Trapped by Revenge: A Shelby Nichols Adventure (9 page)

Billie found a place to park on the street in front of the apartment building where George lived. Three young men stood bunched around the door to the building having a smoke, and I wondered if we’d have to pay them a toll to get inside. I automatically opened the glove box and handed Billie the gun. “Maybe you should tuck it into your pants instead of your purse, just so you can get to it better,” I said.

“Huh?” she said, glancing at me sharply. “How… did you…”

I shrugged and she took the gun. She placed it in her purse, then strapped the purse over her shoulder to hang low enough so that she could reach the gun easily. “We’ll be fine,” she said again, letting just enough disgust color her voice to make me think I was being a pansy, but it didn’t work on me since I knew she was just as nervous as I was. “Let’s just go in there like we’re supposed to be here,” she continued. “Like we’re cops or something.”

I wanted to tell her it was easy for her to say that since she was the one with the gun, but I just let out a big sigh and got out of the car. I held my purse tightly to my side so no one would get any ideas about grabbing it. Did cops even carry purses? Probably not. I was so screwed. I waited for Billie to come around the car and we started toward the apartment building together.

By now the men were studying us with interest, and wondering what we were doing in their hood. None of them thought we were cops, but from the way we looked, we were probably ladies from social services coming to check on some foster kids. It was probably best to leave us alone unless we tried to mess with them.

I kept my eyes forward, knowing that to look any of them in the face would be a bad idea. We made it past them and to the elevators where I let out my breath in a huge sigh. But my reprieve was short-lived. Stuck to the doors was a sign that read, “Out of Service,” and I stifled a curse knowing there were sixteen floors in this building. “What floor does he live on?”

“Two,” Billie said.

I sagged. “That’s a relief.”

She smiled and shrugged, thinking that I was being pessimistic considering we got past those boys guarding the door in one piece. There were worse things than climbing up a few stairs. I followed her to the second floor with a frown, feeling petty and small when she put it that way. I didn’t think I was normally a pessimistic person, so I shouldn’t take it personally, right? Besides, anyone would hate to climb sixteen floors of stairs, so my comment wasn’t unreasonable.

We reached the door with number two-zero-three on it, and Billie knocked. I listened carefully for any signs of life, wondering vaguely if George was like those guys in front of the building and if I should stand behind Billie since she had the gun. I stayed put, since I didn’t want to hear Billie thinking that I was a pansy again.

Heavy footfalls came toward the door, and I imagined George looking through the peephole to see us standing there. I tried to make my face look like I wasn’t scared to death. A second later, the chain slid from the lock, and the door opened.

“George?” Billie asked. “Hi, I’m Billie Payne and this is Shelby Nichols. May we come in?”

“What do you want?” George narrowed his eyes. He was short, and older than I’d imagined with dark curly hair liberally streaked with gray. He was thinking that he’d never had so many visitors and wondered if we were there to pester him about Rebecca too. What was going on with that?

Billie could see he wasn’t going to let us in, so she had to improvise. “We’re from Homeland Security and we just have a few questions about the young woman who was killed in the building where you used to work, Rebecca Morris? Aren’t you the one who found her?”

I raised my brows and shot a glance at Billie. Did she just tell a big fat lie? Wow, at least now I wouldn’t have to feel guilty when I did that to her.

George let out a sound of disgust. “Can’t you people leave me alone? I testified in court about what I saw. I’m done talking about that. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He pushed the door to close it.

“George,” I said. “I’m sure this is painful for you, but I knew Rebecca. I thought you should know that she appreciated the kindness you always showed her when she was working there so late. She told me about you, and the time you left her that bag of chips when she couldn’t get the machine to work.”

He glanced at me sharply, then his gaze fell to the ground. “She was just such a sweet girl,” he said. “She didn’t deserve to be murdered. You might as well come in.” He pulled the door wide and ushered us inside.

“Thank you,” Billie said, a little awed that I’d gotten us in. How had I known that personal stuff? It wasn’t in the files she’d read. It was downright creepy and even gave her goose bumps.

We took our seats on an old couch, and George sat on a ratty recliner. Boxes were stacked everywhere, leaving the apartment bare of any personal items. It was clear George was moving out. “What do you want to know?” he asked, looking at me.

Billie glanced my way, letting me take the lead since I’d gotten us this far. “Rebecca and Jim…they were really in love, weren’t they? Did you ever wonder how Jim could have killed her when he loved her so much?”

“Sure,” he said. “Many times. It just didn’t make sense. But that night I was working by the elevators. I had just finished dusting the plants and had turned on the vacuum cleaner. It’s pretty loud, so that’s probably why I didn’t hear the gunshot. Anyway, when Jim left, he looked so sad. A few minutes later, I thought I’d better go check on Rebecca. As soon as I got to the end of the hallway, I turned off the machine and went to her office. I found her with blood all over her from a gunshot wound, and she was barely breathing.”

“Did she tell you anything or try to talk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I never told the cops, but she did say something. She said, “Tell Jim I’m sorry.” Then she was gone. I didn’t tell the cops because it didn’t make any difference. Jim had killed her because she wouldn’t go to dinner with him, and it was just like her to take the blame and say she was sorry.”

“Is that why you think Jim killed her?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. But inside he was full of doubt. He knew they loved each other deeply. It didn’t make sense that he would kill her for any reason. But he’d seen Jim leave, and when he’d gone into her office, she’d been shot. There wasn’t any other way it could have happened.

“Is there another way out besides the elevators?” I asked.

“There’s the stairs,” he admitted.

“Is it possible that someone else could have killed her in the time between when you saw Jim leave and the time you found her?”

