Deadly Aim (27 page)

Callen listened to the report then asked, “Tell me something, Mike, have you guys got anything at all on the kid we found out on the dock Sunday?”

“Not much. I asked down at the youth center, and a couple guys admitted to knowing him. He hung out at the Dragon’s Den a lot. My take is that he was bringing in ecstasy and selling it to the kids during the weekend dances.”

“I thought the Dragon’s Den was a no-drug/no-alcohol zone.” Callen wasn’t a big fan of places like that. They had
to be well supervised with strict rules in order to work. Even then, kids seemed to find ways to get around the rules.

“It is, but you know how that goes. My church runs the place.” Mike drew a stick of gum out of his pants pocket, unwrapped it, folded it in thirds, then popped it into his mouth. “We check people coming in, and if we catch anyone drinking or doing drugs, we boot them out, but that doesn’t stop them from getting the stuff outside.”

“Any idea where the drugs are coming from?”

“Yeah.” Mike brushed the moisture from his coal black hair. “They’re making the stuff right here on the coast. We haven’t had the resources to do much more than arrest the users. We tried a sting operation, with a kid from the center who was supposedly going straight. He’d arranged to meet his dealer, but the guy never showed up. It’s almost like the supplier knew ahead of time.”

“You’re suggesting someone in the Sunset Cove Police Department might be working both sides of the fence?”

He shook his head. “No, but whoever is working this area knows how to stay ahead of us.”

Mike worked more closely with the gang members than anyone else in the department. “I heard you spend a lot of time down at the rec center, trying to rehabilitate these kids.”

“A couple nights a week.” Mike frowned. “You going anywhere with this?”

“I’m looking for answers.” Callen could almost see Mike’s defenses rising. “Officer Delaney is claiming she only fired one shot into the Hartwell kid. What do you think about that?”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “No way, man. I heard three shots—we all did.”

“Well, just for a minute let’s assume she’s accurate. Would you have any idea who might have fired the other two shots or why?”

Mike’s dark features settled into a scowl, his jaw working up and down as he chewed his gum. The scent of wintergreen and garlic wafted into Callen’s nostrils. “No idea at all. There were five people in that warehouse when I got there: Angel and the kid, Nick Caldwell, Eric Mason, and Bo Williams. Anyway, what does
the Hartwell shooting have to do with J.J.? You think there’s some kind of connection?”

Callen sighed. “I’m saying it looks pretty strange that we’ve got three bodies in six days.”

The scowl deepened. “I don’t see how they can be related, Detective.”

“Have you done anything about notifying Dixon’s family?” Callen asked.

“Dixon was staying here with his wife. She’s not around, so we haven’t been able to contact her to let her know about her husband’s death.”

“They must have family back home who knows where she is.” They were back at the crime scene now, and Todd Elroy Dixon’s body was being bagged and placed on the stretcher.

“Right,” Mike said. “We’re looking into that.”

Callen stayed until the lab guys finished, then he put all of the evidence they’d gathered into the trunk of his car. Monday morning he’d take the evidence to the clerk in person. No way was he going to risk having evidence go missing again. He thought about going up to talk to Angel, but it was already after midnight. He was beat, and he imagined Angel was too.

For one brief moment he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be married to Angel, curled up against her, telling her he loved her. His eyes snapped open, and he shook his head to clear it.
Don’t go there, Riley. The woman’s nothing but trouble. And you’ll be in even bigger trouble if you start acting on your feelings
.

He turned his thoughts back to the conversation he’d had with Mike regarding the drug dealing at the Dragon’s Den. Mike had indicated that J.J. went there often. Mike volunteered there and was a member of the church that ran the place.

From the back of his mind, Callen drew a piece of information from another unresolved case. Jim Kelsey had been missing for weeks and presumed dead. His body had finally showed up. He had been a member of the same church as Mike. He also had volunteered at the Dragon’s Den. Coincidence? Callen chewed on the inside of his cheek.
I don’t think so
.

O
nce she had undressed and handed her clothing over to Brandy, Angel took a long shower, once again washing off the blood of a victim. First Billy’s and now Dixon’s.

Who had killed Dixon and why? And why was he killed here at Peter and Paul’s resort, where she happened to be staying? It almost seemed as though she’d been set up. Which made no sense at all. Who would do that, and what would the motive be?

Suddenly the motive seemed simple enough—payback for shooting Billy. Ray Broadman immediately came to mind. Angel felt certain the man Dixon had been talking with in the lounge earlier that evening was Ray Broadman. She’d only seen him once on television. The haircut fit; so did the span of his shoulders. Broadman could have hired someone to tear up her apartment, and he could have instigated the attack on her at the funeral, but would he go so far as to kill a man—a reverend and member of the ACLU who was helping him with the civil suit against her?

Again, it made no sense. Broadman couldn’t have known she’d be at the funeral or at the resort.

Unless he’s had someone following me
.

Angel stepped out of the shower and dried off. “Broadman could’ve set up a meeting with Dixon knowing I was here,” she murmured at her reflection in the mirror.

She shook her head and sighed heavily. “There’s no way he could’ve known I’d leave my room and go for a walk.” So much for the setup idea. Maybe the Dixon murder was totally unrelated. Maybe his wife or someone close to him had done it or hired a hit. On the other hand, it could’ve been the white supremacist who’d applauded Angel for Billy’s death. Angel shuddered.

She knew one thing for certain. She was utterly exhausted, which was probably the reason for her far-fetched scenarios. She slipped into her cotton pajamas and, after brushing her teeth, crawled into bed. Questions continued to strobe in and out of her mind, but she managed to fall asleep only minutes after turning out the light.

