Chapter 14

The next morning, Jack stood next to Mia in the hallway of Nathan Turner’s office building in Midtown. He hadn’t bothered trying to talk her into giving the information about Turner to Maxwell first. With the way the chief reacted when she even mentioned the Baskerville case, Jack couldn’t blame her. She stood next to him, her body tense as if ready to spring.

In fact, that was exactly what she was going to do. Of that Jack was sure.

“He’s going to deny it,” he murmured to her, his gaze on the door Turner had to exit from.

“I just need to get my hands on him.”

“How many times have I heard that?”

Mia tore her eyes from the door for a moment to glance at him. She didn’t smile.

“Just teasing, Mia. Lighten up.”

“I’m plenty lightened,” she said, refocusing on the door just as it swung open.

Turner was a good-looking man. Mia had failed to mention that or maybe she hadn’t seen it. Mia’s observations were almost always in direct opposition to any normal person’s. Turner was wearing an expensive raincoat and carrying a briefcase. When he saw them, he faltered. The shock in his eyes quickly turned into an appraising glance when he saw Jack.

So that part’s true, anyway.

“A word, Mr. Turner?” he said as he moved between Turner and Mia. He could feel Mia vibrating in irritation behind him. He just needed to slow her down. Even if this tool had delivered a box of bloody dolls to their address, he could still bring charges against them if they weren’t careful. Mia pushed past Jack and clamped a hand on Turner’s arm.

“Hey!” Turner said.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Jack said.

“Call my office if you want to speak with me.”

“Why did you bring that box of dolls to my condo?” Mia asked. “Was it a warning?”

Turner’s face flushed and his eyes darted between Jack and Mia. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The cops have the dolls now,” Mia said, hands on her hips. Jack let her move between him and Turner but he stayed ready in case things got out of hand—as they so easily could with Mia.

“They’ll get your DNA off them,” she said, “so you might as well admit it.”

“Get out of my way or I’ll call the police.” Turner snarled as he turned away.

“They have your DNA, Nathan,” Mia called after him as he hurried down the hall. “You make a threat against the twins and then one dies? You don’t have to be Columbo to figure that one out!”

Jack put a hand on Mia’s shoulder as they watched him leave.

“I assume by the fact that we’re not following him out of the building and into the parking lot that you didn’t get what you wanted?” he asked in a low voice.

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Mia said, her shoulders sagging under her jacket.

“Well, good. We can eliminate him and move on. You didn’t like him for this anyway.”

“But why did he deliver the dolls to me?”

Jack shrugged. “We’ll either find out…or we won’t. You want me to call the chief or do you want to handle the honors?”

Mia grimaced. “No, I’ll call him.”

An hour later, they sat across from each other at the Silver Skillet diner downtown and Jack watched her push mustard greens and corn bread around on her plate.

“It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “Or even the case for that matter.”

She nodded but didn’t answer. The chief hadn’t held back in his fury over her approaching Nathan Turner. Jack knew she wasn’t concerned with how mad Maxwell was with her. The case—which had an exciting new piece to it just this morning—was back to cooling off by the second.

“He said they don’t have Turner’s DNA in the database,” she said, “so they can’t confirm him for the dolls. And, of course, there’s no chance Turner will voluntarily donate a sample.”

“Not if he’s smart.”

Mia jammed a straw in her tumbler of sweet tea and sighed. “I just wish I knew why he did it. How is he connected to this?”

“You mean because you know he didn’t kill Victoria?”

Mia looked at him. “He didn’t kill Victoria,” she said. “Or Tracy. Or anyone for that matter. I could tell that when I touched him. But he’s still involved somehow.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe he’s just trying to protect his business? Send the message to the one Nosy Nellie who was keeping the whole unpleasant media mess alive by warning her to back off?”

“Oh, no, you did not just refer to me as Nosy Nellie.”

But she was smiling. At least there was that. Jack reached across the table and touched her hand.

“I have another chef job tonight. I hate to leave you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.”

“No more canvassing the neighbors in our building?”

“You have to admit it was a good idea, Jack.”

“Can you promise to hold off any further investigations until I can go too?”

She shrugged and picked up her fork to prod her food without interest. “Sure,” she said, but her eyes didn’t meet his.

 

*****

Later that afternoon, Mia threw a bag of carrots and her riding boots into the back of her car. She knew Jack wanted her to give the case a rest—at least for the day—and she wanted to erase the worried look that was on his face so she arranged to go riding with Ned.

Who knows? Maybe being out in the pasture would give her a different perspective on things. It wouldn’t be the first time horseback riding had triggered an idea that had been hiding. Plus, it helped to talk to Ned. Not that Jack wasn’t good in that way, but Jack took her moods personally—always wanting to fix things—whereas Ned shrugged them off. Mia found, for the most part, that was more helpful when it came to solving problems.

She hopped on I-85, relieved to see the traffic moving quickly, and plugged her smartphone into her car’s Bluetooth system. Listening to music was another thing that often prompted a revelation. Music let her mind go into free fall, where ideas tended to bubble to the surface that she didn’t even know were in her brain.

