On the Count of Three, page 24
Ava’s cheeks flared red. “Because life sucks!”
Nathan still sat there, his gaze downcast, his mother’s outburst not having any visible impact on him whatsoever. Looking at him again brought my mind back to the cologne he used. He told us it was called Swept Away, and a quick online search revealed it was definitely priced for the teenage market. Beyond his fragrance choice, we had nothing connecting Nathan to Kelter’s murder.
“Nathan, have you always used Swept Away?” I asked.
Ava crossed her arms in a huff. “I really wish you’d leave my son out of this.”
“This being what specifically?” I countered.
I’d had empathy for Ava when I’d first met her. I understood why she thought of her husband as murdered. I sort of got her. But if she was innocent of anything regarding Kelter’s disappearance, I was having a hard time understanding why she was being difficult. Generally, the guilty become defensive while the innocent keep their cools. Ava Jett definitely was withholding something. We just needed to figure out whether it had to do with Kelter or not. Maybe she was even keeping a secret for her son.
She glared at me. “You really think I killed that woman? Or that my son did?”
“We never said she was dead,” I told her again. We’d been through this, first at her house, and since here in this room, and were still playing that game.
“It was a logical conclusion, the way the two of you came at me. You’ve checked my alibis?”
“For Sunday.” I leaned forward across the table and mustered a menacing look to level on Nathan. “We’ll need his—and yours—for last night, too.”
“I swear to you,” Ava pleaded.
“If you weren’t involved, then it should be easy. Tell us where you were,” I said.
Ava’s chin quivered, and a tear fell down her cheek. “I work at Quincy’s Diner until ten on Mondays, so I did that, then went home to bed.” She turned to her son.
“I was hanging out in my room from the time I got home from school at about three.”
“Can anyone verify that?” I asked.
“Seriously?” Ava said with derision. She was like a Chihuahua yapping at a bullmastiff—all bark, no bite. “My son wouldn’t harm anyone.”
I sat back, studying mother and son. Desperation was clear in her eyes. Nathan shifted in his chair as if anxious to leave. Was it due to discomfort and guilt? I noticed that Ava hadn’t testified to being home with her son later in the evening.
“Nathan?” I pressed.
“I don’t think so,” Nathan mumbled. He was a different guy in this room than he’d been at home with his mother. The attitude and brash edge were gone.
I was starting to think he’d just had the bad luck of wearing the cologne used on the decapitated head. If I was really convinced that Nathan was guilty, I would push him harder and make him crack. That had to be my next step, just to find out for sure. I glanced at Ava, then back at Nathan. She was hiding something. Maybe if I summoned the instincts of the mother bear…
“If you can’t tell us where you really were, we’ll need to hold you,” I threatened Nathan.
“I told you I was at home.” Nathan glanced at his mother, but Ava said nothing and was avoiding eye contact. So much for momma bear stepping in. She must have been finished lying.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t think you were.”
“Maybe our neighbors saw me come home?” Nathan sounded desperate.
“Are you friends with your neighbors?” I noticed he didn’t refer to any by name so I figured I knew what his answer would be, but his response would help me break him.
Nathan gulped. “No.”
“But you think they have been paying close enough attention to you to know when you came home?” I served back and winced. “Not sure I buy that, either. Unfortunately, we need more than what you’re—”
“Mom,” Nathan burst out, panic gripping his features as he turned to Ava, “say something.”
“Just leave him alone,” Ava snarled. “He doesn’t know anything.”
I withheld the smile I so badly wanted to show. “Are you ready to talk, then?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “I recognized one of those men you showed me. I lied about it.”
“Seems you have an issue with telling the truth,” Jack interjected. Apparently, he was assuming the strong, mostly silent role for this interview.
I slapped the printouts of the men down on the table. When the one of the unsub looked up at Ava, she sucked in air.
I looked at Nathan. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve never seen him,” Nathan mumbled and went back to staring at the table.
Ava blinked, tears wetting her lashes.
“Who is he?” I demanded, and it had her flinching.
“I might have seen him around. I don’t know where.”
“Really? That’s how you’re going to play this.” I moved to get up. “We’ll have no choice but to take Nathan into—”
“No!” she cried out. “Stop.”
“Sure,” Jack said coolly. “We have all night to wait for your memory to come back.”
I snuck in a glance at my watch and realized we’d already been talking with them for a few hours. It was going on five thirty in the evening.
“I don’t want any trouble.” Her chin trembled subtly as if she was about to cry.
“Seems to me you already have that,” Jack replied.
“A worse kind of trouble.” Her gaze darted to the photo.
I put my hand on the corner of the printout. “You’re afraid of him?”
Ava nodded.
“How do you know him?” I asked, projecting a slightly calmer demeanor than a moment ago.
“I’ve seen him at the supermarket before.”
“And you’re afraid of him,” I scoffed. “Why?”
“You’re showing me his picture for one! The damn FBI! He must have done something wrong—horrible even.” She flailed her arms emphatically.
