Erica Spindler - Dead Run

He touched her arm. “I appreciate you staying so long today, Margo. I owe you one.”

“I like that.” She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder, smile sassy. “I’ll make sure I collect when you least expect it.”

“Anything I should know?” he asked as she hooked her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Val called. He asked when you were coming in. I told him I wasn’t certain, but tonight for sure.”

Rick frowned. “What time was that?”

“Half an hour or so ago.”

“He say what he wanted?”

“Nope, but he asked me about that kid who used to work for you.”

“Mark?” Libby asked from the other end of the bar where she was chatting with a Hideaway regular. “What does he want with Mark?”

Margo shrugged her shoulders. “He wanted to know if I’d seen him. How could I? I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“How about you, Libby?” Val called from behind them. “You know what he looks like. Have you seen him?”

Rick turned. His friend stood a couple feet behind them, Carla at his side.

Val closed the distance between them. “So, Libby? Have you seen Mark?”

She shook her head. “Not since…since we last worked together. Why?”

Val ignored her question and Rick narrowed his eyes. Standard interrogating procedure. The two weren’t here to pay a social call.

“And when was that?” Carla asked.

“I don’t remember exactly.” Libby looked at Rick, alarmed. “Do you?”

“Not offhand. I could check, if it’s important.”

“Maybe later.” Val turned to Margo. “Before you go, take a look at this.” He handed her what appeared to be a printout of Mark’s driver’s-license photo. “Have you seen this man?”

Margo studied the photo a moment, her expression altering subtly. She shook her head and handed it back. “Nope. That’s the kid you’re looking for?”

Was she lying? Rick drew his eyebrows together. If so, why?

“Sure is. Keep that,” he murmured as she made a move to hand the printout back. “Call me if you see him.”

She agreed, wished them all a good evening and headed out. Rick watched her a moment, puzzled, then turned back to Val and Carla. He motioned to the bar stools. “Take a load off. I’ll fix you both a drink.”

“No thanks. We’re here on official business.”

“May I ask what kind?”

“We’re trying to locate Mark Morgan. Is he here?”

Rick bristled. “You know he’s not.”

“Really? And how would I know that, Rick?”

Their gazes met and held, Val’s challenging. Rick didn’t back down. “He’s not here.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“No.”

“How about Ms. Ames? Has she seen him recently?”

“How would I know?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Carla jumped in, voice tight. “We know you were there tonight.”

Rick froze. From the corner of his eye he saw Libby glance his way. He looked from Val to Carla then back. “Am I being tailed?”

Again Val ignored his question. He glanced down the bar toward Libby and the regular, and back at Rick. “We’ve issued a warrant for Mark Morgan’s arrest.”

Rick stared at his friend, stunned. “You must be joking. Two hours ago-”

“Two hours ago we didn’t know what we do now.”

“And what is that?”

“As you very well know, I can’t tell you that.”

They had found hard evidence, obviously. Whatever it was, it was solid enough to base an arrest warrant on.

Val motioned to a secluded table at the far corner of the bar. “You have a minute to talk?”

Rick nodded and looked at his employee, who seemed oblivious to their conversation. “Libby,” he called. “Bar’s yours.”

The three crossed to the table and sat down. Val began without preamble. “How do serial killers choose their victims?”

“Most often by opportunity. A coed is hitchhiking at the worst possible moment. A young gay man meets the wrong gaze across a crowded bar. A child is unattended in the wrong place at the wrong time. The very randomness of the perpetrator to victim is what makes serial murders so difficult to solve.”

“But not all serial killers operate that way. Gavin Taft didn’t.”

Rick searched his memory. “Taft chose carefully, it was part of the thrill. He hunted for the perfect kill. He established a relationship with the victim first, even if only a superficial one.”

“We found evidence at Mark’s rented room that strongly links him to Tara’s murder. We’ve also learned he had a relationship with Naomi Pearson.”

“What kind of relationship?”

“They went to the same church. They were in a Bible-study group together. They were friendly.”

“This is Key West. Lots of people are.”

“True, but he was friendly with two women who are now dead.” Val paused, pursing his lips, as if weighing his options. “I did a little checking into Mark’s past. He was known to have an explosive temper. To be extremely jealous. He put another teenager in the hospital for looking crosswise at his girlfriend.”

“Mark did that?” Rick leaned back in his chair, stunned.

“He’s been traveling for two years. I’m checking the places we know he’s been, looking for similar crimes.”

“The religious aspects of the crime fit as well,” Carla offered. “I found a Bible in his room. He had a number of passages marked, real fire-and-brimstone, vengeance-is-mine Old Testament stuff. According to people who knew him, he was a major Bible-thumper.”

Rick sat back in his seat. He moved his gaze between the two, smelling a rat. “Why are you telling me this? I seem to recall being told to butt out. Rather recently, as a matter of fact.”

“We have reason to suspect that Liz Ames might be his next target.”

“Liz? You’re stretching, buddy.”

“Am I?” Val leaned toward him. “Look at the way he contacted her. Out of the blue. With some crazy story about a cult and his being in danger. Did that ever ring true to you?”

Val didn’t wait for an answer. “Why did Mark contact Liz? To establish a relationship with her. To engage her in the hunt.”

For the space of a heartbeat, Rick couldn’t breathe let alone speak. When he found his voice, he asked, “What do you want from me?”

“She’ll tell you if he contacts her again. We need you to let us know when that happens.”

As Val very well knew, no way would she call the KWPD. She considered them the enemy.

After their earlier conversation, and despite the great sex, he wasn’t so sure she’d even call him.

“Think about it, Rick,” Val murmured, pushing away from the table and standing. “Liz Ames’s life could depend on it.”

Sunday, November 18

Midnight

Liz awakened suddenly. She looked around her bedroom, disoriented, heart pounding. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, in fact she still wore the shorts and T-shirt she had thrown on after Rick left. She had hoped Rick would call. Or Mark.

They had both been so strongly on her mind, she hadn’t believed she would be able to sleep.

Liz shifted to get a look at her bedside clock, and the book on her lap slipped to the floor, landing with a thud. She made a move to retrieve it, then froze.

A sound came from the other room, a scuffling noise. The kind a cat or dog might make if trapped in a closet.

Problem was, she didn’t own a pet.

Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, Liz slipped quietly out of bed. The noise came again, this time louder.

Liz shook her head. She was imagining things, for heaven’s sake. Letting her imagination run away with her. Still, she crept forward, her every sense on the alert.