The Devil Makes Three (17 page)

“I told you that place was great,” he said with only a hint of sarcasm to his voice. “Where else do they shower you with food?”

“That’s terrible!” I laughed. “And what’s worse: I really need that gum now. Not that it will do any good. I’m going to smell this way for the rest of the night.”

He nodded and produced a stick of Big Red for me from the inner pocket of his cheesy jacket and took another for himself. “Ah, relief.” He sighed.

I laughed once more and brushed a bit of stray tortilla chip from his hair.

“I was going to suggest we could go for a walk, but now I’m not so sure. The strays in the area might follow us. Not to mention the homeless.”

“In this neighborhood? A walk?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He looked around innocently. The sidewalk was wide with no parking strip between us and the cars. The road was thick with Saturday night traffic. I couldn’t help but notice that he walked curbside, in the manner of traditional chivalry. The buildings on the street were tall and lit by mostly neon signs. Between them ran dark alleys teeming with opportunity for trouble. Nervously, I waited for one of the homeless people Collin joked about to jump out and mug us.

“You said you live around here.” It was out before I knew I’d even thought it and regretted it immediately. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was inviting myself in.

“Yeah. Just around the corner here, then another right and you’re on my street.”

We reached his car and he opened the door for me. Sliding in, I used the time he took to circle to the driver’s side to compose my thoughts and pull myself together.

“Do you mind if we stop there, before I take you to get cleaned up?” he asked, putting the key in the ignition. “I’d really like to get into something a bit less pungent.”

“Okay.”

Surprisingly, once we were off the main road the neighborhood changed to large houses with huge yards and wrought-iron gates in some cases. The road was longer than he had led me to believe and we drove for at least a mile on the winding path, until the road came to a T. Turning right, he pulled into the driveway of a house that was typical for the area, yet lacking in something. I couldn’t figure out what it was. The garage opened and he pulled inside, parking in the middle of the vacant space. The door closed behind us, plunging us into an eerie sort of silence.

“You look like you’re going to bolt.”

“What?” I turned to face him, well aware my eyes darted around, searching for that bag of hair or a cat carcass that might serve as a red flag and hint to flee wildly.

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to you. If you want, you can wait here.”

I shook my head curtly, determined to face the possibilities that lay only moments away with bravery and stoicism. Getting out of the car, I walked around the front to the door to the house. He followed closely and opened the door for me, ushering me inside.

The room we entered was bigger than my kitchen, but was just a mud room. A pair of shoes sat under a bench and a coat hung on a hook by the wall. A sink, clean and hinting at uselessness sat on the opposite wall.

He dropped his jacket in the sink and kicked off his shoes, then progressing forward at his insistence, we entered a large kitchen, shining with chrome and smelling of herbs. The scent caught me off guard and I searched for the source. Curiously, it seemed to fit him.

“Do you own or rent?” I asked, trying to place a piece of the puzzle.

“I’m leasing. The owners have moved to New York.”

“I see. So does that red flag I’m looking for happen to be a cleaning fetish?”

“No.” He chuckled. “I have a housekeeper.”

I ran my hand over the cold counter and progressed past the kitchen into the great room. The furniture was puffy and leather, the lighting dark and the carpet thick and cushy. It was obvious the room was rarely used.

“So… where do you live?”

He stared for a moment and broke into a smile. “I spend most my time upstairs.”

“What’s upstairs?”

“My office, an entertainment room and the bedrooms. Would you like to see?”

“That’s probably not wise.”

“Why is that?”

“We haven’t laid ground rules yet, and without them, I might be the one to get up and run for the hills this time.”

He grimaced. “Very funny. Alright. You wait here. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I’ve got to wash this cheese out of my hair.”

Fifteen minutes later he returned, looking fresh and completely edible, even though he was minus the Mexican toppings.

“Well now I feel decidedly filthy.” I gestured to my shirt with splatters of enchilada sauce on the front. “Do we have time for me to go home and change?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing real rigorous planned.”

