Killer Headline (10 page)

What about God?

Clay shook his head. Old habits were tough to break. Clay had been mad at God for so long, he didn’t know how to change his feelings.

If God were all loving, wouldn’t He be the first to offer forgiveness? Until then, Clay would continue on the path he’d walked for so long.

Once again, he looked at Violet. Was she a gift from God? Or would she be taken from him like his parents, like Eloise, like Sylvia? His track record wasn’t good.

No matter what had happened in the past, Clay had to protect Violet and keep her from publishing the article on the mob killings.

Clay’s hand slipped to the Bible resting on the coffee table. Not knowing whether God was listening, he whispered, “Help me, Lord. I need to keep Violet safe.”

V
iolet awakened on her neighbor’s couch. Clay had kept the fire blazing and hunkered down on the overstuffed chair nearby, his nose glued to the book Bernice had bought at the church program.

He was the first person she saw this morning, smiling at her through tired eyes as he offered her a cup of coffee. A day’s beard darkened his jaw and his tousled hair softened his expression. For once, he didn’t appear totally in control and on top of things.

After a huge breakfast Bernice insisted on serving, Violet scurried home for a shower and change of clothes. She’d arrived at work ten minutes early, half-expecting to see Clay hanging around in the hallway. She’d told him she was working from the office all day and would be safe. Evidently, he believed her.

The first thing she did was send Stu an electronic copy of the article she had written on the police department. A hard copy now waited in his in-box. She made some corrections to the piece on the women in Witness Protection and saved the revisions to her flash drive. Hopefully, she could change Stu’s mind, and he’d accept that article for publication, as well.

Gulping down the last of the bottled water Bernice had tucked in her lunch, Violet glanced at the photo on her desk of Aunt Lettie and her dad. Someday, she hoped information would come forward about the person who had taken Lettie’s life.

For so long, she’d pushed and struggled to find answers. Maybe it was time to hand the case over to God. No doubt, He would deal with the killer whether He allowed Violet to know what had happened or not.

The phone on her desk rang. She pulled the receiver to her ear. “Kramer.”

“Violet, it’s Stu. Come to my office. I want to talk to you.”

Not good. Stu usually wandered through the work-place and personally asked reporters to see him. Using the phone wasn’t the way he routinely beckoned people to his office.

Violet grabbed a notepad and pencil, slipped her feet into the heels she’d discarded earlier and scooted her chair back from her desk. The sandwich she’d just devoured sat like a lump of coal in her stomach.

How bad could it be? Stu had counseled her on more than one occasion. He could fire her. Not an option she chose to embrace.

Focused on Stu’s door, she didn’t see Jimmy standing outside Quinn’s cubicle.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she neared.

She tried to smile.

“You look a little pale, Violet. Are you sure you’re all right?” Jimmy’s interest was questionable. She detected a smirk of satisfaction under his inquiring gaze.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. Glancing into the cubicle, she spied Quinn at his computer. He, too, looked worried. Did he know something she didn’t? And had he told Jimmy?

Her steps echoed in the now nearly silent newsroom. She felt a kinship with Marie Antoinette marching to the guillotine. Suppose Stu
did
fire her?

She could always move home and work on the country paper. Or perhaps talk to Ross Truett about getting a job on the
Yellowstone County Reader.

Then she’d be back at square one. Low man in the stringer pool, writing fillers about ladies groups and men’s clubs and hunting and fishing and all the other human-interest pieces that filled the local rags.

Again, not the stories she wanted to write.

Bracing for the worst, Violet squared her shoulders. She would face her executioner with her head held high. No sniveling. No begging to keep her job.

Okay, maybe a little begging.

“You wanted to see me,” she said stepping into Stu’s office. He held the hard copy of her police article in his hands. She braced for the worst.

“The article you submitted…”

In her mind’s eyes, she saw the sharp blade of the guillotine suspended above her head. The sound of falling metal seemed almost real.

Raising her hand to her throat, she swallowed. “Yes?”

“Nice job.”

The guillotine screeched to a stop inches from its mark. She blinked.

“Excellent writing.”

Excellent? Stu rarely spoke in superlatives. The
lump in her stomach softened to molten gold. Her knees went weak. She’d take excellent.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’ll run on tomorrow’s front page. I’ll probably assign you a follow-up later.”

