Allison Brennan - Speak No Evil

“Exactly,” he said, oblivious to her jibe. “I’m sure you don’t have any relationship problems.” He licked his bottom lip and grinned at her.

She glared at him. A biting remark was on the tip of her tongue when Nick took a step forward.

“It’s not very smart to piss off a lady with a gun,” he said simply.

Nick’s hardened expression belied his light words. Once again, Carina suspected there was far more beneath the surface than Nick Thomas showed the world.

“Hey, no offense!” Masterson put up his hands. “Look, what happened to Angie? I mean, I saw her on Friday, okay, but I didn’t see her all weekend. Really, I didn’t see her.”

“Do you know where Ellen lives?” Nick asked.

Masterson rattled off the address where he’d dropped her off earlier.

“Be available for questions,” Will said.

“What happened to Angie?” Masterson repeated.

Carina had no desire to give him any of the details. “Go buy a newspaper,” she said and they left.

In the car, Will said, “I don’t think he has the guts to kill anyone.”

“ Huevon ,” Carina said. “Too stupid to cover up the crime. Did you see anything in his apartment that looked out of place?”

“I don’t think he could find clean boxers, let alone glue.”

“How far is Big Bear?” Nick asked.

“About two, two-and-a-half-hours.”

“If his parents have a cabin up there, it would be a remote place where he could have kept Angie,” the sheriff suggested.

Carina and Will glanced at each other. “Go on.”

“He dumped the body Sunday night. Could he have dumped the body, then picked up this Ellen and taken her back there? Did anyone see him on Saturday?”

“We have a lot of work to do,” Will said. He glanced at Ellen’s address. “She’s out in Carlsbad. Up for a nice coastal drive?” he asked Nick.

“I have no other plans.”

Ellen Workman was a twenty-five-year-old college dropout who lived with her parents and worked part-time as a cocktail waitress. By the time they arrived in Carlsbad, she had already left for work. They stopped by her business and, while she was irritated at being pulled off the job, she was sharp and credible.

“Doug and I hung out from about three o’clock Sunday afternoon onward. When he suggested we go skiing, I was all for it, especially since he was paying. I work Wednesday through Saturday, so I told him I had to be back by five o’clock today. He brought me home, end of story.”

“What time did you leave for Big Bear?”

“Eleven. I wanted to pick up my stuff, so we drove here.”

Carina was confused. “You left La Jolla at eleven? I thought you said you were with him after three in the afternoon?”

She sighed heavily. “Okay, we met up at three at a friend’s house. Had a few beers. Dinner. Then he wanted to go skiing, so we left La Jolla about ten at night for my place, I packed a bag, and we left for Big Bear at eleven. Okay?”

“Did Doug leave you at any time between three and ten that day?”

“Maybe to take a piss. Look, what’s this about?”

“We’re just verifying information that he told us.”

“Whatever. Can I get back to work?”

Ellen walked away. Carina shook her head. “The time line doesn’t work for Masterson to be the killer.”

“Unless she’s an accomplice,” Nick said.

“Why would she?”

No one had an answer. Their one other lead had dried up. Masterson wasn’t guilty, and Carina looked at Nick. She saw in his eyes what she was thinking.

All eyes would now be on Steve.

With good reason. Police didn’t like it when suspects lied.

Nick knew that as well as she did.

Her heart went out to him. He was going to have a rough time of it tomorrow if his brother incriminated himself. While Carina hoped Steve gave himself up so she could close the case, find justice for Angie’s family, and stop another brutal murder, she couldn’t help but feel for Nick and what he would go through knowing his brother was a murderer.

Rope. Check .

Glue. Check .

Plastic wrap. Check .

Garbage bags. Check .

He went through the supplies in his mind as he watched the webcam he’d set up earlier that day in Jodi’s apartment.

It would be more difficult this time because he wouldn’t be able to lure Jodi out like he’d done Angie. Angie knew him well, so she hadn’t thought anything was wrong even when he tapped on her window in the middle of the night.

“Angie? Angie? Can we talk?”

She’d been so trusting. Came right out, got in his car, and wham ! He had her.

Jodi knew him, of course, but not as well. And with Angie dead he wasn’t so naive as to think Jodi wouldn’t be at least somewhat on alert. It was better to assume than to screw up, right?

So he’d set up the webcam and drugged the two-liter bottle of diet Coke, the milk, the orange juice, the bottle of white wine. Every open container in the refrigerator. He’d watch the kitchen, see when she poured herself something to drink, and wait.

The anticipation was almost as good as the real thing. He wished he could have gone home to watch, but the library was only a couple blocks from Jodi’s apartment, and he didn’t want to risk taking too long or getting stuck in traffic before he was able to get to her apartment. And he had his own private nook here. No one could see what he was working on. He used his own laptop, not the library’s computer, and he could see everything.

As soon as Jodi drank what he’d drugged, he’d leave. The few minutes it would take to get to her apartment would be just enough time for the sleeping pills to make her drowsy.

Abby had a late class every Wednesday. While she usually went out after her class, he couldn’t count on it tonight. Not when Angie’s funeral was tomorrow night and Jodi was home. Alone.

Come on, Jodi! Don’t fuck this up. Don’t mess with me. I’m going to have you no matter what.

Another lying bitch, acting like a sweet, nice girl and nothing but a slut like Angie.

Jodi came on-screen, the cheap webcam distorting her image. But he knew it was her. She opened the refrigerator and he held his breath.

She retrieved a bottle of beer, twisted off the cap.

No!

He couldn’t drug the beer. It wasn’t fair, it fucking wasn’t fair. How dare she screw up his entire plan! He’d been waiting for tonight, planning for tonight, had everything ready.

He slammed down the top of his laptop.

“Is everything okay?”

He jumped, turned, and saw that Becca had walked over to him. He’d been so focused on watching Jodi that he hadn’t noticed her standing right there, at the side of the table. Had she seen his screen? What if she knew what he had planned?

Her face didn’t give anything away, but she was a liar. All women were liars. Her tits were right at eye level, her low-cut blouse hinting at the flesh beneath.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He glanced away from her, pulse racing.

“What’s wrong?” She sat down in the chair next to him, put a hand on his arm. He looked at her small, slender fingers and the pink nail polish with tiny white flowers glued on. And he knew this was a sign, an omen. Becca didn’t normally work on Wednesdays, but she was here tonight.

Becca was his.

He looked back up at her, his face long and sad. “It’s my cat, Felix. He died today.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. How did he die? Was he old?”

He shook his head. “I found him on the front porch. He was bleeding.”

“Hit by a car?”

He began to get into the story he was creating, based in part on a long-ago truth. “That’s what I thought at first, then I took him to the vet. The vet said someone shot him with a BB gun. He found sixteen pellets in Felix.” He looked at her with dry eyes. “How could someone do that?”