Dead Ringer (18 page)

For
so many years, she'd pushed thoughts of her birth family from her mind. Now
they were all she could think about. Years of denying vanished in a heartbeat.
In its place rose an intense need to
know
.

Nervous
energy bubbled inside Kendall. She glanced at the phone and then back at the picture
of the little girl who looked so lost. Afraid she'd back out if she
hesitated,
she picked up the phone on the nightstand and
called information. When the automated operator came on the line Kendall
requested the agency's listing. Seconds clicked by as she waited. And then the
operator informed her that the number was
no longer in service
.

Kendall
squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed an oath. She repeated her request for
the number. More seconds passed and then the operator returned with the same answer.

Kendall
hung up the phone. "Damn."

Impatient,
she flicked the edge of the letter with her thumb. Whatever adoption papers
Irene and Henry Shaw had had appeared to be long gone. There'd been nothing in
her mother's safety deposit box. The only hope Kendall had of finding out about
her birth family was this agency. And it no longer had a phone listing.

She
glanced again at the letter.
The infant child, now known as Kendall
Elizabeth Shaw, is now the legal child of Henry and Irene Shaw. All birth
records for the infant child have been sealed.

Sealed.

Kendall
remembered Carnie Winchester, whose own adoption records had been sealed.
Nicole had said that connecting adoptive and birth
families
was
one of Carnie's specialties. She could untangle this mess.

Each
time questions had arisen in her, she'd run away from them. Now, she felt as if
she had no choice but to dive right in.

Jacob
and Zack arrived at Outer Limits tavern just after eleven on Sunday night. The
pub was located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a hardware store and a wine
shop, on the border of Henrico and Goochland Counties. Christmas lights
outlined the big picture window and a Miller sign flashed in neon. The parking
lot was filled with the tavern patrons' vehicles.

The
detectives got out of the car. Jacob braced against the cold, which cut through
his jacket and stung the exposed skin on his face. He ducked his head and
pushed through the tavern's front door. Warm air, the buzz of conversation, and
the blare of music greeted them. Zack closed the door and stood behind him.

The
tavern was long and narrow. To their right a long oak bar with stools. Behind
it, spotlights shone down on shelves filled with hundreds of bottles of booze.
Booths filled with patrons lined the left side of the bar and in between were a
half dozen full cafe tables.

"The
place is packed," Zack said. He had to speak loud enough to be heard over the
music.

Jacob
glanced at a sign that read
RICHMOND
'
S
#1
BURGER
.
"The owner's name is Paul Jefferson."

At
that moment a man moved behind the bar. Tall and slim and muscular like a
runner, he had a thick stock of red hair bleached by the sun. In his
midforties, he wore a blue T-shirt that read Kona and khaki pants. "The guy
looks like he just walked off the beach," Jacob said.

Zack's
eyes narrowed a fraction as recognition dawned. "I know this guy. Ten years ago
he won several Ironman competitions.
Busted a knee or
shoulder in a cycling accident.
Ended his career."

Jacob
shook his head.
"Lycra and spandex.
Bikes that barely
weigh a pound. I've never seen the attraction."

Zack
shrugged, unoffended. "He's one hell of an athlete."

But
could he take a pounding in the ring? "Let's see what he knows about Vicky
Draper."

They
moved across the room and pushed through the mob of people at the end of the
bar. Jacob pulled out his badge and as Paul turned he held it up.

Paul
didn't appear intimidated and turned to hand a couple of draft beers to a
waitress waiting by the bar. "My liquor license is up to date."

"We
didn't come about your liquor license," Jacob said.

The
guy didn't bother a glance in his direction. He filled two beers from the tap.
Foam washed over the side onto his hand. "I'm very busy. We're packed, as you
can see."

Irritated,
Jacob tucked his badge back in his pocket. "We're here to talk about Vicky
Draper."

Paul
muttered a curse under his breath. "She's one of the reasons I'm busting my
balls tonight. She hasn't shown up to work in a couple of days. I left messages
on her cell when she didn't show last night for her shift. But she never called
back. What'd she do this time?"

Someone
in the crowd picked that moment to crank a jukebox with a Bruce Springsteen
song. Jacob wasn't about to shout what he had to say. "Is there anywhere we can
talk?"

Paul
glanced down the row of patrons at the bar. One held up an empty glass in the
air. "Can we do this another time? Christ, I'm slammed tonight."

"We
need to do this now," Jacob said. There was some satisfaction knowing he was
pissing the guy off. Did he think cops showed up this late on a Sunday to chat
for no good reason?

Paul
frowned. "Let me fill a couple of orders and get a waitress to cover."

Jacob
nodded and watched as Paul filled two beers from the tap, made a gin and tonic and
a rum and Coke. He pulled a waitress from the floor and moved to the end of the
bar, where he lifted the end piece and came out from behind.

Paul
motioned for Jacob and Zack to follow him through an office door at the back of
the tavern. The office was small and cramped. On the walls was a picture of
Tour de France cyclists riding through a field of sunflowers. Under it stood an
old desk. The surface of it was covered with loose papers and a computer that
looked fairly new. The chair behind the desk looked ergonomic. As if
he
needed the support.

Paul
closed the door, muffling most of the loud music. Still, Jacob could feel the
beat in his chest. With the three clustered in the room, there was almost no
room to maneuver.

Paul
stayed by the door.