Before she turned toward the door, she saw the sunlight shimmer on the Clark Fork as bright as her mood after the current turn of events.

Trying not to giggle, she left Stu’s office. The newsroom bustled with activity. No one noticed her exuberance or the elation that buoyed her step. Was she walking over the hardwood floor or floating?

Excellent! How ’bout that! Finally, a positive from Stu. Things were turning her direction for a change. Maybe the article on the murdered women would see the light of day after all.

Jimmy poked his head out of Quinn’s cubicle as she passed. “Trying to one-up me.” Once again, his smile lacked sincerity.

He couldn’t have heard Stu. “One-upping you in what way, Jimmy?”

“Your article.” He pointed to Stu’s open door. “He looked pleased.”

“I’m sure Stu’s happy about your work, as well.”

“Yeah, right.”

Violet glanced around Jimmy and caught Quinn’s eye. Pursed lips, creased forehead. His expression brought to mind his words of caution the other night. He’d mentioned Jimmy’s desire to get ahead.

Maybe Quinn was right. Maybe she needed to be more careful around Jimmy.

She approached her desk, remembering the missing
files. Jimmy had gone into her voice mail to retrieve Clay’s message the night he’d arrived in Missoula. Had Jimmy gone into her files to read and then delete the information she had compiled on the Chicago Mafia? She was beginning to think Jimmy was anything but a friend.

Glancing into the hallway, Violet smiled as the elevator door opened and Clay stepped into the hallway. “Grab your coat and purse. We’ve got an appointment to talk with Chief Howard.”

“About what?”

“Your aunt Lettie.”

“Did you find out something about her murder?” Violet asked, hurrying to keep up with Clay as they left the Plaza Complex and headed to his car.

“You’re a reporter, Violet. You deal with facts.”

He opened the passenger door and slammed it closed after her. She waited as he rounded the car and climbed behind the wheel.

“Cops investigate crime,” he continued as he turned the key in the ignition. “They deal in facts, as well.”

“So how’s this involve my aunt?”

Clay pulled into the middle lane, heading for police headquarters. “Whatever happened when you were a child affects your view of law enforcement.”

“I trust you, Clay. We talked about it last night.”

“But you still have a problem with cops. Chief Howard was a rookie in your hometown. Let’s see what he remembers about Lettie’s death.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my memory, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” She crossed her arms and stared
straight ahead, wishing she’d stayed at the paper. What could the chief tell her that she didn’t already know?

“Trust me. Okay?” Clay looked at her with such sincerity that some of her resolve weakened. Could new evidence have come to light?

She’d listen to what the chief had to say—not that it would change what she knew to be true about her aunt’s death. Even if the chief shed new information about the crime, Violet would still struggle with the cops.

She flicked a sideways glance at Clay. Present company excluded, of course.

Chief Howard stood and shook Clay’s hand when they walked into his office.

“Good to see you, Violet.” He motioned them toward two chairs that sat in front of his desk.

Clay got right to the point. “As I told you when I called you this morning, we want to talk to you about the murders in Violet’s hometown and what the cops uncovered.”

The chief nodded as he took his seat behind his desk. He gave Violet a long, hard look before he spoke. “Everett Kramer—Violet’s dad—was a good man. Hard working. Trying to support his wife and daughter. After his parents died, he took in his kid sister. Lettie was pretty as a picture but headstrong.”

“Stubborn,” Violet clarified.

“Did she have a boyfriend?” Clay asked.

“Brad Meyer was his name.” Violet thought back to the night Lettie had died. Her aunt had dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists and had let Violet dab her wrists, as well.

“Brad ran with a bad crowd,” the chief explained.
“We questioned him, but he had an alibi for both murders. A number of his friends had been picked up on possession a few nights before the first murder. Lettie claimed she’d seen someone drive away from the school with the girl on the afternoon the teen was killed.”

Violet crossed her legs. “Not that anyone believed her.”

The chief nodded. “Everyone thought she made up the story to protect her brother. Then Lettie ended up dead.”

“Was the M.O. the same for both victims?” Clay asked.

Rubbing his jaw, the chief stretched back in his chair. “Both died from a broken neck. The teen’s body was found in a clearing not far from her school. Lettie’s body was uncovered near the main highway.”

