Kevin O'Brien Bundle (114 page)

“Including me?” he asked lightly.

“Especially you,” she admitted.

“And now?”

“Now, I know you better,” she carefully replied. “And I like you, Ben.”

“I like you, too. But you didn’t really answer my question.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

Patting her shoulder, he nodded. “It’s all right if you still suspect me a little. You’d be crazy not to.”

When they reached her apartment building, Ben asked if he could come up. “I’d like to be there if Seth calls tonight,” he said. “I could also use a drink. If you could spare a glass of wine, I’ll buy you a pizza dinner—or Chinese.”

Hannah hesitated.

“It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be offended.”

She worked up a smile. “Quit giving me permission to not trust you. It makes me—not trust you.”

He chuckled. “All right. To tell you the truth, I’ll be hurt if you turn me away.”

Hannah sighed. “My little boy’s sick, and I want to spend some time with him. I also need to track down a coworker friend who could be in trouble. If Seth calls me, I’ll get in touch with you right away, Ben. I’m filling in for a coworker tomorrow. Why don’t you stop by the video store? I take my break at two.”

“Okay,” he muttered, looking crestfallen. “See you tomorrow, Hannah.” He seemed ready to hug her for a second, then drew back and awkwardly shook her hand. “Well, um, good night.”

Hannah opened the lobby door.

She wanted so much to let down her guard and invite him in. But she turned and started up the cold, cinder-block stairwell by herself.

“What a miserable fuckhead,” Britt muttered, as she stormed out of a dance club called The Urinal. The loud, pulsating, pounding music still echoed in her ears.

Everything had been terrific when she and Webb first went into the place. They’d both been a little high. He had a couple of deals he needed to make there, so she’d expected to be ditched for a few minutes. She could handle that. She looked pretty damn good tonight in her favorite black jeans and a black sleeveless T-shirt with a blue thunderbolt on the front. The blue matched exactly with the streaks in her hair and the stone in her eyebrow ring. She caught several guys checking her out as she stood alone at the bar. She didn’t mind waiting for Webb.

But he was gone forty-five minutes, for God’s sake. She finally discovered him by the rest rooms. He had his tongue halfway down the throat of this skanky bitch with orange hair and a black bra for a top.

That was when Britt ran out of The Urinal.

Halfway down the block, she started crying. She began to think of all the awful things Webb had done. The most recent was earlier in the week, when she’d gotten a phone bill for three hundred bucks and change because he’d made a bunch of 1-900 sex-line calls on her phone. They’d fought. He punched her in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her. By the time she could breathe normally again, Webb was crying. So she forgave him.

Now she was the one crying. She was through forgiving him. The miserable prick wasn’t worth all this aggravation.

Britt was freezing as she hobbled down the sidewalk. Mascara streaked down her face. She didn’t see any cabs. She was wondering how the hell she’d get home when, just ahead, a burgundy Volvo pulled over to the curb.

Britt stopped. She watched a man step out of the car. He leaned on the roof of his car, his chin in his hand. It took a moment for Britt to recognize him from The Urinal. He’d been one of the guys checking her out.

“Do you need a ride, sad lady?” he called softly.

She took a few steps toward the car. “I know you,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m a friend of Hannah’s,” he said. His face was almost completely swallowed up by shadow.

“Hannah?” she repeated. Britt was about to tell him that she’d seen him in The Urinal. “You know Hannah?”

“Yeah, get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks,” Britt said, reaching for the door.

“You look real, real sad,” he remarked as she climbed into the car. “I have something that will make you feel a lot better.”

Britt leaned back in the passenger seat. “Sounds good,” she muttered, wiping her eyes.

He got behind the wheel, then shut his door.

The burgundy Volvo drove off.

Hannah had to wait through one verse and the chorus of The Beatles’
Good Day, Sunshine
before Britt’s recorded voice finally came on:
“Hey, this is Britt. Guess what? I can’t come to the phone. You know what to do!”

Beep.

