Linger: Dying is a Wild Night (A Linger Thriller Book 1) (7 page)

“I see you’ve done your homework,” he said.

“I have. And now I understand your animosity toward people like me.”

“Can you blame me?”

She shrugged. “I don’t imagine it’s easy being accused of something so horrible, but it isn’t uncommon for us to look at the husband and father first.”

“I know how it works,” Weston said. “The problem I have is when you
only
look at the husband and father. You make assumptions, then try to find evidence to back them up. That’s the opposite of how it should work.”

“Sometimes we have to go with our gut. And sometimes we get it wrong.”

“At whose expense? The man who tried to take me down still thinks I’m guilty. Even though the forensics say I’m not.”

“I know,” Kate said. “I just got off the phone with him.”

She had put a call into Charles Dillman, the Stokes County prosecutor who had handled the case, and had discovered that Weston was still their prime suspect.

“He claims the forensics were either botched or inconclusive. He also told me you initially lied about where you were that night.”

“I had my reasons,” Weston said.

“And if that reason hadn’t come forward of her own accord, you’d probably be sitting in a North Carolina jail right now, instead of having this little chat here in sunny California.”

“Is that what this is? A chat?”

“That’s all it has to be if you tell me what you and your young friend were up to last night.”

He said nothing.

“Look, Mr. Weston, I could sit here and pretend that I can’t imagine what you’ve been through—but the thing is, I can. You were right, I’ve lost someone to violence and I know how devastating it can be. But what I saw in that house you and Christopher broke into was something else altogether. So I won’t insult you by suggesting I have the slightest idea how it feels to find the people you love slaughtered like diseased cattle.”

She was purposely trying to provoke a reaction again, but got none, and wondered what it meant.

If anything.

She pressed on. “But unless you start cooperating and tell me why you and Christopher came to Santa Flora, I’ll have to wonder if maybe the Stokes County prosecuting attorney isn’t that far off base about you.”

A flicker of life behind the eyes now. “You think I’d butcher my own family?”

“Did you?”

Weston studied her. “I was hoping I was wrong about you, but I guess I wasn’t.” He leaned forward. “Are you going to charge me with something? Because if you aren’t, I’d like to go.”

She patted the folder again. “You’re quite the artist. I took a look at your sketch pad and you have a rare talent. This kind of photo-realistic ability must have taken years to perfect. Even the doodles and notes have an artistic quality to them that most people would envy.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew why I do it.”

“And why is that?”

Again, he was silent.

“It’s a simple question, Mr. Weston. Why do you do it?”

He just stared at her and she could see he wouldn’t budge, so she tried a different approach.

“All right. Let’s talk about the boy instead. Tell me about Christopher.”

“I told you. I’m his guardian.”

“I assume he has a last name?” She smiled. “You know. The one you didn’t want to give me last night?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Why do you think? I’m trying to determine who he is and why he’s with you. What is he, a stray you picked up off the road?”

“He’s with me because he wants to be.”

“And why do I doubt that?”

“Because it’s the nature of your profession.”

“I assume you care about him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why haven’t you asked me where he is?”

“I don’t need to.”

“Oh? You’ve been separated for hours now. You’re not curious to know where he spent the night? Or if he’s scared?” She paused. “Or maybe you’re worried he might finally decide to speak up.”

“That’s not likely to happen.”

“You have him that well trained, do you?”

Weston shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not worried about him because there’s no reason to be. I already
know
where he is.”

“And where is that?”

“Downstairs in the medical unit, undergoing a physical examination.”

The answer surprised Kate. If he was guessing, it was a good one. “Who told you that?”

Weston didn’t respond.

“You two have been through this before, haven’t you.”

He shook his head again. “You’re wasting your time, lieutenant. You’ve seen my records, you know my history. I’m no more a pedophile than I am a murderer.”

“You’ve never been charged—that’s all I know. Maybe you’re just very good at hiding it.”

