Tough Customer (13 page)

He relaxed his grip on Campton's hair to allow his head to wobble a nod of comprehension.

"You're not gonna forget what I'm telling you, are you, Roger?"

Campton shook his head.

"Because if you do, if you raise a hand to her tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now, I'll kill you. You got it?"

Roger Campton had passed out again, and this time when Dodge released him, he left him where he lay, deeply regretting that he couldn't quite justify killing the son of a bitch right then and there.

It was twilight, and the air was muggy. Sunset had done little to relieve Houston of the steamy heat. Dodge was seated on a shaded concrete bench in the outdoor courtyard of an office park formed by four square, glass buildings, each six stories tall. He was waiting as requested, nervous as a whore in church, wondering why she'd asked for this meeting, hoping like hell it meant something good for him.

She came through the revolving door of Building Two five minutes after the appointed time. By then the back of his shirt was stuck to his skin, and streams of sweat were trickling down his ribs. As she approached, he stood up, praying his deodorant wouldn't fail him and wishing he'd chewed one extra breath mint.

She was dressed in black slacks and a sleeveless top the color of cream. The rosy hues of dusk made her hair look like molten copper. Her arms were impossibly slender, and her flat-heeled sandals added no height.

But her petiteness was incongruous with her combatant stride, and when she got close enough for him to read her expression, his hopes for this meeting turning out to be good for him were instantly dashed.

Every red hair on her head was bristling when, without preamble, she demanded to know, "Did you do it?"

Dodge didn't even pretend ignorance of what she was talking about, but he wasn't about to admit to an assault and battery, either. He motioned her toward the bench.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly. "I prefer to stand. And I insist on knowing if it was you who beat Roger to within an inch of his life. He'll be in the hospital for at least a week. He could have died."

"So I heard from Jimmy Gonzales."

His former partner had called his pager number the evening before, but Dodge hadn't been able to call him back until this morning. Gonzales had told him that Roger Campton had been hospitalized with serious injuries suffered in an attack by an unidentified assailant.

A long silence had followed.

Finally Dodge had asked if it had been a mugging, and Gonzales had told him that Campton's wallet was still on him when he was found, credit cards and several hundred dollars intact.

Gonzales hadn't asked if Dodge was responsible, because he didn't want his suspicion confirmed. Gonzales was as honest a cop as they came. Dodge could tell the guy was anguishing over his own complicity, which amounted only to his informing Dodge of the latest police summons to an address on Shadydale. But that would have been enough to eat at a man with Gonzales's integrity.

Dodge hated having put his partner and friend in such a compromising position, because he was also certain that Gonzales would never rat him out for anything short of cold-blooded murder.

Then Gonzales had dropped a bombshell. "She wants to see you." He'd told Dodge where to be and what time to be there.

So here he was, and here Caroline King was, glaring up at him with accusation. "You didn't need Officer Gonzales to tell you about Roger, though, did you? You knew because you were Roger's attacker."

"Why don't we sit down?" Dodge indicated the bench again, and this time she walked to it and sat down. He sat beside her, but kept as much distance as possible between them. He couldn't help but notice the diamond ring on her left hand. The stone was the size of a headlight. He supposed there were thousands of women who would put up with an occasional beating in exchange for a diamond like that.

But he couldn't believe this one would. She seemed way too strong, way too smart. He wondered what hidden quality Roger Campton possessed that made him worth the carats. Was his dick that magic? Or was it his trust fund that enticed Caroline King?

Quelling his resentment of both, Dodge said, "Gonzales told me that you were very upset when you called him."

"Wouldn't you be upset if someone you cared for was beaten like that?"

"Yeah," he returned quietly. "I would."

She turned her head, and their eyes connected, and he could tell that his underlying message hadn't escaped her. Eventually she turned away and stared sightlessly at the building from which she'd exited.

"You work in there?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I work in the county tax assessor's office downtown. I attend classes here three nights a week."

"What kind of classes?"

"Real estate. I'm studying to get my license. We take a break at seven o'clock. That's why I asked Officer Gonzales if he could get a message to you to meet me here. He said he would try."

"Why didn't you call me directly?"

"I didn't know how to reach you. Officer Gonzales had given me his number the other night when..."

Her voice trailed off; Dodge picked up her sentence. "The other night when Gonzales responded to another domestic disturbance at your house."

"Nothing happened. My neighbor overreacted. It was a shouting match. That's all."

"This time."

His right hand was resting on his right thigh. She looked down at it, at the incriminating swollen knuckles, the bruises. Then her gaze moved across his body to his left hand, where scratch marks were still visible. Before Campton had collapsed, he'd made futile attempts to dislodge Dodge's arm from around his neck. His scratches had broken the skin on Dodge's forearm and the back of his hand. He made no attempt to hide this evidence from her. He wanted her to know how vicious the fight had been.

"You shouldn't have done it," she admonished softly. "You don't even know him. Or me. You're a police officer." She raised her head, her eyes now searching his. "Why did you?"

He said nothing for several moments, then turned the tables and asked a question of his own. "Why do you assume it was me?"

"I don't assume, I know. From the moment I heard about the attack, I knew it was you."

"Why would it even occur to you that it was me?"

He asked because he knew she would find the answer to her question in the answer to his. She'd known immediately that he was the culprit because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her. Bad taste in fiances notwithstanding, she wasn't stupid. Or blind. Or deaf.

The night of the first incident, when they were alone together in her kitchen, she'd probably sensed that his care and concern went beyond those of a police officer. Any lingering doubts about the nature of his interest would have been dispelled the morning he showed up at her house again to check on her.