“Hi again, Britt. It’s Hannah. I was hoping the third time tonight would be the charm. Call me. And you’ve got to change that message. If I never hear
Good Day Sunshine
again, it’ll be too soon. Anyway, call me at home. It doesn’t matter how late. I have Guy’s door closed. Talk to you soon—I hope. Bye.”

Sara Middleton threw back the covers, switched on the nightstand lamp, then squinted at the digital clock: 2:43
A.M
.

If she nodded off within ten minutes, she would still catch about four and a half hours of sleep. She would still be able to function and look halfway decent for her big presentation in the morning.

She’d been trying to fall asleep for the past ninety minutes. What she needed was a shot or two of bourbon to take the edge off. She’d packed a pint of Jack Daniel’s in her luggage for that very purpose. Lately, she’d been under a lot of pressure with her job. At thirty-one, she was the youngest executive manager at her company—and one of only three women in upper administration. With all her responsibilities came insomnia. She was becoming a slave to the bourbon-at-bedtime habit. Tonight she’d been determined to go without.

Well, screw that. Right now she was desperate for sleep—however she could get it.

Sara liked her bourbon on the rocks.

If she were staying at the Westin with the upper-upper management boys, she could have just picked up the phone and had room service bring her a bucket of ice. But the Best Western Maritime Inn was all her expense account could afford. She had to get her own ice.

Sara slept in panties and a white tank top. She’d be damned if she got completely dressed again for a trip down the hall in the middle of the night. She stepped into a pair of sweatpants, grabbed her room key and the ice bucket, then started down the dimly lit corridor.

She was so tired and frayed she didn’t care if someone saw her—barefoot, with her nipples practically poking through the flimsy tank top. The damn hallway was cold—and a bit creepy too.

Then Sara suddenly realized how vulnerable she was. When she’d booked the hotel two weeks ago, a friend back home in Santa Rosa had said this place was in an “iffy neighborhood.” Anybody could wander in from the street and hide in one of the shadowy doorways or alcoves.

Just a minute ago, Sara had been fearless. Now she couldn’t wait to go back inside her room and lock the door behind her.

She hurried toward the ice room. Sara figured once she got some ice in the bucket, at least she’d have something to throw at an attacker. She could scream and wake up half the hotel.

A few steps from the ice room door, Sara stopped in her tracks. Straight ahead, a man came around a corner and started down the hallway toward her. The light was in back of him, and for a moment all she could see was this tall, shadowy thing coming at her.

“Burning the midnight oil, huh?” she heard him say.

He stepped under a dim overhead light, and Sara noticed his tie and the hotel badge with his name on it. She also noticed him shyly checking out her breasts. She crossed her arms in front of her and almost dropped her ice bucket.

“Have a nice night,” he said, passing her.

“Thanks, you too,” she whispered.

Sara watched him continue down the hallway. She had to laugh a little. She put her hand over her heart and felt it pounding away. No doubt about it now, she really needed her Jack Daniel’s tonight. She’d catch four hours of sleep and take some aspirin in the morning.

Sara pushed open the ice room door. She gasped, and dropped the ice bucket.

The thing splayed on the tiled floor seemed to be staring back at her. The dead girl was so white her skin appeared chalky and translucent. Dark red blood was smeared around her nose and open mouth. The blue jewel in a ring that pierced her eyebrow was the same color as the streaks in her black hair; the same color as those unblinking eyes.

Sara screamed and screamed. She would wake up half the hotel.

That night—or what was left of it—Sara Middleton wouldn’t sleep at all.

The uniformed driver stood near the American Airlines terminal’s security checkpoint, holding a sign:
KENNETH WOODLEY
. Arriving Seattle passengers filed past the husky, middle-aged Arabic man on their way to baggage claim. Ari held the placard a bit higher. There were a half dozen other chauffeurs waiting around with signs. One by one, they met up with their fares. Ari was beginning to think Kenneth Woodley hadn’t made his plane from Chicago.