“Afterwards I know a great place for us to take that walk you suggested.”

He nodded and snagged his pea coat from the mud room as we made our way back out into the garage. Pulling out of the driveway, I couldn’t help but study the house once more, memorizing its every detail. It was elegant in an understated sort of way with immaculate landscaping, and fit his personality to perfection.

So what did my apartment say about me?

#

“Are you coming up?” I asked, digging around in my purse for my keys. “Or are you waiting here?”

He had parked in my spot and now stared at the dark lot. What he found so exciting, I didn’t know, but he didn’t answer. Looking up I found him staring at an ample brunette walking into my building.

“Hello?” My tone lost its good humor, but I suddenly wasn’t in the mood to care.

“Do you know her?” Collin asked.

“No. Why?” I glanced from him to the building door.

“Her name is Ginger Rogers.”

“Ginger Rogers?” I couldn’t help but snicker in derision, my suspicions assuaged by his tone. He didn’t sound particularly pleased to see her.

“Agent Rogers, to most people.”

“Agent?” My derision melted into foreboding.

“Yes. She and Cohen were partners for a time.”

“How do you know?”

“I met her once before. He brought her home for Christmas one year.”

“Home for Christmas? That’s weird.”

He shrugged. “They were separated by the department head shortly after that.”

“Oh. That kind of partners.”

“Yes. What do you think she’s doing here?”

It didn’t take much for me to guess her motives. After all, the day went fairly well. I’d only had enchilada sauce spilt on me. Destiny was certain to come along and throw some sort of chink into my night. “Perhaps I’d better go up alone. We wouldn’t want her to see us together.”

Collin pulled his gaze from the door and stared hard at me, then cursed and shoved the car into park. “Why would she be here for you?”

I cringed. “I don’t know that she is. But don’t you think it’s better to err on the side of caution? After all, she could be here at Cohen’s request, to try and finesse some unbeknownst information out of me in a woman’s sort of way.”

He grimaced and nodded. “Alright. I’ll wait here. But you had better come back.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back. Just… listen to the news or something.”

Getting out of the car, I strolled to the door of the building, trying to look unconcerned while my every instinct said to flee for China. Why would another FBI Agent show up at my place? Were there more waiting for me up in my hallway? Maybe she was Cohen’s backup, in case I resisted arrest.

The elevator ride was simultaneously hours long and seconds fast. When the doors opened, Hawkeye sat staring at me expectantly from the ficas plant while Agent Rogers knocked on my door.

“Can I help you?” I asked, stepping out of the elevator and scooping an unsuspecting cat into my arms. Perhaps it would make me look more innocent to cuddle the beast, I thought, grasping at straws. He, however, wasn’t going for the cuddlage and demonstrated it profusely by clawing at my shirt.

Agent Rogers turned and sized me up with a practiced, professional eye. “Are you Gretchen Tanner?”

“Who’s asking?”

She pulled a badge from her pocket and flashed it at me then stepped aside from the door. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“What about?”

“The murder of Raul Martins.”

I grimaced and stuck my key in the lock. “I’ve already told you people what I know. I never saw the guy after he got out of prison. And no, I have no information that will help you. Does that answer your questions?”

“Someone has already spoken to you about this?” she sounded surprised, which surprised me. I was under the impression that emotion was a liability in an interrogation.

“Well yeah. Like a month ago.”

“Who?”

Her genuine lack of knowledge on the subject made me hesitant to answer. “I don’t remember his name. Some guy. He said he was a federal agent.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t remember. Average really. He wore a suit.” Pushing my door open I stepped inside and dropped Hawkeye on his chair then turned back to the door. “Was he not the investigating agent?”

She stepped over my threshold and looked around, then back to me. “There are a few of us on this case, though no one said anything about questioning you before.”

“Well, it wasn’t really just me. He showed up at the funeral home. I happened to be there at the time. He talked to my father before I got there. He wanted to know if either of us had seen Martins before he was killed. We hadn’t and that was that.”

