Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (20 page)

Twenty

“Do us all a favor.” Imperatore glowered over his glasses at Pete. “Next time you get an urge to drag my client down here, just come to me first. It’ll save everyone some aggravation and gas money.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Pete watched as the attorney escorted Holt Farabee down the hall and out of the police station.

Baronick leaned against the doorjamb to Pete’s office. “I can’t believe you let him go.”

“What choice did I have? Imperatore said we had a flimsy case, and he was right.” Pete had jumped the gun. Again. Slapping handcuffs on a suspect every time a new shred of evidence showed up was a damned stupid move. He’d known better than that when he was a rookie. Of course, Zoe hadn’t been twisting him up inside like a lovesick teenager when he’d been a rookie either. “We have to build a solid case before we ask the DA to press charges. And I’m not convinced we
have
a case.”

“I had the feeling you were hedging back there. What’s eating you?”

Pete brushed past the detective and slid into his chair. “Holt Farabee is no fool. I have a hard time believing he’d kill a man and then hide the body in the house where he’s living.”

Baronick took the chair across the desk. “Obviously it wasn’t planned that way. I figure Tierney showed up at the farm. They got into it. Farabee whacked him and hid him there until he could move the body.” The detective shrugged. “Zoe found it first.”

“Hide him in the basement? Two floors down from where he and his little girl are sleeping?” Pete shook his head. “You don’t shit where you eat.”

Baronick’s phone jingled and he dug in his pocket for it. “He didn’t drag it in there. For some reason he and Tierney happened to be in the basement. That’s where Farabee killed him.”

“And hid him in the root cellar?” Pete huffed. “Why the root cellar?”

The question was for himself as much as the detective. And it pertained to the killer in general, Farabee or not. Why had the killer buried the body in the potato bin of all places?

Baronick frowned at the message on his phone. “I may have to take back what I just said. It looks like Farabee
did
drag Tierney into the basement.”

“What’d they find?” As soon as Pete asked the question he waved away Baronick’s response. “Never mind. You can tell me on our way out. I want to see for myself what your county detectives found.”

Zoe put an arm around the little girl’s shoulders. “Why would you think your dad would hurt Mr. Tierney?”

The little girl toyed with her fingernails as if trying to decide whether a manicure was in order. “Dad hated him.”

“You said that once before.” When Zoe had witnessed a confrontation between Holt and the man she’d thought of as the guy from the fort on Friday. This was Monday. Considering the stench of the body and the subsequent rate of decomp, it was very likely Tierney had died shortly after the encounter.

How shortly?

Maddie sighed. “I used to hear Mom and Dad arguing. They said it wasn’t anything important. Grownup stuff. They said I’d understand when I was older. And I guess it was okay because I’d see them getting all kissy and lovey dovey afterwards. But lately it was different. A couple of times, Dad was really mad.
Really
mad. They weren’t just arguing. Dad was yelling. Loud.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know exactly. But I remember Dad yelling about Mom and Mr. Tierney. Dad called him bad names.” Maddie swallowed hard. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her voice wavered when she said, “One time, he called Mom a bad name, too.”

Zoe tried to picture troubled, bereaved Holt calling his late wife a name their daughter couldn’t repeat. “Sometimes adults say stupid stuff. Things they don’t mean.”

Maddie met her gaze, the little girl’s dark eyes wide with sorrow. “He said—one time, he said—if he ever saw Mom and Mr. Tierney together again—he’d kill them both.”

The mental image created a knot in Zoe’s heart. She shoved the picture away. Before she could think of a response to sooth Maddie, a door slammed beneath them followed by the rapid thump of boots on the staircase.

“Maddie?” Holt’s voice echoed up to them.

“Dad!” Fear and worry forgotten, Maddie tore out of Zoe’s bedroom and into the hallway.

