Beverly Long - Hidden Witness

“It’s possible. But Taylor didn’t see anybody else while she was with Malone or hear him refer to anyone.”

But Malone was smart—nobody was disputing that. He’d managed to kill three women and hide their bodies.

The chief steepled his big fingers together. “It’s even possible that we’ve got some crackpot who somehow managed to find out Taylor’s identity and he or she has decided to finish what Malone started.”

Chase nodded. “I guess the only thing we really know for sure is that we need to keep Lorraine Taylor alive to testify at Harry Malone’s trial.”

“Alive and unintimidated,” the chief corrected. “I’m worried that she’s not going to be a good witness if she’s frightened that her life is in danger. We need her confident. Relaxed,” he added, then had the wherewithal to look a little sheepish. “As much as one can be at a murder trial.”

“What can we do to help, sir?” Dawson asked.

The chief looked at his watch. “Lorraine Taylor’s plane should be touching down in forty-five minutes and nobody has given me an option that I’m happy with.”

Chase took a sideways glance at Dawson. There were a number of safe houses that they used in the city, even a few in West County. Those were the ones he knew about. The chief probably knew of others.

“Her location was compromised in Miami,” Chief Bates said. “I can’t have that happen here. She’s already not happy about coming to the same city where Malone is sitting in jail. I’m thinking of stashing her downstate, maybe Springfield.”

Chase could see the concern on Dawson’s face. He would not want to be hours away from his wife if the baby decided to come early. He waited to see if Dawson would say something. But he didn’t. Chase understood. Turning down an assignment that the chief personally handed you was career suicide.

Chase leaned forward in his chair. He was going to regret this. “My brothers and I own a house in Ravesville. It’s sitting empty right now. It’s a mile and a half outside of town. Only a couple neighbors on the same road. Brick...uh, my stepfather just died.”

The chief’s eyes lit up. “Did you grow up there?”

Chase nodded.

“When did you move away?”

He’d left the day Calvin had turned eighteen, when both of them were legal to be on their own. He’d been twenty-one. “Thirteen years ago, sir. I went back once, about eight years ago.”

The chief tapped his middle finger on the wood desk. He stared at it. Finally, he looked up. “I like it. We’ll have your file reflect that you’re on personal leave. If anybody asks,” he said, looking at Dawson, “Detective Hollister is dealing with family stuff. Nobody besides the two of you and the few people that I personally involve will have any knowledge of the truth. Nobody else.”

He switched his laser-sharp gaze to Chase. “Congratulations, Detective Hollister. You just got married. Lorraine Taylor can pose as your wife.”

Chapter Two

By the time the plane had landed and Luis was hustling her through the airport, Raney had a headache that wouldn’t quit. They exited into a wall of very warm, humid air.

“I thought the Midwest was cooler than Florida,” she said.

Luis didn’t respond. He was busy looking at his phone. Then he signaled for a cab.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding irritated. “I just got a text with a street address from my contact.”

“That makes me feel very secure,” she said drily. Sweat was gathering between her breasts and the hot sun made her feel sick to her stomach. “You’d think they’d at least spring for a car,” she said grumpily.

Again Luis did not respond, which surprised her. In Florida he’d been polite, almost chatty. He’d been quiet on the plane. Now he seemed edgy. It made her feel off balance.

The cab drove for about thirty minutes before finally pulling into an empty spot behind a brown UPS truck. The driver was out of the vehicle, stacking boxes high on a cart.

It dawned on her that she was just another kind of package. She’d been wrapped up and sent halfway across the country, to be handed off into someone else’s care. And they were going to cart her somewhere else and put her on a shelf for a month.

She looked at the sign in the nearest store window. It was a frozen yogurt shop. At least things were looking up. “Is this it?”

Luis didn’t answer. He was watching the street closely. They got out of the cab and hadn’t walked more than three feet before a big man, probably close to the age her father would have been, fell into step next to them. He had a plastic bag looped over one hand.

He nodded at her and spoke quietly to Luis. Luis extended his hand and the men shook. Luis turned to her. “This is police chief Bates. He’ll take over from here.”

“Great,” she said.

“We’re happy to have you in St. Louis,” the man said. “Thank you, Officer Vincenze.”

Luis nodded at the chief and looked at her. “Good luck,” he said before turning quickly away. He got back into the same cab they’d arrived in. Chief Bates waited until the cab had pulled away from the curb before turning toward her.

“Rest assured that we’re going to keep you perfectly safe,” he said. “Right now we need to get a few things taken care of.”

“What things?” she asked.

“I’ll answer all your questions,” he said. They walked past the frozen yogurt shop. Turned a corner. Walked another block. Turned another corner. Second store in, he stopped. “But first, let’s just step inside here.” He opened the door to what appeared to be a hair salon. The lights inside were dimmed and there were no customers. Just a woman standing behind the high counter.

“Morning, Marvin,” the woman said.

“Ms. Taylor, this is my sister, Sandy. Work your magic, honey,” the chief said to the woman.

The day was getting stranger by the minute.

An hour later, Raney’s shoulder-length brown hair had been chopped off and she was a platinum blonde. Without the heavy weight, her hair had a natural wave that surprised her. She liked that she could tuck the wispy strands behind her ears. She also had to admit that the new hair color made her light blue eyes pop in a way that eye shadow had never managed. It was a startling change and she had trouble taking it all in.

“She’s done,” Sandy said. They were the first words she’d spoken since she explained that she was going to lighten up and trim her hair. Sandy was clearly a master of understatement.

The chief, who had looked ridiculous perched on one of the small chairs in the waiting area, stood up. “Everybody else should be here soon.”

He was right if “everybody” was three men. She could see them through the glass window. One was in his midfifties with a camera around his neck, carrying what appeared to be a big bag of dry cleaning. The second was a handsome black man dressed in a nice gray suit. The third man, and the one who held her attention, was in a tux and carried a small suitcase with him. He was tall.

If Sandy planned to trim him up, she didn’t have much to work with. His dark brown hair was already cut short, maybe not military short but pretty close. It showed off his chiseled good looks.

The chief opened the door and locked it behind them. The room was suddenly filled with testosterone. Raney, who was still sitting in the stylist’s chair, felt at a disadvantage. She stood up quickly, tried to take a step, got the heel of her sandal caught in the lower rung of the chair and pitched forward.

Tuxedo Guy caught her before she landed on her face. His grip on her bare upper arms was secure but light. He gently pushed her upright and she passed within inches of his body.