The music faded to announce an incoming call and Mia hit Accept.

“Hey, Ned,” she said. “You at the barn yet?”

“No, that’s why I’m calling. I picked up a nail in my tire and I’m gonna have to bail on today.”

“Oh, no,” Mia said, but she kept the car pointed toward Alpharetta and the barn.

“You’re welcome to ride Banshee if you want.”

“Thanks,” Mia said. “I really need to ride today.”

“He can use the exercise. I haven’t been out in nearly a week.”

“So he’s hot, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Well, he might be a little full of himself, let me just say that.”

Mia laughed, and after a few more moments of conversation they disconnected. She’d miss Ned’s company but she did need the ride today, for mental therapy if nothing else. It was a beautiful spring day, cool but clear, and the dogwoods promised to be approaching full bloom in the woods surrounding the barn. If one afternoon on horseback in an Atlanta spring couldn’t fix what was wrong with her, nothing could.

Nothing was going to fix what’s wrong with Tracy Kilpatrick.

The thought sidled its way into her brain, erupting from the place she’d pushed it for all the days and hours since the funeral.

Who could have killed her? Why?

As she fought to push the thought back down, her phone dinged and she saw that her GPS tracking service was sending her an alert.

Wojinziky.

Mia put her turn signal on for the next exit. She’d traced his path to and from the same grocery store four different times last week—without ever needing to get in her car and follow him. But this time was different. This time he was moving in the opposite direction of the grocery store. She made a quick calculation as she saw him move out of his neighborhood and merge onto Georgia 400. She exited I-85 onto Jimmy Carter Boulevard.

Wherever he was going, she had a feeling she needed to be there for this one. Her fingers tingled as she gripped the steering wheel. What was it that made her know—know in her bones—that this time was different? Was this her gift talking? Was this just an extra bonus? A kind of extrasensory perception boost that she’d never noticed before?

The dot on the GPS tracking screen moved relentlessly down Georgia 400 and then exited onto Abernathy Road heading toward Sandy Springs.

Where the hell is he going? Did he finally have a plumbing job? Who the hell does he know in Sandy Springs?

Mia jumped back on I-85 going south, offered up a prayer of thanks that it was moving quickly in this direction, too, and then exited onto I-285 going west. She knew the Sandy Springs area fairly well—it was a major conduit to Atlanta’s main shopping districts. Unfortunately, once she got off the main thoroughfare she’d be severely limited as to which roads to take. And the last thing she needed was for Wojinziky to recognize her car.

Suddenly, the dot on the screen stopped past Spalding Drive. There was a string of apartment buildings and condos on that road and Mia felt her heartbeat accelerate at the thought he was meeting someone. She exited 285 onto Roswell Road. It would take her twenty minutes at least, now that she was off the perimeter loop, to make her way up one of the most congested streets in Atlanta. She watched her smartphone screen. The dot didn’t move.

Eighteen minutes later, Mia pulled into the apartment complex off Roswell Road and Spalding. Wojinziky’s car was parked in the lot closest to the apartment building. Mia took her time finding a spot near enough to his car where she’d be able to see Wojinziky when he returned—but not too close. It was on the second circuit of the parking lot that she got close enough to the car to realize—he was still inside it.

Shit! Had he seen her? She hurriedly parked six parking spaces away and sat, her heart pounding. Why was he still in the car? He’s been here nearly thirty minutes. Is he waiting for someone? A few minutes later, Mia slipped out of the car to edge closer to where he was. He sat in the driver’s seat staring intently at the opening of the apartment building.

He’s stalking someone.

Mia crept back to her car and tried to think. Is he staking out his next victim? Is this connected to Victoria or Tracy? Is this someone new? She glanced at her watch. It was only a little after four but already the light was starting to dim. Was he waiting until dark to make his move? The only way to know for sure was to wait with him. If he went inside, she’d call the chief and risk his wrath—until he inevitably threw himself at her feet with apologies when it turned out she’d caught the killer and saved some poor woman’s life.

But if he goes inside, the cops won’t get here in time.

Mia reached into her glove box where she kept her Glock, until she realized she’d made a deal with Jack not to carry it until she went to the range more. Damn! Should she call the police now? Before a crime was committed? That didn’t make sense either. No, when Wojinziky finally decides to make his move, Mia would just have to be right behind him. That was the only answer. Even without a gun she could at least scare him off and save whomever he was targeting as his next “Victoria.”

Satisfied with this plan, Mia turned on the heat in her car and settled down to wait. An hour later, Wojinziky still hadn’t moved. The light had leached completely from the sky, leaving a dark gray cast. It was difficult to see much more than shadows as cars moved about the parking lot. It wasn’t one of the poorer apartment buildings on Spalding—but not the nicest by a long shot. Whoever lived here likely had a job of some kind. Most of the cars in the lot were fairly new, if economy-sized. The fact the complex wasn’t gated but was close to Roswell Road also told Mia it wasn’t in any way upscale.

