Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Read online

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  Steven knew differently. Someone had chosen her for a reason; otherwise, she would not be dead in the alley, her blood spilled on dirty concrete.

  Although clearly upset, her co-workers were willing to help. All, that is, except one young woman, who sat alone in the corner. He tried to question her about the evening, but she sat motionless, hardly blinking. He gave her a glass of water and several napkins, gently pressing the glass into her hand.

  “Drink. It will help.” The petite redhead, look dazed. “Are you Ginger?”

  “Yes…I’m sorry, I can’t think. I just keep seeing Deb.”

  “Seeing her?” he asked.

  “At the door, just before she left. It’s just so hard to believe. I can’t… are you sure she’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry, but yes. There’s no question.”

  “Horrible. I just want go home, lock the doors, and never leave again,” she whispered. “It’s just so…unbelievable.” She shivered, but continued talking. “Deb, she’s… she was my best friend. We traded hours all the time. What if I left early? What if I served a drink to the man… to the monster?”

  She grabbed his forearm, and her fingers were like ice. He could see the terror on her face.

  “I mean, if someone could kill Deb…” A fresh tear rolled down her cheek.

  Steven wanted to assure her he would find the person responsible, because he knew he would. But he wasn’t about to take the task before him lightly. He gently removed her hand from his arm, continuing the line of questions.

  “Can you tell me about your best friend?”

  “Sure.” Ginger used the napkins he gave her to blow her nose, took a deep breath, and relaxed. “I tried to stop her. I tried to get her to wait. I knew the road crews would have their work done by closing time, but she wouldn’t listen. She insisted on leaving. Why’d she have to leave early?

  Ginger looked at Steven as though he would be able to tell her.

  “Good question. Why did she leave before her shift ended?”

  “Deb was unhappy. She had a hard time adjusting to life under the midnight sun and then the cold and dark. She finally worked up the courage to tell Cole, but their schedules didn’t always allow them a lot of time together, Cole’s and Deb’s. She wanted to be honest with her husband, and a slow night gave her that opportunity. Chancy’s real nice about that, letting us leave early if it’s slow, and we have family stuff to take care of.”

  “Was she going to leave him?”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstand. Deb loved Cole. She would have followed him to the ends of the Earth. She wanted to get over her unhappiness. She just wanted them to take some of the money they’d been working so hard to save and go home for Christmas. She just wanted to see her family. Homesick is all, but afraid to tell him.”

  “What made her afraid?”

  “She didn’t want to disappoint him. She knew how much he loved Alaska, and she thought he’d know she hated it.”

  “What would’ve happened if he found out?”

  “I’m sure Cole would’ve understood. He’d have given her time. She’d only been in Alaska for eight months. She just wanted to take the little ones home for the holidays. Oh, dear, those poor little ones,” she said mournfully, tears gathering again.

  Steven gave her another cocktail napkin and waited. “Were you the last person to talk to Debra?”

  “I think so… no… Jim. He spoke to her. He has a crush on her and would have driven her home if she’d asked him to.”

  “Which one is Jim?”

  She glanced around the room and pointed him out. “He’s the guy at the corner table with his head in his hands. He’s devastated.”

  “Thank you. Miss Hardin? You’ve been a big help. Please be patient. We’ll need a formal statement.”

  He moved to Jim’s table. Pulling out a chair, he straddled it and stared coldly at the young man. Jim glared at him, his eyes red from tears. He blew his large nose on a used-up hanky and waited for Steven to begin.

  Steven looked him over. Average, pudgy, about twenty-two years old, his dark hair stuck out messily from under an Ohio State baseball cap, and the apron he wore had a variety of stains on it, some resembling blood. Quaid motioned another officer over.

  “Son, can you give me your apron.” The young man removed his apron, and the officer placed the heavily stained article in an evidence bag.

  “You think I killed Deb? Honest, I didn’t.”

  “Just routine. Jim, can you give me your last name?”

  “Lawrence. James Lawrence, sir.”

