Janice Kay - Dead Wrong

“Surely you knew this when you asked her out.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But when conversation is general in big groups you don’t always remember who contributes what. She was fun, pretty, had a nice laugh. So on impulse I asked if she wanted to have dinner. This was…I don’t know. Maybe six weeks ago. The next weekend we had drinks and she came to a gallery opening with me. Afterward she wanted us to join Marcie and Dirk Whittaker at Sister’s, that new brew-house. I made an excuse and left her there. End of romance.”

The lieutenant asked, “Did you sleep with her, Travis?”

His eyebrows rose. “Does it matter?”

“We’re gaining the impression that she tended to end her evenings in someone or other’s beds. I guess I’m asking if that was true.”

Expression conflicted, he appeared to be thinking furiously. “Okay,” he said at last. “After our first date, she came home with me. Are you asking me to rate her performance?”

Lieutenant Patton gave a crooked smile. “No. What I’m trying to determine is whether she would readily have agreed to leave a bar with someone Wednesday night.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I think maybe she would. My take is, Amy liked sex. Or maybe what she liked was having a guy. She always seemed to be looking.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Forehead still creased, he asked, “Why would anyone want to kill Amy? She liked sex, sure. But to the best of my knowledge, she never hurt anyone.”

“Knowingly.”

He shrugged in concession. “Let me put it like this. I think she went out of her way not to hurt anyone.”

Face drawn, Lieutenant Patton said, “Travis, I want you to think back. Way back. Do you know of anyone who has harbored a grudge against Will? Anyone who is still around town?”

He straightened, gripped the back of his chair. His gaze locked with Meg Patton’s. “Will? What does…” He uttered a guttural obscenity. “Amy wasn’t murdered like Gilly, was she?”

“There were…similarities.”

He swore again. “You told Will?”

She nodded.

“How’s he taking it?”

“I don’t know,” the lieutenant said in a voice Trina had never heard from her. “As I’m sure you’re aware, he doesn’t open up to me much.”

“Why didn’t that idiot call me?” He shoved himself to his feet, hesitated, then sat back down. “No. God. I can’t think of anyone who hated Will like that. Everybody liked him.” He shook his head as if he were trying to clear it. “Mendoza was convicted. I called damn near every night during the trial! Will told me about the evidence!”

“Ricky always said there was another explanation. That he left her alive.” The pencil in the lieutenant’s hand snapped. She didn’t seem to notice. Her voice had become raw. “What if he did?”

“God.” Travis scrubbed his hand over his face. “Is Will still at his dad’s? He hasn’t found a place?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” He stood then, and squeezed Lieutenant Patton’s shoulder. “Hey, Will’s mom. You’re super cop. You’ll find out who did this.”

Her smile hurt to look at. “Thanks, Travis. You’re a good kid.”

His laugh wasn’t any more real than her smile. “When I want to shed a few years, I just come see you.”

She watched as he left the room, then met Trina’s eyes. “I’ve known him since he was fourteen.”

“Wasn’t he around during the trial?”

“No, he was in Europe training for the World Cup tour. He had an exciting life in those days. Val d’Isere, Innsbruck, St. Moritz…Will would get postcards. Travis won the opening downhill of the season that year, at Chamonix. I remember how excited Will was.” She fell silent for a moment. “Gillian was killed that spring. Travis was in Japan that week. By the time the trial started, he was back in Europe training for the next winter.”

That’s why she’d felt comfortable telling him as much as she had, Trina realized. He might be the only friend of Will’s his mother could trust.

The lieutenant’s gaze sharpened. “Trina, I’m going to have you go see Mendoza in Salem. You have a fresh eye.”

Trina kept her mixed excitement and trepidation out of her voice. “Do I tell him about this murder?”

“Why not? But first, learn what you can about his friends, cousins, nephews. Anyone who might care enough to think of a sick way to get him off.”

“Or who wants to be just like Ricky,” Trina said slowly.

“You got it. But beyond that, I want you to get him to tell his story about what happened the night Gillian Pappas was murdered. Just…listen.”

Trina nodded. “Is there anything you want to tell me about him?”

There was a history here she didn’t know.

But Lieutenant Patton shook her head. “Meet him, hear his story. I don’t want to predispose you in any way.”

“I have been reading police reports and the transcript of the trial.”

“But talking to him in person, that’s different.” She got to her feet. “I’ll call over to Salem, we’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

“If he’ll agree to talk to me.”

She snorted. “Oh, he’ll agree. Ricky Mendoza never misses a chance to tell someone he’s innocent.”

THE APARTMENT WAS DECENT, the rent exorbitant. That was the price you paid for being in a hurry.

Will unpacked his suitcases and made the bed. After signing the lease that afternoon, he’d visited the storage unit where most of his worldly possessions were stowed and managed to find boxes labeled Bedding and Kitchen. He hoped like hell his coffeemaker was in one of them.

When the doorbell rang, he abandoned the box of towels on the floor in front of the incredibly tiny linen closet and went to let Travis in. His friend glanced around the blandly furnished living room, wincing at the watercolor print of Juanita Butte that hung above the distressed leather couch and peeled pine end tables.

“You know, you could have stayed with me.”

“It’s looking like I won’t be able to buy until spring. You don’t need a roommate for months.”

“If I’m not on the ski hill, I’m in the studio. You’d have hardly seen me.”

“This will do.” Will nodded toward the kitchen. “Beer?”

“Sure.” Travis waited until he was popping the top of the dark German brew to say, “I talked to your mother today. She told me Amy’s murder had similarities to Gillian’s.”

“Similarities?” Will made a sharp sound. “More than that. It was damn near a carbon copy. Too close for coincidence.”

“Why didn’t you call me? This must have stirred up some hellish memories.”

Will deliberately took a swallow, feeling the cold, bitter beer slide down his throat. The pause enabled him to say almost steadily, “You could say that.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

Will looked at his hand gripping the bottle and realized it was shaking. The tremor was fine enough he hoped his friend hadn’t noticed.

“That’s all I’ve been doing! Even Jimmy McCartin called to talk about it!”

“My fault. I ran into him when I stopped for an espresso on the way up to the hill. I tried to back out the door, but he spotted me before I could make a getaway.” His gaze rested on Will’s hand. So much for not noticing. “Come on, buddy. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Will turned his back, staring out the small window above the sink. “What is there to say? Some sick son of a bitch thought it would be fun to copy another murder. Maybe it was chance he chose another woman I know. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he picked her because that’s another parallel. Either way… Do you know what he did to her?” Will asked in anguish.