Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (34 page)

"Not exactly an Einstein."

"That's not the worst of it."

Alex looked out onto the lot. "Dumber than that?"

"Much. He was released on the manslaughter charges four years ago. Starts frequenting a convenience store near where he lives. Worker is a woman Ferguson dates on and off. Everyone in the store knows him. Owner always complains because he has these big boots and he tracks mud in and out all the time. One day when his girlfriend isn't working, Ferguson shows up in a ski mask with an assault rifle and robs the place."

"Let me guess, he tracks the mud in," Alex said.

"Yep. Owner knows him instantly. Even says something to him about the mud."

A pit hardened in Alex's gut. This wasn't her man.

"And Ferguson doesn't stop. He still robs them—even ties the owner up when he gives him trouble. Calls him by name as he's doing it." Greg folded the papers until he had made a small cube and then began to unfold them.

Alex rubbed her face. "It doesn't make sense. Whoever's putting this together isn't stupid. Ferguson isn't right. Did you find a picture of him?"

He pulled a photo out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She stared at the mug shot. Ferguson was thick-necked and meaty. He had a birthmark like a red splash of paint across his upper lip. He had a wide chin that she thought she recognized. But he definitely wasn't the same man as in the photo labeled B.A. she'd seen at Loeffler's.

"Is it the guy from the gym?" he asked.

"I think so." She handed the picture back. "It's still not right, though. Our guy is smart. It can't be Ferguson. Not alone."

"Maybe he's learning from experience."

She shook her head. "What's he been doing since he got out?"

"Working construction in Oakland—project at Fortieth and Broadway. According to the foreman, though, he's only there every third day or so."

"And he still has a job?"

Greg shrugged. "I guess labor's hard to come by. They take it when they can get it."

"No way. It's someone else. He didn't leave a single print at Loeffler's house. Somehow he got me there, took pictures of me in my car, splattered my pants with blood, broke into my house, and planted the mug..."

"You know the attack was him."

She nodded. "Okay, so the attack was him. But he's not doing this on his own. I don't buy it. Too many variables. I mean, he got Tim involved, bought the camera." She shook her head again. "And why Tim? What's the connection—that he knew Loeffler?" She tapped her foot and tried to reason it out. "It's not Ferguson. He's more sophisticated, whoever he is. Ferguson doesn't have the resources. He couldn't have afforded that camera on a few days' work at a construction site."

"Hey, construction pays pretty well."

She grabbed his arm. "Listen to me. It's not Ferguson. That camera cost a grand. Plus, he wouldn't have given the kid half a grand to go with it. Someone else is involved. Someone from back then. It has to be."

"Who?"

"That's what I don't know. What's the connection between Ferguson and our guy?" She tried to run down the possibilities. "Where did Ferguson grow up? Down here?"

He shook his head. "Modesto."

Modesto was in the central valley, too far from Palo Alto to be the link. "Damn. What about cellmates or buddies in prison?"

"The most recent cellmate is still in. I couldn't check the previous go-around. I don't know about buddies. I can try to find out."

"Shit. I need answers on this stuff. We need access to the station," she said angrily.

"I'm doing the best I can, Kincaid."

"I know," she said in a softer voice. "I'm sorry. I appreciate what you've done. I'm just frustrated."

He nodded.

Alex sucked her lungs full of air and let it out in a long, low hiss. "Let's think of the positives. What else do we have? Anything on Androus's brother or sister?"

He shook his head. "I did get a hold of a picture of Walter Androus, though." He pulled another picture out of his breast pocket and handed it to her.

"What else've you got in that pocket?" she asked, looking at the face of Walter Androus.

"That's it, I'm afraid."

Androus wasn't at all what she'd expected. Unlike Alfred Ferguson, who looked like the thug he was, Androus actually looked like an intellect. He wore small, round rimless glasses and had a straight, thin nose, which had never been broken that she could see. He was thin with red hair. "He's definitely related to the guy in the picture I saw at Loeffler's. No doubt about it, that must have been a photo of Ben."

Greg motioned to the picture of Androus. "You think he's involved?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Walter or Ben?"

"Ben."

"Involved? As in, not dead?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. Maggie admitted she never saw him dead. Walter was the one who went to New York and called her. What if he isn't dead?"

"But why?" Greg countered. "And why would no one ever have seen them together in Palo Alto?"

She thought about how much alike they looked, but not close enough to be mistaken for each other. Not by people who saw them often enough, anyway.

"Let's check into the circumstances of the death. Do we know what year it was?"

"The interview said 1972 and she said he'd died six years before, so 1966 or 1967. Maybe '65. Can you get to New York records?" she asked, knowing people would be watching his every move.

He shrugged. "I can get someone to call it in if I have to." She could tell from his voice that he was frustrated. "You find anything at his house besides the receipt?"

"The receipt and the body. That was about it."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I need to track down this P.I." She thought about what Tim had told her. "And I need to switch hotels. Our friend is giving out my current room number."

"Where are you staying?"

