Killer Headline Page 15

  “What?”

  “You can’t call anyone today.”

  “I got the message last night.”

  “Promise?”

  Now he was acting like a kid. “When I say I’ll do something, I follow through, Clay.” Not like cops who believed they were protecting the innocent then allowed killers to track down a woman on the run.

  Anger bubbled up within her, anew. The Aunt Lettie side of her wanted to slam the door in his face.

  She curbed the thought and instead asked a question that had troubled her all night. “Have they found Jen Davis yet?”

  He shook his head ever so slightly.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Tears filled Violet’s eyes. She blinked to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. She wouldn’t let Clay see her cry again. Without waiting for his reply, she closed the door and turned the lock.

  “Violet—”

  Hot tears burned her cheeks.

  “Violet, please.”

  Clay turned away from the door, and his footfalls sounded over the hardwoods, growing fainter and fainter. A door opened at the front of the house and closed forcefully. An engine revved to life. Tires rolled over the gravel drive.

  Clay was leaving her, which was what he’d planned all along. The FBI had wanted him to come to Missoula to quiet a nosy reporter. He’d done his job.

  Her heart was breaking, but she shoved out her chin with determination. She had to go on even if Clay walked out of her life.

  She followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. After pouring a cup, she glanced out the window and spied a small dirt path on the far side of a dried creek bed.

  Violet looked toward the front of the house. Two agents stood at the end of the driveway. A third man walked the woods in the rear. Another stood about thirty yards away.

  Instead of feeling safe, she felt confined.

  Wonder if they’d let her take a walk?

  Probably against the rules.

  She turned her back to the windows and leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee, drawing comfort from the warmth of the mug in her hands. Her gaze played over the round table, four ladder-back chairs and a computer sitting on a desk in the corner.

  Violet pursed her lips. Clay hadn’t said anything about checking her e-mail. She opened the computer and tapped in the address but found no new messages.

  Force of habit, she then checked her old college Web site and was shocked when an e-mail appeared on the monitor screen.

  You don’t know me, but I have information about Lettie Kramer. I’m passing through Missoula. Meet me at Back Mountain Road at the five-mile turnoff so I can tell you what I know about your aunt.

  She hit Reply.

  What information do you have? Can you send it over the Web?

  How could she get to Back Mountain Road? If she called Clay, he’d tell her she couldn’t leave the safe house.

  Glancing out the window, Violet spied the dirt path at the rear of the property. She knew the surrounding area. A few months back, she’d interviewed a woman who painted mountain scenes and lived close by. The staff photographer was sick that day, so Jimmy had gone with her and done the photo shoot.

  A reply appeared in her in-box.

  I have to give the information to you in person.

  Violet needed to be careful, but this wasn’t mob related, and it didn’t involve the death of a green-eyed Montana woman. The mountain road wasn’t far. She could get a cab at the nearby corner market she and Jimmy had stopped at and be back before anyone knew she was gone.

  She pulled up a map of the area from the Internet. Just as she remembered, the dirt path out back led to one of the main roads. If she could think of some type of distraction, she might be able to slip away unnoticed. Noting the address of the next-door neighbor’s house on the map, an idea took shape.

  Violet found her suitcase in the living room and changed into a pair of jeans, warm sweater and hiking boots. Grabbing her coat and purse, she shut her bedroom door and left a note for the Joneses on the counter in the kitchen. Rough night. I’m sleeping in. See you this afternoon.

  Glancing out the front window, she checked the driveway where the two agents were still standing. In the rear, the men were talking, their attention turned away from the thick band of spruce trees and pines surrounding the property.

  Violet raised her cell and called 911. When the operator answered, Violet gave the neighbor’s address and then said, “It looks like there’s smoke in the woods.”

  Fire was always a problem during the dry periods, although usually not in winter. This year had proved the exception to the rule.

  Violet hated to call in a false alarm. She mentally vowed to make a large donation to the fireman’s association and beg forgiveness when this whole fiasco was over.

  Sirens sounded in the distance. The two agents in front turned their attention to the approaching fire trucks.

  An agent in the rear circled to the front of the house and watched the engines pull to a stop at the neighbor’s house. The other man kept his focus on the firemen scurrying into the woods.

  Violet slipped from the house. If she could make it to the protection of the thick wall of evergreens, she might be able to get away unnoticed.

  A car turned into the driveway and stopped. The older couple who lived in the safe house climbed out. Mr. Jones said something, then pointed toward the neighbor’s property. Mrs. Jones held her hand over her eyes as if to block the winter glare.

  Violet pushed into the dense thicket. Evergreens folded around her. The lone rear agent glanced at where she stood, heart pounding in her chest. He took a step forward.

  One of the men in front called out to him. “Looks like a false alarm.”

  The guy waved his arm in the air, signaling he’d heard. His attention broken, he turned and walked to the other side of the property.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Violet wove deeper into the pines, heading for the main road that would take her to the corner market.

  She’d walked less than ten minutes when her cell rang. Violet looked at the caller ID and hit the talk button.

