Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

"Inside the house?"

"Maybe through a window, I don't know."

"Shit. I don't like the sound of that."

"Look, it's probably just my imagination."

"We both know you don't imagine things."

"I've never come home before. And twelve years is a long time. It's probably just that."

"Or ghosts, maybe?"

"Oh, hell, don't even suggest ghosts. All I need is another reason not to sleep at night."

After a moment, and in an uncharacteristically kind tone, he said, "Bad enough to be dropped into the middle of a situation like this one without dragging your own baggage in as well. It can get… real easy to lose perspective. If this is too difficult for you, just say so."

"I'm fine."

"Be very sure of that, Nell. The stakes are high. People are dying around here, remember?"

"It's hardly something I could forget." She set her cup down, left a tip on the table for the waitress, and prepared to slide from the booth. "Just don't crowd me, okay?"

"Gotcha."

Nell didn't look back or indicate any interest whatsoever in that other rear booth, just walked up front to pay her check and then left the cafe.

Justin Byers hadn't had much trouble fitting in since he had come to Silence a couple of months before. He'd always liked small towns, choosing them over cities whenever there was a choice to be made, and so he felt entirely comfortable here. And his duties as a detective in the Criminal Investigation Division of the sheriff's department were both familiar and absorbing — especially these days.

But the major reason he liked this town went by the name of Lauren Champagne. Deputy Lauren Champagne.

Justin had never been given to fantasies — at least no more than the average male — but he'd discovered that his subconscious had a mind of its own. He was waking up virtually every morning in a tangle of sheets with his heart pounding and with the disconcerting realization that his dreams had been more than a little… raw.

Which made it damned hard to be cool and professional when he encountered Lauren in the course of the day.

"Hey, Justin," she offered easily when they met on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse on Thursday afternoon.

"Hey, Lauren." He hastily quashed a fleeting mental image of creamy bare flesh and strove to be professional. "Where's Kyle?"

"Inside. We had some paperwork for the clerk of court." She shrugged. "What're you up to?"

"Still trying to run down all the financial info on George Caldwell. You know, for a fine, upstanding banker, he sure had tangled finances."

Lauren smiled wryly, her dark eyes grave. "Isn't that par for the course where these killings are concerned?"

"Yeah, there always seems to be a mess left behind. Except we haven't stumbled over any of George's secret vices yet."

"You think you will?"

Quite without planning to, he heard himself say, "Well, let's just say I'm a little bothered by a few things. These scattered financial records, for one, all of which I still haven't been able to track down. As for his personal accounts at the bank where he worked, there've been some regular deposits to at least one of them with no explanation of where the income originated. It wasn't salary or bonuses, and so far it doesn't look like investment income."

"Maybe his wife knows."

"Maybe, but I'm under orders not to bother her with questions."

With a lifted brow, Lauren said, "Sheriff's orders?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I'm sure he has his reasons."

Justin was worried that the sheriff did have his reasons but reminded himself that Lauren had been here longer than he had and might well feel loyal to Ethan Cole, so all he said was, "It's making things a little difficult, that's all. Caldwell knew how to handle money, and that included how to hide it."

"To avoid paying taxes, you think?"

"Maybe. Or to squirrel some of it away in case he and Sue finally decided to divorce. What she couldn't find, he wouldn't have to share."

"Not so unusual for a man contemplating divorce."

"No," Justin agreed. "But it would be nice to know for sure if that was his motive."

Lauren nodded but didn't comment, since her partner, Kyle Venable, joined them then to say dryly, "We have a couple of warrants to serve. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Loads," she agreed in the same tone. "Justin, good luck with your investigation."

"Thanks. See you, Lauren. Kyle."

"We'll be around," Kyle told him cheerfully, then followed his tall and striking partner back toward their cruiser.

Justin watched them — well, Lauren — until they got into the patrol car and left the courthouse, then continued on his way. He spent nearly an hour in the courthouse checking over property records, then paid a third visit to the bank where George Caldwell had been a VP.

By the time he came out and headed back toward the sheriff's department, he was feeling more than a little frustrated. It wasn't that he was being stonewalled, exactly; with Caldwell's death a clear murder, the judge hadn't hesitated to order the bank to make its records available to the investigators. Problem was, the bank records looked clean.

It was Caldwell's personal financial records that looked suspect, but there was nothing firm Justin could point to in order to explain why he had this itching on the back of his neck that told him to keep digging.

He just knew , dammit. Knew there was more to the story than he had yet discovered.

The problem was how in hell to find it.

The sheriff could have made it easier on him but instead had virtually tied his hands, and much as he wanted to it wasn't something Justin intended to complain about. He was treading carefully with the sheriff, perfectly aware that Ethan Cole didn't really trust him and equally aware that the sheriff was hiding something. Or trying to.

That was something else Justin knew but couldn't prove. And wasn't really sure he wanted to try and prove, all things considered. But he didn't have much of a choice.

Not really eager to return to the station any sooner than he had to, Justin stopped off on the way back for a cup of decent coffee at the downtown cafe. He sat alone at a front table and gazed broodingly out at the passing traffic.

Such a nice little town.

"Hey, Detective Byers — " One of the young waitresses he'd spoken to maybe twice stood by his table holding an envelope. "This was left for you." She handed it over.

His name was block-printed on the front — just his name, nothing to identify him as a cop. For some reason, that bothered him.

"Who left it, Emily?"

She shrugged and popped her gum. "Dunno. Vinny just found it on the counter and told me to bring it over to you. Guess somebody figured you'd stop by. You usually do, most afternoons."

"Yeah. Thanks, Emily."

"Welcome."

As she wandered away, Justin made a mental note to stop being so goddamned predictable, then stared at the envelope, turning it in his hands. The usual number-ten business-type, treated for security so what lay inside wasn't easily visible, at least through the paper. But what lay inside clearly had shape and bulk, something like a small notebook from the feel of it.

The envelope had been handled by so many people he knew it was useless to worry about fingerprints. As for what was inside…

He wasted a couple of minutes trying to convince himself somebody had sent him an early birthday card — okay, maybe an early birthday booklet — sighed, and carefully pried up the lightly sealed flap.

It was indeed a small, black notebook, the sort some people carried around in their pockets or purses to jot down phone numbers or whatever. Justin handled it carefully by the edges, even though his instincts and training told him the polished surface was polished for a reason and would yield no fingerprints whatsoever. Inside, a number of the lined pages contained notes. Two initials at the top of each page, followed by what looked like a list of dates and dollar amounts.