But, the whole tenor of the evening nagging at her, she thought she’d better at least check the late- night news to see if there was anything about a body of an old man being found in a ditch or somewhere. But though there was no shortage of murder and mayhem in and around the greater Bay Area, there was no mention of anyone who could have been her grandfather.
At the end of the program, the smiling weatherman informed her that the northern storm whose lower edge had arrived in the city this morning would really slam them tomorrow. It would be cold and wet, great news for a drought-starved state. And more good news-it was expected to drop up to four feet of snow in the Sierra.
Somehow underwhelmed by all the terrific weather and other news, Tamara hit the remote, pulled the covers over her head on the Murphy bed, turned onto her side, and went to sleep.
27
Hunt liked to run most mornings, but he wasn’t a fanatic. When the weather turned this ugly, he thought he could let a day go by and not miss it too much. He’d pump some iron at home and maybe get in a sprint workout on the court and could still be showered and shaved, dressed, and ready to head for work by eight.
With his windshield wipers slapping away, at a few minutes after six o’clock Hunt depressed the garage door button on his car’s visor and started to turn in, only to abruptly slam on his brakes. Just there to his right, parked along the wall, was a dark blue Honda Element. A frown creased his brow, and he considered jamming his car into reverse, backing out of there, and calling the police, telling them he had an intruder.
Instead, though, he scanned the open space in front of him. The Cooper’s lights were still on, and he could see at a glance that no one was lying in wait for him, although someone could conceivably be using the Honda for cover.
His heart pumping in his ears, he pushed the visor button and heard the garage door beginning to close behind him.
Moving the Cooper forward, he next pushed the dashboard button to shut off his engine, pulled out his keys, and opened his car door. His car’s beams now were out, and crouching low, he scampered over to the light switch next to the metal door and brought up the room lights.
Nothing. And nothing looked to have been touched. On this side of the warehouse, anyway.
Hunt owned a couple of guns. He generally did not carry them with him, and didn’t have them now. They were locked into a hidden safe under a pull-up board in the floor in his bedroom.
Note to self, he was thinking. When you’re working on any aspect of a murder case, carry your piece. You just never know.
But if that was today’s lesson, it was too late to benefit from it now. Again he considered letting himself out into the downpour, using his cell phone, getting a police presence or some reinforcements. But again, something stopped him.
It was all so quiet. His alarm should have gone off.
Every nerve on full alert, he walked over to the Element and dared a quick look inside. Through the slightly tinted window, he could see that the backseats had been folded up to the sides. There looked to be a pile of clothes covering the floor. All but tiptoeing now, he crossed his basketball court and got to the inner door, which was unlocked, and opened it without a sound. The rooms on this side of the warehouse would only be naturally lit by the high windows in the far wall, and little of that light penetrated to this hallway, which was close to pitch-black.
Now he didn’t hesitate at all, but picked his steps as quietly as he could into his bedroom. Dim light from the windows here relieved the blackness of the hall, but not by much. Over in the corner, he lifted the edge of the throw rug.
By now he was breathing hard and drops of sweat were beginning to stand out on his forehead. Somebody was still in or had been in his place. And if he was going to meet them, even if it was someone he might know from somewhere (enough that they knew about his alarm and its secret code), it was going to be on his terms.
He pulled up the floorboard and silently lifted it away. The last time he’d closed his safe, as was his habit, he’d set it so that the combination was mostly set and needed only a half turn to the right. This time, it worked as it should, and he reached in and lifted out his.380 ACP Sig Sauer P232. The gun was loaded and he released the safety and snicked a round into the chamber.
Then walked back out into the hallway, turning on the lights as he went.
Hunt was by no means over his adrenaline rush and his anger and he spoke in a whisper, all the more intimidating for its control. “You could have so easily gotten yourself killed. Both of you. I can’t believe how stupid this is.”
They were all sitting at the kitchen table. The gun, safety now back on, rested on the counter behind them. Mickey was still barefoot in his jeans and Hunt’s sweatshirt, augmented by the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Alicia, barefoot, wore her jeans from last night, though she’d thrown on a brown turtleneck sweater from the stash in her car.
Alicia raised her eyes to meet Hunt’s. “I’ll go if you want me to.”
“No!” At his outburst, Mickey clutched at his ribs.
Hunt’s expression dark, he turned to his employee. “That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, Mick.”
“And where’s she supposed to go?”
“How about back home? How about to her regular life?”
Mickey, very slowly, shook his head. “She’s not going to have a regular life until this is over, Wyatt. Juhle and Russo think it’s her. You told me that yourself.”
“I also told you they’re a long way from a warrant.”
“That could change in a heartbeat. And besides, it’s not just them.”
“It’s not?”
Alicia took the opportunity to break in. “Mickey thinks that whoever really did this might… might want to kill me too.”
Hunt’s mouth twitched in derision. “And why would they want to do this?”
“If she’s the main suspect,” Mickey said, “and then she kills herself, or it’s made to look like she kills herself, the investigation goes away.”
Hunt took a beat. “I’ve always said you’ve got a good imagination, Mick.”
“This guy’s already killed two people. Why wouldn’t he kill somebody else if it would end it? You don’t think that could happen?”
“A lot of things could happen, Mick. Do I think there’s a likelihood?” He turned his gaze from one of them to the other. “No.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to bet on likelihoods. Any likelihood at all is too much. You want to bet Alicia’s life that something like that won’t happen? We just can’t do that.”
Hunt blew out a heavy breath.
“Look,” Mickey went on. “We took this job, among other reasons, to investigate this murder, now these murders, and try our damnedest to keep Alicia out of jail-”
“That’s not why we took this job.”
“Yes, it is, Wyatt. It is exactly. It’s what I promised her before I even came to you about the rewards.”
This unexpected information didn’t make Hunt any happier. “It might have been nice to let me know about that a little sooner.”
Mickey started to shrug, but the pain stopped him. “It’s what I did, Wyatt. It seemed like the right thing. Alicia did not do this. Either of these.”
Hunt’s glance at Alicia made it clear that he wasn’t close to sold on this story. He came back at Mickey. “So what do you propose we do, as opposed to what we’ve already been doing trying to investigate these murders?”
“Well, first,” Mickey said without hesitation, “for her own safety, she stays here.” He held up his good hand. “Look, there’s no warrant out on her. Devin and Russo haven’t even asked her to check in with them. So she’s just hard to find, visiting a friend, however you want to spin it, if it comes up at all.”