Brian Freeman - Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7)

‘Did you find him in other photos?’ he asked.

‘Two more,’ Cindy said. ‘I haven’t printed them, but I can pull them up on the screen.’

She used the laptop touch screen and pushed the computer across the table to Stride. He zoomed in on the photograph, and he could see the man in camouflage in his original spot. The redheaded woman had stood up and was brushing shoulders with him. They were talking, and they didn’t look like strangers. Her face was clearly visible. He didn’t recognize her, but the marathon brought in plenty of private security on race day.

‘What do you think?’ Cindy asked. ‘Will these pictures help you find him?’

‘I don’t know about him, but we should definitely be able to find her .’ He stabbed a finger at the security guard in the photograph. ‘I’ll put Maggie on it in the morning.’

‘Good,’ Cindy replied, sounding relieved.

He watched a small smile of triumph bloom on his wife’s face. She got up from the table and stretched her arms over her head. Her white nightgown climbed up her thighs. He knew she’d had a long day, but he didn’t remember when he’d seen her so tired. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘Sure. Never better.’

‘This was smart of you,’ he said. ‘Nice work.’

She didn’t say anything, but he knew she appreciated the compliment.

‘You coming to bed?’ she asked him.

‘Soon.’

‘I’ll probably be asleep.’

‘That’s okay.’ He added: ‘You know I took you seriously about this guy, right?’

‘No, I wasn’t sure of that, but it’s nice to hear.’

He kept holding her hand.

‘The trial’s winding down,’ he said. ‘Dan rested the prosecution case today. Unless Janine testifies, they’ll probably wrap up the case tomorrow.’

‘Do you think she’ll testify?’

Stride shook his head. ‘No, Dan doesn’t think Gale will give him a shot at cross-examining her.’

‘And then?’

‘And then we wait for the jury.’

Cindy frowned. Her eyes were on the man at the marathon. ‘I wish you could find this guy first.’

Maggie ate a Sausage McMuffin in her Avalanche near the harbor on the Point. It was barely past dawn, but the July day promised to be hot and bright. As usual, she’d only slept for about four hours, and then she’d gone to the drive-through for breakfast. If there was one part of American culture to which Maggie was addicted, it was McDonald’s. She couldn’t get enough French fries and quarter-pounders, and somehow, none of it ever padded her girly frame.

Through her binoculars, Maggie spied Troy Grange on a Zodiac heading back to the harbor.

Everyone in Duluth law enforcement knew Troy. He was solid. Good values. Hard worker. People liked him. He could have been a cop, but he liked working on and near the water, so he signed on as a health and safety inspector with the company that handled security for the Duluth Port. Sooner or later, Maggie figured, he’d be running the whole department.

Thanks to his reputation, Troy also had an annual part-time job coordinating safety issues during Grandma’s Marathon. As a result, he knew everyone who worked security along the twenty-six-mile course.

She crumpled her paper wrappers into a ball and climbed down from her truck. Troy, docking the Zodiac, saw her and waved, and she waved back. He was a couple years older than she was and only a few inches taller. He was a weightlifter in his spare time, with a beefy, muscular frame. His skull was shaved smooth, and he had a face that wouldn’t win him a cover spread in GQ : an oversized, lumpy nose; a couple of broad chins; and florid cheekbones that pushed out from his face like a pair of red jawbreakers.

Troy wasn’t anyone’s idea of cute, but Maggie had a little bit of a thing for him. She liked nice guys. Stride. Troy. Apparently, she also liked married guys, because Troy and his wife Trisha had been married for five years and had recently had their first child, Emma. He was off-limits. Maggie didn’t spend a lot of time on self-reflection, but sometimes she wondered if she was doomed to have crushes on men she couldn’t have.

‘Sergeant,’ Troy announced as he bounded onto dry land. ‘I don’t usually get a welcoming committee.’

‘Hey, Troy.’

Troy, like Maggie, was an early riser, and he toured the dock areas from the water several mornings a week. His philosophy of security was that the best way to stop trouble was to make sure it never happened. He also liked seeing things with his own eyes, which was why he didn’t delegate basic tasks like reviewing the port facilities.

‘So what’s the McPoison this morning?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Hotcakes? One of those new McGriddle things?’

Maggie shook her head. People in Duluth knew way too much about her daily routines. ‘Sausage McMuffin with Egg, thank you very much.’

‘I don’t suppose you brought me one,’ Troy said.

‘And ruin your organic body? I wouldn’t dream of it.’

Troy chuckled. ‘Well, it doesn’t seem to hurt yours, Sergeant.’

She’d told him for two years to call her Maggie, but Troy stayed formal around cops. For him, it was a respect thing, even though they were friends. Part of her also wondered whether it was his way of keeping extra distance between them. She liked to think that her sex appeal didn’t go completely unnoticed.

‘How are Trisha and Emma?’ she asked.

‘Neither one getting much sleep.’

‘Well, sleep is overrated.’

‘I told Trisha that,’ Troy said, ‘and then I had to duck when she threw a shoe at me.’

Maggie laughed. She slid a copy of the photograph that Stride had given her from a back pocket, then passed it to Troy. ‘Listen, I’m hoping you can help us. This is a crowd pic from Grandma’s. See the redhead in the security uniform? I was hoping you know who she is.’

Troy glanced at it and handed the page back. ‘Sure. Jessie Klayman.’

‘What about the guy she’s standing next to? The hard case in the camo jacket?’

He took another look at the photograph. ‘No, sorry, him I don’t know.’

‘What’s the story with Jessie?’ Maggie asked.

‘She’s a temp. Moved to Duluth from Fargo about a year ago. She did mall security there. I’ve brought her in a few times on low-priority overflow work. Nothing sensitive. Between you and me, I don’t see her as full-time material. She’s not particularly reliable, and if I had to guess, there’s an alcohol issue.’

‘She looks about forty,’ Maggie said.

‘Yeah, that sounds right. I haven’t spent a lot of time with her. She’s nice enough, but I get tired of hearing about guns.’

‘Guns?’

‘Oh, yeah, she’s a bad-to-the-bone gun collector. Always going to shows around the country. She must have an armory at home by now.’

Maggie frowned. ‘Including assault rifles?’

‘Definitely. She brags about the hardware. No anti-government or militia crap. I wouldn’t hire her if I got a whiff of that. I think she’s just your run-of-the-mill gun nut.’

‘Where does she live?’ Maggie asked.

‘She’s got a little place in Gary. I’m sure I have her address.’ Troy dug a notebook from his pocket and riffled through the pages. ‘Here you go,’ he said, rattling off the number and street.

Maggie wrote it down. ‘Thanks. And you’re sure you don’t know the guy with her?’

Troy looked at the photograph again, taking more time. ‘He’s not familiar to me, but I know that Jessie’s got a kid. If you ask me, there’s some resemblance in the faces. The eyes and nose look similar. Maybe that’s her son.’