“Well, in a few minutes, Christopher’s exam will be done and you’ll get word that beyond his obvious physical limitations, he’s as healthy as any kid his age, with no evidence of sexual abuse at all.”

He spoke with a certainty that was almost unsettling.

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“I haven’t lied to you yet.”

“Like you did to the Stokes County prosecutor?” She smiled. “Truth is, you haven’t said much of anything. All you do is play cryptic games. Why can’t you just tell me what the two of you were doing last night? What was all that nonsense about gathering?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Did you know the Branfords?”

“No.”

“Do you know they were all murdered, much like your wife and kids?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have something to do with that?”

He stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious, Mr. Weston. How can you sit there and think I’m not? You were nearly put on trial for a crime eerily similar to what went down in that house, so I’d have to be a world class moron not to be pretty goddamn serious.”

Weston looked unfazed. “I assume you found the receipts in my dash?”

“What?”

“When you searched my car last night. You found my sketchbook, you must’ve searched the dash, too.” He nodded to the file folder. “You’ve probably got them in there somewhere.”

“And if I do?”

“How long has it been since the Branfords were murdered?”

“I think you already know that.”

He nodded. “Six days. And six days ago Christopher and I were staying at a motel in Reno. The credit card receipt should be in there. We also filled our gas tank and ate dinner at a drive-in called the Burger Barn. Those receipts will have the date and time stamped on them, but I’m guessing you’re thorough enough to have already checked them.”

He was right, and she had wondered briefly if they were elaborate forgeries. But that idea sounded more like bad fiction than anything based in reality.

“It looks as if the only thing you’re serious about, lieutenant, is a desire to satisfy your curiosity. And I really have no interest in helping you with that. So do I need to get a lawyer in here or can Christopher and I be on our way?”

“And where would you go if I cut you loose?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“I found the maps in your backpack. And there’re those sketches of road signs and train tickets and landmarks. You two seem to be on quite a trek.”

“Again. None of your business.”

Kate slapped a palm on the table. “Goddamn it, Weston, how can you sit there acting as if this is just some leisurely lunch? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He didn’t flinch. “I told you what’s wrong. I don’t like the police. I don’t trust you and I don’t like interacting with you. And not because of anything
I’ve
done, but because you tend to play God and make decisions about people’s futures based on nothing more than supposition and paranoid fantasy.”

Kate drew in a long breath and released it slowly. She needed to calm down. She was letting him get to her and that was never a good thing.

But when it came down to it, he wasn’t wrong about her motives, and she knew she should be concentrating on Jesus “Chucho” Soriano instead of him. But there was something about this guy—and even more so the boy—that scratched at her insides. And she’d just as soon kick his ass than let him walk out of here.

She picked up the file folder and got to her feet. “You might as well get comfortable, because we aren’t done yet. Not even close. So if you want that lawyer, just give me the word and I’ll make it happen.”

“Really? You plan to take it that far?”

“You seem to forget I’ve got you dead to rights on trespassing, obstruction, and resisting arrest. I can also hold you for forty-eight hours
without
charges. That’s the way it works here in the Golden State. But you probably know that, too.”

Weston sighed heavily, revealing a small crack in his demeanor. “What is it you want from me, lieutenant? You want me to tell you that Christopher and I are a couple of ghouls who get pleasure out of visiting grisly crime scenes? Then fine. That’s why we were there.”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Then go ahead and waste everyone’s time and do whatever it is you have to do. Because that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

He looked away from her, eyeing himself in the one-way glass, and if human beings had an off switch, he had just tripped it. He’d said all he was willing to say.

But Kate could be as stubborn as he was.

Without another word, she left the room and locked him inside.

S
HE HADN’T BEEN JOKING WHEN
she told MacLean to grab some coffee and a donut and wait for the morning briefing. The East Division was currently being renovated, with the conference room under repair for water damage, so she and her team had been forced to turn the employee break room into an impromptu command center for the duration of the Branford investigation.