  “You spoke to Debra before she left?”

  “Yes, sir, just before she left. I cleared the snow off her car. She wasn’t ready for this weather. I didn’t want her out there in that blizzard.”

  “You cared about her.”

  “She worked hard, long hours, here and at home. She deserved a break. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more determined. She just wanted to buy the land and raise her kids.”

  “When you were cleaning her car off, did you see anyone?”

  Jim thought for a moment. “No sir, there wasn’t a soul in sight.”

  “What about in the bar, right before she left. Anyone leave right before or after her?” Steven asked, watching the young man closely.

  “Mr. Jacobs. He’s sixty something, comes in everyday on his way home from his janitor’s job, and gets a shot and a cup of coffee. Nice guy; he couldn’t hurt Deb. Besides, I think he teased the other girls till 10:30. Chancy let Deb go, but I should’ve driven her home. I never should’ve let her go out there all by herself!” Jim rubbed his temples.

  “You were in love with her?”

  Jim blushed. “No, not in love with her, I mean, sure, I liked her. We were both from Ohio, had a lot in common. I knew she was homesick. I had a bad case my first year, too. But Deb… she’d go out of her way to make you feel good, no matter how bad she felt. She cared about people. I admired her, but she loved Cole. Whenever someone here gave her a hard time—you know, tried to make a pass at her or ask her out—she’d tell him she’s married to an Army Ranger who served in Desert Storm, and he wouldn’t be pleased to learn someone’s harassed her on the job. That alone earned her the biggest tips, and when folks learned of her goals or saw pictures of those two little kids, well, Deb quickly earned the money for their new home. Special, that’s Deb. Why do they always take the special ones?” He rubbed his eyes.

  “Sorry, son, I wish I knew.” Steven gave Jim a minute to collect himself but observed him closely. His denial of affection did not ring true, and his tears almost seemed contrived. “Is there anyone who gave her a hard time?”

  “I’ve thought over and over about every customer who ever gave her any reason for grief, and I can’t picture any of them doing to Deb what they say…I just can’t.” He buried his head in his hands, but no tears fell.

  “Tell you what. Give me those names. Let me make that determination.” Steven gave him a pen and a piece of paper. “Write down every name you can think of, and we’ll check them all out.”

  “Yes, sir.” James perked up and took the pen.

  “Thank you, son.” Steven patted him on the shoulder.

  After an hour of questioning the staff and customers, Steven gathered his team and compared notes. “I have a young man suffering from unrequited love. He needs to go to the station for a formal statement, and the apron is possible evidence. Helen, what’ve you got?”

  “There may have been an affair—Debra’s husband, and her best friend. Ginger, the young lady you talked to,” Helen said, seeming proud of the information she’d retrieved.

  The sole woman on the homicide team, Helen worked hard and had proven herself on more than one occasion. Steven knew the respect she garnered. A former MP with the U. S. Army, wiry and strong, with a sense of humor that kept her in good standing with the other team members. Helen kept her shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair in a tight ponytail, with wispy tendrils constantly gathering around h
er eyes.

  “Explains why they traded hours instead of working the same schedule.” Steven added.

  “Exactly, and from what I understand, they used to work the same schedule, but, a few months ago, Ginger asked for different hours.”

  “Bring her in, too, and get on the phone to the chaplain. I want the husband brought in tonight. Tell him it’s to make the ID. Just make sure there’s someone to look after the children.”

  “I’m on it,” Helen said.

  “Good work. Maybe we’ll have this one solved before morning.” Steven closed his notebook and looked directly at Joe. “Well, Joe, what did you get from the customers?”

  Joe—a fifteen-year veteran cop, who had formerly worked the streets in New York—brought a good perspective, worked well with large crowds, and his observations were uncanny. He was all brawn and baldheaded, but call him Mr. Clean and you would regret your words. He had a Brooklyn brogue, leaving no doubt about his origins.

