Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact that it’s about ninety degrees warmer down there right now?”

A grin crept across Maggie’s face. “That thought never occurred to me.”

Stride didn’t protest. “Okay. Fine. It would do you good to get away from here for a couple days, anyway. I’ll talk to K-2 about finding a way to pay for it. Get some sunblock and go.”

“Way ahead of you,” Maggie replied cheerfully. “The chief said there’s not a hope in hell of him paying for it, but don’t worry, I bought the ticket myself. I have a flight out of Minneapolis in three hours, so I need to crank down the freeway.”

Stride glanced in the backseat of Maggie’s Avalanche. He wasn’t surprised at all to see that she already had a suitcase there, and he laughed. “It may be warmer, but it’s pretty sticky down there with all the humidity. You’ll hate it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“What’s your plan?” Stride asked.

“I’ll talk to the Naples police when I get there and fill them in on what we’ve found. I also want to track down the detective who originally worked on the Haley Adams murder. He left the force and went private a while back. The guy’s name is Cab Bolton.”

Stride found the apartment complex in the flatlands that led from Duluth toward the Iron Range. They were individual one-room cottages dotted among soaring evergreens, and it was a good place to stay for people who didn’t want anyone to see them coming and going. The rentals were month to month and not expensive. They were across the street from empty fields and at a crossroads that led north toward the intersection with Lavaque Road.

This was where John Doe had stayed for ten days.

It was also where Jungle Jack Jensen was renting an apartment.

Stride turned off the highway into the dirt parking lot, which was a slippery mess of matted-down snow and ice. Daylight already was waning in the late afternoon, and the evergreens cast long shadows. John Doe had rented a unit tucked back among the trees and invisible from the road, but Jack’s unit was closer to the street. There was a rental Lexus parked outside that looked out of place in the downscale surroundings. The boxy cottages all needed a coat of paint

He knocked on the apartment door. No one answered, so he knocked again and called Jack’s name. Finally, the door opened. Jungle Jack stood in the doorway with nothing but a motel towel wrapped around his waist. He grimaced as subzero air whipped against his bare skin and brought up goose bumps.

“Jack Jensen? I’m Lieutenant Stride with the Duluth Police.”

“It’s not a great time to talk right now,” Jack replied.

Stride could see over Jungle Jack’s shoulder into the one-room apartment. There wasn’t much to see: just a bed and some modest furnishings, a kitchenette, and a doorway to the bathroom. There was a dark-haired young woman in the bed with a sheet pulled up to her bare shoulders.

“See what I mean?” Jack went on, letting a grin creep onto his face. “Can this wait?”

“I’m investigating a murder, so no, it really can’t.”

The word “murder” didn’t affect the uninterested look on Jack’s chiseled face. He shrugged and called over his shoulder. “Why don’t you hop in the shower, sweetie. I’ll join you in a couple minutes.”

Modesty didn’t trouble the woman in the bed. She scooted naked from under the sheet and ran across the carpet to the bathroom, where she shut the door behind her. Jack waved Stride inside and then went to the wardrobe and put on a dark blue terry-cloth robe. He took a cigarette from a pack, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He extended the pack to Stride, who shook his head.

Jungle Jack sat on the edge of the bed. Stride pulled over a wooden chair and sat across from him. Jack continued to smile as if his face didn’t do anything else. He was in his midthirties and Hollywood handsome, with a jutting jaw and pronounced cheekbones. His jet black hair was swept back like a lion’s mane. He had a muscular physique, and he looked relaxed and confident as he smoked. There was no way Jack didn’t realize that he’d accidentally hit on the teenage girl who lived in Stride’s house, but if it worried him, he didn’t show it.

“So what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“I’d like to talk about Haley Adams,” Stride said.

“Who?”

“She was an intern on the movie set.”

“Oh, the missing girl, sure. That’s too bad. I hope you find her.”

“We did,” Stride said. “She’s dead.”

He showed Jack a photo of the girl they’d found in the woods. Jack’s grin vanished. He seemed genuinely upset, but Stride had to remind himself that Jungle Jack, even if he was only Dean Casperson’s stunt double, was an actor. You couldn’t trust anything on an actor’s face.

“Well, that’s horrible. Dean is going to be crushed to learn about this.”

“Can you confirm that this is the girl you knew as Haley Adams?” Stride asked.

Jack took another look as he examined the picture. “I think so. The face looks right, although I thought her hair was longer.”

“Did you have a relationship with Haley?”

Jack eyed the bathroom door, where Stride could hear the shower water running. “You mean that kind of relationship?”

“I mean any kind of relationship.”

“Well, did I try to get between her legs? Sure. The big secret of movie sets is that it’s usually boring as hell. Hours of downtime while the crew gets everything ready for a couple minutes in front of the cameras. You’re always looking for ways to pass the time. And somebody to pass the time with.”

“I’m aware,” Stride replied coldly. His meaning was clear.

Jack took a drag on his cigarette. Their eyes met with the controlled antagonism of two chess players on opposite sides of the board. “Yeah, I know I screwed up about that girl at the restaurant. Apologies. Mo read me the riot act.”

Stride let it go. “So you made a pass at Haley Adams. Did anything happen between the two of you?”

“No.”

“She rejected you?”

“I guess she didn’t know what she was missing,” Jack said.

“I’ve heard you don’t always take no for an answer.”

“I don’t know where you heard that, but you heard wrong.”

“One of the other interns on the movie said you assaulted her,” Stride said.

“That was a misunderstanding. It was resolved amicably.”

“You mean it was resolved with Dean Casperson buying her a Subaru BRZ?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack replied. “Look, the fact is I don’t have any trouble finding companionship when I’m on the road. The girl in the shower? She was my waitress at lunch. Tomorrow I’ll find somebody else. It’s the way things are in my world. I suppose that sounds disgusting to you, but most men would trade places with me in a heartbeat.”

Stride didn’t want to hear about the notches on Jack’s bedpost. He took the page of Florida driver’s license photos out of his pocket. “Speaking of waitresses. See the last girl on this page? She was a waitress at a restaurant in Naples, Florida. Do you recognize her?”

Jack leaned forward to study the thumbnail. “She doesn’t look familiar.”

“Her name was Haley Adams, too.”

“Well, it’s a small world, as we say in Florida,” Jack replied. “But I told you. I don’t remember her.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in Naples?” Stride asked.

“Whenever I can. It’s a nice area.”

“It’s not too far from where you live, right?”

“Right.”

“Actually, I understand you live with Dean and Mo Casperson,” Stride said.