Alez Kava - One False Move

"Did you get that? Hey-"

"Yeah, I got it," Andrew said in time to stop another assault on his wounded shoulder.

"And let me do the talking. You keep your fucking mouth shut."

"I really gotta pee," Charlie said.

"Okay, okay. Let's go then."

All four car doors opened almost in unison. Andrew took his time in an exaggerated stretch. It did feel good to get out and be on his feet. He used the time to examine the area around the convenience store. With the dark sunglasses on he could check out the side streets. His eyes darted all around, taking in as much detail as possible, including the newspaper machines out front. The Omaha World Herald headline shouted, Killers on the Loose. The Lincoln Journal's was simple and bold, Manhunt.

In the time it took to walk from the car door to the door of the convenience store Andrew contemplated his alternatives. Why not give Jared a quick shove and take off running? He was in good shape, at least up until he broke his collarbone. Andrew stood at least three inches taller, but Jared looked much leaner. Yet even with the throbbing in his head Andrew wanted to take his chances. What did he have to lose?

He took one last look at the side streets lined with houses. That was good, backyards and alleys. The main street was too open. To his back Andrew knew the highway separated them from a parking lot. Not good. And behind the convenience store Andrew guessed the slice of fence he could see probably ran along the whole lot. The houses across the street were his best bet.

Now he just needed to shove him hard enough to push him over. Maybe into the newspaper machines. That might slow him down. Andrew watched from behind his dark glasses. Jared was right beside him. A couple more steps. Already his heart banged against his rib cage in anticipation. One quick shove. He could do this.

That's when the door to the convenience store opened and a woman and her toddler came out. And Andrew realized he'd have to wait.

11:46 a.m.

Detective Tommy Pakula found the house after driving in and out of about a half dozen culs-de-sac. He hated these new housing developments that were built on confusion and sold as privacy. He'd take his South Omaha home any day, where a neighborhood was still a block.

As he walked to the front door, he took a good look at the neighborhood and wondered how Tina Cervante could afford this huge split-timber. Even sharing the expenses with two roommates, the rent had be double what one of the higher-end apartments in the area would cost. He remembered the girl's autopsy, the pricey manicure and pedicure, the nose job. From what he had discovered about her parents-her father was a mechanic for a Dallas trucking company and her mother an assistant manager for a Red Lobster restaurant-he doubted that, although they made decent money, they had any to spare, especially with four more kids still at home.

He knocked on the ornate front door, still trying to figure it out. Maybe one of the other girls had some family money. Maybe this house was a tax write-off for one of the other parents. Maybe it was just Pakula being his suspicious self.

The young woman who answered the door looked like a Britney Spears wannabe, only her midriff hung out of the tight, cropped T-shirt and the dark roots gave away her true hair color.

"Are you Danielle Miller?"

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. "Yeah, are you here to fix the air conditioner? You're a bit late. We could have used you two days ago when we called the first time."

Pakula wanted to laugh; he had been worried Tina's roommates would be too distraught to even talk. As it turned out, Danielle was more upset about the fucking A/C being out than her old roommate ending up splattered all over the bank's floor.

"No, Miss Miller, I'm afraid I don't know much about air-conditioning units." Pakula dug in his jacket for his shield as she rolled her eyes at him, and just as she was deciding he was some door-to-door salesman, he flipped the badge for her to take a look. "I'm Detective Pakula with the OPD. I'd like to talk to you about Tina Cervante."

"Oh, you mean about the thing at the bank yesterday."

"Yeah, the thing at the bank," he repeated, trying not to show his impatience. She reminded him too much of his oldest daughter, Angie, although she was a bit younger than Danielle Miller. Same generation, though, and that same lazy use of the English language, same carefree attitude.

"Whadya wanna know?"

"Just some basic stuff. You mind if I come in for a few minutes?"

"Sure, I guess." She walked back into the house, leaving him to follow.

The inside decor matched the outside, all designer pieces, a couple of signed lithographs on the wall and an expensive Oriental rug.

"How did you girls ever find this place?" Pakula asked. "It's very nice. One of you a decorator?"

"Oh, God, no." She laughed as she curled up into the corner of a leather sofa, tucking her bare feet under her. "Tina found it for us." She shrugged as if it were as simple as that. "It's not really my style. A little too much like living in my parents' home, you know what I mean?"

He nodded instead of saying that it was probably too classy for her style. But at least he was getting her to talk. It seemed to be his talent, getting people to confide in him. And sometimes he relied on it too much, thinking he could talk his way out of any situation.

"Tina had a real talent for that kinda stuff, you know?" Finally Pakula could see a hint of moistness in Danielle's eyes. "She could get people to, like, give her things or let her use stuff."

"Really? What kind of stuff?"

"Oh, I don't know. Like cars and stuff."

"You mean like boyfriends?"

Forget the moistness, Danielle was back to rolling her eyes at him. "She goes for guys, like, your age. You know, she likes old guys for some reason. Oh, God! Not like I mean you're old or anything."

"Where does she usually meet these older gentlemen?" He tried not to sound offended.

"Oh, geez. I don't even know where she met this last one. I get the idea he's pretty pissed off at her right now, so they might have broken up."

"What makes you think he's pissed off at her?"

"Just that whenever I answered the phone lately and she, like, didn't want to talk to him, so like, I'd have to make up some excuse and he'd get all postal with me."

"So he called here?"

"Oh, yeah."

"But you don't know his name?"

"Just Jay."

Pakula dug out the plastic bag from his jacket pocket and handed it to Danielle. "Did he give Tina this?"

"Oh, yeah. For her birthday in July. That seemed to be when things started to go downhill, 'cause I think Tina thought it should mean more and yet she didn't see him changing anything."

"A guy gives an expensive, sentimental piece of jewelry like this, I'd say that means something."

"Yeah, you'd think so, but…you know, it's kinda like I keep telling her, or told her…God, I can't believe she's dead."

Pakula waited. This time Danielle seemed genuinely choked up. She had been slipping from present to past tense the whole time. Not unusual in an interview with someone who'd been close to a victim. But now it seemed to hit her. He bowed his head and waited. He'd learned that people really didn't want to hear all that crap like, "It'll be okay." Most of the time they just wanted you to wait until they composed themselves. Waiting was tougher, though.

"So it sounds like you kinda figured out this relationship wouldn't work long before Tina figured it out, huh?"

"It never does work," she said, reaching around to a Kleenex box hidden behind a flower vase. She dabbed at her nose. "That's the problem with dating older men. They always stay with their wives."