“My dad worked at the school the teen attended,” Violet said. “He’d gone back to college and had made the long commute down here to UMT for a weekend-only program geared toward older students. Dad graduated that December and landed a long-term, substitute-teaching position in January that would have lasted until the end of school term.”

The chief nodded in agreement. “Talk was he would have picked up a permanent position for the next year.”

Clay held up his hand. “Let me guess, he lost his job after the girl’s murder.”

“You got it. My dad had tutored the teen the day she’d died and was the last person to see her alive.”

“Except for the killer.” Clay gave Violet an encouraging smile. “Were the two victims friends?”

“Lettie was nineteen,” the chief said. “She ran with an older crowd. The younger girl’s reputation wasn’t lily-white. She’d been involved with a number of boys. Had a couple of parties at her house when her mom—a single parent—was out of town.”

“Previous drug use?”

“Not that the police knew. And no signs of abuse or molestation.”

“Did Lettie get a look at the guy driving the teen?”

The chief shrugged. “She was about thirty yards from the road when the car passed. She couldn’t ID the driver, although she was sure it wasn’t her brother.”

Violet bristled. “So, it was guilt by association?”

The chief held up his hands. “You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion. The Granite Pass cops were thorough.”

Clay raised a brow. “Were they, Chief?”

Howard paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, they tried to intimidate Everett. But he refused to offer any additional information.”

“Maybe he didn’t know anything else about the case,” Clay offered.

Chief Howard nodded. “Maybe.”

“Lettie might have been killed because she’d seen the murderer. The perp could have been afraid she’d be able to recognize him?”

“That’s certainly a possibility, Clay. In a way, discovering Lettie’s body eased the suspicion on Everett. Seemed logical the same killer had committed both crimes. Everett and Lettie were close. Too much of a stretch to think he’d killed his sister. The wife and Lettie got along.”

“I idolized her,” Violet said.

“The Kramers had been the perfect little family until all this happened,” the chief said.

Clay hesitated for a moment. “You seem pretty sure of how things went down that long ago, Chief.”

A smile twisted his lips. He pulled a worn notebook from his desk. “I reviewed my notes after you called this morning. I was a new recruit fresh out of the Police Academy when the murders occurred. Although wet behind my ears, I was smart enough to know I had a lot to learn.”

He patted the leather cover. “My staff calls me a detail man. My mother says I was born that way. I jotted down everything about the case in this little book.”

“Any chance I could review your notes?”

“Why not?” The chief tossed the notebook into Clay’s outstretched hand.

Not wanting to take more of the chief’s time, Clay extended his right hand. “Thank you, sir, for the information.”

“Been great talking to you, Clay.” Chief Howard’s handshake was firm, his smile encouraging. “You ever get tired of Chicago and want to settle down in our neck of the woods, let me know.”

Sounded like the chief was offering him a job, which Clay appreciated. Although if the inquiry in Chicago decided against him, Clay doubted he’d find a job in law enforcement anywhere. He’d be banned from the work he loved just the way Violet’s father had been banned from education.

Hard place for a man to be. Especially with a wife and daughter at home, needing to be fed. Tough
times for the Kramer family had to have gotten worse.

Clay reached for the leather notebook as the chief shook Violet’s hand. Maybe progress had been made after all.

“Let’s get lunch,” Clay said once they climbed into the car. They found a quiet sandwich shop and spent the next thirty minutes eating pastrami on rye and reading Chief Howard’s notebook.

“Most times apprehending a perpetrator requires common sense and endless hours checking details and running down leads,” Clay explained. “Sometimes those who work a case are too close to see the obvious, and the very detail that should provide the solution can be inadvertently overlooked.”

He called Jackson and asked him to circulate Lettie’s boyfriend’s name on the street. Hard to imagine anything would come of it, but crimes were solved sometimes in the most illogical ways.

Clay wanted to make everything better for Violet before he returned to Chicago. His gut tightened, knowing the longer he was around her, the harder it would be to leave.

After lunch, Clay dropped Violet at her office and spent the next few hours calling his own sources in Chicago. He’d worked undercover long enough to have a pulse on the Windy City. At least the South side.

Violet was dead set on protecting women in Witness Protection, so he sent out feelers to see what he could find. Although he told himself it was an afterthought, he also threw the name of Aunt Lettie’s boyfriend into
the mix. Jackson had his street sources. Clay knew others. Between them, if the guy had spent any time in Chicago, someone would know.