You Belong to Me (36 page)

His own mother wouldn’t know him. Of course, he thought bitterly, she’d never get the chance. His mother was dead, because of Ryan Agar and the assholes just like him.

Prepared to be stopped, he had ID in his shirt pocket. People were a lot more likely to allow a cop to pass, and rarely did anyone check to see if the name was real or not.

If he was stopped, he was Officer Ken Pullman, up from Virginia on vacation, and his friend in the back was sleeping off one hell of a hangover. But no one stopped him. No one noticed as he exited the garage, feeding a crisp bill into the self-serve pay machine. With good winds he should have Ryan out on the Bay by noon and then the party would begin again.

A beep caught his attention and he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. The bouncing blue ball on the tracking website had left the morgue. Little Lucy was on the move. He frowned. She was supposed to stay put in the morgue all day today.

Maybe she’s running away
. He’d honestly thought she’d run at the first sight of Bennett yesterday and again at Bennett’s heart in her car, but she hadn’t taken his warning seriously. Instead she’d stayed, sticking close to the detective.

They’d been hot and heavy in that alley, which had been good for him. Had they finished any faster, they might have interrupted his delivery of Janet Gordon’s body.

Of all people, he hadn’t thought Lucinda would fall for a cop – or pretend to, which was more likely. He wondered in what direction she was steering the investigation.

Away from herself, without a doubt. He wondered whose name she was whispering in the cop’s ear, who she was blaming. He wondered what the cop would say when he learned the truth.

I’ll have to keep a close eye on Lucy
. He might need to change his plans for the afternoon, depending on where she was going. If she was going back to Anderson Ferry, this time he’d have to go along too. He couldn’t let her talk to her parents, not just yet. Not until he was ready for their family reunion. He had a few more letters to burn first.

Tuesday, May 4, 10.30 A.M.

Clay stopped outside the Orion Hotel, taking a moment to compose himself. He’d ensured that all of Nic’s files had been relocated to his house before going back to her apartment and calling 911. By the time he’d done all of that he was numb, and behaving just like the detectives would have expected him to behave, having stumbled on a scene like . . .
that
.

Before, he had been reacting. Now, it was time to act. He squared his shoulders and walked into the Orion as if he hadn’t discovered the mutilated corpse of his partner four hours before.

He stopped at the concierge’s desk. ‘I’d like the head of security, please.’

‘Can I ask what this is in reference to?’ the concierge asked.

‘My name’s Maynard. I’m a PI, searching for a man owing thousands in child support. I got a tip that he checked in here last night. I’d like to look at your tapes.’

The concierge was annoyed, but not with Clay. Citing the search for a deadbeat dad was the best way of viewing tapes in privately owned buildings, especially if the person behind the desk was female. It was no lie. Evan was behind in his support payments, having faked his own death. And having murdered three others.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ The concierge waved over a man in a suit. The two talked and then the man in the suit took him to the security office. Within ten minutes the security chief had the footage. He turned his screen so that Clay could see it.

‘This your man?’

Evan Reardon
. Pure hate bubbled up within Clay and he let it simmer as he watched the tape. Standing with a scantily clad woman, Evan gave his credit card to a guy behind the counter. The woman clung to him like ivy. When the two practically ran for the elevator, Clay shook his head. Once he’d dealt with Evan, Ted Gamble’s name would not be heard again. No need to leave a loose end for anyone to trip over.

‘No,’ he lied. ‘That’s not him. But thank you.’ Clay left the hotel, grimly determined. Reardon was here, in Baltimore.
When I find you, you will wish you’d never been born
.

Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday, May 4, 10.55 A.M.

‘
L
ucy.’ JD slammed the door of his car and jogged to catch up with the long-legged stride that had her almost to her apartment door already. ‘Wait.’ He tugged at the duffle bag on her shoulder and she jerked away.

‘I’ll carry it,’ she said curtly, then drew a breath. ‘But thank you.’

She was trembling. ‘Lucy, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t want to go back there,’ she said tightly. ‘That’s what’s wrong.’

‘You mean to Anderson Ferry?’

‘No, I meant the seventh ring of hell,’ she snapped. ‘Yes, Anderson Ferry.’

‘Why not?’

She gave him a look of consternation. ‘Why not?’ she repeated incredulously.

