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Twelve

Madison and Terry returned to the station, knowing they had some phone calls to make and background reports to pull. Terry was starting on the latter while Madison reached out to Molly Reade. She’d had to leave a message and was now on the phone with Marnie Simpleton from Wellness Yoga.

“Does Kimberly Olson-Malone and her mother take yoga classes at your studio?” Madison asked.

“They do.” Marnie’s answer was succinct and soft-spoken, just like the rest of her responses thus far. At this rate, it might take the rest of the afternoon for Madison to draw out what she needed.

“Do they attend any specific ones with regularity?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven thirty.”

“And they’ve been in a habit of doing these for a while now?”

“Years.”

“You’re sure?” Madison wanted to see if she could stir up some life in the yoga lady. Surely, she wasn’t this zen all the time.

“I pride myself on knowing my clients.” Still no indication of excitement.

“So you know them well?”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by, “You could say that.”

“Personally, or strictly in a professional manner?” If Marnie and the Malones were friends, it could affect the validity of her testimony.

“We are all connected.”

Oy vey. “Do you know if they carpooled to the classes?”

“I don’t, sorry.” The apology felt obligatory. Finally, there was a little crack in her calm energy. “Will that be all?”

“For now.” With that and a rather insincere thanks, Madison hung up. She placed the handset on the cradle. As she made some handwritten notes in a file, it occurred to her that Marnie hadn’t asked once what had prompted the call or given her some speech about customer privacy. It could have just been Marnie was more forthcoming than most people, but it was possible she had been tipped off by Kimberly that someone from the Stiles PD would be calling. If that were the case, Madison wasn’t feeling too warm toward the eldest Malone child.

She finished her notes and looked over at Terry. “How are you coming with the backgrounds?”

“I’ve pulled and printed ones for the Malone family.”

“I’ll get started on the Malones’ help. You want to get one for the best friend?”

“Sure.”

Madison went about getting her share of the reports and thought about pulling one on Joel Phelps while she was at it. But without real cause, she wasn’t going to risk drawing any attention to herself.

She finished printing the reports and updated Terry on her call. “So I spoke to Marnie Simpleton at the yoga studio, and she confirmed what Kimberly had said about her and her mother going on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She wasn’t able to say if they carpooled.”

“I can understand a Simpleton not knowing,” Terry deadpanned, then his mouth twitched and blossomed into a smile. “You get it?”

“Yes, Terry.” She shook her head at her partner’s somewhat skewed sense of humor.

He snickered, still amused at his own joke.

“I had to leave a message with David Reade’s wife to call me back.” Her stomach growled loudly.

“Next stop lunch?”

She dismissed the idea—and her gnawing hunger—with a wave. “I was thinking Lorene’s best friend. She might be able to tell us who John Doe is.”

“If we’re going there, may I suggest we don’t run with the assumption Lorene was having an affair?”

Madison understood Terry’s concern. Attack the reputation of the woman’s dead friend, and she might not be too open to talking, but Darbonne might know John Doe’s identity. That was assuming Lorene had confided in her. “We’ll see how things unfold.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not dismissing the possibility of an affair, but I’m keeping an open mind.”

“Impressive.”

She tossed out one of his lines, “Hardy-har.”

“Hey, you two look real busy.” Troy was walking toward them, and Madison felt herself coming alive at the sight of him. She wanted to get up and greet him the proper way—with a huge hug and a hungry kiss.

“More than I can say for you,” she teased, somehow managing to keep her butt in the chair.

“I’m allowed some breaks.”

“Uh-huh. It seems to me you’re just wandering around today.” There were many days their paths didn’t cross at work at all. She would consider this a good day, from that perspective at least.

“You get breaks?” Terry asked incredulously. “We must be doing something wrong, Knight.”

Troy positioned himself next to Madison’s desk, and the faint smell of his cologne hit her nose in the most pleasing way. She inhaled deeply.

“What do you have on the go?” Troy asked her.

“A double homicide,” Madison answered.

“Wow. Really?”

“I kid you not,” she said, “and it’s a high-profile case, too.”

Terry left with his mug in hand, headed toward the coffee machine in the bullpen.

“Guess that answers my next question,” Troy said.

“Which was?”

“If you’d be interested in seeing a house tonight. Estelle called, and she was ready to arrange a showing.”

Estelle Robins was their real estate agent.

“Yeah, tonight’s not going to work.”

“I can appreciate that. A double homicide? Who were they?”

“Well, have you heard of Malone’s, the chain of furniture stores?”

Troy put his hands in his pockets. “I have.”

“Lorene Malone and—”

Troy stepped back, almost stumbling, and stared through her. “Steven?”

“No, a John Doe.” She cocked her head, studying him. “Do you know the Malones personally?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m…uh, I should probably go.”

He turned to leave, and she jumped to her feet and hooked his elbow.

“Troy, what’s going on?”

The way he looked at her chilled her to the core.

“It’s nothing.” His eyes glazed over. “We’ll talk later.” He set off, waving an arm over his head.

What the—?

“All good in lovers’ paradise?” Terry’s voice cut abruptly through her thoughts as he returned and held his filled mug toward Troy’s retreating form.

“I don’t know.” She watched Troy until he was out of view. What did the Malone family mean to him, and why had he refused to let her know? Lorene’s death was obviously personal to him, and she’d wanted to push him, but when Troy put up his walls, it was best to let him be for a while—not that she had to be happy about it. She snatched her coat off her chair and turned to Terry. “You ready?”

“I—” Terry’s gaze dropped to his coffee.

She raised her brows.

“Okay,” he said. “Where to?”

“Sabrina Darbonne’s.”

Terry put his mug down and slipped into his coat. “Can we grab a bite first?”

