Chapter 7

Seven

" YOU MUST NOT HAVE GOTTEN much sleep last night."

At the comment, Jack finished topping off his coffee from the community pot in the office breakroom and angled toward Cate. "Why do you say that?"

"You're drinking the department sludge that masquerades as java." She wrinkled her nose and pointed to his cup. "What happened to your usual Americano?"

"I had that two hours ago."

Cate arched an eyebrow. "You were at Starbucks at six in the morning?"

"I needed caffeine."

"I rest my case about sleep. I'm assuming your insomnia is related to the Robertson case. Any new leads?"

"No." He blew out a breath. "Nobody in the neighborhood or park saw anything. Hank didn't find a single piece of evidence that would help identify the killer. None of the stolen jewelry has turned up at any of the usual fencing sites. I'm still waiting for the preliminary autopsy results. Lacey promised she'd have them today."

"You think those will steer you to someone?"

"Every piece of information helps." Jack took a sip of his desperation brew. Grimaced.

"Speaking of information ... I was talking to one of the property guys this morning. Your witness's name came up."

"Lindsey Barnes?"

"That would be her—unless there's someone else I don't know about. She called in to report a stolen car last night."

Jack did a double take.

What were the odds someone involved in a murder scene would have their car stolen four days later?

"That's weird."

"More like a case of being rattled, based on the outcome. The car was discovered early this morning in a spot down the street from where she says she last saw it."

Jack frowned. "She forgot where she parked it?"

"So our people have concluded, with much amusement, even though she claims that's not the case. But what other explanation could there be? It was locked, and there was no damage. It's unlikely anything is missing from inside. If someone wanted to steal contents, they could have done that on the lot where she says she parked it."

"I'm sticking with weird." He took another sip of coffee. "She didn't strike me as the flighty type."

"Stress can mess with the mind. Cause uncharacteristic behavior."

The coffee left a trail of acid down his throat.

So could a variety of other factors.

Like mental instability.

Dark memories began swirling through his mind, but he wrestled them back into the locked vault where they belonged. This conversation wasn't about the past. It was about the present.

And Lindsey Barnes hadn't shown any evidence of delusional tendencies or instability.

"I may give her a call. Now that a few days have passed, it's possible another conversation could prod loose a subliminal detail or two."

"Couldn't hurt." Cate pulled her phone out. Skimmed the screen. "Gotta run. Let me know if there's anything else you want me to do with the case. I'd be happy to do the follow-up with your witness."

"Thanks, but I can handle that."

Her lips twitched. "That's what I thought. Keep me in the loop." She disappeared out the door.

Jack huffed out a breath as the same vibes his sister had given off Monday night wafted his way. Bri may have been more vocal in her assessment of his interest in Lindsey, but it appeared Cate had come to the same conclusion.

Must be related to the fact that both women had romance on their mind—one in a new relationship, the other in a new marriage.

That didn't mean they were right, however. Bri's theory about his ego being bruised was likely the reason for his fixation on his witness.

Whatever the explanation, he ought to get over it. After all, Lindsey's attitude may not have been anything personal. It was possible he'd reminded her of someone she didn't like, and her response had been exacerbated by the stress of the situation. By now, she might be calmer and more cordial.

He returned to his office, called up his case notes, and tapped in her number.

Two rings in, she answered, greeting him in a cool tone.

So much for cordial. Whatever she'd had in her craw the day of the killing must still be there.

"Ms. Barnes, Detective Tucker." He infused as much friendliness as he could into his voice. "Do you have a minute?"

"Not much more than that. I'm about to walk out the door. I, uh, have to pick something up."

"Your car?"

A beat ticked by.

"Yes." Her tone was cautious. "How did you know about that?"

"A colleague told me." He leaned back in his chair. "Unless you already have a ride, I'd be happy to give you a lift there. I'd like to talk to you again about last Friday, anyway."

"I don't see any point in recounting the incident."

"It can be helpful. Sometimes witnesses recall useful details during a retelling. Even minor things that don't appear to be important can help in an investigation. And I'm cheaper than Uber." If he couldn't win her over with sociability, maybe he could appeal to her pecuniary instincts.

Silence.

Just as he resigned himself to a refusal, she acquiesced. "Okay. How soon can you be here?"

He tipped his chair forward and homed in on her address in the report. Calculated the drive time from headquarters to the close-in suburb. "Fifteen minutes."

"I'll watch for you."

The line went dead.

No thank-you for the offer of a ride.

Then again, he'd indicated he needed to talk with her. Suggested there was a business motive behind his generosity rather than positioning it as doing her a favor.

A deliberate choice, since she would have refused the latter.

Pocketing his cell, he strode toward the door.