He didn’t see him coming. The lean man in his mid-thirties wore a Polo sportshirt and carried a duffel bag. His dark eyes seemed very intense, and there were traces of gray in his wavy brown hair. He was talking on a cell phone. Without a word or a nod of recognition, he unloaded his bag on Ari, then kept moving toward the escalator. Startled, Ari chased after him with the duffel and the sign.

“No, listen,” Kenneth Woodley was saying into his cell phone. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You don’t think she’s caught on to you yet, do you?”

Ari hovered behind him as the escalator carried them down to baggage claim.

“Well, she might not be letting on that she’s wise to you. Watch out for her. She’s a crafty bitch. Have you seen the kid yet? What? Well, what the fuck is wrong with you? How long have you been on the job?”

He stepped off the escalator and headed toward the baggage carousel. Ari was a step in back of him.

“Well, if we can, I want to pin Craig’s murder on her. I don’t care what you say. You stick with her long enough, and we’ll come up with something. One way or another, I’ll see she gets what’s coming to her. So—keep doing what you’re doing. I gotta go. You’re breaking up here.”

With a flick of the wrist, he folded up the tiny phone and shoved it in his pants pocket.

“Excuse me?” Ari piped up finally. “You’re Mr. Woodley?”

Kenneth Woodley turned and laughed. “No, I’m fucking Santa Claus. Who do you think I am?” He handed Ari his ticket envelope. “A black suitcase with a royal blue stripe down the center. Think you can remember that?”

“Yessir,” Ari replied. “We’re going to the Four Seasons Hotel, sir?”

Kenneth chuckled again.
“I’m going
to the Four Seasons. I don’t give a shit where you end up. Only, along the way, I want you drive me to someplace where I can lease a yacht. I might be here a few days. I may as well get some sailing in.”

“The fishing here is excellent, too, Mr. Woodley,” Ari offered.

“I don’t give a damn about that,” he replied. “I’m not fishing here. I’m on a hunting expedition. Now, get the suitcase, okay? I gotta take a leak.”

Neither of them had finished their lunch. Hannah’s chicken was gnarly and hard. All she could do was pick at her rice.

Tiptop Teriyaki was new to the mall’s food court, and not likely to last very long. Hannah and Ben were the only customers seated at the counter bar that curved around Tiptop’s nearly vacant eating area.

Over their inedible meal, Hannah told Ben about the other murders, and the videos forecasting them. She didn’t have to explain much. He was already familiar with the pattern. She told him about finding
Casino
in her purse, and her concern for her coworker.

Britt hadn’t shown up for work today, and she hadn’t answered any of Hannah’s phone messages since the night before last.

“Anyway,” Hannah sighed, pushing her plate away. “I’m worried she might be next.”

“What do the police think?” Ben asked.

“Well, I—I haven’t talked to them,” Hannah answered. “I haven’t contacted them about any of this.”

“What?” Ben squinted at her. “Why not?”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Listen, I need to get back to work. You want to walk with me?”

They headed back toward the store.

“I can’t believe you haven’t talked to the police,” Ben said, as they crossed the street. “You know, after that deliberate hit-and-run the other night, it struck me as weird you never approached the police about Craig. I mean, he’d been there to see
you.
Why didn’t you say something?”

Hannah hurried toward Emerald City Video. She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I was scared, confused.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to the police now? Between the two of us, we have enough information—”

“Ben, I’m going to be late for work,” she cut in, pausing in front of the door. “Maybe we can talk tonight. Okay?”

“Well, wait a minute—”

Hannah opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped dead.

Two uniformed policemen and a third man—heavyset with a tie, and badge on his windbreaker—stood by the front counter. At the register, Cheryl seemed confused. Tish stared back at Hannah with tears in her eyes. A slapstick comedy was showing on the store’s TVs.

“Ms. Doyle?” the plainclothes cop said.

Hannah took a step back, and almost bumped into Ben. She’d known this was coming, yet they’d still caught her off guard. They were here to arrest her. “Where’s my son?” she heard herself ask.

