Aimee Thurlo - Secrets of the Lynx

“Did anyone actually see you over at Navajo Lake?” Kendra asked her.

“No, we were in the tent most of the time. Remember I told you—” She stopped, then added, “Wait a sec. You said I called you yesterday from my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“Then someone must have broken in,” she said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe it was the landlord. He’s kinda creepy.”

Kendra said nothing. Sometimes, unnerved by the silence, a suspect would talk and in the process reveal something important.

Prepared to wait, Kendra glanced casually at Paul and saw that, although his face was void of expression, his eyes were alert. He was taking in everything around him.

For a moment she wondered what lay just beyond that steel-edged resolve. Paul kept his emotions well hidden, yet she knew just how close he’d come to being killed twice in the past year. He’d also lost his partner, and she suspected that beneath the surface he was concealing a lot of anger. Paul carried himself well and was the sexiest man she’d ever met, but was he also a dangerous man, now on the edge?

Kendra stared at the floor for a beat, forcing herself to concentrate, then focused back on their suspect.

The interview continued. “I’d like to believe that you had nothing to do with that phone call to Paul Grayhorse, but you’re going to have to convince me, Yolanda,” Kendra said. “A woman called, so it couldn’t have been your landlord. He’s male.”

Paul came up and stood behind Kendra. “She’s not lying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Surprised, Kendra turned and saw the utter calm she’d come to associate with Paul etched clearly on his face. With effort, she tore her gaze from his and looked back at Yolanda.

“You said you had a recording of the call I supposedly made to you?” Yolanda asked Paul.

“Yeah, it’s in my voice mail,” Paul said.

“Let me hear it.”

Paul pulled out his cell phone and played it for her.

“That’s not my landlord, and not his wife either. Her voice sounds gravelly. But you can tell it wasn’t me!” Yolanda protested.

“She was whispering,” Kendra said. “For my money, it was you.”

Yolanda shook her head. “Play it again, louder this time,” she asked Paul. As he did, she smiled. “Now I know who it is. That’s Annie, Annie Crenshaw. We used to be friends, but she’s got so many problems now I can’t stand to be around her. I forgot she still has a key to my place.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I know what happened to some of my Navajo jewelry. I thought I’d misplaced it, but Annie probably ripped me off. She’s hooked on meth and always needs cash to make a buy.”

“Tell us more about this Annie Crenshaw,” Kendra pressed.

“She got clean about six months ago, then her boyfriend dumped her and she started doing drugs again. She ended up losing her apartment. Now she’s working the streets.”

“Where does she hang out?” Paul asked.

“You might try the old brick building where Hensley’s Gym used to be. It’s supposed to be empty now. Last I heard she was sneaking in at night and crashing in one of the old locker rooms,” Yolanda said. “But I doubt she’s there right now. Once she’s on meth, she finds it hard to stay still. Last time she was using she hung out in the alley between the bus station and the free clinic.”

“Do you happen to have a photo of Annie?” Paul asked.

“No, but I’m sure you’ve got a mug shot somewhere,” Yolanda said, looking over at Kendra.

“What about Alex? Does he know Annie? Could they be working together?” Kendra asked.

Yolanda stared at Kendra as if she’d suddenly lost her mind. “No way. They can’t stand each other. Last time they were in the same room, they went at each other major league and she threatened to have him killed.”

“All right, then. We’ll look into this,” Kendra said.

“So, can I go?” Yolanda stood, looking toward the door.

Kendra shook her head. “Not yet. Detective Bowman still wants to talk to you about Alex. What happens after that is up to him,” Kendra said.

They walked to the door, Kendra knocked, and Preston let them out. He’d been standing in an adjacent room, listening and watching through the one-way glass.

Preston nodded to Kendra, then looked at his brother. “So what’s your take on Yolanda? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I do, which means we need to track down Annie Crenshaw. My guess is that she was paid to make that call, and we need to know by whom,” Paul said.

“That person is probably our shooter, maybe Miller, so finding Annie is our top priority now,” Kendra said, glancing at Preston. The man was a hard-assed cop, yet he never questioned Paul’s take on Yolanda’s credibility. Something told her there was more to Paul’s ability than he’d said.

Maybe he’d trained with covert ops somewhere, working closely with their professional con men and other highly skilled consultants. Federal law enforcement agents often had interesting, varied backgrounds.

Kendra looked at Preston, then at Paul. “How about going behind closed doors right now and tossing around a few ideas? Whatever we say stays there.”

Preston nodded. “My office.”

* * *

P AUL FOLLOWED K ENDRA into Preston’s spartan office, which held only a small desk, file cabinets and two folding chairs. There were no photos on the wall, only documents listing Preston’s credentials.

Once they were seated, Kendra began. “What evidence did the crime scene team find at the site where Paul was ambushed?”

“Two slugs from a .45 were found embedded in the bricks of the Murray building.”

“I was standing with the building at my back when the shooting started,” Paul said.

“The shots were grouped tightly, the sign of an experienced marksman,” Preston said.

Kendra leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “My theory is that the gunman who came after Paul is probably someone with a personal grudge, maybe someone linked to his P.I. business. With a rifle, Miller can hit a target at a thousand yards. With a .45, he can make a head shot at one hundred feet. The only reason he failed to kill the judge last November was because two U.S. Marshals got in his way. This can’t be his work.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Paul said. “When I got shot at last night I was the only target around and I was less than fifty feet away from the gunman. Miller’s weapon of choice is the rifle, but he shouldn’t have missed at that distance with a handgun either. I’d just been illuminated by a lightning flash—like I was standing beneath a flare. It was an easy shot for anyone with his level of training.”

“Maybe he choked,” Preston said.

Kendra shook her head. “Professional hit men don’t choke and still group their shots that tight.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Miller, I have no idea who it could have been. Grayhorse Investigations primarily handles routine video and electronic surveillance,” Paul said. “The reason I got involved in this last case was because a police officer was allegedly involved in domestic abuse.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who wears a badge should be held to the highest standard.”

She heard the barely concealed anger in his voice and realized the case had clearly struck a chord with him. Another idea suddenly popped into her head. What if the shooter had known Paul would react exactly as he had and used that knowledge to set him up as a target?

“Who would know that’s how you feel about those who carry a badge?” she asked.

Preston answered her instantly. “Anyone who knows Paul or has worked with him.”