The Trouble With Murder (27 page)

Hmm. Now that I was thinking about
it more clearly, the gun-wielding figure in the restaurant had been tall. And,
the figure from Elizabeth Tower had been short. Thinking back now, I thought it
was possible I was taller than that person. I hadn’t gotten a clear look at the
second intruder at Pezzani’s because they’d never come up out of the stairwell.
I couldn’t say how tall that person was.

I felt something tickling the edge
of my brain, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I thought there was a
connection among all this information, but I couldn’t see it. I fumbled in my
bag for a piece of paper and a pen and began making notes. I went with the same
method as before, randomly jotting down names, facts, ideas, and questions then
drawing lines between them. I’d found this to occasionally help illustrate an
elusive connection, but so far that wasn’t happening now.

My phone rang, and I was glad for
the distraction.

“Koepke’s looking for you,” Ellmann
said after greetings.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s bad.
It’ll just be a formal interview, an
interrogation
, if you will.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Zoe, you don’t have much of a
choice. You can come to him, or he’ll come to you. The second way is much
worse.”

“Okay, I get it. Is he going to
call me?”

“Does he need to?”

“Yes.”’

There was a beat of silence.
“You’re stubborn beyond reason,” he said. “You know that, right? You know how
unhealthy that can be?”

My left shoulder ached and two-dozen
lacerations over the right side of my face and arm burned in attestation to the
fact that I
did
know how unhealthy it could be. Still, habits and all
that.

“Hey, what was the name of the dead
guy at Pezzani’s?” I asked.

“Steven Pengue. Why?”

“Pengue? That doesn’t sound very
Hispanic.”

“
Ellmann
isn’t Italian or
Russian, and I’m both. Sometimes names are just names.”

“Hmm. How tall was he?”

“What?”

“How tall was he? I’m sure the
coroner made note of that. Could you find out?”

“Why? What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.
Something’s bothering me, that’s all. Also, do you know what sort of car he
drove? Do you usually look into that when you find a dead person?”

“First, we didn’t
find
him
dead. Second, we work cases like his a little differently. We’re not interested
in who killed him or why; we’re interested in why he was breaking into
Pezzani’s place in the middle of the night with the same gun used in an earlier
crime.”

“You did, didn’t you? You looked it
up. Tell me, what’s he drive?”

“Do you ever get the feeling you’re
dancing on the edge of trouble?” he asked. “Do you ever realize that? If you
do, is it ever in time to back away before you wind up falling into it?”

“I’m not in trouble.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

We hung up, and I looked at the
name Steven Pengue I’d written on my notes. I wondered if he wasn’t the right
height for a teeny, tiny, souped-up Honda. Was he connected to Bilek or Tyler?

An hour wore by, and my head was
still buzzing. No matter how many ideas or questions I wrote down, I couldn’t
get them all out. Fortunately, my phone rang—a welcomed distraction. Welcomed,
that was, until I answered.

“Ms. Grey, my name is Darrel
Koepke. I’m the detective that has taken over the Stacy Karnes, Derrick Bilek,
and Margaret Fischer cases from Detective Ellmann. I’m going to need to speak
with you about those cases, as well as some other things. I need you to come
down to the police station.”

As I listened, I saw the souped-up
Honda turn the corner and roll down the street toward Mom’s house.

“Okay, sure,” I said, only a
fraction of my attention on the conversation now that I thought I’d gotten
lucky. I was more than curious to know who was driving the car. I also wondered
why they had come back to Mom’s house. “Happy to help.”

“I need to speak with you sooner
rather than later. How soon can you get here?”

The Honda approached Mom’s house
but didn’t slow. In fact, there was no sign the driver intended to stop.
Instead, the car cruised steadily past the house toward the end of the block.

“What?” I said under my breath,
unaware I’d spoken aloud until Koepke replied.

“I asked how soon you could get to
the police station.”

I’ve already explained I’m not an
expert on speaking with the police, but I am pretty good at reading people.
Even still, it didn’t take any great sensitivity to know Koepke’s patience had
just about run dry, either with me in particular or the case in general. (I did
think I was part of it, though.)

“Right,” I said as the Honda rolled
toward the corner. I threw myself across the cab as best I could with my left
arm in the sling and my right hand holding the phone. It was awkward to say the
least. “I can be there today.”

I tried to pinch the phone between
my chin and right shoulder while I reached for the key, but it fell into my
lap. I could hear Koepke talking, but couldn’t make out the words. I twisted
the key, released the break, then eased away from the curb while I picked up
the phone.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

His tone was tense, and his words
clipped. “What
time
today?”

“Oh, uh . . .” I paused to shift into
second, clutching the phone in my right hand as I pulled back on the shifter.
“I’m not sure.”

I watched as the Honda turned
right, disappearing from view.

