so. I didn't pay that much attention.”

“Didn't you ever find that odd?”

“What?”

“That he takes pictures of all these women without them knowing anything about it.”

“Look, man, I don't get in his business. He can take pictures of whatever he wants.”

“The chloroform, is that yours or his?” She shifted gears without a hitch.

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. “Chloroform? Isn't that the stuff they put people out with?”

“Yeah.”

“You found chloroform in our place?” He was genuinely surprised, or else he was a good actor.

“Yeah. Is it yours?”

“No way, man. I don't even know where you can buy the stuff.”

“You can't. At least not legally.” Lexi pushed herself to her feet. “I think that's it for now.”

Jeff stood and rounded the table to head back into the garage. “So when can I go home?”

“This evening. They're finishing up this afternoon.”

“Good. My buddy's couch doesn't sleep that great.”

Lexi flashed him a sympathetic smile. “Thanks for being understanding about the process.”

As they walked back toward the car, a gust blew through, carrying the musty scent of rain. It captured some strands of hair that had escaped her braid and laid them across her face. He was tempted to reach up and smooth them back. Instead he stuffed both hands into his pockets.

“Do you think he's lying about the chloroform?”

Lexi shook her head. “I don't think so. The problem is, Wendell doesn't seem to be lying, either. But obviously one of them has to be.”

She settled into the driver's seat and he slid in beside her. The murder case was far from wrapped up. The stalking case... Well, it looked like Moorehead was guilty of just that—stalking. And violating a restraining order. If it was anything more, he had covered his tracks well.

Lexi cranked the car and began to back out from the parking space. “Yesterday afternoon I made some progress in the case, but I'm not sure it was in the right direction.”

“Oh?”

“I talked to two more of Lysandra's sorority sisters. So that makes a total of four I've located. One was killed in a car accident a couple of years ago. The other three weren't much help. They remember playing tricks on guys, but they don't remember names or descriptions. And they didn't keep photographs.”

She braked to a stop at a red light and let her head fall back against the seat. “Now that I'm almost halfway through the list, I'm scared to death that I won't get any more from the last five than I did the first four. Then we'll be back to square one.”

She let her head roll to the side, and her gaze slid over to meet his, filled with silent entreaty. A weight had settled over her, its heaviness reflected in her features. His heart clenched.

He lifted a hand to cup her jaw, then caressed her lips with his thumb. “We're going to catch this guy. Someone's going to remember something. Something's going to happen to give us the edge we need. And then we'll nail him.”

“I hope you're right. But I just feel like we're missing something.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He let his fingers linger on her cheek before he lowered his hand.

He had the same gut feeling. They were missing something.

Something important.

* * *

Lexi approached the door leading into the station. She had a little paperwork to do and wanted to touch base with Tomlinson. Then her shift would be over.

She released a sigh. It had been a long day and an even longer week. But Friday had finally arrived and the afternoon was drawing to a close. Tonight was her date with Alan. And she was looking forward to it more than she wanted to admit.

He had given her an out by making it nothing more than a meeting to talk shop. Maybe she should have left it at that. That would have been the safer route. Something told her Alan would be ready to jump back into a relationship. So it was up to her to put the brakes on things.

If that was even what she wanted to do. She wasn't so sure anymore.

She enjoyed her independence—no one making demands on her time or trying to control her actions. If she felt like having nachos and dip for dinner instead of cooking, that was what she did. She watched what she wanted to watch on TV without having to discuss her choices with anyone else. She read to relax and played the piano because she wanted to, not because she was pushed to try to fulfill someone else's dream. Independence was great.

It was also lonely.

She swung open the door and navigated her way toward Tomlinson's office. He was there. So was Greg. She hesitated in the open doorway, but her sergeant motioned her inside.

“Come on in. This involves you, too. At least part of it does.”

She stepped into the room and nodded a greeting at Greg. He wasn't involved in the murder case. But he was involved in the stalking investigation. And the two cases had become intertwined. At least temporarily.

“Greg was just asking how everything came back on Moorehead.”

She sank into the chair. “We've got all kinds of evidence to convict him of stalking.”

“What about murder?” The question came from Greg.

“Zilch. Not a shred of evidence in the house and no prints on the chloroform bottle. The biggest find in the Camry was dried-up food. French fries, to be exact.”

“So that's it? You're just letting it go?”

She shrugged. “Besides the fact that I don't think he did it, there's nothing linking him to any of the murders.”

“What about the chloroform? That's not a common household product, you know.”

“No, it's not. But that alone isn't enough to convict him. We've got a Camry that doesn't belong to the suspect and a uniform that's not even the right color. And not a shred of evidence anywhere.”

Greg frowned. He obviously didn't agree with her assessment. With his tenacity and determination, he would make a good detective someday. He just needed to learn to look past the obvious and not settle for the easy answers.

Tomlinson leaned back in his chair. “So where are you on everything? Anything new to report?”

“I'm working my way through the list of names Lysandra gave me. One is no longer with us, and three don't remember any details. I think some of these girls did more partying than studying.”

Lexi propped her elbows on the arm of the chair and intertwined her fingers over her stomach. “Anyway, I've got five more to talk to. I feel we're right in our assumption that the killer is one of the guys they played tricks on. And Lysandra's Gary is my top pick.” Of course, that might not be his name. Lysandra wasn't sure.

“Well, keep me posted.”

“I will. I'm hoping that one of these last five women will come up with some good pictures. Lysandra has a great one of this Gary, pink tutu and all. Unfortunately, it's from the back.”