Lethal Confessions (23 page)

She heard the frustration in his voice, saw it on his face. Sympathy bloomed in her chest, mixed with a sharp pang of something much deeper and more heartfelt. Beckett kept surprising her. He had the courage to fight for his country against an enemy that shot women in stadiums and blew up little girls in their classrooms. And he had the heart and the humanity to fight for a little girl facing an uncertain and frightening future. The guy wasn’t just a hero on the playing field. He was one in real life, too.

And that scared the wits out of her. If she didn’t distance herself from this man, she knew she’d suffer a world of hurt. There was no way a woman like her could mean anything to him beyond a brief hook-up or a casual affair.

So, it surprised her when her hand reached out and covered his, giving it a light squeeze before retreating back into her lap. Even worse, she realized that she wouldn’t mind having that drink with him after all.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “I get the sense you could use a drink.”

Beckett blinked, then broke into a broad smile. He stood up quickly and reached a hand down to her. Amy hesitated, standing on the brink of she didn’t know what, then grasped his hand firmly and let him pull her to her feet. Her momentum almost carried her into him and, for just a second or two, she caught his subtle, masculine scent and felt the heat radiating from the length of his powerful body.

Whoa.
She might be stupid, but she wasn’t reckless. She stepped away, pivoting to grab her jacket from the back of her chair. “Just remember, Beckett, this is work, not a date. And I’ll buy the drinks.”

His gaze narrowed, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Whatever you say, boss,” he rumbled in that deep, Southern drawl.

Somehow, Amy didn’t think he got the message.

Saturday, July 31

8:45 p.m.

Amy had asked Beckett to follow her to Chester’s in his car, since her home was close to the bar. Besides, being in an intimate space with him was a little more than she could handle. Better to keep temptation at arm’s length.

She stopped in a no parking zone on Town Center Drive, two wheels up on the curb, and waited for him. He jogged up to her car five minutes later and leaned into her open window.

“I couldn’t find a parking spot out here,” he groused. “So, I gave up and used the stadium garage.”

“Poor baby,” Amy mocked as she pushed open her door and got out. “Maybe you shouldn’t have given your chauffeur the night off.”

“Jesus, Robitaille,” he groaned. “You are such a smart ass.”

She simply grinned in reply and headed toward the bar. He caught up with her, giving her a wry smile as he shortened his stride to match hers. She couldn’t deny that it felt good to have him with her, keeping her company and watching her back. Almost like a real partner.

Chester’s was a half a block down the palm-lined street, a nice enough looking place with big windows and a cheery green awning over the sidewalk. Even though the game at the stadium across the street was obviously still in progress, the bar was doing brisk business. Amy showed her badge to the hostess.

“How can I help you?” the young woman asked, her voice rising above the din of the canned music and boisterous conversation. Various sports events on at least a dozen TV sets added to the cacophony.

“We’d like to ask the staff a few questions,” Amy said. “Were you at work here on Thursday evening?”

“Yes, ma’am. Until one.”

“Then we might as well start with you. Can someone else relieve you for a few minutes?

The woman hesitated, but then went to talk to one of the servers. When she and the server returned, she led them to a table for four near the back of the bar.

“Thanks,” Amy said as they took their seats. She introduced herself and Beckett, then handed across a business card. “What’s your name?”

“Melina Stovall.”

“Melina, you may have heard that a young woman named Ashley Rist was murdered early Friday morning. Did you know her?”

Melina nodded, showing no surprise. “I figured as soon as you told me you were police that this would be about her. God, it’s so awful what happened. I almost fainted when I heard it on the news.”

Amy leaned closer, straining to hear above the din. “So, you did know her.”

“I guess you could say so. Ashley came here fairly often, and I usually get to know people like her a little bit.”

“And was Ashley here on Thursday evening?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Melina answered without hesitation. “That was the first thing I thought of when I got the news. How I’d seen her not long before...” She let the words trail off.

“Do you remember what time she arrived? Was she with anyone?”