By the time Zoe reached her door, Holt had made it almost to the top of the stairs, and Maddie had flung herself into her father’s arms. He crushed her to him, smothering her with kisses. As Zoe watched the father-daughter reunion, faded memories of similar moments with her own dad threatened to rip open the old scar yet again.

Holt met Zoe’s gaze over Maddie’s blond head. He mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Zoe responded with a tight smile. “They let you go, I see.”

He set Maddie down, but kept a hand on her shoulder. “They don’t have a case and everyone knows it.”

Everyone. Except Zoe.

Holt dropped to one knee and cupped his daughter’s face in his hands. “Sweetheart, I want you to go in our room and pack up all the nice stuff Zoe’s friends have given you. And then pack the clothes we brought with us.”

“But why?”

Zoe wondered the same thing.

“We’ve taken advantage of Zoe’s and Mrs. Kroll’s hospitality long enough.”

“You’re leaving?” Zoe asked.

He looked up at her and nodded once. “I don’t feel right taking all this stuff from your boarders. I’m sure you can see it gets back where it belongs.”

“Don’t be silly. No one wants their things back.”

“I know, but—”

“It was an act of kindness on their parts. Returning toys and clothes that Maddie enjoys… They’d take it as an insult.”

Holt appeared to reconsider.

Maddie tugged at the front of his shirt. “Please, Dad.”

His face softened. “All right. Pack up everything.”

“Where are we going?”

From the look on Holt’s face, Zoe guessed he hadn’t gotten that far.

“Just go pack. I have to talk to Zoe.”

Maddie shot a forlorn glance at her before darting into the room across the hall. Holt climbed to his feet and closed the distance between him and Zoe.

He made a couple of false starts before he finally said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I’m sorry I can’t stick around and finish the repairs.”

She studied his face.

It was a handsome face. Strong jaw. Tortured eyes. They didn’t look like a killer’s eyes. But then again, she’d been fooled before. “Did you kill Tierney?” she whispered.

“No.” His voice sounded like it had been roughed up with 12-grit sandpaper. He held her gaze and the creases in his forehead deepened. “I could never…” He shook his head. “But I can’t expect you to believe me.”

“I want to. But if you didn’t, why are you running?”

His eyes shifted toward the room across the hall for a millisecond. “I can’t explain. Not now. I have something I need to take care of.” His face grew hard. Dark.

For a moment, Zoe thought back to the mental picture of Holt threatening his wife. It was so hard to imagine. “What do you need to take care of?”

“Something I’ve put off too long.”

She really didn’t like the sound of that. “Then leave Maddie here,” Zoe said, hearing the desperation in her own voice.

He gave his head a quick shake, and Zoe thought she caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes. “I can’t.” He took a deep breath. Blew it out. “Look. I really appreciate everything you’ve done, from saving my life to helping my daughter through losing her mom. But the best thing I can do right now to repay you is to get out of your house.”

“But Maddie—”

“Stays with me.”

Zoe could tell there would be no arguing with him. Besides, maybe it was for the best. Bringing the Farabees into her life and into her house had all but destroyed her relationship with Pete. And yet, the idea of never seeing them again, especially Maddie, left a yawning ache in her heart. “Can you promise to let me know where you are? That you and Maddie are okay?”

A sad smile crossed Holt’s lips. “Promise? I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.” He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips before turning and disappearing into the guest room with his daughter.

Zoe retreated into her room and closed the door to the second-floor hallway. If only she could shut the door to her fears as easily.

“Chief.” Pete’s secretary called out to him before he could make it out of the station. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

Nancy waved her personal cell phone at him. “My sister just called me.”

“Let me guess. Her husband and father are duking it out again with hedge clippers.”

“Huh?” Baronick clearly wasn’t up to speed on the local hedge feud.

“Not exactly. She’s worried to death about Ryan, though. Said she hasn’t seen or heard from him since Saturday.”

The trashed house. Ryan Mancinelli passed out on the couch. “Did she try going over and knocking on the door?”

“No one answered.”