  “Sorry, Steve, not much, just the usual night out for a drink, first date, or standing dates. Two people were new to the place, and the rest are regulars, but I’ve information for follow-up if we need it. Most surprisingly, no one can imagine anyone threatening the girl.”

  Sergeant Anderson joined the group. “Have you solved it?”

  “Joe. Helen. Meet D. J. Anderson. First on scene, and I’ve asked him to join us.” After a nod of acknowledgment, Steven continued, “We do have a few good leads. What did the coroner say?”

  “The coroner’s taken her, and the alley’s been searched and cleared. No footprints, no trace evidence—at least not yet. The body may give up something. Oh, and no weapons have been located, but the coroner is betting on a hunting knife.” He looked at Steven. “Said he takes his coffee light and will see you in an hour.”

  Steven nodded.

  “We’re done outside, but we still have a few security tapes to collect. Chancy has given us permission to go over the entire establishment. Forensics is on scene.”

  “Good work. Let’s get this place cleared out.”

  On the way back to his office, he began planning his next step in anticipation of a long night. The computer would be helpful in finding background and financial information about the victim and suspects. Forensics would give him specific details about her death, but those reports would not be back for hours, maybe even days or weeks. The husband, always the first suspect, claimed to have an alibi—babysitting. He knew a face-to-face interview would tell him much more. Tonight, Steven would find out just how happy the Johnsons were, and just how good Cole’s alibi was. If there had been an affair, he would discover if Debra’s unhappiness, or maybe unrequited love, played a part in her death.

  Steven knew a long night awaited him, because getting those haunting green eyes out of his thoughts was becoming impossible.

  A gust of frigid air invaded Sarah’s fur-lined coat just as she opened the door to the lobby of her building. Once inside, she removed her jacket and gloves while she waited for the elevator. As Sarah stepped inside, a dark figure crossed the lobby, but didn’t catch her attention until just before the elevator doors shut. She thought she recognized the person and fumbled with the button to open the door again, but the elevator began its ascent. She shrugged and relaxed for the ride to the top, then exited and made her way down the hall.

  Sarah opened the door of her apartment, and a flash of red caught her eye. Kneeling to pick up the bright envelope just inside the entry, the shrill of the telephone startled her. She quickly raced to answer it. A sense of dread filled her. Calls after midnight usually brought bad news.

  Cautiously, she answered. “Hello?”

  There was no sound, not even breathing from the other side.

  “Hello?” she asked again, a little louder.

  The individual on the other end waited a few moments and then disconnected the call without saying a word. She checked her caller ID: Caller Unknown, with no number. Sarah put the card on her desk and walked to the fireplace to turn on the gas fire logs. She removed her boots and hung her jacket to dry.

  Still captivated by the weather, she continued to watch the clouds sail east over the city’s skyline and to the mountains. The panoramic view of Cook Inlet to the north and the city to the east gave Sarah a feeling of being on top of the world, and she would often stand for hours contemplating life. She watched the flashing lights converge downtown, and a sense of trepidation filled her.

  Despite the momentary distraction, her attention drifted back to the envelope. Impatient to know its contents, she sliced the envelope open with a silver letter opener from her desk. Sarah pulled out a red Valentine heart with the words Your Dead Valentine printed in large block letters. Her attention distracted by the horror, she missed the cocktail napkin form the Piano Bar that slid unnoticed into the file on her desk. The words Your Dead Valentine struck her like an arrow, and an anguish she thought she would never feel again stole her breath.

  Standing took too much effort, so Sarah settled onto the arm of the sofa. She looked the card over carefully and tried to figure out who would have made such a macabre introduction. Cut from construction paper, the letters were practiced and neat. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to create the simple card, but with no signature, Sarah had no clue by which to determine the sender.

  She stared at it, unable to grasp its meaning. Sarah went back to the windows and gazed out at the inlet, needing a familiar sight to calm her nerves. Her heart pumped furiously, and a cold sweat covered her. She attempted to achieve calm by gazing at Sleeping Lady Mountain across the harbor.

