Vanished in the Night (20 page)

Gary chuckled. Right. He’d never had anything remotely like a lady friend. Well, maybe that wasn’t quite true. It was the Pop-Tart who’d kept him up last night, wasn’t it? She was almost like a lady friend, wasn’t she? He nodded. “You got me.”

Mr. O.’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Good for you, Gary. It’s good to see you coming out of your shell.” He walked off toward the teachers’ lounge.

Gary rubbed his face hard, trying to get the blush he felt on his cheeks to fade. Could the Pop-Tart be his lady friend? She was pretty, there was no doubt about that. He liked that she was small, almost dainty. He looked at his hands and tried to imagine what they’d look like touching her.

He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see them holding hands. He shut his eyes and tried harder to imagine it.

Instead of seeing them holding hands or seeing his hands caressing her face or her hair, he saw them
wrapped around her throat. That he could see quite clearly.

That was definitely the way he wanted to touch the Pop-Tart.

“He kissed you? That’s it?” Tina stared at her, all agog. She had come directly to Veronica’s condo after her shift, and they were sitting on the couch drinking the tea that Tina had wanted to make her before. And, yes, it had a healthy dose of whiskey in it.

“Well, yeah. What did you think? That I’d sweep all the dishes onto the floor and do him right on the kitchen table?” Lord knows, she’d considered it. She was pretty sure he had, too. She’d seen the heat in his eyes and felt it in his kiss.

“Well, it would make a much better story than ‘he kissed me over the dirty breakfast dishes and then we talked and he left.’” Tina raised her arms over her head and stretched.

A better story, true. A better choice? Hardly. “Good story or not, I’m just telling you. I’m considering giving up giving up on cops.”

“Way to stand by your guns, missy. One hot kiss and you’re a melted puddle of tough-talking nurse.” Tina laughed her dirty laugh. It was somewhere between a throaty chuckle and an outright guffaw and
it make Veronica feel better deep down in her heart to hear it.

Still, it was more than just that incredibly hot kiss that had her reconsidering. “He seems different.”

“He’s clearly a better kisser than the last one. What did you call him? Lollipop?” Tina took another healthy sip of tea and yawned.

Veronica shuddered. Lollipop. Or maybe it had been Lizard Tongue. Either way, it hadn’t been a compliment. Veronica had felt like he was licking her mouth like a piece of candy on a stick, and not in a good way. “That’s not the only thing.”

Tina snickered. “It sure isn’t. I’ve watched that man walk away. He has quite a few other things in his favor.”

“Not just that, either. He doesn’t seem to have the control issues that usually come with cop territory. He treats me like I’m a . . . person.”

“Person, eh? Sounds really romantic,” Tina teased.

Veronica frowned. No, but maybe romance wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Maybe it had never been what she wanted. She’d found it awfully easy to dismiss guys for any number of small faults. Bad kissers. Torn fingernails. Dirty cars.

A few, she’d dismissed with good reasons. The ones who drank too much. The ones who seemed like they might explode at any second. She’d attended enough
Al-Anon meetings to know that she didn’t need to marry her daddy. “You know what I mean.”

To her surprise, Tina smiled. “I do. And it’s about time.”

“Speaking of which, it’s about time for you to go home to bed. You look like you’re about to fall asleep right here on my couch.”

“It
is
really comfy. You could just throw a blanket over me. I really like that fleecy one you keep at the foot of your bed.” Tina smiled, then yawned.

“I will if you want, but you know you’ll be happier if you go home.”

Tina got up. “You’re right. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” She always was, after all.

“Lock up after me, okay?”

Veronica laughed despite herself. “That’s what Zach said.”

“So what is it?” Zach pressed Little Hillary in the crime lab.

She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s a box, McKnight. What does it look like?”

“You know what I mean.”
Now
she’s got a sense of humor? He glared at her.

She straightened up. “Stop breathing down my neck, okay? It’s not going to make anything go any faster. You want this to be solid evidence?”

He nodded.

“Then back the fuck up and let me do this right,” she said politely.

He knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. He backed away and leaned against a desk next to Frank.

