Chapter 15

 

Carol pulled into her parking spot behind the apartment and stepped out of her car. Chill fingers of wind drew shivers along the back of her neck. Time for a thicker jacket.

She could hardly wait to put her feet up. Mondays at the café meant extra baking to replenish from Saturday and Sunday, and her muscles still ached from her weekend cleaning binge at home. Carol’s heart ached too, but she ignored it.

Her key turned with no resistance, as if the door were already unlocked. Carol frowned. She’d locked it that morning. She always double-checked. Paul must have come home early and forgotten to re-lock it.

How many times did she have to warn him to take their safety seriously?

Carol ducked inside and flicked the light switch. Rap music blared from the kitchen radio. She shut the door and hung her coat on a peg. Paul’s leather jacket wasn’t there, so he’d gone back out. Without locking up. He’d hear about this.

She glared at the radio. They left it on all day as company for Chance, but Carol’s station played oldies, not rap. The angry lyrics hammered at her ears. Frowning, she hung her purse on the back of a chair and reset the channel. And turned the volume down.

Dirty dishes in the sink said Paul had been home for supper. He hadn’t tidied up as well as usual. Must have been in a hurry to catch the bus. Maybe that explained the unlocked door, but it didn’t explain the rap. Paul was a rocker like Skip.

“Chance, you crazy dog, I don’t know how you did this —” The dog hadn’t come running when the door opened. The noise must have scared him.

The phone rang. Patrick? He hadn’t called again on Sunday, nor stopped at the café this evening. Carol needed to apologize, but she really didn’t want to have to make the first move. Let it come out casually, as if the scene at Sticky Fingers had been no big deal. Neither of them liked awkward displays of emotion.

Caller ID showed a cell number Carol didn’t recognize. Her bones chilled. Not again!

“It’s just one of Paul’s friends.” But Carol didn’t believe her own words. She grabbed her purse from the chair and unzipped it, rummaging one-handed for her wallet while she forced the other hand to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Got the wallet. She wedged it between her stomach and the counter to fish out Garraway’s card without letting go of the phone. Whatever the creep said, Carol needed to hear it clearly and relay it to the police.

“Ms. Daniels.”

She’d only heard the voice twice, but there was no mistaking it. The hairs frosted on the back of her neck.

“It’s unfortunate about the dog. I didn’t know my representative was afraid of them.” Click.

The detective’s card slipped from Carol’s fingers. “Chance?”

She bolted for the living room, afraid of what she’d find. “Chance?” No sign of him. She turned into the hallway too fast and banged her elbow on the wall. The pain made her run faster.

Nothing in the bathroom. Carol threw open Paul’s door. No dog. She reached her own bedroom and stopped in the doorway. Chance lay sprawled in the middle of her bed, a dark stain spreading from his head.

Her breath caught in her throat and erupted in a scream. When the sound didn’t wake the dog, another scream formed.

Carol pressed her hand over trembling lips. She wanted to gather the dog, blanket and all, and race to the vet. The rational part of her brain made her stop and scan the room. The boys’ photos, everything else stood untouched.

Surely the phone call meant nobody was hiding in the apartment. A sob pushed from Carol’s mouth and she fled for the phone.

In the kitchen, she grabbed the detective’s card from the floor and punched in his cell number.

“Garraway.”

Hot tears flooded her eyes. “It’s Carol Daniels. My apartment — they’ve been here — they killed my dog. I —” She caught her lip between her teeth to stop the sobs.

“I’m on my way. Are you safe?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t touch anything. Fifteen minutes. I’ll be there.”

Carol slumped against the wall. She needed tea. Her stomach heaved. Maybe she needed to throw up.

She walked unsteadily across the kitchen and collapsed into the nearest chair. What evidence had she already ruined, running through the apartment, resetting the radio? Touching the phone, but there’d been no choice.

Thank God Paul had gone before that creep came in. Carol’s heart stopped. The unlocked door, the mess not cleaned up. What if they took Paul?

Approaching sirens wailed, then cut off. Carol bolted out the kitchen door and around to the street.