  “I’ve been a jerk.” Jimmy’s voice. “I’m sorry, Violet. I had this stupid notion that something could develop between us. Finally I had a little heart-to-heart with myself.”

  She smiled at the mental picture.

  “Stu’s mad you didn’t call in today,” he added.

  “I’ll phone him as soon as I can.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you anything, Jimmy.”

  “It involves that cop, doesn’t it? I called your home last night, but no one answered. I want to help you. After all, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

  As much as Violet didn’t want to involve anyone else, she did need help. “I have to meet someone at Back Mountain Road. He—or she—has information about my aunt Lettie. I don’t have a car so I’ll have to call a cab. Do you have the number for the cab company?”

  “Forget the cab. I’ll pick you up at your house.”

  But she wasn’t home.

  And she didn’t want to get him involved. Clay would go through the roof if he found out Jimmy had helped her, but Clay was at Police Headquarters and she had a problem that needed to be solved.

  “Remember that photo shoot we did on the mountain artist? Could you meet me in front of the corner market where we bought ice cream bars that day? It’s at the junction of Hawkins and Summit.”

  “Yeah, I remember. In fact, I’m not far from there now. Stu wants me to cover a human-interest piece out that way. I’ve got an interview in fifteen minutes. I can call the lady and tell her I’ll have to reschedule for later. But, Violet, what are you doing so far from town?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  With Jimmy’s help, Violet would be able to get the information concerning Aunt Lettie. Information she needed to clear her father’s name. Information t
hat could signal the end of a mystery, which had plagued her family for too long.

  Violet should feel elated.

  Instead, she was upset she had to go behind Clay’s back.

  SEVENTEEN

  Micah arrived at Police Headquarters shortly after Clay. Together, they drove back to the scene of the murder, looking for anything that might have been missed last night. A thorough search of the motel room and surrounding area revealed nothing new.

  Returning to headquarters, Clay phoned Violet, but the call went to voice mail. He had told her not to talk to anyone on her cell. Knowing Violet, she probably realized the call was from him and had folded her arms over her chest and cocked her hip with a but-you-told-me-not-to-use-my-phone attitude.

  “Ah, Violet, you are too much.” A smile twitched his lips. He’d never take her for granted. She always had something new up her sleeve.

  Chuckling, he called the safe house. Mrs. Jones answered.

  “Could you put Violet on the line?”

  “She’s sleeping in, Clay. Catching up on the rest she missed last night.”

  He glanced at his watch. Almost 10:00 a.m. Pouting in her room was probably more accurate. He’d check on the guards to ensure everything was going smoothly.

  “Any problems?” Clay asked when the agent in charge answered.

  “None at this house.”

  “Meaning—?”

  “Someone called in a fire alarm down the road. Two engines answered the call. They couldn’t find the fire or the person who phoned 911.”

  “Has anyone checked on Ms. Kramer?”

  “She’s sleeping, sir.”

  Clay’s hand gripped his cell. He spoke slowly and distinctly. “Ensure she’s still inside.”

  The radio squawked as one of the rear guards checked the house before the answer came back. “Ms. Kramer is not in the house, sir.”

  “Find her,” Clay ordered. “Canvass the property and surrounding area. Check with the neighbors. See if anyone saw a vehicle about the time of the fire alarm. Somebody must have seen something.”

  Clay passed the information on to the chief.

  “I’ll dispatch every officer I can spare to search for her.”

  “What about Jimmy Baker?” Clay asked. “Have you hauled him in for questioning?”

  “He’s out on a story but due back at the paper by early afternoon. We’ll pick him up then.”

  Clay would feel better once that loose cannon was interrogated. “What about the other people on staff?”

  “Like who?” the chief asked.

  Clay sighed. “Forget it. I’ll call the editor.”

  But before he called Stu, he needed to tell Jackson what had happened. Clay left the chief’s office and moved into a vacant conference room to place the call.

  “Where would she go?” the agent asked after Clay explained the situation.

  “Knowing Violet, back to The Daily News. Have you had time to run a check on the staff at the Daily News?”

  “The only one with an Illinois connection was Quinn Smith. He grew up in Chicago. I don’t know when he moved West, but he’s been at the Missoula paper for some time.”

  “Would you mind circulating Quinn’s name on the street? Doubt we’ll get lucky, but you never know.”

  “I’m heading out for a little tête-à-tête with Cameron Trimble. I’ll run the name by him. If there’s anything to learn about Quinn, we’ll get it for you.”

  “Thanks, Jackson.”

  “Listen, Clay, I need to ask. If Cameron comes forward with anything, he may want to plea bargain. After what he did to Sylvia…?” Jackson paused. “It’s your call.”

  For so long, Clay had wanted to make Cameron pay for what he’d done to his ex-wife. Now, with Violet in danger, vengeance didn’t seem so sweet. Clay couldn’t forgive Cameron, at least not yet, but he would agree to a plea bargain. “If he’s got information to share, do whatever it takes.”

  Once he disconnected, Clay plugged in the editor’s number.