Neither Jack nor I responded.
Ava’s face became serious. “What did he do?”
“We can’t tell you that,” Jack deadpanned.
Ava looked at me. “I don’t know him from seeing him in a supermarket,” she confessed.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” I replied drily.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I know his name or anything.”
“Tell us what you do know.” I was running out of patience—and fast. I wasn’t a huge fan of liars, and yes, I realized I was in the wrong industry as being lied to was par for the course.
“He gave us money,” Ava said. “You said you already knew that, though. At the house.”
Nathan looked over at his mom. Jack remained still. I leaned forward. The woman at the church had said the money had been routed through the church’s account to the Jetts and donated anonymously. We thought Ava may have seen him at her husband’s funeral, but she was making it sound like—
“Did he give you money directly?” I asked.
“Uh-huh.” Ava wrung the hem of her T-shirt.
“How much and when?” I asked.
“You know about the thirty thousand through the church?” Ava paused, and I nodded. She continued. “Well, he came into one of the diners where I work. He ordered a coffee and left a hundred-dollar tip.”
“A hundred dollars?” I don’t know what surprised me more: the amount or the fact that it didn’t include the number three.
“Yeah. I thought he’d made a mistake and went after him.”
“Did you catch up with him?” Jack asked.
“Uh-huh. He told me he’d left the money for me and my son. He didn’t say as much, but I knew then he’d been the one to donate to us through the church.”
So the unsub gave anonymously but then decided to follow up to make sure the Jetts received the money…
Nathan lifted his head. “How did this stranger know about me?” he asked his mother, then turned to me and Jack.
“It’s probably best we don’t get into all of that,” I said. “Is there anything else you can remember about this man that might help us find him? How he spoke? What he smelled like? Any tattoos?”
Ava shook her head. “He smelled nice enough that I remember, but I couldn’t say what he was wearing.”
“Sweet smelling or…?” I prompted.
Ava hitched her shoulders. “Smelled expensive.”
A few seconds of silence passed.
“Oh.” Ava’s eyes widened. “He was wearing one of those keychains that attach to a belt.”
My brows pressed downward as I wasn’t quite sure what she meant.
“You know, they…” Ava put her hands together and drew them apart and repeated the process as if she were stretching an invisible band between them. Then again, I was never good at charades.
“The kind that retract?” Jack asked. “The keys stay in a pocket, for example, and when the person needs them just the keys themselves can be pulled out.”
“Yes, like that, but it had a keycard attached.”
Maybe our unsub worked somewhere he needed to bypass security. “Did you see what it looked like? Any writing or logos on it?”
Ava shook her head. “Just that it was white.”
Jack’s phone rang, and he got up and answered. “Uh-huh. Okay. We’ll be there.” He pocketed his phone and looked at me. “We’ve got to go.”
“What about us? Can we leave now?” Ava asked. “I told you everything I know.”
Jack nodded, and Ava sighed in relief. She patted her son on the back and broke the seemingly hypnotizing effect the table had on him.
Both of them left, and Jack turned to me. “Kelter’s phone just went live.”
Well what do you know? An actual break in the case.
-
Forty-One
Kelly’s trigger finger was itchy again, and it was taking all her willpower and self-control not to act. Killing Ramirez wouldn’t solve her problems, even if he was her problem. She’d end up going to prison, her life over. He wasn’t worth it. She just needed to get the hell out of Miami PD.
Paramedics had picked up Gordon at his house and had taken him to the hospital, where they fussed over him some more, despite his protests. She stood by and made calls to West’s and Sullivan’s lawyers, and neither of them had a record of receiving hate mail related to Kelter. After that, she managed to squeeze in to talk to Gordon while he was waiting on a doctor. He’d told her that he recognized the delivery guy from a bakery he and Jenna used to go to sometimes.
She opened the door for Sweet Tooth Bakery and was immediately enveloped in a heavenly assortment of smells: croissants, cheesecake, sugar cookies, icing, icing, and more icing. She could lick the tops off the red velvet cupcakes in the display case. Icing was right up there with loaded nachos. Yum.
A woman about the same age as Kelly was smiling at her from behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
A tub of icing… Followed immediately by the thought, A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.
She pulled out her badge, and the woman shrank back.
“It’s okay. I just need to speak to the manager.” Kelly smiled at the woman and she nodded, then retreated into the back.
Kelly took in all the goodies, her stomach growling. It was after five and she’d hardly eaten today. Surely, she could justify a cookie, maybe two. Hey, it could be her dinner. But she knew she’d be hungry again in an hour. Pouring sugar down her throat wasn’t a solution. Not that she was a health nut, but she watched what she ate, even if it was just before it went into her mouth. Those cookies were probably about three hundred and fifty calories a piece, which would mean she’d have to spend somewhere in the neighborhood of an extra hour running. Not worth it, especially when her time was such a hot commodity. Her regular hour a day was hard enough to work into her schedule, but it was also her savior—both physically and mentally.