‘Yeah. Westcott’s a bitch and Bennett threw you under a bus. I can cut Bennett some slack because he’d just found out about his son, but he does know something. Their opinion of you doesn’t carry any weight with me. So, why not?’

For a moment she stared at him. ‘Never mind.’ She started walking again.

JD stood still. ‘Is it because your parents still live next door?’

She stopped abruptly. ‘Yes,’ she hissed.

‘Talk to me, Lucy. Please.’
Please
seemed to work when nothing else made a dent.

‘I know I have to go. I get that, Fitzpatrick. But it doesn’t mean I have to relish the trip.’

‘You wanted to go yesterday. You asked several times.’

‘No, I never
wanted
to go. I felt I owed something to the Bennetts.’

He closed the distance between them. ‘And yet they threw you out.’

‘They’re grieving. We can’t blame them. Let’s just . . . get this day over with.’

She still wouldn’t look at him. He tried to tip up her chin, but she looked away. ‘And then there’s me,’ he murmured. ‘I know we didn’t plan what happened last night, but we have to talk about it sometime. Please, don’t shut me out.’

She sighed wearily. ‘I don’t blame you, okay?’

‘But?’

She closed her eyes. ‘The truth is that most of me is embarrassed. Mortified, even. The other part is . . . thrilled and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s not okay. You are not good for me. I wish you’d accept that.’

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All the blood had rushed out of his head when she said ‘thrilled’. By ‘heartbeat’ he was hard as a rock.

‘Lucy!’ The voice came from above their heads and as one they looked up. There was an older woman standing on one of the second-story balconies looking upset.

‘What is it, Barb?’ Lucy called.

Barb was wringing her hands. ‘He’s bad today. I almost called you.’

‘I’ll be right up,’ Lucy said. JD had no choice but to follow her into the building and up the stairs, still speechless and wincing. But the blood started pumping back to his brain as she unzipped the duffle bag and pulled out a violin case. Barb was standing by an open door.

‘I tried the recording but he broke the recorder. Threw it at the mirror on the wall.’

Shards of broken mirror littered the floor and an old man wearing orthopedic shoes paced and muttered angrily. A tape recorder lay smashed at his feet.

‘I can’t get close enough to the glass to clean it up,’ Barb said in a loud whisper.

Lucy handed the mostly empty duffle to JD. ‘Hold this, please.’ She cautiously approached the old man. ‘Mr Pugh, it’s Lucy.’ She touched his shoulder. ‘You sound worried. Can I help?’

‘Can’t find it,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t find it.’

‘What can’t you find?’ she asked him, so sweetly it made JD’s heart ache.

The old man shook his head. ‘Can’t find it.’

‘Come,’ Lucy said, tugging the man’s arm. ‘Sit with me for a while.’

Bewildered, Mr Pugh let himself be led to a sofa with big blue flowers. ‘Can’t find it,’ he said plaintively and Lucy smiled at him.

‘I know. We’ll find it. Don’t worry.’ She took the violin and bow from the case, positioning the instrument under her chin as if she’d done so a million times.

Maybe she had. JD realized he held his breath, waiting for her to begin.

‘No!’ the old man shouted and jumping up, grabbed Lucy’s arm.

JD had reflexively stepped closer, but Lucy stopped him with a glance. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘There’s a little box inside the duffle. Can you give it to Barb?’

Apparently Barb knew what to expect because she shook a silver charm bracelet from the box and fastened it to Lucy’s wrist. Lucy showed it to Mr Pugh.

‘See, here it is. Now let’s sit down.’ The old man sat and Lucy stood, the bracelet dangling from the wrist that curved around the instrument’s neck. A moment later the music flowed and JD simply listened, speechless once more.

It was nothing like the music she’d made the night before. That had been pounding energy. Searingly hot.
This
. . . this was sheer beauty. Rich and full and pure, he knew he’d heard the piece played a hundred different times. But never like this.

It was haunting and lovely and stirred something deep within him.

Mr Pugh’s eyes closed, a contentment settling his features where there had been agitation before. A tear slid down his wrinkled face as he clasped his hands together. Lucy’s gaze became unfixed and JD knew she’d gone somewhere else in her mind.

