Allison Brennan - Speak No Evil

Nick wanted to take the words back. The shock, the hurt, on Steve’s face hit Nick in the gut.

They stared at each other in silence. “I’ll talk to them. Tomorrow morning. Set it up.” Steve turned and walked toward his bedroom. Looking over his shoulder he said, “You might want to find another place to stay. My couch isn’t very comfortable.”

He slammed his bedroom door.

That certainly hadn’t gone as Nick planned.

As he packed up his laptop, Nick realized Steve didn’t think of himself as a thirty-eight-year-old man. He held close to the image that he was a young, twenty-one-year-old war hero who fit in at college. And in some ways he did, because he certainly acted like an irresponsible, immature kid. Dating college-aged girls was Steve’s way of holding on to the illusion that he was young. Since he’d given up his own college years to the military, this was Steve’s way of changing the past.

But fifteen years was a long time to grow up.

How could Nick help Steve see that he was living a lie? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it would take a severe jolt to his ego to make him realize that he didn’t fit with the college crowd, that he needed to grow up, get a job, do something other than go to school for the rest of his life.

Nick just didn’t know how he could help.

As he walked out the door, Nick felt a deep chill penetrate his bones, and not from the late-afternoon breeze.

Steve had never answered his question about whether or not he’d killed Angie.

WILL DROPPED THE PHONE in the cradle and turned to Carina. “Masterson just got back to town. His neighbor called.”

“Let’s go.” Carina shoved her notes in the drawer and jumped up.

They were heading out the door when Nick Thomas walked in, looking a little worse for wear. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He didn’t answer her question. “I set up the meeting. Steve will give a formal statement tomorrow morning and answer any questions.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way back downtown,” said Carina. “You could have called.”

“I didn’t have a choice. My brother kicked me out of his apartment. Know a decent hotel in the area?”

There was more to it than that, but Nick was a man of few words and Carina didn’t press.

Will spoke up. “Why don’t you ride with us? Masterson just got home. I’d sure like to know what he’s been doing since Friday night.”

“I appreciate it.”

The afternoon commute had just started and it took them thirty minutes to get out to the San Diego coastal community of La Jolla. Masterson lived in a small, poorly maintained house near the campus, about a mile from Steve, though he wasn’t a student.

“Easier to sell drugs if you’re close to the buyers,” Will mumbled.

Carina filled Nick in on Masterson’s criminal history as they approached his door. “He seemed to have skipped town with a girl Sunday night. Considering he’s Angie’s last-known boyfriend, his behavior raises serious questions.”

Carina fidgeted as Masterson took his sweet time answering the door. Will acted his usual casual self, though looks were deceptive: his hand was only inches from his gun. And Nick looked all cop, standing tall, face blank, a Stetson on his head. Must be part of the uniform in Montana.

She’d never realized a cop in a hat could look so sexy. She needed to get out of the city more.

Carina shook the errant thought from her mind and focused on the door.

Will rapped again. “Doug Masterson, Detectives Hooper and Kincaid with the San Diego Police Department.”

Finally, they heard a chain sliding open and Doug Masterson stood in the doorway, shirtless and in jeans, reeking of cigarette smoke. He was tall and lanky, with long blond hair and a deep dimple in his chin. He smiled when he saw Carina, sizing her up from head to toe, lingering too long at her breasts.

Jerk.

She flashed her badge. “Detective Kincaid with SDPD. Can we come in?”

She took his barely perceptible nod as a yes and walked through the door. Will and Nick followed.

The apartment was borderline filthy with overflowing ashtrays and dirty clothes tossed around. The fifty-inch flat-screen television took up half of one wall along with a deluxe stereo system that, if turned full-blast, Carina was certain she’d be able to hear down at the station.

The first thought that came to mind was that Masterson couldn’t be Angie’s murderer if Dillon’s analysis of a “tidy, immaculate” killer was accurate.

“Hello, officers of the law,” Masterson said condescendingly. “To what do I owe this pleasure? May I get you coffee? Doughnuts?”

“ Cabrón ,” Carina mumbled, then asked, “When was the last time you saw Angela Vance?”

He blinked, the question obviously startling him. Or he was a good liar. “Angie? Why?”

“She’s dead,” Carina said flatly.

Masterson sat heavily in a chair and ran both hands through his long hair. He stared at Carina, all flirtatious behavior gone. “ Angie ? Angie Vance?”

“Yes. Your eighteen-year-old girlfriend, Angie Vance.”

He shook his head, mouth open. “Dead? How?”

“Let’s start with Friday and work our way to today,” Will said. “Where did you go Friday morning?”

“Friday. Um, I just hung out here most of the day. Went out about eight at night. Couple parties. Came back about four.”

“Alone?”

“Alone?” he repeated.

“Did you bring someone home with you?” Carina repeated slowly.

“Friday night?”

“It can’t be too hard to remember,” Will said. “Five days ago.”

“No, I came home alone.”

“When was the last time you saw Angie?”

Whether he seriously couldn’t remember, or he was just trying to come up with a viable lie, Carina didn’t know. “I think,” he began slowly, “it was Thursday night. It might have been Friday. At the Sand Shack. It was toward the end of her shift.”

That should be easy enough to verify, Carina thought.

“I really don’t remember,” he said. “Last time I saw her she gave me the cold shoulder.”

“Did you know she suspected you were seeing another woman?”

This time, the surprise on his face was genuine. “Hell, no! I-I-I’m not seeing anyone else,” he stammered.

“Your neighbor told us you went skiing in the mountains.”

“Big Bear. My folks have a cabin up there.”

“With whom?”

“Is that important?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To establish your alibi. With whom did you go to Big Bear?”

He glared at her. “Ellen.”

“Ellen what?”

“I don’t know her last name.”

“When did you leave?”

“Sunday night.”

“What time?”

“Ten, eleven. It was late.”

“And you don’t know her last name?”

He shrugged. “We met at a party Sunday, hit it off, and split.”

“Why did Angie think you were seeing another woman last week?”

“I don’t know. She’s the jealous type.”

“How so?”

“Look, she has this double standard. She’s been with a lot of guys, but says she’s loyal. I believed her, told her the same goes for me. Then she sees me talking-just talking -to my ex-girlfriend and she goes all frigid on me. So I think, okay, she’s having a bad day. I go down to the Sand Shack when I know she’s going to get off work, say hey, let’s go see a movie or something, and she blows me off. So I went out and partied all weekend. Met up with Ellen, she didn’t have those issues, and we had fun. I don’t need the drama, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Carina said sarcastically, “relationships are hard work.”