On Saturday morning Angel awakened to a tap on her door. She felt disoriented and confused, and it took several seconds before she remembered where she was. Too soon, memories flooded in as she recalled falling on top of a dead man. She could still see his vacant eyes staring at her even in the semidarkness. Her stomach rolled and pitched.

“Just a minute!” she called as she got out of bed to peer out the peephole. Joe Brady stood on the other side looking as if he’d gone a round with the IRS and lost. “Give me a second to get dressed,” she said through the door. She grabbed the robe from the hook behind the bathroom door, flung it on, and cinched it up, then ran an unsteady hand through her hair before opening the door.

Joe brushed past her without an invitation.

“What are you doing here so early?” She glanced at her watch at the same time he did.

“It’s 10:00.”

She tried without success to stifle a yawn. “I had a late night.”

“So I heard.”

“What are you doing here? I thought Riley was investigating this one.”

“He is.” Joe handed her a copy of the newspaper.

She had expected the murder to run on the front page, but this was too much. She was wearing the bloodstained bathrobe, and blood was smeared on her hands and on her forehead where she’d brushed her hair back. “Not the most flattering pose, is it?”

“Are you trying to complicate matters? The phone’s been ringing all morning—calls from people wanting to know when we’re going to lock you up.”

“I didn’t kill that man.” Angel tossed the paper on the unmade bed.

“Most people don’t see it that way. You knew who he was. You saw the newscast when he was introduced, and you knew why he was in town. You must’ve known he was going to do a fund-raiser here in Oregon to raise money for the Hartwells, part of which would be used as legal fees in the civil suit they filed against you.”

“I don’t believe this. I came out here to relax and get away from the media. I didn’t even know he was staying here!”

Joe rubbed a hand across his balding head and down to his neck. “The press has you tried and convicted. You had access to the steak knives. In fact, you even had steak for dinner. How do we know you didn’t slip your knife into your purse and use it later on Dixon?”

“You can’t be serious. You know I wouldn’t—”

“Mike talked to your waiter. The guy doesn’t remember if the knife was on your plate when he picked it up.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it!” Angel lowered herself to the bed, rubbing her temples.

Joe went to one of the armchairs and after sitting down blew out a long breath. He pursed his lips. “All I’m saying, Angel, is that folks out there think you did it. You not only have motive, you had the means and the opportunity.”

Angel felt as if her heart had dropped into the same deep pit as her spirit. How could her own boss, a man who counted her father as a friend, level accusations like that at her? He’d practically called her a murderer. “I didn’t kill him,” she said when she finally found her voice, “but obviously you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe.” Joe stared at a spot on the wall just over her head. “Did you know Dixon was staying here?”

“No.”

“Why else would you come here? You live in the same town. People who live in the area don’t usually spend the night in an expensive resort.”

“I already told you. To relax. My brothers own this place. They thought I could use a respite, and so did I. But they were the ones who suggested it.” She got up again and paced over to the window. The mist was turning the ocean and sky into a swirling gray mass. “You know perfectly well I didn’t come here to kill Dixon. Even if I had wanted to, do you seriously think I would involve my brothers?”

“Look, Angel, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you did it. But my job is on the line here.”

Where have I heard that before
?

“If we don’t come up with some answers soon, it’s going to be my head on the chopping block.”

Angel felt the heat of her anger rise to her neck and face. “Why did you come here, Joe? Are you going to arrest me to appease the masses?” She held out her arms, wrists together. “Go ahead. Take me in and while you’re at it, call the media to make sure they get pictures.”

Joe pushed out of the chair and brushed past her. “Give me a break, Angel. I told the press we didn’t have enough evidence to arrest anybody.” With his hand on the doorknob he turned back. “I also told them that if you are guilty, you’ll be treated like anyone else.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

Callen came as Joe was leaving. Angel could feel the antagonism between the two men. When the door closed, Callen leaned against the door frame, his gaze traveling from her face to her bare feet.

She pulled her robe tighter. “Are you here to rate me on a scale of one to ten or did you have something to tell me?”

“Lack of sleep does that to me too.”

“What?”

“Makes me irritable.” He stepped inside and glanced around the room.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

“What? That you look cute in that getup or that you got trouble leaking out of your pores?”

“That I look terrible—and that things are looking bad for me.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “You already know that. You had a pretty rough night. I just came by to check up on you.”

Angel tipped her head, appraising him.
What is it about you, Detective
?

She looked good. Too good. Callen knew he should’ve left then and there. Angel standing so close in her cotton pajamas and bathrobe, with her hair tousled, stirred up a desire he thought he’d laid to rest when he buried Karen. He was much too aware of the unmade bed and her husky morning voice. She smelled faintly of berries and spice.

He looked away, forcing himself to walk to the window and immerse his mind in the thick fog hovering on the other side.
Idiot. You’re working on a murder case—make that three murder cases and one officer-involved shooting. You can’t afford to let yourself think of Angel as anything more than a fellow officer. An officer who happens to be a suspect. A woman who is definitely off limits
.

Callen slipped out of his jacket and threw it on the chair near the window. She must have the heat cranked up to eighty in there. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned back to her and tried not to notice her state of dress. “Now that you’ve had time to sleep on it,” he said, “do you have any ideas on who might’ve killed Dixon?”

She raised her eyebrows at his question but seemed pleased that he’d asked. “Several. I’d start with any enemies he might have. Then I’d look at Ray Broadman, and then that white supremacist group that made me out as a hero for shooting Billy. I’d look at the guys who trashed my apartment—if you can find them, though I suspect they’re the same ones who attacked me after the funeral.” She licked her lips and glanced at the carpet. “Why are you asking my opinion?”