And right now she probably knew that he was aching to touch her hair, kiss her mouth, enfold her tiny body in his arms and hold her so close against him that he could feel her heartbeat. He willed her to comprehend the intensity of his feelings, but he must have gone too far, because she stood up quickly.

"You've overstepped your bounds, Mr. Hanley. You have nothing to do with my life. Your responsibility toward me ended when you performed your duties as a police officer that one night. I'm going to marry Roger."

Dodge stood up with her. "You'll regret it."

"If you insinuate yourself into our lives again, I'll have to report you. As for this violent attack, promise me that you'll never do anything like it again."

Dodge said nothing. He for sure as hell didn't make her a promise that would contradict the one he'd already made to Campton to kill him if he harmed her.

"All right. You've been warned." She gave him one last fulminating look, then turned away and started walking toward the building. But after covering only a short distance, she stopped and came back around. "Officer Gonzales told me you had been appointed to a special task force."

"That's right."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not as dangerous as what you're getting yourself into."

She seemed on the verge of taking issue with that but must have thought better of it. "Take care of yourself."

Then she walked away from him.

When he got back to his car, he checked his pager, drove to the nearest pay phone, and placed a call to the task force hotline. It was answered brusquely. "This is Hanley. Somebody there page me?"

"Where the hell have you been? Captain's about to stroke out. He's paged you at least ten times."

"I've got a stomach bug. Came on this afternoon. Been in the crapper ever since I knocked off at the tire plant."

"Too bad. Get here. I'm talking sprout wings and fly."

"What's up?"

"Our guy waltzed into a bank just before closing, hit it for about thirty grand, and took out a guard."

"Took out as in a hostage?"

"No. Took out as in killed."

MS. BUCKLAND?"

"Yes?"

The voice was so faint Ski could barely hear her on his cell phone. He plugged his other ear with his index finger. "Sally Buckland?"

"Yes. This is ... I'm Sally Buckland."

"My name's Ski Nyland. I'm a deputy sheriff in Merritt County." When she said nothing to that, he plowed on. "We had an incident here last night, Ms. Buckland, and some people you know were involved."

"Oren and Berry. I heard about it on the news."

Ski wasn't surprised that the Houston media had picked up the story of the shooting. Probably dozens of similar incidents had occurred last night, but Caroline King had been a large player in the Houston area real estate market before moving to Merritt. Her name was newsworthy. He was glad of it. Because of the news coverage, millions of people would be on the lookout for Oren Starks.

He confirmed with Ms. Buckland that Starks and Berry Malone had been her co-workers at Delray Marketing and that she was also acquainted with the shooting victim, Ben Lofland.

"They said Ben is in serious condition."

"That's been upgraded," Ski told her. "He's going to be fine."

Two deputies came into the squad room carrying Whataburger sacks. Others fell on the fast food like a pack of coyotes. Ski placed his hand over his phone and yelled at them to pipe down. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't had a proper meal today.

Back into the phone, he said, "I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me, Ms. Buckland."

"No."

Her abruptness took him aback. "I promise not to take up much of your time."

"Why did you call me?"

"Because I'm conducting an investigation, and you know the three principals involved. Oren Starks issued some serious threats, and he's still at large. Anything you can tell me would be greatly appreciated." She was silent for so long that Ski had to prod her. "Ms. Buckland?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything."

Another deputy approached Ski, proffering a burger oozing melting cheese, but despite how mouthwatering it looked, Ski waved him off. "Ms. Malone has alleged that Oren Starks shot Mr. Lofland." Sally Buckland said nothing in response. "When you worked at Delray Marketing, were you aware of any hostility existing between Mr. Starks and Mr. Lofland?"

"No."

"No ill will of any kind, at any time?"

"No."

"Okay. What about--"

"This really is none of my business."

She sounded unreasonably upset. In Ski's experience, people--particularly people with nothing to hide--were flattered to have been contacted by the authorities. Typically they puffed up with self-importance and welcomed the chance to unload information even when it didn't pertain to the case.

"Please, Ms. Buckland, just a few more questions."

"But I don't know anything about this. I left Delray months ago and haven't seen these people since."

"Did you leave Delray on account of Oren Starks?"

"Who told you that?"

"Did you?"

"That's ridiculous."

"Starks didn't factor into your decision to leave the company?"

"Of course not."

Ski wanted to eliminate any confusion over this point. "Did Oren Starks persistently pursue a romantic relationship with you?"

"Heavens no."

"Did you quit your job in order to avoid his unwelcome advances?" She didn't respond, but he could hear her breathing. "Ms. Buckland?"

"None of that is true. If Berry led you to believe that Oren is a stalker, she's lying. Now I really must go."

She hung up before Ski could stop her.

"Very well done, Sally. Considering the disquieting circumstances and how nervous you are, you spoke exceptionally well and said exactly what I wanted the deputy to hear. Thank you."

Oren Starks covered her hand where it still gripped the landline telephone. "Let go, Sally," he said, laughing unctuously. "It's as though you're holding on to that phone for dear life."

She released the telephone and, without moving her head, cut her eyes far to the left so she could see him out of the corner of her eye--which had the barrel of a pistol pressed against it. "I did what you told me to, Oren."

"And I've said thank you."

"So you'll leave now?"

He smiled with feigned regret. "No, I'm afraid not."

"But you said--"

"What I said was that I would leave when you'd done what I asked you to."

"Which I did."

"But you're not finished yet, Sally." He stroked the pistol's barrel along her jawline, returning it to her temple. Her fearful whimper gave him enormous pleasure. "By throwing off that deputy sheriff, you made up for some of your meanness toward me. But not for all of it. You and I are still a long way from even."