One False Move (20 page)

“That looks good. Pull in over there.” He pointed to what looked to be a freshly painted Gas N’ Shop. “Melanie, check the fucking glove compartment. I need a pair of sunglasses.”

“Yeah, that’s what I need, too. Can you pick up a pair for me?”

She dropped open the glove compartment and shoved the contents around—map, tire air gauge, matchbook, a pack of cigarettes and finally a pair of dark-lense glasses. She handed them to her brother as she hesitated in closing the compartment. She’d forgotten how wonderful, almost sensual, the scent of cigarettes could be. Her fingers wanted to grab the pack and tap one out. Just one.
God!
She’d love to have just one.

“Melanie, you fill up. Charlie, go take a piss but don’t take forever.
Melanie,
did you hear what I said?”

“Can I go in and get what I need?” She turned and glared at him as though he hadn’t heard her before.

“No, you’re not going in.”

“Oh, come on, Jared. I need some things, and I want some real food.”

“I’ll take care of things.”

She scowled at him. “That’s what you always say.”

She had to be careful. She didn’t want her whining to push him too far, to send him over the edge. He had never gotten angry enough with her to hurt her or Charlie or even their mother. But she had seen what his anger could do. And she found herself wondering if that’s what went wrong in the bank. Did someone not listen? Did someone have a smart mouth?

“I’ll get everything you fucking need,” he told her. “Put the gas in the fucking car, and then you wait.”

She saw Jared checking the gun, and suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore. He shoved it into the waistband of his jeans and pulled the T-shirt over it. He patted it, checking to make sure it was secure.

She wanted to tell him to leave the gun. It had already caused enough problems. She wanted to ask how the hell he could rob a bank and not take any money. Instead, she said nothing. So he’d rob a convenience store with a gun instead of a con. It was easy. It was cheap. She’d probably have done it, too, if she didn’t hate guns so much.

One thing she did know for certain was that when you stuck a gun in someone’s face they’d do just about anything. They’d beg and plead. They’d even cry like a little baby. Her father had. He’d started crying like a little baby when he realized his empty apology for beating the hell out of Jared and Melanie wasn’t going to save him. There had been too many beatings, and it had been way too late for apologies.

“Everybody ready?” Jared asked, startling Melanie. Then he tapped Andrew on his harnessed shoulder again. “Ordinary Citizen Kane,
you’re
coming with me.”

11:41 a.m.
Auburn, Nebraska

Andrew had been trying to block out their voices. The whine of their arguing felt like sandpaper on his brain. He wished he could disconnect, get inside his head and forget about everything around him. Sorta like when he was in a good flow of writing.

Unfortunately, as he had discovered this past year with his writing, it wasn’t something he could control, like a switch he could turn on or off. If only it were that simple. If only he could access it right now. Go away for a while in his mind. Pretend. Isn’t that what Tommy had told him was his problem? That he lived too much in the world of pretend rather than the real world?

When was that? Was it days ago that he and Tommy had sat on the porch at the cabin? No. Just yesterday. God! That seemed impossible. Then it occurred to him. It was Tommy. It had to be. Tommy must have gone back to check on him. That’s how they knew. Of course, how stupid of him. If Tommy was on the case, maybe there was a way he could leave a message for him. But what? How?

“Let’s go.” Jared punched Andrew’s shoulder. The pain shot down to his fingertips. It took all his effort to keep from flinching, but he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t give this son of a bitch the satisfaction.

“Keep your cap on and your sunglasses,” Jared instructed. “You stay close to me. We’ll take our time. Go slow. Don’t look like you’re in a fucking hurry. When we see that Mel’s finished filling up, you pay for everything with a credit card. They’ll be tracking your account. It’ll look like we’re headed south.”

Jared handed him his wallet, and it was the first time Andrew realized Jared had taken it. Of course he had his wallet. He had his bank card. Focus. Why the hell couldn’t he focus? If only the throbbing in his head would quiet down. He needed to get his mind out of the spiderwebs. That’s what it felt like—a lacy mess tangling up his thoughts.