"I was at the Red Roof Inn. I don't know where I'll go next." She tucked her hair behind her ears and hated the feeling that it, like everything, was getting out of control. "Something better break. If it doesn't, there's nowhere to go."

"It will. Something has to." He sat up in the seat. "I'll get in touch with New York and find out what happened to Ben Androus. Chris was going to see if she could take another look at Androus's file. I was going to meet her at her house at four. Will you come?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I should."

"Where will you be?"

She shook her head.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me, Kincaid. We both know you'd be dumb not to have someone watch your backside. And you're not dumb."

"You should go. James hears you're down here and he'll have your ass."

"I'll cover my own ass, thank you very much."

Greg opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pen and a folded napkin. He wrote something on it and handed it to her. It was an address and phone number. "We're going to talk about the case. Chris isn't going to let us down. Somehow, I'm betting you'll be there."

She smiled. "I'll try."

Out of the car, Greg leaned over and peered back inside. "You can catch this guy, but it's stupid to do it alone. Stupid and dangerous. Meet me at Chris's. We'll form a game plan then." When she didn't answer, he backed away. "Four o'clock. Don't make me wait."

Alex drove away, deciding her partner knew her as well as anyone. And at least he was thinking clearly. She was dumb to believe she could handle this guy alone. He'd done nothing but handle
her
so far.

She went straight back to the library and got on the Internet. She searched for N.T. Security and got a bunch of hits. Some were ones she'd already seen, but most were new, so she looked through them until she'd reached the last. Not a single reference to a private investigator. Refusing to give up, she tried variations of the name until she'd run out of options. Where the hell had N.T. gone?

She remembered the reference to SQ and plugged that into the Internet. Nothing useful.

Gathering her things, she relinquished the computer to an agitated-looking high school student and headed out the door. She had considered not showing up at Chris's, but the hope that either she or Greg had come up with something was all she had left. Revving the engine, she glanced at the clock on her dash. She had about forty minutes before Greg was meeting Chris.

Before she pulled from the curb, she hesitated. The logical thing to do was to change hotels, but something made her pause. What was the killer going to do with the knowledge of where she was staying? It didn't seem likely that he would kill her. He'd had multiple chances to do that already. If she stayed in the same hotel, maybe he'd approach her again, which would give her a chance to catch him. If she was ready for him, she just might be able to do it. If she moved, she'd risk losing him. She couldn't lose him.

She thought about Alfred. Was he going to be the messenger again? The more she thought about his history, the more she was convinced this wasn't Alfred's game. He was someone else's pawn. Maybe he was getting paid or maybe he was being blackmailed, but someone else was calling the shots.

Alex pulled away from the curb and drove slowly around Palo Alto rather than going to her hotel room. She had paid for another night. She was staying. Let him come get her. She'd be waiting.

As she drove, she kept a close eye on the rearview mirror. It was cop habit, but it had never felt more real than now, especially since he knew where she was staying. He must have followed her, but she hadn't noticed him on the drive down, and that fact made her uncomfortable. She was trained to notice things. She didn't know how she could have missed him, unless he was trained to keep from being noticed.

She had to be careful. Her own attentiveness and some fast answers were the only things that could save her. She wasn't used to depending on luck, but she could sure use some now.

* * *

She drove down Chris's street and pulled to the curb a block from her house. Suddenly, everyone's motivation for helping had to be considered. Greg would be there, she reminded herself. And she needed whatever information they had gathered.

She put the car in gear and had started down the street when she spotted a figure walking along the sidewalk toward her. The walk, slightly bowlegged, reminded her of James. Braking, she stared. It couldn't be James.

The growing darkness shielded his face. She scanned the street in the direction he had come. Squinting, she caught sight of a car parked on the street. A black Toyota like her brother's. And beside it stood a man in a trench coat who looked just like Lombardi. Jesus, it
was
Lombardi.

They were here to pick her up. Had Chris called them? Or had they somehow discovered Greg was her cousin and guessed that she would know where Alex was? Either way, Alex wasn't sticking around to find out.

Her heart pounding, she watched Lombardi turn up toward one of the houses. A woman came out the door and looked down the street. Alex recognized the blond hair, the even gestures. Chris.

Alex shrank down in her seat. Her stomach sank like a lead weight. James was there, come to arrest her himself.

The two disappeared from view and Alex exhaled, giving them time to get inside before she left. On five she would move. "One. Two. Three. Four."

She eased on the gas. She'd gotten halfway off the curb when she saw James come running down the front steps. Chris was only two steps behind him, waving at her frantically.

Chapter 26

Alex threw her Honda into reverse and maneuvered backwards to give herself room to turn the car around. She sped back, then shifted into first gear and peeled off.

The sound of fists pounding on the trunk made her jump. Her foot slipped off the clutch, and the car stalled.

She cursed, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the keys.

James was at the window. "Alex!"

She ignored him, glancing down at the inside of the door. The passenger door was locked. With a quick breath, she turned back to the keys.