How could this still be happening?
“Ms. Hagen. Mister Jameson.” Tibbet came over to where they waited, his ubiquitous notebook open and ready for more squiggly notes.
“You were following us,” Paul said. She could tell he was a little angry, a little embarrassed.
“Yeah. Obviously someone wants to kill your client. Possibly you, too. You don’t torch a house, and shoot a guy, and then stop, ya know?” Tibbet didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it looked like he wanted to. “My partner and I had some time, so we’ve been watching over Ms. Hagen. Saw the bodyguard bug out. Guess we’ll have to tag you, too. Now, if you separate…” he said to Paul.
“Separate? Tag him, too? What do you mean?” Torie jumped in.
“That shot wasn’t meant for you, Ms. Hagen. Whoever this guy is, he had a clean shot at you through the back window. Or while you were walking to the car. Nope.” Tibbet looked at Paul, his expression quizzical. “That one was meant for Mister Jameson here.”
Torie’s heart squeezed in painful understanding. She had gone to dinner with Paul. That had painted a big fat target on his back.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, horrified at the implications.
“Torie,” Paul said sharply. “This could as easily be someone after me for other reasons.”
“No, I don’t think so, Mister Jameson,” Tibbet interjected, cutting off Torie’s reply. “We’ve checked your cases. Pretty much none of your work has been controversial. No divorces, nothing that’s big press. Those being the usual causes of a grudge,” he explained. “I think your friend, Todd, is the unifying factor, but I can’t get a handle on it.”
“But why Torie?”
“She dumped him. Or was dumped by him.”
“But the accidents…” Torie began.
“Were deliberate. Look,” Tibbet said, leaning in, foot on the bumper. “I don’t pretend to know what this guy’s thinkin’, okay? But seems to me that the common denominator is your friend Todd Peterson. He wins money, and goes gallivanting off into the wild blue, right? Leaves you behind. If your time line’s right, the one you gave me a rundown on?” He directed this toward Paul, who nodded.
Tibbet turned to Torie. “Then the accidents and incidents your friend had began the first time he returned to the U.S. for a visit. You put down on your time line that you were on a date with—” Tibbet references his book—“a guy named Trey Buckner?”
“Jeez, you dated Trey?” Paul shot her an amazed look.
“Yes, I did. He was very nice, but we didn’t click,” she said defensively, and nearly cursed at how it came out. She’d have preferred to be cool and calm about the whole thing.
“Yeah, that’s the guy who had the nuisance complaint, right? Where someone canceled all his stuff.”
“Yes. I only found out because he thought I might have done it.”
“Why?” Paul asked, turning to look at her. She could see the knowledge in his face. Knowing Trey’s reputation, Paul could guess why.
“Because I said no.” Torie left it at that.
Tibbet, of course, wouldn’t let it rest. “No?”
Torie sighed. “No to his advances, which were fairly aggressive. We got into a shouting match involving a lot of bad language on his part.” She felt so prim saying it that way, but she wasn’t about to tell them Trey had called her a cocktease, and Todd’s throwaway whore of a bride. With the way Paul was already looking, Trey might get a visit, and she didn’t want that.
“Bad language, I see,” Tibbet scribbled again. “Any pushing or shoving?”
“It’s been more than four years, Detective. But none that I remember. Not on my part anyway.” She remembered the bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed and shaken her, but mentioning them did no good.
“I’ve read the notes from the complaint. We weren’t very smart about internet stuff or the whole identity thing, even that short time ago.” Thankfully Tibbet let it go, but the look he gave her told her he knew more. “And Mister Peterson lost four tires, hubcaps, and a windshield.”
“He did?” Torie was aghast. “Wow, he never told me.”
“He laughed it off,” Paul said, his voice tight. “Said it was probably kids.”
“Not in that neighborhood.”
“Yeah.”
Tibbet nodded, and returned to questioning Torie. “All the other intersecting events took place when Mister Peterson was in the country. I couldn’t find anything in our files that you reported or with which you were connected in between those times. Do you remember any?”
Torie thought about it, but was so tired she couldn’t dredge up a single thing. “I don’t know, Detective. It’s not that nothing happened, I just don’t know if I can say for sure. Not tonight when all this is going on.”
He asked them a few more questions, then told them they were free to go. Paul had already called for a cab, which was waiting.
“Oh, Ms. Hagen?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell you officially, but you’re no longer a suspect.”
Paul spoke before she could. “What changed?”
“The time line’s too short, and Ms. Hagen gave blood. Even with the gaps in your story, Ms. Hagen.” Tibbet’s smile was grim. “There’s enough weighing on your side to rule you out.”
“Why did you need my DNA?” She’d been dying to know ever since they had come to Paul’s office and taken the sample.
“Officially, I’m not at liberty to say.” Tibbet nodded at Paul.
“It could be,” Paul began, watching Tibbet, “that they found some of your hair at the scene, as I mentioned to you.”
Tibbet nodded.
“And possibly your blood? You mentioned the blood just now?” Paul phrased it as a question, and Tibbet answered it with another nod. “Ah. But they’ve ruled out your actually being there, I guess.”
Paul’s guesses were confirmed by yet another nod.
“Interesting speculation, Mister Jameson, but you know I can’t answer that,” Tibbet said as if he hadn’t confirmed everything about which Paul had asked. “But the lab will tell us everything in due time. They’re especially good with preservatives. Amazing what those crime scene techs can find.”
“The shooter would be good.”
“Yeah, they would. They haven’t gotten anything yet, but today’s a new day, ya know?” Tibbet waved toward the two cars, now on tow trucks, headed for the lab. The owner of the other car was still protesting that he couldn’t let his car go.
“We’ll let you know when you can pick up your car,” Tibbet said to Paul.
Paul helped her into the cab, and gave the driver his address.
“Maybe I should go to a hotel again.” Torie was beginning to realize how much danger she was bringing to anyone she was with. Paul hadn’t been a target before, but he was now. What had she done?
“No. You’re safer with me.”
But he wasn’t safer with her, was he? What should she do? How could she protect anyone from what she couldn’t understand?
It was horrifying to think that someone wanted her dead, or to ruin her life so badly that they would go to these kinds of lengths to destroy her world. It was worse to think about the pain that other people were enduring, the problems and difficulties. All because of her.
Maybe it was all her fault.
But what had she ever done to anyone that was so bad, so terrible, to bring this kind of retribution?
“Tibbet wants to meet with us midmorning to go over some things. Do you have time to do that?”
She nearly sobbed right then and there. As if she had a life, right?
“Nowhere I need to be, unfortunately.”
Paul must have heard the despair in her words. “It’s going to work out okay, Torie. I promise.”
“Sorry, Paul, but that’s one more empty promise. You don’t know who’s doing this. You can’t be the white knight this time, and ride to the rescue.”
“What do you mean, another empty promise?” Paul demanded as the cab pulled up at his house. He paid the driver and waited until they were in the house to continue. “I’ve never made you any promises, Torie.”