“Did you get that? Hey—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Andrew said in time to stop another assault on his wounded shoulder.

“And let me do the talking. You keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“I really gotta pee,” Charlie said.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go then.”

All four car doors opened almost in unison. Andrew took his time in an exaggerated stretch. It did feel good to get out and be on his feet. He used the time to examine the area around the convenience store. With the dark sunglasses on he could check out the side streets. His eyes darted all around, taking in as much detail as possible, including the newspaper machines out front. The
Omaha World Herald
headline shouted, Killers on the Loose. The
Lincoln Journal’s
was simple and bold, Manhunt.

In the time it took to walk from the car door to the door of the convenience store Andrew contemplated his alternatives. Why not give Jared a quick shove and take off running? He was in good shape, at least up until he broke his collarbone. Andrew stood at least three inches taller, but Jared looked much leaner. Yet even with the throbbing in his head Andrew wanted to take his chances. What did he have to lose?

He took one last look at the side streets lined with houses. That was good, backyards and alleys. The main street was too open. To his back Andrew knew the highway separated them from a parking lot. Not good. And behind the convenience store Andrew guessed the slice of fence he could see probably ran along the whole lot. The houses across the street were his best bet.

Now he just needed to shove him hard enough to push him over. Maybe into the newspaper machines. That might slow him down. Andrew watched from behind his dark glasses. Jared was right beside him. A couple more steps. Already his heart banged against his rib cage in anticipation. One quick shove. He could do this.

That’s when the door to the convenience store opened and a woman and her toddler came out. And Andrew realized he’d have to wait.

11:46 a.m.

Detective Tommy Pakula found the house after driving in and out of about a half dozen culs-de-sac. He hated these new housing developments that were built on confusion and sold as privacy. He’d take his South Omaha home any day, where a neighborhood was still a block.

As he walked to the front door, he took a good look at the neighborhood and wondered how Tina Cervante could afford this huge split-timber. Even sharing the expenses with two roommates, the rent had be double what one of the higher-end apartments in the area would cost. He remembered the girl’s autopsy, the pricey manicure and pedicure, the nose job. From what he had discovered about her parents—her father was a mechanic for a Dallas trucking company and her mother an assistant manager for a Red Lobster restaurant—he doubted that, although they made decent money, they had any to spare, especially with four more kids still at home.

He knocked on the ornate front door, still trying to figure it out. Maybe one of the other girls had some family money. Maybe this house was a tax write-off for one of the other parents. Maybe it was just Pakula being his suspicious self.

The young woman who answered the door looked like a Britney Spears wannabe, only her midriff hung out of the tight, cropped T-shirt and the dark roots gave away her true hair color.

“Are you Danielle Miller?”

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Yeah, are you here to fix the air conditioner? You’re a bit late. We could have used you two days ago when we called the first time.”

Pakula wanted to laugh; he had been worried Tina’s roommates would be too distraught to even talk. As it turned out, Danielle was more upset about the fucking A/C being out than her old roommate ending up splattered all over the bank’s floor.

“No, Miss Miller, I’m afraid I don’t know much about air-conditioning units.” Pakula dug in his jacket for his shield as she rolled her eyes at him, and just as she was deciding he was some door-to-door salesman, he flipped the badge for her to take a look. “I’m Detective Pakula with the OPD. I’d like to talk to you about Tina Cervante.”

“Oh, you mean about the thing at the bank yesterday.”

“Yeah, the thing at the bank,” he repeated, trying not to show his impatience. She reminded him too much of his oldest daughter, Angie, although she was a bit younger than Danielle Miller. Same generation, though, and that same lazy use of the English language, same carefree attitude.

“Whadya wanna know?”

“Just some basic stuff. You mind if I come in for a few minutes?”

“Sure, I guess.” She walked back into the house, leaving him to follow.

The inside decor matched the outside, all designer pieces, a couple of signed lithographs on the wall and an expensive Oriental rug.