Tish approached her. “Honey, it’s not Guy. It’s Britt. Something happened.”

Wide-eyed, Hannah shook her head.

Tish hugged her, then whispered in her ear, “Oh, Han, they found her this morning in some hotel….”

“She was seeing this man named Roy Webster,” Hannah explained while shelving videos and DVDs. She moved from aisle to aisle with a stack of movies. The husky detective was following her around the store. He held a little recorder in his hand.

“He goes by the nickname ‘Webb,’” Hannah went on. “Britt was spending the weekend with him. As I said, I just talked with her the night before last, and she was fine.”

Hannah stayed as busy as she could around the plainclothes cop. That way, she could avoid looking him in the eye.

As she ran around the store, Hannah caught an occasional glimpse of Ben, browsing in New Releases. She could tell he was studying her, probably waiting for her to say something to the detective about the video murders. But she couldn’t. She could barely get through this casual interrogation without almost giving herself away. Fortunately, Ben had kept his mouth shut—so far.

He’d been in the store for about twenty minutes now. Ben had waited, along with the three policemen, while Tish and Hannah had ducked into the break room.

“Listen, honey,” Tish said, once they’d had a good cry in the little closet of a room. “I could send you home, but it would kill us here. I hate to ask, but could you hang in there and finish off your shift? You can take tomorrow off. I’ll fill in for Britt.”

Hannah hunted for a Kleenex in her purse. Her heart ached as she pulled out the packet of Capt’n Crunch decals Britt had saved for Guy. She began to cry all over again.

Tish handed her some tissues from her own bag, and suggested maybe she should go home after all.

“No, I’ll stick it out here,” she’d managed to say. “It’s best I keep busy for the next few hours.”

The two uniformed policemen left. Tish took to the register with Cheryl, while Hannah darted around the store, filing away returns.

“Were you aware that your friend had a drug habit?” the detective asked her, in the Documentaries section.

“That’s a side of her I don’t know much about,” Hannah answered steadily. “The person you should really ask is Webb. He’s the one you ought to talk to.”

“Britt had a couple of priors for possession,” the detective said, following her to the Sci-Fi section. “Do you know any of the people she might have—um, partied with?”

“No. As I said, that was a part of her life she didn’t share with me.” Hannah’s voice began to quaver. “She was really a sweet person, with a kind heart.” She paused and took a couple of deep breaths. Standing there among the Sci-Fi videos, she didn’t want to cry in front of this man. She just wanted him to go.

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” she finally said, her voice raspy. “I wish I knew more, but I don’t. I’m very sorry.”

When the detective finished questioning her, Hannah had to give him her home phone number and address. She felt sick to her stomach, telling a policeman how to reach her.

The cop asked Tish if there were any other employees who knew Britt very well. Tish turned to Hannah. “Do you think Scott could tell them anything, Han?”

She quickly shook her head. “Not really. He didn’t know any of her friends. Plus he’s been in the hospital since yesterday morning.”

Tish turned to the detective. “His name is Scott Eckland,” she said, “In case you want to talk with him, he’s at Group Health Hospital—”

“I don’t think we need to bother him,” the detective said, slipping his little recorder in the pocket of his windbreaker. “But thank you anyway.”

After watching him step outside, Hannah wanted to retreat to the back room and have another breakdown. Instead, she stepped behind the counter. Tish came up to her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“It just dawned on me,” she whispered. “Scott doesn’t know about Britt yet. Who’s going to tell him?”

“I can do it,” Hannah murmured, gathering up another stack of videos. “I’ll put these away first, then call him from the back room.”

As she came around the counter, Ben started following her.

“Hannah, what’s going on?” he whispered. “You told me over lunch you thought your friend was going to die like that—and she did! Why didn’t you say anything to that cop?”

Hannah couldn’t respond. She filed some movies in the Classics section.

“Listen, don’t pull the same shit with me you pulled with that detective,” Ben hissed. “I want you to stop and look at me and explain why you won’t go to the police about any of this.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” was all Hannah could say. She hurried down the aisle. “Can we please talk about this later?”