“So tell me again,” Frank said, rolling a toothpick in the side of his mouth. “Where did you find this box?”

Zach didn’t want to go into it with Frank in too much detail. It felt . . . private. It had only been a kiss, but it had been a damn fine kiss. “On Veronica Osborne’s porch.”

“And you found it when?” Frank’s voice was as calm as if he was asking Zach what the weather report was.

“When I was leaving her place.” Accurate but not overly informative was often the best way.

“So someone left it on her porch while you were there?” Frank’s eyebrows lifted.

“Yes, Frank. Someone left it on the porch while I was inside her condo.” That part was embarrassing. Big, strong, protective police officer doesn’t even know it when someone leaves a box on the doorstep because he was too busy sucking face.

Frank continued, “And you didn’t hear it because you were doing what?”

“Cooking eggs.”

“And that’s not a euphemism for . . . you know?” Now Frank did look at him.

Who would use that as a euphemism for sex? Probably Frank. “No, Frank, it’s not a euphemism for anything. I made her food.”

“You’re losing your touch, big guy.” Frank smirked.

Little did he know. Zach smirked back. “Whatever you say, Frank.”

“The package is clean, guys,” Little Hillary said. “No prints on the outside. Someone either wiped it clean or wore gloves.”

“What’s inside it?” Zach asked from over at the counter. He wasn’t going to crowd her again. That was for sure.

“Come over here and look, you lazy bums. Do I have to tell you everything?” She put her hands on her hips and looked exasperated. Or maybe that was just how her face was. She looked exasperated a lot.

They walked over to the table. Little Hillary had pulled a photo out of the box, the same photo that Veronica Osborne had given them. It looked old, though. The edges were yellowed and some brown spots had formed in the lower-right-hand corner.

“Not exactly news-flash material,” Frank observed.

Disappointed, Zach started to turn away, frustration growing in his chest.

“Don’t you want to hear what’s on the B side, big
guy?” Little Hillary asked. “It’s got a good beat, and I think you can dance to it.”

Zach turned and she flipped it over. On the back of the photo, someone had written in a big loopy scrawl “Me and Pop-Tart. Summer 1990.”

Zach eyed the boxes of files without enthusiasm. There were more than twelve banker’s boxes stacked in his office, each one stuffed with moldy paper that chronicled the rise and fall of the Sierra School for Boys. He was hoping to find a list of staff or students who had been there when Max was. That would give him and Frank another set of leads to follow while the crime-scene techs still crawled around the property up in the Sierras.

So far there’d been more than one room that had a lot of blood sprayed around and a basement room that the techs were referring to as Semen Central. The place was like a chamber of horrors. Child molestation statutes of limitation were all over the map in California, but aggravated rape had no statute of limitations whatsoever. This case could get ugly fast.

“So are you going to tell her about the box?” Frank asked.

“I think I have to. Somebody was on her property. She probably shouldn’t be staying there.”

“The department’s not going to pay for her to be relocated or even stay in a hotel,” Frank observed.

Zach knew that. The state had driven off a cliff more than a year ago, fiscally speaking, and they were still doing the frantic Wile E. Coyote air dance. “I’ll talk to her. We’ll work something out.”

He put on a pair of gloves and opened up the box of files closest to him, and the smell of mildew wafted up at him. He couldn’t read the tabs on most of the manila folders; the writing had been faded by time and the elements.

“When are you going to tell her?” Frank asked, opening his own box and making a face at the smell.

“I figured I’d stop by after work.” He glanced up at the clock. It was midafternoon already.

“She expecting you?” Frank pulled out a stack of folders and set them on his desk.

Zach pulled out his own stack. “I have no idea.”

Frank gave him a hard look. “Ladies like it if you call first.”

“Which wife did you learn that from?” The papers inside the folders seemed to all deal with insurance and maintenance on various vehicles. Zach peered at the signature lines, trying to make out a name. He supposed it could be Aaron Joiner. These were no help.

Frank thought for a moment. “I think I learned that from Mary.” He sighed. “She always was a class act.”