Pete closed his eyes with a sigh. Opening them again, he turned to a perplexed Baronick. “I need to check on this guy. It’s on the way.”

“Need backup?”

“I don’t think so.” He nodded to Nancy. “Tell your sister I’m on my way.”

The secretary was already thumbing her phone’s screen. “Thanks, Chief.”

Pete and Baronick stepped out into the suffocating heat. Pete paused in the shade of the building before venturing into the broiling sunshine. “Tell me what your detective found.”

“A wheelbarrow.”

“It’s a farm. There have to be a half a dozen wheelbarrows around the place.”

“This one happened to be leaning outside the basement’s exterior doors.”

Pete remembered the day he’d had the confrontation with Zoe outside those doors, and the vintage wheelbarrow leaning against the foundation. “Yeah. So?”

“It also appears to have some…leakage on it.”

“Leakage? You mean blood?”

“Not really. Let’s just say body fluids and leave it at that until the lab gets a look.”

Body fluids. On the ancient wheelbarrow. Pete pressed his fingers into his left eyebrow, behind which a killer headache lurked. “Wonderful. You heading back out there?”

“Absolutely.”

Pete nodded. “I’ll catch up to you after I make sure Ryan Mancinelli hasn’t crawled into a bottle and drowned.”

From the outside, the Mancinelli house looked no different than it had in recent days. When Pete had stopped by to check on Ryan on Sunday, the kid had met him on the porch. Red-eyed and pale-skinned, he’d insisted he was fine.

Today, one day later, no one responded when Pete pressed the doorbell. Pounding on the door didn’t help either.

Pete backed away from the house to look around and spotted Ashley Mancinelli standing on her parents’ porch next door. She waved and headed his way.

“Thanks for coming. My folks are ready to write Ryan off, but I’m worried about him.”

“I understand. Do you have the key?”

She held up a loaded key ring with one of them singled out.

Pete took it and unlocked the door. Pushing it open, he called out, “Ryan, it’s Chief Adams. Are you in there?” Pete’s words reverberated through the spacious entryway, the slight echo the only response. He stepped inside.

Ashley followed. “Ryan, honey? It’s me.” Still no answer. She caught sight of the smashed painting and the hole in the wall. “Oh my God.”

“It was like this Saturday night when I looked in on him.”

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “He started smoking again.”

“The rest of the place isn’t any better. Stay behind me.”

“Okay.”

Nothing else inside the house had changed, either. Except for the couch in the living room. The blanket Pete had covered Ryan with was lumped at one end.

Ashley only made it as far as her kitchen. Or what remained of it. She covered her mouth with one trembling hand and surveyed the shards of her dinnerware scattered across the counter and floor. A sob broke through.

“I’m going to check the rest of the house,” Pete said.

She nodded without meeting his eyes.

From what Pete could tell, Ryan hadn’t taken his trail of destruction upstairs. The rooms there—a vacant bedroom with the beds made and another one set up as an office—were spotless. The basement likewise appeared unharmed.

And no potato bin with a body in it.

Ashley stood in the spot where Pete had left her. “He’s not here.”

She looked up at him. “Is his truck in the garage?”

“Let’s check.” Pete escorted her outside and around to the three-bay industrial-sized garage which doubled as Ryan’s workshop.

Ashley punched in a code for the garage door opener. They stood back as the door clanked and rose to reveal an empty bay.

Pete swept both arms open toward the void. “See? He probably slept it off and went to work this morning.”

She nodded, but looked unconvinced. “I hope so. But it’s never been that easy. The PTSD, I mean. And the accident didn’t trigger it. The explosion did.”

“Explosion? You mean the Farabee house?”

“Yeah. He got pretty weird when he saw it on the news. I guess because he’d dealt with that sort of thing so much.”

Pete’s gut started gnawing at him. “What ‘sort of thing’ do you mean?”

“I thought you knew. Ryan was an EOD Specialist.”