He sighed. “Sure it’s possible, but I don’t know how they could have done it. From where I was standing, I could see down the hall to her office. I would have seen them.”

“Except when you turned around,” I added. “Someone could have snuck by if they’d been watching.”

“I suppose,” he reluctantly agreed. “But that’s not what happened.”

“So, who else has come by with questions recently?”

He glanced sharply at me, wondering how I knew that. “There was a man who came by about two weeks ago, asking the same sort of questions as you. I think he said he was a private investigator or something, but I can’t remember his name. He gave me his card though. Just a minute and I’ll see if I can find it.” He hurried into the kitchen and brought back the card. As he handed it to me I already knew it belonged to Sam Killpack, and my neck prickled with dread. Billie leaned over to read it, and her breath caught.

“Did you know this man, Sam Killpack, is dead?” I asked George.

The color drained from his face. “No,” he said. A wave of panic washed over him, and he was thinking it was a good thing he was leaving today. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He never should have told the guy about the weird feeling he’d had when he found Rebecca. He’d been uneasy ever since, and couldn’t shake the sense that someone had been watching him. Thank goodness his brother-in-law was coming with the truck this afternoon, and he’d be leaving this town for good.

“You ladies should be going,” he said, standing. “I’ve got some packing to finish, and I don’t have any more time to talk.” Something wasn’t right with this whole thing, but he’d done his part, he’d told them what he saw. It was his testimony more than anything that had condemned poor Jim. But he’d never told anyone about the soft footsteps he’d heard while he was focused on Rebecca. After she’d quit breathing, he’d looked down the hallway, but it was empty. He could have sworn someone was there in the room with him when he found her. It was enough to make the hairs rise on the back of his neck just thinking about it. And now this detective was dead? Was he next?

“Thanks for your time,” I said. “And good luck with the move.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded absently. He was already thinking that he needed to call his brother-in-law to come now. He could pay those hoodlums outside his building his last few dollars to pack the boxes out. No one would mess with him if they were around.

Billie and I swiftly left, not pausing to talk until we were in the car and driving away. “That was weird,” Billie began. “Did you see how upset he got when he found out Sam was dead? I wonder why.” She was thinking that could have been why Sam had called her a couple of days before his death. He must have had something to tell her. She thought he’d just been complaining about her story of Jim’s upcoming execution in the paper. Too bad she’d been so short with him on the phone.

“George was afraid he was next,” I said, answering her spoken question while I digested her thoughts about Sam. “It was probably because of what he told Sam that he didn’t tell anyone else. It’s also what got Sam killed.” Now I really needed to know what Sam talked to Billie about.

“Do you know what George told Sam?” she asked. When I didn’t answer right away she continued, “You do, don’t you? What was it? What did he tell him?”

I could deny it, but I didn’t think Billie would ever stop pestering me if I did that. I didn’t think it would hurt to tell her the truth either. If the killer knew we’d talked to George, it wouldn’t necessarily mean we were marked for murder too, and it might make her open up about Sam’s phone call.

“It wasn’t much,” I began. “So it’s hard to believe Sam was killed for it, unless he found out a lot more than what George told him.”

“What was it?” Billie pestered. “Come on… you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”

I widened my eyes at her. She was kidding, right?

“At least not now,” she quickly added, getting the hint.

I snickered, but cut her some slack. “He told Sam that he had a feeling that someone was in her office and slipped out while he was focused on Rebecca. He heard soft footsteps in the hall, but by the time he went to check, no one was there.”

“Whoa,” Billie said. “That’s pretty creepy. Why didn’t he mention this at the trial?”

“I think he was instructed to tell only the facts of what he saw and nothing more, so that’s what he did. I think if Sam hadn’t been asking questions like we were, George wouldn’t have mentioned it to him. It really shook him up that Sam was dead. I hope nothing bad happens to him now.”

“Or us,” Billie said.

“Yes, there is that,” I agreed. “But Sam must have had more information and confronted somebody with it to get him killed.”

“Perhaps,” Billie agreed. “But why was he looking into it in the first place? We know he wasn’t working for Jim. Did someone hire Sam, or was he working on his own?”

“Good question,” I said. “I know Sam called you before he died. What was that all about?”

Her breath caught, and she glanced at me with disbelief. “How did you know…?”

“You mentioned it to Dimples right after we met, when you were trying to figure out who died, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Well it really wasn’t much,” she began. “After reading my first article in the paper about Jim’s upcoming execution, he called wanting to know if I thought Jim was guilty or innocent. I gave him some pat answer that it was up to the courts to decide and they had found him guilty, so he probably was.

“Sam challenged me. He asked if I was an investigative reporter, and said that part of investigating meant I studied all aspects of the case and came to my own conclusions. He didn’t see that in my story at all. It kind of made me feel bad. Then he said my story fell flat because there was no human interest in it. He said real reporters found the “story behind the story” and that’s what made them great.”

“Wow,” I interjected. “He really laid it on. So what did you tell him?”

“I figured he had something to say about the “story behind the story,” and asked him if we could meet to talk about it. He called me a kid and said it depended on how my next article about Jim came out. Next thing I know, he’s dead.”

“Your next article was in the paper yesterday,” I concluded.

“Yeah. It would have been nice to hear what he thought, but now I’ll never know.” She felt bad about that, and we spent the next few minutes in silence, each of us wondering what Sam knew that got him killed. Then she thought about my premonitions and glanced at me. “So what do your premonitions tell you about all this?”

Since they didn’t tell me anything, I decided to go with my gut instincts. “That Sam had a reason to check into Rebecca’s murder, and whatever that reason was led him to the killer, which in turn got him killed.”