Two black-and-whites stood in front of the house. The flashing lights died before she reached them, and one of the officers jogged to meet her.

“Ms. Daniels? Why didn’t you wait inside?”

“My son! I think they took my son!” In the dimming light, the officer didn’t look old enough to wear a badge. “Where’s Detective Garraway?”

“Try to be calm. He’s on his way. I’m Constable Holland, and this is Constable Groves.” The female officer who joined them matched his height but had ten years on him.

An unmarked car pulled up across the street. Garraway sprinted over. Carol caught his arm but Constable Holland spoke first. “They may have her son.”

Garraway turned to Carol. “What makes you think that?”

“The door was unlocked, and he didn’t clean up like he usually does. If he was here when they came —”

Garraway’s face hardened, but the hand he laid on Carol’s shoulder was gentle. “Let’s go inside and you can tell us what happened.”

Legs trembling, Carol led the police up the driveway to the back door. “This is the way I came in.”

The officers scanned the kitchen. Groves pulled a chair away from the table and gestured to Carol to sit. Carol’s knees wobbled, but she glanced at Garraway. “I won’t mess up any clues?”

He smiled. “It’s okay. When you’re ready, give us as many details as you can.”

She sank onto the seat and tried to remember the first minutes after she’d come home. The phone call burned sharp in her mind, and the image of Chance on her bed, but fear for Paul clouded the rest.

Detective Garraway scribbled in his notebook, and sent the other two to search the apartment. He looked smaller in jeans and a sweatshirt, but his eyes said he was on duty.

“Ms. Daniels, the caller apologized for the dog?”

“Maybe to make me look for him.” If she’d walked into her room with no warning...

“Possibly. The timing of the call sends a message that he knows your movements. You’d only just come in.”

A shiver traced Carol’s spine.

Garraway tapped his pen against his paper. “But he didn’t mention your son?”

“No.”

“So it’s possible Paul left on his own. I’m betting that’s the case. If these people wanted to use him as leverage, they’d let you know they had him.”

Carol nodded. It made sense, but she didn’t dare hope. She could kill Harry for dragging them into this!

Constable Holland stepped back into the room. “Sir, the dog’s alive.”

A hiccupping sob burst from Carol’s lips. She slumped forward onto the table, face pillowed on her folded arms, and let the tears flow. A hand squeezed her shoulder. “Tell me where you keep the fixings, and I’ll make you a coffee. You’ve had a nasty shock.”

She looked up into Garraway’s compassionate brown eyes. “Can you get him to a vet? He was my son’s —” A fresh wave of tears drowned her words.

Holland brought her the tissue box from the counter. “We’ll look after him, don’t worry.”

Garraway asked, “Do you know where your son might be?”

Carol’s lips twisted and the tears came harder. Garraway meant Paul, wouldn’t know this was old grief for Keith. She tried to swallow the pain. “There’s a list of numbers taped inside the cupboard door beside the phone. His cell’s on top.”

Garraway studied her for a minute. He strode across the room and picked up the phone. “I’m likely to startle him, but not half as much as if you try to talk to him right now.”

He keyed in the number and waited. “Paul Daniels? Detective Rick Garraway calling. There’s been a break-in at your apartment, and I’m here with your mother. Are you all right?” He flashed a thumbs-up to Carol.

Carol’s eyes welled again. She gave Garraway a wobbly smile.

A loud knock came at the back door and it pushed open. Carol’s landlords rushed in. Garraway, on the phone with Paul, frowned at the intrusion. Basil Johnstone frowned back, but his wife dashed across the room. “Carol, dear, we just got home. Are you all right?”

“Someone broke in while I was at work. They hurt Chance.”

“Well, of all the nasty things!” The woman sat at the table and took Carol’s hand. “Will he pull through?”

Holland spoke from behind Carol. “I hope so, ma’am. We’ll get him checked out.”

Carol dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Officer, this is Cecelia Johnstone, and her husband Basil. They’re my landlords.”