“Listen, I really need to go,” I
said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.”

“Ms. Grey, I don’t get the
impression this is a priority for you. Now, I understand you have a personal
relationship with Detective Ellmann, but I will not extend any courtesies to
you because of that. Do you understand? I will treat you the same way I treat
all the other suspects in my cases. Is that clear?”

Suspect. Wonderful. It never
sounded any better, no matter how many times I heard it.

“Crystal.”

I stopped at the stop sign and
shifted back to first, easing around the corner. I spotted the Honda a couple
blocks ahead.

“One last note, then,” Koepke said.
“I will speak with you one way or the other. The easy way is for you to come to
the station yourself. The hard way will not end as well.”

I shifted to second.

“A threat—got it. Absolutely clear,
Detective. Shall I call before I come in?”

“I’ll give you until five o’clock,
Ms. Grey. After that, it’s the hard way.”

“Okay, great. Thank you so much for
calling.”

I punched the
end
button and dropped the phone into
the cup holder.

What a day this was shaping up to
be. I was likely to find Tyler Jay for the third time. And there was a real
chance Ellmann wouldn’t be able to make good on his promise to pick up Jay if I
did. That would mean the police would miss him for the third time, and I’d
still be out the reward money. Not to mention, Jay might be the one trying to
kill me, and if the police missed him again, he’d have more time to try to
accomplish his goal. It was also a real possibility Koepke wasn’t as inclined
to believe in my innocence as Ellmann had claimed. In which case, I was likely
to walk into the police station and not walk out, because instead I’d be
arrested for murder, with maybe a few other charges thrown in.

Yes, overall, this vacation blew
big time. There had been no sleeping in, no lounging around, no reading books,
or watching TV. So far, all I’d gotten were crack-of-dawn wake-ups, assault
with a deadly weapon, embezzlement, a couple police investigations, a family
quarrel, a hasty move, the loss of three jobs, mechanical trouble and
extortion, an attempted murder, a gunshot wound and surgery, suspicion of
murder, and a manhunt.

The Honda drove through town to Highway 14 and turned east.
It went as far as I-25, where it pulled off into the parking lot of a Motel 6.
I followed at a fair distance, and, for fear of being spotted, I waited for an
unnecessarily long break in oncoming traffic before I turned left and went into
the same parking lot. By the time I drove around the building, the Honda was
parked and the driver was already inside. I hadn’t seen where he or she had
gone. The Honda was parked in the middle of the rather-f parking lot. It was
impossible to know which room the driver had entered.

I cruised over to the Waffle House
next door. The restaurant had a great view of the backside of the motel.
Inside, I snagged a window seat and sat facing the door. I could see the Honda
and most of the doors on that side of the building.

I only ordered coffee from the
waitress, who was obviously disappointed the ticket (and thus the tip) wouldn’t
be larger. But I couldn’t order a meal. Who knew how long I’d be here.

As I studied the motel parking lot,
I thought back to America’s Best Inn. It might have been premature to say Tyler
Jay was known to stay in motels, but I could say it wasn’t unheard of. I
couldn’t be certain he was in this one, but I had a feeling he was. That was it—just
a feeling, intuition, nothing more. Intuition was enough for me, but I didn’t
think it would fly with anyone else, like Ellmann.

I had a pretty clear view of most
the vehicles on this side of the lot. I pulled the notes out of my bag and
looked over the makes, models, and license plate numbers I’d recorded for the
cars parked outside the Inn the night I’d spotted Tyler Jay. I ran through the
list, comparing them. I found none in common except one. There was a white
Saturn sitting two spaces down from the Honda, with the same license plate as
the white Saturn that had been parked outside the Inn when Tyler’s mom had
dropped by with dinner. Incidentally, it had also been a little white car that
had been the getaway car for the shooter in the restaurant.

No such thing as coincidence
,
I thought.

The waitress warmed my coffee as my
phone rang. I dug it out and checked the ID before answering, wanting to avoid
another phone call from Koepke, who was, sadly, probably not one of my biggest
fans. It was Ellmann.

“Did you get that information?” I
asked.

“Did you really blow Koepke off
when he called you about coming in?” Ellmann’s voice was tight, angry. It also
held a note of fear. I thought that was probably bad news, though very
interesting.

“No, I didn’t
blow
him
off
. I was trying to drive, and I’m already an arm short; I needed to get
off the phone. It’s dangerous to talk on the phone and drive, even under the
best conditions. I told him I would come in, and I will.”

“Zoe, you understand this isn’t
something you can just blow off, right? This won’t just go away.”

“First of all, yes, I’m aware of
that, if for no other reason than that I’m no stranger to trouble. I know how
it works. Second, blowing things off and burying my head in the sand, as
appealing as it sounds most the time, isn’t my style. I’m a face-the-music type
of girl. Now, either tell me why you’re worried, or let’s talk about something
else. I’m not up for lecturing today.”