  She felt a connection with the mountain; its presence gave her peace. Mt. Susitna acquired the name ‘Sleeping Lady’, because its shape resembled a maiden at rest. Legend said the young woman came from a tribe of giants that occupied the land in a bygone age, and, when warring factions required her groom to negotiate a peace settlement, she lay down to sleep, and awaited his return. He died in the war, and no one wanted to awaken her to give her the news. Sarah empathized with the story.

  When she first visited the condominium, the view of the Sleeping Lady convinced her to buy it. Tonight, the breathtaking view held her attention. The sky had cleared of clouds, and the aurora borealis shimmered brilliantly above her. The beauty of the aurora’s colors reflected off the mountains’ new white wedding dress of snow.

  She’s dancing with her groom. Sarah smiled at the thought. Sarah believed when the northern lights appeared, a rare occurrence this far south, the maiden and her groom danced among the stars. Sarah identified with the legendary maiden because she had also lost the love of her life, and now Sarah danced with Michael in dreams only.

  The telephone rang, interrupting her reverie. She picked up the receiver, reluctantly, because “unknown caller” flashed on the screen again.

  “Hello.”

  Silence and then the click of a disconnection greeted her, again. The Valentine and the mysterious calls concerned her. The thoughts racing through her head were too frightening to consider. Feeling paranoid, Sarah pushed her thoughts aside, but she disconnected the telephone anyway. Whatever the reason for the card, its intrusion, along with silent phone calls, brought back a deep, piercing sadness, just as the police siren had earlier in the park.

  Her energy drained by what Sarah considered an act of hate; she carefully put the offensive thing on her desk. Sarah knew her mistake; she had given an interview to the Anchorage Times just last week. The article had discussed Michael’s habit of sending her valentines each month on the fourteenth, because they had met on September fourteenth and married on February fourteenth. Her hometown paper had been kind, but she worried that one reader knew Michael’s death was no accident and believed she had somehow gotten away with murder.

  With the slow movements of a woman defeated, she tried to warm herself by the fire. Sarah removed the rest of her wet clothes, but could not rid her thoughts of the valentine. Every minute or two, she would look at it. She half expe
cted the horrid card to transform into something even more sinister. A series of chills brought on by a deeper cold within her would not let go, and, despite the fire, she shivered. She wanted the valentine out of sight and dropped the card into her briefcase, along with the files lying on her desk in preparation for tomorrow’s meeting.

  Determined to fight her sorrow, Sarah moved to the bathroom to fill the tub. A bubble bath always chased away the blues. She finished undressing and put a warm terrycloth robe around her chilled body. While the tub filled, Sarah went back into the living room, and poured a snifter of brandy. Gulping instead of sipping, she winced from the alcohol’s warmth and taste. The liquid coated her throat, but failed to chase away the chill. She stared out at the snow-filled night but failed to see anything but the horror of her past.

  Remembering her bath water, she checked the locks on her door and tried to relax amid bubbles, steam, and the scent of roses, but relaxation proved impossible. After putting on a warm flannel nightgown, she wrapped herself in a blanket and settled down in front of the fire. Sarah slowly sipped another snifter of brandy. Finally warm, she fell asleep. In dreamland, she danced with Michael.

  The distant ringing of a telephone startled her—it was not the disconnected telephone on her desk, but the telephone in her bedroom insisting she answer. She glanced at the clock and shuddered when she saw the time—2:14 a.m.

  arah barely slept. Each episode of sleep brought another nightmare worse than the last. Dark halls and a masked phantom with a knife…she ran but could not flee the terror. She got up and paced the floor, eager to be free from her prison walls, but terrified her tormentor waited just beyond them.

  While making a pot of strong coffee and listening to the news on the radio, she learned of the murder of a young woman outside The Piano Bar. She remembered seeing the lights of the aid cars, and now understood the excitement last evening. The death gave Sarah some measure of perspective regarding her own situation.