“How did you girls ever find this place?” Pakula asked. “It’s very nice. One of you a decorator?”

“Oh, God, no.” She laughed as she curled up into the corner of a leather sofa, tucking her bare feet under her. “Tina found it for us.” She shrugged as if it were as simple as that. “It’s not really my style. A little too much like living in my parents’ home, you know what I mean?”

He nodded instead of saying that it was probably too classy for her style. But at least he was getting her to talk. It seemed to be his talent, getting people to confide in him. And sometimes he relied on it too much, thinking he could talk his way out of any situation.

“Tina had a real talent for that kinda stuff, you know?” Finally Pakula could see a hint of moistness in Danielle’s eyes. “She could get people to, like, give her things or let her use stuff.”

“Really? What kind of stuff?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Like cars and stuff.”

“You mean like boyfriends?”

Forget the moistness, Danielle was back to rolling her eyes at him. “She goes for guys, like, your age. You know, she likes old guys for some reason. Oh, God! Not like I mean you’re old or anything.”

“Where does she usually meet these older gentlemen?” He tried not to sound offended.

“Oh, geez. I don’t even know where she met this last one. I get the idea he’s pretty pissed off at her right now, so they might have broken up.”

“What makes you think he’s pissed off at her?”

“Just that whenever I answered the phone lately and she, like, didn’t want to talk to him, so like, I’d have to make up some excuse and he’d get all postal with me.”

“So he called here?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But you don’t know his name?”

“Just Jay.”

Pakula dug out the plastic bag from his jacket pocket and handed it to Danielle. “Did he give Tina this?”

“Oh, yeah. For her birthday in July. That seemed to be when things started to go downhill, ’cause I think Tina thought it should mean more and yet she didn’t see him changing anything.”

“A guy gives an expensive, sentimental piece of jewelry like this, I’d say that means something.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, but…you know, it’s kinda like I keep telling her, or told her…God, I can’t believe she’s dead.”

Pakula waited. This time Danielle seemed genuinely choked up. She had been slipping from present to past tense the whole time. Not unusual in an interview with someone who’d been close to a victim. But now it seemed to hit her. He bowed his head and waited. He’d learned that people really didn’t want to hear all that crap like, “It’ll be okay.” Most of the time they just wanted you to wait until they composed themselves. Waiting was tougher, though.

“So it sounds like you kinda figured out this relationship wouldn’t work long before Tina figured it out, huh?”

“It never does work,” she said, reaching around to a Kleenex box hidden behind a flower vase. She dabbed at her nose. “That’s the problem with dating older men. They always stay with their wives.”

11:52 a.m.

Andrew kept trying to catch the eye of the woman behind the store counter, not an easy task with sunglasses on but also because she didn’t stay in one place for long. She hustled from one end of the long counter to the next, pausing just long enough to give them a nod when they entered.

Jared loaded up Andrew’s free arm, handing him everything from Tylenol, toothpaste and razors to chips, candy bars and comic books. It looked as if they were stocking up for a monthlong road trip.

Andrew continued to watch the woman, hoping,
wishing
she’d glance their way. Was it too much to hope for her to ask a few questions: “Where you boys from?” “Where you headed?” Instead, she kept moving, her gray-haired head down, small body scurrying from the little oven where she replaced mini pizzas with freshly made ones, to the hot-dog roaster, to the counter space where she constructed submarine sandwiches. Andrew was amazed.

She worked here because she had to, Andrew decided. Maybe her social security benefits weren’t quite paying the bills. He wondered if her kids or grandkids worried about her working at a convenience store. No, probably not. In Omaha, yes. But out here? It was just another job. Hopefully it would remain just another job. Maybe she’d never know she had waited on a murderer today.

There had been no customers enter the store since the woman with the toddler left. Andrew guessed they were hitting a lull before the anticipated masses for lunch. He checked his options, slowly trailing his eyes over the shelves, searching for a back door. There had to be one, maybe down the small hallway in the corner. But what if they kept it locked during the day? Running out the front posed the risk of running into another customer.