Brian Freeman - Stalked

"And?"

"I got the call. Bad smell coming out of an apartment in the Lincoln Park area. I went in and found Nicole's husband and his teenie girlfriend, both shot dead. They'd been gone at least two days. Nicole never even reported him missing."

"Was it her gun?"

"No, but it was just as bad. Her husband's gun. He kept it in the glove compartment of his car, which was parked outside the apartment building. Nicole said she was home drinking on the night of the murders, but she didn't have any witnesses to back it up. She said he sometimes went off for days on end, so she didn't think anything was wrong when he didn't come home. But she knew he was with the other girl. She also swore to me-swore to me-that she had never been inside that girl's apartment. Except we found witnesses who placed her outside the building in her car on multiple occasions. Like she was stalking them. And we found two of her hairs in the bedroom with the bodies. Perfect DNA match."

Serena whistled. "That's a lot of evidence. What did Nicole say?"

"She said she didn't do it. I believed her, too, until we found the witnesses near the apartment and got the forensics report back. Then I knew she was just like every other perp. Covering her ass."

"This was personal for you."

"Very personal. Take my advice, Serena. Save yourself a trip."

Serena shrugged. "I have to go down there anyway."

"Suit yourself." The older detective slid out of the booth. He took black leather gloves out of his pockets and put them on his hands.

"Hey, Abel," Serena said. "I know you don't want to hear it, but Maggie's not Nicole."

"I need more than faith to believe that."

He left, and Serena drummed her fingers on the table. She was discouraged. The visit to Nicole Castro smelled like a waste of time now, but she couldn't back out, even though she knew what it would be like. She hated to see a cop's life ruined. They all walked close to the line sometimes, and when one of them took a step across, you just wanted to turn your eyes away.

The waitress stopped by her table. She had tomato sauce on her shirt. "You want to order pizza?"

"Oh, yeah."

Stride saw a light on inside Silk, shining in a yellow triangle from the office at the rear of Lauren Erickson's dress shop. He rang the bell beside the door and heard a distant chime. As he waited, he looked up and down Superior Street, which was deserted for the night. It was almost seven thirty, and the stores were closed. A string of streetlights illuminated the slush piled in gray mounds on the curb and on the edge of the sidewalks.

Inside, he saw Lauren's petite silhouette framed in the light from the office. She crossed the store in the darkness and unlocked the door. He felt uncomfortable as he came inside. He was dressed in a dirty flannel shirt, jeans, and heavy boots, which were crusted with mud. He smelled like smoke because of an arson fire he was investigating near the airport, and there was soot in the creases of his neck. Lauren, by contrast, wore a striped dress shirt with an open collar and a gold chain around her neck, tan pleated dress slacks with a braided belt, and leather pumps. Her wheat-colored hair was loose, bobbing around her shoulders.

"Lose the boots," she told him.

He left them on the rubber mat. The blue carpet felt deep and thick under his feet. "Sorry, I'm a mess."

"Don't get anything on the dresses," she said.

She led him back to the office, where moving boxes were scattered on the floor. The bottom drawers of several filing cabinets were open and half-filled with bulging file folders. She had a bottle of pinot noir on her desk and a crystal glass filled with wine.

She held up the bottle, offering him a drink, and he shook his head.

"I know you won't believe this, but I'm going to miss living in Duluth," she told him as he sat down.

Stride squeezed his body into a wooden chair designed for women whose trim backsides could fit in a thimble. "You're right. I don't believe it."

"I used to go hunting and fishing with my dad when I was a girl," she said. "I brought down an eight-pointer once. I had it on my bedroom wall for years."

"Don't look now, but you could be a redneck."

Lauren smiled thinly. "I'm just saying this is my home."

"You'll do okay in Georgetown," Stride said.

"I'm sure we will." She swirled her wine in the glass. "Who knows, maybe I can land Dan a job in the next administration. Something in the Justice Department."

"I always heard that 'under secretary' was the position Dan preferred," Stride said.

Lauren slapped her glass down on the desk so hard that wine sloshed over the top. Then she laughed and dabbed the crimson drops with a tissue. "Funny. You're funny. But you don't understand us."

"You're not so hard to figure out. Anything for power."

"What's wrong with ambition?" Lauren asked.

"If it means destroying people who get in your way, plenty."

"People usually get what they deserve. Look at Maggie."

"Maggie doesn't deserve what's happened to her."

"No? She's no angel. I knew that when she started an affair with Dan."

"That was years ago. Besides, I thought you looked the other way about Dan's affairs."

"Usually I do, because Dan knows who's responsible for everything he is. Me."

"So why do you still hate Maggie?"

"She asked Dan to leave me. I take that personally."

"Dan was just using her. Maggie got hurt."

"Poor angel. I hope you comforted her with your big strong arms."

Stride hated that Lauren knew how to push his buttons. "You know, there are bigger sharks than you in Washington. You may wish you were back in the small pond after a while."

"I'll take my chances. Now what do you want, Jonathan? I have a lot of work to do here."

"I want to talk about Tanjy."

"Again?"

"I need some more information."

"I heard this was Abel's case now, not yours."

"I'm not investigating Tanjy's murder."

"Oh?"

"I'm investigating her rape."

"What rape?" Lauren asked. "You said Tanjy made it up."

"No, I think it really happened."

"Why?"

"Because there's another victim," he told her.

Lauren reacted sharply. "Are you sure?"

Stride nodded.

"Who?"

"I can't say, but I think whoever raped Tanjy also killed her. And Eric."

Lauren rocked back in her chair. "That's horrible. I'm so sorry."

"Do you know who Tanjy began seeing after Mitch Brandt?" Stride asked. "I need to talk to anyone who was close to her during that time."

She shook her head. "I have no idea. Tanjy and I weren't exactly close."

"Did she ever talk about being stalked or watched?"

"Not to me. You should talk to Sonnie. She saw her every day."

"Tanjy said she was abducted going from the dress shop to her car. Do you remember seeing any suspicious individuals in the shop around that time? Or in the parking ramp?"

"In the shop? No. It's not uncommon to have vagrants in the Michigan ramp, you know that. I don't remember anyone specifically."

"Did you know about Tanjy's fascination with rape? Did she talk about it in front of you?"

"Are you kidding? No."

"How about men who came into the shop? Did anyone show an unusual interest in Tanjy?"

Lauren shrugged. "Men hit on her all the time."

"But no one special?"

"No one who was so taken with her that it seemed weird."

"All right," Stride said. Those were the answers he expected.

"Do you have any idea who the rapist is?" Lauren asked.

"Not yet."

"And are there only the two victims?"

"I don't know."

Lauren frowned and bit her lip. He could read in her face that she knew something.

"What is it?" Stride asked.

She hesitated. "Nothing."

"Come on, Lauren, I don't care what the history is between us. This is different."