“I have a bottle of echinacea in my top right desk drawer. Help yourself. It really works.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” Carla smiled and the other woman walked off. She lowered her gaze to her wrist, counting as the second hand of her watch ticked out one minute, then two, then three.
She stood and crossed to her office door. She stood there a full minute, listening for Becky’s distinctive voice, wanting to be absolutely certain the woman had left the second floor.
Confident that she had, she made her way to Becky’s office, a small cluttered area located to the right of Val’s. In actuality, Becky worked for all the detectives; she answered the phone, directed calls and ran interference between the detectives and everybody-including witnesses, victims’ families and the chief himself.
But Val was her boss; he had hired her, he could fire her. His work always came first.
Val required Becky to keep all the carbon copies from her old message pads for six months. Unless Pastor Howard had reached Val directly, which certainly could have happened, Becky would have taken a message. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but one worth taking.
The secretary kept them in the file cabinet in the corner. Bottom drawer. Carla crossed to the cabinet, squatted in front of it and pulled open the drawer. The empty pads were located in back, a stack of five of them. She chose the least recent one and began thumbing through it.
Nothing. She retrieved the next pad. And hit pay dirt.
A message to call Pastor Rachel Howard from Paradise Christian Church. Wednesday, July 11. Two days before she was discovered missing.
What that meant hit her with the force of a heavyweight’s best punch.
“What are you doing, Carla?”
She jerked her head around. Becky stood in her office doorway, face screwed into a suspicious scowl. Carla forced a laugh. It sounded choked, even to her own ears. “After you left, I got to thinking about something-” She ripped the carbon copy from the pad, stood and carried it to the secretary. “This call from Rachel Howard, did Val get it?”
The woman’s cheeks flooded with color. “Val gets all his messages.”
Carla hurried to smooth her ruffled feathers “That’s what I thought, of course.”
“Besides,” Becky said, tapping the pad, “the original’s gone. That means I put it on Val’s desk.”
“Did he return this call?”
The woman stiffened. “I imagine he did. Lieutenant Lopez is very thorough.”
“Yes, he is.” Carla thought of Rick, of how he would take what she was about to show him, and sadness crept over her. Everyone would be hurt by this thing-the department, Rick, her. “Thanks, Becky.”
She started out of the office. The secretary stopped her. “Your voice, Carla. It seems suddenly better.”
She looked over her shoulder at the other woman. “It is. Thanks for your concern.”
CHAPTER 50
Wednesday, November 21
1:40 p.m.
Rick drew the ancient Jeep Wrangler to a stop in front of Carla’s South Street cottage. She had called him on his cell phone a half hour ago. She needed to see him right away, she’d said. It was about the disappearance of Pastor Howard.
He cut the engine but didn’t move to get out of the vehicle. He leaned his head against the rest and stared blankly up at the Jeep’s canvas top, thinking of Liz. As he had watched her walk away, his every instinct had shouted to call her back. The feeling that he had done the wrong thing had grown in the hours that had passed, as had his worry over her safety.
He couldn’t trust his instincts, not when it came to Liz. He saw that now. Until Val had pointed it out, he hadn’t consciously acknowledged Jill’s and Liz’s physical similarities. Just as he hadn’t seen what he had been doing-trying to save her, the way he had not been able to save Jill.
The truth of that left him feeling raw. And foolish.
He glanced at Carla’s house and saw her at the window. He lifted a hand in greeting, pulled the keys from the ignition, climbed out of the Jeep and made his way up the walk.
He stepped onto the porch. It sagged slightly and the gray deck paint was peeling. In contrast, the hanging ferns and pots of multicolored flowers all but shouted tender-loving care.
Carla had always loved plants and for the longest time had tried to keep several in her cluttered, windowless office. It had driven Val nuts. Real cops, he had complained, didn’t keep pansies and petunias on their desks.
Carla appeared at her door. “Hi.” She smiled nervously and pushed the screen door open.
After he entered, she peered outside as if assessing if they were being watched, then closed and locked the door. He cocked an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”
“You’ll understand in a moment. Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”
She led him into her small kitchen. She went to her purse and retrieved a slip of pink paper from its side pocket. She held it out. “Take a look at this.”
He closed the distance between them and took it from her. It was a carbon copy from a message pad, the kind found in most offices.
He read it then lifted his gaze to hers.
“Rachel Howard did call Val. She called him two days before she was reported missing.”
Rick pulled out one of her kitchen chairs and sat, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“This morning, I eavesdropped on you and Val. And I…remembered. He was in his office, on the phone, he said her name.”
“Are you certain? Maybe he didn’t get-”
“He did. I spoke to Becky about it.”
“Shit.” He shook his head, struggling to come to grips with this piece of information. The ramifications of it. “This doesn’t mean anything. She could have called him about a…donation. About a church function or-”
“There’s more, Rick,” she said gently. “There was no scrap of paper with the Hideaway’s phone number scrawled on it. Tara had fabric in her hand. Shirt fabric. White.”
Rick thought back to that night, what he’d seen. It could have been fabric. It’d been dark, he had assumed it had been paper.
“Mark had on a light-blue T-shirt that night.”
“How do you-”
“I saw it at his place. The blood looked purplish on the blue. I’m embarrassed to say I never thought about it until now. Even though that fabric was most probably torn from her attacker’s shirt.”
Rick felt ill. Not Val. His best, his oldest friend. The person who had seen him through the darkest days of his life. He felt as if he were being ripped apart.
And he thought of Liz, the way he had torn into her for suggesting Val might be dirty.
“Why, Carla?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Why would he do this?”
“I don’t know.” She turned and crossed to the window behind the sink and stared out at her lush, overgrown backyard. She let out a long, disappointed-sounding breath. “I made so many mistakes. I always let him lead. Like a little puppy dog, whatever he asked of me, I did. Whatever he said, I believed.”
She swung and faced him. “I never questioned, Rick.” Her voice trembled. “A good cop questions everything.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. He was your boss, a lieutenant and highly thought of in the department. Who would have thought twice about-”
“You would have,” she said simply, interrupting him. “I’m going to see this thing through, then I’m getting out, Rick. This isn’t the job for me. It isn’t the place.”
He understood. But he didn’t want her to go. “You’re a good cop, Carla. You’ve turned into a good cop.”
A small smile touched her mouth. “Thanks, but I know better.” He started to protest. She cut him off. “I’m not you, Rick. Never will be. The time’s come for me to stop kidding myself. This isn’t my calling. I’ll never be better than adequate, not here. Not in police work.”
“You don’t have to leave Key West. There are other opportunities here. You could-”