The Kill (43 page)

Dario Reyes stepped out from behind the door as it swung closed behind them. He draped his arm around the girl’s shoulders. Jaime leaned his back against the door.

Abigale’s heart pounded in her throat. She eased out a breath. “Hello, Dario. Thanks for meeting with me.”

Suspicion and hope clashed in his dark eyes. “You his niece, the guy who get murdered?”

She nodded.

“I did no kill him.”

“But you were there, in your car?”

“
Sí
. I run out of gas. I wait for my friend to come get me.”

“Tell me what you saw,” Abigale said.

Dario glanced at the girl, who gave him an encouraging nod. “I don’t see who do it. I just hear the shot.”

“Did you see a vehicle?”

Dario nodded. “
Sí
.
Dos
. The sports car and the SUV.”

The chill that ran through Abigale had nothing to do with her wet clothes. “Tell me about the sports car.”

“It was BMW.”

“Was the sports car heading into Longmeadow when you saw it?”

“No. Back down St. Louis Road. To Middleburg.” He shrugged. “I was no feeling well, so I close my eyes. Just chill and wait for my ride. The guy gunned the engine. It make me look and I see him drive off.”

Abigale held her next question for a moment, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. “Did you see the sports car leave before or after you heard the shot?”

“Before,” Dario answered without hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “An hour maybe.”

“You saw the BMW leave Longmeadow an hour before you heard the shot?”

“
Sí
.”

Relief gushed through Abigale.
Dario could prove Manning was innocent
. “Tell me what you saw after the sports car drove away.”

“I fall asleep; when I wake up it almost dark. My friend he should be there by then, so I think maybe he get lost. I take out my cell to call him. That’s when I hear the shot.”

“Just one shot?”

“
Sí
. From a rifle. I figure some guy shoot a deer.”

“What happened next?”

“
Nada
. I try to call my friend, but my phone battery dead. So I just chill.”

“You mentioned earlier that you saw an SUV. When was that?”

“Maybe ten minute.”

“Ten minutes after you heard the shot?” Abigale asked.

“
Sí
.”

“Was the vehicle driving into or out of Longmeadow?”

“Out.”

That had to be the killer
. “Can you describe the SUV?”

Dario shrugged. “No really. It was dark.”

“Do you remember anything? The shape of the headlights?”

“The guy don’t have his lights on when he drive out.”

“But you could tell it was an SUV?”

“
Sí
. He stop and close the gate after he drive out. Even in the dark, I can tell it is SUV.”

Abigale thought of Larry’s car. “You’re sure it couldn’t have been a Ford Focus?”

“No, it was SUV.”

So it wasn’t Larry
. “Can you describe the driver?”

Dario shook his head.

“Nothing at all?”

“No.”

“But you’re sure it was a man?”

Dario thought about it. “No.”

Damn it
. He had to have seen something. Even if the headlights were turned off, the interior light would have gone on when he opened the door. Abigale asked, “When the driver opened the door to get out and close the gate, did you see the inside of the vehicle?”

He shook his head.

“Didn’t the interior light come on?”

“No.”

Abigale wondered fleetingly whether Dario was fabricating the story about the SUV to draw suspicion away from himself. “If it was too dark to see the car or the driver, how were you able to see him—or her—close the gate?”

Dario said, “I don’t see him do it. But my friend pull over by the gate when he pick me up and I see it closed. So I figure the guy in the SUV must have close it when he get out of his car.”

“And then he drove off down the road without his headlights?”

“
Sí
. He turn them on before he get to the curve.”

“You couldn’t see the vehicle then? The color, anything?”

“I think it was dark color.”

Abigale thought of Tiffanie Jenner’s black Mercedes SUV. “Could it have been a Mercedes?”

He shook his head. “It no have Xenon headlights.”

“I thought you said the headlights were turned off.”

“
Sí
, when he first drive out. But then he turn them on.”

“Right, but the vehicle was driving away from you then. So how do you know what kind of headlights it had?”

“Xenon headlights, they light up the whole road blue.” Frustration danced in Dario’s eyes. “Look, I can no describe it any better. That’s all I see. Just basic SUV. No fancy headlights, no roof lights, no jacked-up wheels.”

Abigale figured she’d pushed the SUV questions as far as she could, even though she hadn’t learned much. A basic SUV. That narrowed it down as much as describing a house in the Swiss Alps as a chalet. “Did you see or hear anything else?”

Dario shook his head.

“And you didn’t see the SUV drive into Longmeadow. Just out.”

“
Sí
.”

So, had it been at Longmeadow all along? Even when Manning was there? Or had it driven in when Dario was asleep? Abigale regarded him for a moment. Or, was Dario making the whole thing up? “Why didn’t you go to work the next day?” she asked.

“I was sick. I puke my guts out all night.” His expression hardened. “Bad timing for me,
sí?
”

“Running didn’t help any. You could have cleared it up if you’d talked to the authorities.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “That’s no how it work in my world. The cops, they would have throw me in jail.”

The girl slipped her arm around Dario’s waist. “Miguel say if Dario tell you what he see you can help him.”

Abigale nodded. She needed to convince Dario to turn himself in. He might not have seen enough to identify Uncle Richard’s killer or help them find Larry, but he could clear Manning.