“I’m not worried,” he lied.

“New topic it is. What did you find
out? How tall was Pengue, and what kind of car did he drive?”

A heavy sigh. “His driver’s license
says he was six feet, but the coroner notes him as being five-nine.”

“What about the car? What’d he
drive?”

I thought I knew. Intuition again.

“DMV reports him owning a 2002
four-door Saturn, white.”

Bingo!

“How does Pengue connect to Bilek
or Tyler Jay or Stacy Karnes?”

“Zoe, I can’t be discussing this
with you. I’m already way over the line as it is.” The tension in his voice
ratcheted up a notch.

“One last chance to tell me what
you’re worried about.”

“Will you please just come in and
talk to Koepke? The longer you avoid him, the worse it looks. And you can’t
afford for things to look any worse right now.”

“What does that mean? Either I look
like a murder suspect or I don’t.”

“I really can’t discuss it.”

“I get the feeling the rest of the
conversation will just repeat from here. I’m hanging. I’ll talk to you later.”

I sat in the Waffle House long
enough to have ordered three meals and consumed them without interruption.
There were the occasional nasty looks from the waitress as I sipped the coffee
and read my book, which I took in stride, smiling and occasionally waving when
the look was especially dark. I took frequent breaks from reading to jot down
more notes or reread existing notes for the hundredth time. I made a few new
connecting lines or circles or boxes or question marks, but no life-changing,
earth-shattering, case-breaking insights came along. The elusive tickling at
the edge of my mind persisted.

I was holding the pen, staring at
the name
tyler jay
, when I saw
movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw door number nineteen
open. Tyler Jay and another man of similar age, who looked vaguely familiar,
walked out and climbed in the Saturn.

“Shit!” I hissed.

I scrambled out of my seat as if it
had suddenly caught fire. As I ran for the front door, I worked to stuff the
book and the notes into my bag, an awkward and painful task with the limited
use of my left arm. Fortunately, I’d already had cash on the table to cover the
bill and a generous tip. I sprinted for the truck and threw myself and my bag
inside. I pulled out of the parking space as the Saturn turned onto the highway
heading west.

I checked for oncoming cars then
eased out of the parking lot. When I’d found a comfortable position in traffic
and a speed to match the Saturn’s, I lifted the sling over my head then gently
pulled it off my arm, dropping it on the seat beside me. I retrieved my phone
and dialed Ellmann. Then I held it in my left hand and winced against the pain
as I struggled to lift my stiff arm. Finally, the phone was near enough my ear
I could hear almost everything.

“Please tell me you’re calling
because you’re on your way to the police station.”

I glanced at the clock. 4:16. I had
little doubt I’d miss my five o’clock deadline. Well, I’ve never been one to
take the easy route.

“No. Sorry. I found Tyler Jay.”

I could hear the strain in my voice
as I struggled against the pain in my shoulder.

There was silence for a beat.
“Again?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

The Saturn changed lanes, and I
thought they were preparing to leave the highway.

“I don’t have time for details just
now. He’s headed west on Highway 14, approaching Riverside. Can you come get
him?”

“You don’t sound so good.” There
was concern in his voice. It was different than the worry that had been there
earlier.

“I’m fine. He’s turning left onto
Riverside.”

“You’re following him.” It wasn’t a
question.

“Yes. I feel like I should explain.
We’ll have to do that later.”

Sweat had broken out across my face
and chest at the pain.

“Pull over now. Do not pursue him.
He’s dangerous.”

“Maybe. But he’s slippery. You need
to know where he’s going if you’re going to catch him.”

“Damnit, Zoe.” I heard a muttered
string of curses.

I wish I could say this was the
first time Ellmann had cursed me.

“Okay, now a right on Prospect,” I
reported. “Where are you, exactly?”

There was another silence, this one
longer.

Then I knew.

“You’re not coming, are you?”

“Zoe, there are things I can’t tell
you,” he began.

“That’s just great, Ellmann. I have
to go; I have to call the tip line.”

“Zoe, wait, don’t hang up. Please,
Zoe—”

I hung up.

The Saturn turned south on Lemay. I
sat two cars back feeling a rush of emotion and a whirlwind of thoughts blowing
through my mind. What the hell was going on?

The Saturn rolled through town and
I followed, staying far enough back I was certain I wouldn’t be spotted. Ten
minutes later, we were in a familiar neighborhood, and I had a pretty good idea
where we were going. I dropped back even farther. Two minutes later, I caught
up with the Saturn, finding it parked outside Stacy Karnes’s house. The driver
and Tyler Jay were nowhere to be seen. I parked behind an SUV one block over,
where I could see the front of the house, then picked up my phone and dialed.
The tip line message began to play. I only heard the first part.