“Maybe, if it’s something quick.” The interaction with Troy had made her appetite disappear. The last time Troy had lost someone he’d cared about, he’d shut her out, and it seemed he was doing the same thing again.

“I DON’T THINK THERE’S ONE thing on this menu that isn’t deep-fried or slathered in grease.” Madison set the menu down, frustrated. It’s not like she was a health nut. She loved her chocolate, and dieting was the devil, but she tried to make wise food choices when she could. She liked to tell herself it had to do with being more fit for the job, but she didn’t think sleeping with a hot guy from SWAT hurt her motivation.

She and Terry had requested a table in the corner of the restaurant so they’d have some privacy to discuss the case.

“Is that a complaint or a compliment? It’s hard to tell.” Terry laughed. His hands were clasped on top of his closed menu.

“A complaint.”

“Coming from a woman who eats chocolate for breakfast.”

“Very funny.” It was predictable that he would call her out on the chocolate.

The waitress stood at the end of their table, a pen poised over her order pad, and looked at Terry. “Have you decided?”

“I’ll take the Greek salad with a grilled chicken breast.” Terry handed the waitress his menu.

How had she missed that option? Was she wired to only see comfort food?

“And you?” the waitress asked Madison.

“The same, with a soda.”

“Water for me,” Terry said.

“I’ll put your orders in and grab your drinks.” She smiled and off she went.

“You just had to show me up with the water,” Madison jabbed.

“I didn’t realize this was a competition of some sort, but do you realize how much sugar is in a soda?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” She sank into the booth. Unlike her, Terry was a bit of a health nut. He actually chose to run—an activity she detested—and he did so every morning before shift.

“Thirty-three grams. That’s thirteen grams more than women should have in a day and almost the limit of what a man should have.” Terry served these facts with the pride of a walking Wikipedia.

“Fascinating.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s never too late to start taking care of yourself.”

“Hey,” she said, ready to go down his throat and out his ass, but he was smiling, “it’s a good thing I like you.” She turned her gaze out the window. The snow was still falling heavily, but she put her attention on the passing traffic and pedestrians. People on the sidewalks were hustling, no doubt in a hurry to arrive at their destinations and find warmth inside. One man reminded her of John Doe, and she faced her partner. “When I said we could stop for a quick lunch, I figured it would be something that came in a paper bag through a window. Not sure how you talked me into actually stopping.”

“It gives us some time to actually chew our food, you know—a novel concept.” There was the hint of burnout to his voice and a flicker in his eyes. Madison suspected the cause was whatever was going on in his personal life.

She was about to ask him what was going on, but he continued. “I know we’ve really been considering the affair angle, and that could still be a factor, but maybe Doe was the true target. Taking his ID would hold up the investigation. We can’t look into the life of a man we don’t know.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and a pleasant smile, then sauntered off to help other customers.

Madison leaned across the table. “If John Doe was the true target, why strike at the Malones’ house? Lorene Malone had to be a target, too. I think we need to bench motive for now and focus on who had means and opportunity.”

Terry pulled out his notepad and pen. “We know that Kimberly had access to her parents’ house, and it’s likely the other two Malone children did as well: opportunity.” He scribbled their names down, but Madison could barely make them out, given his cryptic handwriting.

“The maid and the cook,” she added, refusing to be the one who said Steven Malone. “Oh, and what about the best friend? She could have a key.”

Terry wrote down Sabrina Darbonne’s name along with the helps’. “We also need to keep in mind that the killer might not have a key and a security code. They just need to be someone that Lorene would have opened the door for.”

“That, or she was coerced to let them in,” Madison said. “We know the killer was obviously armed.” The feeling of defeat and being overwhelmed rolled over her, the way it often did at the onset of an investigation. Usually there were so many suspects to wade through and so little time. “Let’s start with a focus on people who have keys and a passcode to the Malones’ house.”

“Then it would seem Lorene was the true target.”

Madison nodded. “We stick with that for now.”

“Then Steven’s going on the list.” Terry added the husband’s name to his notes.

She was satisfied he hadn’t made her say his name. “Now, who had the means?”

“We don’t have the make and model of the gun yet. We do know .357-caliber bullets inflicted the damage.”

“We know that Craig should have a gun in his possession that fires that type of bullet.”

“A .357 S&W that is technically Mr. Malone’s.” Terry wrote Means? beside Craig’s and Steven’s names.

“What I would give to get our hands on that gun, even if it’s to rule it out,” she lamented. She pulled out her phone and glanced at a screen free of call and message notifications. It felt like she’d fallen into the twilight zone.

“Here you go,” the waitress said. She set salads in front of each of them. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Madison looked over her meal and inhaled. The aromas coming from the dish were heavenly, and there certainly wasn’t a shortage of toppings: freshly cut onions, tomatoes, peppers, feta, and black olives. A sliced chicken breast sat on top, sprinkled with seasonings. The dressing was in a ramekin on the side of the plate. “I’m good,” she told the waitress—and salivating.

“Me too,” Terry said.

“All right, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

Terry sprinkled pepper on his salad and poured his dressing methodically to make sure he distributed it evenly. She dumped the dressing on hers and stabbed her first forkful.

Chewing, she looked out the window, at the falling snow and the crawling traffic. She watched as a woman stepped off the sidewalk onto the road, a cell phone to an ear.

Madison chomped on another mouthful of salad, not taking her eyes off the woman.

Traffic to her right side was three lanes wide. Two straight-through and one for left turns only. A van was at a standstill in the left-turn lane, and there was an SUV in the middle.

Madison’s blood cooled when she saw a car steadily approaching the intersection. It didn’t look like it was going to stop.

She bolted to her feet. “He’s moving way too fast.”