Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe - Nancy Bush Rafferty Family

Скачать книгу

envelope. Wordlessly she handed the package to him. He slipped the contents onto the table and arranged each piece so he could see each one, feeling like an intruder when he read the personal note.

      “I think he was a visiting doctor at Hathaway House, but I have to wait to talk to Dr. Knudson. I don’t even know if that’ll work. Knudson wasn’t on staff when I was there, so will he even know him?”

      “There’s only one way to find out,” Auggie said positively. “We’ll go see him together.”

      “On Monday . . . today’s Saturday . . . ?”

      “I can wait.” He smiled and she just looked at him. Eventually, she nodded her agreement as she slid the items back inside the package and set it to one side.

      Now, he just had to figure out a way to talk to D’Annibal without Liv Dugan overhearing.

      Chapter 12

      Jessica Maltona’s boyfriend, Jason Jaffe, was exactly the piece of work Gretchen had said he was. He even looked the part with disreputable jeans and a wife-beater T-shirt. He was an artist who worked with metal and a welding machine and Gretchen and Nine found him hard at work in the garage of the small home he shared with Jessica, a blue flame spurting from his hand-held welder, melting metal into a bubbling liquid at the joint of something that looked like a large ball with rebar spikes that now looped down like limp spider’s legs.

      Such was September’s appreciation of Jaffe’s art.

      He looked up at their approach through his welder’s helmet; his eyes visible behind black mesh, the rest of his face hidden. Switching off the torch, he flipped up the helmet. He was good-looking in that lean, rawhide way with deep grooves beside his mouth and flinty eyes.

      “Who the fuck are you?” he greeted them.

      “We’ve spoken,” Gretchen said, whipping out her ID and getting bristly.

      As soon as he realized who they were he visibly pulled on a mask of geniality. September introduced herself and then explained a little about the general investigation, and their visit to the hospital to see Jessica.

      “She’s not doin’ so well, huh,” he said blithely.

      Gretchen’s eyes narrowed at his callous tone, but September sensed it might be a cover-up. She wasn’t in love with the guy, but he might have a lot of feelings buried down deep that he wasn’t willing to let them see.

      “Tell us a little bit about her,” she suggested.

      “Like what?”

      “How long have you and she been living here? How did you meet? Like that.”

      He paused for a long moment, then took off the helmet and flexed his arms and back. Hunks of metal surrounded him in disorderly bins and a wooden workbench with scattered tools stood against the back wall.

      “We met in a bar. I liked the way she looked. I guess she felt the same. I was doing some landscaping for Lawn Like New. Asshole boss. Asshole company. She was workin’ for that Zuma guy and makin’ more money than I was. We started renting and then the bastard fired me and Jessica said maybe it was meant to be. We could squeak by on her salary for a while, and this way, I got to work on my sculptures full time.”

      Gretchen just stood back; she’d heard enough bullshit in her life to be bored or irritated or both. She was itching to get on to something new.

      September said, “Any thoughts on why someone might have it in for Jessica?”

      His flinty eyes gazed at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Hell, no. Everybody loves Jess. She’s nice.” He slid a look Gretchen’s way as if making a point. “You gotta get your head outta your asses. This ain’t about Jess. This is about that asshole Kurt Upjohn. He’s the asshole. Makes tons of cash and works everybody like crazy.”

      “You have any specific reason to suspect the murders were because of Upjohn?” September asked.

      “Wha’d I just say? He’s an asshole!”

      “I heard that Paul de Fore gave her a hard time for leaving on her break,” September said.

      “God . . .” He shook his head. “She met me at that Starbucks close by Zuma to give me my keys, which she ran off with this morning by mistake. Stop trying to pin this on her. It’s Upjohn’s fault Rambo came in and shot the place up.” A pause, and then he said with a hitch to his voice, “That was the last time I saw her.”

      Gretchen chose that moment to join back in, saying coolly, “She’s at Laurelton General now. You can stop by anytime. Do you have anything concrete to back up your theory that this was Upjohn’s fault? Something besides just not liking the guy?”

      “All I know is that Jess doesn’t deserve this. Any of it.” His lips started to quiver a little and he smashed them together. “It’s Upjohn’s fault she got hurt. That’s on him . . . asshole,” he added.

      They left after a few more questions that earned them more of the same. In the car Gretchen observed to September, “You’re a lot more patient than I am.”

      She observed right back, “You haven’t set the bar too high.”

      That earned her a snap of Gretchen’s head and a drop of her mouth. To date, September had been quietly taking it all in, not wanting to make waves, but her innate sense of humor couldn’t remain repressed for long.

      Gretchen gave a short bark of laughter. “Okay,” she said. Then, “Let’s get our asses back to work.”

      “We don’t want to be assholes,” September agreed.

      They both broke into chuckles.

      At the station, D’ Annibal was just coming back from an on-site interview at Zuma with Pauline Kirby as Gretchen and September entered the station. Gretchen glared at Urlacher, whose throat worked as if he were desperate to get the words out even though he knew she’d growl at him. He just managed to keep his requests for ID to himself.

      D’Annibal was entering his office, taking off his coat and loosening his tie. His gray hair was smooth, his color high, as if he’d been standing in the sun for a little too long, which he probably had been.

      “How’d it go?” Gretchen asked him, stopping outside his door.

      “Fair. She kept zinging questions about Upjohn’s finances, his relationship with Dirkus’s mother, and the secrecy surrounding his operation. I kept deflecting.”

      “Did you bring up the Martin killing?” she asked, as September joined her, both of them standing outside the office.

      “I tried to say next to nothing except that we’re on the job.” He smiled thinly. “The usual. It’ll be on tonight’s news. Another reporter appears to be on the Martin homicide. Expect a call,” he said to September, seating himself behind his desk.

      It was their cue to leave and as they walked away, Gretchen said, “Ever talked to the press?”

      “Not about work.”

      “Give ’em the basics: where the body was discovered, that the death was from a bullet wound—don’t say how many shots—that the name won’t be released until next of kin have been notified.”

      “His parents are both gone. Jo is really all he has,” September reminded her.

      “Don’t mention her name, either. Let ’em think we’re still notifying family, even if we aren’t.”

      She asked innocently, “Do you want me to also keep it quiet about the fact that Olivia Dugan, Zuma’s missing employee, is a person of interest in the Trask Burcher Martin homicide?”

      Gretchen shot her a look, realizing she was being

Скачать книгу