Zach shook his head. Frank still had a soft spot in his heart for wife number one. “Well, if Mary said it was the right thing to do. I’ll give her a call before I leave and let her know I’m on my way over.”

Zach pulled out a folder from another box and flipped it open. It was marked
STAFF DIRECTORY
. He held his breath as he checked the date.

“Found it!” Zach’s fists pumped in the air.

“What? What’d you get?” Frank sat up alertly.

“I found a box that has records from 1990 and 1991.” A sweet moment of success.

“Nice!” Frank rolled his office chair over.

Zach pulled out a stack of folders and handed them to Frank, then placed another stack on his own desk. “You look through those and I’ll look through these.”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything, I guess. We’ll have to start looking for current addresses. At least we’ll have some idea as to who exactly was at that school the same time Max was.” Zach opened the first file. The papers were hard to read. The type had faded and some of the ink had been smeared by damp.

“Hey, Zach,” Frank called from his desk. “Does the name Susan Tennant mean anything to you?”

Zach pushed back from his desk and thought for a second. “Yeah, sure. She was that weird autoerotic death that Josh and Elise caught, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. That was what I was thinking, too. Guess what?” Frank peered at him from over his reading glasses. “She was the nurse in residence at the Sierra School for Boys the year that Max was there.”

A chill ran up Zach’s spine.

Ryan Arnott opened his door for the second time that night, and was again confronted by a face from the past. Just like the first time, it took him a second to place the face. What the hell? Was it some sick school reunion?

A right hook broke his nose and he went down like a bowling pin. What the hell!

Panic set in but before he could begin to fight, his legs and hands were bound. He was pretty sure that whatever was happening wasn’t going to be good. “Don’t do this, man. Leave now and I won’t say anything to anybody.”

The man just grabbed Ryan by his bound ankles and pulled him down the hallway toward the bathroom, letting Arnott’s head bang against the floor. Arnott’s insides turned to Jell-O. He tried to struggle, but between being bound and the blood from his broken nose pouring back into his throat, he wasn’t getting anywhere.

“Help!” he screamed, even though he was way too far from his neighbors for anyone to hear.

The man shoved a washcloth in his mouth to silence him, then walked away.

Arnott heard the water going on in the tub and tears streamed down his face. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming. The man came back and loomed over him. Arnott tried to plead through the washcloth, but he could only get out muffled whimpers.

Finally, the man spoke to him. “I remembered you as being taller,” he said as he dragged him toward the tub.

Zach had taken Frank’s advice and called Veronica to ask if he could stop by after work. He hadn’t said why, and he felt a little bad now since she had clearly put on mascara and lip gloss.

“So let me get this straight. You brought me to my house, made me eggs, kissed me until my head spun, walked out the door, picked up a package addressed to me, and took it straight to the crime lab?”

“Yep. That would pretty much cover it.” Until her head spun? Good to know he wasn’t the only one who thought that kiss was off the charts.

“The package wasn’t addressed to you. Isn’t there some law against tampering with other people’s mail?” She crossed her arms over her chest, which was probably supposed to look intimidating, but which plumped
up her breasts so they peeked out of the V at her neckline. He’d happily get her mad any day for that view.

“Not applicable. That package never came anywhere near a United States post office. Somebody hand-delivered it.”

That shook her a little. She sank down in her chair. “Who would leave things on my doorstep? Who would even have a copy of that photo?”

He sat down across from her. “I don’t know yet. I took it to the lab so no possible evidence on it was destroyed.”

“And was there any evidence?” She looked hopeful, and he hated to disappoint her.

“No. Except that we know whoever did it was exceptionally careful to make sure that there was no evidence on it. We’re dealing with someone smart, someone organized, someone who’s willing to take the time to do it right.” Which did not sound like the person who had killed George Osborne. Whoever had done that had struck out first, and then tried to cover it up. But there’d been two people at that scene.

She shivered. He didn’t blame her; it scared him a little, too. The vast majority of criminals weren’t all that bright. Most people smart enough to be criminal masterminds went into legitimate jobs and made their money without risk to their freedom.