Zack
slid his hand into his pocket and relaxed his stance as if he had all the time
in the world. "Is it true you finished second at Kona about ten years ago?"
Kona was one of the world's most grueling Ironman competitions, consisting of a
2-mile ocean swim, a 112-mile bike ride over rough terrain, and a 26-mile run.

The
compliment relaxed Paul a fraction.
"Third."

Zack's
grin was boyish but calculated. "I've done a few longer triathlons, but an
Ironman, that's a big bite. How long did it take you to finish?"

"Nine
hours, twenty-two minutes."

Zack
nodded. "Impressive."

Paul
folded his arms over his chest. "So has Vicky been arrested for drugs? Because
I can tell you if she has, I had nothing to do with it."

Jacob
glanced down at Paul's desk, which brushed his thigh. "Why would Ms. Draper
mention your name?"

Paul
shoved out a breath. "Because that's what Vicky does. She lies. She uses drugs,
deals occasionally, and she can be a real pain in the ass."

Zack
tore his gaze from the framed poster. "So why not fire her?"

"Because
when she is here, she's a damn good waitress. Few can handle tables like she
does. And the customers love her. Liquor sales always go up twenty percent when
she's behind the bar. She knows how to work the men."

Zack
folded his arms. "Weren't you worried when she didn't show Friday?"

"Sure, a little.
But I figured it was like the last time. She
had
drank
too much and was sleeping it off. I knew
she'd call, promise to make it up, and we'd get back to business as usual.
Employees not showing in this business isn't
unheard of. You
learn to be flexible."

"She
never called to check in with you at all?" Zack asked.

"Nope."
Paul shook his head. "But that's her. Once she
didn't show for a week." His gaze darted between the two detectives.

"When
is the last time you saw her?" Jacob asked.

"Wednesday
night. She has Thursdays off. Mind telling me what this is about? Do I need to
bail her out or something?"

Jacob
flexed his fingers. "Vicky is dead."

The
color drained from Paul's face. His stance wavered. "What?"

Jacob
kept the tone of his voice steady. "Her body was found this morning."

"Shit."
Paul dragged his hand through his hair. "Shit. God, I wish I could say this is
totally unexpected, but it's not. She hangs with a hard crowd."

"Can
you tell us who she hung out with? Friends, boyfriends, anyone we could talk
to?" Jacob asked.

Paul
shook his head again. The guy looked shocked but that didn't mean squat. Jacob
had crossed his share of talented liars. "I don't know."

"There
must be someone we can talk to about her."

Paul
shrugged. "Vicky knew everybody and everybody knew her but she was like a
butterfly. She flitted around a lot but rarely landed. She wasn't close to
anyone. Her ex-husband moved out of state at least a year ago and her latest
boyfriend is in jail, from what I hear. There could be someone new in her life
but I don't know who it is."

"Meaning?"
Zack asked.

Paul
sighed. "She partied with everyone but, like I said, she never got close to
anyone. Hell, I slept with her."

"You
two were lovers?"

He
grimaced at the word.
"Nothing that serious.
It was a
little quick, free love kinda thing. That's it. No strings. Hell, I think she
was doing the bartender the night after she was with me."

"And
that didn't bother you?" Jacob asked. The guy was a little too easygoing for
his taste.

"Like
I said, it was sex." He shook his head. "I know as much about her today as I
did the day I met her. She played her cards close."

"Ever
wonder why?" Jacob asked.

"As
long as she showed up for work, I didn't care. And I didn't ask. Vicky wasn't
the kind of woman you had deep conversations with."

"But
you had to wonder about her a little," Jacob said. "Where she came from, what
she did when she wasn't here."

Paul
shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
"Maybe
once or twice.
The woman didn't encourage deep thought. She was strictly
about fun."

"The
coroner said she had an old scar on her hand. Looked like an old defensive
wound." Jacob had checked with the women's prison and asked if she'd been in a
fight. She hadn't. "She was sliced up pretty badly. Know anything about that?"

Paul
shook his head. "Yeah, I saw that. I asked her once. She made some glib joke
that told me nothing."

The
small office was warm and Jacob considered removing his jacket, but the
confined space made it not worth the effort. "Do you have her home address?"

"Yeah."
Paul turned to his computer and punched a
couple of keys. An address popped up and he wrote it down on a slip of paper.
Jacob noted the guy was left-handed. Vicky had been hit on the right side of
her face, suggesting her attacker was a lefty.

Jacob
accepted the paper. "Don't stray too far. We may have more questions."

Paul
nodded. "Sure. This all seems like overkill, don't you think?"

Jacob
paused.
"How so?"

"She
died of an overdose, right? I mean, why does the county need two cops to figure
out why a junkie died?"

"Why
would you say that?" Zack asked.

"Come
on, the life she lived--it was a matter of time before her liver gave out."

"She
didn't die of an overdose," Jacob said. "She was murdered."

Paul's
face tightened and paled. "What?"

"That's
right."

"Hey,
will you keep me posted?" The question seemed to come more out of a morbid
curiosity than concern.

Jacob
ignored the question, simply saying, "We'll be in touch if we need more."

The
detectives left Paul standing in his office, his face tight with shock. They
plunged back into the noise of the tavern and out the front door into the cold.
Jacob felt the chill all the more after leaving Paul's overheated office. The
two got into the car and Jacob fired up the engine.

"Let's
see if we can get into Vicky's apartment tonight."

Zack
nodded. "Let me just call Lindsay and tell her I'll be late."

"Sure."

Zack
dialed the number as Jacob pulled into traffic. After a moment's pause, Zack
said, "Hey, babe, I'm gonna be late."