No matter why she'd accepted, maybe another chat with her would help him figure out why he couldn't get their first encounter out of his mind—and why he'd rubbed her wrong.

It would also give him a chance to assess the mental state of his sole witness, who'd seemingly misplaced her car.

SHE SHOULD HAVE REFUSED the ride.

But why spend money for a cab or Uber if she could get a lift for free? Plus, she did have one small piece of information to pass on about the person she'd seen in the Robertson kitchen. Sending it via email, as she'd planned, would have been less grating, but in practical terms a buck was a buck.

As Lindsey watched through her living room window, a Taurus stopped in front of the small, two-story condo unit that was tucked into a cozy neighborhood of single-family modest homes with well-tended lawns. The relaxed, residential vibe had been a huge selling point as she'd shopped for a place to live.

Purse in hand, she armed her security system and let herself out the front door. She was halfway down the sidewalk before Jack Tucker emerged from his car.

He did, however, manage to circle the Taurus and open the passenger door before she reached the vehicle.

"Good morning." He offered her a winning smile, the warmth in his cobalt blue eyes chasing away the morning chill.

The man was good-looking, no question about it. It wasn't hard to see why Clair had fallen for him.

How sad that he hadn't been able to accept her as she was instead of pushing her to be someone else.

Like her parents had pushed her .

At least she'd survived.

"Morning." Steeling herself against his charm play, she edged past him and slid onto the seat.

After closing her door, he took his place behind the wheel. "The story I heard at the office was that you misplaced your car last night."

"No, I didn't." She gritted her teeth and sat up straighter. "I know where I parked it."

"Cars don't move by themselves."

Though his manner was conversational, his comment rankled.

"I realize that. But I have an excellent memory. And I don't imagine things."

"The kind of experience you went through on Friday can play games with the head."

She frowned as Dr. Oliver's comment from their Monday session replayed in her mind.

"Trauma can mess with the brain."

But that hadn't happened. She knew where she'd parked her car. Could recall the exact sequence of events that led up to claiming the less-than-desirable spot.

"My head is fine. Someone moved my car."

"Why?

The $64,000 question.

"I don't know."

"Is there anyone in town who might be inclined to play a practical joke on you?"

"No. I haven't been here long enough to make enemies."

"Your car was found locked and undamaged except for a partially shattered taillight."

"That was already there. Someone backed into me in a parking lot. I haven't gotten around to fixing it yet, since it still works."

"Was there anything inside worth stealing?" His tone remained mild as he maneuvered around a slower-moving SUV.

"No." She couldn't fault his logic. The whole scenario didn't make sense to her, either. "Look, I realize this sounds crazy, but I know what I know. I can't explain why someone would move my car. Nor do I have a clue how they did it. I had the key fob with me the entire evening."

"I can't answer the why, but I can offer a few thoughts on the how." He hung a right and accelerated onto the highway. "Does your car have keyless entry and push-button ignition?"

"Yes."

"What's the range on the fob?"

"I have no idea, but I've opened the car from fifty or sixty feet away."

"Then your car would be easy to steal."

"How?"

"With an electronic device anyone can buy on the internet. One person uses it to capture the signal from your fob and transmits it to another person standing by your vehicle. It's a relay system thieves use to steal locked cars from driveways at night. The first person gets close to the house, picks up the fob signal, and sends it to an accomplice. In your case, someone could have been waiting out of sight in the dark parking lot near the church entrance and picked up the signal as you walked by. In less than a minute, the person by your vehicle could open the door and drive away."

Lindsey stared at him. "The detective who called me never mentioned any of that."

"Probably because your situation had all the earmarks of a misplaced car. That happens a fair amount. People think their vehicle has been stolen at a mall, call the police, and realize they forgot where they parked after their car is found in a different part of the lot."

"I didn't forget where I parked."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

He gave her a sidelong glance ... then changed the subject as he shifted his attention back to the road. "Let's talk about the Robertson case."

Lindsey considered him.

Should she continue trying to press her case that she hadn't been mistaken about her car?

No. Why bother? Let him believe whatever he wanted— even if his doubts about her story bothered her for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"Fine." Now was the time to bring up the one new piece of information she could add to the case. "I did remember a minor fact. I doubt it's important."

"Like I said on the phone, what's trivial to you could matter to us. What is it?"

"A few days ago, a fuzzy detail about the overshoes drifted through my mind. It was gone before I could bring it into focus, but I saw it again last night, much sharper, in a dream." During a replay of the nightmare she'd told Dr. Oliver about, actually, which featured the scarred hand. "It was the brand name on the overshoes. Dunlop." When her chauffeur didn't react, she shrugged. "I told you it was trivial."

"You never know how a piece of information will fit into the puzzle. I'll add that to my case notes."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"We're still in investigation mode."