Through the open driver’s-side
window, a gun barrel reached in and touched my temple. I knew without looking
the person holding it would be dressed in black from head to toe, replete with a
ski mask. I couldn’t figure out where he or she had come from.

“Hands up.” The gunman (or
gunwoman) was intentionally attempting to mask his or her voice, speaking in a
husky, whispered croak. It was impossible for me to determine if the speaker
was male or female.

Turning my head ever so slightly to
the left, I could better see the position of the figure. I was ninety-eight
percent sure he or she couldn’t see my right hand or the phone I was holding.
Carefully, mindful not to be noticed, I lowered my right hand and pushed the
phone into my pants pocket as I slowly worked to raise my left, praying the
call hadn’t been cut off.

“Both hands,” the gunman clarified.

I continued to work on the left and
raised the right.

“Where’d you come from?” I asked,
sincerely curious.

“No questions. Get out of the
truck.”

“Mmm, no, I’d rather not.”

The gun dug deeper into my temple.

“It isn’t an option.”

“Actually, it is,” I said, working
to ignore the bite of the steel against my skin. “If you’re going to shoot me,
I’d rather you do it here, in this semipublic place outside Stacy’s house,
where the chances of you being caught are just that much higher.”

My mouth was dry. I had absolutely
no doubt this person had every intention of shooting me. Shooting me
dead.
It was very unsettling to think of myself dead. I’d been slightly cavalier
about that outcome previously, but I wasn’t nearly so confident now. My
advantages were next to nil. I was in serious trouble. As an expert in trouble,
I could recognize that fact. Panic crept in, and it was all I could do to
resist succumbing to it.

The gunman scoffed. “I heard you
were stubborn. Won’t quit, won’t shut up, won’t go away, won’t die.”

“Add ‘won’t cooperate’ to that list.”

“You’re going to want to cooperate.
There are worse things I can do to you than just kill you.”

“Oh, you mean torture?”

There was no verbal response, but I
got the message all the same.

“I hate to correct you again, but
I’m afraid you’re wrong. Torturing me will only give the police more time to
find me and, by extension, you. Again, that works in my favor.”

“No one is even going to think to
look for you until it’s too late.”

“Uh, no, I’m afraid that isn’t
true, either. See, I have an appointment with a detective at the police station
in a few minutes. Coincidentally, the detective looking for
you.
Anyway,
he’s promised to send out everyone short of the National Guard to find me if I
don’t make that appointment.” I lowered my voice as if I was confiding
something of top-secret importance. “I’m a suspect in your crimes. If I don’t
show up, I’m sure an arrest warrant will be waiting.”

“You’re lying.”

The gunman didn’t sound sure.

“No, I’m sorry, I wish I was. You
don’t know how much I wish I was. I’m pretty sure I’ll be arrested. The charges
might be dropped later, I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ll walk out of the
police station tonight. Believe me, I’m not looking forward to that. I don’t
like jail. Plus, I hate the color orange.”

“You are such a pain in the ass.
Has anyone ever tried to kill you before?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But it was a
long time ago, so I hardly count it.”

“Not surprising. Now, get out of
the truck.”

“What are we going to do if I get
out of the truck? Are we going somewhere else? Are we going inside Stacy’s
house? Are we going to another house around here? What exactly is your plan?”

“Stop asking questions. Stop
talking. Just
stop
. Do as you’re told. Get out of the truck.”

“Oh, you should add ‘won’t take
orders’ to your list. I’ve just never been good at it. I’m sorry.”

“You think you’re funny? You think
this is some kind of joke?” The gun dug into my temple, and I tried to lean
away, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. I fell onto my right elbow on the
seat. “This isn’t a joke, okay? This is for real.”

I heard the sound of shoes on the
pavement: heels. They were moving fast. I couldn’t see anything from my
position on the seat. I went to sit up. At the same time, the truck door was wrenched
open, and I felt a hand on my left arm, forcing me back down. I cried out at
the pain, little white bursts of light erupting behind my eyelids. Then I felt
something cold and hard press into my neck, and everything went black.

_______________

When I came back around, my shoulder was screaming in pain.
The entire left side of my torso throbbed with it. I could feel a layer of
sweat covering my body. I opened my eyes, but all I saw was blackness. I
blinked several times as I shook loose the last of the cobwebs. Then I was
sure—I was awake, and my eyes were open. It was just pitch black.

I was lying on a hard, cold floor,
something like concrete or stone. My hands were secured behind my back with
handcuffs. I was on my right side, but the strain on my left shoulder from the
twisted angle was horribly painful. The air was musky and dank, ripe with the
earthy scents of dirt. As far as I could tell, everything was still—no
movement, no sound, no breeze. And this place was cold. I thought that narrowed
the possibilities of where I’d been taken.