T
he heater in Miguel’s truck didn’t work, and by the time Abigale climbed back in the Subaru at Big Lots her hand shook so violently she had a hard time inserting the key in the ignition. “Come on, come on,” she muttered through chattering teeth. The engine roared to life and she turned the Subaru’s heater on full blast, ignoring the cold air that gusted in her face. It would heat up soon enough. She fished her cell out of her bag and pressed the speed-dial button for Manning’s house.

Manning didn’t answer so she called his mobile, feeling a pang of disappointment when it went directly to voicemail. She tapped impatiently on the steering wheel while she waited for the beep.

“Where are you? I have some really good news. I can’t wait to tell you. I’m on my way home. Call me.”

Abigale disconnected the call and fingered the phone. She debated whether to call Margaret’s to see if Manning was there, but decided against it. If he was at Margaret’s and had deliberately ignored her call on his cell, he was no doubt having a conversation she shouldn’t interrupt. The cell chimed in her hand and she saw she had a text message. She thumbed to her messages, frowning when she saw it was from Manning. Odd. He’d never texted her before.

She opened the message:
Went to PA with Margaret to look at some hounds. Not sure when I’ll be back
.

Pennsylvania? She typed:
Did you get my message? I have good news
.

The windows in the car had fogged up, and Abigale slipped the knob to defrost while she waited for Manning to respond.

What’s the good news?

She hesitated. She definitely didn’t want to tell him about her meeting with Dario in a text message.
Can you call me?

Several minutes passed before she received a reply.
Can’t. Bad cell service. Can only text
.

Damn it.
Never mind. I’ll tell you when you get home. How late will you be?

We’re staying overnight. Please let Smitty know. And can you feed Duchess? She’s at Margaret’s. Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow
.

What the hell? Since when had Manning started referring to his mother as “Margaret” instead of “Mother”? And why in the world would he and Margaret decide on a whim to go off to Pennsylvania to look at hounds? It made no sense. Unless…She remembered Margaret telling her she had tried to get Manning to seek treatment for his drinking at a facility in Pennsylvania. Had Margaret convinced Manning to check himself in?

“
I
sn’t that nice! Abigale has some good news to tell you, Manning,” Thompson said, snapping Manning’s cell phone shut. “You don’t suppose she could be in the family way, do you?”

“Fuck you, Thompson.”

“I’ll take a pass on that. You’re not my type.”

Manning and Margaret were still bound on opposite sides of the room, but Thompson had removed the duct tape from their mouths. Manning exchanged a look with his mother.
Jesus Christ!
Thompson had gone off the deep end. Before Thompson had texted Abigale, he’d ranted for a good ten minutes about how no one in the hunt appreciated him. How Richard had always been one to “take, take, take,” giving nothing in return, so he had decided to do a little “taking” of his own.

Thompson came right out and admitted that he’d been embezzling money from the hunt. He’d started out with the small stuff, paying vet and shoeing expenses for his personal horses out of the hunt bank account, then saw the opportunity to siphon off “more meaningful” sums by setting up a separate race account. He told them Richard had grown suspicious, confronting him about it at Longmeadow, and Thompson had shot him. Thompson showed no remorse about killing Richard, even seemed to believe that Richard had deserved it. In fact, the only regret he’d expressed was that he’d had to leave Richard’s hunting rifle behind because it was too identifiable—he didn’t want to risk getting caught with it.

Manning studied the brash, haunted look in Thompson’s eye. Thompson’s behavior reminded him of the cocaine addicts he’d been around in Los Angeles. Arrogant, emboldened, yet paranoid at the same time. He never would have pegged Thompson as a cokehead. He seemed too straitlaced for that. But if Thompson did have a cocaine habit, it could be what had dragged him underwater financially. Or maybe he’d turned to coke to escape his financial troubles. Not that it mattered. Either way, they were screwed. Margaret had tried to reason with Thompson, talk him into releasing them, but he’d just laughed at her.

Thompson stuffed Manning’s cell phone in his back pant pocket and grabbed the roll of duct tape. “I asked Abigale to feed Duchess for you, Margaret. Wasn’t that nice of me?”

“Thank you,” Margaret replied in a measured tone, obviously trying not to rile him. “You know how much she means to me.”

“I do. And I will see to it that she’s cared for when you’re gone. You have my word.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think you can get away with this,” Manning said. Margaret shot him a warning glare, but Manning didn’t care. They weren’t going to talk Thompson out of killing them by being nice to him. But if he could get Thompson to reveal how he planned to kill them, they might have a chance. At least they’d be prepared. “What are you going to do, fake another botched robbery? You really think you can pull that off twice?”

Thompson tilted his head as if considering Manning’s remark. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Given the fact you both warned Abigale not to stay here alone for fear Richard’s murderer might decide to burglarize the house. But I challenged myself to come up with a more creative solution for your demise.”

“Yeah? You’re a smart guy, Thompson, but you won’t be able to think your way out of this one. Someone will come looking for us. Half a dozen people knew we had a meeting here with you today. My car’s parked out front, for Christ’s sake.”

“Was,” Thompson said. “Your car
was
parked out front. I’ve taken care of it.”

He ripped off a strip of duct tape with his teeth, plastered it across Manning’s mouth. “Ah, that feels good. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to shut you up, cut off your cocky remarks.”