The young woman’s face scrunched up with concentration. “She was by herself when she got here. And I’m pretty sure it was after ten. It was definitely after the crush, anyway. That’s what we call it when the fans come over after the game ends.”

“So, she might have been at the game,” Beckett said.

Amy almost shook her head, remembering what Lily Fisher had told Ryan about Ashley assembling her friends at the bar to honor Carrie Noble, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Maybe,” Melina said, “but I don’t think so. The Cardinals were playing, not the Hammerheads. Besides, when she comes here after a game, she’s always got her team shirt on.”

“So, she came alone, but was joined by others later?” Amy asked.

“Jody Garrett came a few minutes after Ashley, and I showed her to Ashley’s table. Later on, another girl joined them. I’ve seen her once or twice before, but I don’t know her name.”

“That’s okay. We’ll ask Ms. Garrett. Do you remember what time Ashley left the bar?”

Melina looked regretful. “I’m afraid not. She must have gone when I was on a break or in the rest room. I know it was after both the other women, though. I saw them leave, and Ashley was still here.”

“Drinking alone?”

“Some of the time. But I saw her standing near the bar, talking to a couple of players.”

Amy felt her heart pick up a beat. “Cardinal players?”

Ashley nodded.

“Can you identify them?”

“One of them was Johnny Franks. He’s in here all the time. But I haven’t met the other guy yet. I’ve only seen him once or twice, so he’s probably somebody new on the team.”

“I know Franks,” Luke said, glancing at Amy. “And maybe the other guy was called up from the Rookie League.”

She wrote down Franks’ name. “Can you describe the other player?”

Melina rested her chin on her fist and pursed her glossy pink lips. “Hmm…tall, about six-three, nice muscles, brown hair. Big, strong guy, and kinda yummy, too. I think he’s a pitcher, because I remember him talking about getting a save.”

“Did you see either of those guys leave, and were they alone?”

She hesitated. “I saw the big guy leave by himself. As for Johnny…I’m not sure. I can’t specifically remember seeing him go. But like I said, I’m not up at the front a hundred per cent of the time. And even when I’m there, I don’t always notice, especially if someone comes in at the same time as people are leaving.”

The girl had given them plenty to start with. Time to move on. “Melina, are any of the other staff from Thursday night here?”

“Not really. This is the weekend crew, so most of them are part-timers with other jobs, or students. I’m pretty sure Bruno is the only one who was here Thursday. He’s at the bar.” She pointed to a heavy-set, dark-haired man serving a group at the far end of the long, curving bar.

“You’ve been very helpful, Melina. Could you think about the other staff that were here Thursday and email me their names? My email address is on the card.”

“Sure, ma’am. I’ll try to remember as many as I can.” Melina stood and walked away toward her station at the front.

Amy turned to Beckett. “Let’s go talk to Bruno.”

Beckett grasped her wrist as she started to get up. “Johnny Franks has a reputation as a hothead on the field and a party animal off it. He’s been in the low minors for years, going nowhere.”

She sank bank into her chair. “You’re thinking he hit on Ashley?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Franks would have been in Lakeland at the time of the Shannon murder, and here in Jupiter at the time of both the Noble and Rist killings.”

“Unless he was on the D.L. at the time of the Lakeland game. I’ll check on that as soon as I get home.”

Amy raised a brow. “D.L.?”

“Disabled list,” he said. “A team puts an injured player on the disabled list so they can bring another player onto their roster.”

Amy tried to keep the rush of excitement in check, but it finally felt like they were getting somewhere. “Check it out as soon as you can. In the meantime, let’s go see the guy behind the bar.”

Amy had decided not to stay to drink at Chester’s, not when she’d already interviewed people in the crowded bar. So, once they finished with Bruno, she asked Beckett to follow her to a quieter place—a wine bar off Donald Ross Boulevard that was even closer to her home.

She had every intention of stopping at one glass then heading home to pore again through her collection of serial killer books. After Ariane’s murder, she’d become obsessed—at least that’s how her father had described her at the time—with men who preyed on women. Even before she took criminology studies, she’d read everything she could get her hands on about serial killers, from historical figures like Jack the Ripper and Earle Leonard Nelson to modern nightmares like Ted Bundy and Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer.