His own eyes stung. She stood there wearing no makeup and a pair of scrubs, her red-gold hair pulled back in a plain ponytail. She was as beautiful as the music she created.
I want her
. The thought hit him like a brick. He wanted her, of course. That was an already established fact. But this was different.
I want her for myself
.

You don’t know her. She won’t let you
. That would have to change.

‘It’s Albinoni’s
Adagio
,’ Barb whispered beside him. ‘She performed this for her senior recital, the last time she played as his student.’

‘It’s . . .’ He gave up. There wasn’t a word.

‘I know.’ Barb patted his arm. ‘She has a gift.’

A movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye and he looked over his shoulder. Doors in the apartment building were opening on every floor, residents coming out of their units to stand in the halls, listening. He imagined the look on his face mirrored theirs. Sheer bliss.

Too soon the piece was finished and Mr Pugh lifted his face expectantly. Lucy seamlessly launched into another piece, equally haunting and moody. Broody. Wonderful.

Barb Pugh started to kneel on the floor to pick up the shards of mirror, but JD shook his head and did the task himself. Lucy had nearly completed her third piece by the time he finished and had carted the now-empty frame into the hall.

‘Thank you,’ Barb whispered. ‘She’s almost done. You are the detective from yesterday morning, aren’t you? The one who called me at my sister’s.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ JD motioned her into the hall so they could talk undisturbed. ‘I’m Detective Fitzpatrick. Did you and Mr Pugh live in Anderson Ferry?’

‘Oh no. We’ve always lived here in Baltimore,’ Barb said.

JD frowned. ‘I thought your husband was Lucy’s music teacher in high school.’

‘He was. He taught at a residential school for girls here in town.’

‘Residential? You mean a boarding school?’

‘For some, yes. Lucy lived too far away to commute so she lived in the dorm.’

‘Was it a music school?’ he asked and she hesitated, then nodded.

‘Yes, among other things. There was painting and chorus and dance and music.’

‘So it was a school for the arts.’

She hesitated again, longer this time. ‘Among other things. You should ask Lucy.’

Among other things? Like what?
‘I’ll try. She’s not big on sharing.’

‘Give her time. I think you’ll find the key to unlocking those secrets of hers.’

‘But why does she keep so many secrets?’

Barb’s smile was sad. ‘Sometimes our secrets are all we
can
keep, Detective.’

In the living room Lucy had finished the third piece and was putting her violin back in its case when Mr Pugh rose again to grab her arm. ‘Please,’ he said and she patted his hand.

‘Do we have time for one more, Detective?’ Lucy asked.

‘Please,’ JD said simply, now understanding the power of that one word.

She was startled, then resigned, as if he’d peeled away one of the layers she’d held onto for dear life. She fitted the violin under her chin and played the first piece again. Once again Mr Pugh’s cheeks were wet. This time JD’s were too.

For a long moment she held his gaze and JD could hear every beat of his own heart. Then she looked away and put the violin in its case.

‘Will he be all right now?’ JD asked Barb as Lucy knelt at the old man’s feet and took off his shoes. Barb shook her head.

‘No. He’ll have another few episodes today, but that was probably the worst one.’

‘You know what you’re going to have to do,’ JD murmured and Barb nodded.

‘I know.’ Suddenly she looked so weary. ‘I know.’

‘I’m sorry. I know the expense is—’

‘Not a factor,’ Barb interrupted. ‘Lucy’s taken care of it. She started putting money away as soon as I called to tell her Jerry had been diagnosed. She quit her job and came right back, no questions asked.’

‘Where was she before?’

‘California. She’s a good person, our Lucy.’ Who had persuaded Mr Pugh to lie down and was covering him with an afghan. ‘She’s got a nice place picked out. She’s just waiting on me to . . .’ Barb swallowed hard. ‘To be ready to lose him. But she doesn’t push, not hard anyway. She knows what it’s like to be put somewhere against her will.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘And I’ve said too much.’

‘No, ma’am. You’ve said just enough.’ He gave her one of his cards. ‘If you need anything, just call.’

Barb took the card. ‘Why did this killer do this?’ she asked, her voice low and urgent. ‘Set up a dead man to look like my Jerry?’

‘To frighten Lucy,’ JD said. ‘If you have any reason to be afraid, do not hesitate to call 911. Don’t call one of us first. Call 911, and then call me.’