In the Children’s section, Tish stepped up to them and cleared her throat. “Sir? Can I help you with anything?”

Ben shook his head. “No thanks. I’m just talking to Hannah.”

“Well, we’re awfully busy right now,” Tish said, very cool and businesslike. “Hannah has work to do. I’m sure you understand.”

Ben turned and frowned at Hannah.

“I’ll talk to you tonight, Ben,” she said.

“Will you call me if you hear from Seth?” he asked.

She sighed. “Of course. I’ll talk to you later either way.”

Tish waited until Ben walked out of the store. “I hope I did the right thing chasing him away. Was he a friend of yours? He’s kind of cute.”

“He’s also married,” Hannah said.

“Then I say avoid him like the plague.”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, here.” Tish collected the stack of videos from her. “I’ll put these away. Why don’t you go in the back and call Scott? Get it over with.”

Hannah nodded and reluctantly started for the break room.

“Jesus, no,” Scott whispered. “It was like in the movie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. The police were here.” Hannah was on the phone, hunched over the desk in the tiny room. She had a Kleenex in her hand.

“I don’t think they’ve talked with Webb yet,” she continued. “I doubt if he could tell them anything. I mean, you and I know what really happened.” She wiped her eyes and sighed. “Scott, I didn’t tell the police anything. I saw them here when I came back from my break, and I got so scared. All I could think about was saving my own skin. If I tell the police what’s happening, they only have to run a check on my name to know I’m a fraud….”

Hannah paused. She heard a strange, strangled rasping on the other end of the line. “Scott?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied, his voice strained. He coughed a little.

She realized he was crying. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry,” he said finally, a tremor in his voice. “Once they talk to a couple of Britt’s burnout friends, they’ll just chalk it up as an overdose. You’re safe for now. The cops won’t be bothering you anymore.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. Did that sound snotty? I didn’t mean it that way. What are you planning to do, Hannah? How’s this gonna work itself out?”

She didn’t have an answer for him. Her only “plan” had been to run away. And for the time being, she couldn’t even do that.

“Hannah, I’m really worried about you,” he continued. “I hate knowing you’re alone in all this. I wish you had somebody to help you out.”

She thought of Ben. “There may be someone, a guy from my film class. But I’m not sure yet if I can completely trust him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. “Only now, I think I’d better take a chance on him—before it’s too late.”

“Hannah?”

She was just leaving the store. She turned to see Seth Stroud coming up the block. It had been dark for a couple of hours and the streetlights were on, but Seth still wore sunglasses. He also had on a black jacket, black jeans, and a gray T-shirt. He always looked very cutting-edge.

“Hey, another minute and I’d have missed you,” he said. “I heard you and some dude stopped by yesterday. Was it Marlboro Man?”

Hannah didn’t understand at first, then she nodded. “Oh, yeah. I was with Ben.”

“I didn’t get the message until this morning. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. In fact, it’s funny you stopped by last night, because I wanted to get ahold of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was wondering if they have any openings for a part-timer here at your store.” He nodded toward the storefront, then took off his sunglasses and replaced them with the designer glasses he usually wore in class. “Money’s a little tight lately, and I was just wondering….”

Hannah let out a sad, ironic laugh. “Well, yeah, we—we’ll be hiring for sure. Why don’t you stop in tomorrow morning? The manager will be there. Her name’s Tish.”

“Cool. Thanks. Could you put in a good word for me?”

She nodded. “Sure thing. Listen, do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sure. There’s a bar in the Mexican joint down the block. You look like you could use a drink. Can I buy you one?”

“Actually, I need to get home. Would you mind walking with me? We could talk along the way.”

He shrugged. “Sounds cool.”

Hannah moved away from the storefront and its lights. Seth strolled beside her, his hands in his pockets. “By the way,” he said. “Please don’t tell Paul that you’re helping me get a job here. Otherwise, you’ll find my body parts in Puget Sound.” He laughed—until he glanced at Hannah.