“Can I help you?” A woman in her fifties approached, her gray hair tied back into a tight bun, her hands clasped in front of her. Nothing about her fit the image of what Kelly had expected for a manager of a bakery.
Kelly held up her badge again. “I’m Detective Marsh with Miami PD.”
“Connie Baxter. I’m the owner here.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head, clearly impatient.
Some people really didn’t like cops—some outright hated them—and it was possible that Connie was in their ranks.
Kelly brought up the photo array that included the delivery guy and the unsub on her phone. She held out the screen to Connie, who moved closer to the counter, albeit reluctantly.
“Now, what am I looking at?” Connie asked snidely.
“I need to know if any of these people look familiar to you.”
Connie regarded Kelly with suspicion. “Why?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t—”
“Let me guess. It’s an open investigation or some such thing.” Connie loosened her arms and lowered them when a female patron stepped up to the counter beside Kelly. Connie smiled at the woman, but when she looked back at Kelly, she was scowling. “I’d love to help you, but I’m not sorry I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Kelly served back with some heat.
“Both.”
Wow, there was nothing sweet about the owner… Kelly put her phone away. She couldn’t force Connie to do as she asked, and she didn’t have a legitimate reason to take her down to the station. Kelly glanced at the customer next to her, who smiled back. At least there was one friendly face in the crowd.
Kelly was turning to leave when she locked eyes with the cashier who had gotten Connie for her. She was watching Kelly and something about the look in her eyes expressed a desire to help.
Connie asked, “Will you be leaving or are you getting anything to—”
“I’ll have a cookie,” Kelly interrupted, taking only a modicum of pleasure from repaying the favor. Three hundred and fifty calories. “And a large coffee—black.” Zero.
Connie turned up her nose. “Christine will help you.” With that, the owner rode her broomstick back to where she’d come from.
Christine finished up with the customer, bagged Kelly’s cookie, and poured her coffee. She collected the money and said, “Just give me a minute.” She disappeared into the back before Kelly could respond. When she returned, she was untying her half apron and proceeded to set it on a counter. She pointed toward a side door and went outside, Kelly close behind.
The door opened into a small alleyway, and Christine shuffled away from the door about twenty feet.
Kelly stopped across from her. The women were about a foot apart and facing each other.
“Connie doesn’t like cops,” Christine said, as if that were necessary.
“I take it you do?” Kelly concluded. It wasn’t like Christine knew exactly what Kelly wanted. She would have seen Kelly show her phone and ask Connie if she recognized anyone. It was doubtful that Christine could have seen the faces from where she had been.
“Let me see those pictures you were showing Connie.” Christine held her hand out. “I take it you’re trying to track down a customer.”
This woman was smart, Kelly gave her that, and intuitive. But Christine had also made a large assumption. How could she know the pictures were about a customer? “How do you know—”
“Well, it wasn’t personal to Connie or you would have asked for her by name. And you followed me out here, so it’s something you figure I might be able to help with.” Christine’s gaze softened, becoming apologetic. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. It’s just that I don’t have much time.”
Kelly put the bagged cookie in the pocket of her light jacket and exchanged it for her phone. She balanced the coffee in one hand and worked to bring up the pictures with her other one. She put her phone in Christine’s hand. “There are a few photos. Just scroll through them and let me know if you recognize anyone.”
“Okay.” Christine glanced at Kelly, almost hesitant before looking at the screen. She squinted and moved it at different angles. “Ugh, the sunlight,” was all Christine said. She settled on an angle, and her eyes widened if only marginally as she swiped the screen.
Kelly felt a rise of excitement in her chest. “You recognize someone?”
“Uh-huh. This guy.” Christine turned the phone and pressed a finger to the screen.
Kelly understood what she was saying about the sunlight as a glare was cutting right over the face Christine was indicating. Kelly took Christine’s hand and maneuvered it so she could see clearly. She expected to see the delivery guy; instead their unsub’s face was staring back at her.
She wanted to scream and celebrate, but caution reined her back. “You’re sure?”
“Definitely. He’s been coming here for a while.”
The white boxes the heads were placed in were pegged as confection boxes, like the kind one gets from a bakery. Kelly gulped. Her heart was pounding in her ears now, an infusion of adrenaline racing through her veins. “He’s a regular?” They could set up surveillance, see if he returned, catch him, put an end to the killings. Finally.
“He comes in probably about once a week.”
Okay, keep your cool, Kelly coaxed herself. “The same day every week?”
“Not that predictable.”
And there it was: a piercing needle taken to her balloon of hope. Some air hissed out.
Christine added, “His name’s John Doe, if that helps.”
“John Doe?” Kelly was taken aback. “If this is some sort of joke—”
“I know how it sounds. My first reaction to hearing it was the same as yours, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. He said his parents had a stupid sense of humor.”
If someone actually named their kid John Doe, they had bigger problems than a warped sense of humor. Kelly studied Christine’s eyes and, satisfied she was being honest, took her phone back. “What else can you tell me about—?”