Not an answer. But it might be all he could officially offer.

"I hope you're not bothering Chad."

That earned her another look. "Why didn't you tell me last Friday that you knew him? I found out you were acquainted from the victim's wife."

"It wasn't relevant. I didn't see him that day. And it's not like we're close friends. We met through church, and his wife is taking my cooking class. They've only been married a few months. I know a bit of his history before that, but he's turned his life around. You can't have any grounds to suspect him."

"Everyone involved is a person of interest while the case is active."

Did that mean they did have grounds to doubt Chad's innocence, or was Tucker giving her a standard line?

His guarded expression suggested she wasn't going to get an answer to that question, either.

She exhaled, reining in her annoyance. "You're as close-mouthed as the detective who handled the case I was involved in back in South Carolina."

His head spun her direction. "What kind of case?"

Whoops.

Major slip.

Not that the South Carolina incident was a state secret, with all the media coverage it had gotten, but rehashing it held zero appeal.

"I got caught up in a grocery store shooting there twenty-one months ago."

"How were you involved?"

She shifted in her seat, fighting back a wave of the same clawing panic that had constricted her windpipe in the grocery store and again last Friday in the Robertson kitchen.

"Since that doesn't have any bearing on this case, I'd prefer not to talk about it."

He flipped on the blinker, edged into the exit lane, and thankfully took her cue. "Is there anything else from Friday that has come back to you?"

"Nothing but the brand on the overshoes."

"What about other clothing details? Or the person's posture or gait or mannerisms? Anything they did in the brief window you saw them that struck you as odd or quirky or distinctive?"

"No."

"If any other memory does pop up, please let me know. You have my card, right?"

"Yes."

He drove in silence for a couple of minutes, then turned onto the side street next to the church where the property detective had said her car was parked. She spotted it at once.

"There it is." She pointed ahead.

He pulled into the empty space behind it. "Why don't you verify that nothing is missing before I leave?"

The instant the Taurus came to a stop, she pushed the door open. "I can check, but there wasn't anything in there worth stealing."

While she scanned the contents of the trunk and glove compartment, he gave the neighborhood a once-over. "Not the best part of town."

"But the perfect place for a class about cooking on a budget." She closed the trunk. "Everything's here."

"Is there anyone around when you walk to your car after the class?"

"Once in a while. But I usually get here early and park next to the door by the church hall. Most nights it's a matter of a few steps to get to my car. I was running late on Tuesday, which is why I parked farther away."

"Do you carry pepper gel?"

"Yes." Thanks to South Carolina.

"Smart. You can't be too careful in today's world." He searched her face, his discerning eyes probing—and compassionate. "You doing okay?"

At the sudden crack in his professional persona, pressure built in Lindsey's throat.

Other than her new friend Madeleine, there was no one who cared about her day-to-day life. Oh, Mom made the obligatory check-in call periodically, but it wasn't as if they were confidantes. Even after the grocery store incident, there'd been nothing more than a brief spike in the frequency of her calls.

And while she'd made casual friends in college and during her years in South Carolina, relationships were hard to sustain over long distances.

Only Clair had been there for her on a consistent, day-in and day-out basis since her teenage years. Emails, phone calls, texts—they'd touched base every single day even after their jobs took them different directions.

Now she was gone, thanks at least in part to this man.

But you played a role too, Lindsey. You share a piece of the blame.

Her spirits tanked, as they always did when she faced that truth—and the guilt over her own culpability would plague her the rest of her life.

Now, however, wasn't the time to dwell on that.

She straightened her shoulders. "I'm fine. Thank you for the ride."

"Glad to be of assistance. I'll let you get back to your routine."

"My routine for the day is already shot." She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat of her car and slid behind the wheel. "I didn't get in my morning row."

He hiked up an eyebrow. "Rowing as in a boat, or with a rowing machine?"

"Boat. A scull, to be more precise. I was on the rowing team in college and started solo sculling six years ago." Enough about that. "I should go."

After a moment, he stepped back. "Drive safe."

"That's my plan." She closed and locked the door.

He returned to his car and followed her down the street to the corner, where he peeled off in the opposite direction.

As his Taurus disappeared in her rearview mirror, Lindsey took a slow, calming breath.

Loyalty to Clair alone would make her dislike him, but on top of that it was apparent he had doubts about her car story. That he questioned her memory—and perhaps her mental acuity.

That didn't sit well.

Letting his reservations upset her was crazy, though. He didn't know her, and the car situation was indeed strange. In his shoes, she'd be dubious too.

But she trusted her memory. Organization and accuracy and precise recall were important in her job, and those skills carried over into her life.

She'd parked in the lot. There was zero doubt in her mind about that.

Which made the car situation not just bizarre, but very, very unsettling.