“Which would explain the stonewalling, the shuttered investigations, Hull and me getting pulled off the case. They don’t want it to be solved.”
“Four murders unresolved,” said Knox. “Four families with no closure because someone’s rep might take a hit.”
“Five families, maybe,” said Puller quietly.
“Yeah, maybe five,” she replied, looking at him closely. “I know how hard this must be for you.”
They were both silent for a while until Knox said, “So how and where do we start?”
“I told Shireen Kirk to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I’m telling you to do the same thing.”
“You’re not serious?” she said, obviously stunned.
“I’m very serious, Knox. I have a reason to follow this up. You don’t. I’m not going to let you put your career and maybe your life on the line for this. You nearly died already helping me and my brother. I’m not going to risk that happening to you again.”
“Puller, I’m already involved. I’m already here.”
“I appreciate what you told me. It gives me a place to start. But it’s just going to be me from now on.”
“Puller!”
He opened the car door, took out his duffel, popped the trunk, grabbed his investigation bag, hoisted them over his shoulders, and leaned back into the open car door.
“Thanks, Knox. I owe you.”
“John, please don’t do this.”
He pushed the car door closed with his knee and set off down the sidewalk.
39
ROGERS ASSUMED HIS post outside where the line was already fifty deep. The IDs came out and his work began.
Two hours later the stretch limo arrived and out popped Josh Quentin and what looked to be the very same entourage. With one significant addition.
Suzanne Davis was there in a tight mini and crop top. He noted that her bare shoulders and arms were toned. She had a tat of a dragon on her right triceps. She had a plastic cup in hand. Rogers doubted it contained soda.
She didn’t seem to be mourning the passing of poor Chris Ballard, he observed. Neither did the smiling Quentin.
“Paul, right?” said Quentin as they approached.
Rogers nodded. “You can go right in with your group, Mr. Quentin.”
The young man slipped a hundred-dollar bill into Rogers’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Quentin squeezed Rogers’s shoulder. “Whoa, you’re solid as a rock, Paul. You work out?”
“A little.”
“I do an extreme fitness routine. It’s more a young person’s thing. Strong as you are, you might not be able to keep up. Ton of cardio.”
“I’m sure it’s too tough for me, sir.”
“Age catches up to us all.”
Davis glanced up at him as she passed by.
“Nice tat,” said Rogers.
“Nice hat,” she shot back.
At two o’clock in the morning the limo came round. Rogers held the door open as Quentin and his group came out.
Quentin pressed another hundred-dollar bill into his palm.
Rogers counted off the group and saw that Davis was not there. “Aren’t you missing one?” he asked.
“Suzanne’s passed out upstairs,” said Quentin in an annoyed tone. “I thought I’d let her sleep it off. I’ll send a car for her in the morning.”
“I can take her home, Mr. Quentin.”
“It’s in North Carolina.”
“Not a problem. I’ll just wait here until she wakes up.”
Quentin slapped him on the arm. “Thanks, Paul. I’ll email her and let her know the plan. She’ll give you the directions.”
He climbed into the limo and it pulled off.
Rogers watched it go. Either Quentin was a very trusting man or a very stupid one. He had just left an unconscious lover of his alone with a complete stranger. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
Rogers went into the bar and helped clean up. Myers and Karl had left earlier.
If anyone else knew that Davis was passed out upstairs they didn’t let on.
Then everyone else left and Rogers held the keys to the Grunt in his hand.
He locked the front door, walked up the stairs, and found the door to the room unlocked. He opened it and flicked on the light.
Davis was not in the first room, so he passed through into the bedroom. And there she was, sprawled on the bed and without a stitch of clothing on.
He drew closer, looked around, found a blanket draped over a chair, snatched it up, and threw it over her.
Then he sat down in the chair and waited.
He heard a ding from somewhere and instantly sat rigid in his seat.
Then he noticed her phone on the nightstand. It had lighted up when the text came in.
He looked at the screen.
Had to leave, babe. Early meeting tomorrow. Paul the bouncer taking you home to NC when you wake. See you soon. J
Rogers sat back down and watched her. She tossed and turned in her sleep and several times pulled the blanket off herself. Each time Rogers put it back on.
Finally, at about four in the morning she sat straight up, pulled the blanket off her, and looked straight at him.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She didn’t seem to be embarrassed that she had no clothes on.
“Your phone will explain.”
“What?”
“A message from Mr. Quentin.”
She looked around, seized her phone, and accessed the message.
“You’re Paul?” she said groggily.
“I was at the front door when you came in. I’m the bouncer.”
She looked down at her bare chest. “Where the hell are my clothes?”
“I don’t know. I covered you with the blanket.”
He got up and looked around. Then he got on his knees and pulled her skirt, top, and a bra and underwear out from under the bed. He dropped the articles of clothing on the bed and said, “I’ll wait for you in the other room while you get dressed.”
He closed the door behind him.
He heard her get up. He also heard her stumble, apparently hit her knee, and loudly curse. A minute later the door opened. She was still zipping up her skirt.
“Any idea where my shoes are?” she said crossly.
He reached behind a sofa pillow and pulled out a pair of stilettos.
“Thanks.” She sat and put them on.
As they walked down the stairs he said, “I’m afraid I’ve only got a crappy van.”
“If they had Uber in this shithole I’d use them. I’m in North Carolina. It’s two hours.”
“Mr. Quentin told me.”
“Mr. Quentin just fucking left me?”
“Looks like it.”
“Asshole!”
“Do you want me to drive you to a hotel here instead? You can make arrangements to go home tomorrow. Well, it’s already tomorrow, but I mean later in the day.”
“No. I’m wide awake now. Let’s just get on the road.”
He locked up the bar after setting the alarm system and they walked to his van. They climbed in and, to her credit, she didn’t complain about the condition of the interior. She curled up in her seat and closed her eyes.
“I’ll need directions,” lied Rogers.
“Get on Sixty-Four going towards Norfolk. I’ll tell you from there.”
“Okay.”
He drove onto the interstate and settled back in his seat.
She gave him directions as needed, though he knew the way and they were soon nearing the Outer Banks. Traffic was nonexistent at this time of morning.
“Have you known Mr. Quentin a long time?” Rogers asked.
She looked at him with puffy eyes. “Why?”
“No reason. Just making conversation.”
“Well, stop. I don’t know you.”
“Sorry.”
He gazed out the windshield at the coming dawn, thinking that she was right around the same age as the dead women.
“About five years,” she said abruptly.
He glanced at her. She was staring at him.