At eleven o’clock each workday, they put a sign on the door, rolled out a portable white board from the supply closet, and closed everyone else out. For the next hour, the hardcore caffeine addicts were stuck with the backwater swill from the vending machine down the hall, and they were never shy about expressing their displeasure.

Kate sympathized, but what choice did she have?

She was five minutes late for this morning’s meeting, and with her two juniors out tracking down Soriano, only MacLean and his partner Jake Linkenfeld were waiting for her.

Linkenfeld was a nice enough guy, who showed Kate the respect she felt she deserved, but if he hung around MacLean long enough, he was bound to be infected by the anti-CC virus. Unlike MacLean, he was a good, empathetic cop who had demonstrated some major investigative skills.

The two were sitting at their usual table, sharing a joke when she entered the room. She sat down across from them mid-laugh and planted Bree Branford’s stuffed bear on the table top.

“What’s this?” MacLean said with a nasty little grin. “You’re new sex toy?”

Linkenfeld didn’t dare laugh and Kate ignored the remark, looking straight at MacLean.

It was time to break the bad news.

“You were the one who searched Bree Branford’s bedroom that first night, right?”

This was an uh-oh moment and MacLean knew it. His grin faded. “What about it?”

She nodded to the bear. “I assume you recognize this little guy?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah. It was on the shelf by her bed.” He seemed proud of the fact that he remembered this.

Kate grabbed hold of the bear and flipped it over, showing him the unzipped battery compartment, then tossed the evidence bag containing Bree’s cell phone onto the table.

“Looks like you missed something, Bob.”

He stared at the phone. “You telling me that was inside?”

“That’s where I found it.”

“So… what? I’m supposed to be psychic? Anybody could have missed something like that. It could’ve been the battery, for chrissakes.”

“Except it wasn’t. And as it turns out, it’s a pretty goddamn crucial piece of evidence.”

“Why?” Linkenfeld asked. “What’s on it?”

She told them about Bree’s call log and Chucho Soriano’s criminal record and added, “That’s why Clark and Donohue aren’t here right now. I sent them out to chase this guy down.”

“Holy shit,” Linkenfeld said. “So all this time we’re thinking random psychopath and this creep’s just sitting there waiting to be found.”

“
You
two were thinking random psychopath. I told you from the start it didn’t feel right.” Kate turned to MacLean. “And if somebody had done his job, we would’ve known about this guy on day one. And we’d better hope to hell he hasn’t skipped.”

MacLean blanched. “You’re blaming
me
?”

“No, Bob, I blame myself for putting you on this case in the first place. You’re too arrogant for your own good and I should’ve known you’d find a way to screw us up.”

“You fucking
bitch
.”

Without warning, MacLean launched himself across the table toward Kate, and if it hadn’t been for Linkenfeld, he would have reached her, too.

Jake grabbed hold of him and pulled him back as Kate pushed away from the table and sprang to her feet. “All right, that’s it. You just made this very easy for me, you ungrateful SOB.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me? I pulled you into this investigation because I thought it was the least I could do after Rusty made his recommendation. But you’ve done nothing but try to undermine my authority since the day we got started.”

“Yeah? How many times did you have to suck Patterson’s dick to get your little promotion?”

And there it was, the old standard, trotted out fifteen years into the twenty-first century. How did humankind manage to produce these unimaginative assholes on such a regular basis?

To his credit, Linkenfeld seemed more disgusted by the remark than Kate was. “Jesus, Bob, what the hell is wrong with you?”

She jabbed a finger toward MacLean. “You can say whatever you want—insult me, call me a bitch, a cunt—I’m pretty much bullet proof at this point. But just know this: I don’t expect
any
of us to be perfect, and none of us ever will be. But if you can’t handle a basic search and show me even a shred of humility when you’re called out about it, then you don’t belong on my team or this squad.”