Mia knew Jack had left for his cooking gig. He’d texted her a quarter of an hour earlier but she hadn’t responded. He wouldn’t expect her to, thinking she was at the barn. Because she had nothing but time on her hands, she scheduled a text to him to be delivered in the next hour saying she was heading back to the condo. That way, if she forgot to do it—depending on what went down tonight—he wouldn’t worry that she’d read his text but hadn’t responded.

Suddenly, she saw Wojinziky open his car door. It had been so long since he’d moved that at first, Mia didn’t recognize what she was seeing. Sure enough, he was standing outside his car. Mia squinted in the gloom to see what he was looking at. A woman was coming out of the building, a gym bag in her arms. Mia’s heartbeat sped up. This was it!

Wojinziky closed his car door and moved toward the woman. Mia followed, keeping several yards behind. She knelt by a parked car and watched the woman when she spied Wojinziky.

“Jeff.” She sounded breathless and surprised. But not afraid.

“Hey, Beth.”

So they knew each other. That fits. He and Victoria knew each other, too.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

Mia watched the woman shoulder her gym bag and look around the parking lot, as if trying to find the right words. She was pretty. Probably late twenties, slim, dark hair. She looked a lot like Victoria Baskerville. And weirdly, a little like Mindy Payne, too.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeff.”

“I just want to talk.”

Mia was surprised to hear his voice sound wheedling and sincere. Not at all the same crazed monster who threw her off a porch and put a foot to her throat.

Except he was.

“Jeff, go home.”

Yeah, Jeff. Go home to your wife. Even if she does have a voice that would make rabid dogs cringe.

“I miss you, Beth.”

“I know. But I can’t see you, Jeff. Please don’t come again.”

For a moment, Mia thought he would attack her. He stood, looming over her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side as if trying to decide what to do. And then, like someone had let the air out of him, his shoulders dropped and his head sagged to his chest. He turned and trudged back to his car. Mia knelt in the shadows and watched him pull out of the parking lot and leave. She watched Beth on the sidewalk, her shoulders shaking with her tears.

Mia stood and walked quickly to her. “Are you okay?” she called out.

Beth rubbed at her face and took a step backward toward her apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Mia said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I’m a…friend of Jeff’s.”

“If he put you up to trying to make me change my mind,” Beth said, emotion still thick in her voice, but her eyes wary, “you’re wasting your time and so is he.”

“It’s just that I couldn’t help notice how upset you are.”

“What else is new?” Beth looked at Jeff’s retreating taillights and shook her head. “Screw the gym,” she said. “I need a drink. Do you want to come in?”

“That would be great.”

And so the Good Samaritan gains a toehold in the victim’s trust.

Beth’s apartment was obviously that of a single woman’s. The living room had macramé plant holders, several amateur paintings of cats and a couch in purple velvet. Mia sat on the couch while Beth poured two glasses of wine.

“How do you know Jeff?” Beth asked as she handed Mia her wine.

“Well, it’s really my husband who knows him,” Mia said, and was rewarded by a nod from Beth as if that made more sense. “Can you tell me what happened to you two?”

“It just couldn’t work,” Beth said. “I mean it did for awhile. We were even talking about getting married. Did you know that?”

Mia shook her head and tried to keep an encouraging look on her face. Maybe Beth doesn’t know about the wife?

“You both seem so unhappy,” Mia pushed.

“I know. It sucks.” Beth took a swig of her wine and the tears were back, streaming down her face. “I really believed we were meant to be.”

“But then why not?”

“I shouldn’t say,” Beth said. “I know Jeff would feel…betrayed if I did. Since I’m the one who broke up with him, I owe him that much.”

“I probably already know,” Mia said.

“You probably do,” Beth said, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “I’d be very surprised if you didn’t.”

So is she talking about Jeff being married? Because that doesn’t seem to be a very big secret. Or is she talking about the fact that she knows Jeff murdered someone? Maybe even two someones?

Mia pulled a dry cleaner’s ticket from her jacket pocket, wrote her cell phone number on it with her name and handed it to Beth. “If you ever want to talk,” she said. “I hope you’ll call me.”

Beth took the paper and then went to a desk in the living room. She jotted down a few words on a notecard and handed it to Mia.

“I don’t have a zillion friends,” she said. “I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”

As Mia maneuvered out of the parking lot a few minutes later, her mind was invaded by an unsettled feeling. She and Beth had hugged before they parted, and Mia was able to pick up that Beth was sad. She was definitely on the level about being brokenhearted over losing the love of her life—one adulterous, murdering bastard by the name of Jeff Wojinziky.

What did it mean that Beth wouldn’t say why she’d broken up with him? What terrible secret was she keeping in order to protect him? And why couldn’t she see him for who he really was?

As Mia left the lights and traffic of Roswell Road for a side street, her mind began vibrating with feelings of dread and anticipation. It occurred to her that the sensation had been swirling just beneath the surface ever since she’d gotten into the car, but she’d been so focused on trying to dissect her conversation with Beth, she hadn’t noticed. Now the feeling came roaring to the forefront. There was a scent, an alien smell.

Of malignance.

Someone was in the car with her.