But, really, it couldn’t hurt to have one glass of wine—in fact, it would probably do her good. She needed to relax a bit, give herself time to breathe and get some perspective on the case. And she
had
promised Beckett a drink.

The wine bar featured an unobtrusive jazz trio that laid down a soothing background. Even before the server brought their wine, Amy could already feel her tense muscles start to relax, although her head was unfortunately starting to ache. Beckett looked completely at ease, his big body lounging comfortably in the over-stuffed, leather seat.

“Between Melina and Bruno, I think we got a lot of solid stuff,” he said.

“Agreed,” Amy said.

Bruno had told them he’d seen Ashley Rist for a few minutes while she was talking to Johnny Franks and Colt Hansen, the other man Melina had noted, but he hadn’t seen any of them leave. Ashley had returned to her table after that conversation, and the men had remained at the bar for another half hour or so. Bruno had also mentioned that he’d seen Ashley speak briefly to another man. He didn’t know that guy’s name, and thought he’d only seen him at Chester’s maybe a couple of times. But he’d been able to provide a pretty decent description—mid-twenties, five-eight or nine, about one-seventy, muscular, short black hair, wearing an oversize Cardinals tee shirt over jeans.

When they went back to Melina to ask about that particular guy, she’d said she vaguely remembered him, but didn’t think she’d seen him leave.

“So, we know Ashley arrived alone, sometime after ten o’clock,” Beckett said. “She had drinks with two other wives and spoke briefly to Franks and Hansen, and then to the guy in the Cardinals shirt. We don’t know when Ashley left, but we know it wasn’t with her friends or with Hansen. It could possibly have been with Franks or the other man she’d talked to.”

Amy agreed. “Lots to follow up on, starting with Franks and Hansen. I’m not sure what to do about the third man. Maybe the other servers on duty that night will be able to tell us more when we track them down, though I’m not holding my breath.” She rubbed her throbbing temples. “My brain’s about fried.”

She was exhausted, and if she had a grain of sense she’d be home in bed, not sitting here giving Luke Beckett the wrong idea by her presence.

David Rivera, the gregarious owner of the wine bar, had recognized Beckett as they entered and had personally seated them at a table in the quietest corner of the room. The deep-cushioned chairs, separated by a small square table, were comfortable enough to fall asleep in. The server brought their wine selections, and they each savored a taste in silence. Amy’s Languedoc trailed seductive warmth across her tongue and down her throat as she sank into the warmth of the leather surrounding her. The headache seemed to ease a fraction, and she relaxed a bit more. Maybe the thing to do was
not
talk about the case. Give her head a rest.

Beckett broke the surprisingly comfortable silence. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Amélie.”

“Sure, as long as it has nothing to do with women getting murdered.”

“Here’s what I want to know. Are you hostile to baseball players in general, or just to me?”

Shit
. Talk about going straight to the heart of the matter. Her temples instantly started pounding again and her temperature shot up. “Why do you think I’m hostile to you, Beckett?”

He let his expression convey his disbelief at her evasion.

She grimaced. “Well, okay, maybe I was a little hostile at the start. Now, maybe not so much.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “It was because I’m…I
was
a ballplayer, right?”

She stifled a sigh. “Oh, man, do we have to do this now?”

“Humor me. I’m working for one lousy buck, you know.”

She had to chuckle. “Oh, well, in that case.” She swirled the wine, wondering how honest she should be.
Might as well go for broke.
“Okay, I suppose I do have a problem with baseball players as a species.”

A knowing smile curved his lips, making him look even sexier, if that was humanly possible. “I think it must be more than your issues with your brother-in-law.”

Amy had to keep from gaping at him. She’d briefly mentioned M.L.’s problems with her husband to Beckett, but didn’t think she’d trashed Justin at all. Beckett must be good at reading between the lines. A warning prickled along her neck. This guy was way too perceptive.

“You’re not going to let it go until I tell you, are you?” she groused.