“Oh.” She nodded, but confusion still filtered across her countenance. “I see. Well I have some new questions to ask you, specifically.”

“Why me? I’ve told you I don’t know anything.”

Her tone became somewhat harder and her back straightened. “Ms. Tanner, could you tell me if you’ve ever purchased a fire arm from an illegal source?”

They knew. They knew everything. They had somehow pulled one of my prints off the gun and tied it to me. Corbin, you had better save me now, I prayed. 

“Why are you asking me this? I think I have a right to know. Do I need a lawyer?”

Agent Rogers tapped her foot on the floor in an unconscious manner. “Two nights ago a gentleman by the nickname of Richard the Shark was arrested. The agents involved found numerous illegal handguns in his possession at that time. Some of these handguns were discovered to have been stolen from various houses that had gotten burgled in the last year. He was found to have guns in his possession that were stolen from the same house that one of Martins’ murder weapons was stolen from. This leads us to believe that the murderer purchased an illegal weapon from this thief at some time after the house was burgled and prior to Martins’ murder.”

So Richard got arrested, I thought, remembering how uncomfortable he made me in Criminology class. “So why ask me? No one else available tonight?” I asked.

“When we discovered the connection, we questioned the burglar about his customers. He gave us a description of a young woman, early twenties with long blond hair that had purchased a Smith and Wesson .38 Special from him at the start of December. He said she paid him in cash, but when she pulled out her wallet he glimpsed her ID. He didn’t catch her first name, but her last name was Tanner.”

“And you believed him?”

“We have no reason not to.”

“Other than the fact that he’s a criminal and bound to say anything that will excite you, providing it might make his stay in the pen a little easier.”

“Yes, but why that description? He could have described anyone. And yet, he described you: someone who has a previous connection with the murder victim.”

“What are you saying? Stop beating around the bush. You think I killed Martins?”

“I think there is something you’re not telling me,” said Rogers quietly.

Corbin, damn you, I thought. He had told me not to worry and I’d believed him when I could have been making plans for Mexico.

“Did Martins approach you at the funeral home?” Rogers continued. “Did he threaten you in any way?”

I considered my options. I could continue to deny everything and be unresponsive, I could crack and confess to the murder, or I could try to exonerate myself by playing the victim.

I chose the victim route. Especially since Corbin had been kind enough to plant an ace up my sleeve.

“He murdered my sister.”

“Along with another woman, yes,” said Rogers.

“And then he shows up at the funeral home one night,” I lied. “He’s drunk and high. He’s abrasive. He’s got at least 50 pounds and about four inches on me. How would you feel?”

“I’d be upset,” Rogers said, leaning forward.

“So I bought a gun. That doesn’t make me a murderer.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone? Your parents or the police?”

“The government set this guy free. You people let him out. Early, I might add. What the hell are police going to do for me? As for my parents, do you really think I wanted to dredge that up again for them? My mother needs a Valium and a drink with just the mention of Maren’s name, never mind Martins’. Talking about him could very well have sent her into cardiac arrest.”

She considered me for a moment, her gaze cold and hard like a pane of glass in winter. I had the suspicion that she was usually the bad cop in the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ scenario down at the office. She looked like she could throat punch someone and sip her coffee at the same time.

“That doesn’t explain the description of you buying the gun, and then it ending up at the crime scene,” she insisted. “How is that possible if you weren’t there?” She stepped further into the room, towards me.

“I don’t know, considering the gun I bought is still up in my closet where I shoved it after he was found dead.”

“You still have the gun?” she asked in disbelief.

I shifted my stance and nodded. “Of course. I didn’t need to carry it around with me anymore since somebody took care of the problem for me, but I didn’t feel comfortable just throwing it away where any criminal or child could pick it up.”

“Can I see it?”

“It’s in there.” I motioned down my hall to my room and for the first time noticed the package and flowers on my kitchen table. Unfortunately, so did she.