  “What’s going on?” Stu asked when he got on the line. “The police were here earlier, looking for Jimmy. Violet never showed up for work. Is she in trouble?”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “Not this morning.”

  “What about the others on staff?”

  “Quinn hasn’t shown up, either.”

  Chief Howard stepped from his office, phone pressed against his ear, and motioned to Clay.

  “Hold on, Stu.” Clay approached the chief. “Yes, sir?”

  “One of the neighbors saw a woman matching Violet’s description get into a car outside a country market about half a mile from the safe house.”

  “Did the person know the make and model?”

  “This gal’s the type of citizen a cop likes. She copied down the license. We ran a check. The car belongs to Jimmy Baker.”

  Clay pulled his cell back to his ear. “Stu, tell me everything you know about Jimmy Baker, starting with his home address.”

  Driving toward Back Mountain Road, Violet filled Jimmy in on the basics. A woman had died. Violet had found her body and was being kept in protective custody for her own safety.

  The e-mail today had been an unexpected surprise. A person passing through Missoula had information about Lettie and wanted to talk to Violet.

  The mountain road intersected with Interstate 90 that ran from Spokane to Missoula to Chicago and on to the East Coast. The person had probably looked at a map for a private spot to meet not far from the highway.

  The turnoff on Back Mountain Road lay just ahead.

  Violet’s cell rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Clay West.

  She couldn’t talk to him now. Clay would say she’d acted irresponsibly, first by calling in a false fire alarm and then by eluding the guards who were working hard to protect her.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw his furrowed brow, dark eyes and look of disappointment that she would have done something so terribly foolish. Later, when she had the information about Lettie, she’d call him back and beg his forgiveness.

  As soon as Gwyn’s murderer was apprehended, Clay would leave Montana and head home to Chicago. No reason for him to hang around any longer.

  She glanced at Jimmy. He’d always been there to help her out. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said as he turned into the clearing.

  “And I’m sorry I acted like a fool. I’ve been jealous of that cop from Chicago. The way he looks at you, I knew there was something going on between you. Something special.”

  Maybe there had been at one time, but things had changed. Violet had to steel her heart to the reality that she and Clay didn’t have a future together. He was a cop who had a job to do in Chicago. She would stay in Missoula to help where she could here.

  Jimmy braked to a stop.

  An SUV sat parked in the distance. Slowly, it eased forward. Tinted windows made it impossible for her to see the driver.

  The vehicle pulled next to them and stopped. When the driver climbed out, Violet was more confused than ever. She opened the door and stepped on to the pavement. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  She saw the knife in his hand, realizing too late she’d made a deadly mistake.

  Clay arrived at Jimmy’s house ahead of the three squad cars. He parked down the street and made his way through the rear of the property to the back porch. He wanted to crash through the door and grab Jimmy, but he needed to be cautious. He couldn’t do anything that would cause Violet harm.

  If Jimmy hurt her, Clay would show him no mercy.

  Two Missoula cops sidled around the corner of the house, headed for the front door. Two more officers joined Clay on the back porch, weapons drawn. His fingers itched for the service revolver under lock and key back at Chicago P.D. Being unarmed was one of the complications of administrative leave.

  Clay nodded to the officers and opened the door. He slipped inside, silent as a cat, glancing right then left. Dining room straight ahead, living
area beyond. The front door opened, and two officers entered, guns raised. One man headed for the back bedrooms. A second man moved to the basement door and slipped into the darkness below.

  Clay was drawn into the main room like a moth to flame. Oriental rug spread in front of a stone fireplace. Leather couch and love seat. Glass coffee table. In the blink of an eye, he took it all in.

  His eyes turned to study the walls covered with framed photographs. A heavy dread settled over his shoulders.

  The person captured in each picture was Violet Kramer.

  EIGHTEEN

  Violet tried to scream, but the rag stuffed in her mouth and held in place with duct tape kept any sound from escaping.

  She saw the top of his head in the driver’s seat. Hooded sweatshirt. Baseball cap.

  Back at the clearing, he’d shoved Jimmy’s car over the drop-off with Jimmy in it. When she’d struggled, he’d struck her face, knocking her out. She’d come to bound and gagged and lying on the backseat of his SUV. Her head was jammed against the door handle.

  She tried to get her bearings. All she could see out of the passenger window was the overhead cloud cover and gray sky. She blinked against the glare and struggled to rise off the seat.

  The sound of the tires hummed along the pavement. The driver decelerated, easing the car into a turn. Using her elbow as a prop, she inched up, her eyes even with the window. Straining, she pulled up even more and glanced down.

  Her stomach roiled.

  The world shifted.

  Chest tight, she couldn’t breathe.

  The car was racing along the mountain road just inches from a steep drop-off. Far below, she saw a tiny village nestled in the valley.

  A moan rose from within her. One slip of the tires, and they would hurl down the side of the cliff and crash on to the craggy rocks below.

  Clay stared at the photographs of Violet. Many of the shots appeared to be taken without her knowledge. Some were of a younger Violet, holding books in her arms.

  Jimmy had been obsessed with her since college.