Garraway finished his call and turned to them. “I’m Detective Rick Garraway, this is Constable Holland, and Constable Groves is around here somewhere.”

“Here, sir.” Groves stepped into the kitchen. “Everything seems in order, except the painting over the sofa is upside down.”

“See if you can get some prints.” Garraway rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Ms. Daniels, your son is on his way. He says he hasn’t been home since he left this morning, so the intruder must have done your radio.”

“And helped himself to my food!” Carol pointed to the sink. “I thought Paul came home for supper.”

Garraway hooked his fingers on the top of the refrigerator door and pulled it open. “We’ll check the handle for prints. Do you see anything missing?”

“The milk jug was almost full this morning, and that plate in the sink had chicken legs. He ate half the cookies, too. The dirty, no-good —”

Cecelia squeezed her hand. Basil still stood in the doorway. He scratched his head. “Why would someone break in and attack the dog, then instead of stealing anything or wrecking the place, fix himself supper?”

Garraway shrugged. “Holland, you take the dog to the vet and go back to your patrol. Groves and I will finish up here.”

“Yes, sir.” The young officer ducked out of the kitchen and returned carrying the pink blanket, Chance’s head barely visible in the crook of one arm. “Don’t worry, Ms. Daniels.”

“Where are you taking him?”

“I’ll check with Dispatch, and we’ll let you know when he’s settled.”

Basil opened the door for Holland and closed it behind him. “How did they get in?”

Constable Groves met his eyes. “The back door. Minimal signs of tampering. Looks like it was forced by a pro.”

Cecelia clucked her tongue. “You’ll lock the dead bolts tonight, won’t you, Carol?”

Carol nodded.

Garraway scanned his notes. “If the dog was in fact unplanned, the other things seem more like pranks, to taunt you about the caller’s ability to breach your safety.”

Cecilia’s fingers tightened on Carol’s hand. “What caller?”

“A man called when I got home —”

The door opened. Paul burst in and ran to his mother. “Are you okay? How’s Chance?”

Carol clung to him, fighting tears. She’d wanted a fresh start here, not to put them both in danger. If anything happened to Paul —.

She looked at the detective. “You have to stop him.”

Garraway flashed a grim smile. “That’s the plan.” He touched Paul’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about the dog, son. He’s in good hands.”

Cecelia stood. “We’ll be upstairs. Carol, dear, you and Paul come up for tea when you’re done.”

Basil shook his head. “I’m going to the hardware store right now for new locks. I’ll put them in myself, and we’ll all sleep better tonight.”

Garraway wore a doubtful look, and Carol silently agreed. He took down the landlords’ contact information. “As the owners of the property, you’ll be kept informed.”

After the older couple left, the detective tapped his pen against his notepad. “We thought they took Paul tonight. If they think you’re stalling, that’s a real possibility. Whatever instructions they give you, play along. And talk to me.”

Groves came into the kitchen and checked the fridge and radio for fingerprints.

Garraway said, “Get the cookie jar too.”

“Yes, Sir. The other rooms are clear of bugs.”

“We’ll move out and let you finish up.”

Garraway waved a hand toward the living room. Once Carol and Paul settled on the couch, the detective dropped into the chair facing them. “Groves is with investigations, not our street force. Good thing I couldn’t send someone earlier today. We’d have had to sweep again anyway.”

He flipped through the pages of his notebook. “They didn’t go after you or Paul. That means they don’t know Silver’s already talked. Part of this is to put pressure on him, but I don’t like the sound of this quest or job the caller keeps talking about. When they give you a few more clues, I need you to contact Silver and see if he can shed any light on this.”

Carol bit her lip.

Paul stared at his knees and looked like he wished he was invisible.

Garraway continued. “As soon as we’re done here, we’ll clear out and give you some space. I’ve asked for extra patrols, and if you see anything, either of you, call me right away. We’re not ready to close the net on this operation yet, but we have to keep you safe.”

He gave Paul one of his cards. Paul nodded, his jaw tight. Her son’s too-old eyes reawakened Carol’s anger. But the dead couldn’t pay, nor the living.