“Yes. When he saw him today he asked if he was the one who’d left with the woman who got killed. He said the professor got angry and denied it. So, do you know this man with the bow tie?” She wagged her finger. “And no fair answering with a question.”
“We may,” Noah said. “As soon as we confirm, we’ll give you your exclusive. And you’ll hold back on broadcasting the tape your assistant is shooting right now?”
Forest scrutinized him. “Sure. Just don’t double-cross me, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Noah murmured as another car raced up the street, stopping behind the news van with a screech of brakes. Two men emerged, one with a camera.
“Detective Webster?” The one without the camera jogged across the street. “Can you comment on Detective Phelps’s attempt at murder-suicide?”
Forest’s brows shot up and Noah’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“No comment,” Noah said softly.
“I’d say that qualifies as a double-cross,” Regina Forest said, equally softly, and motioned at her assistant in the van to keep rolling tape.
The reporter looked annoyed that he’d been scooped. “Nelson Weaver, the Mirror. Is it true that Jack Phelps murdered his girlfriend and OD’d on booze and pills?”
“No. Comment,” Abbott repeated forcefully.
Forest’s lips curved, this time in disdain. “Nelson, I think we should grab a coffee. Chat.” She walked away, the confused newspaperman at her side.
“Goddamn it,” Abbott muttered. “So much for Jack’s privacy.”
“But now we know who killed five women,” Noah said, sounding oddly disconnected. “I’ll go pick up Donner.”
Abbott turned slowly toward Noah’s car, as if remembering Eve still sat there. “I’ll send a squad car to Donner’s house to hold him there, then I’ll pick him up. Drop her off at Sal’s before you meet me at Donner’s.”
Well, that was interesting, too, Dell thought, watching through his zoom. The guy from the Mirror he’d fully expected since he’d called him, but the chick from the TV news was a bit of a surprise. Looked like Phelps would be covered coming and going.
Phelps could still die, he thought optimistically, but even if he doesn’t, his face will be plastered all over the Twin Cities. A murder-attempted-suicide by a cop was big enough to be picked up by CNN. Hell, maybe even big enough for Yahoo.
Everyone had read that MSP article and thought Phelps was a god. Now they knew he was a murderer and a coward. In other words, everyone would know the truth.
“Now, on to Webster,” he said with a big grin. He knew how to hit Webster where it would really hurt. The man cared for his family.
Wednesday, February 24, 10:15 p.m.
Noah clenched his steering wheel as he drove away from the Bolyards’ house. “What happened between you and Abbott?”
“He wants me out of the way so you won’t be distracted. I told him I’d comply.”
Noah tamped down his temper. No easy feat. “By going to Sal’s?”
“I figured Sal would cover for me. Abbott tried to take me to the safe house himself and that wasn’t going to happen.” She drew a breath. “Noah, I don’t know what to say.”
He gave her a hard glance. “About what?”
“Those people, the Bolyards… They were killed while we were…” She shrugged.
“I know. But you told me that Jack made a bad choice, letting a woman he didn’t really know into his bed. You were right. The Bolyards made a bad choice, too. They could have told us what they knew and we could have picked Donner up before he shot their heads off. They didn’t. They wanted their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Looks like they got it,” she said sadly. “But back to you. Abbott’s right. I’m a distraction to you right now. Drop me off at Sal’s. I’ll go home with Callie and ask one of the cops to follow us. I’ll even call you when I get there so you know I’m safe.”
“I’ve got an idea that I like better. Brock and Trina’s house,” he said, then blinked when she forcefully shook her head.
“No. They’ve got kids. No way will I lead Dell to them. I’ll go to a safe house first.”
His heart squeezed hard. He hadn’t expected her to say that, but now that she had, he was totally unsurprised. “They sent the kids to Brock’s dad for the night. He’s a retired cop and understands what’s going on. The boys will be perfectly safe there. I called Brock while I was in the Bolyards’ house and he says it’s fine with them.” He lifted his brows, engagingly, he hoped. “Trina is a really good cook.”
“I don’t want to put them out. And what about Callie?”
“I can have her taken to Brock’s, too. You girls can do each other’s nails and stuff.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Would it keep you non-distracted?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go. Thank you for finding a different way.” She studied his face, hers troubled in the darkness. “Do you believe Donald Donner killed five women?”
He looked over at her. “Do you?”
She wagged her finger. “No fair answering with a question,” she said, mocking the Forest woman, then shrugged. “No, I don’t. He’s angry, but forgetful. Sometimes he’ll be teaching and just trail off, staring into space. He forgets what he’s assigned. His obsession is getting published. I don’t think he has the mental organization to do these murders, or frankly the physical strength. He’s pretty old.”
Noah nodded thoughtfully. “What you said.”
“But you’re picking him up anyway.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said grimly.
“I’m assuming this couple saw Martha at the Deli,” Eve said, “because that’s where Donner goes for lunch. Whether or not he’d go there on a Saturday night? Don’t know.”
“Hopefully the Deli’s security video will shed some light.” He glanced at the computer on her lap. “Did Donner know about Shadow-land? I mean, did he play?”
“I don’t know what he did at home. He needed me to explain the game to him, every time we talked. If he was faking his forgetfulness, he’s a damn good actor.”
“I agree. Did you check on your red-zone cases? Are they where they should be?”
“Yes.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sorry about the Bolyards. About Jack, about all of this.”
“Not your fault.”
“I don’t mean that. I’m not apologizing that it happened. I’m… sorrowful. Sorrowful that you have to see all this pain and death and that it hurts you.”
Emotion, exhaustion, exhilaration… all welled up in a wave that closed his throat. This is what he’d missed. What he wanted. What he needed. Unwilling to trust his voice, he pressed her hand to his cheek and held it there.
Wednesday, February 24, 10:30 p.m.
The Bolyards hadn’t locked their back door. Donner appeared to be more careful with his locks.
He broke a pane of glass in the basement door, reached in, and twisted the doorknob from the inside. A quick survey of the house revealed Donner and his wife were not home. Dammit. Donner was supposed to have been here tonight. They’d had an appointment. Bastard stood me up.
I should have grabbed him before I killed the Bolyards. This could be tricky. He could only hope that, wherever Donner had gone, his alibi would be as shaky as before.
This did save him from having to kill Mrs. Donner, though. Killing people not in his original plan chafed at him, and he was still plenty chafed over the Bolyards.
I should have stayed outside that coffee house and waited, like I did with the others. But the night he’d met Martha had been so damn cold. He would have drawn more attention to himself sitting outside in his car than going inside. But now he had two unplanned murders and a lot of extra effort to explain it away.